‘“My brother. My best boy.”
‘And then his hoof found the rabbit hole. His foreleg sank into the earth, the joint snapped with an awful craaack, his screams filling my ears as we fell. I smashed into the ground, felt something break, gasping with agony as I rolled to rest against a rotten stump. My sword had slipped from its scabbard and was lying in the muck. My skull was ringing, fire raging down my arm. I knew in a heartbeat I’d snapped it – that familiar broken-glass grind under my skin. Not so bad it wouldn’t be healed by morning. But the same couldn’t be said for poor Justice.’
Gabriel sighed, long and deep.
‘I rose up from my boy’s wreck, hands and chin blacked with mud. Looking at the shank of bone torn through his fetlock as he tried to rise, brave to the last.
‘“Oh no,” I breathed. “No, no.”
‘Justice screamed again, wild with agony. I turned my face to the heavens above, a familiar rage swelling in my chest. I looked down at my friend, my arm bleeding, throat tightening, heart breaking. He’d been with me since that first day in San Michon. Through blood and war, fire and fury. Seventeen years. He was all I had left. And now … this?
‘“God fucking hates me,” I whispered.
‘And why think ye that might be, m-might be?
‘The voice came as it always did. Silver-soft ripples inside my head. I ignored it best I could, watching as my brother tried to stand on his broken leg. His fetlock bent wrong, and down he went again, big brown eyes rolling in his skull. His agony was my agony.
‘Know ye what must be d-done, Gabriel, came the silvered voice again.
‘I looked to the longblade at my feet, naked and spattered with mud. The double-handed haft was bound in black leather, its silvered hilt crafted like a beautiful woman, her arms spread to form the crossguard. The blade was curved and elegant, shaped in an archaic Talhostic style, but still possessed of a deadly grace. Forged from the dark belly of a fallen star in an age whose name was legend. But it was broken. Lifetimes ago, it seemed now.
‘Six inches snapped from the tip.
‘“Shut up,” I told it.
‘They shall smmmell him. Tear him to p-pieces, aye, sticky red, red sticky, as he screams and screams and screeeeams. This be sugarsweet mercy.
‘“Why do you always tell me what I already know?”
‘Why do ye always n-n-need me to?
‘I looked my horse in his eyes, the pain of my broken arm forgotten. Of all those I’d called friend over the years, Justice was the only one who remained. And through his pain and fear, in the darkest of all his hours, he looked to me. His Gabriel. The one who’d met him as a boy in the stables at San Michon, who’d ridden him from that place into exile when not a single one of his so-called brothers had come to say farewell. He trusted me. Despite his hurt, he knew I’d somehow make it all right.
‘And I put my sword right through his heart.
‘It wasn’t the swiftest end I could’ve gifted him. I had a shot loaded in my wheellock. But nightfall was only two hours away, and the town of Dhahaeth was at least four on foot. The wretched were apparently thick as flies on shite around these parts now, and a man unhorsed is just a meal uneaten.
‘Always better to be a bastard than a fool.
‘But still, I sat with Justice as he died. His head sinking heavy into my lap as he bled his last out into the mud. The sky was dark with shadow, my tears hot in the freezing rain. My broken longblade was stabbed into the muck, bright with my friend’s blood. I stared up to the heavens above, the God I knew was watching.
‘“Fuck you,” I told him.
‘G-gabriel, the blade whispered in my head.
‘“And fuck you too,” I hissed.
‘Gabriel, she repeated, more urgent.
‘“What?” I glared at the sword, my voice choked. “Can you not give me one breath to mourn him, you unholy bitch?”
‘The blade spoke again, chilling my blood.
‘Gabriel, th-they are coming.’
II
THE THREE WAYS
‘THE BOY RAN first. The little one. No more than six when he Became. He moved swift as a deer, down the valley right towards me. The others followed: the blonde woman, a haggard man, another man shorter and broader. At least two dozen in the pack now.
‘With a gasp, I was on my feet, broken arm swinging useless at my side. The pain returned as I tore my saddlebags loose with my good hand, sheathing my broken blade. I bid my poor brother farewell, and then I was running, down the valley towards that ribbon of distant road. The ford was at least three miles past it. There was little chance I could outpace a pack of wretched for that long. But I knew they’d stop for Justice – his blood was pooled in the mud, ripe in the air. Mongrels like these wouldn’t be able to resist.
‘I could feel the shakes, the thirst making my heart stutter, my belly ache. Stumbling, almost slipping in the mud, I snatched a glass phial from my bandolier. Just a pinch of powder remained in the bottom, the colour of rose petals and chocolat, the promise of it making my hand shake all the worse. But reaching into my greatcoat, my heart sank into my boots as I realized my flintbox was gone.
‘“Fuck my face …” I whispered.
‘I groped around my belt, my coat, but I already knew the tale; I must have lost it when Justice threw me. And now I had no way to even the odds stacked against me.
‘And so I ran on, slinging my broken arm up inside my bandolier and wincing in agony. It would heal with time, but the wretched would give me none. My only hope now was the river, and that was slim hope at best. If they caught me, I’d be dead as Justice.’
Jean-Fran?ois looked up from his tome. ‘You feared them that much?’
‘The graveyards of the world are full of fools who thought of fear as anything but a friend.’
‘Perhaps your legend has swelled in the telling, de León.’
‘Legends always do. And ever in the wrong direction.’
The vampire brushed his golden curls aside, dark eyes roaming Gabriel’s broad shoulders. ‘It is said you were the most fearsome swordsman who ever lived.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ The silversaint shrugged. ‘But let’s put it this way; you’d not want to flip me the Fathers if I had something sharp nearby.’
The vampire blinked. ‘Flip you the Fathers?’
Gabriel raised his right hand, fingers extended, then cupped his forearm with his left. ‘Old Nordish insult. It implies your mama had so many men in her bed that your paternity is impossible to determine. And insulting my mama is a good way to get your face stabbed.’
‘Then why flee? A paragon of the Silver Order? Wielder of the Ashdrinker himself? Running like a whipped pup from a pack of foulbloods?’
‘Law the Third, vampire.’
Jean-Fran?ois tilted his head. ‘The Dead run quick.’
Gabriel nodded. ‘There were two dozen of the bastards. My swordarm was broken in at least two places. And like I said, I had no way to smoke.’
Jean-Fran?ois glanced to the bone pipe on the table before them.
‘So reliant upon sanctus, were you?’
‘I wasn’t reliant on sanctus, I was addicted to it. And oui, I had other tricks among my gear, but my arm was twice-fucked, and it was too much to risk fighting that many. I’d little hope of outpacing them either, truth told, but I’ve always been too stubborn to just lie down and die. And so, I tried to boot it. Rain in my eyes. Heart in my throat. Thinking of all I’d meant to do returning here and wondering if I’d ever get to do any of it. I glanced back and saw the wretched were finishing with Justice’s body. They rose from the mud and came on, lips red, teeth bright.