VI
THE PLAN
‘“WRETCHED,” SAOIRSE REPORTED. “A pack o’ them. Headed this way.” ‘We were gathered in the commonroom of the Hammered Smith, the dark sun slinking towards the horizon as if it’d earned a rest. Bellamy had got a fire roaring, and I had my gloves off, warming my hands in the twice-blessed heat.
Saoirse crouched beside Phoebe, scratching the big cat under her collar. The lioness yawned, steam rising off her russet fur as she stretched out beside me, close to the flames. ‘Old Rafa’s voice was muffled inside the blankets he’d stolen from upstairs. ‘“How many?” ‘“A dozen, mebbe,” Saoirse replied. “Phoebe spied them a few miles east.
Moving slow in the storm, like. But they’ll move quicker when the sun goes all the way down.” ‘“They may pass us by,” I said. “We’ve no reason to think they know we’re here.” ‘Chloe met my eyes. “They know, Gabe. They’re coming for us.” ‘“… How can you be certain?” ‘Saoirse hefted her axe and shield. “They’re comin’, Silversaint.” ‘I sighed, dragged my hand through my hair. A dozen wretched were nothing to scoff at, but at least we had warning they were on the way. So I reached out to give Phoebe a grateful pat. “Merci, mademois – fuck!” ‘The lioness snarled and bared her fangs, and I snatched my hand back before she took it off at the wrist. Saoirse looked down at my tattooed fingers and grinned. ‘“Might want to be keepin’ yer hands to yerself. Like most lasses, Phoebe’s not wild about touchin’ without permission.” ‘The she-lion licked her scarred chops, growled deep enough for me to feel it in my chest. ‘“So noted.” I slipped my gloves back on and stood. “Right, well. If we’re
‘“So noted.” I slipped my gloves back on and stood. “Right, well. If we’re certain these unholy bastards are on the way, we’d best get our garters up and
our pants back on.” ‘“You mean to fight them?” Rafa asked. ‘“We sure as hell can’t run in this storm. Once we repair the palisade, we have a fortified position. And we’ve a lake behind us.” ‘Bellamy frowned. “Old ballads speak ill of armies that fought with water to their backs, Chevalier. If memory serves, you yourself won the Battle of Tarren Moor by—” ‘“What do you get when you add a priest to water, Bouchette?” ‘“In this weather?” Dior frowned at the shivering Rafa. “Pneumonia?” ‘I picked up a dusty wine bottle and twisted the old candle stump from its neck. “Watch and learn, you little shitweasel.” ‘We set about it, and though Saoirse still rankled a little at being told what to do, Chloe’s faith in me was enough to carry her over the line. I drew a map of the town in charcoal on the Hammered Smith’s floorboards and set each member of the company a task. Thinking swift. Talking swifter. It’d been more than a decade since I led the defence of anything more than a moment of peace and quiet on the privy, but the mantle slipped over my shoulders like a well-worn coat. ‘Bellamy and I set about repairing the defences, tearing timbers from abandoned houses and piling them in the palisade breaches. I took another hit from my pipe, blood-red and brimming, and the young soothsinger stood wide- eyed as I rammed broken timbers into the frozen earth by hand, smashing them deeper with a sledgehammer scrounged from the stables. ‘After an hour or so, Dior came crunching through the howling snow, pushing a barrow piled with wine bottles full of cloudy loch water. Climbing the stairs, the boy began stacking them on the highwalks beside the breaches. ‘Bellamy tipped his cap and grinned. “All’s well, M. Lachance?” ‘The boy shrugged, called over the roaring wind. “Saoirse found an old barrel of tallow in the pub cellar, and Sister Chloe is fashioning some fire arrows with it. Père Rafa’s spitting blessings fast as he can.” Dior hefted one of the bottles in hand, glanced at me. “I have to admit, I’m two-thirds of one-eighth impressed, hero.” ‘I slammed another timber downwards, teeth gritted as it crunched into the ground. “You honestly can’t imagine the relief I feel at meeting your approval, boy.” ‘“If you’re impressed now, Dior, wait ’til tonight. You’re like to see a sight unrivalled.” Bellamy pulled his cloak tighter, grinning. “To witness the Black
Lion himself in battle … the Ashdrinker unleashed. God Almighty, that’ll be worth a song and no mistake.” ‘I slammed another timber home. Dior climbed down from the palisade, gazing at Ashdrinker. I worked easier with the blade off my hip, and so I’d set her against the barricade. The boy’s eyes roamed the beaten scabbard, the
