The gholam glared at him, then stumbled up the steps toward the burning building. It dashed inside, perhaps deciding to flee. Mat was not about to let it escape, not this time. He charged it up the steps and ducked through the flaming doorway, reaching out a hand as Talmanes tossed his ashandarei to him from a side hallway.
Mat caught the weapon, leaving the medallions wrapped around his forearms. The gholam spun on him; the hallway was already burning, the heat from the sides and above oppressive. Smoke lined the ceiling. Talmanes coughed, a kerchief held to his face.
The gholam turned on Mat, snarling and attacking. Mat met the beast in the middle of the wide hallway, bringing up his ashandarei to block the gholam’s clawlike hands. The butt of Mat’s ashandarei had been singed from sitting in the fire, and the wood smoldered at the end. It left a trail of smoke in the air.
He attacked for all he was worth, spinning the ashandarei, the back end leaving a whirl of smoke around him. The gholam tried to strike at him, but Mat dropped the ashandarei with one hand and flung one of the medallions like a knife, hitting the creature in the face. It howled and stumbled back, face burned and smoking. Mat stepped forward, slamming the end of the ashandarei against the medallion as it hit the floor, flipping it back up and hitting the creature again.
He pushed forward, slashing with the ashandarei, and several of the creature’s fingers flew free. Sure, it did not bleed and did not seem to feel pain from ordinary wounds, but that would slow it a bit.
The gholam recovered, hissing, eyes wide with anger. Its smile was gone now. It leaped forward in a blur, but Mat spun and sliced down the creature’s tan shirt, exposing its chest. Then he whipped the second medallion to the side, hitting the gholam as it clawed at his arm, slicing the skin and spraying blood across the wall.
Mat grunted. The gholam howled and stumbled back, farther down the burning hallway. Mat was sweating from the heat, from the exertion. Mat could not fight this creature. Not for long. That did not matter. He pushed forward, letting his ashandarei become a blur. He slapped the flat of it—with the medallion—against the gholam. When the beast recovered, he flung the second medallion at its face, making it duck. But then he kicked the third one up to hit it on the neck.
He left lines of smoke in the air as he spun the ashandarei, grabbing it in two hands again. The end of his weapon glowed and smoldered. He found himself yelling in the Old Tongue.
“Al dival, al kiserai, al mashi!” For light, glory, and love!
The gholam stepped back, snarling at the barrage. It looked over its shoulder, seeming to notice something behind, but Mat’s attack drew its attention back.
“Tai’daishar!” True Blood of Battle!
Mat forced the creature toward an open doorway at the back of the hallway. The room beyond was entirely dark. No light of the fires reflected off walls there.
“Carai manshimaya Tylin. Carai an manshimaya Nalesean. Carai an manshimaya ayend’an!” Honor of my blade for Tylin. Honor of my blade for Nalesean. Honor of my blade for the fallen.
The call of vengeance.
The gholam backed into the darkened room, stepping onto a bone white floor, eyes flickering down.
Taking a deep breath, Mat leaped through the doorway with a final burst of strength and slammed the smoldering butt of his ashandarei into the side of the creature’s head. A spray of sparks and ash exploded around its face. The creature cursed and stumbled to the right.
And there, it nearly stepped off the edge of a platform hanging above an expansive void. The gholam hissed in anger, hanging with one leg over the void, flailing to keep its balance.
From this side, the doorway into the room was ringed by a glowing white light—the edges of a gateway made for Skimming. “I don’t know if you can die,” Mat said softly. “I hope to the Light that you can’t.” He raised a boot and slammed it into the thing’s back, throwing it off the platform into the darkness. It fell, twisting in the air, looking up at him with horror.
“I hope you can’t die,” Mat said, “because I’m going to enjoy the thought of you falling through that blackness forever, you misbegotten son of a goat’s droppings.” Mat spit over the side, sending a bit of bloody spittle down, plummeting after the gholam. Both disappeared into the blackness below.
Sumeko walked up beside him. The stout Kinswoman had long dark hair and the air of a woman who did not like being ordered about. Nearly every woman had that same air. She’d been standing just inside the gateway, to the side where she would be unseen from the hallway. She had to be there to maintain the white platform, which was in the shape of a large book. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Thanks for the gateway,” Mat said, shouldering his ashandarei, the butt still trailing a thin line of smoke. She’d made the gateway from inside the palace, using it to travel to this point and open the gateway in the hallway. They’d hoped that would keep the gholam from feeling her channel, as she’d made the weaves in the palace.
Sumeko sniffed. Together, the two walked out through the gateway and into the building. Several of the Band were hurriedly putting out the fire. Talmanes rushed up to Mat as the gateway vanished, accompanied by another of the Kinswomen, Julanya.
“You sure that darkness goes on forever?” Mat asked. Julanya was a plump, pretty woman who would have fit nicely on Mat’s knee. The white in her hair did not detract from her prettiness at all.
