‘Fucksake, what is it?’ Brude demanded, turning back.
Liel wafted his arm. ‘Up there, on them roofs. Few hundred yards away, a fraction left of the Astronomer’s Glass Tower.’
From out of the sea of fog and above the crenellated sector walls, a figure could be seen gliding from rooftop to rooftop, tiptoeing across the moonlit tiles — then, seemingly, it ran through the air over a gap of at least twenty yards, its arms and legs flailing, only to push itself off another set of roof tiles with the daintiest of touches.
Fluidly, it manoeuvred itself towards them.
‘Hmm…’ Brude placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and, very loudly, gave two sharp whistles. A moment later, boots were clattering on the cobbles: the back-up was arriving. ‘Tell them what’s going on, I’ll get some gems, then we fuck off quickly. Right?’
Liel nodded tentatively, his eyes still fixed on the approach of this rooftop newcomer.
Brude glanced at their comrades, three blond thugs standing furtively next to Liel, both kitted out in tight military-style clothing and both brandishing swords. Brude nodded to them, and they whispered back, ‘Evening, brothers.’
As Liel opened his mouth to explain the situation, and Brude poked his head back into the shop, a voice called out from across the street:
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, chaps.’ He was well-spoken, whoever he was, silhouetted against the moonlit glare on the wet cobbles, with his hands on his hips. A tail swished back and forth, and for a moment Brude assumed it was an Inquisition rumel. Brude pulled his attention away from the jewellers and, standing alongside his comrades, peered through the fog that had now made itself present at street level.
‘The fuck are you, telling us what to do?’ Brude called back. ‘You Inquisition or something?’
All he could see at first was that the silhouette started walking towards them. Was this the same one as the figure previously spotted on the rooftops? He couldn’t have dropped here that quickly. He must have approached from a different part of the city.
‘I’m one of the Villjamur Knights,’ the stranger replied.
‘What does that mean?’ Brude replied.
‘It means’ — another voice now, bass and firm — ‘that we’re here to stop you from clearing out this shop.’ A figure came from the side street to Granby’s, a hulking mass of an individual.
Bloody hell, Brude thought, what muscles…
Brude realized that their exits were cut off on two sides and they would be required to fight their way out. Then a third figure came from over the nearest rooftop, gliding to the ground like a garuda — but there were no wings here, the figure merely moved through air as if able to bend it to its will.
And a moment later, noting the long hair and feminine grace, Brude realized this figure was a woman. What the hell is a woman doing here? he thought.
The smaller of the approaching men moved into a solid patch of moonlight and Liel gasped. Brude cuffed the younger man’s ear for showing fear. ‘Idiot,’ he whispered, but the runt had a point in being afraid. The stranger was… animalistic, though not unlike a rumel. His nose was flared and broad and black, and his face showed signs of
… fur. There was something remarkably feline about him. From his fingers extended thick claws. He stood tall, and walked with an alien grace. And he seemed to stand there, bathing in their shock.
‘You think you three freaks can handle the four of us?’ Brude heckled, drawing a large dagger.
Two of the thugs sprinted with their swords brandished, heading towards the hulk in the alleyway, and they vanished into the street-level fog. Waiting in the darkness, Brude heard their shuddering screams, the sounds of blood pooling slickly on stone, their swords clattering to the ground.
The remaining thug gawked at Brude, who signalled for him to move. The man dashed ahead towards the cat-like figure, who sidestepped him, raking his claws down his back. The man moved back with a scream, clutching his ribs with his free hand. He turned, striking his blade this way and that, slicing nothing but air as the figure repeatedly moved out of range with acrobatic speed. The blond thug lunged to and fro, tiring quickly, then the cat thing struck him: he swiped his clawed hands across the man’s face and throat, and in an instant the thug collapsed pathetically, clutching at his wounds.
The final figure — the woman — moved towards Liel and Brude. With her dark hair tied back, and relaxed pose, this plain and willowy girl appeared fairly harmless. Brude decided he would act, and he moved towards her, brandishing his dagger. As he made the first swipe she seemed to move backwards, stepping up onto the air itself, and pulling away from him at a curious angle. She stepped across him — in mid air — and he found himself chasing her legs, trying to slice at her heels.
With her arms extended, she kicked him in the face and he spun backwards, slipping on a patch of ice to collapse on the ground. Pain shot through his entire body, and his jaw thronged from the impact. The woman lowered herself to the ground and effortlessly kicked away his blade.
Brude lay there dazed, wondering if he was going insane. The other man — the cat thing — was present, standing alongside the woman, both now looking down on him. Brude could clearly see the cat thing’s short, grey-striped fur, and the bizarre vertical pupils, which were set in an otherwise slender human face. Each of them wore a thick, fitted black suit, with some sort of symbol in the centre of the chest — an upright silver cross, set within a circle, dividing it into quarters.
‘This fellow absolutely stinks,’ the cat thing muttered.
‘Really?’ the woman replied, looking down on Brude. ‘I can’t smell a thing.’
‘Yes, well, it seems there are a few disadvantages to these so-called powers that no one told me about. You could do with putting on a little less perfume yourself.’
‘Why thanks. I’ll keep your precious nose in mind when I’m getting ready.’
The big man spoke: ‘You would’ve thought he can smell the shit that comes out of his mouth.’
Liel was shoved forward onto his knees alongside Brude. The snivelling man was absolutely petrified, with tears in his eyes, but was otherwise unharmed — he had probably surrendered at the earliest opportunity. His hands were held behind him by the brutish man, who spoke. ‘We take this one and drop him with Investigator Fulcrom for questioning. This other fucker, we let go.’
‘Why would you let him go?’ the cat-man asked. ‘We’ve just caught him.’
‘Because, you fool, we want people to know what we’re capable of doing.’ The brute snapped back Liel’s arms with a crack and a scream, and the runt began to cry again. The muscled man pulled out some rope from a thick belt, and bound his broken arms together.
He knelt down, bringing his broad stubbled chin, wide nose and dark eyes ever closer. He clutched Brude’s throat in one fist.
‘I’m called Vuldon, and we three represent a new entity. We’re called the Villjamur Knights. You might want to make it perfectly clear to your comrades, or whatever the fuck you call yourselves, that we are going to hunt you down one by one until the city up here is safer. You will comply with the Emperor’s laws.’
Brude squirmed a nod, desperately, and meekly pawed at Vuldon’s fist.
‘All right, that’s enough, Vuldon,’ the woman said.
He didn’t let go.
‘Vuldon,’ the woman urged, ‘don’t kill him. Come on, let’s go.’
Vuldon eventually released his grasp. Air rushed in. Brude spluttered and heaved, turning on his sides to grip at the wet cobbles.
A moment later, once he had composed himself, he realized that the so-called Villjamur Knights had gone, taking Liel with them.
Brude was left wounded, in the company of corpses.
*
Vuldon shoved the man into a cell, which was more like a cage, and the scrawny fellow curled himself up into a ball, hugging his knees, shivering. The room was constructed from a dreary red brick, the ceiling curved and dripping with moisture from somewhere. There was a bucket in the corner.