NONE SO VILE

23: Children of Empire

Albedo, Rennaire, 1809.

The Emperor of Rennaire walked before his soldiers with grace and purpose. They belonged to an elite unit of light infantry riflemen, trained to operate independently during a battle to undermine the enemy sidelines. Their weapons and uniforms were polished and pressed to perfection, but there was a wornness to their features. Hooded eyes, scarred faces. 

These men have seen their share of battle. 

Emperor Leon reached the end of the column, ascending the small stage that had been erected for this purpose. The parade ground was divided in two – on the left stood several rows of commemorated soldiers, nearly two hundred in total. On the right stood the larger battalion to which the division belonged. They were here to witness the honouring of their brothers-in-arms.

“Behold!" Cried Leon, raising one arm towards the left. “The pride of Rennaire, my fair sons of battle! They marched, and with each step they took, Kiberland quaked in her boots!" The words felt like they belonged to someone else, but the Emperor pressed on. 

“It was a bloody and vicious fight, but you men formed a wall of brotherhood and glory, bringing great honour upon yourself and your families!"

The division's standard-bearer took his cue, stepping forth and raising up the Rennairan flag for all to see. “For the Emperor!" He cried, and as he slammed the standard's butt into the parade ground bricks, every soldier echoed him –

“FOR THE EMPEROR!"

“My beautiful sons," Leon continued. “Your division, the Thirty-Fourth Rifles of Suné, have earned my imperial standard! It is not just a thing, it is a symbol. A symbol of your sacrifice, your tenacity, and your courage! It is a testament to our unity, and our unwavering determination to conquer. Under its watchful eye, we shall march forward, united as one, and emerge triumphant over any foe!"

All fell silent as the Imperial Guard brought out the new standard. As was tradition, the standard-bearer of the thirty-fourth lowered his own, wrapping the flag about the staff before giving it away. The Imperial Guards then approached, hefting up the replacement. 

It was taller than an ordinary standard. The staff was made of thick, dark wood, and on its front hung the standard of Rennaire. The purple unicorn stood brilliantly against the yellow stripes, the blue shield bursting from the fabric. The stitching was magnificent, but what was truly special about one of the Emperor's Standards was the golden bust of the Rennairan unicorn, perched proudly atop the staff. It glimmered in the afternoon sun, meticulously sculpted by the best goldworkers Albedo had to offer. Beneath it rested a plaque, upon which Leon's blessing was etched: 

34th SONS OF THE EMPIRE.

EARNED THROUGH HONOUR AND BLOOD.

The standard-bearer of the thirty-fourth raised his new charge high, allowing the flag to billow beneath the golden unicorn. The division men all stood a little straighter, some even had tears glistening in their eyes. Opposite them, the battalion stamped their feet, all saluting as one. 

The Emperor cleared his throat. “With this eagle leading the way, we shall write our names in the annals of history, forever remembered as the heroes of a new era!" His raised his fist to them all. “For glory!"

“FOR GLORY!" Cried the men, their cheers breaking like waves on the shore. They raised their swords in salute, clapping and shouting their loyalty for the whole city to hear. 

Leon stepped back from the stage. The Emperor's Standard was the highest accolade a division could achieve. There were less than fifty of them in the entire Rennairan army, and they were considered by all as the greatest prize. They signified a regiment of men personally seen and recognised by the Emperor; men who stood far above the ordinary, men who would and could do anything for their nation. 

Leon rubbed at the loose fur on his face, scowling. An advisor – he couldn't recall the man's name – came shimmying up to him as he walked back towards the palace. 

“Your Imperial Grace," the ferret said, bowing deeply even as he raised a small bundle of papers. “The new proposals for the redevelopment in Albedo's western ward have come, perhaps I can summarise them and–"

“No," Leon said swiftly. He needed to get away, out of sight. “I am tired. Please, leave them with me, and do not disturb me." 

“I… are you well, sire?" 

People are used to the Emperor having boundless energy. No problem is ever too small for him. Well, not today. 

“I am fine, clerk." He snatched the papers from the ferret, who yipped. “That will be all. Your… Emperor desires rest, for now. Go back and help see to the soldiers." 

“Yes, your Imperial Grace!" The ferret bowed once more, whirling on his feet and scampering back to the parade ground. 

How does he do it, I will never know. 

Leon did his best to avoid the constant advisors, clerks, and merchants vying for his attention as he returned to the palace. He found the stairs, trying to avoid catching anyone's eye as he quickly climbed the steps to the royal bedchamber. Some of the servants had to be almost bussed out of the way, they were so eager to come up and report. 

Damn it Leon, why do this to yourself?

