Chapter XI. The Stone-Cold Edge of the Knife #2
“Gabriel’s blade scythed through the air, silver and steel entwined by the forgemasters of San Michon.
As it met Maryn’s flesh, it cut true; a hot blade to fresh snow.
Maryn shrieked as her hand left her wrist, bursting to ashes.
Swift as silver my brother followed through, blade slicing her throat deep enough to scrape bone.
Maryn gasped, black eyes wide, red tongue lolling as blood sprayed like jewels through the air.
And plunging his fingers through the hole he’d just sliced, Gabriel took hold of Maryn’s spine.
“He smashed her little body into the wall, the blow so violent it shattered the bricks to dust. The Mother of Monsters flailed, gasping, gargling as my brother hissed.
“‘You can’t hurt me, sanguimancer. Her blood is in my veins.’
“Gabriel squeezed, bones grinding, flesh pulping.
“‘But not in yours, I wager.’
“The air went brittle, Maryn’s eyes bulging, and from the rend he’d sliced in her throat, red smoke began to rise.
Gabriel was hurting her, we realized, truly hurting her; unleashing the power of Wulfric’s blood to boil the Mother dry.
She couldn’t even scream as her veins began to bubble, reaching for Gabriel’s wrist. But dosed near to delirium on sanctus, he proved just as swift, catching her one good hand and pinning it to the wall.
The blood of the Mother of Monsters began to burn, sheer terror in those bottomless eyes; a being of eight centuries now tottering on the very edge of the abyss.
“But she stood not alone.
“The storm of us arrived, hundreds of pieces roiling through the broken window, many become one. Fingernails slicing our palm, we lunged at Gabriel, and in that moment, Maryn’s body splashed to the floor; that trick of the eye, that spell of the blood.
Re-forming beside a gobsmacked Princess Reyne, the Mother collapsed, skin charred and veins choked with ashes.
But Gabriel had no time to finish his bloody work, turning now to us.
“‘Sister.’
“‘Brother.’
“We met like flame and powder, immolating all around us. Furniture shattering, boots crunching broken glass, chaos full unleashed. No words were spoke at first; no witty back-and-forth like duelists in some children’s tale, trading quips with their blows.
No, our hate and rage ran far too deep for that.
There were only snarls of fury and hissed curses and the whisper of our blades cutting the air.
And silent as ghosts, bitter as the poison between us, my brother and I set about trying to murder each other.
“Gabriel fought not with Ashdrinker as in nights past, but common silversteel.
He could not parry our strikes, nor turn our blows aside; our bloodblade would simply flow around his and continue unchecked.
We near took his head off with our first strike, almost gutted him with our second, sending him skidding back across the room.
But he learned after that, not parrying, but dodging with that sinuous speed for which he was famed, defeating our blows by striking before we could take them.
The choir of voices were shrieking now in my head, none so loud as Wulfric—to be clashing against the son he never knew, never loved, all of us off-balance and reeling. But we ignored them all.
“‘Did you know?’ Gabriel hissed at last.
“We made no reply, striking nethers, throat, chest. But for all the lies told about my brother, he was among the greatest swordsmen to ever heft a blade. I’d given years to the study of swordcraft in San Yves, but Gabriel had given his life to it.
And though Wulfric guided my hand, my skill was a shadow of his own.
When you give yourself to a thing, you become the thing.
Reshaping your place in the world and its place for you.
“And my brother had given his life to the murder of monsters.
“We unleashed our flail of blood in our other fist, hoping to set him on the backfoot. But Gabriel fought like a man possessed, and in truth, perhaps he was; slicing our arm so deep he near took it off, sending us crashing into the wall with a kick to our chest.
“‘Did you know?’ he spat.
“He glowered across the broken furniture and glittering snow, borne through the shattered window by freezing winds. The storm of souls inside my skull was as loud as the storm without now, his own thoughts a tempest of hurt and rage and sorrow.
“‘Did you know what the Esani were? What they wanted?’
“‘The salvation of this world?’
“‘Celene—’
“‘Waste not your breath, brother. You serve a bootlicker of hell’s grim tyrant. And I serve heaven’s eternal king.’
