Page 97 of Play of Shadows
If I might assist?came Corbier’s cold, cruel voice inside me. I could feel that strange tingling in my arms and legs, as if two different sets of instincts were trying to command my limbs.
I won’t become your puppet again, I said, knowing that once the Red-Eyed Raven’s bloodlust was loosed, there would be no stopping him.I won’t murder indiscriminately. I just want to get my friends out of here alive.
Then what do you propose?
Can you. . . ? I don’t know. . . lend me some of your knowledge, your memories, without taking control of me?
You would water down my practised skills with scruples and second-guessing? You’ll be disoriented, forced to reconcile contrary sets of experiences at the same time. At best you’ll be half the swordsman I was.There was a hesitation, then that became a kind of curiosity.Then again, I’m dead, so apparently my talents weren’t enough to save me in my own time. Say the word, then, Veristor, and I’ll provide what you ask, but be warned: such recollections as I offer will be most. . . disturbing.
I whispered, ‘Raise the curtain.’
Memories not my own flooded every fibre of my body, and what seconds before had been a terrifying calamity was suddenly little more than banality: yes, there was fire– there often was. There were enemies– there were always enemies. The sheer familiarity of it all caused my breathing to slow and myshoulders to relax. I tore the sleeve from my shirt and tied it around my mouth and nose to keep out a little of the smoke. All I needed now was the right weapon for the job that awaited me.
‘Teo, behind you,’ I shouted.
The slender young man spun, raising the broadsword high, searching for an opponent who wasn’t there. I reached out, grabbed the quillons and yanked the weapon towards me. Teo’s wrists bent backwards and with a yelp, he relinquished the weapon.
I didn’t even look back as I took the sword in both hands and shouldered my way forward to reach the line of Orchids blocking the stage door.
Vertical cuts only, Corbier’s voice advised.The hall is too narrow to be swinging wide and smashing into the walls like the rest of these fools. Up and down, as if you were chopping wood.
Somehow I doubted that Corbier had spent much of his privileged life outdoors cutting firewood, but I did as I was told. My movements, so relaxed in comparison to the chaos all around me, were smooth, precise, clean:up and down, up and down.Memories of the thousands of times Corbier had practised were all there for me to draw on– and so too were the recollections of every time those skills had been used against human flesh.
Go for weapon hands, when they offer them, Corbier advised. They’ll instinctively protect their faces, so first you must draw their attention to something else– a smashed knee will bring their guard down and expose their heads for a killing blow.
I’d like to avoid those if I can—
A snort.Did you not notice your dead colleagues? Your first ‘Ajelaine’? And have you forgotten your Errera Bottio? ‘Every enemy heart which beats is an ally’s which does not.’
I’d memorised every saints-damned word Errera Bottio everwrote, which was how I knew the legendary duelling master had never said anything of the kind.
Really? Perhaps it was me who said it, then. No matter, I suppose, since you’re apparently determined to ignore the fellow coming up on your flank.
I spun a quarter-turn to my left just before a sword came crashing down at my skull. My own instinct was to jump out of the way, but Corbier’s took over and instead I leaned back just far enough to watch the blade swoosh down a few inches from my nose. Unfortunately, that left me now facing the wall of the hallway with too little room to raise my own weapon up for a counter-cut.
The quillons are as much a part of the weapon as the blade, Corbier scolded, and almost without thinking, I reversed my grip on the hilt, leaving the point aimed straight down, and thrust one end of the steel quillon into my opponent’s face. The sound of bone crunching and blood erupting from the man’s nose was perversely pleasurable.
Now the leg, Corbier advised and this time I didn’t hesitate before plunging the sharpened tip of the blade straight down into the exposed flesh just above the knee. The prize this time was a scream of agony. To his credit, even as the Iron Orchid was sliding to the floor, he tried a last-ditch thrust with his own sword, but a simple pivot knocked the enemy blade out of the way.
Don’t become enamoured of one technique, Corbier warned.And stop staring at the man’s bleeding face, you fool!
Sorry, I just—
The Red-Eyed Raven’s memories and experiences mingled awkwardly with my own feelings, for the deep satisfaction I was experiencing at the sight of a downed opponent was overwhelmed by my own nausea.
Perhaps you’ll feel less conflicted after one of his comradessticks a blade through your belly? Take one down, move on. The instant you commit to one attack, let your eyes find the next.
A groan from my left turned out to be Ornella. Her long silver hair was matted with blood, her face filthy from the soot, and she was clinging to the remains of her broken spear, reduced to using it as a club. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, wiping filthy sweat from her eyes. ‘Help Beretto and Abastrini– the gods-bedamned Orchids are going after them more than the rest of us.’
‘What about those behind us?’ I asked.
‘Already fled,’ she replied with a hacking cough. ‘Just before their fires made the other hallways impassable. We can’t turn back now, or we’ll be burned to cinders.’
Trapped between the blaze and the blade, Corbier said.Still sure you don’t want me to take over?
I ignored him and continued methodically working my way to the front of the line, Corbier’s reflexes ducking me beneath one blade even as I buried my own into the shoulder joint of another Orchid. I found myself grinning when the steel rings of the fellow’s surcoat, unprotected by the breastplate, shattered from the impact even as the tip continued its journey. My blade came away bloody, which widened Corbier’s smile.
The hallway was littered with bodies now, both defenders and attackers. The wounded, dying and dead had become a barricade of wasted flesh blocking the way to the door, now only a few feet away.