Almost out of breath, he shoved into the royal bedroom and slammed the door behind him, sighing against it. 

“Finally." Mercifully alone, the Emperor went to the small washroom on the western side of the room. He stopped before the mirror, studying his own face. 

The features were all there. The strong jaw, the chipped ear, the sharp blue eyes. And yet, there was something off about it. An indescribable sense of something that simply was not Leon Valoisier. 

“I do not know how much longer I can take it," he whispered, raising his paws to the face. He pressed them into his bronze fur, and gently tugged apart the threads of other which held the flesh in place. 

Alabaster felt the corpse-meat slide from his body, dripping off his face and claws to pile in a gooey mess at his feet. It was a relief to feel the stinging touch of sorcery evaporate off his scales. 

Come back to me, my love, he thought, watching himself in the mirror. The repurposed corpse at his feet was one of a dozen. Prior to their visit to Joléport, Leon had ordered that any jaguars sentenced to death were to be hanged instead of beheaded. The corpses were then gathered up, and brought to Alabaster's dungeon where he could work the flesh into a passable necrovisage. 

It would not fool anyone who knew Leon exceptionally well, but it seemed there were fewer and fewer of those people around with each passing month. Alabaster had seen it happening himself; the slow deification that accompanied Leon's ascension to emperor. Almost none approached him as a man now, they saw him as a symbol, or a religious figure. Artists created masterwork paintings depicting him as a titan among mortals. The most famous piece showed Leon stood atop a mountain of Kiberland corpses, a sword in one paw, a pistol in the other as he duelled two Angels simultaneously. 

Doesn't matter that he never fought two at once, the people will believe what they want. That particular piece looked like something one would typically find in a grand cathedral – Rennaire needed religion, and if they could not go to church they would go to war.

Rennaire's relationship with the Church was a fickle thing these days. The Supreme Pontiff was still based in Audanne, and the Church of the One God still operated quasi-independently throughout Midland. As it had before Rennaire's revolution, the Church played no favourites, or rather, it sought to play each nation off every other. 

Once, Leon had wanted to eradicate it completely, but his zeal had eased with time. Now, the Church and the Emperor had found a small equilibrium.

The Church was not permitted to operate inside Rennaire officially. They were allowed to send their Angels to support whomever wished their support, but so too was Leon not begrudged for murdering those Angels when they fought his armies. 

It was awkward, but it was the best compromise allowed. Most nations now simply preferred to keep their Angels off the battlefield. 

A welcome choice, Alabaster thought. We do not have enough divine corpses to combat them all. The power of the Ishim rituals was a closely guarded secret, and Alabaster dreaded what might happen if Rennaire's enemies ever learned the truth of it.

He left the bloodied bathroom behind, moving to pour himself a drink at Leon's side-stand. The bedchamber felt weird without the jaguar in it, oddly sterile. Alabaster slept in here almost every night with the man, and yet it never felt like his, he was always more comfortable up in his tower. 

The wine had almost reached his lips when a short knock sounded at the bedroom door. 

“Begone," Alabaster said, in his most emperesque voice. “The emperor wishes to rest!"

“Baster!?" The voice was shrill and wobbly, as if it didn't have quite a firm grip on words yet. 

He could not help it, Alabaster grinned. 

Cosette opened the door and Émeric came running through. The little jaguar was seven now, and he ran straight for the dragon, crashing into his legs and squeezing as hard as his tiny paws could manage. 

“We got up, this morning… and I saw a carriage with… two horses… and, and Mama gave me a croissant…"

Alabaster patted the boy's back, pointedly ignoring the flat halo hovering only inches from his head. It was always present, and despite his mother's effort . 

“Nice to see you as well," Alabaster said. “I had the toymaker craft some new horses for you, why don't you go look?" He pointed towards the toybox he and Leon always kept stocked up for when Émeric visited, and the boy grinned. 

“Will… will you come look too?" He asked, eyes wide.

“Soon, boy, I would speak with your mother." Émeric nodded astutely, before rushing over to the toybox and sliding to his knees, eager to delve into the new treasures. 

“Is that for me?" Cosette asked, gesturing to the glass of wine in Alabaster's claw. 

“Tch." He offered it to her. “I suppose it is." 

She took it, sipping gently as she watched her son playing with the new toys. “More new toys? Leon is bad enough you know, but you positively spoil him, Alabaster. He's been talking about coming to see you since the moment he woke up." 

“I cannot imagine why," Alabaster said, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Besides the fact your toy box always has something new?" Cosette shrugged. “Don't forget, he doesn't have a father. Leon is the closest thing perhaps, but Leon is always busy and we hardly see him for more than a minute at a time. He's a little boy, all he wants is to be noticed, and you notice him." She sipped the wine, watching her son play with the new toys. “And you don't fear him, either." 

