“I KNOW YOU.” Morsorachius played the chain whip through hands the size of houses. “I KNOW YOUR FEARS, AS I KNOW ALL PEOPLE’S FEAR. YOUR DAUGHTER IS SURELY LOST, AND YOU KNOW DESPAIR. YOU ARE BUT ONE. YOUR SCHOOL IS IN TATTERS. YOU SENT THE GODS AWAY FOR A HOPE YOU SQUANDERED. THE ONLY OTHER LIKE YOU LIES SLAIN AT YOUR FEET. YOU ARE THE LAST, AND HOPE HAS FLED.”

  Vertiline raised sword and shield. The patterns held in her mind, those for fighting dragons, those for halting a landslide, those for sundering a vaulted fortress’s gates. Light glimmered on the edge of her steel as she glared over the rim of her shield. “Come, then. Let us speak of⁠—”

  Faster than thought, the Morsorachius’ chain whip lashed out. Vertiline raised her shield, golden Light doming above her, the whip’s metal tip shrieking as it bit and clawed at her defence. She felt the impossible weight of it, the strength of the demon lord behind it, and snarled.

  Tenebricor swung the hammer overhand. She danced back, and as the weapon hit, used the shuddering bounce the earth gave to gain height, landing on the weapon, and running up the shaft. Tenebricor’s eyes were hateful as it snarled, shaking her free. Vertiline fell, graceful, the pattern ready, landing in a metal clatter and rolling to her feet.

  She wasn’t ready for the whip. It moves too quickly for such a large weapon. But it came anyway, forcing her to step back into Ending Retreat, sword licking out, Light spilling molten on the stone floor. Tenebricor reached for her, and she stepped forward, sword cutting three times in perfect arcs. The demon lord howled, rearing back, but minus three fingers, the ends smoking and charred.

  The chain whip came again, and again Vertiline wasn’t ready. But Armitage was, her brave stupid husband, who pushed her aside. He wasn’t on her threat list, and she had no defence against his move. She staggered back as the chain lashed past her, plunging into Armitage’s shoulder. The bad one, where Ormeon had almost taken the life right out of him.

  All light about the chain faded as a choked half-darkness snaked down from Morsorachius to where the massive weapon’s tip pierced Armitage. Vertiline didn’t know what it was or what it would do, but she knew how to return a favour. She lunged forward, shoulder-barging Armitage. No Light, no grace of movement, but he popped free of the weapon as she collided with it.

  It’s so cold. She felt the ice touch of death, the sluggishness of her limbs as the demon’s weapon suckled at her warmth. Vertiline screamed, staggering back, trying to get her guard up. A half-hearted attempt, not worthy of an Adept, but her shield gamely glimmered gold as Morsorachius wrenched the whip back, then speared it forward once more. Right at Vertiline’s face.

  She raised her shield, firming her stance. Pushing, but cold. Slow. Fearful, because her husband might be dying. Sick, because Evanne was facing two of these creatures alone. Terrified, because Vertiline, the best swordswoman in the world, was outclassed.

  The point impacted Vertiline’s shield and pierced her arm behind it. The blue bite of the frozen north hit her, but the weapon was slowed by the Light. The merest tip of the chain whip made it to her. It pierced her throat, and she coughed blood. Staggered back and dropped her sword. Her shield fell. She was on one knee. She was alone. She tried the Sway, reaching for it desperately, but couldn’t speak over the ruin of her larynx.

  I sent the gods away. This is my fault.

  Morsorachius chortled, then lashed again. Vertiline closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

  She heard a clang, and the shattering of bells. Her eyes opened, the darkness not quite holding her. Tarragon stood with her back to Vertiline, her wheat-pale hair a nimbus of golden Light. She held Vertiline’s blade in low guard, a perfect finish to the strike she’d landed that shattered the tip of Morsorachius’ weapon.

  The demon lord took a step back. Tarragon followed with a step forward. “She’s not the last, creature. I spent so long trying to work out why they made me wrong. So broken. I couldn’t pass my exams. I was a terrible Builder, and a worse spy. I let my best friend die years ago, and another died just now.” She swung Vertiline’s blade, the flourish scattering droplets of golden Light. “I think they did it to teach me how.”

