Looking down at him while he died, I could see that he looked like a medic. I had just killed a doctor. What kind of doctor carried a pistol?
The fight was over so quickly. All those months of training, long hours of step and parry, turn and slice, and the real fight was over in seconds. It was unreal.
I was standing over him, trying to stop my hand from shaking, when Raffmir appeared beside me. I still held the sword in my hand, watching the blood drip from the end of the blade on to the medic's coat. I could feel my heart thumping now that the adrenalin had nowhere to go.
"That was nicely done," he said. It was the first compliment he had ever paid me.
He shrugged out of his coat and let it fall on the ground. Underneath, the blood was soaking into the shirt around the gory hole in his arm. He glanced down.
"Careless," he said, shaking his head gently. "More haste, less speed."
He went back to where the guard whose hand I'd severed was sitting, leaning against the wall, cradling the stump in his lap and rocking back and forth. Even in the faint light of the glow around Raffmir I could see the sweat beaded on the man's skin, the way his eyes were wide and staring at nothing.
Raffmir picked him up by the front of his uniform and held him one-handed against the wall.
"Does it hurt?"
The man's eyes were staring but seeing nothing. Raffmir smiled. "Not for long."
Dappled moonlight spilled out into the corridor.
"Raffmir, don't…" But it was already too late.
Black tendrils of power extended from Raffmir's outstretched hand into the guard's skin. His flesh sank against his bones and his eyes bulged as Raffmir consumed his life essence in front of me. For once I understood what Blackbird had meant when she said that such a thing was obscene. What was left of the guard fell through Raffmir's hand.
He glanced sideways at me. "Squeamish, cousin?"
"Was that necessary?"
In answer, he drew back the shirt from his arm where the blood caked the cloth, revealing a newly puckered scar where the gunshot wound had been.
He prodded it gently, checking for tenderness. "I do believe it was," he said.
He reached down and retrieved his coat, putting a finger through the hole that the bullet had made. He shrugged back into it, covering the blood-soaked shirt. His glamour shifted slightly and the hole in his coat also vanished.
He squared his shoulders. "Come," he said. "We are almost there."
Beyond the iron doors was different. Where before there had been offices and computers, carpets and corridors, this was more like a hospital than an office building. The floors were dark vinyl, the walls painted white without pictures or pattern, and the air smelled of antiseptic.
The beds in the wards were mostly empty. The few patients lay comatose, immune to gunfire and violence. Beyond them I could see where people hid in the wards, concealing themselves behind curtains or beds, trying not to be noticed. When we came near, they scurried away into the dark and I could see that most of them were medical staff. Raffmir ignored them, though he was more cautious after the encounter with the guards.
As we continued, the wards gave way to rooms, each with a single occupant. The wall facing the corridors was glass, as were the doors, but the glass had a peculiarly solid quality. The locks on the doors stood out dark and cold, a simple key lock in each, but made of iron.
I halted. "What are these?" I asked Raffmir.
"We have reached the inmates' accommodation," he replied, walking on without pause. "This is where your daughter has been kept. I did try and use my influence to get her moved, but the staff here are a law unto themselves."
"These people are gifted?"
In the nimbus glow, flickering light illuminated the dark room. A young boy was curled in the centre of the room, arms wrapped around his knees. He appeared to be mumbling something to himself, again and again. I moved to the next. An old woman sat on the bed platform, staring at us through the glass. In the room opposite, a large man stood leaning against the glass, hands cupped over his eyes, trying to see out.
"Do not be distracted by trivia, Dogstar. We do not have time."
"But they're like me."
"After tonight, I doubt this facility will continue."
"What will happen to them, then?"
"Do you want your daughter or not?"
"What will happen to them?" I repeated.
"I don't know." His voice held a lie.
"Get me a key."
"We do not have time, Dogstar. Your daughter is this way." He gestured with his sword down the corridor.
As if in answer, there was a dull boom from the way we had come.
"What was that?" I asked him.
"They are rallying their defences. Because we have disabled the power, sealing the door locks, they are having to force their way into the building.
"Get me the key to these doors," I said.
"There's no time."
"If we let them out, anyone coming after us will be delayed, while they deal with the escapees," I pointed out.
He paused for a second and then strode back to the wards. Disappearing for a moment he returned with a young nurse, her arm twisted painfully behind her.
"Get me the key to these cells," he said, pushing her into the corridor.
"I don't know where it is," she lied.
His sword flashed once in the dark. There was the beginning of a startled shriek which fell abruptly silent. Her headless body fell to the floor. He kicked the head ahead of him, back into the ward. Marching after it, he re-entered the ward. There was a hail of protests before he dragged an older woman out into the corridor. She swatted at him with her hands, but he ignored her, propelling her forward. She stopped in front of the headless corpse, breathing hard.
"Your colleague said she didn't know where the key to the cells was." He nodded at the corpse, speaking calmly.
Without hesitating the woman pointed to where we had come in. "The guard station," she said, her voice quavering.
"Bring it to me," he said quietly.
She ran down the corridor towards the guard station.
"If you do not come back," he called after her, "I will come after you."
We waited in the dim light.
"Maybe she can't find it in the dark," I said.
"If your daughter is dead by the time we reach her, remember it is you who wanted a delay."
The nurse advanced towards us, holding the key out gingerly.
Raffmir's hand shot out and took her wrist, holding the key up. "Take it from her," he said.
"It's iron," I pointed out.
"I know that. You wanted the key, there it is."
She tried to pull away, but he held her easily, tightening his grip so she gasped.
"Take the key." I knelt down and drew the coat of the headless corpse towards me. The woman watched me, eyes wide. I ripped the pocket off the coat with one clean swipe, then used it to take the key from the woman's hand, wrapping the scrap around the key, so I didn't have to touch it. Even so, I could feel the iron through the material, a curious ache from having it so close.
Raffmir twisted the wrist, so that the woman lifted her chin in pain. The sword arced brightly and another head arced away into the dark to bounce wetly along the corridor. The body spurted blood as it fell, dribbling red down the glass wall of the nearest cell in sticky dribbles.
"Another corpse to your tally?" I asked him.
"If you had not wanted the key she would still be alive."
"Don't blame me for your actions."
"I do not blame you, but she knew how many we are, and that we are sensitive to iron. That is too much knowledge to fall into the hands of our enemies. Now hurry. We are late."
I went to the cell with the boy and used the key wrapped in the scrap of cloth to unlock the door. Close up, I could see that in the glass there was a fine mesh of iron layered into the glass. I pushed the door open.