The scythe whistled for her face and she jerked back, almost stumbled, managed to keep her feet beneath her while the Black Cleaver advanced. China was behind her, moving out of the Ops Room into the corridor, and Tanith followed. The Black Cleaver came last, his blade catching the light when it blurred by at a particular angle. It was pretty, in its way. Tanith’s sword caught the light, too, but there was no rhythm to it. Against such an opponent her skills seemed to dull, and the grace and fluidity she was used to displaying abandoned her, replaced by clumsy movements and wild, desperate lunges. Fear made her stiff and uncoordinated, and filled her head with thoughts and strategies when it needed to be clear. The Black Cleaver let his body do the thinking. Tanith had forgotten how.

The Cleaver spun and caught her with a kick.

China flung her arms out, unleashing a wave of blue energy that cracked the ceiling and the floor, but which the Black Cleaver moved through like it was nothing more than a strong wind. China stepped back, tapping hidden tattoos around her body that glowed briefly beneath her clothes. Sigils on her legs made her faster, not only in movement but also in reaction. Even so, she barely stayed more than a hand’s length from the blade that sought her out.

Tanith leaped. The Black Cleaver spun at the last moment, deflected her blade, but as Tanith landed she sprang again, twisted in mid-air and caught him with a kick. At the same time, China tapped her chest with both index fingers and a stream of energy burst from her sternum. It hit the Cleaver square in the back and he went staggering to his knees.

The energy stream cut off and China sagged, suddenly very pale. Trails of smoke rose from the Cleaver’s coat as he stood. He turned to them, the scythe twirling in his hands.

86

Valkyrie hung on as Sanguine burrowed through the earth, the rumbling filling her ears. She kept her eyes closed against the constant spray of dirt, rocks and stones scraping painfully against her T-shirt and her bare arms. They changed direction a few times, then went up, bursting free of the darkness, into the daylight.

Sanguine let her go without a word, and he sank back into the ground.

In this part of Roarhaven, the streets were smoking ruins.

She heard her name being called – her mortal name – and scrambled up on to a hill of rubble. The wind was deceptive, carrying sounds through the ruined streets and whipping them away again before Valkyrie had time to pinpoint their source. All she could see was desolation and smoke. She hugged herself, shivering against the cold. She wished she had her jacket.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Darquesse said from behind her, “but you look terrible.”

Valkyrie turned, and Darquesse’s gaze dropped to her arms.