City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [92]
Flakes of snow were beginning to fall with a steady dignity.
‘I’ll tell you what I have: I have fuck all for you.’
Malum showed no sign of agitation. ‘Then why’re you here? Got yourself a death wish?’
‘I’m here to clear my name, to prove myself more of a man than the likes of you, who don’t understand the concept of fighting on behalf of other people. Remember, cowardice takes many forms.’
‘Cunt,’ Malum grunted. Something changed in his tone then, some bitterness surfacing. Brynd could only see his mouth, how it had tightened. Malum whispered something into the darkness behind him. With his booted heel he pushed himself away from the wall, and strutted into the centre of the empty courtyard.
‘I bet you’ve probably not come alone, either,’ Brynd taunted, ‘too scared even to take on someone you consider beneath you. Shows how much of a man you aren’t. Confirms everything I’ve been hearing about you and—’
‘You’ve heard of my reputation?’ Malum suggested. ‘People fear me with good reason.’
‘I’ve seen you fight,’ Brynd admitted, remembering the man’s performance in the underground. ‘You act tough, but it’s sloppy technique, and I’m willing to take that on. Tell you what, if I beat you – you get your men fighting for the city. Besides, your little plan won’t work – we’re already dealing with any rumours about me you’ll spread. You’re not the only one with influence here.’
‘Too much talking,’ Malum grunted.
Shadows against the wall: more thugs arriving. Brynd could smell arum weed, hear the shuffle of boots as they filed in.
‘You and me, or are you going to get your gang alongside you?’
‘They won’t fight as long as it’s just you and me.’
A messer blade was shaken free from Malum’s sleeve, and just then his teeth seemed to alter strangely – two prominent fangs – now snarling from beneath his mask. Lunging forward, the man swiped the blade sideways across Brynd’s face, but he ducked, grabbed Malum’s arm, held it away, gave him a sound thump in the stomach with his free hand. Malum hardly reacted, merely absorbing the powerful blow. They separated and Brynd drew his sabre, twice as long as Malum’s weapon.
‘Hey, catch.’ A voice from the shadow, followed by a hurled sword. Malum caught it, and just then several torches were lit. Fifty or so of Malum’s men were leaning against the perimeter of the empty iren site, their faces hidden by hoods or masks. Eyes glimmered in the torchlight, and Brynd noticed how they all possessed unnatural fangs.
Brynd lunged forward following a modern technique he’d been working on, leading into the flank so that he was in control of the sequence. He swung for Malum’s ribs, then his shoulder, aiming to kick his legs away from under him, but the thug was too nimble, too clever, backing off at angles. Controlled moves from studied routines, swift and relentless. But Brynd slipped on the cobbles, then realized he was on the defensive.
Malum became remorseless, slicing in at all degrees, a fusion of random styles to make the most of what he could snatch from the situation. The man was even trying to bite him – here was rage, nothing but pure, undisciplined rage.
Their frenzied movements clattered across the confines of the courtyard. Malum made a lengthy slice, and Brynd jumped up to avoid his legs being taken out. Then as he landed he brought his heel to Malum’s thigh, pushing him backwards.
Whistles and cheers at the periphery of his mind, the calls of encouragement from the gang members, Malum’s name yelled on all sides, and it spurred the thug on – his fury becoming more apparent in every thrust, retreat, thrust. Their swords rang out, metal skidding, till a sudden flick of a blade caught Brynd’s jaw and he stumbled backwards. Malum paused for breath. Blood had been drawn, but the wound healed in an instant. Brynd wiped it off with his sleeve.
He could see the reaction by Malum’s open mouth. ‘That’s right, I’m enhanced. Or didn’t you know that? Still want to carry on?’
While the animal-thug stood gaping, Brynd moved in once again, aiming