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It was a place of cheap magic.
A swarm of tiny sphinxes gathered, fluttering just aboveher head. Snapping jaws, whipping wings, curling tails. Theyweren't convincing. Their colours were wrong, and up closethey were semi-transparent.
Serrah swatted irritably, her hand passing through themas if they were dawn mist. They disintegrated into countlessinfinitesimal specks, like glowing rust. The tips of their spreadwings were the last to go, popping out of existence in littleburnished puffs.
'We going to skulk here all night, Ardacris?' Phosian hissed.
He hid next to her, but the alley was too dark to makeout his features. His garb, like hers, was uniformly black,with a silk mask covering nose and mouth. Where fleshshowed, it had been smeared with ash. The sheen of theirblades was dimmed by grease and soot.
Serrah inwardly bridled at his familiarity and the disregardof her rank. But in deference to his connections shewhispered only, 'Patience.'
Phosian sighed. Serrah needed no light to picture theconceited expression on his callow face.
Nothing much stirred. The street was a midden lined withhovels, all gloom and demented angles. Its glistening cobbleswere silvered by a half moon. Flies teemed, the air stank.Now and again a low-priced glamour walked, crawled, flewor drifted by, waning, and was ignored.
The house they watched was grander than the others andset apart. Two guards were visible at its front. There weremore at the sides and rear. Again Serrah wondered if hermodest forces would be enough.
'Think our strength's up to it?' Phosian asked, hinting criticismof her.
She was struck by the idea that he might have read hermind. But she knew such magic was likely mythical. And ifit did exist it was so rare even his relatives probably couldn'tafford it. 'Numbers aren't everything,' she said. 'I'd take oneseasoned fighter over a regiment of conscripts any day.'
'And what would you call those inside, seasoned or green?'Sarcasm dripped.
'Ruthless bastards,' Serrah replied, still seething at havinghim foisted on her. 'But I've a team I can trust.' With oneexception, she thought, adding, steely-toned, 'It's takenweeks to get to tonight. Nothing's going to jeopardise it.'
His silent contempt was almost tangible.
By knowing where to look, and straining to see, severalothers in her group could be faintly made out, grey againstthe blackness. They were in position.
'It's time,' she decided. 'You know what to do. Stay close.'
He gave an indolent grunt.
She had a short piece of twine, and worried its end withthumb and forefinger, as though flipping a coin. Suddenlythe tip glowed cherry red. Less conspicuous than a nakedflame and generating no heat, it was a very basic glamour;just an ember, but enough for those alert to it. Serrah quicklysignalled, then pinched it out.
They waited.
The nearest guard, a shaven-headed colossus, stood gazingat the night sky. His broadsword was thrust into the groundat his feet, his palm absently caressing the hilt. Further back,a leaner companion prowled with meagre enthusiasm.
A sound cut the air. High, smooth, and abruptly stilled bya soft impact.
An arrow quivered in the big man's chest. He looked downat it dumbly. The sound repeated and his comrade dropped.A second bolt winged into the giant. Arms outstretched, hefell heavily.
'Move!' Serrah barked.
Dashing out of the shadows, limbs pumping, she ran forthe house. Phosian chased her, his scrawny form contrastingwith her athletic build. As they arrived at the entrance, twomore of her crew slipped from the darkness to join them.Like Phosian, they hefted axes.
The double doors were oak with iron bracings. At her sign,the battering commenced. Almost immediately the rest ofher team began pounding at the back of the house.
Serrah scanned the street, feeling vulnerable. Imperialagents weren't exactly popular in this quarter and she halfexpected to see locals rushing in to take issue.
But she was more worried by what might be waiting inside.
The doors gave.
A dimly lit passageway stretched ahead of them. Therewas another door at its end. A corridor was set in the righthandwall. Serrah motioned for one of the party to keepwatch, then she, Phosian and the fourth group-member carefullyadvanced, weapons drawn.
Something came out of the side passage. They froze.
It slinked, ebony fur bristling, a mass of fangs, claws andill temper. Its hard, tawny eyes regarded them haughtily. Itlet out a wheezing snarl.
The barbcat was waist-high to Serrah. Had it stood uprightit could have laid its forepaws on her shoulders while it toreher throat out.
Absolutely still, they watched as a second cat padded intothe hall. It was just as big, just as irate. Its ears pricked tensely,its ample pink tongue lolled.
Serrah couldn't be sure about the creatures. She took achance and edged forward.
'Chief . . .' one of her team cautioned.
She paid no attention and moved in on the nearest cat.
It leapt.
Her response was instant. She fell into a half crouch, simultaneouslyswinging her sword up, two-handed, teeth grittedwith effort, carving an arc. It crossed paths with the slaveringanimal, slicing cleanly through its body. But not as thoughit were flesh.
The bloodless halves of the cat hung in the air for a second,then dissolved into golden shards and nothingness.
Rising, Serrah expelled a breath. 'Sentinel glamours,' shedeclared, unnecessarily. And well made, she judged. Costlymagic.
The other barbcat turned and loped back to its alcove den.They ignored it and readied themselves.
'Let's move,' Phosian urged testily.
Serrah glared at him. She swung her boot at the door. Itflew open.
The Covenant Rising
Excerpted from The Covenant Rising by Stan Nicholls
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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