City Of Hope And Despair Part 11

The Rust Warrior stepped up instantly. The big bear was closest and the first to react. He gave a snarl and raised his axe high, ready to cleave this impertinent man in two. He never got the chance. Wil's fist drove into the bear's stomach, travelling so far forward that it looked as if the warrior was somehow reaching inside the man to squeeze his intestines. The bear doubled up, eyes bulging and axe forgotten. Wil's left had then shot out, gripping the man's neck and twisting to produce an audible snap. That same hand caught the falling axe and, all in the one motion, swept it around to crush Ugly's skull, improving the man's looks no end as a good part of his face came away in a shower of blood and brains.

Ulbrax was having a struggle to control his horse, which was clearly spooked by the unfolding situation, so he missed the stroke that took Weasel's hand off at the wrist, alerted only by the man's agonised scream and the amount of blood pumping from the severed limb. He controlled the mount sufficiently to move it to one side of the trail where it wouldn't block the path of the ongoing mayhem, and looked back in time to see the Rust Warrior lift the injured man and fling him at the onrus.h.i.+ng trio of brigands. Weasel hit sideways, catching one of the three with his legs, causing that one to stumble and pause and step to the side, while striking another full on, bringing him down in a tangle of limbs and blood and cursing.

The third charged on alone.

Ulbrax was delighted at this unlooked for opportunity to watch his Rust Warrior at work, and had to admit to being impressed by what he'd seen so far.

The brigand came straight in, either brave or stupid, face snarling beneath an unkempt beard, roaring defiance, and sword raised high with intent. Wil's axe met the man's blade with such force and speed that Ulbrax saw it only as a blur, while the resultant clash was loud enough to make him wince. He felt certain that one or both weapons must shatter beneath a blow like that, but in fact the brigand's sword simply went cartwheeling into the trees, steel evidently more resilient than the man's grip, however determined.

The Rust Warrior didn't pause, bringing the axe around in a sweeping arc which took his opponent in the side, crus.h.i.+ng ribs and tearing through muscle and organs as the blade exited through the chest, dragging gore and blood in its wake. So much so that Ulbrax hastily urged his mount back a few steps for fear that some of the muck might reach him.

The man who'd been delayed by Weasel's flailing legs now faced the prospect of going one-on-one with the Rust Warrior. He clearly considered the odds carefully and didn't like what they totalled, because he took a few hesitant steps backward before turning around and running, dropping his sword in the process.

The warrior hefted up the heavy battle axe as if it were a feather-light trinket and flung it at the hastily retreating brigand's back. The axe flew like a bolt from a bow: true, straight and fast, smas.h.i.+ng into the man before he had gone more than a dozen paces. Ulbrax couldn't have said which part of the weapon actually made contact first and didn't bother trying to work it out. The axe struck with enough force to shatter the runner, sending him tumbling to the ground with blood gouting from his mouth while limbs and body twisted at impossible angles.

The Rust Warrior strode over to where the final wouldbe robber was disentangling himself from the still-moaning form of Weasel. The warrior swatted away the man's hastily reclaimed sword, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up, so that he dangled from one outthrust fist, toes almost sc.r.a.ping the ground.

As on the hillside the previous evening, the warrior started to glow; a radiance which spread along his arm to envelope the other man, whose body started to distort until it came apart in myriad dried-blood slivers. The glow faded and all that remained was a snowfall of rusty motes, while Wil's face was gone, to be replaced by an altogether more worldly-wise and menacing visage.

Ulbrax sighed, thinking that he'd probably stick with the name Wil, otherwise this could soon get very confusing. He'd been eager to put the Rust Warrior through its paces and had wondered how long before the thing would need to feed again and replenish its energies. Now both concerns were dealt with. All in all, a very rewarding encounter. Besides, he'd grown increasingly tired of having to look at Wil's fresh-faced innocence.

Almost as if acting on a whim or in response to some casual afterthought, the warrior trod down heavily on the back of the Weasel's neck, crus.h.i.+ng vertebrae as he pressed him into the dirt. Following a convulsion, a strangled squawk and the single twitch of an eye, all sound and movement at ground level ceased.

