Reaching it comfortably, Veil hooked his legs over and caught his balance. He found himself just above the guardhouse on the right of the gate. He eased himself down until his feet were touching the roof, then braced against the wall to take the strain on the rope as Dirr came hand over hand down it.
Once they were both safe on the guardhouse roof Veil crept to the edge and peered over. None of the guards were in sight, but the door was half-open, spilling light into the street and illuminating the barred gate where Doranei would be waiting. Veil dropped, using the door and lintel to swing himself into the guardroom and he was on the ground and drawing his shortswords before the guards realised what was happening. There were three, all seated, and only one had a weapon close enough to grab, so Veil lunged like a fencer towards him, catching the man in the throat.
‘What — ?’ was all the next man managed before Veil turned and whipped both swords across him, slashing deeply into face and chest and sending him spinning over a table.
The third had more presence of mind. He grabbed a spear propped against the wall and had almost levelled it by the time Veil made up the ground, but it wasn’t enough. One shortsword got him in the stomach, the other pierced his lung from behind, and he fell with an abrupt cough.
Not waiting to check whether there was need, Veil turned back to the second man face-down on the table and stabbed him in the back. The guard arched up, mouth open as though about to scream, but Veil slit his throat and the only sound was his dying breath.
‘Gods, you really are fast!’ came a gasp from the doorway.
Veil spun around, weapons raised and already moving towards the newcomer before he saw it was Dirr. He stopped dead, but Dirr had already retreated, a look of horror on his face.
‘Get that gate open,’ Veil hissed, indicating the gate behind him with a flick of a sword.
Dirr flinched as blood spattered across his face, but he obeyed without hesitation and trotted over to lift the bars.
Veil was about to follow him when he saw a key hanging from a nail by the doorway. ‘That makes it easier,’ he muttered, pocketing the key.
The gate had a postern that could be barred but was usually only locked. If the Brother who was staying at this gate could find a way to blockade all but the postern, they could lock up behind them on the way back and perhaps win one more precious minute. Once the whole company was through Veil pressed the key into the hand of a King’s Man wearing the livery of the Byoran Guard.
‘Keep the postern open,’ he instructed. ‘You won’t get much traffic this time of night, but let ’em all through as wants to go; that should let you bar the rest and fix it that way.’
A growl from Coran indicated he was supposed to be off and he jumped to obey, trotting through the deserted night-time streets with Dirr and Telasin Daemon-Touch, who ran with his head covered and bowed as always. Instead of the rapier and dagger Veil had expected, Telasin carried a pair of brutal khopesh that looked custom-made, with basket-hilts and runes detailed in bronze on the forward-tilted chopping edge.
Coin was at its quietest, the cold wind and late hour ensuring the streets were deserted. Veil padded ahead of the rest so he could ignore the sound of their footsteps and scout the next section. The pace was slow and patient, his reward continued silence as he moved from one building to the next.
He reached a crossroad and crouched down to peer around the corner. The street was empty, and no lights shone from any of the houses as far as the near-invisible cliff of Blackfang that Coin backed onto. Veil couldn’t help but look up at the broken mountain ahead. The steep, impassable slope started its climb up into the sky barely four hundred yards away. Something about it made Veil shiver; the presence of that brooding, broken mountain made him feel vulnerable.
Footsteps in the street brought him back to the mission with a jolt. He looked around the corner and saw five figures walking towards them. In the darkness it was impossible to tell who they were, but as he frantically waved behind him he heard their voices carry on the night air.
Piss and daemons
, Veil thought, gesturing again. They weren’t drunks on their way home from some bar but a Menin patrol.
‘How many?’ asked a strange voice beside him and Veil twitched in surprise, even as he realised it was Telasin who’d spoken. It was the first time he’d heard the secretive Raylin mercenary speak.
‘Five,’ he whispered.
‘Keep clear.’
