'Then what in the name of Ghenna's deepest pit are you doing here?' Doranei yelled, his temper boiling over.
Zhia's face softened and, quite unexpectedly, she smiled at him. 'Your simple-mindedness is rather endearing,' she said. 'I'm here be¬cause I knew you'll follow your king wherever he goes, and he will not be dissuaded in his pursuit.' She reached out and tenderly ran a gloved finger over the exposed skin of his cheek. And because I seem to have not learned from past mistakes I find myself trailing along after you.' Zhia paused and gave a sad smile. 'Still, I doubt there's much left for me in the way of punishment this time round.'
She stepped away and pointed out over the wreckage to the south.
Doranei followed her finger and looked through the waning flames to see a group of figures advancing on them. 'Here come your Brothers,' she said breezily, drawing her sword once more. '1 presume Rojak will consider that his cue.'
Doranei's anger had been supplanted by dread as the truth of her words sank in. Rojak had been the architect of this horror, and who could say how far his plans had run?
He staggered back, his ankle catching a splintered beam with enough force to drive a long splinter through the leather before break¬ing off. Doranei stared down at it as though he'd never seen such a thing before, his mind momentarily fogged. Inside his boot he could feel the sharp scratch of wood against his skin. The splinter – as long as his little finger and almost as thick – hadn't pushed into his flesh, but he could distinctly feel it scrape over his unbroken skin.
He broke out in a manic grin as he bent down to tug the piece of wood from his boot. He inspected the hole it had made. 'And I bleed so easily,' he muttered to himself, 'far too easily, in most cases.' Holding the splinter up to his face, Doranei examined it. 'But you, my friend, somehow you couldn't manage that,' he said, flicking the piece away into the crackling pyre.
He watched the curling flames dance as it was consumed, the heat making the air above waver indistinctly and stinging his eyes. He blinked furiously as he tried to clear his sight. He'd seen something beyond the flames, but what? A random shadow the heat had shaped into something more? Or-
'Oh Gods,' he breathed as his eyes focused again. Through the flames, staring back at him, was a massive eye. Gleaming gold in the firelight, the eye bobbed and wove through the darkness as it watched him. Oh vengeful Death, Doranei thought, hypnotised by the move¬ment, that's a long way to move a head. That's a long bloody neck.
Haipar saw it too and immediately leaped forward over the flames, her body morphing into her animal self, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Without warning the eye snapped sideways and lunged forwards, the shine of another appearing as the creature turned to face Doranei. His hand tightened around his weapons as the head came close enough to the fire to be visible. A tapering muzzle opened to reveal long dagger-like fangs and rows of smaller teeth. Its head was crowned by fat, stubby horns.
Oh piss and daemons. Doranei scrambled backwards, almost falling over the fallen acolyte behind him. 'Wyvern!' he yelled, finding his voice at last.
The moment balanced on a knife-edge, the air charged with ex¬pectation as Doranei readied himself for the creature to leap through the flames. Distantly he heard Zhia spit harsh syllables he couldn't understand and the air shuddered with the impact of the spell. The fires ahead of him suddenly surged up bright and fierce into the night air, the heat striking him like a mailed fist. He raised an arm to protect his face as a reptilian shriek rang out.
'Haipar's out there,' Doranei yelled, but the only response was laugher from behind him – Mikiss – and he turned to see the vampire raise his axes expectantly. He gave the King's Man a comradely nod, his canines now elongated and gleaming in his smile. Doranei felt a small shiver; Mikiss had looked about to turn on him as he argued with Zhia, but now they were friends again? A soldier who couldn't depend on those beside him never lasted long.
'I can't help Haipar if she wants to fight on her own,' Zhia said calmly, her hands tracing shapes in the air as she continued to weave her magic. 'A wyvern means Mistress is working for Rojak now; I wonder how many of the Raylin I employed are now against us.' She shrugged. 'I don't suppose that will make much difference, even if they were all here.'
'Zhia!' Doranei had to shout to get her attention. 'However many are out there, so is King Emin and my Brothers. We have to help them.'
'And so we shall,' she replied almost dismissively, 'but I don't want to act prematurely.'
'What are you talking about?' he asked, but his voice was drowned out by an ear-splitting crack echoing around the street. Doranei turned back, unable to see anything through the flames but certain he recognised the sound of one of Cetarn's favourite spells. 'Do you hear?' he cried in dismay. 'They're being attacked. Zhia, please!'
A greenish glow pulsing with energy surrounded Zhia as she put her hand to the Skull she carried. 'Yes, I think you're right,' she said softly, before raising her voice to a shout that made Doranei's bones tremble. 'Koezh!'
The wall of fire winked out in an instant. Doranei blinked at the darkness, blind and afraid as he sensed movement all around him. Another whip-crack.sound rang out from somewhere to his right and as he took an involuntary step forward, something flashed towards him. Without thought he stepped aside and lashed out with his sword, which caught something, though his night-blindness obscured all detail. An inhuman snarl came from behind him – one of the vampires he guessed, but the sound was so savagely animal he could not tell whether it was Mikiss or Zhia – and a figure darted forwards, striking out at whatever he'd found.
Doranei didn't hesitate to follow; he'd done his share of sewer-fighting, combat in the dark where blows were guided by sound, following shadows moving in darkness. Something scraped down his chest and Doranei wheeled and struck again. He was rewarded with the splash of blood, or something like, on his face. He hacked upwards with his axe to catch any downward blow, and felt the blade bite. It was the opening he needed; stepping forward he thrust the point of his sword forward at chest height. Wherever on the enemy it had struck, it went in deep and was wrenched out of his grip.
Doranei let it go and sank silently to a crouch, chopping down at some movement at his feet in case it wasn't just the kick of a dying man's leg, but the edge only clattered against stone and made him gasp at the impact running through his hands. Nearby he heard a short laugh, someone who was enjoying this as much as Doranei wasn't.
'Not bad,' Mikiss said in his heavy Menin accent, stepping out of the gloom to look Doranei in the face. All around the darkness began to resolve into shapes as detail returned, figures running past, paying them no heed. He looked down at where he thought the corpse would be, but had to adjust his gaze to several yards further away.
'Not bad at all,' Mikiss continued, 'you couldn't even see it like I could, and you're the one that dealt the final blow.'
Doranei's eyes widened as he saw the twitching body of the wyvern on the ground, the hilt of his sword protruding from its mouth. Gods, I drove my hand in there? The head was at an angle, and the hilt rested against the wicked curved tip of its upper fang. Someone was looking down on me with a kind heart; a few inches to either side and all I'd have caught would have been one of those teeth in the back of my hand.
Mikiss was clearly thinking the same thing as he tugged the sword from the wyvern's head and offered it to the King's Man. A perfect strike,' he said. An uncertain expression crossed his face, wavering between fearful and awestruck.
For a moment Doranei caught a glimpse of the man Mikiss must have once been. He gave a brusque nod in reply and turned his attention to the figures streaming past. Over the thump of boots on the ground he heard weapons clashing and screams of the dying, but he could see little other than the flood of soldiers filling the street, charging towards the sounds of battle with grim intent. Haipar was nowhere to be seen.