‘The riverbanks were crags and cliffs at first – the good black basalt of my homeland’s bones – and the fresh powder in front of us was unmarred by track or tread. But a few hours upriver, the cliffs gave way to lowlands and frozen deadwood, and I saw the twin arcs of sled blades and a multitude of dog tracks veer out from the banks onto the ice – Dior’s trail, sure and true. She’d carried her sled over the rocks and onto the river, hoping to hide her passing. But I knew a bloodhound as skilled as Danton wouldn’t be thrown off by so simple a ruse, and soon after, her tracks were lost in the tread of the things that followed her – a great host flooding out from the woods and pursuing her up the Mère. I pictured the highbloods and wretched Danton had brought with him, looked to the meagre supplies I carried, the broken blade at my waist. In truth, I didn’t know if it would be enough. But when there’s little you can do, do what little you can.
‘A snow hawk cut through the skies above me, mottled white and iron grey, calling upon the frozen air. My lancers ran onward into the blinding snows. The wind had shifted now, a howling northerly cutting like a sword down the Mère’s gut, the falling snow like razorblades. My collar was up about my face, my tricorn pulled low, but my eyes still burned, tears frozen on my cheeks, the chill making my knuckles ache.
‘The blackened sun was slinking towards its bed now, a moonsless night waiting in the wings, and still, no sign of my quarry. But as the daystar dipped towards the horizon, long shadows blurring in the muted light, my heart surged as I saw it in the distance; the faint churn of powder thrown up by hundreds of feet. And I realized I’d caught them, caught them both: Danton’s horde running hard on Dior’s heels, the girl fleeing before them as if the devil himself came behind.
‘She was bent over her sled, roaring for her dogs to “Run! RUN!” and spurred on by their fear of the Dead, the hounds barrelled down the ice like lightning. But as the sunlight failed, the Dead grew stronger, ran faster, drew closer, ever closer to their prize. The wretched ran first, like beasts before their masters’ whips. The highbloods came next, those dread cousins and children Danton had mustered to his aid, Ironhearts all. And at the last came the Beast of Vellene. I could see him now if I squinted. Rage flaring at the memory of him standing outside my home the night his father knocked three times on my door, bearing silent witness to the atrocities within.
‘I owed his famille blood. And tonight, tonight, I vowed, I’d begin to repay the sum.
‘The pipe was full and at my lips, and I breathed the colour of murder into my lungs. All the night came alive, every sense aflame, the smell of dogs and fresh sweat, the sound of thundering footsteps and galloping pulse, the sight of the enemy before me and the blade I bore, now naked and gleaming in my hand. But with sinking heart, I saw the last breath of sunset flee the sky, and my mind rang with the echoes of my childhood in the halls of San Michon; one of the first lessons I ever learned, before my name became legend and my love burned like summer flame and my pride brought it all to an end.
‘The Dead run quick.
‘They were at Dior’s heels now, claws outstretched. I saw they’d catch her long before I did, and in desperation, I roared her name. She looked back to me through the falling snow, and I thought perhaps I might see fear in her eyes at last. But instead, I saw a gleam, glass-sharp and gutterborn. Not the saviour of an empire nor the descendant of a God, but a street rat. A girl who’d grown up in dingy alleys and rotten hovels far from here, who’d survived by wits and guile, thief and trickster and incorrigible liar.
‘The flintbox she’d stolen flared, and her fuses began to spark. The silver dagger I’d given her flashed, and her dog team was cut free from their moorings. The breath left her lungs as she leapt free, dragged by the hounds along the ice and away from her sled as it wobbled and flipped behind her, the barrels she’d loaded and lit now spilling across the ice, branded with tiny Xs – the twin scythes of Mahné, Angel of Death.
‘“Black ignis,” I breathed.
‘“’Ware!” Danton roared. ‘“’WARE!”
‘The powder ignited, deafening blasts rippling across the valley and lighting the dark bright as the day. The closest wretched were engulfed or ripped to pieces by the explosion. But as the concussion struck the ice, reverberating hard enough that I felt it beneath me, at last I realized the genius of what Dior had done. The frozen surface of the Mère shattered in spectacular spirals, just as when Fortuna had bolted across the Ròdaerr. And just as I’d done that day, Danton’s legion found themselves plunging below the surface and into the icy depths of the still-running river below.
‘“Maggot trap,” I smiled.
‘A hundred at least, two of the highbloods among them, the entire shelf beneath them breaking apart. Only a few had mind enough to scream as the water washed the flesh off their bones and death, long-denied, wrapped them at last in loving arms.
‘But others scattered, Danton among them, veering away from the gulf and skipping across the shattering surface. Like shadows, fleet and deadly, they danced along the cracking frost closer to the shore, where the river was frozen all the way to its beds, and there, they continued pursuit. Dior’s gambit had carved a bleeding gouge through Danton’s force, but dozens of the vampires still remained – most of the highbloods and the Beast himself among them – and now, Dior’s folly was laid bare.
‘She was dragged along the ice behind her dogs, desperately clinging to the severed harness. I bent double, roaring at my own lancers to run onwards, swerving around the gulf in the shattered river glass and riding on. But Danton was filled with fury now, he and his cohort drawing closer, ever closer.
‘“I said I would hunt thee forever, girl!”
‘“F-fuck you!” she sputtered, holding on for dear life.
‘“You must say please, love!”
‘“Danton!” I roared. “Face me, coward!”
‘But the Beast ignored me, save to glance over his shoulder and gift me a murderous smile. I was still too far away to help her, barely keeping pace while the vampires gained with every step. If they caught her, those highbloods could keep me busy while the Beast made his escape with Dior, and all this, everything, would be for nothing. I heard that snow hawk calling again somewhere in the dark above, Ashdrinker’s voice ringing in my mind over the clamour of my pulse.
‘Ride, Gabriel! We m-must save her! RIDE!
‘And then, the inevitable happened. Dior’s dogs pounded onwards, terrified of the Dead, heedless of the girl they dragged behind. They dashed towards a drift of snow, a foot or two high across the ice, veering around it. But Dior shrieked as she swung wide on the harness, closing her eyes as she ploughed into the drift. Her grip failed, and with the sound of snapping whips, the harness broke free, sent her tumbling, sprawling, spilling through the snowbank and rolling to rest on the other side. She cracked her face on the ice, split her brow, blood on her hands and cheeks. I roared in horror as Danton howled in triumph, his highbloods swooping towards the fallen girl, his wretched scrambling, claws unfurled.