silvered maid on the crossguard. ‘“Does it really … speak to you?” ‘“More’s the pity,” I grunted, slamming another beam down. ‘“Where’d it come from?” ‘“Ah, there’s the rub, Dior,” Bellamy replied. “No one knows. A mentor of mine, the famed soothsinger Dannael á Riagán, sings that the Black Lion took the blade from the halls of a sleepless barrowking, deep in the weald of Nordlund. But the historian Saan Sa-Asad tells that the chevalier won Ashdrinker in a riddle contest with a nameless elder horror, deep in the bowels of the Godsend Everdark. I even heard one tale that the Lion took Ashdrinker from the trove of the dread faequeen, Ainerión. Her kiss spells death for any mortal man, Dior, and yet the Lion loved Ainerión so long and so sweetly, he was able to steal the enchanted blade from her bedside after she collapsed in exhaustion. But as far as I know, the chevalier has never once confirmed any of these tales.” ‘Bellamy looked to me hopefully, one eyebrow cocked. ‘“Shut the fuck up, Bouchette.” ‘“How’d it break?” Dior asked, eyes still on the sword. ‘“Eh?” Bellamy blinked. ‘“The end,” the boy said. “The pointy bit, whatever you call it.” ‘“The tip?” ‘“Oui. I saw it when we came through the walls. It’s been broken off.” ‘Bellamy tilted his rake’s hat back and rubbed his chin. “I confess I didn’t notice. No tale ever mentioned the blade being broken at all. But … to the bold, the bouquet.” The youngster walked towards Ashdrinker, hand outstretched.
“Mayhaps we can ask her?” ‘“Oi!” I snapped. “Touch that sword and you’ll be playing your lute with your fucking toes, Soothsinger.” ‘“I jest, mon ami.” Bellamy tipped me a wink and a roguish smile. “A fellow who lays a familiar hand on another man’s blade might as well be laying hand on his bride. And I never touch brides without express invitation.” ‘“You’re a bastard, Bel,” Dior grinned. “A scoundrel, a bounder, and a cad.” ‘“I’m a romantic, M. Lachance. Stick with me long enough, I’ll teach you how.” ‘“Meantime, how about the pair of you get the fuck back to work?” I growled.
‘“Meantime, how about the pair of you get the fuck back to work?” I growled. ‘The soothsinger pulled his cloak tighter and scratched his dark curls. Dior scoffed and trudged off into the snow. We piled the breaches as high and thick as we could, leaving only the main gate unlocked for Saoirse to return by. Stacking the boulevard and narrow streets with broken furniture and timbers, we created an inner ring to fall back to if things went tits up. It was bitter cold, and by the time we were done, night had fallen like an anvil. But still, I was satisfied.
Between our walls and weapons, we could see off a dozen wretched. With the storm raging on, Bellamy and I trudged back to the Hammered Smith. ‘The company were within, Rafa bent over a pot steaming in the hearth. ‘“Is that fucking potato again?” ‘“I have turnip, if you prefer,” the old priest smiled. ‘“Where’s Saoirse?” Chloe asked. ‘“Still scouting with Phoebe,” Bellamy replied. “They’ll return anon.” ‘I grabbed a bowlful of accursed spuds, scoffed them quick enough not to touch the sides. Walking a slow circle, I scuffed the charcoal map I’d drawn on the boards with my bootheels. For a moment, I was reminded of San Michon’s Library; that great, grand map of the empire across its floor. ‘“Through blood and fire, now dance with me.” ‘I glanced up as Chloe murmured, saw her eyes fixed on mine. I knew she was living the same moment I was. How long ago it all seemed then. And how far away. ‘“Right.” I tapped the map with one toe. “I’ll man the gates, with little Lord Talkstoomuch on the highwalk. Chloe, you and Saoirse take the east breach, Rafa and Bellamy the west. If you hit trouble, sing out. I’ll be there. If we’re overrun, fall back to the inner circle, then the cathedral. Holy ground will keep them at bay as a last resort.” ‘“Why not retreat to the cathedral now?” Rafa asked. ‘“And then what? Hole up inside until we starve to death? These things can wait forever if they’ve a want to. But don’t concern yourself, priest. These rotten bastards will come at us mindless and frontways without a bloodlord leading them.” ‘Dior was finishing off his second helping, talking with ballooning cheeks.
“You asked the soldier we met about that. What’s a bloodlord?” ‘“Highbloods can control the lower caste of vampires, Dior,” Chloe replied.
