Eighty Eight: Control

The Caelumese were almost through the front doors. Jordan and Yddris waited for them at the base of the stairs, and the foyer around them was deserted. The soldiers that hadn't been deployed to the west courtyard hid down the corridors at either side of the staircase, partly to lull the Caelumese into a false sense of security and partly for their own safety.

Jordan clenched and unclenched his fists, sweaty inside his gloves. The pain of every injury in his body throbbed with his pounding heart.

Koen appeared at his side, breathing hard. They looked at each other. They nodded. No words felt sufficient.

The end of the battering ram burst through the door and stayed there. Just beyond it, flashes of silver swarmed forward in the rising dawn light. With a soft whoosh, both Koen and Yddris went up in halos of green flame. Yddris drew a gleaming emerald sword seemingly out of nowhere, so quickly Jordan hadn't seen him draw the runes.

"Concentrated bursts," Yddris reminded him in an undertone. "Never longer than a few seconds. We're looking to make them hop in their boots, not cook them alive. Stay between Koen and I at all times so we can cover you."

Jordan nodded again. His neck felt wooden with tension. He hadn't told Grace what he was doing for fear that she'd try and get involved, but a part of him wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye first. The two Unspoken raised their flames higher, creating a wall that buzzed in his ears and teeth. He allowed his own magic to dance across his arms, ready and waiting.

When the soldiers flooded in, Koen and Yddris let loose.

Their flames held little heat – just enough to cause a panic – and the reaction was instantaneous; Angels dived left and right under the onslaught, tripping over each other and crashing to the floor in rattling tangles. The second wave saw it coming and peeled away from the ranks to dart around them, only to meet the hidden lines of Harkenn's soldiers. The air filled with shouting and clashing metal, and it wasn't long before the cloying tang of blood filled his nostrils. He forced himself to keep moving, keeping in line with Yddris and Koen as they marched steadily forward.

The panic seeped in when he looked behind him and could no longer see a clear path back to the castle. The doorway was a cluster of struggling bodies, wings and swords. There was no way out except through, and it was then that a soldier came hurtling at him from the melee through the gap that had been forced between him and Koen.

Flames erupted from him without thought in his terror. Last time he had been in this situation he'd thought he was doomed. He watched his magic hurtle towards his assailant as if outside himself, heat unmoderated, a killing inferno.

"Boy, get a grip!" Yddris yelled somewhere nearby. Jordan blinked. The world came back into focus. Three soldiers were screaming in front of him and he could smell burnt hair.

It's like the lessons with Usk, he told himself, dragging his magic back in with a wrench and hurrying in the direction of his tutor's voice. He didn't dare look back. He drew his short sword. It's just practice. Just treat it like practice.

Something cut into his leg. He yelled and struck blindly back, accompanying the clumsy swipe with a burst of flame. There were winged bodies everywhere; he could no longer see where Yddris was, or pull together the focus to locate him. He was in a circle of shifting winged bodies and he couldn't see a way out. In his panic the magic was building to a crescendo that was starting to burn him instead.

Another soldier noticed him and raised a sword. Jordan fumbled a needle from its pouch and almost dropped it. He didn't know where the weak points in the armour were; why hadn't he asked?

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back. Yddris met the soldier's sword with his own. It didn't clang when it met the metal, only hissed faintly. Dazedly Jordan marvelled that he could even hear that through the chaos.

"Keep moving," Yddris barked. He dived in and yanked the soldier's helm at the same time as he kicked him in the chest. Jordan heard a crack. His tutor grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away before the body hit the ground. "Boy, we're almost there, and I really could do without having to watch your back so closely. Can you get it together?"

It wasn't an accusatory question, simply practical, but Jordan flinched anyway. He cowered behind Yddris as a tide of green flame parted them a path through the next heaving swathe. They had reached the battle happening on the second front now; Harkenn's troops who had been trapped on the outside were now battling to get back in. A gap had opened between the Caelumese pushing towards the castle and those holding Harkenn's troops back.

