Two men ran towards Barandas, both clutching swords. The Supreme Augmentor parried one and then reversed his grip, thrusting behind him to skewer the third man who had tried to sneak up on him.
Thurbal sidled into view, his jagged scimitar raised in a defensive posture. The rebel who had swung at Barandas launched a diagonal downward swipe at the grey Augmentor, who casually raised his glowing weapon to parry. There was a screeching sound, and suddenly the rebel was missing the top half of his sword.
Thurbal took advantage of his opponent’s confusion to launch a swing at his neck. The blow was almost desultory, lacking any real power, yet the scimitar sheared through flesh and vertebrae as easily as it had steel. The head lolled horribly for a second before tumbling to the ground. The body toppled down next to it and proceeded to pump blood all over the ruined floor of the temple.
Legwynd had closed the distance with the crossbowman lurking in the nave, and now they fought hand to hand, dagger against dagger. Almost too late, Barandas noticed another man targeting him from behind a pillar. The crossbow clicked. Time stood still.
The bolt bounced off his longsword and ricocheted harmlessly off a wall.
The Supreme Augmentor had devoted countless hours to studying every text on the art of combat that could be found in the city. He had regularly spent entire nights practising his swordsmanship, performing routines of such tedium and precision they would drive most men mad. It had cost him much, but Barandas had not achieved his current position by luck. He stalked towards his attacker. The crossbow clicked, and again his sword was there, deflecting the quarrel. He leaped forwards and came up in a roll just before the pillar. The rebel discarded his crossbow and went for the mace at his belt, but he fumbled it. Barandas waited for him to pick the weapon up off the floor. It would make no difference to the outcome.
A quick exchange of blows and the rebel was sagging back against the pillar, his punctured heart leaking blood down his chest to pool around his lifeless legs. The sight gave Barandas pause.
Battle cries split the air, and two large men burst into view. One wielded a hatchet, the other a wooden club spiked with iron rivets. Garmond, gore dripping from his bloodied gauntlets, immediately focused his attention on them. ‘Mine!’ he growled. The two rebels circled him warily.
The brother with the club — they were twins, Barandas realized — swung at Garmond, a powerful blow that would have flattened a lesser man. Garmond the Black raised an arm and deflected it with his vambrace. At the same time, the other brother yanked a loaded crossbow from where it had been hidden underneath his cloak and fired it. The bolt flew true, hitting the steel gorget around the Augmentor’s neck. It should have snapped it, damaged Garmond’s windpipe at the very least, but the enchanted metal held and the quarrel bounced away.
With incredible speed for a man of his size, Garmond launched himself forwards and unleashed a right-handed hook at his would-be killer, who had dropped the crossbow. The man twisted to avoid the full impact, but the gauntleted fist caught him a glancing blow and sent him flying to the ground.
Suddenly Garmond stumbled and went down to one knee. The other brother was attempting to tackle him from behind. The rebel was himself large by any normal measure, but Garmond the Black could not be compared to other men.
The Augmentor reached behind him with one arm, dragging his opponent away from his legs and along the ground towards him. With his other hand, he shoved his fingers into the rebel’s eyes, pushing down with terrible strength. Screams erupted from his unfortunate victim and rivulets of blood welled up beside Garmond’s fingers as they probed ever deeper.
A hatchet suddenly crashed into the back of the Augmentor’s helmet with enough force to jolt his head viciously forwards. Barandas thought Garmond might be in serious trouble, but the giant stumbled to his feet in time to catch the follow-up blow in his open gauntlets. Blood dripped from his hands where the hatchet had made its mark.
Garmond didn’t seem to care. Snarling from behind his horned helm, he tore the hatchet from the rebel’s grip and sent it hurtling across the temple. The twin reached desperately at his belt for another weapon, but he was out of time. Garmond was upon him, his mighty fists shattering the man’s cheekbones, then his jaw, and finally opening his skull with a sickening crack.
‘Enough,’ Barandas commanded. Garmond let the corpse drop to the floor. The other brother twitched once nearby, and then lay still.
Taking stock of the situation, Barandas saw that Legwynd had got the better of the rebel he’d been fighting. Bodies were strewn everywhere. He counted eight corpses. ‘Do we have their leader?’ he asked.
‘Over here, Commandant,’ Thurbal shouted. Barandas walked over to the shadowy alcove where his fellow Augmentor was waiting. He stared down at the grisly sight on the floor. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.
Thurbal gave an insolent shrug. ‘I thought he might try to make a run for it,’ he said, ‘so I cut off his legs. Then he tried to pull a crossbow on me, so I cut off his arms.’
The twitching mess of flesh at his feet moaned weakly. With the amount of blood he’d already lost, it was a miracle the rebel leader still lived. He was trying to say something, red froth spilling from his mouth down over his double chin. ‘I can’t understand you,’ Barandas said. He put his ear close to the man’s mouth.
‘Who…’ he croaked weakly. ‘Who betrayed us?’
Barandas shook his head. ‘It’s not important now. I regret what this man did to you, but you knew the price of treason. Go to your peace now.’ With those words, he placed the edge of his sword against the rebel’s fleshy neck and slit his throat.
He glared at Thurbal. ‘You and I will have words. Your conduct is unacceptable.’ He frowned suddenly. He could hear a faint ticking noise. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but his surly grey-haired colleague pointedly ignored him.
Before Barandas could press him further, a glint near the dead man’s severed leg suddenly caught his eye. It was a small crystal, likely quartz, of a pretty green hue. Like Lena’s eyes, he thought. It was slightly smudged with ash, as if it had been in a fire. He rubbed the grime away and put the stone inside one of the pouches hanging at his belt.
There was a slight sensation of wind brushing against his face and suddenly Legwynd was standing next to him. ‘No sign of anyone else alive,’ said the cherub-faced killer with a smile. ‘But I found this.’ He thrust a map at Barandas, who took it from his hands. It illustrated Dorminia and the surrounding region in impressive detail. A hastily drawn circle immediately got his attention. It outlined a specific location east of the city.
‘The Wailing Rift,’ Barandas muttered under his breath. Nine corpses, none of them female. Our informant said there were twelve. Sudden comprehension dawned. ‘Legwynd,’ he said. ‘You will go to the Wailing Rift immediately. I believe these rebels were plotting to take advantage of our sojourn at the Obelisk.’
Legwynd grinned and threw a salute. ‘I’ll be there before midday. If I find any rebels at the Rift, they’ll be in for a surprise.’ He patted the daggers at his belt and then sped away almost as fast as the eye could follow.
Barandas looked around at the temple. He had been born into a godless world, yet the sight of so much bloodshed in this once holy sanctuary made him uneasy.
‘Thurbal,’ he commanded. ‘Finish searching this place, and then burn these corpses.’
It was an unpleasant business, but a man did what was necessary.
An Unexpected Message
The depository was a shambles.
Eremul wheeled his chair slowly forwards, circum-navigating the ruined piles of books and soggy reams of paper that had congealed together, becoming little more than clumps of worthless pulp. A soft squelching noise accompanied his slow circuit of the ruined archives. Most of the water had retreated back into the harbour, but the carpeted floor of the depository remained flooded.