“Truth be told, it is not so different to Prince Gabriel," Alabaster said. “Before… the revolution. People feared him as well, even after his leprosy was cured they could not see past the scars. For all the wealth, that child was terribly alone. At least Émeric has you." 

“I can only do so much," Cosette sat, sighing wearily. “And I always have to be the villain in disciplining him. Not like fun Uncle Baster." 

What has become of my life? Alabaster wondered, still watching the boy play. Uncle Baster. The name gave him a soft warmth in his belly.

“And how is it treating you, wearing the emperor's clothes?"

“Utterly exhausting," Alabaster confessed. “Half the people I speak to treat me like some kind of deity, the other half seem to believe I can solve every problem in the world. Name yourself emperor and be surrounded with fools… none will speak back to me, or refuse my requests. It's maddening, I never appreciated Leon's fortitude before." 

“He's always had that," Cosette admitted. “Even when he was a little boy, he would capture the world's attention. Practically ordered our parents around."

“What was he like?" 

“Different… but the same," the jaguar replied wanly, swirling her wine. “He despised losing as a child. It got so bad no one would play anything remotely competitive with him, he would get so angry and furious at the loss that it became no fun for anyone, least of all him. I remember this ridiculous little game we played, Coppish Den. It usually uses carved pieces but we had none, so we used small sticks and stones instead. Leon was horrendous at it. He lost to nearly everyone on the estate. Eventually we all grew tired of it, as children do, but not Leon… He kept playing, every day, with himself if he had to, again and again and again like a maniac. Once he was good enough he forced all the other boys to play him again, and beat every one. They hated him even more then, and his own gloating did him no favours. Poor thing, he was never able to understand why it didn't win him their respect.

“But he was sweet too. Very sensitive, actually. Our mother always hoped he would become a poet, I believe he tried at one point but… then the war with Losaile broke out and he was off to the east. We didn't hear from him for… more than a year and then when we did, he was the general of an army." She glanced away, as if suddenly embarrassed. “That was a long time ago though. I wonder what our parents would say, if they knew he grew up to become the emperor." 

“There are no words for that kind of transformation. I understand your family was poor." 

“Said with decorum as always, Alabaster," Cosette said pointedly. “But… yes. At least, poor by nobility standards. We were still gentry, even if it was lower. We had an estate, a horse, some books..." Her voice trailed away, and Alabaster got the sense it was a topic she did not want to continue exploring. 

Leon almost never spoke of his childhood. The Emperor lived in the now, and the future. The past was something he had already done, and he rarely looked back. Alabaster did likewise, his own childhood had been brutally hard, and he had no wish to revisit it.

The proceeding lull told him that the conversation was over, and so he left to go to his desk. It was awash with small diaries and scribbled-over pieces of parchment, diagrams and even tiny models strewn about haphazardly. He brushed it all aside, retrieving a small leather case from the cupboard beneath the bench.

Cosette saw what he was doing, and sighed. “Alabaster, must you? Can't we simply have a normal playdate?"

“I am afraid not, madame," he replied, retrieving a long, steel syringe from inside. “My work must continue. For all I have learned these last years, I am still no closer to unlocking the truth behind the Angel magic. We cannot use it, and so long as we do not have it we will be made victims of it." 

“You are already a powerful sorcerer!" She protested. “What more could you need to know?" 

Alabaster smiled grimly. He knew she admired his hideous Leon impersonation, but what Cosette did not know was that it was born of corpses. She likely thought it some kind of sorcerous mask; a vaporous apparition summoned out of the aether. Better that than the truth.

“The Church has kept their understanding of Angels a closely guarded secret for hundreds of years," he explained. “Civilisation has been kept in the dark, all at the behest of powerful men who wish to maintain the status quo." 

“You sound like Leon." 

“Good. He is the first person I have ever met who truly understands what must be done in order to achieve true progress. The power wielded by the Angels shares nothing in common with the power of my own sorcery." He wanted her to understand, he needed her to. “Think of the future, Cosette. I too wish Émeric could grow up like a normal boy but he is not a normal boy. One day Rennaire will not have Leon to protect it, and if his legacy is to live on the people will need a way to defend themselves against those terrible creatures."

As soon as he said those final two words, he winced, realising the foolishness. Cosette's expression was one of chastisement. She did not like it, but she knew he was right.  

Alabaster shook off the guilt as he took the empty syringe to Émeric, teasing the boy as he was dutifully shown each of the horses. It didn't matter that Alabaster himself had commissioned them, Émeric was seven, and Angel or not he was delighted to show his friend – possibly his only friend – his new playthings. 

