Bank of Westminster

Chapter 23

No!

Zod and Macquire's faces changed; they were about to warn Baron to be careful.

But it was already too late. The thug's left shoulder and hidden elbow slammed viciously into Baron's right shoulder!

Andre, surrounded by a circle of demon-hunters, let out a cold laugh. This man from Fern wouldn't think the punishment ended just because he'd been made to ride in a straw-strewn cart, would he?

In Ford City, no one dared to provoke Andre, yet...

A low grunt of pain—nothing like the porcelain voice Andre had imagined—cut the thought short. He peered past the firelight and saw the thug clutching his elbow, propped on the ground and gasping. Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead.

The demon-hunters around the fallen man buzzed with alarm, their whispers a swarm of frightened gnats. When they looked at Baron, outrage warred with horror.

Zod and Macquire were stunned, staring at Baron in frank disbelief.

Everything had happened in the space of a heartbeat—like a whirlwind. By the time their eyes caught up, the thug was already on the ground.

"What happened?" Yalilan's servant stepped forward to ask.

Andre's face had been storm-dark a moment before, yet now he produced a courteous smile. "Tell Lady Yalilan that everything proceeds as planned. Nothing of consequence occurred—merely a trifling quarrel between demon-hunters."

Once the servant left to deliver the message, the woman known as the "Pureblood Tigress" lifted her lovely face. Sapphire eyes swept the ranks of demon-hunters behind her.

Those she regarded either lowered their heads in shy confusion or straightened their backs with bravado, faces glowing as though reviewed by a queen.

Andre met her gaze and offered a graceful, archaic bow used only among high nobility. Yalilan inclined her head in return, her attention flowing onward without pause.

Until she met a pair of black eyes—quiet as an ancient fresco never touched by sunlight.

Information surfaced in her mind.

Suspected Fernan; has a grudge with Andre; lacks the savage fire of a demon-hunter.

She looked away and sent a servant to notify the chapel's priest that the bounty company had arrived and required a guide.

...

A stout-chested, thick-waisted priest opened the door yawning; a disheveled nun slipped out behind him. When she saw the torches crowding the chapel steps, she flushed crimson and scurried back inside.

The demon-hunters who caught the sight nudged one another, shrieking with excitement and blowing teasing whistles.

The priest tore his gaze from Yalilan's curved silhouette with effort, then frowned at the whistles. "The Viscount's men seem poorly disciplined."

"They are only temporary soldiers," Yalilan answered coolly. "Where is the rite, Father? Lead the way."

The priest cast one last longing glance at Yalilan's full bosom, then clapped and called into the chapel.

A moment later, a little novice nun of perhaps eleven or twelve stepped forward, eyes swollen from weeping, wringing her hands in agitation.

The priest cleared his throat. "This child's younger sister is to be sacrificed. The village lies just outside town—she can guide you... Lady Yalilan, it is already late. Why not rest in the chapel? I have excellent wine and—"

"No need."

Yalilan lifted the girl onto the saddle in front of her and spurred her horse out of the courtyard.

Because Gillian law forbade carriages on country roads at night, the demon-hunters had to march with torches, trailing Yalilan and Andre—who rode a black horse—like a long, ragged ribbon of red and yellow flame.

She is not Carmen.

Watching the scarlet figure on the white horse draw farther away, Baron felt the turmoil in his chest subside. Their earlier meeting had let him see the woman's face clearly.

Perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, her features soft and lovely, yet her brows carried an icy distance. Curling red hair and sapphire eyes proclaimed she was no witch.

By torchlight Baron could also see, beneath her hunting garb, a mature, lithe figure—something Carmen lacked.

...

Demon-hunters, strengthened by hard bodies and hard lives, soon reached their destination.

From the outer ring—where Zod and Macquire had been left with Baron—Baron saw, rising above the village, a tall white cross. Bound to it was a tiny girl of five or six, apparently unconscious, bathed in moonlight like a bird caught in a cage of light.

The villagers, however, greeted the newcomers with anything but hospitality.

At the old man in black robes standing beneath the cross, the village's young and strong raised pitchforks and knives.

The little nun slipped from her horse, fell with the jolt, refused the hand offered by Yalilan's servant, wiped the dirt from her face, and knelt weeping before the villagers and the black-robed elder on the altar.

"Village Chief," she begged, "the demon-hunters have come. They will deal with the God-scourge fire. Please, let my sister go—she's only a child who understands nothing..."

"Silence, Olivia! How dare you profane the gods!" the village chief thundered. "Cecy was the first to see the God-scourge fire. If the gods demand a life, she shall be the first!"

Yalilan frowned. Andre seized the moment and signaled the demon-hunters. "What are you waiting for? Cut the girl down from the cross!"

The hunters surged forward. The chief's roar of "Who dares?" brought the village's young men to the ready; pitchforks whirled, knives flashed, faces blazing with such fervor that not even devils would stop this sacrifice.

"Ouch!"

One hunter could not brake in time; pitchforks raked him. Had another not yanked him back, he would have died on the spot.

These stubborn peasants!

Andre's face darkened. He drew an alchemical longsword; silver-thread circuits of the demon-hunter's trial began to crawl across his skin.

But Yalilan shook her head and murmured, "They hold the girl; we cannot act rashly."

She dismounted and walked forward. The blades and pitchforks pointed at her—but stopped inches away.

Across the barrier of steel she regarded the chief upon the altar and spoke quietly, "If your god is good, He will not let this child die. If your god is evil, then even after you sacrifice her, He will return. And the false god will be cast down by us."

"Cast down by you? What are you? A—a pretty woman, nothing more!" a young villager blurted, cheeks scarlet; the crowd burst into mocking laughter.

"Silence! How dare you insult Her Ladyship!" Andre bellowed, drawing his sword; the villagers raised their weapons in answer.

"Yes, I am only a pretty woman," Yalilan said calmly, "but a pretty woman alone could not lead so many demon-hunters to war against a god."

She touched the rose insignia on her cuirass. "I am Yalilan-Frederick, Knight-Commander of the Rose Knights under the Rose Merchants, Viscountess of Prol and Heide combined, styled the 'Pureblood Tigress.'

"I have come to Mondra under the commission of Baron Cambera to investigate the God-scourge fires."

Her words were soft, flat, and carried absolute authority.

She signaled; her servant produced the bounty writ from the Hunters' Guild. The villagers passed the parchment hand to uncertain hand until it reached the village chief—the only literate man among them.

After reading, the old chief bowed his crooked back and let out a sigh like dry leaves scraping stone.

"Most noble Viscountess," he quavered, "but gods cannot be defeated. If Cecy does not die, after you leave He will come again!"

He pointed to the twin moons, then to the cross. "Everything was foretold in the rhyme: the day of reversal, when the god wakes from slumber; the ghost-fire that drifts through the woods and brings this world an unrepentant end.

"If we do not offer the sacrifice, the entire village may be swallowed by ruin!"

As though begging someone's pardon, the old man knelt before the altar.

"Then let the waking god sleep forever."

Yalilan helped the novice to her feet and looked up at the twin moons. "I will wait for the god. Then I will kill the thing that plays at being one."

"Whole company—stand down and rest! We wait for a god!"