daemon within as it took control, slashing in broad arcs, dismembering this and severing that. For his part, he simply concentrated on not getting hurt.
But for all the efforts of Frey and his crew, it was the Knights who held the Manes back. They moved like quicksilver, slipping fluidly between positions, always where they were needed. Whenever two Manes tried to take on Frey at the same time, there would be a Knight at his side to assist him, or one of his enemies would go down with a bullet in the brain. Even Drave and Grudge, who were more cumbersome in their heavy armour, seemed untouchable. They didn't have the speed of their companions, but they anticipated every strike and moved to counter it before it came. The Manes couldn't match them.
For a time, Frey lost himself. All thought disappeared in a bloody chaos of limbs and blades and teeth. His hands were spattered red. His breath rasped loud in his ears, heart pumping hard. His jaw clenched as he swung again and again, chopping away the grasping hands of the enemy. Fingernails raked his cheek. He found the owner, just as its head exploded, blown apart by somebody's shotgun.
When would it stop? When would they give up?
Behind him, he heard a cry. Crake. He risked a glance, and saw that one of the Manes had broken through. An awful, red-eyed, ragged thing. It had seized Crake's gun arm and was biting into the meat of his hand. Frey's blade came down on its neck. Crake staggered backwards, the thing's head still clamped tight to his flesh.
Then suddenly Bess was back among them, drawn by her master's voice. She'd abandoned her post and was ploughing into the Manes from the rear, scooping them up and flinging them in all directions. The Manes faltered, looking over their shoulders. The Knights had no such hesitation, and took the advantage. They shot and cut at the creatures, driving them back, gaining a little space and a few precious seconds to regroup.
A piercing shriek sounded over the square, stilling them all. Even the Knights froze at the sound. Even Bess. They sensed something. A signal, perhaps. Frey wiped blood from his face and searched for the source.
There it was. A Mane, eight feet tall, the same height as Bess. This one was clad in belts and bands of black leather armour, criss-crossing its thin yellow body. Buckles and straps hung from every part of it. Even its face was half-hidden by overlapping straps. What little could be seen of it was glowering, hollow-eyed and fearful. It carried two long, thick chains, far heavier than a man could lift. They hung from bracelets on its wrists, and as Frey saw it, it swung one and lashed it through the air like a whip, and screeched a second time.
A leader, a general. Come to rally them, to lead the final charge.
But no. The Manes were stepping back now, retreating. Bess turned quizzically towards Crake, looking for direction. He was grey with pain, but he managed to hold out his good hand. Stop. Don't do anything.
The Knights had the same idea. They stood ready, but nobody fired a shot. The Manes backed away, turned and ran out of the square the way they came. The general waited until they'd all passed and then stalked after them, without even a backward glance at the Knights, or the dozens of fallen Manes that littered the flagstones of the square.
Frey sagged, and let out a trembling breath. They'd given up. Just like that. The cost of the fight was too high for them. He exchanged a glance of happy disbelief with Malvery. The doctor swung his shotgun up on his shoulder and whistled.
'S'pose we showed them, eh, Cap'n?' he said.
'I s'pose we did,' he said. 'Go see to Crake, will you?'
'Right-o,' said Malvery. He went over to Crake, who'd flopped to the ground, holding the bloody head of the Mane in one hand. Its teeth were still buried in the other. Yellow eyes glared at him malevolently over his knuckles.
'Ooo. Nasty,' said Malvery, as he squatted down.
Crake wasn't in the mood for small talk. 'Get this damned horror off me,' he said.
Malvery pulled out a length of bandage and some disinfectant salve from his inner pocket. 'This ought to hold you till we get back to the Ketty Jay.' He felt around the Mane's head with an expression of disgust until he got his fingers between its teeth. 'Now,' he said, 'this might hurt a shitload.'
Crake's yell of pain echoed off the walls of the austere banks and imposing merchant houses that overlooked the square. Samandra Bree, who was standing with Frey, winced in sympathy.
'Poor feller,' she said.
'He'll be okay. It's only his gun hand. He's a bloody disaster with a pistol.'
Crake noticed them looking at him and waved weakly to her. She waved back. 'Glad you're back, Grayther Crake,' she called.
'Me too,' he said, though without much conviction.
'I notice you're missing one, though,' she said to Frey. 'Where's the blonde?'
Frey felt his mood curdle. 'She's gone,' he said.
'Oh,' said Samandra. 'My sympathies.'
'Yeah.' Frey checked his crew were alright, scanned the square, then looked into the sky, where the Navy and the dreadnoughts were battling. A Windblade went shrieking overhead in a death-plunge and crashed a dozen streets away. Screams and howls drifted over the city. Havoc was all around them, but this square was theirs. They were safe here for the moment. The Manes wouldn't come back.
'How'd you find us?' he asked, while he waited for Malvery to patch up Crake.
'Roke. We found him on the roof of the refinery. Good of you to leave him alive, by the way.'
'Hey, I'm a decent sort. We only needed a head start.'
'Well, you got it. When we caught up with him we weren't in the mood to be patient any more.' She winked. 'And there weren't no one around to see.'
'So you left word for the Navy and headed here.'
'They turned up right after you left. Drave with 'em. We went ahead with Drave, and they came fast as they could after. Not fast enough, I guess.'
The other Knights were reloading, idling in defensive positions in case anyone else should try to surprise them. Kedmund Drave, perhaps hearing his name, came over and joined them. He was the leader of this little group, a man with brutal features and silver hair cropped tight to a scarred scalp. He wore a suit of dull crimson armour, moulded to the contours of his body, and a black cloak. He regarded Frey with an expression that suggested he hadn't forgotten that time when Frey had emptied a shotgun into his chest at point-blank range.
'Where's Grist?' Drave demanded. 'I assume he's responsible for all this?' He waved up at the clouded wound in the sky.
Frey pointed back in the direction they'd come, where the black rectangle of the Storm Dog was lifting up above the city.
'There,' he said. 'And he's got the sphere.' And Trinica.
'Let me guess,' Drave said. 'You went ahead and tried to get it back yourself, instead of letting the Knights do it. Things went horribly wrong. Am I close?'
'No, you're pretty much dead on,' said Frey.
'You're turning out to be a wretched pain in my arse, Captain. I should arrest you all now and save you doing anything else stupid.'
'I think you've got bigger fish to fry right now, don't you? Protecting the citizens of Sakkan from a rabid mob of arctic ghouls, and all that?'
Drave gave him an iron stare. Frey stared back.
'Lucky for you that we do,' he said at length.
'I'll take what luck I can get these days,' Frey said, turning away. 'Malvery, are you done? We're out of here!'
Crake was on his feet now, his hand wrapped tight in bandages. He came over sheepishly and gave Samandra a little bow.
'Enchanted to see you again,' he said. 'I can only hope for better circumstances next time.'
She gave him a smile and touched the peak of her tricorn hat. 'Lookin' forward to it, Grayther Crake.'
'Alright, alright, you two can snuggle up later,' said Frey impatiently. He gave the Knights a quick salute. 'Good luck, you lot.'
'Same,' said Grissom. 'Get going.'
'Back to the Ketty Jay!' Frey called, and they headed out of the square, with Crake looking over his shoulder every now and then until Samandra Bree was out of sight.