So peaceful, Alabaster thought. A thick lump worked into his throat as he was told the horses' names. There was a beautiful gelding that the toymaker had painted white, and Émeric had named it Baster. 

“...after me?" Alabaster asked, suddenly nervous. 

Émeric giggled, putting a chubby child's paw over his mouth. “Of course! It's Baster, see?" He spun it before the dragon, showing off the horse's figure.

“I… see." 

Alabaster felt frozen. He grieved for something he'd never known; for a childhood he hadn't had. It felt foolish, he knew it, and yet tears stung the backs of his eyes. His had not been stolen from him, for in order for something to be taken it must be yours in the first place. From the day Alabaster was hatched he had never been given love, or kindness. That world had been blood. He had not even known that children played with toys until he was eleven. 

“This will only hurt a moment, you remember, don't you?" Alabaster asked, gently taking the boy's arm in his claw. Émeric nodded stoically, staring at his white horse until Alabaster had taken his draw of blood. “I am sorry. But you are… very brave, and it is important for my work."

“I'm helping you?" 

Alabaster nodded, putting the syringe out of sight. “Yes, absolutely, you are my greatest assistant, Émeric." That got a giggle out of the boy, and he glanced back at his mother for a pause, as if trying to show off his new title.  

Eventually, his focus returned to the toys. “Baster…" the boy asked, his voice suddenly very quiet. 

“Yes?"

“Am I…" The boy frowned, eyes turning up towards his halo. He was searching for a word he did not know. “...special?"

Alabaster sighed. The question made him feel weary, but he knew exactly what Émeric meant." 

“Unfortunately, yes."

“Oh." The boy stared at his horse, frowning. “They take Angels away." 

“They used to," Alabaster agreed. He would not lie to the boy, even if he was only small. “But not anymore. Your Uncle Leon put a stop to that."

“I think… they want to take me."

Alabaster leaned in, concerned. “What makes you say that?"

The little jaguar only shook his head, and when Alabaster tried to pry out more information, he seemed to retreat deeper into himself. 

So they abandoned the topic, and instead the two talked for a little while longer on the value of toy horses, and eventually Alabaster got up, returning his drawn blood to the work bag and sliding it away. There was only so much he could take, but with how little he knew of Angelic biology, anything was better than nothing.

“Any signs of his abilities?" He asked Cosette, after the case was put away. “During tantrums, or when he is asleep?" 

She shook her head. “Nothing, and he throw fits like any normal little boy. He really is normal, Alabaster… just for that damned halo. It isn't fair."

“Life rarely is." Since the attempt on Leon's life four years ago, Émeric had never once shown any more signs of power. Alabaster had been expecting something, the Church had always said that Angel children were dangerous and so must be surrendered as early as possible but… 

I watched that boy take down half a building, Alabaster thought, watching the young jaguar's back as he raced his toy horses. The white one was clearly his favourite, and he held it high in his chubby little paw, neighing sounds braying from his muzzle. Is it only in life-threatening danger? Or more sinister? 

Perhaps the Church did something to Angel children. Something that made them more potent, or more controllable, perhaps that was why they demanded taking them so young. 

“So many questions," he whispered, turning back to Cosette. “What about your congregation? Have the pilgrims been any trouble?" 

“Oh… them," she sighed into her paw, staring at the empty wine goblet. “Some days now I hardly even notice them. They never try to touch him anymore, and they have stopped rubbing themselves on my door handles at least. They just watch, and pray, and sometimes sing." 

Alabaster nodded. After Leon had relaxed some of the laws surrounding worship of the One God, pilgrims had begun travelling to Albedo on spiritual journeys. They came from all over Midland, in reverence of the Angel child. Ordinarily, Angel children were spirited away to hidden monasteries by the Church and never seen again, until they reached adulthood. The pilgrims seemed to exist in a faith that was outside of the traditional teachings, a minor schism faction or something similar, Alabaster was not certain. 

They came to Cosette's estate – which was opposite the palace grounds – and camped out around her borders. They were never dangerous, and always complied politely with reasonable requests. At first, Leon had tried to disperse them. When they did not take, he had begun arresting them, but still more came. It had taken him threatening to have them executed for Cosette to eventually say they did no harm, and should be ignored. 

“I think they interpret his existence outside the Church as divine confirmation," she told Alabaster. “They believe that the One God would not give one of his descendants to apostates, and so Émeric is proof that their separation from the Supreme Pontiff is just." She shook her head.

“I thought the Church taught that Angels were a curse sent upon mortalkind," Alabaster mused. “That almost seems to contradict what you have said. Wouldn't the One God cursing us with more Angels because of our rejection make more sense?" 

