light stabbed at him through the darkness ahead. Through the gleam he could make out several tall figures coming his way. Their armor creaked and jangled as they marched in loose formation. Caim counted four plus the lantern- holder, but there could be more behind them. He drew his knives as a voice with a thick western accent bellowed for him to hold fast.
“Find another way!” he yelled over his shoulder.
The siblings and their uncle stopped behind him. Corgan and Keegan started back the way they had come, but Liana just gazed at him. It took Keegan pulling her by the arm before she would leave.
Caim eyed the soldiers. The alleyway was wide enough for three men to walk abreast, but the soldiers approached two by two with the lantern-bearer at the rear. They gazed at him over the tops of oaken shields held shoulder to shoulder, their spears overlapped to form a quadrant of sharp steel. A feeling of peace washed over Caim as he shifted into a lower stance. This was what he did best. This was home. The shadows chittered to him from the darkness. They wanted to be let free. Not yet.
When the soldiers were within five paces of him, Caim stepped sideways into the darkness under a balcony.
He reappeared behind them, quieter than a whisper. The lantern-bearer dropped with a startled gasp as Caim cut into his back with both suetes, their sharp points sliding between the lungs and kidneys. The lantern crashed to the ground and went out. And Caim went to work.
Up close where their spears were useless, he weaved between the soldiers, slashing one across the face and stabbing another low. The men tried to fall back from the sudden onslaught, but their comrades at the front of the formation hemmed them in. Caim ducked underneath a spear swung like a quarterstaff and came up with both knives extended. He wasn’t seeking to kill-that’s what he told himself-but that didn’t stop him from making quick cuts to either side of the soldier’s neck. The soldier fell to the bricks, blood spurting between his grasping fingers.
Caim’s breath came in short puffs as he fought through his pain, pushing himself to move faster and strike harder. One soldier brought his spear up to block; another dropped the long weapon and grabbed for an axe belted to his hip. The suete blades sliced through stitched leather, and the axe-man collapsed against a wall, leaking from twin holes in his stomach. The other soldier stepped back missing three fingers on his left hand. He threw his spear and ran. Caim reacted without thinking. As the soldier was about to reach the next corner, a swarm of shadows fluttered from the darkness. There came a low moan from the end of the alley, and then all was quiet.
Caim stalked down the alley. His forearm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but the pain was a distant thing. The gloom parted to reveal the fallen soldier, covered by wriggling shadows like a blanket of black maggots. They crooned as they feasted. For a moment Caim felt their hunger and the sweet savor of warm blood. They sucked at the stuff of life like it was ambrosia. The black sword quivered in its scabbard as Caim closed his eyes.
A scream cut through the night.
Caim sent the shadows scurrying back to the nooks of the alleyway with a mental shove as he ran down the alley. He almost missed the entrance to a narrow side street. Inside, the branch avenue ran fifteen paces before it zigzagged. Caim followed it at a run, trusting his instincts and night vision to guide him. Ahead, he heard the clang of steel on steel and saw the steady yellow glow of lantern light. Caim rushed around another sharp turn and almost slammed into Liana, leaning against a wall of the alley. Seeing her hunched over, he thought she was hurt, but there was no blood on her clothes. Keegan held back a line of men with broad swings of his sword. The warriors wore mismatched armor and arms. Mercenaries. A body sprawled at the youth’s feet. It was Corgan. A trickle of black wetness oozed through the cracks in the cobblestones. Without pretense or preamble, Caim rushed past Liana and plunged into the melee.
Sword blades and spear points came at him from several directions. Caim used every trick in his arsenal to keep a step ahead of them. His knives slashed out again and again, drawing blood, slicing through flesh and fingers. One merc slipped, and Caim smacked him in the face with the flat of a knife blade. The man dropped back clutching a broken cheek.
He caught them by surprise, but for every warrior he took out of the fight, two more jumped in from the back. The shadows jabbered at him from the edges of the alleyway, but he couldn’t risk loosing them with Keegan and Liana so near. A spear jabbed out of the second rank. Caim threw himself sideways, but the point cut through his jerkin and drew a line of fire across his ribs. Backing away, Caim pressed his elbow against his side. He didn’t want to give in, but his choices were simple: deny the urge and die, or let loose the blade and maybe have a chance.
