Eighty Six: Uneasy Truce

They stood among a swathe of bodies, staring at each other. Measuring. Arlen's heart still pounded from the adrenaline of the fight and now he had a hunter's keen alertness, a zipping awareness of everything and everyone in the room. His hunting knife was slick and dripping at his side.

He had come to save Marick, of course. Anyone who opposed the Caelumese had his support; and if he wanted his future claim to the seat to be respected, he had to take it from someone.

It did not negate the rift that had grown between them.

Around them, Arlen's group cast them wary glances as they looted the bodies alongside the Devils that Jesper and Akiva had rousted on their way back to them. Others also surreptitiously watched how the stand-off would play out, but Arlen watched most closely of all. The truth was, he had no idea how this was going to go. It was the only thing denying him his pleasure at the vengeance he'd taken tonight.

"I understand that a contract went awry?" he finally asked. He tried to make his tone light. He kicked a silver shoulder plate away from him and it rattled in the silence. Marick didn't flinch. Arlen leaned on his stick, casually. His stump ached and prickled from the exertion but his heart still thrummed, denying the discomfort.

"Cael never intended to hold to it." Marick nodded. "I had hoped to make a quiet move before he had a chance to do anything flashy."

Still lying, Arlen thought, clenching his teeth. "I could have dealt with him."

To Marick's credit, he did not so much as glance at the false limb. "Not this time."

Someone cried out from a dark corner of the room. One of the lower-rung lackeys dragged something from the pile and pulled it into the light. Usk stepped over and pulled it the rest of the way, dropping Gelert's body at Marick's feet. The leader's face was impassive as he looked down upon it.

"What a shame," Arlen muttered. He shook his head. "I will miss his terms of endearment."

"He betrayed me." Marick's voice was flat. "He paid the price for it."

Arlen couldn't help but stare. "You killed him?"

"Cael needed Devil help," the man said harshly, "And when I put my foot down, Gelert took it upon himself to negotiate in my place. So confident he was that I would approve. Well. I didn't. And now the city is falling apart. Men with too much ambition are dangerous."

Was that a warning to him, or a stab at his perceived lack of ambition? Arlen wasn't sure. He didn't believe for a moment that Marick found out about Gelert's betrayal just tonight, which meant he had allowed the man to ruin it all. Was that not also a kind of permission?

"Has Cael's body been recovered?" Marick asked of everyone in the room. He still stared at Gelert's prone form.

"No." A chorus of quiet negatives echoed from all corners.

"He escaped, sir," someone said. "I saw him slip out but couldn't get past the soldiers."

Marick bared his teeth, an uncharacteristic show of frustration. Arlen watched carefully. Some things weren't adding up and others were making a terrible kind of sense. Usk's suspicions had been right all along about Marick working with the Caelumese – now that had fallen through, where did that leave them? He didn't see how it could go back to how it had been before. He couldn't just discard the fact that if it hadn't fallen through, Marick may well have disposed of him eventually. Nor could he take back the number of moves he had already made against the Devils' leader.

No, there was no going back. But it could give him more time to plan.

"I want him killed." Marick met his gaze. "You come with me. You...and Ashe."

The woman had just walked into the midst of the carnage, looking windswept and annoyed. Arlen hadn't expected she would enjoy babysitting the Varthian and would probably be robbed of all the booze he bought in the next week for the audacity. She shot him a mystified look as Marick stalked past her, calling back, "I will leave you lot to get this cleaned."

"Be careful, Arl," Usk muttered, leaning close to check the body lying at Arlen's feet.

"I know," he muttered back. He didn't sheathe his knife as he stepped over the body and followed Marick into the night. Ashe walked beside him.

"Seems I missed all the fun," she said. "Who are we going after now?"

"Cael."

"The diplomat?"

"Yep." He reserved his thoughts on it all for himself. He didn't trust Marick's motives in choosing him, nor, when he thought about it, in choosing Ashe. Both of them had things to hide. As he followed, he kept his eye on the roofline for anyone shadowing them. Callan's warnings echoed uncomfortably in his mind. Was he being led into a trap?