"I don't think I can do it anymore," he gasped. He looked around at the sea of fighting bodies. He would never be able to strike with enough discrimination. The two sides clustered too closely and he'd already nearly failed at keeping it in check. It wasn't like practice, not really. Yddris was too busy to pull him back if he went too far.

"I wasn't really asking, boy," Yddris barked. He parried a swinging blow and deterred his attacker with a spurt of flame. "Panic any time you want, except in the thick of it! You're committed, boy, don't you dare fall apart until it's over!"

Jordan looked around, breath so short his vision started coming in waves. What madman had taken over his mouth and agreed to this?

Something collided with him from one side. He groaned as he hit the ground, Yddris's bellow reaching him from somewhere above, indistinct through the ringing in his ears. The body on top of him squirmed, suffocating him in feathers and causing pain to rocket through his abdomen. He pressed his face to the cobbles and wheezed. The soldier scrambled off him, scraping his calf with a boot heel as he re-joined the fray. He grunted at each movement, and tried to raise his head. Through a sea of moving feet he spotted, with bizarre clarity, a dark-clad figure fighting another Angel. He didn't look like a soldier.

"...Arlen?"

His voice escaped him with a wheeze, but before he could confirm what he thought he saw, Yddris yanked him up by the armpit.

"We're almost through," the Unspoken grunted. They were surrounded by a nexus of green light, and several metres away, another blaze indicated Koen's position. Armoured soldiers fell away like clusters of glittering beetles, their details lost in the brightness. The air smelled peculiar. He turned, dazed, and followed Yddris as the Unspoken pressed through the last line of Caelumese soldiers. Though he craned his neck he couldn't see Arlen anymore.

"Yddris," someone barked. The captain of the guard hurtled through the masses of his men, sword red and a cut on his brow bleeding down one side of his face. Yddris opened a path through the fire to allow him through. "Thank Kiel. Can you get us back through?"

"We can try," Yddris replied grimly. "They're getting wise to it, though. I don't want to be forced into causing actual damage."

"Then we'll push hard," Devon growled. "They have little coordination, their command chain must have collapsed without Varron."

He dived back into the chaos and started yelling orders.

"Cael," Jordan said suddenly. That was who Arlen had been fighting. "Cael's distracted, that's why. He must coordinate things with his freaky..." he made a frustrated, vague gesture around his head. "I know where he is. I'm going."

Yddris stared at him for a split second. The roaring inferno around them created a bizarre pocket of calm. "You were just about to crack on me, boy, and now you're haring off after the ringleader? What's going on with you?"

Jordan had no idea, either, but he was certain of what he'd seen. And Arlen had looked like he was losing.

"He's fighting Arlen. Over in the alleys."

The stare turned measuring. Jordan had an idea of what was going through his tutor's mind at that moment and knew he wouldn't like it, but it was the wrong time to worry about that. He had a chance to end it. And he had decided that Marick scared him enough that Arlen was his safest bet.

"I'm not helping you at all," he said desperately. "I don't think I can. My brain just goes fucking blank and I start burning things. But I can help with one opponent."

"I'll cover you." Yddris's voice was unreadable, but he offered no resistance. "Go. And boy?"

Jordan turned mid-stride.

"We have prisoners. Bring him back in, but Harkenn won't care if he's dead or alive as long as he's dealt with. Do what you need to."

Jordan blinked, but Yddris had already turned away. It had almost, almost sounded then like he spoke to someone else – someone less worn down than the Yddris he knew. Someone who had a job to do and did it without qualm or regret. It reminded him of Arlen.

He hurried off. As he hobbled away, a line of fire trailed him. It wove in and out of the moving bodies. An Angel appeared from a cluster of Harkenn's soldiers and ran at him, hurling invectives Jordan didn't understand in words but did in tone. The fire wrapped around the soldier with a quiet purr and Jordan finally pinpointed the smell in the air as that of burning feathers.

He forced his gorge back down and pushed on. He would not freeze like he had on the battlefield. He had to keep moving or he would stop and never start again. Terror beat like a drum on the fringes of his awareness, ready to pounce in at the slightest hesitation.