Tom was amazed at how quickly his body had adjusted to the rigours of regular walking. Since that first day he'd found the going a lot easier and the aches and pains had grown progressively less, though how much of that was due to Mildra's ministrations he couldn't say. The Thaistess seemed to have recovered fully, and now spent more time on her feet than she did in the saddle, though she admitted to being glad that Beauty was there. He had a feeling she would have sat on the horse more often but chose to walk in order to keep him company; a kindness he was grateful for since, lessons aside, Dewar clearly considered Tom unworthy of anything as comradely as conversation.

On the outskirts of the first sizable town they'd encountered since Crosston, they stopped to chat with a family headed in the opposite direction, or at least Dewar did. Tom had already noted that their leader could be polite to the point of charming when he wanted something information in this instance. It was only when you got to know the man better that the joy of his true personality shone through.

The father did all the talking. He had been striding beside a pair of oxen which pulled the family's covered wagon, and greeted them cheerily. His wife sat on the wagon itself and held the reins, while constantly trying to shoo their inquisitive daughter back inside as the girl kept scrambling forward to peek at the strangers. The wife's glare made it abundantly clear that she didn't trust them in the least, though Tom didn't feel singled out. He had a feeling this was her standard approach to all outsiders, and he wondered if she'd been like this even before the arrival of her daughter. Evidently her mistrust hadn't yet rubbed off on the girl in question, who could be no more than five or six and seemed determined to ignore the instructions of her over-protective mother, treating them all to a cheeky grin before being forced back out of sight again.

Tom had caught most of the exchange, but once the family moved on Dewar filled them in on what he'd learned in any case. "The town's called Sull, and we're going to have to take a ferry to cross a tributary river which feeds into the Thair here."

All of which sounded simple enough, but the reality of Sull itself proved to be anything but. Once they'd worked their way through a confusion of narrow streets and more people and barrows and carts and animals than they could possibly have antic.i.p.ated, the party arrived at the ferry port, to be confronted by a broad and powerful river of mud-brown water, and a flat-decked boat. The water was flowing with daunting speed and the old boat all that would be standing between them and the rus.h.i.+ng torrent looked frail and inadequate in comparison. Boarding had already begun, and they joined the short queue of people and occasional horses that were still waiting their turn. Beauty took some persuading, but eventually Dewar was able to lead her onboard. Tom's vote was with the horse, and had he been on his own he would undoubtedly have found an excuse not to step onto the deck; but with Dewar, Kohn and Mildra there beside him that was never going to be an option. The few seats were quickly taken, though the ferry was far from crowded, leaving the four of them to cl.u.s.ter around Beauty near the aft of the deck. Kohn drew a few stares and whispered comments but not many, suggesting that he wasn't the first Kayjele to pa.s.s this way.

Tom was momentarily distracted by Dewar's ongoing efforts to keep Beauty quiet. The man lavished more affection on that animal than Tom could imagine him ever sparing for a fellow human. As the ferry got under way, the former nick found himself staring at the water das.h.i.+ng beneath them, mesmerised by its power and insistent urgency, as it battered and frothed at the ferry's side. Reaching the far bank could not come quickly enough as far as he was concerned. Yet, so absorbed was he by the swirling patterns of water against the boat's hull that the abrupt jolt of their arrival took him completely by surprise, for all that it was an enormous relief.

They shuffled forward with the other pa.s.sengers and Tom soon felt the luxury of solid land beneath his feet once more. Ahead of them stood a smattering of dwellings, but nothing to compare with the bustling town on the south side of the crossing. The houses cl.u.s.tered around the foot of a disconcertingly steep hill, and were soon left behind as the party climbed up to a point where they were able to look back at Sull, the ferry which looked even frailer at this distance and the merging of the two rivers. It was impossible not to be impressed by the power and sheer volume of water involved as the two powerful torrents clashed and eventually melded. The tributary they had just crossed was sufficiently large and impressive in its own right that Tom felt a moment of doubt and, as they left it behind and moved on, he felt compelled to ask, "How do we know we're following the right river?"

