The Dying of the Light (61 page)

“Now give me the map. I’m getting out of here.”

“Uh … sir?”

Scapegrace looked up, and froze. They were surrounded by blurred figures, their faces indistinct and their shapes hazy. Ghosts.

Two people, two solid people, stepped to the front. They were dressed like the Guardian, with robes and porcelain masks.

“We have been waiting for you,” said the first of them. He spoke with a Scottish accent. “I am the Inquisitor. You have proved yourself worthy and you are, of course, entitled to leave Meryyn ta Uul at your discretion. Before you do, however, I beg a moment of your time.”

Scapegrace glanced at Thrasher. “OK. Sure. What can I do for you?”

The Inquisitor’s porcelain face appeared hopeful. “You are a Zombie King, are you not?”

“I used to be,” said Scapegrace.

“He still is,” said Thrasher.

“I gave that up,” Scapegrace insisted. “Now I’m just me again. Just normal old me. I’m no Zombie King. Not really. I don’t think I ever was.”

“But we need you to be,” said the Inquisitor. “We have been waiting for one such as you. We have been waiting centuries.”

Scapegrace frowned. “For me? Why?”

The Inquisitor spread his arms wide. “This is Meryyn ta Uul. The City Below. The Necropolis. The City of the Dead. Down here, the dead number in their hundreds of thousands. The others are watching us even now, waiting for me to ask.”

“To ask what?”

“To ask you to be our King.”

Scapegrace blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“A Zombie King is but one name for a King of the Dead. We need you here, my lord. I beseech you. Rule over us. We are yours to command.”

“Seriously?”

Thrasher stepped closer. “What about Clarabelle?” he whispered in Scapegrace’s ear. “We told her we’d go back for her. She’s waiting for us.”

Scapegrace nodded. “That’s right. Listen, Mr Inquisitor, we have a friend, and she needs us right now.”

“We need you more.”

“We made a promise, though.”

“A promise to the living is a meaningless thing,” the Inquisitor said. “Our oath of servitude to you, however, would be eternal.”

Scapegrace hesitated. Eternity was a mighty long time. And to rule down here, to take on something as important as the mantle of King of the Dead … that was something he’d never even considered possible.

But to do so would be to abandon Clarabelle, and he could no more do that than he could cut off his own arm. Although he could probably have cut off his own arm relatively easily.

“Some day,” he said. “When my work in the world of the living is done, when they need me no longer, I will return here. This I vow to you.”

The Inquisitor bowed. All the ghosts bowed.

“As you command, my lord.”

Scapegrace nodded to them all and, with Thrasher at his heels, he walked away with as much imperial majesty as he could muster.

Darquesse had gone through them like they weren’t even there.

She’d taken out Saracen first. Those arrows had been getting too close, so she’d dumped a wall on him. He lay there now, his bones broken. Valkyrie didn’t know if he were alive or dead.

Darquesse had killed or injured whatever sorcerers, vampires and Cleavers leaped at her next, and then she’d gone after Skulduggery. Valkyrie had watched it from her hiding place. He’d jabbed, swung and thrust with what remained of the sword, and Darquesse played with him long enough for her own amusement, then she’d torn the sword from his grip and hit him so hard Valkyrie hadn’t even seen where he’d landed. Darquesse used the sword to kill a few Cleavers, then Solomon Wreath sprang at her from the shadows.

Darquesse had slashed him diagonally from the hip to the shoulder, and his body came apart in a violent display of blood and innards. Valkyrie’s hand had gone to her mouth to stop herself from crying out. When Solomon’s remains had settled on the ground, Darquesse discarded the sword and had gone after Ravel. And what had Ravel done?

He had thrown down the spear, and he had run.

Darquesse’s laughter reached Valkyrie, and it beckoned her.

She couldn’t stand by any longer. She didn’t think the Meryyn Sigil had activated yet – she certainly didn’t feel any different anyway – but she couldn’t keep hiding, not when there were so many people risking and giving their lives to buy her time. She watched a lone Cleaver attack Darquesse. She watched his scythe burst apart and his legs snap. He fell into the dirt and the rubble of the street and Darquesse walked over to him to finish the job with her bare hands.

Screw this.

Valkyrie slipped out of her hiding place, ran across the rooftop. It was a long way down and she jumped.

