Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

Marcus sighted down the barrel of the musket. Twenty yards. Not an easy shot, not with a worthless Auxiliary musket, loaded in haste, but far from impossible. He was never going to get a better chance, that was certain. He pulled the trigger, and felt the jolt against his shoulder.

He had a sudden vision of Jen-not this Jen, this horrible parody, but the woman who’d leaned gently against his shoulder as they crossed the Tsel. His mind’s eye watched her gunned down, musket ball taking her in the stomach and blowing out through her back to leave a wound the size of his fist. Blood on her lips, her last, shuddering breaths. Her eyes, staring up at him-

The shot was wide. He saw it spark against the stone wall and hum off into the distance. Jen’s grin became an animal snarl, and she brought her other hand around in a vicious swipe. The roar of the rippling wave filled the world, striking the grasshopper statue head-on. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then Jen turned her hand like a man twisting a knife in a wound, and the statue and the assassin exploded together with unbelievable force. Fragments of rock zipped past Marcus, as fast and deadly as any load of canister.

He turned to run, throwing away the useless empty weapon. It was a dozen steps to the nearest statue, but it took a thousand years to cover them, expecting another one of those awful waves to strike him at any moment and smash him to paste. He passed that statue and would have kept going, but something snagged his sleeve. Marcus spun to find a young man holding on with both hands. He blinked slowly.

“Lieutenant. . Ihernglass?”

Ihernglass nodded. “Captain. I need your help.”

WINTER

Leaving Feor had been among the hardest things Winter had ever had to do. The Khandarai girl seemed barely alive, pale and unresponsive, her breath shallow and her pulse humming. Nothing Winter had tried seemed to make any difference. In the end she’d dribbled a little water across Feor’s lips, covered the girl with her uniform coat, and left her among the ancient steel tablets. It felt like a betrayal, but she couldn’t see any other option.

She could feel the naath , coiled within her. It had settled down somewhat, like a man sinking into a favorite armchair, but every so often it would shift unpleasantly and she would feel the world swim around her. She swallowed hard, fighting off nausea, and crept as quietly as she could through the maze of statues.

Ahead, brilliant light cut through the miasma, along with the more familiar yellow-pink flash of a musket. There was another shot, and another, followed by the ripping explosion and the clatter of stone. Winter pulled up short at the sight of the captain raising a musket to his shoulder. He fired into the murk, and a moment later there was another explosion and a rain of stone. Whatever effect he’d been hoping for, that apparently wasn’t it, because he turned and ran. Winter caught up with him and grabbed his sleeve. He spun, panicked, then finally recognized her.

“Lieutenant. . Ihernglass?”

“Captain. I need your help.” Winter looked over her shoulder, toward where the light had been. Nothing was visible now except an expanding cloud of dust. “Is that Alhundt?”

“It’s her,” he said. “Or a demon wearing her skin.”

“What about the colonel? Is he-”

“He’s trapped under one of the statues,” the captain said. “I think he’s all right for now, but he won’t be if Jen gets a chance at him.”

“Saints above,” Winter swore. She chewed her lip. Touch her , Feor had said. She found herself wishing the girl had been a bit more informative. Touch her where ? What do I do then? How long does it take?

“What are you doing here?” the captain said. “I thought-”

“I’m not sure we have time to get into it.” Another thought had been preying on Winter’s mind. It wouldn’t take Bobby, Folsom, and Graff long to figure out she’d stayed behind. Bobby, at least, would insist on coming back in to look for her. Brave young idiot that she is. Graff might be a voice of caution, but he wouldn’t wait forever. They’d gather up some kind of a rescue party and come searching. And when they do, they’ll run straight into Alhundt. “We’ve got to stop her.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” The captain sagged against a statue’s plinth and ran his hands through grimy hair. “At this point I’m not sure I’d try it with anything short of a siege gun.”

“I may have a way,” Winter said. “It’s. . hard to explain. I need to get close to her.”

“ Close to her? What, and slit her throat?” The captain frowned. “I think our Khandarai friend has proved pretty conclusively that doesn’t work.”

“It’s not like that.” I hope. “This is. .” Winter drew in a long breath. “Magic.”

“Magic,” the captain said flatly. “You?”

“I know it seems crazy,” Winter said. “But-”

He waved a hand. “The things I’ve seen today, I’m not sure I still believe in crazy. But you -you really think you can stop her?”

The naath gave a twitch, as though it could feel when it was under discussion. “I do.”

The captain leaned back, eyes closed, for a long moment. When he looked up, his expression had hardened. “All right. What do you need me to do?”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Marcus. Call me Marcus. At least until we get out of here.”

Winter waited in the shadow of one of the statues, listening for the sound of footsteps.

The statue was some kind of lizard, rendered with a terrifying mouth full of fangs, each impaling a screaming miniature figure. Whatever god it represented seemed like a particularly unpleasant one. Probably judging the sins of man, or some such. It seems to be a popular theme. There had been frescoes in the church at Mrs. Wilmore’s depicting sinners writhing in the torments of hell, while a cadre of saints looked on. The painter had given the blessed ones a set of rather self-righteous expressions, Winter had always felt.

If tired old Father Jellicoe was to be believed, what Winter had done back among the steel tablets was a sin worse than any murderous rampage or carnal debauchery. What awaited her upon her earthly demise would make her envy the sinners in the fresco. Being whipped and violated with red-hot pokers would seem like a vacation. Or so she assumed, anyway. She’d always dozed during sermons, and in any case the nearsighted priest had been a bit vague on the specifics. But willingly consorting with demons and magic was heresy by any lights, and deserving of divine retribution when the time for judgment came around.

All the more reason to put it off as long as possible. Her mouth was dry. From where she was sitting, she could see one of the statues Alhundt had shattered. Fragments of stone and gravel had sprayed for yards in every direction, as though someone had packed the thing with powder and set it alight. What that would do to flesh and blood she couldn’t imagine. Or, more precisely, she could imagine it all too easily.

“Jen?” It was the captain’s-Marcus’-voice, somewhere off to her left. “Jen, I’m here. I’m not running anymore.”

“Oh, really?”

Alhundt emerged from the smoke some distance away. She’d discarded her spectacles, and singed hair was escaping in wisps and strands from her tight bun. There were burns and scorch marks down her pants and vest, and a few stray splatters of blood. She cradled her left hand in her right, as though it pained her.

“I’m done,” Marcus said. He stood between two statues, some distance past the one behind which Winter was hiding. “It’s over. Any idiot could see that.”