"Simple," Mildra told him with rea.s.suring confidence. "I can sense the G.o.ddess in this one."

Had anyone else said that, Tom would have laughed; but this was Mildra, so he didn't.

Ulbrax felt sure his quarry would be sticking close to the Thair the priestess would insist on that which meant this was the only road they could take. And, unless they'd acquired horses somewhere along the way, they couldn't be too far ahead; but he really did need to know how far.

The covered wagon which now approached, pulled by a pair of plodding oxen, offered an opportunity to find out, as well as a means of testing a few other things. He stopped and waited for the wagon to draw closer. Beside him, Wil did the same. "Good day to you, Sir," he said, wearing his most disarming smile.

"Morning." The fellow holding the reins of the cart seemed friendly enough, but the sour-faced woman sitting beside him presumably the poor brecker's wife glared back with open suspicion.

"A lovely day to be travelling," Ulbrax said, casually patting the nearest of the two oxen, which had been pulled to a halt and now stood patiently swis.h.i.+ng its tail. The Rust Warrior, for whom the wife had reserved particularly daggered glares, wisely stood some distance back from the animals. "Could you tell me, how far are we from Sull?" Ulbrax asked. Although he'd never visited the town he had lived in the area long enough to know the general lay of the land.

"Oh, no more'n a couple of hours ride, a bit more if yer walking," the man said, glancing at Wil.

"Excellent news!" Ulbrax's smile broadened. He then continued, with studied casualness. "We're hurrying to catch up with some friends and wondered if they might have pa.s.sed you on the road. A party of four. You can't miss them one's a Kayjele, then there's a man, a young woman and a lad."

"Friends, you say?"

Was that a hint of suspicion in the man's voice? Would they be forced to resort to threat and violence after all? No matter if so, but it seemed only fair to give politeness one more chance. "Yes, we were running late and missed a rendezvous, so are now desperately trying to catch them; you know how it is." Time to employ the smile again.

The man nodded, as if he'd done the same sort of thing himself before now. "Happens we did see a group like that just as we were leaving Sull, so you're a few hours behind, maybe more, maybe less, depending on the timing of the ferry."

There! Politeness did have its uses after all. "Much obliged. We'll bid you good journey and will be on our way, then. After all, we've a ferry to catch!"

"Hope you do, and that you catch up with your friends," the man said.

"Oh, we will, never fear," Ulbrax a.s.sured him as the man twitched the reins and yelled the team of oxen into lumbering motion.

Ulbrax was delighted with the exchange. This was the first time since being woken that the Rust Warrior had encountered people without killing someone. Welcome rea.s.surance ahead of their venturing into a busy town such as Sull. He glanced across at his silent companion, who had no difficulty keeping pace with the horse's long stride. Now, unless Rust Warriors had some previously unsuspected inhibition against crossing open water, they couldn't fail, but one hurdle at a time.

TWELVE.

Kat was surprised to discover how many people were willing to help. The Soul Thief's killing spree appeared to have stirred things up on the streets in a big way. Folk who lived near the wall and by the docks might still dismiss her as nothing more than a child's story, but those who dwelt nearer the Stain were fast accepting the Soul Thief as reality, particularly those who fell within the monster's likely prey group. The talented all the minor pract.i.tioners who quietly went about their business and kept the creaking wheels of society in the under-City turning were living in fear of their lives. Death was no stranger to anyone living in the City Below. Every street, every community, was accustomed to its cold, musty presence, pitching up when least expected like some long lost relative at a family gathering, never welcome but impossible to turn away. Yet what the Soul Thief was delivering went beyond mere death. There was something unclean and horrifying about the way she consumed the life force of her victims, an unnatural demise that was far worse than seeing a loved one carried away by illness or age or the simple rigours of life. The Soul Thief claimed as her own the essence of a person, the very part which was said to travel back along the Thair to reunite with the G.o.ddess Thaiss. For anyone with even a hint of faith, this was a fate too terrible to countenance.So when Kat and the aged apothaker arrived at their doorstep and offered folk the opportunity to come out from behind the barricades and actually do something, many were only too willing. Not all, of course. Some simply shook their heads and set about building the barricades higher. Kat could hardly blame them for that. Nor did she intend to force people into helping as Charveve had demanded. She wasn't about to have that on her conscience if anything went wrong. Besides, with the apothaker's help she was recruiting plenty enough to the cause. In truth, she was a little surprised to discover just how many of these talents there were within a comparatively small area of the streets. It only emphasised how integral they were to the community.