Marick waited for them at the mouth of the alleyway. In the dim light of the moon he watched them approach, and then held up a single feather. It was far longer than the average bird feather, and it was rumpled as if it had caught on something and been plucked off. Arlen tried to recall if he'd ever seen the colour of Cael's wings, but didn't think he had. There had been too many feathers flying back at Marick's home for him to discern which one belonged to the coward who'd run off. A slight smile crooked at the corner of his mouth. That had felt good. So many years since he had seen Angels in the flesh, and they weren't so powerful now, were they? Not even with their armour on had they evaded his blade, and he'd had the decency to allow them to move. It was more than they had ever given him.

"How exactly are we tracking him?" Ashe asked.

"I know his bolt holes," Marick replied. "And he will soon find he 'll struggle to use them without me."

He struck off again, striding purposefully down what might have been a grand avenue in the days that the Orthanians held these streets. Now the ruined frontages loomed overhead, blank-windowed and grim. Arlen frowned but followed. He didn't like to be out in the open, even in the quarter he'd called home for years. There was such a thing as asking for it, and demons would be able to see them from above and from the side streets. He'd had enough to do with demons for one night.

"Where did the rest of your trousers go?" Ashe asked. Her mischievous voice carried in the empty street. Marick turned back to glare at her.

"Fleshmonger spat at me," Arlen replied in a mutter. He hadn't quite forgiven Usk for the indignity. In front of Yddris, too.

His lip curled. That had been an experience he wasn't keen to repeat. He'd always found the Unspoken grating in the few brief encounters they'd had; his air of knowing too much and appearing where he was least wanted was infuriating. Spending half a night searching through the city in his company had brought Arlen to the brink of fucking murder. Yddris made Darin's attempts at needling him look amateur, and he'd even had the audacity to lecture him, as if Arlen didn't know how to teach.

"You know he has his training with me as well," the man had said, in a reasonable tone that was far more irritating than anything else he could have done. As if Arlen needed it spelled out. "Whenever he's in the city he doesn't get far very fast because he's been out all night. You pushed it with the promise I made you, Blackheart. You know his heart's not in it. I know he was coerced, even if he went to you willingly at the end. I've still allowed it to play out as it will."

"You've not allowed fuck-all," Arlen had snapped.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," the Unspoken had continued, in that same implacable tone that made Arlen want to punch him. "His training with me is a case of safety, Blackheart. His own. Yours. Anyone he comes into contact with. You push him too far too early and you'll find yourself in some very painful trouble, I assure you. He won't mean to, but he could kill everyone in a room in one split-second lapse. The more exhausted he is, the more likely that is to happen."

It had been such a struggle to stay remotely civil. "What are you suggesting? I'm assuming all this preaching has a point."

"Schedule it." Yddris pounced on it. Arlen could imagine him planning that little speech for days. "A set schedule each week, so he knows where he's going to be and when and has enough energy to balance the two."

"My profession doesn't quite work like that," he had said through gritted teeth.

"But the training can," Yddris had retorted. "It will have to. Before it kills him. Or you. It can vary week to week if you or I need it to. But the boy needs structure and he needs to be under less strain or we're back to where we were a few months ago."

"I never needed fucking structure. I just managed!" Arlen had snapped back. "We all have to fucking manage."

"You never had magic," Yddris had shot back. "And in this, Blackheart, much as you'll hate it, you'll have to accept that I know a bit more than you do."

Then the boy had made it all worse by running into him. His backside still hurt from that fall. All in all, he'd felt like a complete fucking idiot - mostly for not stabbing the sanctimonious bastard while he'd had the chance.

Ashe ribbed him, bringing him back from his stewing thoughts. Marick had come to a stop outside an imposing brick building with burnt-out windows. Soot smeared the front wall in thick streaks and it was no mystery how this home had fallen into disrepair. The Devil leader gestured them closer. The old door was gone, but someone had taken the time to create a makeshift replacement from old planks hammered together, probably salvaged from wreckage judging by the heavy splintering and uneven sizes. It stood slightly ajar.

A series of hand gestures relayed their instructions; Ashe was to climb up to the second storey window and ascertain whether Cael was in there. Arlen would wait at the bottom of the stairs and Marick would guard the door. His fingers tightened around his knife handle, now tacky. He didn't like having Marick at his back.

Ashe nodded and scampered off to find a way up. They wouldn't go inside without her signal.

"You know you wouldn't have agreed to it," Marick said in a low voice, as soon as she was gone.

