Chapter XIV. Sharp As Three Swords #2
“In the Guild Quarter,” Celene said, “that vapor was blinding now, rising so thick it filled La Rivière de Fer and the pumpworks both. We had been forced to retreat, lest we suffer the same fate as the rest of the Dead, climbing to the rooftops of the ’works to watch that holy pall spill through the streets below.
Dior stood beside us, Prince Philippe at her right hand, a cadre of bodyguards and Unbound around them.
“And together, we watched the Endless Legion burn.
“Thousands. Tens of thousands. Wretched in such numbers they might have made this whole world a grave.
But now, they were themselves undone. Waters blessed by servants of God, broken into vapor and boiling up from the canals, unmaking all the Forever King had made.
The stench of the charnel house swallowed by the rank perfume of burning meat.
The screams of terror and pain swallowed by the guns and howls of …
“‘Victory,’ Philippe declared. ‘My God, Dior…’
“Joaquin shook his head and whispered. ‘You did it.’
“She looked to the folk around her, winking. ‘We did it, M. Marenn.’
“‘Merci, saint-père.’ Face turned to heaven, hand to heart, we breathed. ‘Merci.’
“Dior looked down on the city, eyes bright with worry.
“‘We need to find Gabe.’
“‘We could take to the wing,’ I offered. ‘But the steam…’
“‘We’ll go,’ Joaquin said. ‘Sherrod, Cal, Snots, with me. Rest of you stay here.’
“The Unbound nodded, closing in about their savior, vigilant even in triumph. The houndboy bowed to his Grail, dashing off with his fellows as Philippe looked to his bride.
“‘We should seek my mother. The Empress must be informed.’
“‘In a moment.’
“The Grail turned back to the city below and smiled.
“‘I want to remember this.’
“We stood beside her, staring over the city. The grey pall and red snow. The enemies fallen and soldiers victorious. The bewildered living and the grateful dead. Sunlight was at last cresting the horizon, the brittle light of a daysdeath dawn spilling through the mists. The voices in us were whispering, indistinct, and though we reached for Wulfric, he made no reply. We wondered what he thought of what we’d done.
“What we would be now.
“‘You saved my life.’
“We looked to Dior as she spoke. Pale eyes on bloodied Augustin.
“‘But that one life cost thousands more.’
“‘And in the end,’ we replied, ‘it saved this whole empire.’
“‘I’m still not sure how to feel about that, Castia.’
“‘Have no fear. God will judge us all in the end.’
“‘Not all of us, Esani.’
“Those words struck our heart, freezing whatever was left of our blood. The men about us cried out in horror, a cold creeping upon us like the dawn of wintersdeep. And turning, we found one colder still at our backs, smiling at us fondly.
“‘Only those of us foolish enough to die.’”
The Last Liathe shivered, arms wrapped about herself as if in memory of his chill.
“It was him,” she said. “Eldest of the Ironhearts.
Architect of daysdeath. He was clad in that same pale silk brocade, spattered now with blood and ash.
And though his visage still retained its terrible beauty, we saw his flesh—unchangeable, invulnerable—was no longer flawless marble, but blistered and cracked, like leather left too long in the sun.
He had made his way here, through that pall of holy water, across the war-torn city to her side.
And though it had claimed his army, her ploy had not claimed him.
“Black eyes fell on Dior. The Grail took one step back.
“‘What joy,’ Fabién said. ‘That we should meet in flesh at last.’
“‘How the hell did you find me?’ Dior breathed.
“‘The eyes that spy ’pon me, see also thee.’ His gaze fell on us, smile fading. ‘Ye be not so tiny nor clever as ye suppose, sanguimancer.’
“Our belly rolled then. Voss must have sensed my mote in his command tent, and somehow, through us, sensed Dior. Was it because I was of his line? Because he was the eldest kith upon this cold earth? We realized we had no idea of the limit of the Forever King’s gifts, then.
No clue what this monster was truly capable of.
“Voss turned to Dior, pale hand outstretched.
“‘Come with me, child.’
“‘For the Grail!’
“The Unbound roared as one, silver blades raised. They had walked with her through hell, remember. Been rescued from the same by her hand. They would never let her be taken by its servant. And though Dior cried ‘NO,’ still they charged—the Callums and Boyds and Declans—loyal to their ends. Philippe’s men charged with them, the name of their Prince and God upon their lips.
And to a man, Fabién Voss slaughtered them.
“Every. Single. One.
“I had never seen such power. Swords splintered upon his skin.
His hands parted flesh like water. Moving so swift he belied the eye.
And where in one moment had stood threescore men, brave and faithful to their last, there now were only corpses, scattered across the rooftop in steaming, bloody pieces.
“I roared at Dior again to RUN, and she looked over the railing to the cobbles, four long stories below. Her eyes went to her fallen men. To her brave and handsome Prince yet standing. Tears freezing in her lashes as she drew her silver dagger from her belt. With broken nails I sliced my blackened palms open, summoning what little blood I’d left within me.
But he was on us then, God, so swift, so strong.
“First of the Five.
“Maker of my maker.
“He was a good man, Prince Philippe. A brave man, and true. I think he would have made the finest emperor this realm had known in generations. But as he stepped forward to defend the girl he loved not as a bride, yet loved all the same, he was left stumbling as his silver sword shattered on Fabién’s flesh, gargling as the remainder was pushed back, back almost gently, up through his mouth and out the top of his skull.
“And silently, the last son of House Augustin fell.
“We struck at Voss, he stepped aside, smooth as millpond water. Dior screamed in rage and hatred; blooding her blade on her mangled palm, she lunged at Fabién too. Effortless, the Forever King stopped the blow, catching her wrist and drawing her close.
“‘What miracles we shall make.’
“She slapped him, bloodied palm across his cheek, and at the touch of her holy blood, fire bloomed on that immortal flesh. Rippling needles of red formed in the droplets, hanging poised in the air. But with a snarl, he slapped her back, vicious, drawing yet more blood, his hand and face now aflame. The blow was enough to break Dior’s jaw, head snapping back on her neck, and senseless, the Holy Grail of San Michon fell.
“We roared, lunging at Fabién’s spine. But we felt him then, like a knife in our mind, a splinter in our souls, seeing our strikes before ever they fell.
Turning, he plunged his burning hand through our mangled throat, drowning those holy flames in our flesh.
Seizing hold our tongue, he pulled, dragging us past him now, through the iron balustrade of the rooftop’s edge.
And ripping both jaw and tongue free, he sent us sailing out into the storm.
“We fell.
“Four stories down into that burning cloud of holy steam.
“We saw him claw his face, dousing the flames with our blood.
“We saw him stoop to lift Dior from the stone.
“And then we burst apart.”