Dark City (The Order of Shadows Book 1) (19 page)

A
demon prowled behind me
. A wild, crazed thing with large scales that looked like carbon-black diamonds protruding from its head. Its eyes were silvery gashes and it grinned, revealing short, sharp thickset teeth as it lunged.

Kill.

I swung the sword with a two-fisted grip and slashed the demon's throat. It gasped, the sound almost comical. I grabbed it by its lumpy head and pulled it back into a small room with a barred window and a cracked porcelain sink. The demon was dead and by the time I dumped it in the corner, its skin was already turning to ash.

I slipped out the door and carried on down the long dark hall, my heart thumping madly.

Cells lined the walls on both sides. Most of the doorways were open and I passed them in a dream-like trance until I heard a whimper in a windowless cell lit by smoking tallow candles stacked upon an old wheelchair.

A dark eyed boy, barely a teenager, sat in the corner. He gazed back at me while an ancient, hunchbacked vampire leaned over him, his forearm gently cradled in its gnarled hand. It would have been an almost tender gesture if the creature hadn't had its mouth clamped over the boy's wrist.

A trickle of blood ran from the vampire's pallid lips and down its wrinkled chin.

I didn't hesitate and was almost upon the parasite when the boy moaned, his glassy eyes widening as they focused on me.

The vampire turned, its pinched feral face as pale as porcelain in the gloom. Then its yellow eyes flashed as it stared into my eyes and hissed, baring long curved fangs.

Before the creature could move, I leaped forward and drove the sword through its heart. It opened its mouth to cry out but I clamped it shut with my hand. A dangerous move.

The vampire twitched and as the light dimmed in its eyes, I withdrew my hand and pulled the blade from its chest. The boy whimpered as I cut the duct tape that bound his ankles.

I reached into my bag for salve and a length of bandage to wrap around the wound on his wrist. "You need to get out of here," I whispered. "Can you do that?"

He shook his head, his face filled with terror.

"Yes you can," I said as I grabbed him and made him look into my eyes. "You have to. Now go, and be silent."

I watched as he crept away, sluggish and confused. He made it to the stairs and then vanished from view.

There were more cells, stretching to the end of the corridor, and by the sounds drifting out from them, this was not an isolated incident. But I couldn't clean this up on my own. There was a more pressing issue to be dealt with and I needed to get it done quickly. I'd have to return for these monsters and their livestock after I'd found Prentice.

If there was an afterwards.

A few candles flickered along the hall that yawned before me but it was a dark stretch nonetheless. Even with my bag of tricks, my gun and my sword, I felt woefully unarmed. And unprepared. Devilry oozed around me and magic thrummed within the walls as I crept toward the confrontation, tempting me with its dark force. I ignored its call and carried on toward a crossroads, my heartbeat hard and loud.

An offshoot. Another corridor. One I remembered with every inch of my being. The cracked green paint, the scuff marks, the dents in the wooden floor. It was like a mausoleum to the past, every horrific feature intact.

Two figures lingered by the double doors, an ogress and a tall man who seemed to be missing half his face. I strode towards them with a confidence I didn't feel, stopping as they stepped from the shadows and barred my way.

The ogress held a length of pipe, the man a machete.

There was no way around, so I'd have to go through them.

The man looked to be the quickest, lean and spry, he'd have to go first. I grinned and beckoned to him. As I pulled my sword from its sheath he gritted his teeth and swung the machete. I danced aside and put my blade swiftly through his side, right up to the hilt.

His machete hit the floor with a heavy clunk.

I had no time to recover my sword before the ogress charged. I pulled my gun from its holster and fired. The shot echoed down the hall. She fell to her knees, and toppled to her face with a solid thump.

So much for being covert.

Howls and cries echoed through the building.

This was it, no more time. I seized the double doors, threw them open and stepped inside.

The room was long and dimly lit but for a single square of bright light that fell upon the bare floorboards from the skylight above.

And on the far wall.

The painting.

From here it looked to be at least ten feet tall, an immense block that swirled in a constant flux of charcoal black and midnight blue. Splatters of paint flecked the wall around it, giving the impression that it had been rendered with insane abandon. One indication, perhaps, of the desperate broken mind that must have created the abomination.

