Ian Irvine - Rebellion

He could feel Glynnie’s gaze on him. No, on his dead hand. Her mouth was open, her eyes huge. He scowled and she lowered her head. A creeping flush passed up her cheeks.

“Why didn’t you leave it up on the roof?” Rix said quietly. “Why did you have to interfere?”

Her reply was barely audible. “You done so much for us. I wanted to help you…”

“But you didn’t know what you were doing!” he cried.

Benn whimpered and scrunched himself in the corner. For once, Glynnie ignored him. “You… you could have told me to stop.”

“I didn’t know you were planning to reattach it. I had my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to look at the damn, dead thing.”

He raised his lifeless right hand, wanting to be rid of it. Should he hack it off? Rix did not have the courage for such a bloody, final act. And, if he admitted it, he could not abandon hope that whatever had withdrawn the life from it might restore it again.

“Sorry, Lord,” whispered Glynnie, falling to her knees before him. “I’m just a stupid maidservant. Beat me black and blue; I deserve it… but please don’t take it out on Benn. Please don’t abandon us now.”

He wanted to, but he could not abandon a young woman and a child, for any reason. Without him they had no hope. With him, maimed and useless though he was, they had a tiny chance.

“I’m not going to beat anyone — ”

Somewhere behind and above them a beast howled, an eerie sound that echoed down the tunnels. It was followed by a frantic scratching, panting and yelping. Rix imagined a shifter’s bloodstained claws tearing at the lid of a coffin, trying to get at the dead meat inside.

“They’ve sniffed us out,” whispered Glynnie. “We’ll never get away now. Lord, please don’t leave us.”

“I’m not going to leave you. Get Benn up.”

Instinctively, Rix reached for Maloch, but his dead hand could not grip the hilt. He drew it left-handed and held it up. The blade, which had a bluish tint, was made from the immensely strong metal titane, the secret of whose forging had long been lost. The very tip of the sword had no point, for it had been melted by magery in the battle with Lyf. Rix would have to grind a new tip — assuming his sharpening stone could grind titane.

He checked the passage outside the vault. There was no sign of a light, but neither the Cythonians nor their shifters needed light to travel underground. The enemy could feel their way, and their shifters could smell it out.

He sniffed and caught a faint, rank odour, like a jackal shifter, yet more dog-like. Whatever kind of shifter it was, a pack of them would have the advantage down here. Rix had defended Glynnie and Benn from jackal shifters a few days back and never wanted to do so again. Had Tobry not eaten that piece of caitsthe’s liver and become one himself to fight them off, they would all be dead -

He forced the memories away. Concentrate on survival; nothing else is relevant. Glynnie and Benn were staring at him, holding their knives. They knew what was coming, and how little chance they had. Even with his right hand, Rix would have struggled to beat a pack of shifters. Without it, what hope did he have?

“Shut that door,” he said, indicating the one through which they had entered. “We’ll go out the other way.”

Glynnie pushed the door closed. “There’s no lock.”

“Damn!” Rix looked around. “Give us a hand with the bench.”

They heaved at it but it was fixed to the floor, and so was the other one.

“Maybe they’ll go straight past,” said Benn.

“They’ll sniff us out, lad.”

They went through the far door and tried to close it but the rusted hinges would not budge. Beyond, a well-made tunnel curved around to the right, then down in a series of long, shallow steps in a sweeping left-hand curve.

“Go ahead, Glynnie,” said Rix. “Hold the light high so I can guard our backs.”

They went down. Rix backed after them, straining to see into the darkness, for the bluish light of the glowstone only extended up a few yards past him. Not nearly enough. The sly creatures would creep down in the dark, attack in a mass, and he’d have less than a second to defend.

“What’s down below, Glynnie?” he said. “Can you see?”

“No, but it’s getting steeper,” she whispered. “Wait, there’s a door going off to the right.”

“Can we lock it behind us?”

“No.”

“Keep going down.”

A minute later, Rix caught a characteristic rank whiff on an air current. Hyena shifters. They were through the vault door, high above. And he couldn’t fight them without light.

“Smelling stink-damp again,” said Benn.

“Me too,” said Glynnie, a moment later. “It’s getting stronger with every step. Lord, if we keep going down…”

Now Rix could smell it. “It’ll poison us. We’ll go back up to that door.”

They turned and went up, but now the reek of hyena shifters was overpowering.

“They’re close,” quavered Glynnie. “Lord, Lord — ?”

“Light the torch, quick.”

“But there’s stink-damp! I can’t make a flame here.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of it to explode up here.”

She gave him a dubious glance and handed the glowstone to her brother. Taking out the fabric-wrapped bundle of wood, then a small wrapped lump, which she unwrapped and began to rub into the cloth with her hands. Butter. Rix could smell it. She wiped her hands on her pants then, gingerly, struck sparks with her flint striker. The buttered cloth caught and burned with a sizzling yellow flame.

He clamped his dead fingers around the bundle and held it high. And recoiled. Glynnie gasped. Benn let out a strangled squeal.

The light reflected back from a dozen pairs of eyes, less than ten yards up. Red eyes, though the hyena shifters had black fur that made them almost invisible.

Rix drew Maloch and held it out. “Got your knives?”

“Yes, Lord,” whispered Benn and Glynnie together.

“If one attacks you, go for the throat.”

It might not be enough to stop a hyena shifter, but it was the best they could do. Rix swallowed. His heart was thundering, but inside he was calm, focused. He’d faced death many times in the past weeks. He’d even wanted death at his darkest moments. But not now. It was up to him to protect the innocents.

Taking a step up the slope, he met the eyes of the pack leader.

“I’m going to spill your guts on the steps,” said Rix. “You’re going to die and the other hyenas will eat you. You haven’t got a hope against me.”

Another step. The words were nonsense, but the steely self-confidence he projected was not. To beat the pack, he had to assert dominance over its leader. “I’m the top dog. Come onto me and I’ll kill you, first stroke. Turn away.”

The red eyes blinked but the pack did not move. Rix took another step. Only eight more to the door. He could hear Glynnie’s heavy breathing behind him.

“It’s all right, Benn,” she whispered. “Rix’ll save us.”

The tone of her voice wasn’t convincing. He lowered the torch, holding it out in front of him at the chest level of the shifters. Another step.

“To get to me, you’ve got to pass the fire,” said Rix, swinging it back and forth.

The pack leader’s eyes followed the flame. It double-blinked.

Now! Rix leapt forwards, thrusting out the burning torch with his right hand and Maloch with his left. Up one step, two, three and still the shifter had not budged. If he had misjudged, the children would die. Four, five, six. He let out a furious battle cry and swung Maloch at the beast’s snout.

It ran, and the others did too. But not far. Only ten yards up the steps. Hyena shifters knew how to play this game. Even if it took a day to wear their prey down, they could wait.