“You think so rationally," Cosette laughed. “These are zealots. Harmless, yes, but zealots nonetheless. Who but a madman would walk from Thorn to here just for the chance to get a small glimpse at a seven-year-old boy?" 

“I cannot argue with that. At least they haven't caused any trouble." 

“Well… No…" Cosette hesitated, shaking her head. 

“What?" 

“It is nothing." 

“Cosette, tell me." 

“I feel like I'm going mad." She shook her head slowly, blinking as if waking from a daze. “He's only a boy, Alabaster. He deserves a normal life, but the whole world hates him and always will. They see that damned halo and they recoil like he's a fire. The pilgrims are harmless but they too see him as a symbol. Is there nobody that sees my son but me?" 

I do, he thought, but said nothing. I know exactly how that feels. 

“I'm seeing faces," Cosette confessed, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “Every night I have nightmares. I dream of the revolution, of what we did, of all that blood and I cannot help but wonder… what if they do that to us? To my boy?"

“We are not like Phillipe," Alabaster said firmly. 

“I wake up in a cold sweat in the dark of my room," Cosette said. “Out of breath. I see this… face, glaring at me through the window. I am sure it is only a ghost from my dreams, but it frightens me."

“Who is it?"

“I can't make out the features. Only the eyes. I see those cold eyes staring at my bed and I know they want my son. But then I look again and it is gone, every time, like fog in the morning sun." She smiled wearily. “You must think me insane." 

“No… not at all, you should move into the palace. It would keep the pilgrims at bay at least." 

“No!" Cosette snapped the words, as if he'd touched her with a hot iron. “No… I am sorry, but no. I will bring Émeric here to visit you and Leon but I won't live here. When I am here, I feel haunted by Phillipe's ghost. To me, it will always belong to the people who tried to take my son."

Alabaster gave a soft grunt, moving closer to wear the jaguar sat. She sniffed back a tear, wiping at her eyes. “Cosette," he began gently. “Perhaps you should speak of this to Leon, I suspect he might under–"

“No!" She said suddenly, looking up with horror on her face. “No, Alabaster, and promise me you will not bring it to him. I love my brother, you know I do, but he would answer this problem the same way he answers every problem, with more bloody soldiers. That cannot help me, I just want to be left alone."

Alabaster knew that most people would reach out. A claw on her shoulder, a kind word, possibly even a hug. 

I cannot do that for you, madame, he thought, glancing up to watch Émeric.

Eyes in the dark. Probably, Cosette was right, and it was simply the afterimage of her nightmares but… all Alabaster could think about was Émeric, asking if he's special and saying they wanted to take him. 

But perhaps there is something else I can do.

“And how many nights are we to spend in the cold, based on a widow's nightmare and child's fancy?" 

Alabaster raised his head, staring over the street and pointedly ignoring the young man. Gabriel sat on the lip of a chimney, one leg raised high to prop his elbow up on a knee. As always, his expression was hidden beneath his veil, but Alabaster could imagine the surly look on the badger's scarred face. 

“I'd thought you might have grown out of childish recalcitrance by now." 

“Tch." Gabriel shifted slightly, glancing across the road to Cosette's estate. It stood silent and dark in the midnight air. Ordinarily, at least a few of the faithful pilgrims would stay outside overnight, continuing their prayer and meditation, but the clouds were heavy tonight and all had retreated in fear of the coming storm. 

Alabaster had spent the last four nights camped out with Gabriel to watch over Cosette's home. He had yet to see anything significant, and was close to giving up, however… there was a feeling he couldn't shake. 

He kept imagining the face Cosette had spoken of. If it really was from a dream, then why was it recurring? And Émeric, asking if they were going to take him away for being an Angel. Had he simply heard someone talk about it, or was it the pilgrims? Or… 

Was someone watching him too? 

“It is not childish to question foolish behaviour, Alabaster," Gabriel whined.

“And here I was under the impression you wanted more to do, boy." 

“Well." The young man seemed to pout, trying to figure out how not to get boxed into a corner. Gabriel was twenty-two now, but in many ways still so young. 

Poor Alabaster, thought a sour voice in his head. Mourning the loss of his own sweet childhood, so you try to protect theirs, is that it?

No, he thought, gritting his teeth. I can protect them. And so I should. That was how Leon saw the world, and Alabaster was trying to see it that way too.

Think you can rebuild what you never had? Make up for all the beatings and bloodshed? How convenient that you developed a sense of empathy right after murdering Gabriel's father. That could have gotten messy. 

“Shut up," Alabaster whispered. It had been a long time since that voice held any great sway over him, but he knew it would never truly leave. Alabaster had been born into hate, and that voice in his head was a weed that thrived off it. 