Looking upon it was like a punch to the gut. The portal, was real.

Two men stood below it. They'd clearly been in deep conversation before I'd entered the room, now their attention had turned to me.

One was Prentice Sykes. His hand strayed into his coat as he glared at me.

The other was a ghostly shadow of a man. A shade.

He wore a merlot-colored frock coat and a dingy white frilled shirt. Raven black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his long pale face and the shadows that pooled in his eyes as he regarded me. He looked like the ghost of a poet, some demented, addled spirit from another century. A phantom with one foot in this world and the other in some distant dimension.

A walker between worlds.

Like me.

A pang of horror crept across my flesh.

Was this the man Lyra Fitz had dreamt of? The gatherer of shadows...the black force that smashed the planets to dust?

The shade drifted towards me, stopping short of the square of light upon the floor. He nodded. "And you are?" His voice was soft and well spoken.

"Morgan Rook. And I'm here to kill you, although it looks like someone's already done most of the job for me."

"I'll deal with him." Prentice Sykes pulled his sword from its sheath. The shade turned to him and whispered. Prentice lowered the blade and regarded me with a sardonic smile. "My name is Rowan Stroud. I have a feeling we've met before. Where-"

"Why did you kill them?" I bolted forwards and stood in the center of the light.

"Kill who?" Stroud asked.

"Tom and Hellwyn."

He glanced back to Prentice, and then to a side door I'd failed to note. Was the assassin lying in wait? Did this ghost need protection?

"Why did I kill them..." Stroud placed a finger on his chin. His eyes gleamed as he glanced back at me. "Vengeance I suppose. Once they'd killed me and slaughtered everyone I'd loved, their cards were marked."

"You're the cultist-"

"Cultist? Yes, I suppose a lesser mind might describe me thus. Who told you our story? Tom? Hellwyn?" He cocked his head and stared at me, as if trying to work out what I was.

"You should've stayed in your grave." I brought my sword up and advanced but the shade drifted back towards the painting.

"Oh. The cowardly knight versus the man with the hand-me-down sword. How will it end?" His laugh was short and cruel. I had no idea how to kill a shade but I was looking forward to finding out.

Prentice raised his blade and walked towards me. I backed out of the sunlight, hoping to draw him in. The moment the light hit his eyes, I'd decapitate the son of a bitch.

Stroud clapped his hands. The ghostly boom took me by surprise as it echoed like distant thunderclaps. "No. This is not how it's meant to be."

Prentice turned back. "I can do this."

"No, you can't. You're a spent force, Prentice. But you've helped me wipe out the Order, so at least you can depart this world with a smidge of redemption."

"We had an agreement," Prentice said, his voice rising.

"I never agreed to anything," Stroud turned to me. "You asked why your friends died. The simple truth is, Prentice Sykes wanted to be free of the nasty little tumor in his gut. Their lives for his, that was his offer. He brought me here because he thought I'd be desperate enough to serve him. He was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong."

Anger flashed in Prentice's eyes. He stopped just short of the light as he turned back. "You would never have found this world if it wasn't for me-"

"You expect gratitude? Loyalty? After what you did? A fury crept into Stroud's voice. "I'm afraid it's out with the old order, and in with the new. However, I will give you a fitting send off. Snakes for the snake."

Tendrils of black smoke oozed from the painting and drifted into Stroud's form. His eyes grew bright and he held his hands out, drawing shadows from every corner of the room.

The gatherer of shadows.

The tendrils shifted and began to flow from his palms. Gathering before him, they writhed into long coils. Snakes formed of darkness, with amber eyes and madly flicking tongues.

Prentice turned ashen.

"That's right," Stroud said. "You're not fond of snakes, are you?"

They slithered over the floor with a sound like a thousand whispers, their bodies thick and swollen. Prentice backed towards the light, oblivious to me, as each snake became intent upon him.

He stood in the light and held his sword before him, preparing for them to strike but they stopped at the edge of the square and hissed.

"Fuck you!" Prentice said. There was a haughty note of triumph in his voice.

I could have shoved him back into the shadows, but I didn't. No, I wanted to fight the son of a bitch myself.

Stroud raised a hand to the skylight and whispered.

