Aftermath
Cold Rain and Ambrose once more found themselves in the morgue, but this time their wounds were more serious.
The arrow in his side had cut into his lungs, making him cough blood. He could also sense the hatred of the Neverborn in the arrow and the wound. The archer had been an Abyssal like him.
He looked at the ghost who stood by him and nodded.
The ghost took the arrow shaft her hands and used a small saw to cut it away. Then with an obsidian scalpel she began to slice the arrowhead from his flesh. Clenching fists tight so as not to scream Cold Rain let his mind focus on the archer, the Abyssal he had fought. Was she there as an agent of another Death Lord? Were the plans of Black Heron already in jeopardy?
Turning such things over in his mind let him ignore the pain as the arrow was removed and the wound stitched up.
He could only think of one Death Lord close enough to perhaps send an agent, and that was the First and Forsaken Lion.
Fear of that Death Lord easily dominated his thoughts, leaving little room for pain.
Finally the wound was treated and the ghost was applying bandages. He would heal fast enough, now that the arrow was out, but proper medical treatment helped.
He looked over at Ambrose who lay on one of the morgue's old examining tables. He was working with a ghost, performing some of the work himself, putting a new hand on his wrist.
New to him at least.
"I was betrayed," Cold Rain said.
Ambrose looked towards him, stopping in mid stitch, needle driver in his hand. "By who?"
"One of the nobles I am sure. Not that they would have known they were betraying me of course. It was foolish of me not to realize that I was not the only who saw the nobles of this city as useful tools."
"So they unknowingly betrayed you?"
"Yes," Cold Rain told him. "Though that will not save them."
"You are going to kill Flau?"
"Yes, I believe I will."
"Is that wise?"
"Pardon?" Cold Rain locked his gaze with that of Ambrose, waited for him to look away.
He did, but he did not back down, "It may cause problems. And we've already used more resources than we should have." He paused and then said. "Our patron would not be pleased."
Cold Rain did not reply immediately. It came back to the Black Heron. He supposed he could not afford to displease her.
"You are not incorrect," Cold Rain said, "but there are values in causing problems." He made it sound as if he had already considered Ambrose's objection. "We might force our opponents to act before they are ready."
"Of course," Ambrose agreed.
Brutal violence was simple, and was something that Cold Rain could and had used to good effect. Killing Flau and any other noble he could link to Flau would be easy enough, but finding a way to make the deaths serve a greater purpose would take time.
He stood, the treatment finished, and walked over to one of the morgue drawers, pulled it open. The rails had been lubricated and it made hardly a sound as it came out. The zombie lay there, as it had the past few days. He looked down into the milky dead eyes.
How would the Mask of Winters dealt with this?
The old ghost was a brilliant tactician, who had used assassination to strengthen his position. How might Cold Rain do the same? Another attempt at trying to bring his enemies into a trap? Could he find them, one at a time, and kill them that way?
His thoughts were interrupted by a metal on metal clang as the door at the far end of the room was flung open.
One of Ambrose's ghostly servants had entered. A young appearing woman, dressed in light armour, a bow over her shoulder.
"Someone approaches, through the Shadowlands," the ghost said.
"Who?" Cold Rain asked, and then, "describe them?"
"I've never seen them before," the ghost said, looking between Ambrose and Cold Rain. "A figure, all in soul steel armour, carrying a huge axe, riding upon a skeletal steed."
For a moment Cold Rain though the ghost was describing the First and Forsaken Lion, for the Death Lord was known for the black suit of armour that he always wore. However the Death Lord was known to be a giant of a man, and the ghost had said nothing about size.
"What else?" Cold Rain asked. He avoided asking about size, for he did not want to betray his fears.
"I don't know. A woman, I think."
A woman all in soul steel armour, carrying a huge axe. It was a description that meant nothing to him.
He looked towards Ambrose.
Ambrose shook his head.
"She comes here?"
"Yes. She is on a path that only leads here."
"How long?"
"At the pace she was moving I think about ten minutes."
"Can you move?" Cold Rain asked Ambrose.
"Two more minutes to finish this stitching."
"Soon as you are done, go. I will meet this visitor."
Ambrose focused his attention on the work he did on his arm. Not looking up he asked, "Why not flee as well?"
"Because a wandering stranger might be useful to us. Wandering the underworld…" His tone thoughtful as he trailed off.
"What?" Ambrose actually looked up from his work.
"Back to stitching. Once you are done and leave here see if you can find the ghosts of those recently killed, those of the Terrestrials."
Ambrose nodded and went back to his work, threading thin wires of soul steel through his skin.