It wasn’t a choice at all.
He flung his right-hand suete in the face of the nearest soldier and reached up. The sword flew from its scabbard. When his palm made contact with the smooth hilt, the alley blossomed to life as if it were bathed in a cascade of moonlight. Every crack in the ground was magnified, every surface gleamed with silvery light. The walls around him seemed higher and straighter. Even the bricks under his feet changed, becoming broad and smooth like sheets of polished obsidian. The sword pulsed in his hand like a living thing, pulling at him. His injuries and aches forgotten, he didn’t hold back.
A sellsword-an officer by the yellow slashes emblazoned on his breast-fell back over his own heels as the black sword knocked off his helmet. A tremor ran up the blade into Caim’s hand, and he knew, without fully realizing how, that the sword had pierced the steel-and-leather cap to taste blood.
Two mercs jostled forward to cover their leader’s retreat. Caim didn’t give them a chance to get set. He pressed hard with sword and knife, slashing at any target within his reach. He sliced open a man’s wrist, deflected a sword thrust, and the merc fell against the alley wall clutching his neck.
Everywhere the black sword cut, it left a trail of black-edged wounds. He tried using it mainly for defense, but the ebon blade wouldn’t let him rest. It dragged him forward in one brutal attack after another, hardly ever deigning to parry an incoming blow, so that Caim was forced to use his left-hand suete as a main-gauche. And then he stopped even that, preferring to use the knife to slit open bellies and cut up bearded faces. Blood spilled over him, ran down his arms, and spattered his face. He forgot about Keegan and Liana, forgot about his injuries. All that mattered was the next kill. When the mercenaries fell back, Caim didn’t need the sword to compel him to press his advantage before it dried up. He dipped under a wild slash, lunged, and bulled through their front line. His feet moved of their own volition, taking him back and forth and side to side in a lethal dance where one misstep would be his last. The grind of steel and flesh, bone and blood, shrieked in his ears like church bells. The stones became slick beneath his feet as he rode the cyclone of destruction that was his calling.
The officer stepped up to him holding a hand-and-a-half sword. Caim grinned and lashed out at the warriors on either side, and then launched himself straight ahead. Their swords collided in a sharp clang. Caim beat aside the high chop and almost stepped into a clever stop-thrust to the knee that would have ended the fight right then and there. He leapt back in time to save his leg, but ran into someone behind him. Keegan! The youth was panting as he beat at the weapons of the mercs on Caim’s flank. Caim wanted to thank him, but a warhammer swung at his head. He spun away, into the path of a downward-sweeping sword. He deflected the blow off the edge of his suete, but the black sword jumped forward despite the precariousness of his position. The officer stood firm. Caim gritted his teeth as the point of the bastard sword sliced through his leather jerkin. He threw himself back before he was skewered.
A warrior fell on Caim’s left, and he circled in that direction. Only three mercs remained on their feet. Keegan was doing his best to hold off the others, but he was hard-pressed. The black sword quivered in Caim’s hand like a hound on a leash. Shadows crowded the alley’s dark places. At the merest thought, they would blanket the alley. And there was something else, an insistent presence on the fringe of his awareness. The shadow beast? He wasn’t sure, but he had enough problems on his plate. The first was to end this battle before reinforcements showed up.
Caim feinted and took a merc spearman through the throat with a long lunge. So much for sparing him. Before the others could react, Caim launched himself at the officer. His weapons became blurs of black and silver. The officer gave way as his guard began to falter. With a spurt of anticipation, Caim broke through. Blood jetted across his jacket as the tip of the black sword caught his foe below the navel, punching through the scales of his armor and the leather backing underneath. Caim didn’t stop until the blade was sheathed to the cross-guard in the man’s body. The officer’s eyes bulged as they stood, only inches apart. Before he could make a sound, Caim slashed across his neck with the knife.