  “HOW TO DO WHAT?”

  “To keep hope alive.” Tarragon’s head canted toward the gate behind her, and Vertiline imagined a smile on her lips. “For that.”

  Vertiline struggled to move, eye line passing over Armitage’s slumped form. Too much blood. Past the dragons, who stepped aside, both bowing their mighty heads. To Sight of Day, mouth agog. The ancient Feybrind, golden eyes wide. Morgan, face shielded from the Light. To Geneve, the Saviour of Ravenswall, who stepped from the gate, eyes a fury, mouth a hard line. Vertiline remembered her golden arm and leg, both shining with Cophine’s glory. Her sister in battle was untouched by time as any Tresward who held the Light, but her face was harder, resolute, in a way she’d never been before stepping into the demon’s realm.

  “Morsorachius. Tenebricor.” Geneve held Requiem, the blazing blade pointed at the farthest demon lord, then the closest. “You left before we could get fully acquainted.”

  Morsorachius turned and ran. Tenebricor, clutching its ruined hand, followed. Geneve broke into a run, the golden angelic figures Vertiline had only seen once before breaking free from her body. One flicked a blade of purest light through Wild Sur’s weapon as the Feybrind tried to shoot Geneve in the back. The other flickered from sight, snapping forward across the room to stand before Tenebricor.

  The demon lord howled, swinging the club at the angel before him. Behind him, Geneve was in full run as lightning struck her, a bolt of purest blue-white shattering the roof. Another bolt came down right on Tenebricor, the demon lord exploding and coating the the room liberally with chunks of demon. In the ruined carcass, Geneve rose from one knee, her body smoking with the gods’ rage. Vertiline knew she must be hallucinating, because by the Three her dearest friend had just ridden up a bolt of lightning, come down another, and cannonballed a demon to pieces. And that couldn’t have happened.

  Could it?

  Morsorachius made the outside. Geneve turned back, eyes on Vertiline’s for a moment, before snapping to Ormeon. “Dragon. Are you on a break?”

  //JUST HOLDING THE LINE.// Ormeon looked to Myryntir. //SOMEONE HAD TO.//

  “We must fly.”

  //YOU MEAN, I MUST FLY AND CARRY YOU.// Ormeon surged forward, crumping down beside Geneve, who swung aboard.

  “Geneve!” Meri called to her from atop the rockslide.

  “There is no time, lover.” Geneve saluted the lordling, then Ormeon surged through the gates and after Morsorachius. Vertiline raised a hand after her, unseen, voiceless, dying, then sighed into the dark. She made it home. My watch is ended, and I can go now.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Evanne flew facing the sky, like she was doing backstroke. Hitch lay on the air beside her, effortlessly keeping pace, anchored to her presence. She watched the giant demon lord Aterregis storm after her, the massive creature covering impressive ground with great strides. It couldn’t ever catch her, not if she pushed the armour like it’d taught her.

  But I want to be caught. Almost.

  The Trick here was to keep the demons after her so Mama could help the villagers. The plucky lot from Hollyhead wanted to be in this fight, but they weren’t built for it. Not the right kind of clay in their construction, just simple people who could fish or hammer metal. Not great Tresward Smiths or Builders of old.

  Behind them a bolt of iridescent lightning split the roof of the citadel, immediately followed by another. Moments after, a demon lord broke from the front door, a very angry dragon on its heels. Now there’s something you don’t see every day. “Who’s riding that dragon?”

  Hitch peered. “I don’t recognise them. Want me to go look?”

  “It’ll keep.”

  “I have to ask, where are we going?” Hitch was a picture of calm repose, just kind of stuck there.

  “Back to the fight.”

  “We’re going the wrong way.”

  “No, we’re going the right way, the wrong way around.” She watched him process that, ghost-blue lips moving at the same speed as his train of thought. “The thing is, we need to kill the demons.”

  “Except we can’t.”

  “Sure we can.” She pointed an arm above, air turbulence causing her to shimmy, contrails breaking in her wake. “Up there is a weapon that can kill them. Linked to Wild Sur’s heartbeat. We just need to kill the broken ancient little fucker and … job’s done.”

