Chapter I. Faded Ink #2
“Not my love.” Gabriel shook his head. “Five years we fought together. Five years of the greatest terror and triumph any man could imagine. But though it cleft my heart in two, when they cast me and Astrid from the Order, I told Ashdrinker she should stay. That Lachie could have the wielding of her, that she could still make a difference. But truth is, she was more than a blade by then. She was my friend. All our other friends had abandoned us, and though she knew what it might cost, she…”
Gabriel swallowed hard, eyes shining now.
“She didn’t want to leave me and Astrid alone in the dark.”
Chagrined, Jean-Francois fell silent, looking to the floor. The Last Silversaint took another gulp from his goblet to steady his voice.
“Walking from my tent, I spied Baptiste by a bonfire at the heart of the camp, gathered with a few dozen soldiers around a pair of horses. The beasts had been ridden hard, steam rising from lathered flanks. The first was my noble Argent, the big gelding snorting for joy as he saw me. The second was a brilliant black stallion named Eclipse, seventeen hands high; the pride of the Baron de León’s stables.
“He’d hated his rider at first; just as afeared of the Dead as any beast of earth and sky. But after Charlotte gifted him as reward for service to the City of Lions, his new master had fed him, three times over three nights, and now he was as loyal as my old Justice.
“Aaron slipped from Eclipse’s saddle, pressing one pale hand to the stallion’s cheek in thanks.
A good distance away, Lachlan swung off Argent, boots striking the muddy ground and sinking ankle-deep.
The pair had ridden countless miles over the past few weeks, and Lachie was spattered head to foot with grime.
By contrast, Aaron was somehow near spotless, hair spilling about his shoulders in golden floods.
As Lachlan loosed his collar, Aaron winced at that burning ink, turning away.
Baptiste stepped forward, embracing his husband, pressing warm lips to his cold cheek.
“‘You’re back,’ he smiled. ‘I’ve missed you.’
“‘We were delayed at San Michon,’ Aaron muttered. ‘Lachlan was—’
“‘Aaron.’ Baptiste deepened the embrace, squeezing tight. ‘I missed you.’
“Blue eyes fell as Aaron murmured. ‘… And I you.’
“‘Well, that’s the sorriest sight I think I’ve ever seen in my life,’ I said, striding through the gathered soldiers. ‘You look every inch a pig’s arsehole, youngblood.’
“‘Fuck off, old man,’ Lachie grinned, clasping my offered hand. ‘I’m about as far from in the mood for yer shite as I’ve ever been in my life.’
“Oh p-p-p-p-prettyone! Prettypretty, so pr—
“‘Ash gives her greetings. I think she missed you more than I did.’ I looked to Aaron, eyebrow raised. ‘What news? You made it to San Michon?’
“‘Oui.’ My brother nodded, extricating himself from Baptiste’s hug. ‘Although as you might imagine, I kept well clear. Lachlan ascended the sky platform to the monastery alone.’
“‘Anyone there?’ I asked, heart rising in my throat.
“‘A few sisters of the Sorority.’ My old ’prentice shrugged.
‘Old Keeper Tasha. S?ur Caoimhe and Marion, Valérie and Reneé and wee Lea. They’d heard nae word nor whisper from any ’saint, though.
Like we thought, most of the brethren aready marched with me to Maergenn. And from there, to their graves.’
“Green eyes drifted to Aaron at that, but received no reply.
“‘So you found no one?’ I demanded. ‘Not a single s—’
“‘Hold yer fuckin’ horses, ye’ll give yerself heart seizure.’ Lachlan paused, taking a long swig from a waterskin before continuing. ‘I thought to restock afore I left. Silverbombs and shot, like. Chymicals and sanctus that wasn’t cooked from damned foulblood.’
“‘Leaving me to wait down in the mud alone,’ Aaron said.
“‘Ye survived fine, ye bloody blouse.’ Lachlan scowled at Aaron before looking back to me. ‘But while I was loading up, a lone brother returned home. He’d been on the Hunt in Sūdhaem. Tolman the Scarred, his name.’
“‘Never heard of him.’
“‘He joined the Order after ye were excommunicated. Quiet as a dead churchmouse and ugly as a hat full of arseholes, but he’s a good man. I sat him down with some of Frère Benedict’s homebrew and spilled everything.
The Battle of Maergenn. The Blackheart’s death.
The Grail’s fall. Took a few pints to swallow it, and he wasn’t turning cartwheels about ridin’ wi’ the man who slew Greyhand.
But he agreed if there’s some small chance to end Fabién, better than none a’tall. And with León’s army now with us…’
“‘Another silver brother to our number.’ I sighed. ‘I’d hoped for more, but…’
“‘There are more. Tolman knows where Carlos and Valentino are.’
