Return of the Crimson Guard

Hands pulled her gauntlets from her belt. ‘About bloody time.’

Least frowned his agreement. Nait could only stare from grim face to grim face. ‘Are you all crazy? 1 know there's only one of them left on the wharf but do you know what he must be?’

‘He's a Trake-cursed invader!’ said Hands.

He's probably from Unta, Nait silently rejoined.

Tinsmith walked up to the single Guardsman left behind at the foot of the stone wharf. As he got close the man turned to him, his eyes hidden within the helm's closed visor. Whoever he was, he wore a thick scaled hauberk and mailed leggings, and bore a broad shield on his back. His surcoat had originally no doubt been deep crimson but now dried salt scale had turned it white. Close, Tinsmith opened his hands to show he meant no harm.

‘You are the sergeant of the Harbour Guard,’ the man said.

‘Yes. Sergeant Tinsmith. And you?’

‘Black.’

Tinsmith nodded a cautious hello. ‘Well, Black. Hostilities have been declared. Looks like we're gonna have to do our job.’

‘You do yours and I'll do mine.’

Tinsmith nodded again and backed away. A third up the length of the wharf he gestured a signal and ten of the harbour guard rose with crossbows readied. The instant they fired the Avowed leapt behind piled cargo. Having fired, these first ten knelt and a second rank straightened. ‘Hold fire!’ Tinsmith ordered.

He eyed the piled sacks and barrels now feathered by bolts. Had the Avowed retreated or was he manoeuvring for another approach? Yet no clear path existed, Tinsmith had made sure of that. The man stood suddenly, shield raised, and charged.

‘Fire!’

The Avowed dived for new cover but not before bolts slammed into his shield. ‘Next rank,’ Tinsmith ordered. The first rank straightened once again, crossbows levelled. The Avowed had closed about six paces.

‘Now?’ Nait asked of Tinsmith where he crouched on his knees behind cover, a heavy sledge in his hands.

‘Not yet.’

The Avowed rose again. With an angry swipe he broke the bolts from his shield. He advanced despite a bolt that ran straight through one thigh. ‘Fire!’

This time the Avowed did not bother ducking. Bolts slammed into his shield, rocking him backwards. One tore through his right calf, sending him to one knee.

‘Next rank,’ Tinsmith ordered.

‘He's gotta be there by now!’ Nait pleaded.

‘Almost.’

The next rank stood but three had not yet finished cocking their weapons. This volley, rushed, most wide, did not slow the Avowed. ‘Now,’ Tinsmith judged. Nait swept up the sledge and slammed it down on the iron pin jammed between chain links at his feet. Nothing happened. ‘I said now,’ Tinsmith repeated.

‘She's as tight as a ten-year-old's-’

‘Watch it!’ snarled Hands next to Tinsmith, sword ready.

Tinsmith was eyeing the closing Avowed. ‘Now would be a good time.’

Nait pulled down the sledge with a frantic, urgent swing. The head banged from the pin, which shot from the links like a bolt itself, so great was the pressure upon it. ‘She's away!’ Nait yelled.

The harbour guard threw themselves down. Chain links rattled, snarling against stone. The Avowed paused, uncertain. Then in an explosion of heaped cargo, a length of chain came sweeping across the width of the wharf, tossing barrels, tearing sacks, splintering timbers, until it came to snatch away the Avowed as it he were a doll and sweep him aside into the water.

Nait ran to the stone ledge of the wharf, danced from foot to foot. ‘Ha! We got you! Ha! Not so big now, hey?’ Tinsmith came to his side followed by Heuk. All three peered down into the churned, dirty green waves. ‘Ha! He's dead.’

Heuk shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. Might still be alive. It's a real debate — I'd like to stay to see.’

‘Can't.’ Tinsmith gestured to the two Guard ships, ‘they saw it all. So maybe we should go join the fight.’

Nait lost his smile. ‘Oh, right. Yeah. Maybe so.’

Tinsmith signed the guard to form up.

The mute shuffling and grunts of continued fighting prodded Possum to crack open an eye. The noises came from out back; everyone inside was quite obviously dead. He rose silently to his feet and as he did so the mortal slash that laid open his entrails disappeared leaving behind a much shallower, albeit deep enough, cut. Bodies strewed the blown-out first storey, Claws and Guardsmen alike. Wincing, Possum clenched an arm across his slashed abdomen and surveyed the carnage. He and the seven Claws had managed to take down the five Guard — all but one, an Avowed, who then finished off the two remaining Claw and Possum himself, or thought he had.

Yet the fighting continued. Stiff with pain, Possum crossed carefully to a window looking out on the rubbish- strewn enclosure behind the tenement. There the Avowed duelled a single Claw. Possum stared. Run, you damned fool! Who was this idiot? He'd not authorized any lone hunters this night. The man, woman, Possum corrected himself, had elected to face the Avowed barehanded. Possum could not understand it, the highest, most exacting of the disciplines taught at the Claw cre?ches and the Academy, yes, but against an armoured opponent wielding a longsword? Granted, the Avowed moved rather awkwardly having been thrust through the back and front scores of times by Possum and his own guards before managing to cut them all down, but still: bare hands against iron mail?

The Claw, wrapped all over in black cloth strips, including her head, leaving only a slit for her eyes, circled the Avowed, probing, shifting her stance. He waited, sword raised, his other arm hanging useless having been shattered in the explosion. Possum decided that though she might be the stupidest of his ranks she deserved help if only for, well… sheer brainless audacity. He calmed himself to summon his Warren.

A cold knife blade bit his neck. He froze. From behind, a head nestled its weight on his left shoulder. A woman's low voice breathed hot and damp into his ear, ‘Let's see what she's got.’ Despite the blazing pain of his abdomen Possum felt a shiver of hunger to know the possessor of such a voice.

The flickering glow of burning city blocks lit the enclosure and painted the night sky orange. Distant screams and the murmur of battle marked the front where the Guard inexorably bulled its way back to the harbour. The Claw continued her circling dance while the Avowed clumsily tracked her, one lumbering step after another. So swiftly that Possum missed it, one foot lashed in to swipe the side of the Avowed's helmet, the sword swung after, and the armoured giant righted himself, shaking his head. Fool! What did that accomplish? You'll only break the bones of your foot. Another kick, this one connecting square in the chest, rocking the Avowed backwards — again, another slow swing. The woman at his shoulder snorted her impatience and Possum had to agree; what was the point in this wasted time and effort?

Yet useless punishment was not the Claw's purpose, as became clear to Possum in an instant as another kick brought another swing, but this time the arm was trapped, locked and the Claw's own elbow pushed in and the mailed arm snapped backwards with an audible wet popping. The Claw sprang away. The woman at Possum's shoulder grunted her appreciation of the move. The sword had fallen from the numb grip and now the Avowed struggled with his shattered arm to reach a dirk sheathed at his belt. The Claw launched herself upon him, legs twisting around his torso. Hands jabbed straight over the Avowed's vision slit, fisted, thumbs extended to disappear entirely within.

The Avowed bellowed his excruciating pain — the first sound Possum recalled hearing from him. The Claw sprang free once more, faced the blinded, crippled giant. He sank to his knees. He appeared to say something which was lost in the din of the surrounding battle;

she answered. He lowered his helmeted head. The Claw spun, leg lashing out to take the man low on the neck beneath the lip of the helmet, snapping the head sickeningly aside. The Avowed toppled to his side.

Possum could not believe what he'd just seen; how was this possible? Hood preserve him! Who was this woman? None he knew of in the ranks. The one holding the blade to his throat snarled