Baracha cried something in Alhazii and swung his sword around without looking, staving in his attacker's ribs – where the blade stuck, forcing Baracha to pause in order to free it. The big man's head flicked up, just in time to see another Acolyte's sword sweeping down from above. It chopped through Baracha's left wrist before striking the wooden floor and sticking fast.
Aleas wiped his eyes clear as he finally slotted the trembling string into place. His master was hollering in a great gust of rage and pain while his eyes fixed on his severed hand lying on the floor. Baracha hefted his sword with his other hand, and opened the Acolyte's throat with it.
He went into a frenzy after that.
'Aeos, Toomes, bullshorns,' shouted the woman, still fumbling to reload her own weapon. 'Flank and take the young one.'
Two Acolytes broke off from their engagements and headed towards him.
Aleas, still on the floor, pushed himself backwards as he hurried to place a bolt against the now-drawn string. He launched it into the stomach of his nearest attacker. The second jumped forward, and then Aleas was suddenly in his own battle, fending off blows with the unloaded crossbow. For a moment he panicked, as a slash knocked the weapon from his hands. Aleas rolled clear. He struggled to his feet, his load of equipment slowing him, and his balance all wrong. He drew his sword.
The Acolyte was good, but then so was Aleas. It was instinct that made him duck beneath one unexpected sweep; he came up with the point of his blade lunging at the man's neck, which the Acolyte barely avoided. They were both panting hard, one in armour and the other weighted with equipment. Aleas was fitter, though. He swiped aside a riposte and stepped forward, cali style, his outstroke taking the man in the side. He twisted the blade. Slipped it out. Allowed the man to fall to the floor.
He glanced up to see the fight was theirs. Only two Acolytes remained on their feet, both confronting Ash. Baracha was striding towards the woman who stood upon the steps, bellowing words whose sense was drowned by their own volume.
The woman fired her pistol but missed. She tossed it aside and drew her blade, assuming a wide-footed stance on the topmost step.
'Come then, you big bastard,' she declared.
Baracha climbed six steps then flicked the stump of his arm at her. Blood lashed across her eyes.
His next move drove his blade cleanly through her abdomen. He dragged her, impaled, from the top step to stand beside him. He used his foot to push her free of the blade. She clattered down the steps and lay still.
A sense of calm fell upon the scene. The last Acolytes had fallen. Moans, coughs and retching echoed against the high ceiling above them.
Baracha sagged to one knee. 'Aleas,' he groaned.
Aleas wove his way through the carnage and went to the aid of his master.
Baracha looked to the top of the stairs, where a heavy vault door blocked the way. 'To the top, boy. Take me to the top.'
Together they struggled upwards. It was a slippery business, though, since Baracha was losing blood fast. Aleas helped to lower him to the floor, propping his back against the door. They had a clear vantage point from there, difficult for anyone to surprise them.
'Tourniquet,' his master rasped. He had turned bone-white, and his teeth were beginning to chatter. With haste, Aleas threw open the medico and set to work.
Ash stumbled up the steps and collapsed against the door beside Baracha. He was covered from toe to scalp in blood, though fortunately most of it appeared not to be his own.
'How are you?' he gasped.
Baracha looked down at his stump. With the tourniquet in place, the flow of blood had decreased, though it was still looking bad.
'I lost my hand,' was all he could say.
Aleas stopped his master from further chatter by shoving a strip of leather between his teeth. He tore open one of the bags of flash powder, sprinkled some on to the stump without warning. Baracha bit down on the strip in his mouth; the leather he wore creaked. Aleas fumbled with lighting a match, then held it against the stump. The powder went up in a flash, instantly cauterizing the wound. Baracha rolled his eyes upwards and passed out, whereupon Aleas set about wrapping a bandage around it.
Beside them, Ash was fumbling through the medico. He took out the pot of rush oil and dabbed more of the white cream against his tongue. He shook his head to clear it.
'We're in bad shape, Master Ash.'
'Hoh,' exclaimed the old man. 'I did not expect us to make it even this far.'
Aleas motioned to the door. 'Well, we go no further. Even with blackpowder, I doubt we'd make it through this door.'
'Nonsense,' said the old man. 'We still have our wits.'
Without standing, Ash reached up and hammered the hilt of his blade against the iron door. He waited, then he hammered some more.
'They are finished!' he shouted through it. 'It is safe to come out!'
Aleas frowned, spoke quietly: 'You really expect them to be so foolish?'
'Always expect foolishness,' Ash answered just as quietly, 'when minds are scattered by fear.'
As if to prove his assertion, a muffled voice replied through the door. 'Who speaks this?'
'Toomes!' Ash responded without a pause.
There was no reply. They waited for some minutes but nothing happened.
Aleas wondered how they would ever find Nico now, in their current condition. They didn't even know where he was being held. It seemed hopeless.
A clunk sounded through the door. Then another. It began to open.
Ash leaned on his sword and rose swaying to his feet. He met the old priest's face with a toothy grin.
Before the priest could react, Ash shoved past him. A woman stood just within the doorway, hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes gaping.
'Do nothing,' Ash instructed them. 'Aleas,' he called over his shoulder. Aleas was checking his master's pulse which was proving difficult to find. There… a faint beat against his finger. Well, he supposed, there was nothing more he could do for him now, anyway.
He followed the old farlander inside.
*
Birds sang from silver cages. The air reeked so thickly of narcotics that Aleas felt giddy with it. He suppressed an impulse to giggle.
The chamber was bright compared to the dimness they had just left, a result of the high windows that ran entirely around its perimeter. The sky was blue out there above the fog, the sun too bright to look at.
'Kirkus!' demanded Ash.
The old priest lowered his head. The woman, a servant of some kind, glanced for a mere instant up towards the raised section above.
They passed a crackling fire in the centre of the room, moved swiftly up the wooden steps that led to sleeping quarters separated by walls of thin panelling. Each of the four rooms there was empty.
Ash stood for a moment. He raised his nose in the air, sniffed.
He spun around, then returned to the bedroom they had just checked.
Ash ducked beneath the massive bed, snaking a hand under it. He began to pull, till a leg emerged, then naked buttocks, then an entire body.
It was a young priest, his lower lip pierced with golden spikes.
'Kirkus,' announced Ash triumphantly to the terrified, drugged eyes of the young man, who held up his hands like a boy shielding his eyes from the morning light.
'Nico. Where is he?' demanded Ash.
Kirkus blinked, finding focus at last on the face of the Rshun. Ash shook him with a snarl.
'Gone,' Kirkus panted, a hand casually gesturing at the air. 'To the Shay Madi.'
He told the truth. Aleas could see it in his eyes.
Their hung heads, on hearing this, seemed to lend the young priest strength. He dropped his arms, used his palms to raise himself up. 'You're too late,' he announced. 'He's well broken, as you will be, too, if you cause me harm.'