Chapter XVI. Duskfall #2
“The sun was sinking. Battle swelling. And in that blood-soaked square, Reyne á Maergenn and I stood, side by side. Though Kestrel’s whispers must have filled her mind, the Nineswords’ daughter showed no fear.
And wearied and wounded though she was, as Kestrel charged across that broken ground, Reyne charged to meet her.
“The Maiden’s scythe split the air, but the Princess danced aside, and we burst into pieces as it sheared through our body.
But we were already re-forming, past the blade’s arc—our trick of the eye, our spell of the blood.
Though the skin of ancien Voss might be impervious to our blade, her beast’s certainly wasn’t, Kestrel grunting as we cleaved the stallion’s legs from under her and sent all crashing into the snows.
“Kestrel rose from the ruins, smeared with gore. But Reyne was already upon her, and the Maiden soon realized her peril. The Princess’s blade was fresh-anointed with the Grail’s own holy blood, slicing the air but an inch from Kestrel’s throat, severing a braid of hair as the Maiden wove back, snarling, skidding, midnight eyes gone bright and wide.
“‘En garde,’ Reyne hissed.
“Lunging at her flank, my blade was a blur, a sharp crack ringing across the square as it kissed Kestrel’s skin, putting a tiny split in her porcelain cheek.
“‘Touché.’
“Dior watched, dagger in her fist as chaos raged all around her. Reaching into Reyne’s mind, I could feel her flow, match it with my own, as if the Princess and I played a duet with steel and blood.
We fought Kestrel toe-to-toe, and that near, the reach of her scythe was a burden, not a blessing.
For a moment, Kestrel looked backfooted. Off-balance.
“But only a moment.
“Though I’d stolen my power, Kestrel had earned hers through centuries on the battlefield.
She knew the blood on the Princess’s blade was Dior’s.
She knew I could boil her veins dry. From a mind so fearsome, there was no secret we could hide, no feint she would fall for, no strike she could not see coming—the thought of it read before ever it became action.
And in a blinking, we realized the folly of facing a warrior such as she.
“Black eyes met ours.
“Black lips curled in a smile.
“Kestrel twisted her weapon, and with a snak, the haft cleft in twain; a shortened scythe now in her left hand, a cruel longblade in her right. The Maiden lunged, the scythe descended—too swift, too fierce—past my guard and across my knees. For a moment, I could not understand why I was falling, but then I saw my boots sailing through the air, blood spewing from the stumps she’d left me with.
But louder than my own cry was Dior’s; heartsick, high, a scream of terror as Kestrel followed through, opening Reyne á Maergenn from sundered crotch all the way to shattered ribs.
“The Princess staggered, mismatched eyes on her love. Dior stepped forward, slicing her palm, lips peeling back from sharpening teeth as she wet her blade.
“But too late.
“Far too late.
“And as dusk finally fell over the city, so too fell Princess Reyne.
“Dior’s scream was shapeless, animal, more akin to a howl than a wail.
Her eyes flooded with tears as she slipped to her knees in the snow, gaze locked on her fallen love, all that blood.
And fingers curling into claws, she screamed again, so loud it made us wince.
Rolling onto our belly, scrabbling at red snow, we shouted warning.
“And Kestrel Voss turned upon her prey.
“The Prince of Forever stepped forward, hand outstretched to claim her prize. But she fell motionless, black eyes narrowed as Dior’s voice raised up in a third and final scream.
“It was … awful. Ragged and agonized. The Grail held her hands up before her eyes, widening along with our own to see her fingers now tipped with razored claws.
Her body began to … move without moving.
Not walking nor crawling but … bending. Warping.
She threw back her head, screaming still, and we saw her teeth were grown long and sharp, limbs buckling, spine arching, ashen hair no longer simply spilling about her tearstained cheeks but erupting from her skin.
With a final dreadful crackling, the rending of mail and splitting of seams, her scream indeed became a howl.
And where a moment before had knelt a helpless, wailing girl, now crouched a great, snarling beast, Marquis; fur of white and claws of black and eyes of icy blue, fixed now upon that dumbstruck Prince of Forever.
“A wolf.
“We could not believe what we were seeing.
Horror and awe in equal measure, no breath in our breast to whisper.
Shock rippled among the bloodied Unbound, those men yet fighting now struck still at the sight of her.
No more a sister, a daughter, a messiah, but a beast, towering, snarling, rippling with wrath.