"No." Arlen kept his voice flat, even though the suppressed anger of the previous few months threatened to boil over. "And not just because of my past...experience." He gestured at the door with his knife. "I could have told you this would happen. They're all the dark-damned same."

Months ago, he would never have spoken to Marick this way. He had seen him so infrequently that it was hard to recall the right tone of obedience, let alone use it. He was...disappointed. That was the word for it. And in part because a Devil he had always admired for his strategy had allowed his guild to get tangled up with Caelumese affairs. If the Caelumese had ever had any respect for contracts and agreements, there would never have been a war.

"Perhaps I've been misjudging you."

"You've at least listened to my advice for years," Arlen said, recklessly. He was pushing his luck and he knew it. "If you'd heard it and disagreed, that would have been different."

He wouldn't have liked it any more for that, granted, but his own leader had hidden it from him when he was nominally second in rank. It was more than disappointing; it was humiliating.

"Did I lose my leg over a Caelumese contract I would never have agreed to?" he asked suddenly. He wanted desperately for that not to be true, but Marick's expression had not changed. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look remorseful either. Or was he just looking for reasons to excuse him?

"You lost your leg over a job I sent you on with a liability," Marick said. "I should have sent you alone. That liability...will be dealt with in short order."

It wasn't a straight answer, but it was welcome news. "Who have you commissioned?"

"That's for me to know." He gestured for silence. A moment later Ashe's face appeared around the side of the building, pointing to the window. He met eyes with Marick. They both nodded.

Arlen's frustration was quickly lost in the thrill of an ambush. He still kept one ear on Marick as he crept to the bottom of the stairs, keeping his foot and stick quiet. That was one thing living with Darin had given him – he hadn't wanted to be discovered there, and he had had to learn quickly how to tread softly with metal. In the quiet, a shuffle and muffled curse from upstairs confirmed Ashe's signal. The lilting tone of distant Caelumese set a fire in his belly. For a wild moment he was certain he smelled smoke, his nostrils already plugged with the thick scent of blood on his clothes. A breath. And another. Back to the job at hand.

More footsteps, and this time the curse was louder. Something clattered onto the floor, followed by the eerily familiar sound of an Angel stretching out his wings and beating them. That faint whistle, the clap.

Marick hissed after him as he crept up two more steps. He looked down. Marick beckoned furiously.

He kept climbing.

The burnt stumps of a banister provided cover for him to peer onto the next floor. He had been certain, on the last few steps, that the faint click of his leg would give him away, but the Angel was completely distracted, circling round and round something on the ground and scowling down at it. There was a coin in his hand, a thick copper disc that he turned over and over in his fingers. Every now and then he glanced at the window.

Arlen held still. He had a few moments to do this, to claim this death himself. Cael wouldn't get away. Ashe would pick him off if he took the window, and Marick would if he took the stairs, but Arlen wanted this one. It felt so good to be useful again.

"I expect you're here to kill me, aren't you?"

The Angel wasn't facing him, but it was clear he knew Arlen was there. Of course; Angels had that freaky sixth sense as well. An ambush was never going to work. Had Marick known that?

He glanced back down the stairs briefly, then turned as he realised his mistake. Cael was already charging him, but he had a few seconds to gain equal footing with him. The Angel was slighter and shorter than Arlen, but he had those wings to back him up and both of his legs. Arlen climbed the last few steps and stumbled forward, away from the hole so he couldn't be pushed back down. He led with his knife, forcing Cael to give ground. The Angel danced his way around a complex circle on the ground, drawn in chalk and looking eerily like the drawings Arlen had seen in Jordan's journals. Runes? How did Angels know how to draw runes?

He dismissed what it was in favour of how he could use it. Cael seemed determined not to step on it, more mindful of where his heels were than where Arlen's knife was.

All was stillness for a moment. The Angel had produced a dagger and clutched the coin in his free hand. Ashe slipped in through the window. Arlen held a hand up to warn her off. Cael stared at him hard, a frown deepening on his face until it looked almost like a snarl.

"Your ride failed to show?" Arlen asked, glancing at the circle. He feinted to one side, and cackled as Cael stumbled about trying to avoid the chalk markings. He didn't look so graceful now.

"A matter of time." Cael looked him pointedly up and down. "On the other hand, it looks like your luck gave you up for dead. Haven't seen many more unfortunate specimens."