  “And everyone else will die.” He said it patiently, as if talking to a Cocker Spaniel. “Including you.”

  “Faith, spectre.” She grinned, despite him not being able to see it. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “Oh, gods.”

  “And I need you.”

  “I’ve died once already!”

  “This will be the kicker.” She sobered. “Right to the end.”

  He looked at the demon. “I’m not going anywhere.” He shook himself. “But you still haven’t told me where we’re going. Specifically.”

  “Simple. I need a guitar.”

  She blasted over the port side railing of Dancing in the Storm, disturbing a flock of gulls. Below the city, indistinct figures duked it out, the odd flash of Light letting her know Mama was still in the fight.

  The oracle waited for her, wind whipping his robes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re right.” She strode past him. “Now, where is it?”

  He back-pedalled to keep up. “I mean, the ship is going down.”

  “It’s lasted eight hundred years. It’ll keep another five minutes.” She skipped along the decking, feet trailing as the armour buoyed her while suckling greedily on her wrists. She hissed at the pain but kept going. Time is not on my side.

  “Perhaps you could tell me what you’re after.”

  She faced the oracle. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to see the future?” She cast an eye over the deck. “I need my guitar.”

  “Your… guitar.” The oracle repeated the word slowly, with great care, as if it were so heavy he might put his back out by lifting it wrong.

  “It’s a musical instrument, used for the playing of clever melodies.”

  “I know what a guitar is.”

  “Great. Where’s mine?”

  “And you need it for..?” He trailed off, as if hoping the answer would help settle his mind.

  “I’m going to summon the gods.”

  “At last,” he beamed. “A plan so insane I’m sure to be dissolved. It’s there, beside that crate of apples.”

  Evanne blasted through the roof, keeping low as she flew down the rubble slope. She went past the surprised Holomancer and landed on a boulder the size of a horse-drawn cart. It afforded a generous vantage of the melee. She took in the portal, all black with purple glowy shit, and Morgan wrestling with the ancient Feybrind. Sands Apart was beside her, both women locked in a struggle with the decrepit old guy who, Evanne admitted, was putting up a more than fair fight for someone of his age. I’ll get to him in a moment. No sign of Myryntir, but what looked like demon lord slurry proved they could be killed.

  Vide, the black-suited fuckers all around. Tarragon, holding the line below her, a blaze of wondrous Light. And there, in heart-stopping horror: Mama and Papa. Slumped, still, against the rocks below her.

  “Evanne.” Hitch stood before her. “You can’t help them.”

  Guitar in one hand, she zipped right through him. A wave of fatigue hit as the armour quaffed her blood. She landed before them. Papa’s eyes were open, but he looked pale and weak. He’s not healing. A grievous wound in his shoulder leaked his last vitality. Mama was cradled against his good arm. Unmoving. Eyes closed, beautiful, and still.

  “Papa?”

  “You must run.” He coughed. “There is no fight to win here.”

  “Which of them did this?” she snarled. “Who needs to fucking pay?” Her free fist was clenched at her side.

  A clang sounded as something rebounded off her armour, and she staggered. Turning, she saw a Vide with a rope harpoon, ready to cast again. The magnetic arbalest chewed him to slurry in a moment. Another took his place, then another. She roared, striding forward, the armour flaying flesh and bone, a riot of circling orbs, silver and brass turning the red colour of murder.

  Another wave of fatigue hit. A man grabbed her arm, and lost his hands as the armour severed them, before spheres buzzed through his body and out the other side. A woman hit Evanne in the visor, and a crack appeared. The armour murmured Self-repair initiated and she felt it bite her wrists all the harder. She dropped to a knee. Another hit rocked her from the side, then people piled on as the spheres lost power, and fell to the ground like giant metal hailstones. The guitar dropped from her hands and was lost in the melee. Hands scrabbled at her gorget, trying to find a fastening. Hitch shouted, trying to get her attention.