Veil bit down the question on his lips as Telasin met his gaze for the first time since they’d met. The former Devoted officer hadn’t spoken the entire time he’d been among the Brotherhood. His head had remained bowed in shame and he’d allowed Daken to answer for him whenever words had been necessary.
In the darkness it was hard to make out much of Telasin’s face beyond a broken nose and a strange difference between his eyes: either they were markedly different colours, or one was milky with blindness. He was older than Veil; a hard forty winters showed in that face.
Veil had an image blossom suddenly in his mind: yellowed ivory skin and long black tusks, rusting rings in the flesh of his cheek, and an eye that burned with orange flames. Veil fell backwards in horror, barely able to stop himself from crying out in shock.
Telasin didn’t wait to see if he’d made enough noise to warn the Menin patrol; he had already leaped silently out into the street and gone on the attack. Veil scrabbled to follow the daemon-touched soldier, but as he rounded the corner and saw Telasin engaging all five Menin he faltered. A black cloud swirled around them all, shadows whipping up from the ground. Telasin’s cloak lifted high in the sudden gust, revealing tarnished bronze scale-armour, as he hacked at one of the Menin and parried another in the same moment.
In a heartbeat the entire group was obscured by darkness. Veil could do nothing but wait, listening to the muted clash of steel. A hot, greasy wind swept across his face, bringing a sudden stink of sulphur and decay. Both Dirr and Veil gagged as the unnatural hot air enveloped them, and in the next breath it was gone. Veil dry-retched once more and opened his eyes to see Telasin standing over five brutally slain corpses, a red-tinged glow playing about his shoulders.
‘Gods,’ Veil and Dirr said in the same breath. As they spoke they felt a distant tremble underfoot and a crack of thunder split the sky.
‘Don’t just fuckin’ stand there,’ Daken snapped as he caught them up, giving both men a shove. He pointed to their right, where Veil saw a sudden red glow in the distance. ‘That’s Litania, that is; she’s havin’ her fun now.’
Veil blinked and realised the thunder hadn’t come from the sky at all; it had been somewhere in Breakale and loud enough that it might have been an entire building collapsing. Daken gave a coarse laugh and went on ahead, clapping a comradely hand on Telasin’s shoulder. The man jumped like he’d been stung and lowered his weapons, head bowed.
‘Five for you, eh? I got me some catchin’ up to do!’
Veil upped the pace of his scouting ahead. In the distance an orange glow grew steadily, he guessed somewhere close to the Breakale-Hale gates. When they reached the gate into Eight Towers he found it half-open, but guarded by both a squad of Menin soldiers and some Byoran troops.
Veil passed a signal back and hunkered down to wait for support, which came in the form of Cetarn, the oversized Narkang mage. As usual, he wore a cheery grin on his face, as though what they were about was nothing more than high jinks.
‘What have you got for me?’ Veil whispered.
‘A little misdirection should do,’ Cetarn replied.
The mage’s attempt to keep his voice low sounded painfully loud to Veil, but he ignored it as Cetarn made him stand upright. Muttering under his breath, Cetarn ran a fleshy hand over Veil’s head before repeating the process over himself. That done, the big mage grabbed Veil’s arm and dragged him out into full view of the soldiers.
‘We don’t look any different,’ Veil hissed, watching the soldiers notice them.
‘Not up close, no,’ Cetarn said cheerfully, ‘but at a distance, trust me — we appear to be the most magnificently blessed young ladies those men have seen in a long while.’
Veil almost choked at the notion, and he would have tripped on the cobbles had Cetarn not had a firm grip on him.
‘That’s a good idea; don’t we look so pretty and drunk?’ Cetarn commented brightly.
Veil recovered himself in time to see four dark shapes ghosting through the shadows on the other side of the street, evading the soldiers’ notice. When Veil and Cetarn were ten paces away the nearest soldier gave a cry of surprise and Veil realised the glamour had failed. The soldier reached for his weapon, but he was cut down by the first of the Brotherhood. As Veil ran to join the fight his Brothers were already cutting a path through the soldiers to the gate.
