Herris! Here? Damn him! Baella’s eyes narrowed as she watched Herris walk the horse through the burning city. For once, she was thankful for the fires that raged through Londinium. The smell of smoke stung her nostrils, but it would hide her scent from Herris, as well. If she could just get close enough without him seeing her, she might be able to grab the reins and run. This close to sunrise, she doubted Herris would come after her. It was a slim hope, but sunrise was too close for her to plan anything elaborate.
Herris passed her location-hiding behind the only remaining wall of a blacksmith’s shop-and kept going. He hadn’t seen her. Excellent.
Baella stepped out from the cover of the wall and crept up behind him. She resisted the urge to use a Psalm of Silence to mask her footsteps. With all the noise in the city, Herris would sense such a thing the moment she used it. Far better to rely on her own stealth, cultivated over four thousand years of hiding from agents of the very being she now stalked. Her skill should be enough to get her close.
It wasn’t.
Herris stopped, lifted his head, and made a show of sniffing the air. “I knew I would find you here,” he said.
Baella stopped in her tracks. Curse his ears! “Hello, Herris.”
Herris turned to face her, the horse’s rope gripped tightly in his left hand. She had not seen Herris in over a thousand years, but he had not changed. His eyes still shone red in the pre-dawn light, and he still had the same head of short, brown hair. His skin seemed a little lighter, and his frame had filled out a bit, but otherwise he looked exactly as she remembered him, although the bemused expression on his face was new.
“That’s Headcouncil Herris,' he said. “You should try to remember that, Baella.”
Baella spat in the street, showing Herris what she thought of his title.
“As you will,” Herris said, his eyes unreadable as ever. “Count yourself fortunate that I do not have time to kill you right now. The sun is near and Ramah is due back in the Halls of the Bachiyr. You are welcome to follow us inside, if you wish.”
“He’s mine, Herris,” Baella said. “He’s always been mine.”
Herris stared back at her, the glow of his eyes rivaling the flames around them. Power thrummed through the man, so loud she could almost hear it. It crackled from him like lightning around a thundercloud and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His expression never changed, but the shift in the air between them was unmistakable. “Unless you are prepared to take him from me by force, I think you are mistaken,” he said.
Baella almost did it. The sight of Ramah slung over the rump of her horse nearly broke her. She had come so close, so gods-damned close! She checked the sudden urge to launch herself at Herris and wrap her hands around his ancient, smug throat. She was just as strong as he, despite his bravado. But he was right. The dawn had come. The edge of the sun had already crested the horizon, casting the tops of the building into early morning light. A fight with Herris would take far too long, and the sun would kill all three of them before a victor could emerge. And that would be a terrible waste.
She took a step backward, raising her hands toward the sky to show him she would not fight. Not today, anyway. The air around him calmed, no longer vibrating with barely-contained energy, and she knew he’d relaxed a bit. Never completely, though. Not that one. Not while I am still near enough to cause trouble. She took another step backward.
“I will have him eventually, Herris,” she said, unable to keep the fury from her voice. “You can’t keep me from him forever.”
“As always, Baella, you are welcome to come into the Halls. The Father would welcome you to our ranks. You would even supplant Ramah as Second of the Council. Of course, you would have to kill him first, but I should think that a small price to pay, considering the gains you would make.”
She didn’t miss the sneer he placed on her name, or the intent. Herris had wanted to remind her that he knew, as if she could ever forget. No matter. If he had not told Ramah or any of the other Councilors the truth in four thousand years, she doubted he would do it now. “Someday, Herris. I will take a great deal of pleasure in killing you.”
“Until then,” Herris said, smiling that insufferable grin, “good bye.” With that, the oldest Bachiyr in the world turned and walked away from her. He didn’t even try to guard his back; so secure was he in his belief that she would not risk an attack. It would be easy, and fast. One blow in the right place and she would be rid of Herris-and very likely the Council of Thirteen-forever. If she missed, Herris would not hesitate to attack, and the resulting delay would kill all three of them. Was it worth the risk?
One blow.
In precisely the right spot.
Baella cursed and turned away, headed for her own portal.
31
Taras sprang to his feet, his claws already out and ready. Theron! The last time he’d fought Theron, they had been in Jerusalem and Taras had not yet come to realize his many new abilities. Back then Theron had escaped while Taras struggled with Ramah. Even Taras knew it was Ramah that sent Theron running, and not him. But this time, the two were alone, and Taras meant to make a better impression.
Theron, for his part, had not moved an inch. He hadn’t even drawn the blade at his hip or grown his claws. No matter. Taras would kill him regardless of whether he was armed or not. Honor had no place between them.
“Finally,” Taras said. He took a step toward the oddly calm Bachiyr. The time had come to avenge Mary’s death, and Abraham’s, and every person Taras had killed in the last twenty-seven years because of what Theron had made of him. “It is past time I killed you, Theron, and Ramah is not here to cover your escape this time.”
“Put those away,” Theron replied. “I will not fight you, Taras. Neither of us has the time for it.” He nodded toward the east. Taras didn’t need to ask what he meant. He could already feel warmth on the back of his neck as the sun rose over the horizon. Once it gained enough sky, the shadows of the city would no longer be able to protect him. Theron was right, neither of them had time.
“In any case,” Theron continued, “if I wanted to kill you I’d have done it while your back was turned.”
True enough, Taras realized. He looked again at the rising light behind him, wondering if he might be able to strike fast and kill Theron before the sun rose. Probably not, he decided, unless he was willing to die this morning, as well. He glared at Theron, then put his claws away. Revenge would have to wait.
“What do you want?” Taras asked. “And be quick about it.”
Theron took a step forward, a crooked grin on his face. “I want to know where you will spend the day.”
Taras snorted. Of course he did. “I think not.”
“You misunderstand me,” Theron replied. “I seek shelter from the sun, the same as you. I did not have enough time to make my own before we were captured by Ramah, but you have been here for years, at least according to Baella. You must have a nice, safe place to wait out the day.”
Taras nodded. “Indeed I do. But I’ll not share it with you.”
Theron’s confident smile grew. “Oh, I think you will. You’ll have to. I will not allow you to leave this street until you agree to share your sanctuary.”
“You might find that harder than you think,” Taras replied. “I am not the same Bachiyr that I was in Jerusalem. You will not kill me easily, I assure you.”
“I don’t need to kill you,” Theron replied. “The sun will be up in a few moments. I only need to keep you busy until then.”
Taras swore under his breath. Theron spoke the truth, of course. The sun would kill him soon enough if he didn’t get off the street. “But then you would die, too.”
“So I would. But without your sanctuary I will die anyway, so it really doesn’t matter. This way, I at least get to take you with me.”
Damn. Taras looked over his shoulder at the bright tip of the sun, which had just crested the hills to the east. The light stung his eyes, but soon it would do much more than that. A few minutes after it rose fully into the sky, Taras would be nothing more than a pile of ashes in a city full of them. But at least Theron would die, too. Taras