One thing seemed increasingly obvious. This latest visit by the Soul Thief was exceptional. There had never been such a concentration of attacks before. The Soul Thief had been conducting these sporadic raids on the underCity's denizens for generations, but Kat had never heard of her killing in these numbers so many that people couldn't help but notice and even the razzers felt obliged to investigate.

Kat had no idea why this particular visit should be so different, but she had every intention of making it even more so.

During the hours they spent together, systematically going from street to street, door to door, Kat developed a growing respect for her companion, despite the residual waft of foul odour that still clung to her following the selfneglect of her grieving. There was a core of courage and strength in the woman that belied her obvious frailties, and, while Kat realised that her sense of loss included a large chunk of self-interest, it was clearly more than that. The apothaker had obviously cared deeply for her lost apprentice. There was also an indefinable air of dignity, of cla.s.s about the woman which prompted Kat to say, as they headed home, satisfied with what they'd achieved, "You're not originally from down here, are you?"

The woman paused and smiled. "No, not originally; but I've been here for so long now that my life before doesn't really matter anymore."

"Even so, when this is all over, maybe you could tell me about it."

A faraway look came into the apothaker's eyes then, as if she were remembering something precious, and her features took on a tenderness and softness which rolled away the years and hinted at lost beauty. "Yes," she said at length, focussing on Kat once more, "I'd like that."

Kat had managed to s.n.a.t.c.h several hours' sleep the previous night, for a change, which meant that once she'd seen the apothaker safely home she still had plenty of time and energy to burn up before globes out.

In theory, they were close enough to the Stain that the Soul Thief could return there at the end of each night and venture forth again each evening, but Kat didn't think so. The nursery tale had it that the monster slunk away into the derelict shadows of the streets to wait out the day before returning to terrorise folk the following night. The story had been pretty much spot on in every other respect, and Kat's gut instinct told her it had this part right as well. Why waste precious hunting time going to and from the Stain at either end of the night when the killer could simply curl up in a disused building ready to stalk the streets again as soon as darkness fell?

If Kat could only find the creature's lair, she might be able to take it unawares during daylight and kill the monster while it slept. That sounded straightforward enough, like all good plans apart from one minor detail: there were nearly as many derelict buildings in the under-City as there were fish in the Thair.

Fortunately, Kat knew exactly where the Soul Thief had killed over the past few nights, so concentrated her search accordingly. That still left a lot of streets and buildings to cover, but at least the task then seemed manageable. It would have been easier still had she recruited the Tattooed Men, or at least Rel and M'gruth, but they were still very much Charveve's tribe, and she wasn't entirely sure how far to trust them. Besides, in recent times she'd grown used to operating solo.

Where possible Kat took to the roofs, which she'd come to regard as her own personal highway during the years spent alone. The majority of buildings in the City Below were single storey and packed tightly together, which made the going easy. Many were also poorly built, and that added an element of hazard which kept Kat on her toes. One misplaced step and she could go tumbling down, taking the roof with her and maybe even landing in the lap of a startled resident within. It hadn't happened yet, but the risk was always there.

On this particular occasion, she used the roofways to get around but concentrated her search on the taller buildings. She reasoned that, were the Soul Thief hiding out at ground level, she might easily be discovered by scavengers either human or reptilian. Disinherited street-nicks, opportunists, spill dragons, they all frequented the deserted slums. No, a taller building where access to upper storeys was made more difficult by crumbling stairways and collapsed infrastructure seemed the more likely. The number of such places that had gone to rack and ruin was limited, which narrowed things down still further.

The search took her from the solid brick delivery chute and corkscrew stairway leading to the City Above, once disputed by the Blood Herons and the Thunderheads, right up to the shadow of the grand conveyor, which was active at this hour the chugging squeal of cogs and wheels as they conspired to push along the conveyor's endless rolling surface formed a discordant backdrop to her work.