Gabriel seemed to have chosen his argument. “When I asked for more responsibility, I meant matters pertaining to spycraft. That is what you trained me for, isn't it?"

Alabaster snorted, still watching Cosette's house. “I am still training you, boy, don't think your learning is over. But tell me this, what do you imagine spycraft entails?" He finally broke his stare, looking at the boy. “I was an advisor to your father, yes. I was also his mystic, and when needed, his spy. This–" He gestured to their crows nest on the roof. “–is ninety-nine parts out of a hundred. Watching, and waiting." He turned back to watch the house, shifting in place. “Be thankful you at least have warm blood." 

“Is it about trust?" Gabriel asked, still dissatisfied with his answer. “How much must I do to prove that I support Leon's government? Don't forget I helped you kill Joachim La Valette, I can be useful!" 

“I did not forget. And you are useful, otherwise I would not have brought you." 

“Then what is it? You think the moment you let me go, I'm going to assassinate your lover and reclaim my rightful place?" 

Alabaster paused, side-eyeing the boy. “Rightful, you say?"

“Figure of speech," the boy sneered. 

“If you say so." Alabaster looked down at the two guards by Cosette's alleydoor. They stood ordinarily, most of their body obscured by a short overhang, leaving them only visible to Alabaster from the waist down. They had swords and muskets, and each night one of Cosette's house staff would bring them a biscuit and tea around eleven o'clock. 

“You cannot hold that sort of jibe against me, it isn't–"

“Hush," Alabaster said, raising a claw to silence the argument. He leaned forward from his perch, narrowing his eyes at the alleyway entrance. He watched the guards' legs. “Have you seen them move since their evening biscuit?" 

“Huh?" Gabriel sniffed. “I'm… I'm not sure, why?" 

“They haven't moved." 

“That's their job, Alabaster. Don't get paranoid." 

Alabaster shook his head, unconvinced. “Guards given tea, left on a boring post, and they don't stretch their legs? They don't even step away to piss? Have you ever known a house guard so dutiful?"

“No." Gabriel drew his knife, shoving to his feet. Alabaster was already halfway to the stairwell door. He rushed down the stairs, circling around each flight, his short cloak clinging to his body as he dashed. 

I hope I feel foolish in a minute… 

He burst out into the street, keeping low as he hurried across the cobblestones. He slipped into the alley and shuffled up to the guards, blinking through the cloudy darkness. Thunder clapped in the distance, and the faint pitter-patter of rainfall began to sound on the roofs above them. 

“Damn it."

Both guards were dead. They'd been speared through the eye, the weapon piercing through their skull and sticking into the wood of the doorframe, keeping them upright. It was an elegant job, the two foxes probably never even saw their killer.

The rain, Alabaster thought, as it began to fall harder. They waited for the pilgrims to leave.  

“Are they dead?" Gabriel asked, approaching quietly. He had a knife in one paw, a small crossbow in the other. 

“I'm going upstairs," Alabaster growled, drawing his kriss knife, the undulated blade glimmering even in the gloom. “Check the ground floor for any intruders." He opened the door, trying to push his awareness deeper into the building in search of life. He felt bodies, but nothing certain. There are more dead here. 

“If I find them?" 

“Just kill them." Gabriel sucked in a breath of shock, but Alabaster ignored him, pressing into the house. 

The lamps had all been snuffed, and Alabaster blinked as his darkvision bled away the shadows. Two of the house guards lay dead at the foot of the stairs, splayed on their backs in a pool of blood. Their mouths were open in shock – they'd been stabbed right through the lungs and suffocated. 

Never saw it coming. Between that and the grisly killings in the alley, it was clear that whoever had come was more than some overzealous pilgrim. 

Émeric was in danger, and Alabaster did not hesitate. He launched himself up the stairs, and as he reached the top he heard a blood-curdling scream from Cosette, followed by a loud slap. 

Alabaster followed the sounds of struggle, keeping his head on swivel to avoid being ambushed. He ducked as the unmistakable sound of a pistol shot fired, deafening in the quiet house. When he stood he was unharmed – it came from Émeric's room. 

“Bah!" Cried a gruff, masculine voice. It had a heavy accent, but spoke in the Rennairan tongue. “The wench nearly deafened me!"

A second male voice followed. “I'll show you, bitch." 

“You can't take him! Not my son, I won't let you!" That was Cosette, the words tumbling out in a great mess of panic. 

Alabaster threw caution to the wind. He would not let them take that boy, he would not. He followed the screams and slammed through the bedroom door, baring his teeth. 

