City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [189]
Nelum managed to grab and deflect Brynd’s wrist, sending the commander’s knife skimming across the floor. He then kneed Brynd in the stomach. The albino grunted, forced himself upright in an instant. He aimed a punch at Nelum’s cheek – something cracked – and now it was Nelum’s turn to feel pain. Brynd slammed a sideways kick across his knees, bringing him buckling back to the floor again.
Brynd punched down on to his neck.
Nelum’s breath escaped him rapidly. He gasped for air, holding the toxic blade up uselessly. Then, as he reached for his damaged throat, the knife in his hand slipped . . .
*
Brynd watched Nelum’s face flicker like a stroke victim’s, then it contorted dramatically. His limbs collapsed into abnormal postures, and he began juddering movements. He arced his spine and tried to scream, but only gasps and saliva emerged. The muscles on his face began to twitch hideously, as his skin bubbled and blistered. Then after what seemed far too long, Nelum fell still.
Brynd struggled to one side and lit a candle. Some strange blade made of alien technology was partially lodged in Nelum’s chest.
Dear Bohr . . . What is in that knife?
Nelum’s skin had turned a vibrant red, his body so deformed that Brynd could barely recognize him. For a moment, Brynd’s breathing came in short, sharp gasps.
Why did you have to come after me, Nelum? Just because of your damn beliefs and prejudice? They had been comrades for years – close enough to know each other’s quirks. How could Nelum have planned to kill him, after all they’d both been through?
Brynd slumped back against the bed and pressed his face into his palms.
FORTY-NINE
Brynd now had to wake up his unit in the middle of the night. Bleary-eyed and half asleep they shuffled to the obsidian room, where in near-darkness he told them of the murderous attempt on him, and the outcome. Their reaction was a stunned silence.
Did they believe him? Would they think he had killed Nelum because of their recently expressed differences?
‘Why would Nelum attack you?’ Tiendi asked. Only the woman dared speak.
‘You tell me,’ Brynd suggested, scanning the rest of them for signs of insubordination, for subtle expressions indicating anyone else out to get him. If he wasn’t careful, he could become completely paranoid. ‘He just came into my room with a weapon when he thought I was asleep.’
Brynd had already requested two of his men to help him carry in the body, carefully wrapped up in bed sheets. It now lay on the table, and Brynd pulled the sheets aside to reveal the corpse.
‘Fucking hell,’ someone gasped.
‘Shit.’
The bubbling beneath the dead man’s skin had worsened, leaving little to identify him except his uniform. His arms were bent out of shape, one of his legs so swollen that it had split his breeches open.
‘What could have caused such a reaction, commander?’ Lupus asked.
‘Whatever that blade was made from.’ Brynd gestured to the weapon still in the corpse’s chest. ‘Probably some hybrid form of poison – which was intended for me. I’m making no assumptions that he was working alone.’
Silently, members of the Night Guard huddled around the body, then some walked away as if trying to distance themselves from this hideous sight. One or two exchanged glances and Brynd examined their movements. Judging by their body language, this was as much a mystery to them as it was to him.
Tiendi persisted, ‘I don’t get it. Why did he want to kill you?’ Because I’m gay. Because I’m an abomination to his definition of man. Because his beliefs told him to? ‘I can only guess he didn’t agree with my decisions in some way.’
*
Ice-wet steps descended to the central courtyard of the Citadel. Layers of moss and lichen added to the gloom. Sombre and still shocked, the Night Guard formed a respectful line past which Brynd, Lupus, Brug and Mikill carried a stretcher bearing the silk-wrapped body of Lieutenant Nelum Valore. A few other people had gathered on the viewing platforms, peering down at this black-garbed troop of mourners.
Morning sleet skidded past his face as Brynd