LineBreak
Courtesan had touched upon the dark essence on the Underworld, called upon it, and her own will, and had reached into the dead dreams of the Neverborn. For a moment she had been completely open to those dread beings, for a time shorter than a heart beat. But that had been enough, enough for the Faded Maiden to know where the other Abyssal was.
And now she was close, to a shadowland that would let her enter Creation, to where she would find Courtesan.
The steed she had dismissed, and she walked along a narrow crevice. The Faded Maiden had no fear of the tight walls that rose around her. She had no room for fear.
Ahead of her, an open door.
She passed through it, into a morgue.
A fine place, she thought. Strong in death.
A single person awaited her, seated upon one of the examination tables, clad in soul steel armour, a scythe of the same metal at his side. Upon his shoulder perched a ration. The black bird called at her in challenge.
"Calm Baron, she is a guest."
Faded Maiden did not dismiss the man, but her attention was elsewhere. She scented the air, making her senses sharper than any hound. Funeral spices, death, blood, all that she would have expected, but under it, the smell of clean soap, and talcum powder.
She followed that scent to another of the examination tables, upon it found bloody bandages and several arrows.
She picked one of the arrows up, smelled the fletching of desert bird feathers.
"Where did these arrows some from?" she demanded, looking towards the man. Her voice was harsh, croaky.
The man looked at her for several seconds, then said, "Most recently, my flesh."
The Faded Maiden had to restrain herself and keep her calm as she asked, "And the archer?"
"A small woman, blonde, dressed like a doll. I am most certain she is an Abyssal, like us."
He was fishing for more information. She saw no harm in giving him some. "Yes, she is an Abyssal, like me. I am here to end her."
"Then we might work together." He smiled.
That smile was a well crafted lie, but Faded Maiden asked, "Why do you need help?"
"It is not only your Abyssal that I face. At least two more Exalts, a Solar and Lunar, and a third that I am not certain of, but dangerous non the less."
Faded Maiden was not surprised to hear the Lunar was still with that little whore of a traitor, but a Solar as well? It did stack the odds in Courtesan's favour.
But she had a possible ally in this man, and she could not but help but think the Neverborn had provided him. Not that she could trust him completely.
"This place, it is Chiaroscuro, correct?"
He nodded. "It is."
No Death Lord claimed it, as far as she knew. She could ask him who his master was, but had no guarantee of getting a true answer. And such a question might make any sort of alliance impossible.
"And you know where they are?"
For now she would watch, find out what she could. When she returned to the Walker in Darkness with Courtesan's head she would tell him what she learned.
"That I do not know."
Behind her helm the Faded Maiden blinked in surprise. "What?"
"They hide from me well, and this is a large city. I've attempted to lead them into a trap, but it did not work well."
She thought about the bloody bandages and supposed that he might be downplaying how well it did not go. "Then what do you plan to do?"
"I think I have been open enough with you, now I would like you to tell me some things."
"And if I chose not to?"
"Good luck on searching on your own. I hope you can soften up the Abyssal and her other Exalted friends before they kill you. Assuming you can even find them."
She took a step forward and he put his hand upon his scythe.
The ration cawed again, spreading its wings.
For several seconds neither moved, then the Faded Maiden took a step back. "The archer betrayed our Master, hers and mine, and I will not tell you who my Master is." She waited a moment but the man said nothing. "I was sent to end her. She had made an ally of the Lunar you speak of, somehow. Once she is dead I will leave here and not come back."
"That is not a promise you can make, for your Master may say otherwise."
"What you say is not wrong, however my Master has no interest at this time in Chiaroscuro."
He regarded her for several seconds and she wondered if he was attempting to weigh the truth of her words.
If he truly did need help then he needed her. And if he needed her help that meant he could not find it elsewhere. Was he a renegade, or was his Master limited in what he could do?
Were she in a similar situation would she trust another Abyssal?
Of course not, but she would use one.
And then afterwards possibly attempt to dispose of such a temporary ally.
"Several Dragon Bloods were killed this evening. I am attempting to find their ghosts. I believe I will find their killer that way."
"And their killer is?"
"The Solar."
"It is certainly true that some ghosts have a connection to those who killed them, but it is not certain."
He shrugged his shoulders, but she suspected that he was more concerned than he let on. She would almost say desperate.
"I am called the Final Priestess," she said, for she would not give this stranger her true title, one that could lead back to Walker in Darkness."
He nodded. "I am called the Black Ration."
His title was certainly as made up as her own, but they did not need to know that much about each other to work together.
"Then Black Ration, I offer you my assistance. We share a common enemy."
"Agreed." He stood and took up his scythe. "Let me show you layout of this place, small as it is."
Faded Maiden nodded.
Once Courtesan was dead she might kill the man, if she thought she could succeed when the time came. But more important was seeing Courtesan dead and then returning swiftly to her Master.