“‘Sweet Mothermaid,’ Phoebe whispered. ‘Dior…’
“She moved; a flash of white fur and fangs, a blood-drenched roar. Her jaws closed about the Maiden’s outstretched hand and snapped shut, severing steel and flesh.
Kestrel screamed; the bubbling, hate-filled cry of one so old and hard she’d forgotten what it was to hurt.
And despite whatever edict her King had given, she lashed out with her scythe.
“The weapon bit deep, holy blood spraying. Dior was sent flying, tumbling and snarling. But in a heartbeat, she twisted upright, maw and sundered flanks dripping blood. That mighty she-wolf shook herself like a waterlogged hound, spraying yet more blood and setting the wretched all about her aflame. And as that blood fell, glittering, rubied, we heard the familiar whip-snap of tearing air as each drop became a perfect needle wrought by the power of Dior’s own will, glittering, shimmering, poised in the air around her head.
“‘What be this madness? ’ Kestrel hissed.
“The gatekeep was yet firing among the Dead, flame streaking across thundering skies.
Our belly filled with long-dead butterflies as we saw a storm of tiny red wings descending through the smoke and fire, swirling in an ever-tightening spiral.
The droplets became one; silk and alabaster and long blond curls.
And stood now between that snarling wolf and that Prince of Forever, Maryn, Mother of Monsters, inclined her head.
“‘Prince Kestrel.’
“The Ironheart glowered, ruined arm to her breast.
“‘Maryn the Faithless.’
“The ancien smiled, hatred burning in her gaze. ‘Long years hath passed since we fought at the Charbourg, Majesty. Justice dearly overdue.’
“The wolf that had been Dior snarled, lunging around Maryn and toward the Maiden.
But Kestrel flashed backward, braids whipping about blood-daubed cheeks.
Her eyes were fixed on Maryn as my Priori flung hands out at her sides.
Blood sprayed, spilling, slicing; a whirling storm of bloodblades hissing through the air around her, spinning faster, ever faster.
Dior snarled again, her rubied needles glittering in the air.
“A stillness seemed to fall then—not just over the Iron Maiden, but the battlefield entire.
It was as if every Dead thing in that Endless Legion, every high and foulblooded monster that battled under the flag of Voss paused for unneeded breath.
Kestrel blinked, and again we saw those bloody eyes painted upon her own and we knew, we knew who now looked through them.
We were yet on our backside in the bloody snow, putting the pieces together in our mind; still bewildered at this most stunning of turns.
“But so was the mind behind the Maiden.
“For years he’d labored toward this moment; cutting his way south with his unliving host—cunning, implacable.
And while there was no feint he’d fall for, no strike he’d not see coming, he’d clearly not foreseen this—Dior taking another step toward his daughter, baring fangs that were just as much a bane to our kind as fire or silver, and blood that could burn any vampire to ashes arrayed in a red halo about her head.
“The winter-white air grew colder still, and we felt a presence then, bringing all on those bloody walls and cobbles to stillness. We could feel him—the weight of centuries untallied, of murders uncounted, an evil so vast it was almost unthinkable.
“The Forever King.
“In my mind, I could see him; sire of our sire, first of the line that birthed me, most fearsome of the Five. His skin, hair, every part of him bleached snow-pale save his eyes, black as the mouth of hell. A youth he was, slender and fine, cloaked in a cold unlight that burned his shape onto the backs of my eyes. The voices in me were stilled for the terror of him, the silence in my head overwhelming. Into that quiet, he spoke with his daughter’s tongue, and his words were the song that would unmake the world.
“‘I have forever, child.’
“Kestrel smiled, grim, cold, one thousand years wide.
“‘I am forever.’
“The wretched began moving, the spell broken at some unspoken command. But instead of continuing their push on that last gatekeep, the Dead began streaming backward, away through the ravaged streets of Rive Nord. We almost couldn’t fathom it, blinking hard in case our eyes had betrayed us.
Yet as close as he’d come to crushing the capital, as baffling as it might appear, the Endless Legion was …
“God Almighty, they were retreating.
“As her foulbloods began flooding out of the bleeding city, the Iron Maiden yet watched Maryn. My Priori was motionless, but that storm of bloody blades still sliced the air about her, and that snarling wolf yet stood at her side.
“The Maiden inclined her head.
“‘All Shall Kneel.’
“Maryn smiled in answer, cold as an empty tomb.
“‘Judgment Comes.’