During the course of the afternoon Kat found one recently dead body, a human skull, a pair of sleeping or drunk vagrants, somebody's stash of a.s.sorted valuables (most of which were undoubtedly stolen), a box of halfused candles and a battered bra.s.s lamp beside a pallet of filthy bed linen, two rusted knives, one decapitated clockwork toy soldier, a child's doll with a missing eye, and the shattered frame of a crossbow. In addition, she disturbed a rare night crow the great black birds said to prey on the under-City's bat population and stumbled on a naked thirty-something woman spreading her legs for a much younger man; either a lovers' tryst or a wh.o.r.e plying her trade. And, in a derelict tower attached to a long-disused building, she came across a heart beetle nest, which she gave a wide berth while inspecting the room from the far side due to her loathing of the flesheating bugs. Their glistening black carapaces and nipping mandibles made them the stuff of nightmare; hers, at least. Heart beetles were essentially scavengers, but they were notoriously unfussy creatures who would quite happily take a nip from living flesh given the chance.

In short, she found just about everything she might have expected to find in such surroundings, apart from any sign of the Soul Thief. Not a bitter blow in truth. She'd known from the outset that the chances of finding anything were slim, but that didn't stop her being disappointed.

Having covered every likely bolt-hole in the area defined by the Soul Thief's attacks she was forced to accept defeat, and was on her way back to the Tattooed Men when she saw something, or rather someone.

The view was good enough that she recognised him instantly, causing her to pause and lie down, clinging to the edge of the roof in order to get a better look. Tall, slender, the slicked-back hair: Brent. Nor was he alone. With him were two men, one she didn't recognise an individual even more slender than Brent, and stoopshouldered, as if his head was too heavy for the shoulder to fully support. The other she did know: one of the Fang, the man whose ribs she'd raked with her sword the previous day. What in the world could Brent want with a member of a street gang? There was something furtive about the way the trio hurried along, huddled close and talking in subdued tones, the stoop-shouldered man casting the odd anxious glance over his shoulder, as if keen not to be seen in such company.

The three of them were crossing an open square a little ahead of Kat and she couldn't make out what they were saying, just a murmur of voices. She didn't trust this Brent, not in the slightest, and was having second thoughts about their hasty alliance. Bringing down the Soul Thief was too important a task to risk by involving unknown elements. Despite the free meal and despite her agreeing otherwise, she resolved not to tell Brent about the trap being planned.

The man and his two friends were about to walk out of sight. She almost went after them, but in truth she was a little weary and a little despondent after the day's fruitless search not to any great degree, but enough that she decided to take the path of least effort and let them go. Whatever they were scheming she didn't care, as long as it kept Brent occupied and out of her way.

This was a decision she would come to sorely regret; one which would haunt her in the days that followed and cause her to ask that most pointless and inwardly corrosive of questions: What if...?

Tom felt that he was making real progress with Kohn. He hadn't yet reached the point where he could understand the Kayjele as clearly as Mildra seemed to, but he was beginning to get an ever clearer impression of the emotions and general direction of whatever Kohn attempted to convey. Tom's desire to pursue this was driven in no small part by his own insatiable curiosity, his determination to learn as much about his abilities as he could, but also by a persisting sense of shame at his original reaction to the giant, whom he had since learnt to both like and respect.Whatever the motivation, he felt sure it was this developing sensitivity that enabled him to detect the Kayjele's alarm at the same time as Mildra.

The land had risen sharply after they left Sull's ferry behind, the track following a serpentine course as it zigged and zagged its way against the gradient. They moved through a landscape of loose stone, low bracken, and small silver-barked trees whose spindly branches were adorned by feathery leaves. The way remained steep despite the path's meanderings, and the gravelly nature of the ground underfoot made the going less certain than it might have been. In the end they reached the top without mishap, and looked down to see the Thair some distance below. Sull and the tributary river were hidden from view by the trees, but the land ahead fell away gently a sweep of hillside that brought their course more or less level with the river once more. This hill seemed to be almost an isolated ripple in the terrain; a bit of the land pulled back and ruffled up to make way for the tributary river.