The glass blackened until the light grew dim enough for the snakes to breach it. They lunged towards Prentice and slithered up his legs as he screamed and hacked and slashed. His panic betrayed him as he cut both the snakes and himself. Blood sprayed from the gashes in his legs, sending the snakes into a frenzy. Their bodies swelled as they began to encompass his flailing form.

His scream was cut short when a fat swollen snake coiled across his head, encircling his mouth, then his nose. His eyes grew wide and he began to flail madly.

I almost ran to help him. Almost. Instead I watched in horror as the creatures writhed around him and he collapsed under their spectral weight.

The snakes struck, their teeth long and sharp as they punctured his exposed flesh. Smoke rose from the wounds, his skin began to char and the snakes slithered in a frenzy until I could see nothing but a writhing mass of black.

Soon silence fell over the room as the snakes slithered back into the shadows, leaving a pile of charred bones upon the floor.

"The Order is no more," Stroud said. "I'd expected to feel a greater sense of satisfaction but in truth, it's been quite the anticlimax. Perhaps it's because I've encountered a new problem, and it's in need of a solution. Tell me, who are you?"

"I gave you my name."

"But it isn't really yours, is it? You weren't born in this world. Tell me, how did you come to arrive here?"

"I was born right here, in this room." I walked towards him, my heart beating hard, fear battling to offset my raging fury and loathing.

"The portal? It only links this world with my own..." He gazed back at the canvas. I raised my sword, spurred by the glint of its light in the gloom.

I had no idea if it would harm him, but there was only one way to find out.

Stroud turned back to me. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

"No. I'm going to annihilate you. First you, and then your assassin."

"Really? Why wait then, let me summon it for you." Stroud gestured to the door as it flew open.

T
he assassin burst
into the room, its eyes gleaming, dead and blue behind its mask. It glanced to Stroud, awaiting his command. He nodded to it and the unspoken order passed between them.

I didn't need to hear it. I knew what it was.

With several leaps I sprang back toward the far end of the room hoping to buy myself a few scant moments. I'd seen what this creature could do, time after time. It seemed unstoppable, that fighting it would bring nothing but death.

But this wasn't the time for fear. This was the time for vengeance.

My sword glimmered, its blade brimming with power as it awaited my intent. I itched to run forward, to meet the creature and hack at it with all the power I could muster.

Instead I watched as the assassin prowled towards me, the tip of its blade scraping and gouging the floorboards. Behind it, Stroud watched, his form thin and dark but for his softly glowing eyes.

His evil, remorseless arrogance filled me with rage and disgust. If I just could get to him...

The assassin brought its sword up two handed.

This was going to hurt.

I parried, wincing as the familiar shockwave of pain shot through my wrists and arms. The assassin brought its sword up for another swing. I lunged forward, testing its defense. It brought its blade across its chest to counter the blow.

I swung again.

It matched my maneuver.

Again and again. The same defense. The same attack. Hellwyn would have spotted this pattern if she'd had the chance. Tom too if he hadn't given up.

I focused my intent and allowed it to flow through me, from mind to blade.

The sword thrummed as if in accord.

I stepped back as the assassin brought its weapon up and swung, its blade a silver arc descending towards me.

I blocked it.

It was all I could do to hang onto the hilt as the blow juddered through my arm. I jumped back and sidestepped its next attack.

The assassin's sword smashed into the hardwood floor and stuck.

I lunged.

Time seemed to slow as the assassin furiously wrenched its sword free and brought it up to parry my blow. I changed course and the tip of my blade sliced through the assassin's arm, cleaving its hand off.

Its sword clattered to the ground. The hand spasmed, leaped like a spider and scuttled towards the fallen blade as acrid black wisps of smoke spilled from the wound.

It made no sound as it swept down to retrieve its sword.

Sever.

I waited for the assassin to seize the weapon before lopping off its other hand.

It lumbered back, smoke spilling from the stumps at the end of its arms. And then it narrowed its eyes and it dropped its useless limbs, as if resigned to the killing blow.

"And...now...your...head," I growled, fury and adrenaline coursing through me.

The assassin closed its eyes, anticipating a blow that never came as I flew past it, my sights locked on Stroud.