‘“Bellamy?” Saoirse cried.
‘“I’ll go fetch them! Fall back to the inner circle!” I shouted. “Pretty please!”
‘One tablespoon of oil …
‘“Get Dior!” Chloe cried. “Gabriel, he’s all that matters!”
‘“Just go, damn you! I’ll get them all!”
‘“Phoebe, go wi’！” Saoirse split a wretched’s head in half, spun on her heel and chopped another one’s guts clean through. “Go!”
‘I dashed off through the dark, wiping blood from my eyes. The lioness dashed ahead, razor-quick. Crossing the thoroughfare and leaping our barricade, I glanced towards the gates, saw Dior hurling bottles and shouting triumphant curses. “Suck my cock, you fuc—”
‘“Lachance, fall back!”
‘“But they’re not through yet!”
‘Two onions, finely d-diced …
‘“Give it a rest, Ash! And get your scrawny arse back behind the barricade before I feed you to the Dead, boy!”
‘Heart pounding, I dashed through a twisted alleyway towards the westward breach. Ahead, I saw a ghostly glow, ripe with sounds of murder and the stink of burning flesh. And rounding the corner, I skidded to a halt, hand up to shield my eyes.
‘Père Rafa stood like a beacon in the dark, silver wheel in one skinny fist. Long shadows were etched in grey snow, the sigil casting a blinding beam of light into the dark before him. Bellamy stood beside the priest, bleeding from a vicious gash above his eye, longblade in one hand, a flaming torch in the other.
‘“The Lord is my shield, unbreakable!” Rafa cried. “He is the fire that burns away all darkness!”
‘Impressive, Ashdrinker whispered.
‘“Nobody asked you,” I replied, lopping another wretched head into the snow.
‘I remember n-nights when ye shone just as—
‘“Shut up, Ash,” I hissed.
‘The blade spoke truth – old Rafa was impressive. Wherever his light struck the wretched, they fell back as if touched by fiercest flame. Problem was, the light shone only where the priest pointed it. Bellamy was doing his best to keep the bastards off the old man’s back, swinging that torch like a club. But the pair were encircled now.
‘I dashed into the freezing dark, hacking through the coldbloods and roaring over the storm. “Bouchette! Rafa! This way!”
‘The pair broke through the gap I’d carved, dashed into the alleyway at my back. I followed, hand up against Rafa’s light as the priest covered our retreat. The wretched scattered, some seeking other paths, others scrambling on our tails. Bellamy helped Rafa over our barricade, the old man gasping and holding his chest. I cut down the wretched on our backs – a maid with cherry curls, a soldier with scarred arms, an elderly man, naked and sagging – no thought for what they’d been but only what they’d become, and my old friend hatred burning bright for the one that had let it all come to this.
‘“Gabriel!” Chloe cried. “Why aren’t you silverclad?”
‘I ignored Chloe’s cry, hacking at the bastards in the barricade. Their numbers were thinning, but not yet enough. Fearless, mindless, they crashed against the timbers, clawing and climbing. Dior came running from the gates with a mangled mob on his tail, leaping the barricade like a dancer and rolling to his feet.
‘“Dior, get back to the cathedral!”
‘“I’ll not leave you, Sister Chloe!”
‘“Dior, Godsakes, do as I say!”
‘The boy ignored her, stabbing at a coldblood’s eyes with his silver dagger. Chloe and Saoirse stood back to back, the sister keeping the wretched off the slayer’s arse as Saoirse sowed mayhem. Phoebe struck beyond our blockade, ripping the Dead to ribbons before slinking back into the dark. The wretched’s numbers were thinning, bodies fallen around my feet. If I squinted hard, I could see light at tunnel’s end.
‘But then, as always, came the dark.
‘A pack of the cleverest Dead had stolen over the rooftops, dropping into our midst. Dior cried warning, lashing out with his silver knife. But the boy squealed as the monsters leapt upon him, and at his screams, Rafa and Chloe turned their holy light towards him.
‘The wretched atop Dior flinched backwards, scrabbling, scrambling, but both priest and sister had left their backs unattended. Phoebe and Saoirse held off the flood, but armed only with his torch, Bellamy couldn’t manage. The wretched ripped over the barrier, the soothsinger crying out as Dead weight bore him down, Dead teeth tore his skin. Like dominoes falling, the collapse began, the corpse of a spry teenage boy leaping onto Rafa’s back with a blacktooth grin. The priest roared, old knees and old hands failing him, his wheel glinting silver as it flew from his fingers.
‘Rafa screamed “God help me!” as the deadboy ripped out a bloody mouthful from his neck. The wretched flinched back, gurgling as Ashdrinker sent its head spinning into the dark. Bellamy was flailing, blood on his hands and face as he punched and kicked at the corpses piling atop him. I carved through them, Chloe beside me, silversteel sword flashing as she screamed from the Book of Vows.
‘“Turn ye now, oh faithless kings of men! And look upon thy queen!”
‘It was foolish. Necks ripped like that, arteries opened like love letters, Rafa and Bellamy were already dead. And in helping them, we’d left Dior – the boy now crying out as a quick-fingered, blood-slicked horror bore him back down into the snow. Another piled atop him as he stabbed and stabbed, and his squeal ripped the night as his arm was wrenched backwards, the wretched lunging like raptors and biting deep into his skin.
‘“Dior!”
‘I heard a sound then. Like not to a sound, but a movement, as if the earth shook once and then all upon it, human and beast and them between, held their breath. And those wretched atop the boy reeled back as if struck by the fist of God, and bloody eyes wide, I saw it begin – a glow, burning white-hot in those greedy throats. It spread like flame to tinder in dim-remembered summers, and in a heartbeat, each wretched screamed as if it remembered what it was to hurt, and burst into a pillar of white-hot flame.
‘The fire seethed, burning them to bones and ash, and above the sound of bursting bellies and crackling bones I heard Ashdrinker’s silvered cry inside my head: ‘Fight, ye pretty fool!
‘I did as I was bid, hacking at the remaining Dead. Some had sense enough to flee, others stood dumbstruck in the glow of that flame, brought low by me or Phoebe or Saoirse. And in a few heartbeats, the tide had turned, our foes scattered into the storm or spattered red in the soaking snows at our feet.
‘“Dior!” Chloe skidded to her knees at the boy’s side. “Oh God, are you aright?”
‘Face splashed with blood, I thrust Ashdrinker into the snow. Dragging the coldblood corpses off the fallen priest, I sank to my knees beside him. Saoirse did likewise with Bellamy, the soothsinger gasping as blood frothed from his torn throat. He was barely more than a boy, the poor fool. Rafa was facedown in a widening puddle, and I rolled the old bastard onto his back, pressed my hand to his sundered throat. The once-gushing river was now only a trickle.