One tried to race through, only to be thrown back by the force of a spear catching him in the side. The next King’s Man kicked out and snapped the shaft against the closed half of the gate, lunging with his sword at the holder and pushing on through.
Veil made for the nearest Menin, feinting right to get behind the tip. Keeping his swords close, he ran straight into the man and spun off his shoulder, stabbing him in the hip even as he darted away and trapped the next soldier’s weapon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone’s livery suddenly catch fire. The bright burst of light made the man he was facing hesitate and Veil used the chance to knee him in the groin and smash a pommel into his face. His opponent reeled and Veil chopped down into his arm, then his exposed neck.
As the last man fell and silence returned, Veil checked his surroundings. There were no other soldiers in sight aside from the remainder of their company, who were quickly making up the fifty yards between them.
‘It’s clear,’ called the King’s Man who’d gone through the gate as he dropped to kneel at his injured comrade’s side.
‘How is he?’ Veil asked, watching the bulky shapes of Daken and Coran moving side by side as though in competition.
‘Fucking hurting,’ the injured man grunted, ‘but I ain’t dead yet.’
Veil turned. It was Cedei, one of the veterans of the Brotherhood. ‘Good — but you’re not coming with us like that. Cetarn, stop the bleeding and help him up. You’ll have to make it back to the gate on your own.’
‘Aye,’ Cedei agreed in a strained voice. ‘Luck to you. See you when the killing’s done.’
‘When it’s done,’ Veil confirmed and thumped his forearm against Cedei’s as Coran reached him just ahead of Daken.
‘The alarm will be raised soon,’ Veil said, looking at the bodies on the ground. ‘We’ve got a straight run to the Ruby Tower, so best we get Mage Firnin out in front now to clear the beggars out of our way.’
The white-eyes agreed and they set off jogging in two columns towards the Ruby Tower. The streets were still empty, but there were sounds in the city now, shouts coming from Breakale, and from the main gate between the two districts. Even Daken began to look serious: the real fight was close at hand. Whatever Litania had done, the panic had started.
Dawn was still more than an hour off by the time they reached the wide avenue that skirted the Ruby Tower compound. Behind it was a plateau of enclosed ground a hundred yards across, a series of peaked roofs, and pipes that channelled the floodwaters around the compound. A large statue of Kiyer of the Deluge was positioned at each corner, each with a wide, distended mouth from which the water was channelled into the avenue. The ground outside the gate was open cobbles for fifty yards before reaching the three main streets leading away from the tower.
Veil’s company took a road parallel to one of these. It was blocked at the end, to protect the entrances to the houses on each side, but it gave them a concealed route for most of the way, with a narrow passage which took them to the north corner of the open ground. When they were all settled he moved forward with Doranei and Mage Firnin, the woman carrying a saddlebag with enough care that Veil was keen to see the back of it.
Firnin set the bag down and sat cross-legged on the ground, tugging at her breeches and shirt to put them perfectly in order. That done, she pulled a flask from her pocket, took a long slug of what smelled like brandy, and poured the rest down her front, ignoring the expressions on their faces.
‘What’re you doing?’ Doranei snapped as he watched her. This wasn’t what she’d outlined to him the previous day when he’d told her to take care of the beggars — that was what the saddlebag was for.
Firnin opened one eye and scowled at him, which twisted a scar down her face into an even more jagged line. ‘Trying to avoid the death of innocents; the bag can help you get out instead. Have Cetarn signal me when you want the way cleared.’
‘What are you doing now?’
The mage didn’t reply, and Doranei realised he wasn’t going to get an answer without interrupting her concentration. Camba Firnin’s main skill might be as an illusionist, but she was still powerful, and now wasn’t the time to anger her. Instead he made himself comfortable and stared out over the white-shrouded figures that even now knelt at the gates in prayer. There weren’t as many as he’d feared, and he mouthed his thanks to Cerdin, God of Thieves, whom the Brotherhood had adopted as a patron God.