Cosette was on the left, Émeric and his bed on the right. Three men separated Cosette from her son. They were dressed in blood-red leather coats, shoulders and forearms armoured with steel studs. There was a lion, a wolf, and a deer with trimmed antlers, their collars up high, mystic symbols embossed onto the leather. 

“Alabaster!" Cosette cried, gesturing furiously towards Émeric's bed, as if words were not enough. She waved a smoking pistol in one paw. Her scream was raw. “NO!"

“Take the boy!" Cried the deer, raising his rapier and thrusting it right through Cosette's belly. She screamed, doubling over as the thin steel punctured her gut. The lion dragged Émeric out of bed, ignoring the boy's sobbing pleas. He was going for the bedroom window, the lock smashed to pieces. Through the darkness and rain Alabaster saw the window led right out onto a neighbouring rooftop – a perfect escape route.

He dove for them, raising his dagger so he could plunge it into the lion's back. But before Alabaster could reach them, the wolf was there, rapier flashing in the darkness. He parried Alabaster's stab aside, masterfully deflecting the blow. 

“Émeric!" Cosette cried, sinking to the floor and clutching her stomach. “My boy, you bastards, not my son!"

“You cannot have him!" Alabaster snarled, slashing madly for the wolf. He reached for the other, but there was no time, and the wolf shattered his concentration with a thrust.

The man danced back, body like water as he avoided the wide swipes. “He doesn't belong to you, heretic!" 

He's an expert, Alabaster realised. The rapier was a precision weapon, and his movements betrayed it. This wasn't some inexperienced soldier or rogue pilgrim, this was a well-trained swordsman. A killer. 

The wolf thrust at him, the thin blade of his rapier flexing and dancing in the darkness – without the help of his sorcery Alabaster would have been blind to its movements. It was all he could do to clumsily knock the slashes aside, trying to find some kind of opening in the wolf's defence. The third man – the deer – circled behind his fellow, and Alabaster was forced to back into the corner, if only to cover off his flank. 

The lion had dragged Émeric to the window, and was now pushing the boy out into the rain. 

I'm good with a blade, Alabaster thought, looking up at his two assailants. But they might be better. 

“How I will relish purging you, devil!" Hissed the wolf, redoubling his attack. Alabaster tried to feint like he would in the knife-pits. He parried hardest against his right side, leaving the left seemingly weaker, drawing the wolf closer and closer. He was getting eager, eyes swelling up as he saw the wall at Alabaster's back closing in.

Come on now… go for it, take it, I am right there… 

Cling! The sound of steel against steel as Alabaster caught another sharp blow to his right. Closer… The wolf shifted his feet, twisting for the killing blow. Alabaster pretended to parry, and then the wolf released his own feint, jack-knifing the rapier about so he could thrust deeply at Alabaster's left. The dragon was ready, and he grinned as his body slid out of the way, the tip of the wolf's rapier sailing past his hip and stabbing right into the wall. 

The wolf's eyes went wide and he looked to Alabaster. 

“Oops," said the dragon, even as he drove his knife up under the wolf's arm. The blade sunk deep into the flesh with a wet squelch, blood gurgling as the man cried out, Alabaster's steel slipping between his ribs. 

He yanked the kriss out with a snarl, meaning to drive it back again when the deer seized his moment. Pain burst at Alabaster's neck as a rapier clipped his collar, slicing off two scales before darting back like a silver snake. 

“Bastard!" He growled, getting tangled in the sagging wolf as he tried to lunge for the deer. 

“You're out of your depth, reptile!" The lion said, grimacing. He tried to stab forward again and Alabaster shimmied along the wall, narrowly avoiding the tip of his sword. He made to dive forward with his kriss, but the wolf surged back at him with a sudden burst of strength. 

“Die, wretch!" The wolf bellowed, tackling Alabaster so they both crashed to the floor. “Die! Fucking die, in the name of the One God's vengeance!" The wolf punched madly at his head, and it was all Alabaster could do to try and block the blows. The open window was so close, he could smell the rain.

“Émeric…" He groaned, reaching towards the sill. He cried out as the deer's rapier suddenly lanced through his palm, pinning his claw to the wall. “Argh!" 

The wolf pulled back, a look of wild fervour burning like fire in his eyes. Red stained down the side of his coat, and from inside it he drew a small knife and a bronze effigy, lips whispering as if in prayer. 

“I will not be your sacrifice!" Alabaster hissed. With a howl he dragged his pinned arm back, the rapier slicing his claw open lengthwise, bifurcating from palm to fingers. With the new leverage he twisted, leaping for the wolf's blade. Alabaster's good claw closed around the knife grip, and the wolf realised what was happening – but it was too late. His muzzle went wide to scream but Alabaster silenced him, throwing his weight forward and ramming the knife into the wolf's neck. Scarlet blood sprayed out with each pump of his heart as he choked and died. 

