‘I lit the wick of the hunter’s lantern at my belt. Snatching up a burning brand from the fire. Dior remained by the blaze, eyes narrowed as she strained to hear.
‘“I think …” She shook her head. “I think they’re coming closer.”
‘“They are.” I slung a blanket onto Fortuna’s back, patted it. “We need to go.”
‘Our quarrel forgotten, Dior grabbed another burning branch from the blaze, skipping up onto Fortuna. The mare stomped, ears pricked back as I took her reins, leading her on foot through the scrub and snarl. The wind was screaming, the snow drifting through the tangles above as we moved, me guiding us through the dark with wide paleblood eyes.
‘“Where are we going?” Dior asked.
‘I pointed west, to whatever was thudding towards us. “Away from that.”
‘The footsteps were drawing closer, distinct now under the raging storm. I could hear whispering through dead trees, a chill rising in my belly. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw shapes; a multitude, distant through the snarl. At first, I feared the Dead – some legion raised by Danton to run us to ground, come upon us in the deep of night. I wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or afraid as I saw that the things behind us were nothing near human. Shadows within shadows, the whispering growing louder. Eyes like storm lanterns in the dark, mighty shapes moving through tangled boughs, skin run through with pustules, too many legs, too many mouths. Close and closer.
‘“Hold on!”
‘We ran now, Fortuna’s eyes grown wide, the mare straining against the reins in my hand. She wanted to gallop, fear stealing her reason, but charging blind through these woods by torchlight was insanity. Still, those shapes, those things, spider-limbed and owl-eyed, they came on in a flood, sliver claws and dagger teeth too many for counting, and though I’d no ken from what horrors they’d been born, I knew they were hungry.
‘“Gabriel!” Dior roared.
‘“Fuck my … Move!”
‘Dior shuffled forward as I scrambled up onto the mare behind her, slinging my arms about her waist as Fortuna broke into a gallop. Branches whipped and clutched, my face torn and bloodied, Dior’s head bowed as she bent double and rode like all hell came after us. She risked a glance behind, eyes wide with fear.
‘“What the fuck is that?”
‘“Don’t look!”
‘“God, Gabriel, they—”
‘“DON’T LOOK!”
‘Animal shapes, twisted beyond all measure of light or reason. The dreams of screaming trees, raised in the mouldering grave of a cradle once green. Mushroom skin and toadstool eyes, faces inside open mouths, slack with spore and madness. I’d trodden the darkest paths of this world. I’d looked into the eyes of hell and seen it looking back. And great fucking Redeemer, I swear I’d never seen the likes of them.
‘If not for Fortuna, they’d have taken us. But the mare ran hard as always, weaving among the rotten hulks, the boughs like grasping hands. And though the dray was never the fastest horse I’d ridden, she was ever one of the steadiest. Her flanks were soon damp with sweat, chest heaving like a bellows, but though we could see only a dozen feet ahead in the strobing light of my lantern, she didn’t stumble. Instead, we wove like a needle through a loom, twists and gullies, leaping over tumbled trees while the snow fell thick about us and Dior and I held on for dear life. I could hear the girl praying, and I found her hand, squeezed it tight as she squeezed back.
‘“No fear,” I bid her. “I’ve got you.”
‘Blinding snow. Thundering hooves. Twisting shapes at our back. We couldn’t see a thing, and still we rode, tears frozen on our cheeks. I heard a shift in the wind, no longer hissing through the wood but howling instead. The trees about us thinned, and for a second, I thought we’d made it clear, only to feel my heart sink as I realized why. Fortuna charged on, true to her name, true to the last, true to the moment her luck finally failed her.
‘I roared, grabbing at the horse’s reins … but too late, too late, as the cliff’s edge loomed before us. And with a terrified bellow, the panicked mare galloped out into the breach and flung us all over the edge, into the black gulf beyond.
‘Dior screamed and I roared “HOLD ON!” and we were falling, out into the snow-strewn dark. I clutched the girl’s waist, twisted us as we came free from the mare’s back, as poor Fortuna screamed again. Curling over Dior, clutching her tight, I gasped as I felt us strike a surface, jagged, brittle, snapping loose and spinning us about. Something crashed against my skull, splintering, and I realized we’d struck the boughs of some naked pine, hurling down, branch by snapping branch. It spun us, pierced and tore me, and still I held on, refusing to let Dior slip from my arms. I heard her gasp, felt us twist, my leg caught between grasping limbs and snapped clean in two, and I roared in red agony as all the world spun blinding, and at last, we crashed into a thick drift of new-fallen snow.
‘All was fire. The pain every colour under heaven. I could see bone thrust up through my torn thigh, out through my leathers – a jagged shank of femur, glistening red. Blood in my eyes and my mouth. Cold and dark all around us. Fear stabbed my heart as I squeezed the girl in my arms, called her name, desperate.
‘“Dior? Dior!”
‘She lay still, hair strewn across her face, not white now but red. Her brow was cut, but still, still she breathed. I closed my eyes, held her tight, shaking with relief. The snow was piled high around us, the wind a funeral dirge. I looked about, my nose alight with the scent of death. And I saw her, twenty yards away – our poor Fortuna, crumpled in a drift of snow.
‘I couldn’t see the ridge above. I’d no idea how far we’d fallen, nor if we’d been pursued. There was only thin scrub and dead pines about us, no blighted wood nor glowing eyes, and I realized at last we’d reached the edge of the weald. But even if the horrors chasing us hadn’t followed us down here, death still loomed a few heartbeats away.
‘My leg was broken, bone sheared up through bleeding meat. I could straighten it, but it would take time to heal – time we didn’t have. The night was black, my blood freezing on the snow about us, and there was naught to feed a fire with, nor shelter to seek.
‘I fumbled for my pipe, thoughts racing as I inhaled a bloody lungful. And dragging off my gloves, I clenched my teeth, gasping as I reset the bone in my torn thigh. The pain was blinding, my bloody hands shaking as I pushed my shattered femur back inside my torn muscle. I could hear a sound under the wind, ragged and guttural, and I realized at last it was me; screaming as I felt bone meet broken bone.
‘The bleed was sluggish now, bright red. I ripped off my belt, pressed Ashdrinker in her scabbard against my leg and bound her to my thigh, cinching tight as I could. With shaking scarlet hands, I took another hit, feeling the pain ebb like blood in warm water. Still listening for pursuit, knowing full well if those things followed us, we’d be torn to pieces.
‘No time to fret, I told myself. No time to fear.
‘When there’s little you can do, do what little you can.
‘Face twisted, I took hold of Dior’s coat, dragged us closer to Fortuna’s corpse. I checked the girl over, looking for broken bones, bleeds, but my body had spared her the worst of it. And so, taking the dagger I’d given her, I turned to the fallen mare. She’d carried us longer than we could’ve hoped. She’d been a friend in dark places, and I hated to ask her for more. But there was yet one thing she could do for us.