Alex tensed. There would be a moment, when the black-coat stepped right beside her, when the musketeers might hesitate to fire for fear of hitting him. It was going to be the only chance she was going to get. But I only need a moment…
Her eyes kept going back to the dark-robed man in the strange mask. She heard the Old Man's voice again, warning her about the Black Priests. But that was stupid. There's no such thing as the Black Priests anymore.
She could almost see the Old Man's sour grin. "Just like there's no such thing as magic?"
The black-coat stepped in front of her, pistol trained on her forehead. He looked her up and down, and his lip quirked.
"Damn," he said. "You're a girl, aren't you?"
Alex tried not to feel hurt. She knew she looked a little androgynous, with her short hair and slim leather working gear, but still. She suppressed a sarcastic quip—it didn't seem wise, under the circumstances—and simply nodded.
"Balls of the Beast," the black-coat swore. "This isn't who we're looking for. It must be some kind of assistant, and that means he's still out there." He looked over his shoulder at the other guards. "Get someone back on the perimeter, and—"
Alex slid sideways, putting the bulk of his body between herself and the other guards. Darkness slid out of her palm, hardening into sickle-like blade as she brought her arm up. The supernatural weapon took the black-coat's arm off just in front of the elbow, slicing through coat, flesh, and bone with equal ease, and the hand still gripping the pistol fell away.
He stared at it, dumb-founded, and before he had the presence of mind to scream Alex leaned around him and pointed, extending her will across the length of the room. Dark power shot out like a spear, catching one of the musket-wielding black-coats in the chest and pinning him to the wall. The man whose arm she'd cut off started to scream, high and panicked, and she saw the other musket barrel swinging toward her. Alex turned her lean into a dive and hit the ground hard, just as the weapon emitted a flash, an almighty bang, and a plume of smoke. She didn't think she'd been hit, but she didn't spare the time to check—another spear of shadow slashed out, homing in on the muzzle flash, punched the other musketeer off his feet.
She drew the shadow line back in, rolled onto her back, and sent a third spear in the direction of the Concordat agent still staring in horror at his ruined limb. This one caught him in the side of the head and ended his troubles for good, and he crumpled on the spot. Alex lay still for a moment, fighting for breath.
That makes eight. She shook her head to dismiss the thought and looked over at the other two figures—the masked priest and his hooded companion. To her surprise, they were still standing calmly in front of the stairs, not ducking for cover or fleeing in a panic. She got to her feet, palms out and liquid darkness coiling dangerously over her fingers.
"I think the sergeant was wrong," said the priest. He had a heavy Murnskai accent, all thick Vs and rolling Rs. "The late sergeant, I should say. You are the infamous thief Metzing, I presume."
"That's right," Alex said. "Now get out of my way."
"And, unless I am very much mistaken, that was the demon called the Shadow Blade. It was once tamed, you know, but it was lost over two hundred years ago. Clerical error, I understand."
"I said move. Now." Alex gestured with her shade-gloved hand to the corpses on either side of the masked man. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she tried not to show any nerves. He's not even armed. I can kill him, if I have to.
"Do you know who I am, child?"
"You're going to be a dead man in a moment."
"Once, we were vulgarly known as the Obsidian Order." He tapped his mask, which made a click like dark glass. "Because of these, you see. There were other names as well, but we have always preferred to be called the Priests of the Black. We perform the same function as our brothers, in a different sphere. Those of the White concern themselves with matters of the next world, while the Priests of the Red manage the affairs of the Church in our mortal realm. And we attend to … the rest.
"Once you would have known all of this from a glance at my mask, as well." He sighed. "Alas, times have changed. We are victims of our own success. But I don't imagine you care about my troubles, do you?" He smiled, his mask flexing and glittering darkly as the facets realigned. "Now. Are you going to come along quietly?"
Alex had never killed a priest before. But she'd never met a Priest of the Black before, either, and a deep, atavistic terror overcame whatever reluctance she might have mustered. She raised her hand and sent a spear of darkness right at the center of that gleaming mask, with a force that ought to have spattered his brains against wall.