Dalip ducked down as the air above him cleaved, then rose with his own cutting blow, angling right to left as he rose. That man faded away, revealing the other. They both swung, and the arcs of their swords met in the middle. The heavier machete snapped the lighter blade in two, and the remnants spun away, glittering.
Dalip’s return blow struck home. The second man tried to rise, failed, and called out.
Then it was just Crows left, pushed forward into the bright ring by a white-faced Lord. Crows’ dark edges were jagged, ill defined, and no matter how Dalip blinked, he couldn’t bring him into focus. But since that was how he saw Crows anyway, he knew it was him.
‘So, Dalip Singh, it comes to this. God moves in unexpected ways.’
Dalip backed up until his heels touched the edge of the circular step. ‘You won’t fight me. You’re too much of a coward.’
‘And yet here I am.’
Yes, here he was, playing for time, tricking Dalip into long speeches and macho posturing, knowing that reinforcements were on their way, who at that very moment were bundling through the door and down the corridor, ready to overwhelm their self-declared enemy with sheer numbers.
It had to be now, or not at all.
Dalip turned, threw himself up the steps and raised his machete with both hands. He couldn’t see what he was striking, but he knew it didn’t matter. If he hit anything, it would be over.
He brought his arms down, felt an electric jolt in them as the blade connected, and suddenly he was cold and empty, as if someone had pierced him from back to front and life was draining from him. He felt a prolonged tug, an unzipping of his flank. His machete was wedged tight. It wouldn’t move. But the searing light from the device had died, so he let go, and pressed his palms over the rent in his side.
‘They gave me this sword,’ said Crows, ‘and I took it even though I did not expect to ever use it. Their word is◦– was◦– wisdom, but it appears we must now move into the future fatherless. Rather, I will. You, unfortunately, will not live to see it.’
Dalip’s scarred eyes saw Crows’ darkness deepen and grow. A bloodied sword rattled to the floor, and he was gone. As was the Lord of the White City in the doorway, who watched Dalip impassively for a few moments, before turning and walking away.
31
If she dropped the rifle, and they found it, they’d know that she didn’t have it any more. If she kept it, the size and weight of it might mean they’d capture her, rather than losing her. On top of which, she wasn’t sure if getting caught would give Dalip more time, or less.
All very different from the every-girl-for-herself, run-like-fuck code she was used to. She needed to keep them on her tail, to tie up as many of their resources as possible, and keep them guessing to the last moment as to how many of her there were.
She could do this, if it wasn’t for one problem: she couldn’t see where she was going. It wasn’t even like when she found her way to the White City, compass in hand. It was so dark, she didn’t dare move.
The way up to the plateau had been difficult in the last of the daylight. The way down would be very much simpler, quicker and entirely fatal. If she managed to stay away from the edge, if she could even tell which direction the edge lay, then she could head inland and disappear. Literally disappear, too, but currently no matter how hard she wanted to snap her fingers and see a spark of flame, she could make precisely nothing appear out of thin air.
The rock and scrub near the gorge had given way to a thin, weak forest. She had known which way to go, and which way definitely not to go◦– had it all mapped out◦– then night had fallen and made a mockery of her plans.
No one wanted to get shot. That was a given. Her pursuers shielded their lights the best they could as they spread out in a line, to both search for her, and drive her on, assuming that instinct would make her break cover at some point. They didn’t seem to realise she was smarter than that, but the ground gave her very few places to hide, even when she could see them.
Everything had to be done by touch and sound. The bobbing row of pale shadows didn’t give her much to go on, but moving away from them was the best and only thing she could do. Why did they fight for the Lords? The same reason a geomancer had followers, she supposed: each geomancer was just imitating the things in the robes. The law of the street prevailed. What was it that Crows had said? That the strong did what they wanted, and the weak suffered what they must. That. Hardly a cheery thought.
She couldn’t walk forward with both hands in front of her holding the rifle. What was she even thinking? She laid it down on the ground and stepped over it, feeling her way between the sharp, springy branches, making enough noise, she thought, to raise the dead. The lights behind didn’t speed up, though. Perhaps she was just imagining that she was being stupidly loud.
The glowing egg would have been useful right now. It would have painted a target on her not even an idiot could miss, but running and being chased would be better than this slow-motion charade. It was going to be better in every sense, leading the men behind her further and further away from the valley.
So now the obvious thing, since she didn’t have a light, was to steal one of the searchers’. One of the ones on the end, it didn’t matter which, so she chose left, and felt her way in that direction, testing each footstep in turn in case the next sent her plummeting to her death.
Then she crouched low, and waited for them to catch up.
They were widely spaced, the circle of light from each lantern barely overlapping. They’d never find her, she realised. It was a fool’s errand, something you’d send the makeweights and the misfits on to make it look like you knew what you were doing. These men weren’t fooled, though. Every step they took, lantern held down near the ground, sword, dagger or club ready, reeked of fear and trepidation.
If she’d had enough bullets, she still wouldn’t have wasted any on this crowd. Maybe one, to send them scurrying back to the stairs, but no more. They weren’t worth her worry.
She scooped up a handful of debris: dust, dried twigs and leaves, a couple of sharp-sided pebbles. She sorted out the stones, and just when she was in danger of being illuminated, she threw one over to the far side of the last man in the line. It clattered, his head snapped round, and he stopped.
‘Over there,’ he said. ‘Right next to you.’
‘I can’t see nothing.’
She lobbed the other, high and underarm, so that it took an age to fall back to earth.
‘There. Five yards ahead.’
She walked out of the gloom, completely blind-siding the man, who was still gesturing and shouting in the direction of a phantom. He only noticed her when she plunged her new little dagger, a broad blade no longer than her finger, into the meaty part of his sword arm.
He dropped both his sword, and the lantern. She already had her hand through the carrying handle, and it fell no further than into her grasp. Then she was off, running before the line, the lantern rattling away like a cow bell. It could hardly be more obvious, yet it was what she’d wanted. She could see where she was going, dimly and sometimes a little too late as she crashed through obstacles she’d have rather avoided, but this was a proper, honest chase, like the old days. Yes, her current pursuers could choose to kill her, but falling through roofs, entangled on razor wire, getting hit by cars… it was an occupational hazard, and it always felt like running for her life anyway.