The battle's fringes ended very abruptly; as both sides pushed back towards the castle doors, its trailing edges retreated until Jordan could track the fight between Arlen and Cael by sound alone. They no longer fought in view of the avenue to the castle, but he could hear them when he stopped on a corner and leaned against a wall out of sight, steeling himself for the right moment. He was gambling an awful lot on Cael being too distracted to notice him. He hoped that Yddris and Koen's explosive presences might cover him, though he had no real basis for that. He wondered where Arlen's group of Devils were – come to think of it, he couldn't even work out how Arlen was here. It took longer than that to get here from the dead quarter even without an injured leg, and it was incredibly unusual for Arlen to go anywhere without Usk in close attendance.

He risked a peek around the corner. Cael had Arlen backed against the wall, and two dead Caelumese soldiers lay nearby. The alley cobbles brimmed with spilled blood, but the most terrifying thing was the look on Arlen's face. Jordan had never considered his teacher fully sane – his choice of profession didn't count in his favour – but the look on his face then was almost indescribable. Desperate and wild, a show of fury to a degree Jordan had never seen. Bared teeth streaked with blood. And...tears.

Cael's voice was too quiet to hear, but his expression was mocking, despite the bruising and the blood soaking his shirt. One wing hung limp and ruffled.

"You pathetic little maggot," Cael's voice rose in volume as he pressed a blade harder against Arlen's throat, "thinking you're special because the camps disbanded before you died in them. That doesn't make you special. You're just a rabid dog, Arlen Blackheart, and it's time you were put down."

Movement caught his eye between the two men. Jordan looked from Arlen's frozen face to the Caelumese soldier now creeping down the alley towards the two, a short, deadly blade in one hand. Jordan knew what that kind of blade was for – he had one tucked into his belt. It was no ordinary soldier, and Cael was just playing for time. The Angel held one arm against his chest, clearly broken, and blood streamed down one side of his face, and Jordan knew Arlen could have taken his chance and ended it by now, would have done in any other fight. Yet whatever the Angel was saying to him had left him in an unmoving stupor.

He didn't think. He didn't need magic for this; there was no centre to find, no control to ensure he had in place before he attacked. He simply ran.

He had noted, before he left his hiding place, exactly what the assassin was wearing. He didn't have the noisy metal armour of the other soldiers but instead wore leather. Jordan wore leathers just like it when he worked for Arlen and he knew exactly where the gaps would be.

Cael's mind slammed into him like a speeding train as the assassin's eyes widened. Jordan stumbled, every muscle straining against the hot-wire pain of every nerve in his body. He came to a halt, trying to replicate the pushing-away technique he had used during his raid on Cael's rooms at the castle, but the Angel was too close and he had thrown everything behind the attack. It was as though his limbs were on fire, as if his magic were being dragged through his veins against the current. He couldn't pull a breath for pain.

"Calder?" Arlen's voice came as if from a vast distance, hoarse and breathless.

Jordan didn't look round. He was certain he was about to faint, but the assassin had stopped taking him as a threat and merely watched him, head cocked.

Jordan raised the pipe to his lips and blew, just before his legs gave out on him.

As soon as he hit the ground the pain stopped, though the aftershocks kept him shuddering on the floor. His eyes were streaming and he knew he drooled, though he couldn't gain enough control of his limbs to do anything about it. His head pounded and he felt cold suddenly. From his vantage point he saw the twitching feet of the assassin, and he saw that Arlen had re-engaged Cael. The Angel was definitely on the back foot this time, shooting horrified glances at the felled assassin.

"Can you move?" Arlen called. He growled and metal screeched. Cael yelped.

"Gimme a minute," Jordan slurred. He pressed his forehead to the cobbles as his temperature turned suddenly hot. Tremors ran through his whole body. It didn't matter that the ground smelled of blood and sewage when his skin suddenly felt too small, his bones too loose. He closed his eyes and tried to reach for Nictaven's current. Cael's rejection of his efforts was as shocking and painful as a physical slap.

"I'll go for your sister next, boy," Cael mocked, though he sounded out of breath. Jordan raised his head and glared through streaming eyes. Pain was one thing, but rifling through his thoughts like they were a book was a step too far. Yet when he tried to rise his knees buckled under him.

