Iron Angel

scarred friend. I have many questions.”

A derisive snort came from somewhere close behind Rachel. “Then put them to me, assassin.” Rachel recognized the voice at once-the very sound of it filled her with a sense of impending violence.

Carnival moved quickly out of the fog, her wings half outstretched as though ready for battle, her dark eyes fixed on the tethered giant. “You are an assassin, aren’t you?”

“It is not personal,” Anchor said. “Cospinol needs your blood.”

Rachel’s thoughts raced. She had seen Carnival fight. She had witnessed the scarred angel cut through an army and murder a god, and she knew that Anchor stood no chance against this foe. Yet if the giant had come here to fight the Mesmerists, then Rachel could not afford to let Carnival kill him. She looked at Trench for support, but was dismayed to see the hatred boiling in his eyes. His fist tightened on his strange demon-blade, and it let loose a pitiful wail in response.

Carnival murdered me. I trained every day for twenty years, yet she still defeated me. Silister Trench had been another of the scarred angel’s victims. But now it was Dill’s fist clutching the sword, and Dill’s blood that would be spilled in a fight.

“Get out of here,” Rachel hissed at Carnival. “Please…just go.”

The scarred angel growled, “You didn’t complain when I cut you loose from a Spine trap in Deepgate. I didn’t hear you complain when I brought down a fleet of airships to aid your escape.”

Carnival had remained hidden all this time, watching and listening from afar. And now she was about to ruin everything. Cinderbark Wood was about to become a battlefield. The Heshette were urging their horses into a semicircle behind Anchor. Steel rasped as blades were unsheathed. Bowstrings tightened.

Carnival’s full attention remained fixed on Anchor. “Your master wants my blood?”

“He does,” Anchor replied.

“Then let him try and take it.”

But it was Trench who attacked first. Rachel caught movement at the edge of her vision, and she wheeled to see the wingless archon charge. He was muttering something under his breath. The shiftblade thrust forward, aimed at Carnival’s neck.

“Wait!” Rachel cried.

The scarred angel danced back from the blow. She would have avoided it easily had the shiftblade not changed form. Halfway through Trench’s strike, his sword turned into a pike. This sudden alteration caught Carnival by surprise, but not Trench, who wielded the iron-sheathed weapon with consummate ease. The pike had a much longer reach; its curved iron blade had nicked the scarred angel’s larynx, drawing blood.

Carnival clutched her bloody neck and backed away.

Trench swung the pike in a circle over his head, his hands turning the shaft, then brought the point down to bear on his opponent. Still whispering to himself, he thrust the weapon forward.

Carnival lashed a fist out to grab the shaft, but her fingers closed on nothing but air. The shiftblade had altered its shape again, from a pike into a rapier. Its steel tip pierced Carnival’s hand behind her thumb.

She shrieked in fury and leapt back, turning to face the archon once more. Her eyes thinned to murderous slits.

Trench came at her fast-in a series of rapid strikes. Handling the rapier with as much mastery as the pike, he strove forward, shifting his hind foot with each lunge to keep each blow just in reach.

Carnival was forced to retreat again.

Now Trench moved to a broadward stance, seemingly leaving himself open to attack. He waited, the rapier tip aimed at a point above his opponent’s heart.

Anchor had folded his arms across his huge chest and was watching the battle with interest.

Carnival pounced with frightening speed, her body flexing under the projected path of the blade, her hands reaching for the other angel’s neck.

The shiftblade changed again. Trench’s rapier became an iron shield, which he smashed into the scarred angel’s face. She tumbled backwards, blood sluicing from her nose, as a metallic clang resounded through the stone forest.

“Raw fury cannot match skill,” Anchor commented to the Heshette leader, a thin man with black hair and cynical eyes. “The First Citadel champion has some experience, I think.” He paused. “But maybe not so much stamina. The fight ends soon, eh?”

Trench was already breathing hard, clearly struggling with the weight of the shield. Evidently Dill’s untrained muscles were not used to such exertions.

The scarred angel’s rage, meanwhile, gave her almost limitless endurance. She was snarling and spitting blood, already crouching in order to hurl herself back into the battle.

“Carnival!” Rachel cried.

But the scarred angel ignored her. She flung herself at Trench’s shield like a force of nature, a storm of teeth and fists intent on ripping him apart.

Trench was driven back by the concentrated fury of her attack. He staggered and fell, but as he dropped to the ground he hissed another frantic word. Razor-sharp spikes burst out of his shield, shredding his opponent’s hands. Blood flew in arcs from Carnival’s flailing fists, but she did not stop.

“Too much blood,” Anchor said. “I stop this now.” He looped a coil of loose rope around his huge bicep and strode forward, cracking his knuckles.

Trench was pinned under his shield, desperately trying to keep it between him and the scarred angel’s frenzied blows. Carnival, seemingly oblivious to her own wounds, continued her assault without pause. Skin now hung in shreds from her lacerated fists.

“Angel,” Anchor roared. “Leave the poor boy. It is time for you to face me now.”

Carnival wheeled, her face riven with blood and scars and strands of her own black hair. The lights of Cinderbark Wood glimmered faintly in her eyes. “Assassins,” she hissed. “I’ve killed so many now.”

“Don’t do this,” Rachel warned. “Carnival, please.”

The giant gave Rachel a sad smile. “I make the end painless for your friend. You must not fear for her.”

Carnival rose slowly from Trench’s battered and cowering body. The rage seemed to have drained out of her abruptly. She glanced at Rachel, then back at Anchor. “You’re unarmed,” she said.

“I prefer fists and feet to steel. It is best for both of us, eh?”

Carnival nodded. “Then I’ll kill you quickly.”

Rachel cried out.

But the scarred angel moved like the shadow of gale-torn cloud, a dark shape across the white sands.

Rachel focused. She had no clear idea of how to stop this bloodshed, but she needed a chance to try. Time expanded around her. The warriors hanging from Cospinol’s skyship settled silently into their nooses. The Heshette horsemen froze in their saddles. Trench’s ragged breaths stopped.

But Carnival did not. Moving as fast as any focused Spine, the scarred angel reached for Anchor’s throat. Had Rachel’s senses not been pushed beyond their normal limits, she might have missed the attack altogether.

But then John Anchor did something astonishing.

He seized Carnival’s outstretched hand and jerked it aside. Even at this increased speed, his fist had been a blur. Rachel knew that she’d just seen something impossible-the force of air alone should have shattered the big man’s bones.

Yet Anchor now lifted his other fist and punched Carnival hard against the side of her head. The scarred angel went limp, slowly, and began to collapse at the giant’s feet.

Rachel dragged herself back to her normal state, her muscles already cramping from that one focused instant. Her heart felt like it was racing, although it was actually slowing. She watched Anchor pick up Carnival’s body and sling it over his shoulder.

“It is done,” he said wearily. “Another warrior for the Rotsward’s gins.” Then he plucked a reed from his breeches and blew into it.

The Heshette were hard-pressed to keep their mounts from bolting when the clattering, clicking mass of shells and pincers descended from Cospinol’s ship. The crabs surged over the scarred angel, and then bore her body