“Brother!" The deer wailed, suddenly despondent.

Alabaster shoved the dying wolf away and pushed to his feet, his body filled with nothing but hatred. The deer looked from the fallen 'brother' up to Alabaster, brows furrowed as he raised his rapier defiantly. 

“For the grace and ignorance of the One God of all Men, I will send you to him," he said solemnly. 

“Never stopped me before," Alabaster replied. His right claw throbbed with pain, every movement waggling the two halves of his split palm apart. He was losing a lot of blood, and he blinked through the wave of dizziness. His claws were empty; his kriss knife was laying on the ground a few feet away.

The deer realised it, and grinned. 

“Go for it, if you can." He pulled his rapier back for a final thrust. Alabaster braced, he would have to time the lunge perfectly to avoid the strike. His arm was agony but he was ready. 

But the deer never got the chance to try. With a lurch, his body seized, locking up as he rasped out a thin whisper of protest. He took one step towards Alabaster, rapier shaking, then collapsed forward like a doll. 

A short crossbow bolt stuck out from the back of his skull. 

Gabriel entered the room, lowering his crossbow. 

“Tend to Cosette," Alabaster told the boy, snatching up his knife and immediately going for the window. 

He can't have gotten far. It was pouring with the rain now, the water deafening as it bathed the city. But Émeric's halo would be a beacon in the night, all Alabaster needed was a single glimpse and he could save the boy. 

He climbed out the window, dropping down onto the narrow, rain-slick rooftop of the neighbour's building. There was a thin line of flat ground, edged on either side by long steep slopes. Alabaster crept forward at pace, cautious of where he placed his boots. The edge was so near, and one wrong step would drop him onto those slats and send him tumbling into the street. 

Pressing his split, bleeding claw to his chest, Alabaster reached the other side. Rain soaked his short cloak, streaming down his scales. He clambered up onto the next building, trying to guess where the lion would run.
He circled eastwards around a tower, and then saw it – the light of Émeric's halo shining in the dark, closer than he'd expected. In his left claw Alabaster hefted his kriss knife, approaching along the walkway carefully. 

The lion had stopped, waiting for his companions. They didn't expect much resistance. Alabaster grinned at the knowledge he'd also wounded their pride.

“They are not coming!" He cried. There was no point attempting to hide himself. 

“Stop there!" The lion declared, shouting to be heard over the rain. Alabaster had made it nearly halfway and he paused. Less than three metres separated them. Enough for a dive? Could I throw my knife? 

The lion pressed his rapier to Émeric's neck, gripping him fiercely. The young jaguar was stunned, sobbing and wide-eyed.

“Give me the boy, and you can leave," Alabaster lied. 

“How good do you fight with one claw, heretic?" The lion called, spitting. “Besides, there will not be any bargains here! You will stop! And I shall leave!" 

“Hurt the boy and then nothing will stop me!" Alabaster said. He fought not to sway on his feet. If this lion was as good a sword fighter as the other two, he had to convince him. There would be no winning this battle in his state. 

“Au contraire, monsieur!" The lion wiggled his blade for effect. “We come for the Angel! If I kill him, another shall be born instead! A setback, but not a loss… can you find the emperor another nephew?" He shuffled back, tugging Émeric along with him. The jaguar boy was still stunned, too frightened to resist. 

“Baster, help!" He cried, tears running down his cheeks. 

“He won't," the lion snarled. “Get back, necromancer! Or else!" 

There is no way to win this. Alabaster's entire body pulsed with rage. He wanted to gut this man, to slice open his belly and see how far he could crawl but… Émeric. The boy was shaking with terror, he didn't know why Alabaster wasn't saving him.

I will find you. Alabaster took one step back. His stomach turned over, his blood boiling in his veins. It felt like a betrayal. He swore to himself that he would find this lion, find where he hid and who sent him, and murder each and every one of them. He knew he would bring Émeric home.

But it still felt like betrayal. It was.

“I knew you'd serve well!" The lion cried, still going backwards. 

Once he gets to the streets, he's gone. And so is the boy. But if Alabaster acted now, he might kill Émeric, and then there would be no chance. I have no choice. 

He swallowed. 

“I'm sorry, Émeric!" Alabaster shouted. “I will come for you! I will!"

“Basteeeer!" The boy wailed, eyes swelling up at the betrayal. He didn't understand, all he saw was his only friend letting him be taken. 

Abandoning him. 

“I'm… so sorry," Alabaster said, tears running down his own face as he fell to one knee, the blood loss finally starting to hit. “Please… Just give him back."  

The lion vanished into a stairwell, and was gone.