Arlen lunged in Cael's distraction, and in a flurry of movement sent the Angel's blade skittering away.

"Arlen can tell you what we do with the families of those who displease us." Cael darted a frantic glance at the street. Perhaps he'd tried to call back-up. Well, he'd soon realise his soldiers were far too busy with Harkenn's troops to come and find him. Arlen's grin then was horrific; tight jawed and wide-eyed and wild.

"I'm not sure I ever got to tell you what I did to one of the commanders," the assassin said. "Those wings are awfully delicate, aren't they? Snap like fucking twigs."

Cael bared his teeth and glared at Jordan, who realised he was chuckling. No idea why. The Angel was soon forced to return his gaze to Arlen's approaching knife point. Some of the pain receded from Jordan's extremities as a vein in the Angel's temple throbbed. Jordan almost laughed aloud. For whatever unfathomable reason, his mind-tricks didn't appear to work on Arlen.

"He's immune," he muttered, still laughing. It spilled from him like a hole punched in a beer barrel. Both men looked down at him. Cael looked wild now, incensed that Jordan was finding it funny. "He's immune, you nosy fuck. And no one's coming."

He might have screamed when the pain hit him again with twice the force; he wasn't sure, because he went both blind and deaf for several terrifying moments, left only with the fraying, burning ends of his nerves. He tried to push and came up against a psychic steel wall of resistance, closing in on him until he couldn't breathe, until he couldn't remember who he was or find any trace of the magic's current. Time lost all meaning. It felt as though he fell from a great height, without a landing this time.

He knew when Cael died, because his body stopped convulsing so suddenly it was as though a switch had turned off. He fell flat against the cobbles, and the smoky, stinking air of Shadow's Reach had never smelled so good.

He leaned over and puked. His head hadn't felt so clear in weeks, and the thought that Cael had been monitoring him all that time was nauseating. He risked a glance at the assassin he had taken out, but that only brought more up when he saw the bloodshot eyes, purple-blotched face and swollen neck. Spit flecked his face and his breathing was more of a wheeze.

"Are you okay?" Jordan asked, directing it at Arlen while staring at the cobbles. He knew his tutor was somewhere nearby. He knew Cael's body was, as well. He didn't want to see either. He moved his legs and found warm wetness had soaked through his cloak and trousers. His nerves still tingled like he'd rubbed his whole body across carpet.

"Sometimes I think you want some kind of medal for dumb fucking questions."

Jordan snorted. Not okay, but back to some semblance of normal. "Well, do I get one?"

"I'll rustle something up." Arlen spat. Footsteps approached Jordan's head, and then the assassin sat down on the cobbles beside him with a grunt. "I thought he'd fucking killed you. What happened?"

"Mind magic," Jordan mumbled, more drool and vomit than sound. He giggled. "Fuck me, I thought I was dead too."

A pause. "Can you sit up?"

"I don't want to try."

To his surprise, Arlen didn't insist. The assassin shifted his weight instead, and the faint smell of blackweed drifted onto the breeze.

He wasn't sure if he slept then. Perhaps he just retreated into oblivion for a little while. If Arlen tried to get him up again, he didn't remember it. When he came back to himself, they were both still in the same position, only he could hear other voices. He frowned, trying to place them. Usk, that was one. And Akiva and Ashe.

"He passed out," Arlen was saying. "I haven't tried to move him."

"Angels can do that?" Ashe sounded revolted. "Poor kid."

Jordan grunted, and they all fell silent. His head throbbed. He felt thoroughly violated in ways he couldn't put into words. Cael being dead didn't make him feel any better. It felt like the Angel had punched a hole through his defences, and if he didn't guard closely enough all his thoughts would leak out for everyone to rifle through. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Is the other one dead?" he asked hoarsely.

"If he wasn't before, he was after Usk stabbed him." Arlen leaned over him. "How you feeling? Can you move yet?"

In all the months he had known the assassin, Arlen had never asked him how he was doing. He took that as a sign that he looked pretty fucking dire.

"I think so."

"Usk, give him a hand, would you?"

