the sky, which led Randur to believe that people were taking it in turns to batter it.
Everyone looked to Randur and Eir for guidance now, but when an axe pummelled upwards into the wood, the soldiers stepped back and withdrew their weapons. Eir did the same. Randur took a few paces away to get a better perspective on the scene, before drawing his own blade and channelling in to his old sword techniques.
It felt as if he had met with an old friend again — that familiarity with the tension, the adrenalin, channelling his rage.
The hatch split.
One of the soldiers thrust his blade in the gap, stabbing someone down below. A cry came up, followed by a clatter as whoever it was fell backwards. Then a silence lingered. Randur could feel his pulse thicken in his throat.
Three soldiers stood around the hatch, waiting, swords in hand.
An arrow flew up and through the gap, narrowly missing one of the men. A moment later, more debris was tossed up, then someone tried to lunge out — he got a sword to his neck and fell bleeding down below, but by that point another man had squirmed up, waving a mace around his head as he did so, gashing one of the soldiers in the leg before another came to him with his blade. In the mayhem, more gang members piled out of the hatch, three now, each of different stature, and they shambled around the rooftop, weapons extended, but with a tired look in their eyes.
Randur smiled, knowing that they would not have had the benefit of a decent night’s sleep, as suggested by their lazy sword-handling and slowness of step. The soldiers quickly dispatched the invaders before yet more thugs came up in their place. Soon most of the soldiers were engaged in the business of sword-fighting as one, darkly handsome individual clambered up and sauntered around away from the main fight.
He was an onlooker, here, waiting for the mess to be over.
Randur noticed that three of the soldiers now lay dead or bleeding to death on the rooftop. People were dropping like flies — this was messy, useless combat.
The man with the handsome face and three-day-old stubble strode around the edge of the fighting and nodded at both Randur and Eir, before drawing his sword.
‘What’s your name, kid?’ the man asked, above the groaning of the wind.
‘Randur Estevu,’ he replied.
‘Bit of a crap name, that.’
‘Can you do any better?’
‘Malum,’ the man declared.
‘Not much better at all.’
‘Blame my mother,’ Malum muttered. ‘I take it this is Lady Jamur Rika?’
‘Jamur Eir, her sister,’ Eir replied. She was now clutching her sword in anticipation.
Randur decided then was a good time to bring out his own blade, and the three of them stood there, to one side. ‘Quite a few screams last night,’ he announced. ‘Must have been pretty messy.’
‘Was that your doing?’ Malum replied.
Randur shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’ll tell you, shall I? I lost forty of my best guys, and five others lost a few of their limbs. Mad bitch, whoever it was.’
‘Did you stop her?’ Eir replied.
‘No,’ Malum replied. ‘She dined her way down a floor or two and jumped out of a second-floor window. She’s somewhere lost in the city for all I know. Who was she?’
Randur began. ‘That was Lady-’
‘We don’t know who you’re talking about,’ Eir interrupted, glaring at Randur.
The fight continued around them. Randur saw Blavat dropping something down the hatch that caused a blinding flash of light below.
‘Useful things, cultists,’ Malum said.
The man was strangely confident, cockier than even Randur himself, which was a disarming point to note. The way he strode about the rooftop as if this was already his Citadel was something that annoyed Randur. He stood with one foot up on the low gap between crenellations so that he could tighten his boot laces.
‘Well, enough of pleasantries,’ Malum declared, and with a sudden fury launched into a blazing attack on Randur, nearly catching him off guard from the off. While the commotion continued around them, Malum forced Randur further along the rooftop. Randur intercepted the first flurry of blows with difficulty — he was out of decent practice, and the force of Malum’s strikes was incredibly intense.
But soon Randur gained control.
His tactic would be to let Malum wear himself out, to go on the defensive, to guide the strikes away harmlessly. He did not fight in any style that Randur knew of, and there was no grace to the man’s aggressive technique.
Two blows to either side within a split second nearly disarmed Randur completely. He stumbled back across the rooftop and caught a side-long glimpse of Eir engaged in combat herself, but he didn’t have time to register her progress, he was back on his feet firmly, back on the defensive, the repetitive zing of steel sliding across steel filling his ears.
Malum did not tire. Was he some kind of animal? He still retained the same level of aggression as in his first blows. Randur shifted his focus momentarily to see the man’s face, which was a picture of rage — and were they fangs in his snarling mouth?
Randur was breathless. He could only parry so much before he realized he would have to commence his own attack. He dashed to his right, wrong-footing Malum, moving around another fight, taking a moment to register the high red sun and the dizzying cityscape below, before lurching right at Malum with a flurry of attacks.
Malum was now on the back foot, weakened, uneasy with defending. Randur tried a whole range of tricks, but was surprised at how quickly Malum could react. There was definitely something animalistic about this man.
The rooftop began to flood with corpses. There was another flash as Blavat moved across the rooftop. There was smoke now, something definitely burning, and Randur saw a blur of movement behind Malum: Eir dragged her sword across his arm as she whipped by, out of sight, and Malum screamed out, gripped his now-bleeding arm then held out his stained fingers momentarily towards Randur. He licked his blood in some perverse manner.
‘You’re a bit weird really, aren’t you?’ Randur said. ‘Is all this some kind of ego trip for a madman?’ He gestured to the mess all around them.
That seemed to ruffle a few more feathers, not that Malum really needed it. He recommenced his attack, but this time Randur noticed that everyone else had stopped fighting — everyone apart from Malum. People were standing back and pointing up, to the sky. Randur forced a break in the fight and dashed out of arm’s reach to get a better look at what was going on.
Black shapes were flying in the sunlight, circling as silhouettes. Soon a few smaller shapes detached themselves and drifted towards them. The gang members began to panic as the shapes — very similar to the ones previously in the courtyard — skimmed down to land at the far end of the rooftop. Several individuals, each wearing strange black helmets, dismounted and began to advance.
The pale face of Brynd Lathraea was revealed.
Malum grinned and twisted his chest to face the commander full on. ‘So you’re still alive, homo,’ he snarled at him. ‘It’s a bit too late to ruin the fun.’
Brynd gave a despairing laugh. ‘The fun will be in personally digging your grave, you little shit.’
If Brynd was tired from his battle, he showed no traces of it. While the rest of the Night Guard began to approach the remaining gang members, who threw down their weapons and backed off immediately, Brynd clashed with Malum with a level of violence that seemed unnatural for such a usually calm man.
Malum instantly stumbled and fell, but rolled away from a blow aimed at his throat. He pushed himself up again to resume his defence. Brynd’s strikes overpowered Malum: the man was on the back foot at all times. Brynd was drawing this out, knocking him back, walking slowly, waiting for him to get on his feet. Malum snarled like a