They had begun the descent and were perhaps a third of the way down the gradual slope when Kohn became alarmed.

"Something's upsetting Kohn," Tom blurted out.

"He can sense danger," Mildra added. "A threat coming up from behind us."

They were still among the trees and although the track no longer followed the switchback pattern of their ascent, nor was it entirely straight, so they had only a limited view of their back trail. Tom noticed that Dewar already had the kairuken out and loaded, and he drew his sword a little self-consciously. This would be his first opportunity to put the lessons into practice and all of a sudden, with the sword held tightly in his hand and the prospect of using it in anger looming, they seemed far too few and far too incomplete.

Was that a horse approaching, the m.u.f.fled, rhythmic thud of hooves? Sounded like it. He flexed his fingers while still clasping the sword, loosening and tightening his grip nervously, and took a step forward to stand between Mildra and whatever was approaching.

Then they came into view; two of them. One mounted, one on foot. The horse was hardly at an allout gallop, but nor was it walking. Incredibly, the figure on foot kept pace. Tom had never seen human legs move so fast or arms pump so purposefully.

"Careful," Dewar said quietly, "the one on foot is a lot more than he seems."

Really? Tom would never have guessed.

The rider was hunched over his mount's neck, face partially obscured, yet there seemed something familiar about him. Then he sat straight and proceeded to rein the horse in. With a start, Tom recognised him: Seth Bryant!

Then he noticed the differences. Demeanour, expression, the whole set of body and face were at odds with the jovial landlord he remembered from the Four Spoke Inn. It was as if somebody else were wearing Seth's body. And when he spoke even the voice had changed, the words emerging with a clipped, nasal quality which reminded Tom a little of Dewar.

"h.e.l.lo again, King Slayer." Seth looked directly at their leader. "I couldn't possibly let you leave without saying goodbye properly."

"So, you are are one of the Twelve," Dewar said, as if this confirmed a suspicion. one of the Twelve," Dewar said, as if this confirmed a suspicion.

"That I am, or rather was. Can't tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet the man who betrayed us and destroyed my life."

"I didn't. It wasn't like that. The a.s.sa.s.sination was sanctioned."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"No, not really," Dewar replied wearily, "but it doesn't alter the fact."

Seth nodded. "Agreed. And the fact is that you're about to die!"

At the final shouted word, the mounted man threw his right arm out in an arc. Tom instinctively jumped back, though the half dozen glistening slivers flew towards Dewar, not him. The a.s.sa.s.sin was already moving, leaping aside to land with rounded shoulder which enabled him to roll and spring to his feet immediately. Six needle-pointed darts thudded into the ground, none of them finding their mark. Seth urged his horse forward, driving it straight towards Dewar, who had managed to keep hold of his kairuken and was attempting to bring the weapon to bear. The a.s.sa.s.sin fired but the shot was a s.n.a.t.c.hed one, the disc missing its intended target and slicing into the horse's neck in pa.s.sing. The wound clearly startled the horse, which s.h.i.+ed and turned its head sharply away from Dewar, almost unseating its rider in the process.

The large man who'd arrived with Seth started forward, making a beeline for Tom, who raised his sword and adjusted his feet as Dewar had taught him. Nervous he might be, but his determination to defend Mildra steadied his hand and he drew strength from the recent lessons, casting doubts aside.

As on the night they were attacked in the clearing, Kohn stepped in, swinging a ma.s.sive fist at the attacker. Tom watched the giant's blow connect, smas.h.i.+ng into the man's head. A surge of relief coursed through him, only to turn to dismay an instant later as he saw how little effect Kohn's strike had. Tom had seen those hands pick up a small tree trunk and wield it as readily as a bat in some ball game, yet when struck in anger by such a fist the attacker barely flinched. His response, on the other hand, was far more decisive. Somehow, Tom had come to think of Kohn as invincible, an illusion that was shattered as he watched the Kayjele crumple beneath a dismissive swipe from the advancing figure.

