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DIM AND DIMMER STILL
‘“VALIANT?” DIOR OFFERED.
‘“No,” I replied. ‘“Aright, what about … Courage?” ‘“That means the same thing as Valiant.” ‘“Chivalry, then?” ‘“It’s the worst kind of tosser who names his horse Chivalry, Dior.” ‘The girl rolled her eyes. “This from the man who named his sword Lionclaw.” ‘“I was fifteen, what the fuck do you want from me?” I growled. “And I told you, stop talking to Ashdrinker about my childhood. She wasn’t even there for most of it.” ‘“If you want Ash to stop telling me about you, you should stop loaning her to me.” ‘“Well, someone’s got to stop you from falling asleep on watch.” ‘“That’s happened once in two weeks. Climb off my tits about it, merci.” ‘We’d abandoned the frozen edge of the Volta, turned north onto a long, lonely road. A fortnight trekking through northern Ossway, and we’d seen few signs of life. All was silence, save the songs of starving crows, and all was stillness, save the eddies of falling snow. We passed bone-filled gibbets. Ghost villages, abandoned by all but corpse-fat rats. The hollowed wrecks of once- mighty castles. Old farmers’ fields that had become mass graves, the bodies frozen where they fell. Even the Dead had abandoned this place – just a few stray wretched to harry our steps, the best of which now resided in small glass phials inside my saddlebags. God was nowhere to be seen. ‘This was the empire I’d fought so hard to save – an ever-growing sea of ice and darkness, in which humanity’s light grew dim and dimmer still. But the
Nordlund was looming ahead of us, and I knew that in that shadowed sea, a few tiny flames lingered. ‘I’d taken to loaning Ashdrinker to Dior when the girl stood watch at night. I knew she’d no real idea how to swing a sword, but the blade would speak to her in the small hours, keeping her alert while I stole some sleep. I snatched only a handful every night, but thank fuck for the little I did get. Because God’s truth, Dior was close enough to sending me mad without adding sleep deprivation to
the mix.
‘“What about Gallantry?” she asked.
‘“No,” I replied.
‘“Greatheart?” ‘“Terrible.” ‘“Well, if you don’t like my suggestions, make your own,” the girl snarled.
“We can’t keep calling her Jezebel.” ‘“Lower your voice, for fucksakes.” ‘Dior spoke again, two octaves lower, “What, like this?” ‘“She’s a horse. She doesn’t give a shit what we call her.” ‘“She’s brave. She’s strong. She’s loyal.” Dior gave the mare a fond scratch behind the ears. “She deserves a name that says something about who she really is.” ‘“If that’s the way names work, why isn’t yours Annoying-the-Fuck-Out-of- Gabriel?” ‘Dior rolled her eyes. “You’re such an arsehole.” ‘“See, that’d work too.” ‘My lips twisted in a secret smile, and we set back to it. But trudging onwards, I soon found that smile fading. The dead trees were slowly thinning, and through the swirling snowfall, I could see what lay ahead. It was inevitable, of course – I’d been chewing on what to do about it for days. But I’d hoped we’d get farther before this particular bucket of cocks hit us full in the face. ‘“Shit,” I breathed. “The Ròdaerr.” ‘In front of us, the road dropped away to a steep bank and a broad river. The bridge had been torn down, twin mooring stones thrust up from the shoreline, one smeared with a bloody handprint. The Ròdaerr was only eighty yards wide.
But it was trouble nonetheless. ‘“Should be easy enough to cross,” Dior said. “It’s frozen solid.” ‘“Not solid,” I replied. “And that’s one problem.” ‘“We’ve more than one?” ‘I looked to the falling snows, shivering in the bone-cracking cold.
“Wintersdeep has finally caught us. Every river north of the Ūmdir is in the
process of freezing.” I met the girl’s eyes, shook my head. “We can’t reach San Michon like this, Dior.” ‘“But if the rivers are frozen … that’ll make it easier for us to travel, not harder.” ‘“Easier for us,” I nodded. “And the things chasing us. The coldest nights of the year are about to fall. The Beast of Vellene will be over the Volta and right up our arses with whatever strength he can muster along the way. Danton moves faster than we do. He knows where we’re headed. We won’t reach San Michon
before he runs us down.” ‘“Is there someplace we can shelter?” ‘I sighed, taking my old map from my britches. It was beaten, water-stained, crumpled, but the lines of the empire were still visible on the parchment. I tapped a small black star on the banks of the Mère. ‘“Château Aveléne,” Dior murmured. “What’s there?” ‘“Maybe, just maybe, a fire bright enough to burn Danton to ashes.” ‘“That path leads through the northern weald. Saoirse warned us not to go there. She said the Blight was far worse, that the—” ‘“We’re beggars, Dior, we don’t get to choose. But after the beating he gave us at San Guillaume, the Beast will think we’re shattered. Fleeing for our lives.
