Night of Knives

The woman flinched. ‘You were there? You saw it?’

Then Kiska remembered with whom she spoke and her breath caught. ‘Oh, and Ash. I saw him. He’s dead. I’m sorry.’

The woman brushed back her long hair, sighed. ‘I’m not. The man’s better off dead. He should have died a long time ago. These times were not to his liking. Still, I owed him a great debt.’

Kiska looked away. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘So you saw him as well?’

Kiska rubbed her arms to warm them against the unusual cold. She felt chilled and hungry but refreshed, as if she’d slept a full night. Even her knee felt strong, throbbing and stiff, but firm. ‘No. I didn’t see that. But I was there just afterwards. Surly said Kell – that they fell from the balcony, down the cliff. No one could survive that. It’s a hundred fathoms.’

Lubben and the woman eyed each other, clearly sceptical.

Stung, Kiska stepped away. ‘It was good enough for Surly. She said it was finished. Even-’ she stopped herself, swallowed. ‘Well, everyone agreed.’ But as she said it, she wondered. Where were Hattar and Tayschre

‘Well it isn’t,’ said the woman, sounding oddly angered. ‘That’s for sure.’ Kiska looked at her, puzzled. ‘There’s an immense disturbance among the Warrens here,’ the woman explained. ‘I can feel it as strongly as the storm breaking over the island. That’s probably where everyone’s gone.’

‘The Deadhouse,’ Kiska breathed, remembering Oleg’s words.

The woman eyed her sharply, taking her measure a second time. ‘Yes. The Deadhouse. All this,’ and she pointed upstairs, ‘was probably nothing more than a diversion. A side show.’

‘But all the dead. And Ash, too.’

The woman turned to the embers. ‘Nothing like a massacre to confirm appearances.’ She took a poker from a stand beside the hearth and raked the remaining coals, spreading them among the ashes. ‘There’s nothing more to learn here, Lubben.’ She spoke with a strength of command that surprised Kiska. ‘We’ll go to the House.’

Lubben grunted his assent, cradled the axe to his chest. That the independent, cynical hunchback should submit so easily to orders from the woman struck Kiska as very telling. Back at the I

‘Take me with you,’ Kiska blurted.

The woman smiled at Kiska’s eagerness but shook her head. ‘No. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I can be of use. I know things.’

The woman eyed her, tilted her head to one side. ‘Such as?’

Kiska wet her lips, tried to recall everything important Oleg had said, together with all she suspected herself. ‘I know that we’d have to get there before dawn, but that use of a Warren would be dangerous because the hounds are sensitive to them and might even travel them at will. I know that there’s an event occurring focused on the House. And that,’ she paused, trying to remember the word Oleg had used, ‘that it might be a portal to Shadow-’

‘Enough! ’

Kiska stopped short, surprised. The woman raised a hand apologetically. ‘Sorry. But some knowledge is best not hinted at anywhere at any time.’ She turned away, began pacing. Kiska watched, tense, desperate to press her case, but afraid she might just a

‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ Lubben offered from the darkness beyond the hearth’s meagre glow.

The woman studied Kiska from the far side of the mantle. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If you wish to come, fine. But you’ll do as I say.’

‘Yes.’

‘Your name is Kiska, yes?’

‘And yours?’

She answered with a teasing smile, the black tattooing at her brow wrinkling. ‘Cori

Kiska’s first impulse was to lie, fearing such a lack would end her chances. She shook her head, frustrated by her inexperience.

Cori

He grunted, impatient.

‘But the hounds?’ Kiska asked.

Again the smile, daring and spirited. ‘We’ll just have to move quickly.’ She waved a hand. The air shimmered before the hearth, as if hot air billowed from it. Grey streaks appeared, brightening into tatters of purest glimmering silver. These met and fused, creating a floating mirror of mercury that rippled like water.

From Agayla’s hints, dropped here and there, Kiska recognized the Warren as that of Thyr, the Path of Light. She’d heard that the Enchantress, the Queen of Dreams, was supposed to be a practitioner of Thyr.

Cori

Kiska hesitated, fearful despite her fascination.

‘Hurry, lass,’ Lubben urged. ‘It’ll not do to lose her and wander the paths alone forever.’

Spurred by horror at the thought, Kiska jumped through. Whether Lubben followed she had no idea. It was as if she’d leapt into a hall of mirrors. Reflections of herself and Cori

Like a swimmer broaching a lake, a new Cori

‘Where is Lubben?’

Cori

They strode on without moving, or so it seemed to Kiska. She couldn’t discern any progress at all, yet still Cori

‘What’s going on?’ she called to Cori

Cori

‘Yes. Don’t you?’

Cori

‘What is it you see?’

Cori

Kiska stared at the confusing, shifting silver walls all about her – even above and below. ‘Why? Why a bridge over emptiness? How?’

Cori

Kiska nodded, grimacing. Yes. Years of study and practice. The same dusty mental exercises and meditation Agayla had tried to impose on her long ago, only giving up the day Kiska opened a ceiling window and risked a dangerous third-storey climb rather than sit for hours and, in her own words, try to cross her eyes. After that Agayla had been good on her agreement: providing every other form of instruction, though no longer pressing any arcane training upon her. She’d simply warned her that she’d come to regret the choice later in life.