Chapter 29

Sister Theresa leaned against the window; she had clearly spotted Sheila, ringed by demon-hunters.

"That's the Iron Thorn Gang—Ford City's local guild of hunters. Every member is wanted in a dozen kingdoms. They don't worship any gods or follow any creed; they're bounty hunters, pure and simple. Out front is Sevi, the guild-master's son."

Her gaze settled on the boy beside the maid—eyes blazing with youthful rage, clothes dusty, skin cross-hatched with cuts and bruises. He had stepped in front of Sheila, shielding her, his face already swelling with fresh welts.

A passer-by outside the cathedral tried to intervene when he saw the maid and the boy being bullied, but before he could reach them a blond demon-hunter cracked a whip across his cheek. The man clutched the bleeding welt, swallowed his anger, and slunk away.

Only the boy remained. He still guarded Sheila, teeth clenched like a young tiger staring down its first prey. Every time they knocked him down he rose again. The hunters struck viciously, and soon his face was so battered it resembled a pig's—yet he would not fall.

The sixteen-year-old maid, desperate beyond hope, kept crying out a name—Al—over and over. At last Al collapsed from exhaustion, yet from his throat came a ragged whisper: "Sheila... run... run..."

She gathered his far-from-broad frame into her arms. Never before had she embraced him; now she held him close, feeling as though she clasped a bundle of kindling—dry, yet searing hot, as if something within had caught flame and was burning bright.

From her window the nun murmured, "I must help Miss Sheila."

The words had barely left her lips when a shadow burst past her like a hawk diving for the ground below.

The hunters shivered. A blur of darkness slipped among them like a ghost. Then a cold, razor-edged assault struck from every direction, as though the fury of devils in the void itself had surrounded them.

They sensed death coming and reached for their blades, yet only felt a crushing force burst against their chests, followed by searing pain. One after another they flew backward like kites with cut strings, crimson marking their arcs.

"Stand back. I'll handle this."

The shadow solidified into a young Fern—blade already in hand, an Iron Thorn alchemist's sword. Sheila lay on the ground clutching Al, sobbing. "I... I was bringing breakfast to Mister Macquire and Mister Zod... they stole it... and wanted me to spend the night..."

Baron's gaze flicked to the breakfast tray in a retainer's hands, then locked on the blond hunter astride his horse—Sevi, heir to the Iron Thorn Gang.

Sevi wasted no words. "Cripple him."

The retainers advanced, alchemical circuits glowing across their faces, swords crossing in perfect unison—clearly intent on crippling Baron for good.

"Mister L, you should go... there are so many of them... don't risk yourselves for us..."

Tears cut channels through the grime on Sheila's cheeks. She watched the man's back with a mingling of secret joy and bitter regret—joy that Mister L, the hunter praised by the Baron himself, had stepped forward for her and Al; regret that she had dragged him, and Al, into danger.

"Miss Sheila," Baron replied, "if we left now, wouldn't that make us rather ungrateful?"

A hearty laugh rang down from the cathedral loft. Two shadows leapt from above, using a pair of hunters as stepping-stones on the way down—Macquire and Zod, who had apparently been drinking since dawn.

"Who goes there? Do you even know who we are?" the pinned hunters screamed.

Macquire drew his blade. "Walking corpses? Demons? Blood fiends? Whatever we are, we're not human—because no human could pull off a stunt like this."

"Talk's cheap when you're carving people up. Planning to rob her virtue too?"

Zod smashed an empty flask across a hunter's skull, then whipped his sword from its scabbard and clubbed another senseless with the flat.

"Only three bounty hunters," Sevi snarled. "Kill them all! The consequences—I'll—"

Mid-sentence his world spun; his pride, that golden mane, was ground beneath a boot. Baron drove several savage kicks into his stomach until Sevi retched. Then he upended the reclaimed breakfast tray over the young lord's face, smearing egg and jam like paint.

"Interest on what you already owe," he said softly.

Pinned beneath Baron's heel, Sevi howled. "What are you waiting for? Kill them!"

Stone split beneath stamping boots as the retainers closed in, steel flashing in a tightening ring.

Baron tilted his head. "Scared?"

Macquire swallowed. "A bit."

"Then drink to steady the nerves."

Zod produced another flask. The three of them drank, hurled the empty bottle aside, and waded into the fight.

...

"What happened?" Yalilan asked, surveying the three men who stood shoulder to shoulder—battered, blood-crusted, their clothes stiff with dried gore. Her gaze lingered on Baron.