And in truth, that’s all we’ve been doing. I came north to kill this bastard and his whole accursed famille, and I’m sick of running. Do you trust me?” ‘The girl met my eyes and nodded. “I trust you, mon ami.” ‘I looked to the stretch of grey ice before us. “Aright, then. This is our road.” ‘“One that’s liable to crack right under our feet.” ‘“Right you are. So I’ll go first.” ‘Dior raised an eyebrow, looking from me to the frozen river, then back again.
“Don’t be daft, Gabriel.” ‘“I can find a safe path. I grew up in the Nordlund. I know ice.” ‘“I’ll go first. I’m faster. And smarter, just quietly. Hence not wanting to be stuck on this bank holding the horse while you bugger off alone.” ‘“You ever done this before?” ‘She shrugged. “The Lashaame River freezes in winter. They held a fair on it
once.” ‘“Soft city girls,” I tutted. ‘She scoffed, brushing snow off her frockcoat. “Tell me what to do then, bumpkin.” ‘“Walk slow,” I smiled. “Legs wide. If the ice cracks and you hit the water, the cold will knock the breath right out of your lungs. If that happens, keep your
head. Kick upwards. Turn around, and go out same way you went in. Still got that pig-sticker of yours?” ‘Dior shook her head. “Those bitches took it in Redwatch.” ‘“Here.” I unbuckled my dagger and sheath from my swordbelt. “If you hit water, stab it into the ice, pull yourself out. Just be mindful of the current.” ‘She hefted the blade, looking at the sevenstar embossed on the pommel, the Angel Eloise with wings spread across the hilt. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. ‘I nodded. “Forged by the finest smith San Michon ever knew. I’ve owned that blade seventeen years. Wore it through the Battle of the Twins. Báih Sìde.
Triúrbaile. Tuuve. Not many folks in the empire deemed worthy to carry silversteel.” ‘“I’ll give it back on the other side, I promise.” ‘“Keep it. It’s yours.” ‘Dior gazed at the dagger in her hand, fingertips running over the coat I’d given her. She brushed her hair down over her face, pressed her lips thin. ‘“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Lachance?” ‘She scoffed, dragging her armour back on. “Hard as fucking stone, me.” ‘“Just don’t sink like one. I don’t fancy diving in after you.” ‘And she smiled then. Because she knew I would. ‘Dior slipped down the frozen bank and took her first steps out onto the Ròdaerr. She moved in a crouch, lithe, fearless, sweeping the snow off the frozen surface with her palms as she went. The ice was pale grey, darkening as it grew thinner, and I imagined the river’s current, still rushing deadly and swift below that frozen crust. ‘Her path across the ice was wandering, zigzag, and my heart was climbing up into my throat watching. But finally, she reached the opposite bank, waved to me
in triumph.
‘“Come on, old man!” ‘“I’m thirty-fucking-two!” ‘She snapped a branch off a nearby tree, held it aloft. “Walking stick for you!” ‘“Little bitch.” I scratched Jezebel’s chin. “Aright, girl. Sunset waits for no saint.” ‘Taking the horse’s reins, I led her carefully down to the icy shore. The mare knew not what to make of the frozen water at first, but she followed faithfully as I shuffled slowly out onto the glass-smooth grey. It was easy going to begin with, the river frozen solid close to shore. But as we walked farther out, the crust grew thinner, shifting from snow grey to a deeper iron. The ice groaned a little under us now, bright ticking sounds ringing in my ears as tiny fractures began appearing under our feet. But Dior was no fool, and the path she’d chosen was
true. If it hadn’t been for God’s insistence on shoving his prick into my earhole at every opportunity, we’d have been gold as a sailor’s best teeth. ‘Jezebel sensed them first, ears pricking back, snorting. I caught something on the wind, tilting my head to listen. And I heard it then, soft as a feather and quick as a knife in the dark. Footsteps. Behind. ‘“Gabriel!” Dior shouted. ‘I turned, eyes narrowed as I spotted them: a ragged boy, an old man, a woman, young and broad. Three wretched were stumbling down the frozen banks behind me, hands and mouths black with dirt and old blood. ‘Now, normally this wouldn’t have meant more than a daily session of sword practice. Like I say, we’d stumbled across a few rotten coldbloods on our road.
