David Mcintee - The Light of Heaven

"Who dressed my wounds?" Gabriella looked around. "And where is she."

"You're looking at 'her,' pet." Crowe said, with uncharacteristic solemnity. He'd never seen a Knight of the Swords blush before.

She scrambled to her feet with a snarl. "How dare you!"

She reached for a blade that wasn't there.

Crowe spread his hands. "Don't worry, Dez. You haven't got anything I haven't seen in a dozen whorehouses, all right? Besides, open wounds and flowing blood aren't my idea of a turn-on. Maybe there are blokes around who get off on that, but that ain't me." Gabriella stopped looking around, and composed her expression, but her cheeks remained flushed. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about. Mind you, considering how much blood you lost, it's a good sign that there's enough left to reach your cheeks."

Gabriella patted at the dressings with her fingertips, wanting to scratch at the strange sensations under them, but not daring.

"Painful?" Crowe asked.

"Not exactly, just strange."

He nodded blandly. "That'll be the maggots getting busy."

Her gorge rose and her stomach clenched. "The what?"

"Do I look like a Healer? I used some maggots to eat away at anything that might otherwise go sour. It's an old mercenary trick, but it works." He waved a hand. "Got a Healer in as well. He liked the maggots; says he'll take them up himself."

Gabriella gritted her teeth until she thought they might crack. It didn't stop the pain that forced tears from her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and saw only Erak.

She wanted to hit someone, or break something. "Let me out of here," she rasped, pulling on a surplice, but not so quickly that Crowe didn't notice the red stains beginning to show through her bandages.

"You shouldn't move, God-girl. You were cut up pretty good and that won't heal overnight. You need to rest."

"No. Especially not here."

"It's a church. You're a Sister in a religious order. Can you think of a better place?"

"This was Erak's place," she said. "Maybe it's one I could have shared with him in time, but without him…"

Crowe understood. "Without him, it feels strange, not like any other church? It feels weird and somehow less than a normal church, yeah?"

"That assassin…"

"Batsen."

"You know him?"

Crowe shrugged. "By reputation, more than anything else. Have you heard of the Guild of Shadowmages? The old guild in Turnitia, I mean?"

"Of course. The Swords helped the Empire of Vos to smash it."

"Yeah. You know why?"

Gabriella thought for a moment. "It was before my time, but we were taught that they, or at least the Lord Defender, thought the Shadowmages were assassins and terrorists."

Crowe nodded. "That's what most people think of the Shadowmages. But it ain't true. I've known a couple of them and most of them aren't like that at all."

"And even if that was the case, which I doubt, your point is…?"

He dug a small clay pipe from the folds of his tattered coat and lit it. "Dai Batsen is the reason that most people think the way they do about Shadowmages." He grimaced. "Every nightmare story anyone ever heard about a rogue Shadowmages — and, believe me, I've heard a few — he's the one who the story is really about. He's a bloody one-man terror campaign. Pay him and he'll do anything to anybody, no questions asked, no morals or scruples involved. And yeah, I know that sounds pretty ironic coming from me, but you just think about it. Compared to him, I'm on the straight and narrow."

"Compared to you?"

Crowe shrugged and sat back against the wall. He closed his eyes and folded his arms, gripping the pipe between his teeth. "Look, love, I'll kill for money, rob, steal, take down anyone I think is in my way. Whatever I have to do to make my way, I'll do it if I have to. Because I have to. Batsen isn't like that. He'd do those things for practice, if he wasn't so bloody expensive. Thinks of himself as a bloody artist or something. Proud of being unique, he is."

"This Batsen sounds pretty serious."

"The most serious," Crowe confirmed. "So serious, in fact, that I don't want to be anywhere near you when he comes for you next. And he will."

"Unless I get him first."

"Funny you should say that; it's exactly what I was thinking. He and I have some unfinished business, you know."

"I wish I could say I was surprised." She got up, wincing. "If you know where he'll be, you can take me to him. I want to know who hired him and I want to kill the bastard. For Erak."

"Me too," Crowe muttered. "Just not for Erak." He cleared his throat. "I doubt Batsen will be talkative."

"He'd better be. If he was hired by who I think hired him, we're going to have a chat before I cut his bollocks off and feed them to him."

A rogue Shadowmage was all Gabriella needed. Somehow she knew she ought to be more afraid of such a person and she found herself wondering why she wasn't. She had never been sure what to think of magic. Oh, there were Healers among the Enlightened Ones and a few with other talents had found a home in the hierarchy of the Final Faith, so magic itself couldn't be totally unholy. Having said that, if the talent was a gift from the Lord of All, to be used as a tool in His name, then using it for any other purpose was a sin.

She supposed it was much the same as the moral turpitude that led to whoring; wasting something that was meant for a higher purpose in bringing Man closer to being one with God. Grimacing, she reached for her armour.

"Leave him to me, Dez. You're wounded." Crowe said.

"I have a duty, sinner," she reminded him. "And you need to redeem yourself."

"You'd be surprised," Crowe said with a glower.

"Let's go, or by all that's holy, I'll burn you for supplying… whatever you supplied to the Huntress."

"All right," he relented at last. "But let's not get you any more mangled than you are, at least while so many of your friends are around. We'll do this my way: I'll draw him out and make him safe, then you get your turn."

"Oh, I'll be having my turn all right," she vowed and Crowe shivered. "And Erak's turn too."

It was just a tumbledown old church with grass for a floor and plants and flowers sprouting from the walls.

It was shaded with every colour daylight could bring and full of the richest textures an artist could dream of. Then Crowe looked up, where the roof-beams hung down like broken teeth, and felt the church's beauty fade into intimidation. He nodded to himself. This was just like Batsen. Hired to kill a member of the Faith, he would hide out in one of their old buildings.

There was not much left of the town that this church, a league east of Solnos, had served. There was a dried-up watercourse at the west end and Crowe suspected that the township had dried up with it. Most of the surrounding buildings had collapsed and rotted, but the church, built of stone, had survived the decades. He idly wondered whether Batsen had come across the place by chance, or somehow already knew it was here.

Either way, he had made it an ideal camp. The crypt even still had an intact roof, so Batsen needed no tent.

Crowe had been watching for a couple of hours before Batsen finally deigned to show himself, appearing up out of the crypt like a bloodsucker in some old Gargas tale. He had lit the braziers and begun to assemble breakfast.

Crowe slipped out from behind a pillar and whipped his arm around Batsen's neck. Batsen immediately tried to throw him over his shoulder, but Crowe had expected that and kicked Batsen's knees out from under him. Erak dropped to maintain the choke-hold and soon the assassin was unconscious.

Crowe swiftly searched him for concealed weapons and found a pair of long bodkins and a couple of knives, before tying Batsen's hands.