As if he needed the reminder of how much he fucking loathed Angels. He gave a nasty grin, showing the gaps in his teeth that followed the line of his scar. "Want to know how I got this one?" He pointed at his mouth. "Hit by a grounded Caelumese soldier just before I gutted him. On the ground after I cut the tendons on his wing." He paused, smiling at Cael's flinch. "Enjoyed that one."

"I can see why Marick didn't involve you," the Angel muttered. Arlen lunged, and the lack of planning was worth it for the flash of panic in Cael's eyes as he staggered backwards. He'd missed the action, the thrill of his job. But the rebound was almost immediate; Cael caught his balance faster than Arlen could hope to. A hand flashed out and pulled him aside just before he went down on the chalk circle. For a miracle he kept his feet but shook Marick's grip off immediately, revolted. He could just imagine the conversations these two had had about him, as if he were some recalcitrant child who needed entertaining somewhere else while the real business happened.

Fuck that, and fuck Marick.

The moment he was free he lunged again, ignoring Marick's shout of warning. Too late, he saw the blinding flash of light, Cael's triumphant grin. He snarled and led with his knife as momentum carried him forward into the light.

Cael screamed underneath him as they landed, Arlen coming down hard on his wings. Feathers against his fingers, against his face – he thought he might vomit at the images that flashed through his mind. He scrambled free of the tangle, growling in frustration as his false leg almost twisted loose. He couldn't find his stick, couldn't remember if he'd dropped it. His brain felt scrambled. One moment he had been inside on a second floor, and the next he sat on cobbles, in a different quarter, the castle looming overhead. There had been a bright flash of light, and then a feeling like being thrown, and then...here?

He groaned. The landing hadn't been kind. Cael was a writhing mass a few feet away. Squinting, Arlen made out his knife sticking out of the Angel's back. He looked down at his empty palm, frowning. Didn't remember letting go of that, either.

Distant noises tried to drag his attention in other directions, but it was bad protocol to leave a job so messily unfinished. It took far more time to find his feet than it should have, and he had to use the side of a building to steady his whirling head for a long moment. He staggered towards Cael, and then froze. Two Caelumese soldiers rounded the corner then, both at a run.

"It's me!" Cael howled. "It's me, you fools! Help me up!"

Arlen withdrew into the shadow behind a barrel, watching them struggle to help him up. With every movement the Angel cursed them out. With each passing moment, Arlen's thoughts cleared. He carefully set aside the mystery of what had just happened and plucked a new blade from the inside of his coat.

A hand clamped over his mouth from behind, cold metal and the faint smell of sweat. Caelumese voices growled behind him as another set of hands wrestled the knife from his grip, squeezing his pulse point so hard he groaned. Through watering eyes he saw Cael glaring at him as one of his attendants inspected the knife wound. Through gritted teeth, the Angel had the nerve to smile.

"How about we match it on the other side?" he called, gesturing at Arlen's face.

It was as if he disconnected from the world, hovered somewhere between this place and another, decades ago. That night had smelled of smoke and blood, too. Cold metal and brute force. Screaming and fire. He had been small enough for the Caelumese soldier who came for him to pick him up bodily, the grip over his mouth so tight he feared his jaw might crack. They had let him watch over their shoulder what they did to his mother and sisters. Laughed about it over drinks later in the barracks tent where he was chained and gagged beneath the table, in place for the night's entertainment.

The end of everything he'd known, that night. But he had learned a lot from them. He had taken what they taught and made a life for himself with it; a life he excelled at, a reputation that no one would fuck with.

Certainly not them.

Not ever again.

He drove his elbow hard and straight up, even though it hurt. It clipped the soldier holding him on the chin, barely hurting him, but as Arlen had anticipated, had known would happen from a young age, the soldier had to adjust his grip to strike him. Unlike back then, Arlen had the weight to wrench loose in that brief gap, the reflexes to drop a hidden blade from his sleeve and shove it hard into that groove between the neck plate and the helmet. He found the vein unerringly.

"No thanks," Arlen said. His voice was calm. Deadly flat. Inside he thought he might crack from the screams. Well, even after all these years, that wasn't so surprising, was it? Perhaps it would be a relief. "But there are a few favours I would love to pay back."

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)