While she fell, she focused on her magic, focused on the energy inside her, tried to summon the barrier that would protect her when she landed, the cushion of light that had made her bounce off the tree by the roadside.

But nothing happened.

She could feel the magic, it crackled between her fingertips, but she didn’t know how to summon it or control it and now she was dropping towards certain, stupid death and she was going to die and her tattoo began to burn—

And she landed on her feet and her bones didn’t break.

She straightened up, peeked inside her jacket. The sigil glowed on her arm. She was invulnerable. Cool.

She reached out with her hand and then reached out with her magic, and white lightning sprang from her fingers and hit Darquesse, made her stumble.

The injured Cleaver forgotten about, Darquesse whirled, and her look of anger became a look of curiosity.

“Well now,” she said. “Look who’s got herself a whole new bag of tricks.”

“Damn right,” said Valkyrie, striding towards her.

“What are you, an energy thrower? Your magic is bubbling and boiling inside you. I can see it from here. It’s impressive. It’s … different. You’re not just an energy thrower, are you? There’s something else. Your magic is purer than …” Darquesse frowned. “What
are
you?”

“I’m stronger than you.”

“Well,” Darquesse said, smiling, “we’ll see about that.”

She hit Valkyrie full force and a thousand suns exploded behind her eyes, and when Valkyrie’s brain came back online a moment later she was tumbling backwards down the street. She came to a sprawling, ungraceful stop beside a parked car, and waited for her head to clear. Apparently being invulnerable didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel pain. Good to know.

Valkyrie stood, rubbing her jaw.

“You’re not this powerful,” Darquesse said, walking after her. “You may have got your fancy new magic, but you can’t be
this
strong. They’ve done something to you, haven’t they? Have they boosted you? Did you finally step into the Accelerator? Did it drive you insane?”

Strength tingled through Valkyrie’s veins. She waited until Darquesse was a little closer, then punched her hands through the car beside her and stepped back to fling it. But the doors tore off and she ended up throwing them instead. And they missed.

Darquesse laughed. “Super strength isn’t as easy as it looks, is it? See, you’ve got to think about these things. If you want to throw a car, you’ve got to grab the body.”

She darted to a little Volvo, got one hand on its underside while the other gripped the frame, and then flung it like a discus at the Olympics. Valkyrie tried to get out of the way, but it clipped her shoulder and spun her round. She stumbled, tripping over the pavement, and Darquesse flew at her. They collided, hit the wall and lurched away, hands clutching at each other’s throats. The little Volvo had just come to a rocking stop beside them and Valkyrie slammed her forehead into Darquesse’s face, and the back of Darquesse’s head hit the Volvo. Valkyrie did it again, and again, doing her best to turn Darquesse’s head to pulp, but it was the Volvo that gave way first.

Darquesse fell sideways, and she grabbed Valkyrie’s hair, pulling her head down into a knee that would have caved in her face were it not for the sigil on her arm. Before she could recover, Darquesse’s eyes lit up and twin streams of energy exploded against Valkyrie’s chest, sending her crashing through a window. There were people in here, a family, and they screamed and ran out of the back as Valkyrie struggled to get up.

The front door burst into a million splinters and Darquesse came at her like a bullet train, driving her through the wall and into the kitchen in a shower of plaster. They rolled across the floor, punching and biting and scratching and gouging. Valkyrie scrambled up and heaved, swinging Darquesse into the fridge by her hair. She moved back quickly, dragging Darquesse the length of the room, then let go and kicked her head so hard she heard the spine snap. But even as Darquesse rolled away, Valkyrie heard the clicks as the vertebrae repaired themselves.

Darquesse got up and Valkyrie hit her with a chair that smashed on impact. She grabbed one of the legs as they fell and plunged it through Darquesse’s throat, then punched her as she gagged. Darquesse spun, staggered, but spun again with a back fist that sent Valkyrie crashing into the hall. Darquesse pulled the chair leg out and dropped it, healed herself and spat blood. She was grinning. Valkyrie ran at her, but Darquesse flew upwards through the ceiling.

Valkyrie hurried out into the street, looking up.

She saw Darquesse as a speck in the sky, swooping around, coming back down at an alarming speed. Power crackled in Valkyrie’s hands while she waited for her to get near, and then she let loose, and the lightning hit Darquesse, making her veer off course and crash into the ground.