“‘The Brothers Beaufort,’ I breathed. ‘Holy shit, those bastards are still alive?’
“Aye. They’re southeast. Burnin’ out some Ilon bastard rooted in Madeisa. Even now Tolman rides to fetch them. He knows our road; they’ll meet us on it, swift as they may.’
“‘Sweet Mothermaid,’ I grinned. ‘Three more ’saints. Good work, brother.’
“‘Nae just an astonishingly pretty face, old man.’
“‘Any troubles on the road back? We’ve been running into a lot of wretched.’
“‘Naught I couldn’t handle. Though it was handy to have an extra blade about.’
“‘Such praise.’ Aaron unslung Epitaph from Eclipse’s saddle, his tone dry as dust. ‘Careful you don’t choke on it, á Craeg.’
“‘Choke on this, ye poncy fuckin—’
“‘You’ve returned.’
“Lachlan fell silent, turning toward the voice. My heart twisted as I saw the fire come into his eyes—the same that had once filled mine when I’d looked upon my bride.
My cousin Charlotte stood silhouetted by the campfire, the burn scars on her face near hidden by the curtains of her hair.
She’d been abed obviously—boots unlaced and shirt thrown on backward.
But she did a fine job in keeping her voice cool as she met Lachlan’s eyes.
“‘You look … well?’
“‘Aye.’ He paused, adding with haste, ‘Ye also.’
“Another pause.
“‘Look well, I mean.’
“Dragging her hair farther over her face, Charlotte risked a teasing smile.
“‘Merci. Although … perhaps a bath might be in order?’
“‘An excellent proposition, mademoiselle.’
“‘Not with me of course, I didn’t m—’
“‘Nono, I wasn’t—’
“‘Oh, God,’ Aaron groaned, stalking off across the camp.
“I looked between the pair, offering my old ’prentice a pat on the shoulder.
“‘Good to have you back, Lachie.’
“With a nod to the de León soldiers, the tip of an imaginary tricorn to my cousin, I strode back toward my tent. Ashdrinker was murmuring some dirty limerick in my head as I walked swift across the muck, mercifully getting out of sight before I staggered.
“I bent double, one hand to my belly, just trying to breathe, to calm my thundering pulse.
The scent of it lingered, haunting, that beast throwing itself against the bars in my head so hard I gasped.
Ash had stopped singing, and I could feel her concern swelling as I finally stumbled inside my tent, curling up in a miserable ball on my cot.
“Ye are unwellwell.
“‘I’m f-fine. Don’t fret on m-me.’
“What i-i-i-is wrong?
“I curled up tighter, saying nothing, knuckles white on her haft.
“Gabriel?
“‘Too many p-people,’ I hissed. ‘Someone was bleeding. Cut himself shaving or some bollocks. The s-smell of it these n-nights … even a scratch…’
“Oh, my poor f-f-friend.
“‘It’ll pass in a m-minute. Just leave me be, Ash.’
“Why would I d-d-d-do that? I love ye, Gabriel. Ye n-need not suffuffuffer alone.
“I clenched my jaw, eyes shut, snorting the red perfume from my nostrils and dragging my knuckles across my nose. Rolling upright, I dug about inside my greatcoat, fishing out my pipe and sanctus. As I filled the bowl with shaking hands, the monster within me roared, indignant that I’d try to sate it with such weak fare, urging me to rise, to hunt—
“I lit the pipe, dragging bitter crimson smoke across my tongue, into my lungs, nothing close to the thing I truly wanted. I saw Odette’s face then, her mouth open, her eyes rolling back in her head as I sank inside her.
I felt the warmth of her skin, heard her groaning as I drank, drowning the memory beneath another red lungful and staring that monster in the eye as it prowled behind my bars.
It wanted to destroy me, I knew. Consume me.
“Become me.
“Tonight I was strong enough to keep it caged. But it had broken free once already, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it took me again. My fuse would grow shorter, the nights between victims fewer, until there was only thirst.
“But I had to hold on. For my vow. For vengeance.
“Once Fabién was dead …
“I looked down at Ash, that silvered dame ever smiling, her counsel ringing in my head. It was a lovely thought, that I might lean upon her and others to lift this weight. That I need not carry it alone. But the hours past midnight stretch endless, and the weight is all in your head, and in the end, that dreadful choice is ever yours. Only yours. Any pipefiend or bottlehound will tell you, Historian; the only weapon in the war against yourself is yourself.”
The Last Silversaint shook his head and sighed.
“Of course I was alone.”