Witches!
Daud backed away, adrenaline rising, as he decided what to do—fight or flight were his options, and the latter seemed most prudent. Whatever they were doing here, it had nothing to do with him. More than that, witches were a complication he did not wish to get involved with. Not now.
He turned. Behind him was a third witch, heading toward the office, a cloth-wrapped bundle held under one arm. Daud froze—as did the witch. The two stared at each other for a moment, then the witch turned on her heel and vanished in a puff of inky black nothing.
Daud spun around. Flight was no longer an option.
The first two witches, disturbed by their sister, had now seen him. They stalked around either side of the desk, slowly, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, their eyes fixed on Daud.
He felt the Mark of the Outsider burn on his hand. Unsure of what magic they had access to, he might well need to use his own now. Two witches against one of him wasn’t bad odds—he’d faced far worse, although right now that time at Brigmore Manor felt like a lifetime ago—but even a single witch was a formidable opponent.
Then the witches shrieked in unison, and vanished from the end of the office, reappearing almost within touching distance.
Daud lunged forward, his whaling knife already slicing toward the closest witch. She snarled, her eyes glowingfiercely as thick black ichor began to run from them, coursing down her face. She vanished in a puff of sticky smoke, Daud’s blade sweeping through thin air.
But he was prepared. He knew what witches could do—and he knew how to fight them. Allowing his momentum to carry him forward, he curled his knife arm around, ducking the outstretched grasp of the other witch and, aiming low, he swiped the blade across her leg. The witch screamed and fell backward, then in a swirl of black fog she was gone, her sister switching positions with her.
The witch reached forward, screeching, her razor-sharp fingernails an inch away from Daud’s face. The Mark of the Outsider blazed and he transversed away, materializing on top of one of the bookcases. Below, the two witches turned to look before vanishing from the floor and appearing on the top of the bookcase opposite. In unison, the pair threw their hands out, from which grew twisting, writhing black-and-green tendrils of vegetation, the blood briars magically soaring outward to ensnare the assassin.
Daud reacted, transversing up to their bookcase and appearing behind them. His blade sank into the first witch’s back, piercing her squarely between the shoulder blades. Screaming in agony, she groped behind her, but Daud twisted the knife and yanked it out, before moving away, kicking as he did so. The witch toppled to the ground, dead. Burning lines began to run along her skin, blackening her clothing—the remains of some occult tattoo that Daud did not quite understand, though he’d seen other sorcerers employ similar tricks.
Her sister stared up at Daud as he crouched on the black iron chandelier that swung high from the ceiling. He saw her tense, ready to make an impossible leap, ready to ensnare the light fitting in more blood briars.
That was when the shot rang out. The witch jerked to one side, a spray of black-red blood erupting from her shoulder. She howled and dematerialized, the sooty black residue of her power quickly evaporating as two newcomers entered the room.
They were not Grand Guards, but a man and a woman, dressed in matching khaki-green suits and elaborate cravats held in place with jeweled pins. She had blonde hair that rose in a pompadour, while the man’s hair and moustache were black, his bangs falling over his face as he ducked for cover by a low, glass-topped cabinet of curios.
Daud was exposed on the chandelier; but he wasn’t sure the newcomers had seen him yet, their attention now on the remaining witch who was zig-zagging around the room, her shrieks bouncing from the walls. Daud glanced up—at the far end of the office, over the main doors, was a large stained-glass window, the ledge large enough to stand on. Summoning his power, Daud moved onto it, then flattened himself against the narrow space and crawled forward, looking over the edge and directly down on the newcomers.
He had no idea who they were. He had no interest in finding out. A more urgent issue was the remaining witches—the one with the bundle he hadn’t seen again, but the other, while injured, would now be even more dangerous as her anger took hold. From his high position, Daud watched as the witch darted around the room, then vanished altogether, while the strange pair paused, scanning the office.
Daud let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Witches, here, in Karnaca? Linked to Delilah Copperspoon, or someone else? Covens and sorcery-cults had existed as long as the Outsider had been around, for thousands of years, their numbers rising and falling,but never fading completely. They were part of a disease spread by that black-eyed bastard.
But they were a symptom of the sickness, and not the contagion itself. And they were also not his problem.
The two newcomers weren’t either, although he wondered who they were. They weren’t witches, certainly. Nor were they Grand Guards. Members of the Eyeless? That seemed more likely; their attire was of the highest quality, and some of the gangs Daud knew certainly prided themselves in their appearance, in some instances crafting a mocking approximation of aristocratic fashion.
But… no, these two were different. They almost seemed like they were aristocrats, apart from the fact that they were armed and they moved with stealth, now splitting up to cover both sides of the office, signaling to each other with hand gestures while they scanned the room.
They were agents then. Of what, Daud could only begin to guess. Part of Corvo Attano’s retinue of spies? He was the