Baron grinned, teeth scarlet. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine."

Yalilan nodded. "Don't miss tonight's blood-fiend hunt. The city's wizards have divined its likely range... reinforcements won't reach us in time. After this, we're on our own."

Without another word she stepped over Sevi—face swollen, groaning on the ground.

Andre, walking beside her, watched Baron disappear into the sunlight. Hesitating only a moment, he raised a furtive thumb—whether Baron saw it or not. He had never liked Baron, yet at this moment disliking him was impossible. Their rivalry remained, yet it did not stop Andre from savoring Baron's deed. It wasn't just that Baron had stood up for Sheila—he had fulfilled Andre's own lifelong dream: beating that arrogant peacock Sevi senseless.

Then he saw the young hunter flip him the bird in return. Andre's face darkened; he resolved that on the journey home Baron would ride in the ox-cart.

...

Inside the cathedral, Sister Theresa and the nuns gently bandaged Zod and Macquire. The two were badly cut; even demon-hunters needed time to heal. Tonight's hunt would find them flat on their backs.

Baron, who had fought beside them, had started with far more wounds—Sevi had singled him out. Yet within half a day his cuts had scabbed and begun to flake away. When little novice nun Olivia came to check, she returned flushed, reporting that Mister L was perfectly fine and reading in the library.

Reading... The thought sparked something in Theresa. She left the two sleeping hunters in the little novice's care and hurried off clutching a heavy tome.

...

In the library, Baron—torso wrapped in bandages—opened the Traveller's Journal.

Inside, apart from the flyleaf bearing the name Lucifer, nearly every page was blank. Only a few held writing; one was stained with blood. He skimmed:

[7 Feb, Star-Moon City of Heiwede. Beneath the Twin Towers I found a beggar girl...]

[8 Feb, attended a ball at the Rose Church. The Saintess White Deer offered me wine, though her knight glared oddly...]

Pages of emptiness followed.

[9 Mar: Saw vampires slain by knights in Heiwede. Blood splashed the journal—good thing I keep another diary...]

He turned to the blood-stained page and froze. It was no diary entry but instructions:

[Blood-path advancement for demon-hunters: one drop of viscount-class vampire essence, a Hunter Codex, one vampire corpse, and plentiful blood (the more the better). After induction, resist the urge to feed for a quarter of an hour.]

Blood-path? Aside from Silver-path and Beast-path, there was another branch?

A tremor ran through him. As he turned the next leaf, a piece of parchment slipped free. He caught it—and instantly understood. It was the Codex for the demon-hunter profession.

"Mister L, what are you reading?"

Theresa's sudden appearance made Baron snap the journal and Codex into his ring. He lifted a treatise on blood scripture at random. "Just browsing. Learning a bit of history."

Theresa nodded and opened her thick tome to a marked page. "Mister L, is this the Timebloom you're looking for?"

A ripple crossed Baron's face. Not only had Theresa found the herb, the illustration was identical to the one in the Dwarf's Book Baggin had shown him in the Inside.

Baggin's words echoed:

[This is how the Dwarf's Book depicts Timebloom. Ancient dwarven scholars claimed it only blooms in the Rift of the Stone-Pusher.]

[The Rift of the Stone-Pusher? Where is that?]

[Another world.]

A lightning-bolt of disbelief crashed through his mind, waves beating against stone until they shattered.

"So Timebloom can only be found in the Rift of the Stone-Pusher?" Baron's voice shook without his notice.

"The Stone-Pusher?" Sister Theresa sounded surprised. "Hasn't that been a magical projection formed from star-fragments of the laws of time in every city of Prol for tens of thousands of years?"

"Then you mean..." Disappointment flickered; the herb would not be so easy to obtain.

"I've seen that plant!"

A delighted voice spoke up beside them. They turned to see maid Sheila, bouncing on her toes, cheeks scarlet at Baron's bandaged bare chest.

"Where did you see it?" Baron asked, uncertain.

She stepped forward with quiet dignity, first thanking Baron and his comrades for the day's rescue, then pointed at the picture, bright with excitement:

"Mister L, the Timebloom you seek—I saw it! Baron Cambera had a whole bundle of it in his medicinal collection!"

Before Baron could ask more, a whistle for assembly sounded from outside the window.

That sound, in a sense, was the clarion call to charge. Night was about to fall, and the promised hunt for the blood fiends would arrive on schedule!