Valkyrie sprinted over just as Darquesse was getting to her hands and knees. She lashed a kick into her side, kicked her again while she rolled. Darquesse caught the third kick, tried to twist Valkyrie’s leg off, but Valkyrie just blasted her at close range.

They clung to each other, and there were hair pulls and eye gouges and headbutts and bites, and then they were lifting off the ground, rising high above the city, still scrapping, still fighting, still snarling. And then Darquesse let go, and Valkyrie fell.

And oh, how she fell.

Straight down, with the wind rushing in her ears and her hair whipping about her face. She was glad she didn’t have her stick with her. It probably wouldn’t have survived what came next.

She hit the ground.

It was painful.

Valkyrie rolled on to her back and lay there, panting.

Darquesse flew down to the ornate concrete fountain beside her and stood on the edge. “Is that it? Is this the full extent of your plan? Please, Valkyrie, tell me you have something more up your sleeve. It was a good tussle, it was, but let’s face it – all I have to do is keep hitting you until whatever is boosting your power wears off. I can’t imagine that’ll be very much longer.”

Something moved in the shadows behind Darquesse. Valkyrie said nothing.

“If you were as smart as you like to think you are,” Darquesse continued, “you’d be trying to hide from me right now. I mean, it’s you I’m after. You get that, right? I came here so that we can be whole again.”

“Is that your way of surrendering?” Valkyrie asked.

Darquesse smiled. “I’m not the one who’ll surrender. And it won’t be like it was, either. There’ll be no more of your annoying little voice in my head. But when you’re gone, what you are – behind all the thoughts and the snarky comments – will remain. That’s what I want, Valkyrie. You’re a part of me. We belong together. You feel it, too, right? You feel that a part of you is missing?”

She did. She couldn’t deny it. There was an emptiness to her now, a loneliness she hadn’t felt before. Not even the new magic, whatever it was, could fill that gap.

“Come on,” Darquesse said, holding out her hand. “Why are you fighting? All you ever do is fight. Why? Who says you have to? There are other ways, Valkyrie. Try acceptance. Accept that we belong together, that we’re stronger when we are one. That we’re better. Stop fighting. Stop hurting. I don’t want to hurt anyone any more. Not even Ravel. I’m tired of that. I’m tired of this. Come on. Take my hand. You never have to be lonely again.”

“Well, maybe that’s the difference between us,” Valkyrie said, getting to her feet. “I don’t mind the loneliness. Not really. You know why? Because I know I have friends. And they’re standing right behind you.”

Skulduggery and Melancholia emerged from an archway. Shadows writhed round Melancholia’s body like angry snakes, and more shadows seeped from beneath Skulduggery’s shirt as he walked. They covered his body, forming armour, and when he rose up on a tide of darkness it was not Skulduggery Pleasant who crested that wave, but Lord Vile, in all his terrible glory.

Lord Vile and Melancholia attacked.

They were relentless. Two of the most powerful Necromancers of the last thousand years, and they drove Darquesse back between them.

Shadows were knives and whips and hammers and chains. They cut, tore, ripped and bludgeoned. Darquesse was given not one moment to recover, not one second to heal. Valkyrie watched in numb astonishment as her adversary, as
the
adversary, was sent to the ground again and again.

She watched as Darquesse got up, for maybe the tenth time, took a step and faltered.

Frowning, Darquesse looked down at her left foot. It was badly broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. She glared at it, and finally the foot moved, mending itself. But the frown on her face remained.

Vile and Melancholia closed in.

Twin beams of sizzling energy burst from Darquesse’s eyes, but Vile was already shadow-walking away. Melancholia seized her chance, leaped high into the air and sent down a thousand thorns of darkness. They ripped through Darquesse, tearing through her armored clothes and shredding her flesh, and Valkyrie caught an unmistakable grimace of pain.

Darquesse was hurt.

The shadows coiled and Vile emerged, taking Darquesse’s head in his hands and wrenching it to one side. Her neck broke and immediately mended, but the cry of pain that accompanied her wild swing was enough to spur Melancholia on even while Vile fell back. The shadows lashed again and again, cutting through Darquesse’s defences. She was spending so much power healing her body that she could no longer dampen her pain. She was feeling every strike now, and her wounds were taking longer to repair.