“Maryn was yet on her knees, retching burned blood. Reyne had bolted into the hallway, shouting for the guard. Gabriel was torn now, his gambit all undone. But we gave him no chance to tuck tail and run. When we were children, we’d fought back-to-back against make-believe foes around my papa’s forge.
Ever outnumbered, we’d tell each other. Never outmatched.
Always, lions. But there were no legions now. Only we two.
“And we were children no longer.
“We flew at him, blade raised, flail slicing the air as it sped toward his throat. He danced backward across the shattered table, broken glass, serpentine swift. We could hear Reyne shouting, the approach of heavy boots; inquisitors and gens d’armes roused by her call.
They were legion, we could tell, too many for my brother to best. But he stood his ground, meeting my charge, unwilling to turn his back now.
“He struck a terrifying blow at my heart. But in a blinking I was gone; my own spell of the eye, my own trick of the blood. As the shell I’d worn splashed to the floor, the rest of me re-formed behind him, just as we’d done that day we’d fought in the shadow of San Michon.
But it’s a careless man who’s bit by the same snake twice, and Gabriel was ready, crouching low and spinning about, bringing his blade up with a roar.
He cleaved our belly wide, our arm at the elbow, blood spraying across falling snow.
With a cry we collapsed, crunching to the boards, our brother now stood over us with his boot on our chest.
“He looked down at us, eyes as cold as the steel in his hand.
“Hunter to monster.
“Brother to sister.
“But his blow didn’t fall.
“‘I don’t believe it,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t. Call me a fool, but even after all you’ve done, I’ll not believe you could’ve known. Not my baby sister. Not my Hellio—’
“Swift needles sliced the air, muddied crimson, whispering as they came.
With a gasp, Gabriel turned aside, lashing out with his sword.
And though my brother was dosed on his sacrament, weaving through that hail of red, some still proved the swifter.
He was pierced, sliced, split wide as three blades erupted from his back.
His sword slipped from his fingers, a bloody curse bubbling on his lips as he fell to his knees on broken glass.
“Maryn was back on her feet, a bloody stump where her right hand should’ve been, the gaping hole in her throat still seeping smoke.
The blood she wielded was burned near to black, drawn from her own ash-choked veins.
Yet still she drew herself up, a halo of bloody blades now circling about her body.
And raising her hand, she pointed toward my brother, thoughts ringing in the cathedral of our mind.
“Judgment Comes.
“‘HOLD!’
“The cry was accompanied by the song of drawn blades, two dozen men in Inquisitor red now bursting into the room.
At their fore strode Capitaine Moulin, and at their back came Princess á Maergenn.
The soldiers fanned out, swords drawn, pistols aimed at my brother, still bleeding and wheezing on his knees.
“‘Hold!’ Moulin cried again. ‘In the name of God and Empress Isabella!’
“Kill him.
“It was Maryn speaking, eyes narrowed, golden curls drenched in blood. Her throat was a smoking ruin, but her thoughts sang in the heads of all in the room.
“Kill him, Capitaine.
“‘Nobody is killing anybody!’ Reyne marched into the room, putting herself between Gabriel and our Priori. ‘Everyone just take a bloody breath! Gabriel de León is under arrest!’
“‘Oui,’ Moulin growled. ‘He will be taken to the Tower of Tears, and questioned by High Inquisitrix Maya and her Maidens of Bliss.’
“Maryn shook her head then, glowering at my brother.
“Nothing he says can be trusted. He is slave to Fabién Voss.
“‘If that’s the case, Dior can break the bond of blood between them, and we can learn the truth.’ Reyne stood tall as she stared Maryn down, a daughter of the Nineswords unveiled.
‘He risked his life to break in here. He could’ve killed me, yet stayed his hand.
I for one would like to hear what this man has to say. ’
“The Princess glanced at my brother; silvered hands pressed to the sucking wounds in his chest. He was drenched in blood, gasping, but he managed to nod as she spoke.
“‘I’m sure Dior will too.’
“How much stock think ye the Grail shall place in the testimony of a traitor?
“Reyne turned on the Mother then. ‘Gabriel de León vowed to protect Dior from the legions of the abyss themselves. He’s already risked his life for hers a dozen times over. I think he’s earned trust enough for Dior to hear him speak. For her to listen.’
“Maryn nodded, slow and sad.