But none of those bastards had appeared while we were halfway across a frozen fucking river. ‘I drew Ashdrinker, the sword glinting in my hand as the rotten little boy took
his first step out onto the ice. ‘R-r-run, Gabriel. ‘“They’re only three,” I growled. “Why the hell should I run?” ‘Because she w-will. ‘I realized it too late. I was too used to riding with Justice, see. But Jezebel was no bold sosya, raised in the belly of San Michon to be fearless of the Dead.
And after the massacre at San Guillaume, she seemed to hate and fear them more than most beasts. So when she caught a good whiff of those wretched on the wind, she huffed and reared up, and Dior’s path be damned, Jezebel thundered right the hell across the ice. ‘The ticking sounds turned to snapping, and the snapping to splintering. Deep, white cracks spread out like spiderwebs as a thousand pounds of terrified mare galloped across the river glass. The wretched were sprinting towards me, the old bastard slipping and scrabbling, the boy loping on all fours like a wolf, clawed fingers digging into the frozen surface. I felt the ice shift, pitching underneath me like the deck of a storm-tossed ship as Dior roared warning, as Ashdrinker’s
voice rang inside my head. ‘Run, ye blasted fool! ‘I turned and bolted, skipping across the shattering surface. The ice was breaking apart ahead of me; I saw it give way under Jezebel’s hindquarters, the mare screaming as she plunged through. A chunk of ice splintered under my silver heels and I stumbled, leaping onto a buckling shelf. And then, the entire world gave way under my feet. ‘I made a jump for it, sailing through the air as the shelf collapsed. But not quite far enough. The surface flipped and shattered as I struck it, splintering in maddened spiral patterns as my boots smashed through, the rest of me following,
maddened spiral patterns as my boots smashed through, the rest of me following, Ashdrinker roaring in my head as she slipped from my fingers and went skittering across the ice. And with a short, pitch-black curse, I plunged into the frozen Ròdaerr. ‘The shock punched me hard in the chest, and just as I promised Dior, all the breath fled my lungs. I’d cracked my skull on the shelf as I went under, tasting blood in my mouth as the cold stabbed my bones. It was a few heartbeats before I pulled myself together, shook off the shock, looking about the gloom and kicking upwards towards the light. But I cursed as I cracked my skull again on the ice overhead. With sinking belly, I realized the current had me, dragging me downriver away from the hole I’d plunged into. ‘I kicked hard, punching with all my strength, ice splintering under my fists.
But I had no air in my lungs, black spots bursting in my vision as I punched the
surface again.
‘Thump.
‘Crunch. ‘Nothing. ‘I was being dragged, fighting the current now, pressed against the ice above.
The surface was smooth as glass under my gloves, nothing to cling to, and I cursed as I reached for my dagger, remembering I’d given it to Dior. I could see a dark shape through the crust above me now – a dim shadow and dimmer voice, barely heard above the fearful tempo of my pulse. Of all the places I’d been, the horrors I’d faced, it seemed idiotic that this was the way I might end; suffocating under a mere foot of frozen water. I cursed myself a fool for not having taken the sacrament – if I were fresh sated, I could have punched my way out. But as it was, even paleblood fists weren’t strong enough to tear free of this tomb. ‘I slammed my fist into the ice again, again, hearing cracks reverberate along the frozen grey. Black flowers were blooming in my eyes now, beautiful, paralysing, the pressure in my chest, the need to breathe burning like flame. ‘I was slipping along in the current’s loving arms, the light growing dim. All fire was fading. All hope was lost. Hell beckoned, forever arms open wide, but I supposed it might at least be warm there. And then came a crashing sound, and through the black veil over my eyes, I saw the ice above me split, shattering like a comet had crashed upon its face. And though I’d no breath in me to scream, still I tried as four and a half feet of razored starmetal came plunging through the ice and speared me right through my gut. ‘I was jerked to a sudden halt, pinioned on the steel, mouth open in agony. I heard Ashdrinker’s voice ringing in my head then, silver bright in the crushing black.