Strong hands reached underneath him and pushed as Jordan forced his body into creaking movement again. He gasped. "Oh, fuck."

"What?" Usk's voice was deep rumble he felt in his chest. He reached down to lever Jordan up and Jordan flinched back.

"No. No, no. I..." He bit on the inside of his cheek, humiliation a punishing burn.

"When I first joined the Devils," Usk stopped moving, but he didn't remove his hands, "my da had a brain bleed. We all joined them together, see, me and my da and my sister. Exiled in shame. Nowhere to go. My da, before the bleed, was one of the most skilled fighters this guild has ever seen. After the bleed, he needed constant supervision. He couldn't fight anymore and he couldn't control his toilet. But he was a quick man, and so he became the best at forgery instead. Made more money than most of us make in a whole career. Every morning I came in and cleaned him up, and every morning he went to his workshop and made perfect forgeries despite his hand tremors. He never complained when he knocked the ink onto his work or didn't call me for help in time. And I never once thought less of him. Not once. There's no shame in surviving something dreadful, kid." He resumed helping Jordan up. "Now come on."

"Don't make me go back," he muttered. "Not yet. I don't want Grace to see..." he choked. Hated tears splashed down his face in burning trails. His arm spasmed and his leg almost buckled under him. "Oh, Christ."

"He can stay with me." Arlen's voice was carefully neutral. "Darin won't mind. Kiv, collar Yddris and tell him before he comes storming out to set the building on fire."

The battle. Shit. He had to make sure everyone was alright – and yet he would be no use if the fight was still going, and he absolutely could not let Grace see him like this, sweaty and spasming and soaked in his own piss and vomit. "I need to know..."

"I'll get a message back to you, kid." Akiva grinned at him. "And I know that shithead won't say it, but I will – thank you. Whole thing would be much less fun without Arl." He winked. "Can't decide whether I'm impressed or concerned that you threw yourself at a trained assassin, but thank you all the same."

He saluted and jogged away. Jordan shuddered, and then let out a dark chuckle. He had done that. And he wasn't looking forward to explaining to Harkenn that he'd risked his own life to save that of a criminal he'd been after for years. Hell, Yddris would probably kill him first.

He didn't remember much between the alley and Darin's front door. He vaguely recalled being settled into the back of a wagon that had come from...somewhere. Probably stolen. The next thing he knew, he was on a pallet in a dim room, early daylight shining in through cracked windows. He sat up abruptly. Someone shifted in the corner of the room.

"Steady," Darin Blackheart said. He crossed to the bedside and crouched down, clasping his hands together. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a steaming pile of arse."

Darin's lips quirked. "Interesting visual."

He disappeared from Jordan's field of view and reappeared holding a steaming mug of herb tea. Jordan accepted it with a shudder of relief, even though the warmth set his shot nerves pinging with discomfort again.

"Where's Arlen?"

"I was told in no uncertain terms it was none of my business." The man stirred something in a large pot over the fire. "I've also been told to let you know that everyone you were concerned about is alive, and no injuries are life-threatening. Harkenn hasn't yet been seen in public but he is receiving meetings with the Heads of House again. All Caelumese that could be found were apprehended and there is going to be a city sweep today to flush the rest out of hiding." He ladled hot porridge into a bowl. "Your witch man tutor is coming to collect you this afternoon."

Jordan slowly gathered bits and pieces from his surroundings as his brain booted back up. He was uncloaked – it lay across Darin's clothes horse on the other side of the room – and he wore someone else's clothing. "Who dressed me?"

"Usk. He seemed to know what he was doing."

Jordan didn't examine that idea too closely. "I don't know what to make of him."

Darin smiled. "Usk? Boy, making anything of any of them is a challenge I gave up on a long time ago. It's a waste of time and you'll never get there. Now, eat. As much as you can manage, anyway."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me." Darin sat down against the wall next to the bed with his own bowl of porridge and tucked in. "He baffles and fucking infuriates me most of the time, but you saved the only family I've got left. The only person in the world still alive who shared a childhood with me, who's always been there in his own aggravating sort of way. And for that, you never have to thank me for anything again."

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)