“Near as we can tell, it does,” Sumeko said. “This was quite nearly bungled, Matrim Cauthon. The thing didn’t seem surprised by the gateway. I think it sensed it anyway.”
“Still managed to fight it off the platform,” Mat said.
“Barely. You should have let us deal with the beast.”
“Wouldn’t have worked,” Mat said, taking a wetted kerchief from Talmanes. Sumeko glanced at his arm, but Mat didn’t ask for Healing. That cut would heal right nicely. Might even have a good scar. Scars impressed most women, so long as they were not on the face. What did Tuon think of them?
Sumeko sniffed. “The pride of men. Do not forget that we lost some of our own to that thing.”
“And I’m glad I could help you get revenge,” Mat said. He smiled at her, though she was right, it had nearly been bungled. He was certain the gholam had felt the Kinswoman beyond that doorway as they approached. Fortunately, though, the thing hadn’t seemed to consider women who could channel to be a threat.
Talmanes handed Mat back the two fallen medallions. He tucked them away and untied the one on his ashandarei, slipping it back onto his neck. The Kin watched those medallions with a predatory hunger. Well, they could do that all they wanted. He intended one for Olver and the other for Tuon, once he could find her.
Captain Guybon, Birgitte’s second-in-command, walked into the building. “The beast is dead?”
“No,” Mat said, “but close enough for a Crown contract.”
“Crown contract?” Guybon asked, frowning. “You asked the Queen’s aid on this endeavor. This wasn’t done on her contract.”
“Actually,” Talmanes said, clearing his throat, “we just rid the city of a murderer who has taken, at last count, nearly a dozen of her citizens. We’re entitled to combat pay, I surmise.” He said it with a completely straight face. Bless the man.
“Bloody right,” Mat said. Stopping the gholam and getting paid for it. That sounded like a sunny day for a change. He tossed his kerchief to Guybon and walked away, leaving behind the Kinswomen who folded their arms and watched with displeasure. Why was it a woman could look angry with a man even when he had done exactly what he had said he would, risking his neck even?
“Sorry about the fire, Mat,” Talmanes said. “Didn’t mean to drop the lantern like that. I know I was just supposed to lead him into the building.”
“Worked out fine,” Mat said, inspecting the butt of his ashandarei. The damage was minor.
They had not known where—or if—the gholam would attack him, but Guybon had done his job well, getting everyone out of the nearby buildings, then picking a hallway that the Kinswoman would make the gateway into. He’d sent a member of the Band to tell Talmanes where to go.
Well, Elayne and Birgitte’s idea with the gateway had worked out, even if it hadn’t been the way they’d planned. It was still better than what Mat had been able to come up with; his only idea had been to try to stuff one of those medallions down the gholam’s throat.
“Let’s collect Setalle and Olver from their inn,” Mat said, “and get back to camp. Excitement’s over for now. About bloody time.”
Chapter 32
A Storm of Light
The city of Maradon burned. Violent, twisting columns of smoke rose from dozens of buildings. The careful city planning kept the fires from spreading too quickly, but did not stop them entirely. Human beings and tinder. They went together.
Ituralde crouched inside a broken building, rubble to his left, a small band of Saldaeans to his right. He’d abandoned the palace early on; it had been swarmed with Shadowspawn. He’d left it packed with all the oil they’d been able to find, then had the Asha’man set it aflame, killing hundreds of Trollocs and Fades trapped inside.
He glanced out the window of his current hiding place. He could have sworn he’d seen a patch of bare sky out the window, but the ash and smoky haze in the air made it difficult to tell. A building nearby burned so intensely that he could feel the heat through the stone.
He used the smoke and the fire. Almost everything on a battlefield could be an advantage. In this case, once Yoeli had accepted that the city was lost, they’d stopped defending it. Now they used the city as a killing ground.
The streets created a maze that Ituralde—with the help of the Saldaeans—knew and his enemies did not. Every rooftop was a ridge to give high ground, every alley a secret escape route, every open square a potential trap.
The Trollocs and their commanders had made a mistake. They assumed that Ituralde cared about protecting the city. They mistook him. All he cared about now was doing as much damage to them as possible. So, he used their assumptions against them. Yes, their army was large. But any man who had ever tried to kill rats knew that the size of his hammer didn’t matter so long as the rats knew how to hide.
A hesitant group of the creatures shuffled down the blackened street outside Ituralde’s building. The Trollocs snapped and hooted warily at one another. Some sniffed at the air, but the smoke ruined their sense of smell. They completely missed Ituralde and his small band, just inside the building.
Hoofbeats rang on the other end of the street. The Trollocs began to shout, and a group hurried to the front, setting wickedly barbed spears down with the butts against the cobbles. Charging that would be death for cavalry. The Trollocs were learning to be more careful.
But they weren’t learning well enough. The cavalry came into view, revealing one man leading a group of wounded and exhausted horses. A distraction.
“Now,” Ituralde said. The archers around him sprang up and began shooting out the windows at the Trollocs. Many died; others spun and charged.