“Then we should dissuade of her that trust, Princess.
“‘Wha—’
“The blood sang as it came; razor-sharp, charred dark, wielded by a flick of the Mother’s fingers.
It struck Reyne in the chest, hard and fierce enough to sunder her hauberk, steel mail shredded like paper.
Its point sheared through her ribs, plunged out through her back, splitting the Princess’s heart in two.
Her faeling eyes were fixed on my brother, lips parted as if she wished to say something.
“Say anything.
“But with a soft gurgle, Reyne á Maergenn toppled lifeless to the floor.
“Capitaine Moulin cried out, inquisitors turning now on the Mother. But those gleaming blades of muddy crimson circling her body streaked out, piercing every soldier in the room. Blood sprayed, men gasped, crumpling to the floor in ruins. We were speechless, our brother beside us, both staring at Reyne’s corpse upon the broken glass.
And lifting Gabriel’s sword from the floor, Maryn plunged it into the Princess’s sundered breast.
“She tilted her head then, surrounded by corpses, eyes on Gabriel.
“Think ye the Grail shall listen to thee now?
“More men were coming, more soldiers bursting through both doors and roaring for all to stand down in the Empress’s name.
Gabriel tore his eyes from Reyne’s body, fangs bared in a snarl.
And with one desperate glance toward me, he flung himself through the broken window, down to the snow-clad cobbles two floors below.
“The gens d’armes ran to the balcony after him, roaring at soldiers in the plaza. We made to follow, but Maryn took our arm, cutting off our protest with a stare as empty and cold as the heavens.
“T’would be prudent to let the soldiery bring him down, Liathe. T’would be best if thee and I were as distant from this … tragedy … as we can be.
“Our eyes turned again to poor Reyne, dead in a widening pool of gore. Fate had not been kind enough to have the Princess fall facedown, and those faeling eyes seemed fixed on us. Wide and accusing. We glanced to the window, the snow-filled plaza beyond. Gabriel was surrounded now, fighting tooth and nail, cutting great swathes with bloody fists. But a thousand ants can slay the fiercest lion, and a lucky shot from a wheellock soon pierced my brother’s shoulder.
They fell on him from all sides then, blood spattering on snow-clad flagstones.
An officer roared ‘Take him alive! He knows the mind of the Forever King! ’ and stabbing became beating, breaking; shields and pommels and boots.
“Our dead heart was in our throat to watch him fall, the voices in our head all raging save for one—the father who’d never wanted him.
Wulfric was silent as Gabriel collapsed, borne down by dozens, thrashed to bloody pulp.
And in the gulf where my master’s voice might’ve been, instead I heard my brother’s.
“There’s none under heaven who know better than me what a monster is Fabién Voss, girl. But he is nothing—nothing—compared to the monster we woke beneath Dún Maergenn.
“We turned to the Mother, standing amid those corpses. More soldiers were pouring into the room now, aghast at the massacre, the blood on the walls.
“Hear me now, child, Maryn’s thoughts whispered.
Gabriel de León entered the Golden Halls at the command of his dark master, intent to steal the Holy Grail.
He was confronted by brave soldiers of the Imperium and noble Princess á Maergenn, set to defend Dior from treachery.
And like a cornered dog, thy brother bit until he was put down.
“We gazed down at our hands, dripping blood onto shattered glass.
“Liathe?
“‘… We heard you, Mother.’
“Dior shall be hard-struck by this tragedy.
Phoebe and thee shall give comfort through the wedding amorrow.
Hold her steady. The throne is our only concern.
Maidsfeast draws close, sweet Celene. All thou hast sacrificed for.
All thou hast suffered. The kingdom of heaven shall be thy reward eternal, child. This blackened veil shall be undone.
“We looked inside ourselves. The choir of voices, that cathedral of souls, the loudest among them making no sound at all. We glanced to the broken glass at our feet, the silver looking glass above the cold hearth, those reflections he had so often haunted in recent nights. We could not find his face. But still we remembered Wulfric’s words from all those years ago—the night we both saved and took his life in San Yves.
“Thou art ready, Celene. For the final mystery of our faith.
“The final mystery.
“We looked toward our Priori.
“Bowed our head.
“‘Judgment Comes.’”