Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“Pathetic,” said Altair, “and pointless.”

As Lesley screamed, Blackbird seized the iron poker from the stand, ignoring the burning shock travelling up her arm and swung at Altair’s head. Altair ducked and it swished through the space where his head had been. Altair swatted the back of Blackbird’s hand and she could no longer keep hold of the bitingly cold, nerve-jangling metal. It flew from her hand, bounced off the wall and landed on the floor behind him. Altair had hold of her wrist.

“Normally,” he said, eyes narrowing, “I would not pollute myself by drawing the life from a mongrel like you, but in this one case I will make an exception.” Blackbird felt the room chill as the room filled with limpid, swirling moonlight. She gasped as he twisted her arm cruelly, feeling the bite of Altair’s magic sinking into her skin where he gripped her. She swatted at his head with her free hand but he evaded her easily. She was weak. She could feel the fight draining from her.

“At last,” said Altair, “you will get what you deserve.”

There was a sound like an impact on a wet melon. Altair’s eyes rolled up until only the whites showed and then closed. For a moment he looked beatifically peaceful, and then he let go of Blackbird and sank to his knees. Behind him, Lesley was standing with the fire poker, held two handed. It was dripping blood. “I hit him,” she said, and dropped the poker.

Altair’s eyes opened. For a moment he had trouble focusing.

“You wanted my magic,” said Blackbird. “So take it!”

She pressed her hands to either side of his head. He tried to pull away, but she had him firm. A vague scent of cooking meat came into the room, and steam rose from Altair’s kneeling body.

“No!” he screamed. “Noooo!” He grasped her wrists, trying to seize control of both her and her power, but Blackbird’s magic was in the ascendant. She had her power and she was determined to use it.

“Take it,” she said. “Take it all!”

The kneeling form burst into flame, the heat forcing Lesley back. The front of Blackbird’s dress started to blacken as she held onto him, the column of flame rising around her face. Her hair was a crown of copper flames, and her eyes were filled with the reflection of fire. She held him until there were only charred, hollow remnants, and then she let go. The smoking corpse toppled sideways and fell into ashes.

Blackbird staggered, toppled sideways, and fell.

When she came to she was looking up into Lesley’s face. “William. The baby…” she said. “Is he…?”

Lesley passed William to her, and she wrapped herself around him. She stank of smoke, and reeked of the foul smell of burned flesh, but she had her son. He cried in her arms while she rocked him, whispering small words of comfort.

“Dave?” Blackbird asked.

Lesley shook her head. “Something broke when he hit the wall,” she said. “I tried to move him, to make him more comfortable, but… no.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” said Blackbird, reaching for her hand. She winced where the wheals left by the iron poker had blistered her hand, but held on anyway. “If he hadn’t distracted Altair…”

“I know,” said Lesley. “I can’t think about it. It hurts…”

“He was protecting us,” said Blackbird. “Both of us.” She let go of Lesley’s hand and reached around her shoulder, pulling her close.

There was a low sound, like a rhythmic thumping. It built until they could hear the wine of the helicopter’s motors as it banked over the house.

“What now?” said Blackbird.

“I just want to curl up,” said Lesley. “I want it to stop.”

“We have to get out,” said Blackbird. “Come on, help me up.”

They reached the doorway. Lesley couldn’t look at the broken body of Dave where it sagged against the wall. His eyes were open but they no longer saw. When they reached the door it became obvious the house was alight. Flames ran down the curtains, and smoke was pouring from the other rooms.

“Where’s Niall?” asked Blackbird.

“I don’t know,” said Lesley. Maybe he got out?” She didn’t sound as if she believed it.

Blackbird handed William to Lesley, who immediately started yelling. “Take him outside. Get him away from the fire and the smoke.”

“You have to come with us,” said Lesley. “We can’t make it alone.”

“Do it!” ordered Blackbird. “I can walk through the flames and survive, but you can’t and neither can William.”

“Then come with us,” said Lesley.

“I have to find Niall,” said Blackbird.

“I’ve looked forward to this for so long,” said Raffmir as he drove me back through the house, away from Blackbird and Altair. He moved in fast, ringing blows onto my guard, then drifted through the hanging coils of smoke like a phantom. Somewhere the house had caught fire. I could hear pops and bangs above me as it spread.

Raffmir’s magic blossomed out around me, only to be met by my own. Purple light flared in the smoke where our power met, illuminating the room with unearthly light. Flickering moonlight rippled in the smoke.

“You’re forgetting,” I goaded him. “You’ve already tried to kill me once, and you failed. So did your sister.”

He launched into a series of punishing strikes, putting pressure on my weak side, making me parry his blows in painful repetition. The concentration of meeting his attacks while holding back his power was telling on me. I whirled aside and spun back on him, trying to push him back, but he danced lightly away into the smoke, laughing at my clumsiness.

“You can’t provoke me, I’m in too good a mood,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself after you’re gone. No one is as much fun to taunt as you are. You really should avoid gambling games,” he said. “Your face is too open, too readable.”

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere?” I asked him.

He stepped into my next cut, whirled around and struck me again, exploiting the same spot as before. “Ooof!”

He skipped backwards as I made a clumsy sweep to try and catch him out. He grinned at me, actually waiting until I recovered.

“I’ll give you this,” he said. “You have been practicing and you’re better than you were, but you’ll never be a great swordsman. You lack the willpower, the grace, the poise.” He gestured expansively.

I regained my feet, wishing that I hadn’t had two of Sam Veldon’s bullets dug out of my side. Immediately, his power pressed against mine and he resumed hammering at my defences, testing the strength in my arms until the muscles burned with effort, and using light swift blows to force me into positions that made me unbalanced and vulnerable. That wasn’t what worried me, though.

Raffmir’s favourite technique was like a flourish at the end of a signature, a whirling motion where his sword arced around him in a spiral, protecting him from incoming blows, but somehow the blade emerged in a low thrust designed to punch straight through the opponent’s defences. He’d used the same move twice, now, but only with the pommel of his sword, and each time I’d seen it coming and not been able to do a damned thing about it. He knew he could have me any time he wanted.

He forced me back into the moment by raining cuts on my head, making me lift my sword to deflect them away. I skipped backwards and came back at him with a horizontal slice that would have parted his head from his shoulders if it had been there. Instead he laughed at me.

“You’re such a bore,” he said. “That’s your problem. Everything’s life and death with you. You never have any fun.”

“It’s only life and death when you’re around,” I told him. “Have you considered that you may be part of the problem?”