Suddenly, Tom's own doubts came flooding back. If this unnerving figure was powerful enough to floor Kohn so easily, what chance did he stand? No point in using his ability to hide, the attacker knew exactly where he was. He glanced quickly around, hoping for salvation from somewhere, but Dewar was fully occupied with Seth, who continued to throw taunts at the a.s.sa.s.sin, though Tom couldn't spare the attention to catch exactly what was said.

The sinister attacker loomed large, almost upon him. Tom took a deep breath, prepared to make a thrust with his sword, and silently prayed for a miracle. It arrived in the form of Kohn. Somehow the Kayjele regained his feet and threw himself at the advancing figure. The giant's body slammed into the far smaller man, his muscular arms engulfing him. The attacker staggered under the impact but, against all reason, still didn't go down. The Kayjele grimaced and growled, his arms bulging with the effort to crush his opponent. Not a sound came from the man held in that bear-like clinch, whose features remained unmoving while his eyes stared relentlessly at Tom, sending a chill coursing down the boy's spine. What was was this thing? this thing?

As Tom watched, the giant's hold was broken, his arm's forced apart by this stone-faced enemy. Finally the thing's gaze deserted Tom to focus on Kohn, and its whole body started to glow.

A golden radiance shone forth from the slighter figure, slowly spreading along Kohn's arms from where the thing gripped him until it enveloped the struggling Kayjele. Tom could no longer look at the attacker, the light was too bright, but by squinting he could still make out the form of Kohn, his face contorted in agony. Then that form seemed to distort, stretching and bending as no living thing should.

At which point it silently disintegrated.

"No!" Tom realised he'd screamed the denial, as he watched his friend die.

"Dear G.o.ddess," Mildra murmured from behind him. "A Rust Warrior."

Had Tom not been terrified already, that would have done it. The Rust Warriors were as feared and loathed as the Blade. They were also supposed to have been wiped out long ago. Yet here one was, standing before him as big and bold as life itself.

Yes, Tom was afraid, but fear was just one of the emotions stirring within him. Anger and grief were there as well. The glow around where Kohn had stood dissipated. All that remained of the gentle giant was a flurry of rustbrown flakes settling slowly to the ground like leaves stirred by an autumn breeze. As he watched this, Tom's fear was supplanted, withering away before the onslaught of those other feelings. The glow around the Rust Warrior also faded and his form became clear again. Tom heard Mildra gasp, realising at the same instant that the monster's face had changed. As if to mock them, the Rust Warrior had adopted the appearance of its latest victim. It looked like Kohn.

Tom felt horrified, appalled. His stomach heaved and he had to fight back the urge to heave up his last meal. But beyond the revulsion, as he looked upon this abomination now wearing the face of their murdered friend, he felt outraged.

Something within him snapped.

When Tom had felt his mind invaded by one of the Dog Master's creatures during his trek across the underCity he'd fought back, drawing on abilities he never knew were there. When one of the hybrid creatures had latched onto Kat, preparing to invade her mind and warp her will, he'd used those same abilities to lash out and destroy a whole swarm of them, and, later, with support from the prime master and Jeradine crystal technology, he had cleansed the entire under-City of those scuttling mechanisms and their parasitic charges. On each occasions he'd paid with crippling headaches and exhaustion, but this time he actively sought that coil of brooding power within him, and there was no reluctance or internal conflict as he reached deep inside to draw it forth and hurl it at the Rust Warrior with all his pa.s.sion and will.

The result was spectacular.

This walking malevolent effigy of their murdered friend stopped in its tracks and began to tremble violently. Eyes bulged in the closest thing to an expression Tom had yet seen on whatever face the thing wore. The trembling ended as abruptly as it had begun, and then, without further warning, the Rust Warrior exploded.

Tom felt a great blast of heat and light wash over him. He was dazzled by the brightness and found himself blown backwards by the force, knocking into Mildra. They both went down.

As he sat up, desperately blinking stars from his eyes in an effort to see what had happened, he was amazed to discover no real injuries. He'd seen a boiler explode once and so knew about shrapnel, and had himself been hit by a shard when the sun globe came down, but there didn't seem to have been any this time; nor any real flames for that matter, despite the heat.