‘FIGHT! ‘I squinted in the dark, saw that the blade had created a webwork of cracks in the grey above. And I thought of Astrid. Of Patience. Furious and snarling, shredding my gloves and ripping my knuckles bloody as I smashed my fist
upwards again, again, again.
‘I refuse to die here, I told myself.
‘I.
‘Thump.
‘Refuse.
‘Crunch. ‘To die here. ‘My fist broke through the cracks, stripped back to the bone, and I felt someone grab hold. Agony flared as the blade was dragged free of my gut. I tore at the frozen lid of my coffin, lungs burning as the pieces came apart, as dim light broke through, as at last, kicking and dragged from above, I pushed my head up into the blessed air. ‘“Gabriel!” Dior roared. “Hold onto me!” ‘I could do nothing but gag, stabbed and bleeding as the girl dug her fingers into my forearm and hauled me back. Dior was on her belly, Ashdrinker thrust into the ice like a piton, and finally she hauled me free, out of that frozen black and onto the blinding surface. ‘“Hold on!” Dior pleaded. “Hold on, Gabe!” ‘Clutching my split belly, I left a long trail of crimson on the grey as she dragged me towards the shoreline. And at last we came to rest, just a few feet from the frozen banks. I curled into a ball, holding my stomach, freezing cold, skull ringing, drooling blood. ‘“Can you hear me?” Dior squeezed my hand, her eyes wild. “Gabriel?” ‘“Fuck … m-my … f-f …” ‘I felt hands fumbling with my coat pockets, blinking up at the daysdeath light. I could taste my own blood, feel broken glass in my belly, heart thrashing
on my ribs. ‘“Here. Here, breathe …” ‘She pressed my pipe to my lips and the taste of sanctus washed over me, sweet and merciful red. I coughed, blood spattering on the frost, taking the pipe from Dior’s shaking hand and inhaling another lungful. I felt that accursed strength, the agony in my belly fading, able to breathe easier. I pressed my hand to my sundered gut, blood dribbling through my fingertips. ‘“You …” I squinted at Dior, my teeth sticky. “Y-you …” ‘“It’s aright,” she said. “I got you, Gabe. You’re safe.” ‘“You … f-fucking … stabbed me.”
‘“You … f-fucking … stabbed me.” ‘“Wait … you’re getting tetchy with me now?” ‘“Tetchy?” I coughed, spitting red. “You stabbed me!”
‘“It wasn’t my fault!” ‘“You stabbed me accidently?” ‘“No.” She scowled, shrugging. “It was Ashdrinker’s idea.” ‘I glowered at the blade, now thrust into the snow at the girl’s side. “Was it now …” ‘“I just grabbed her to break the ice,” Dior said. “But the current had you. We needed to hold you still so you could punch free. So, she told me to … you know …” ‘The girl made a circle of her left forefinger and thumb. Poked her right index finger through it repeatedly. The silvered dame on the sword’s hilt smiled at me
as always. ‘“Bitch,” I hissed. ‘Dior gave a sympathetic wince. “Does it hurt?” ‘“You STABBED me!” ‘“Fucksakes, don’t be such a baby! There won’t even be a mark by the morrow. You know, most folk would spare a merci for the girl who just saved their lives, de León.” ‘The shock was fading now, the fear of almost drowning paling to a dull ebb.
Surly prick that I was, I was still realizing this girl had indeed just saved my sorry arse, and the least I could do was refrain from acting a complete bell-end
about it. ‘“Merci,” I scowled. ‘She pursed her lips, climbed to her feet and offered her hand. “Get up, old man.” ‘Dior hauled me upright as I gasped in agony. One hand to my bleeding gut, I blinked about in the dim light. “What happened to the wretched?” ‘The girl nodded to the shattered ice. “Went under. All three. Didn’t make a sound.” She shook her head, horrified. “But it was like they just … melted.” ‘“And what about—” ‘I heard heavy hooves, crunching in crisp snow. Dragging the hair from my eyes with a bloody hand, I saw Jezebel plodding up the frozen bank towards us, a little waterlogged, a little shaken, but apparently none the worse for wear. ‘“God’s truth,” I sighed. “You are the luckiest bitch I ever met.” ‘Dior met my eyes, the thought occurring to her just as it did to me.
‘“That’s it!” she cried. ‘“That’s it …” I nodded. ‘I limped to the mare’s side, scruffing her ear with one bloody hand as Dior
‘I limped to the mare’s side, scruffing her ear with one bloody hand as Dior
threw her arms around her neck. ‘“Fortuna.”’