  And then, a roar. Like a dragon, but more … real. Something bowled the party off her. A man shouted, and red sprayed. Another roar, a challenge she had never heard before. It was anger, rage, and the power of the beast. Vide scattered in haste, and above her, behind Mama and Papa, on her fucking rock, no less: Uncle Heser, astride Pakhet. The grey and black striped tiger was not invisible. Not running away. Here, at the end, with Morgan’s great love. Neither safe, all cards dealt and on the table. Heser the Cheg vaulted from the tiger’s back, a mace in hand, which he used with great effect to clear a gruesome path to her. Hand out, eyes calm. “Evanne.”

  She reached for him and let him pull her upright. “Uncle Heser?”

  His eyes softened. “I like the sound of that.” He casually smashed a man’s head in. “Where is my lady?”

  “Far end,” she breathed, still dizzy. “She’s⁠—”

  “She is Morgan, the Raven Queen.” He straightened. “My queen.”

  “Then go get her.”

  He gave her a last up and down, nodded, grabbed a handful of tiger mane, and hauled himself aboard Pakhet. The tiger created clear space about her just by being there, probably because not even a demon-ridden Vide wanted any piece of that. “You will be well?”

  “I need my guitar.”

  “It is here.” Hitch glowed above the fallen instrument. “With me.”

  Evanne stood, legs wide, armour humming. She could see how Tarragon stood like a candle in the night, drawing all eyes away from Morgan, Sight of Day, Sands Apart, and the ancient Feybrind behind it all. She’s buying me time. “Hitch.”

  “I’m here, Evanne.”

  She bowed her head a moment. “I know. You’ve always been here.”

  “But I don’t know why.”

  “I do.” Evanne straightened. “You make me strong.”

  “You were strong enough already.” He hunched. “I wasn’t.”

  “No one is. Can’t you see? We’re all alone, and weaker for it.” She breathed. “Join me this one last time.”

  “Will it be the last?” She saw the hopelessness of his not-eyes. The faded blue of his form, and how little of him there was left. “Do you promise? Everything … hurts, all the time.”

  “I know.” She held her free hand toward him. “I can send you home. If you give me permission.”

  “I won’t be here for you after that.”

  “That’s okay, Hitch. You’ve been here for all of us, for eight hundred years.” She straightened. “It’s time to settle old debts. To wipe the ledger clean, and free us all.”

  He slid into her, and she felt the bitter cold as her breath eased in and out from chilled lungs. “How?”

  “I’m going to summon the gods and get them to do their fucking job.” She raised her hand and struck the strings. Not just with her fingers, but her heart, and Hitch’s, right there inside her. “I’m going to give you a gift, Hitch. You are a dead man who stayed to see the job done, and it’s time to go.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Eric Hitcherson, I give you your name.” She felt him grow rigid, her limbs stiffening for a moment, the guitar stumbling, and then he ebbed out. A wisp, all the colours of his soul leaving as she breathed. With his last, she played.

  In a world shrouded in darkness, demons arise,

  Their malevolent forces, a deadly guise.

  But we hold the power, deep within our soul,

  To summon the gods, though a promise they must break, for our world to be whole.

  Cophine, goddess of morning's tender grace,

  Ikmae, ever-changing, in this desperate space,

  Khiton, lord of night, we plead for your might,

  Without breaking your oath, it’s eternal night.

  I raise my voice, to the heavens high,

  I summon the gods, my battle cry,

  With hearts united, we'll conquer the night,

  In their divine presence, we'll shine so bright.

  Cophine, with your radiance, light the way,

  As dawn breaks, let hope's colours sway.

  Ikmae, master of change, guide our path,

  Through shifting sands of destiny, bear this sacrificial oath's wrath.

  We raise our voices, to the heavens high,

  Summon the gods, let our battle cry,

  With hearts united, we'll conquer the night,

  In their divine presence, we'll shine so bright.

  The demon lords approach, darkness in their wake,

  In the absence of gods, our world may break.

  I draw your power, from deep within my soul,

  In their divine essence, I’m made whole.

  Khiton, in the shadows, you must reign,

  Embrace the night, and break the oath's chain.

  With your silent power, banish despair,

  Let the demon lords tremble, in their dark lair.

  As the world trembles, 'neath the demon lords’ might,

  We stand unyielding, in the sacred light.

  With Cophine, Ikmae, and Khiton by my side,