A Thief in the Night

chapter Thirty-five

The barbarian did not panic as the bony fingers dug deep into the tendons of his neck. He brought his axe up and bit deep into the revenant’s back, though the unwieldy position kept him from striking a true killing blow.

“Malden, help him,” Croy called. He was too hard pressed to rescue Mörget himself. The headless revenant brought its sword around in a wild two-handed swing that would have taken Croy’s own head off if he hadn’t ducked out of the way. The leader of the revenants brought his sword up then and aimed a long-armed cutting stroke downward at his chest.

The knight was still recovering from the blow he’d taken to his side. The metal plates riveted inside his brigantine had held, and he knew he wasn’t bleeding, but the shock of the blow still left his whole left side numb and stiff. Every breath hurt, even as his body surged and gasped for more air. He managed to bring Ghostcutter up to deflect the oncoming blow, but he took the leader’s bronze sword on the foible, the weakest part of Ghostcutter, nearest its tip. Any living fencer would have sneered at that defense—it opened Croy up to a deadly remise, a continuation of the original blow that could pierce his throat or face without any difficulty.

The revenant wasn’t as fast as a living man, however strong it might be. It tried for the remise but Croy leaned back and the bronze sword point slid harmlessly past his cheek.

Rolling to one side, he thrust Ghostcutter hard up into the lead revenant’s vitals. It was a blow that would have disemboweled a living opponent. The Ancient Blade met little resistance, even from the bronze cuirass the revenant wore. Once past the armor it felt to Croy like he was stabbing empty air.

Such an attack would do little to harm a revenant. They felt no pain and had no vital organs to pierce. They could not be killed by sundering their hearts or by loss of blood. The magic that animated them cared little for the state of their bodies, as it only wanted one thing—revenge. The revenant opened wide its mouth as if to mock Croy for such a pointless attack.

Croy knew what he was doing, though. He twisted Ghostcutter to the side, hard, and the revenant was jerked off his feet. He dropped in a heap of bronze armor and emaciated flesh. Croy jumped with both feet on its throat and felt the sickening crunch as the revenant’s head parted from its body.

Its bony arms reached up to grab his legs, even still. Croy was ready and leapt away, Ghostcutter already swinging to strike the headless revenant in its chest. The other had been approaching steadily, waiting for an opening in Croy’s defense. Maybe it thought it had found its moment, but this time at least it was wrong.

Mörget’s earlier axe blow had already chopped the headless revenant near in half. Croy’s blow finished the job. With a great clatter of bronze on the cobblestones, the headless revenant fell in two pieces, both twitching with rage.

Neither of Croy’s opponents was finished—it took a long time to completely destroy a revenant, and a strong stomach—but he had bought himself enough time to look around and see what else was happening.

Mörget was on his knees, his hands clutching desperately at his throat. Malden had managed to use Acidtongue to cut the skull-face’s arms off at the wrists, and the thief was chopping the handless body to pieces with the magic sword. The disembodied hands were still wrapped tight around the barbarian’s windpipe, however. They were already dead—being severed from their body wouldn’t stop them.

Mörget’s face was turning purple. His eyes stood out of his head and his red-stained lips were pulled back in a grimace of agony. In an incredible display of fortitude, he managed to grasp one finger of the bony hands and tear it from its joint. He cast it away from him, into the darkness.

Croy jumped in and helped as best he could, pulling the fingers away from Mörget’s flesh as the barbarian thrashed and heaved. Mörget was getting no air, though, and soon would suffocate if they couldn’t get him free.

“Stand back,” Cythera insisted, coming up behind Croy. “Damn you, get back! I can help him.” Croy did as he was told and let her lay her hands over the bony digits that were choking the life out of Mörget. She closed her eyes and spoke some magic words—or perhaps just a prayer. Then she let out a deep gasp and staggered backward. The bony hands fell away from Mörget’s throat, completely lifeless now.

Cythera’s own hands writhed with dark tattoos. No flowers this time—only thorn vines and briars.

“They burn,” she said. “So cold . . .”

The barbarian gasped for breath, but he was already moving. He grabbed the now headless lead revenant by the ankle and swung it around in a great arc. The revenant tried to snatch at Mörget, but before he could find purchase the barbarian had cast it over the edge of the pit. It disappeared instantly, and a few seconds later Croy heard a great splash from below. Mörget repeated this performance with the two halves of the headless revenant and the severed head of the leader.

And suddenly the five of them were alone again in the dark, all of them wheezing with exhaustion and fear.

“Is that the last of them?” Slag asked. The dwarf had a lantern in either hand, and he waved them around, trying to illuminate the vast open space. The candles inside the lanterns fluttered and sighed, and one of them went out. Slag shrieked and set it down, then rummaged desperately in his pack for flint and steel to get it going again.

Croy wanted to comfort and reassure the dwarf, but he was exhausted and pained by his wound. He could only listen to his heart pound in his chest and try to breathe. Then he saw Cythera staring at her hands and started dragging himself over toward her, to help in any way he could.

Mörget staggered over to where Malden stood, still gripping Acidtongue in both hands. Drops of vitriol spattered the cobblestones and made them smoke at Malden’s feet.

Malden looked up at Mörget as if he expected the barbarian to strike him down where he stood, for not having saved him.

The barbarian stared back into the thief’s eyes, his huge body pulsing with life. Then he slapped Malden hard on the back.

The blow sent Malden sprawling forward, to almost crash on his face. He caught his footing and whirled around with Acidtongue up and ready.

Mörget let out one of his booming laughs, this one hoarse and painful-sounding but no less enormous. “We have fought together,” he told Malden, “and I call you brother! You may now touch me, without causing offense.”

“Maybe later,” Malden said.