“The deeper their blood, the more wretched they can keep under sway. With an intelligence directing them, wretched are far more dangerous. But this rabble seem to have none.” ‘Rafa nodded, signing the wheel. “Thank the Almighty for his mercy.” ‘The boy swallowed his ambitious mouthful, staring at me. “And what did that
‘The boy swallowed his ambitious mouthful, staring at me. “And what did that soldier mean? When he said you bathed the battlefield silver?” ‘“Ah, the aegis,” Bellamy smiled. “The holy magik for which the silversaints are named and famed, Dior. See that ink on the Black Lion’s hands? In truth, it covers most of his body. And in battle, it serves as a conduit for his faith in our Lord above.” ‘The boy’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “You mean … you fight … naked?” ‘“Not entirely,” Chloe smiled. “Being silverclad, the Order names it.” ‘Bellamy nodded, eyes alight. “When the chevalier fights tonight, you’ll see the aegis aglow, like a thousand torches. At the siege at Tuuve, it’s said the Black Lion burned so—” ‘“Shut the fuck up, Bouchette,” I growled. “The holy water we’ve stocked in those wine bottles will scorch them better than acid. Likely not enough to kill them, but it’ll soften them up some. If they make it through the palisade, fire burns these leeches better than a gigolo with the clap. So if you’re not wielding silver, a torch is your best weapon.” ‘Rafa’s fingers brushed his wheel, eyes on the sevenstar around Chloe’s neck.
“I can think of another weapon, Silversaint. Faith is more than a match for any flame.” ‘“Mayhaps you could pray for an angel or two, then? See if any show up?” ‘The old man smiled at me, dark eyes twinkling over his spectacles. “I think God has already sent us angels enough, mon ami. But I shall pray he watch over
us this night nevertheless.”
‘“And what’s the point of that, priest?
‘Rafa blinked. “What is the point of—” ‘“Praying. Oui.” ‘The old man looked at me as if I’d asked the point of breathing. “I …” ‘“Two soldiers stand on a field of battle,” I told him. “Both are convinced God is on their side. Both pray to their Lord and Redeemer to smite their enemy low, and to the Mothermaid to protect them from all harm. But somebody’s going to lose. Somebody’s wasting their fucking time. Maybe, just maybe … it’s both of them?” ‘The priest frowned. “God cannot be said to be on the side of the Dead.” ‘“You’re missing the point, old man. All on earth below and hea’en above is the work of my hand …” ‘“… And all the work of my hand is in accord with my plan.” ‘“You think those refugees we met on the road didn’t pray with everything they had to not lose their homes? You think Lachlunn á Cuinn didn’t pray for his
wife and son to stay alive? See, that divine plan shite is what the pulpit-hucksters feed you when things start to go wrong. After they’ve passed around the collection plate, of course. When your crops fail or your cancer spreads or whatever else you’ve begged him for doesn’t come to pass. That’s the solace they’ll offer. It’s God’s will, they’ll tell you. Part of the divine plan. ‘“What they don’t point out is, if he has a plan? There’s no sense praying for anything. If His will be done is the golden rule, then God’s going to do what he wants, regardless of how hard you beg him. And imagine, just for a second, the sense of entitlement it takes to ask him for anything in the first place. The fucking ego you’d need to think that this is somehow all for you. What if you ask for something that’s not his will? You want him to alter the course of the divine plan? For you? See, that’s the grift of it all. That’s the genius. You get what you pray for? Huzzah, God fucking loves you. But your prayers go unanswered?” I snapped my fingers. “Just wasn’t part of the plan.” ‘I tipped a dose of sanctus into my pipe under Chloe’s worried gaze. ‘“I’ve stood in the houses of the holy, priest. I’ve read his scripture cover to cover, I’ve sung praises to his name, and I tell you now and tell you true: one hand holding a sword is worth ten thousand clasped in prayer.” ‘“There be no tree with branches that reach to heaven,” Rafa quoted, “that hath not roots that stretch to hell. And we h—” ‘“Chloe!” ‘The priest fell silent as the slayer burst through the door, eyes wide. ‘“Saoirse?” Chloe rose to her feet. “What is it?” ‘“Phoebe’s back.” The girl clawed the snow from her braids, stomping her feet. “The wretched are ten minutes oot. But there’s nae a dozen.” ‘Dior stood, his face pale. “… There’s more?” ‘The slayer hefted her axe, nodded grim. “Fifty. At least.” ‘“Fifty wretched …” Chloe breathed. “Against seven of us.” ‘Bellamy looked around the room, eyes wide. “My God.” ‘I struck my flintbox and chuckled, meeting the priest’s eyes. ‘“Sure you don’t want to pray for those angels, old man?”’