LineBreak
Mina's wounds had stopped bleeding, even the one in her side which had been the deepest. Meep looked down at her mistress laying face down, naked, upon the bed. She gently touched the skin of her shoulder, running her fingers down her back, stopping short of the wounded flesh.
A soft sigh was a reward for Meep, a tiny murmur of pleasure.
The skin around the wound was a little warm, and there was swelling along the edges of the cut. Exalted healed quickly, but it was simply foolish to ignore a wound. Shifting about so she straddled Mina across her lower back, just above the swell of her buttocks, she settled herself down, her bare skin against Mina's.
Next to them, upon some towels, was a small collection of medical tools. Meep filled a green jade bowl with clean water, then ran her hands across the rim, using a little of her essence to activate the magic within.
The water warmed, and a crisp scent, like pine and lemon, rose from it. She took a cloth, soaked it in the water, and then used it to clean the wound in her mistresses side as well as a number of other small hurts she had acquired. By the time she was finished the most minor of the wounds were completely healed.
She opened a slim case of green jade, revealing the eight needles within, four pairs made from each of the magical metals, save soul steel. Using the needles to gently pierce Mina's skin, feeding essence into them, she made the other wounds heal quickly, and without scars.
Finally she washed away the dry blood and dressed the wounds that had not yet completely healed. However even the wound in Mina's side looked more like a bad scratch than a sword slash that would have possibly been fatal for anyone other than an Exalt.
Mina had drowsed while Meep worked, but as Meep put the tools aside Mina woke fully and turned beneath the other woman so she lay on her back. She slid her hands up Meep's bare ribs, and then turned her wrists so she was cupping Meep's small breasts.
Meep felt her heart speed up, a building warmth between her legs.
"Not a single wound on you," Mina said, brushing her thumbs lightly across Meep's hardening nipples.
Meep took a deep breath and shook her head. "No Mistress."
"Good, I hate it when you get hurt."
"I don't like it when you get hurt Mistress."
Mina slid her hands beneath Meep's arms, then around her slim back, pulling the other woman down on top of her, turning her leg so her upper thigh slid between Meep's legs.
"I'm a Dawn, and your Mistress," she whispered into Meep's ear. "It is expected I will get hurt." Then she gently bit down on Meep's earlobe.
Meep trembled, her body stiffening as the teeth gently pinched the skin.
Mina released her teeth. "Do you understand Meep?" She lifted her leg, her thigh pressing more forcefully between Meep's legs.
"Yes Mistress," Meep said, a soft gasp.
"Good," and she turned her face and brushed her lips across Meep's. Meep parted her lips, opening her mouth, and she felt Mina's tongue slide between her teeth, their tongues twining together.
Meep knew her Mistress craved this, after the battle, after the death. For them to come together, warm, moist skin pressed close, the sense of oneness. She craved it as well.
With an air of almost desperation the two sought to give and receive pleasure as the night slid away towards the dawn.
LineBreak
Part of Lightning could appreciate the beauty of the Abyssal. Her pale skin and blonde hair, red lips and large eyes. Had she just been a woman, with none of the feeling of connection and corruption, Lightning supposed she would have been attracted to her; A pleasantly attractive companion for a single night.
But she was not just a woman.
She was someone that Lightning was connected to. There was a bond between them that felt right, and yet greatly corrupted at the same time. It was so confusing that it was all Lightning could do at times to not savage the small woman, to tear her open and feast on her heart.
So that beauty was just one more problem.
Her gaze dropped down to the wound that Courtesan had taken, an angry, ugly wound, bleeding sluggishly, bruising like diseased flesh around the gash.
It would heal, soon enough.
Courtesan was an Exalted after all.
But Lightning had no stomach to smell the blood from the wound while it did.
She held out her left arm, and after making the nail of her right thumb long and sharp she slashed the skin open midway between left wrist and elbow.
Courtesan jumped back, trembling. She had been shaking ever since Lightning had ordered her to strip off her clothing.
"Drink," she said, growling as she held out her arm.
Courtesan looked uncertain, she looked frightened.
"Drink it," she ordered.
Courtesan moved closer, timid, frightened, like some scared rabbit.
It made Lightning angry.
Her lips closed over the wound, tongue lightly probing the cut as her throat worked and she swallowed the blood.
Lightning called upon the power of her own blood as it flowed into the other woman, directing it to heal the wound in Courtesan's side.
"Enough," she said, pushing Courtesan away, harder than she needed to.
Courtesan stumbled back, fell onto her bottom, a small trickle of blood running down her chin.
"Get dressed," Lightning ordered, and left the room, running her hand over the cut on her arm, smearing the blood down towards her wrist, closing the wound as she did so.