The pressure sought to rebuff her, but she pushed harder – and then she was through, floundering, unable to breathe, the cold crushing her – she saw her blood billowing out as if under water, saw it spin on currents – so much of it – she almost lost sight of Aranict.
Desperate, feeling her bones cracking, Faint pushed closer, reached out and took the Atri-Ceda into an embrace.
Mael … don’t you dare … don’t you dare tell me this is not enough.
Precious Thimble had stared, disbelieving, as Faint struggled to reach Aranict. Her blood was a thick billowing cloud streaming out from her, curling round to whirl into the dark cloud. There seemed to be no end to it.
Someone had taken hold of the witch – strong arms closing round her, lifting her from the ground. Twisting now, she looked up.
Amby Bole’s face was almost unrecognizable. ‘This is bad magic,’ he said.
‘Save Faint! Save her!’
But the man shook his head. ‘No one can live in there.’
‘Save her, Amby! For my love – save her!’
His frown deepened, his eyelids suddenly fluttering, and he met her eyes. ‘What?’
‘You want me? I’m yours, damn you – just save Faint!’
Bole threw her down, visage darkening. ‘All the fun ended with you! I don’t want you, witch! I don’t ever want to see you again!’
Precious stared up at him, and then she snarled. ‘I will chase you, Amby! I’ll hunt you down, no matter where you go! Year after year, I will follow you, I swear it! There’s nowhere you can run to – you understand me? Nowhere!’
‘I hate you!’
‘The only place you could hope to escape me – is there!’ and she pointed at that billowing cloud of blood now obscuring Faint and Aranict.
Amby made an animal cry, spun and ran heavy-footed – straight into the crimson cloud.
Precious Thimble fell back. Gods below but that man is stupid!
‘Hold on, my love,’ whispered a voice close to Faint’s ear. ‘Some laws even an Elder God cannot easily defy. But he’s trying.’
Faint felt the life leaving her. She was lying against the legs of Aranict – she could feel them cold as bars of ice. Were her eyes open? All she could see was the redness of her own blood. ‘Sweetest, is that you?’
‘Always knew you had a romantic streak. What a thing to do!’
‘I’m dying.’
‘Looks like it. Regretting your moment of madness?’
Faint shook her head – or tried to. ‘Only if it fails.’
‘Well, how often do we regret successes?’
‘Is it enough, Sweetie? It’s all I have.’
‘You’re in water, fool, of course it looks like a lot – and if you stay in here any longer you’ll bleed out for sure. Now, wish I could help you – wish I could help both of you, but I’m just a ghost. Well, not even that. Could be I’m just a voice in your head, Faint, born out of some bizarre misguided guilt.’
‘Oh, thanks for that.’
A foot slammed into the side of her head, half stunning her, and she struggled feebly as hands groped across her body, briefly closing on one of her tits before moving on – and then back again for a second squeeze.
Abruptly someone was lifting her from the muddy silts, throwing her over one bony shoulder. She felt one hand clutch and then leave her thigh, felt the fingers brush her knee as the arm reached out.
A deep grunt seemed to thrum through Faint, and she felt the stranger’s feet slip suddenly, as if pulled by some inexorable pressure – and then the heels planted firm, and – impossibly – she felt him heave back against the current. One step, and then another. Another …
Amby Bole reappeared from the crimson cloud, Faint hanging limp over one shoulder. His other arm was stretched back behind him, and Precious saw him strain, saw him leaning hard, and then out from the cloud emerged Aranict, held by the back of her collar, and after her – the naked form of Brys Beddict.
The cloud erupted, burst apart in a welter of icy water.
The four figures fell to the ground, Faint rolling out almost to the witch’s knees. Precious Thimble stared down, saw the blood still pumping from the woman’s slashed arms. She closed trembling hands on both wrists, healing spells tumbling out on her breath.
Soldiers were rushing up. Shouts filled the air.
Precious Thimble’s hands tightened on the wounds, but now there were only scars beneath her palms, and she could feel Faint’s pulse. But … gods, it’s there – I can feel it. It’s … faint. A sudden giggle escaped her – but that was just relief. She’d always hated puns. Proper women did. She scowled down at the scars. Hold on, where did I get that power? Looking up, she saw Amby Bole lying motionless on the muddy ground. Beyond him soldiers crowded round Aranict, who knelt with her prince, cradling his head on her lap.
And then Precious Thimble caught a glimpse of motion from one of Brys’s hands, out from under the cloak someone had thrown over him.
I can’t believe it.
Faint stirred, groaned, eyes opening, stared unseeing for a moment, and then focused on the witch. She slowly frowned. ‘I’m not dead?’
‘No. I’ve just healed you. The Atri-Ceda made it out, too. So did the prince. Your blood bought passage – though how that watery piss you call blood ever passed muster in the eyes of an Elder God, I’ll never know.’
‘What – but how? Who saved us? Who dragged us free?’
Sudden coughing from where Amby Bole lay sprawled.
Precious Thimble shook her head. ‘The only one who could, Faint, some idiot from Blackdog Swamp.’
The dozen menhirs erupting from the earthworks around Prince Brys Beddict had ruptured the embankment for sixty paces, driving fighting soldiers from their feet – bodies tumbling into the trenches even as enormous mounds of earth and stones poured down, burying scores alive.
The Ve’Gath beneath Grub elected to escape the chaos by leaping forward, across the entire trench, and landed close to where the Forkrul Assail stood. The K’Chain Che’Malle had shattered its halberd some time earlier, and now wielded a double-bladed axe in one hand and a falchion in the other.
The Forkrul Assail stood with his face stretched as if in agony, tilted back, the eyes shut and the mouth stretched wide open. When the Ve’Gath advanced, he gave no sign of awareness. Two swift thumping strides and the falchion swung down, taking the motionless Pure between his right shoulder and neck. The blade tore down through the chest, ripped free in a spray of bone shards.
The other Ve’Gath had followed its kin and now came in from the left. An instant after the first Ve’Gath’s attack, its heavy single-bladed axe slammed into the side of the Assail’s head in an explosion of skull fragments and gore.
The Forkrul Assail collapsed in red ruin.
Even as Grub struggled to wheel the beast round, two heavy quarrels hissed across – between him and the Ve’Gath’s head – and punched into the side of the other Ve’Gath. The impact staggered the giant reptile, and then it fell over, hind legs scything the air.
‘Back! Back across!’
The K’Chain Che’Malle burst into motion, sprinting down the length of the berm – fifteen, twenty paces, and then wheeling to plunge down amidst crowds of Kolansii in the first trench. Weapons hammered down, slashed and chopped a carnage-strewn path through to the other side.
Pike blades glanced across the armour encasing Grub’s legs and girdling his hips – and then they were clawing up the other side, winning free atop what remained of the first bank.
Grub looked round for the prince – for any officer – but the chaos reigned on all sides.
Had Brys fallen? There was no way of knowing.
But Grub now saw Letherii soldiers lifting their heads, saw them tracking his thumping trek across the front of the warring forces – watching the Ve’Gath clear attackers from its path with devastating sweeps of its bladed weapons.