The Lamia Hunt

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Fight

21:02 21/03/2015

"Claire," Gilbert whispered, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of them. "What're we supposed to do now?"
"Dunno." She knew for sure that they weren't going to intervene; not now, at any rate. If they did that, the only result would be a bigger mess.
At least you've found Fidèle, though, reasoned an excruciatingly blithe voice in her head. This is your chance to prove yourself to the Praedatori.
Yes, but there's also a chance I'll get killed.
She glanced at Gilbert, who smiled, nervously. Was he thinking like she was?
Somehow, she doubted it.
She would have thought more about that, but her attention was brought back to what was happening by Emiliya replying to Fidèle.
"Fine," she said, straightening her spine and glaring at him. Then, to Narbe himself, she called out, "Do you accept the challenge?"
Narbe, who had until this point been standing near the glass wall looking out onto the garden, stepped forward, nodding slightly. He said nothing.
Emiliya paused, her eyes fixed on him, arms folded in front of her, waiting for his response.
Everyone was waiting, not daring to breathe in case they'd miss it, and so the room was silent as he raised his head to speak.
"Challenge?" He laughed. "Do you think that it would be a great difficulty for me, to kill you? That I am incapable of battle?" He paused, glaring around the room, and Claire felt the need to look away as his gaze passed her.
Narbe continued, "I suppose that you believe that, because I was defended by someone else's words, that I am weak, and may be crushed beneath your feet, but you are wrong." He paused, this time keeping his gaze fixed on Emiliya. "But," he said, "I will no more deny your challenge than be defeated by you."
Emiliya's expression didn't change as he spoke, but she barely let him finish before replying,
"So you shall fight?"
Narbe nodded.
"To the death."
Claire let out a thin breath, her hand moving instinctively to the weapons in her pocket.
She really didn't want to use them.

#

It was remarkable, really, how willingly the Lamiae at the party accommodated the fight; within moments of its being agreed upon, Emiliya and Narbe had been ushered to the middle of the room, the area around them kept clear. Both of them had been provided with swords, the origin of which Claire could only speculate at.
What was interesting – not very interesting, but slightly so – was that, as yet, neither Narbe nor Emiliya had made any kind of effort to harm the other; at this point, they were doing nothing, just glaring at one another, and Claire had to stifle the thought that they were just going to settle the whole affair with a staring contest.
Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be that easy.
It was Emiliya who made the first move, swinging her sword clumsily with both arms, missing Narbe.
He leapt out of its path, grinning violently, before stepping slowly away from her, and, saying nothing, letting his sword clatter to the ground.
Emiliya narrowed her eyes at him, and growled.
Claire shuddered. She had never before heard a sound like that come from a person, human or otherwise, and it made her want to be sick.
Readjusting her grip on its hilt, Emiliya lunged again at Narbe, and this time, she didn't miss.
Well, actually, that was open to interpretation.
Narbe moved away from her with relative ease, and Claire thought she could see a gash on his thigh. It didn't seem to be affecting him much.
His breathing was heavier than it had been, though. And Claire hadn't seen enough of him to know whether he was moving differently.
It was odd, though, that he'd dropped the sword. You didn't do something like that unless something was up, and there wasn't anything Claire could see that would suggest anything out of the ordinary; so far as she could see, the only outcome of this fight, now that Narbe had given up his weapon – was that Emiliya would kill him.
That is, until he disappeared.
How it was that he did it, Claire didn't know, and it was obvious that nobody else did, either; all around, she could see panicked faces, people staring at one another, at a loss as to what to do.
And perhaps it was because of that – yes, Claire was sure it was – that nobody noticed Fidèle until it was too late.
In fact, the first sign that Claire – that anybody - could see of something being wrong was the hand that found its way out of the front of Emiliya's abdomen, and her pained screech as she turned on her assailant.
Claire turned away, rooting her hands in her pockets, fingers wrapped around the handles of her hooks. She had to do something – it was her job to do something – but she couldn't. She could hear another shriek from Emiliya, an animal bellow of pain that was almost enough to make Claire look around. She stopped herself before she could, though.
Claire felt a faint touch on her arm, and angled her head slightly so that she could see who it was. Gilbert. Of course.
"It's alright," he whispered. "Hey, Claire..." He glanced at where her hands were. "You don't need to think that. Look, it's all going to be-"
He was interrupted by another shout, from someone they didn't know – a blonde Lamia, female, vaguely familiar, wearing a teal dress – what, no, her dress didn't matter.
The word she screamed was clear and brilliantly loud as she burst from the crowd, towards Fidèle.
It was the word 'monster.'
Fidèle whipped his head around, at the same time dislodging his arm from Emiliya, whom he threw to the floor with as much ease as if she had been a doll. Using this same arm, he struck out at the Lamia who'd tried to attack him, sending her flying, a bloodied hand printed over her face.
She hit the floor, but pushed herself onto her feet in an instant, staggering slightly as she faced him, her hands bunched into fists at her sides.
Now, joining her from the faceless ranks of the crowd, came two other Lamiae, both male, and Claire realised where it was that she'd seen them before.
It was them. The Praedatori hunters Fidèle had murdered. The ones Lucy had claimed were all Nescii.
Well, she'd been right about that, Claire thought, almost laughing. It wasn't funny, and she knew that, but it really didn't seem important.
She turned to Gilbert, her eyes wild.
"You recognise them?" she whispered, further tightening her grip on her hooks.
He nodded.
"Want to go and help them out?"
She didn't reply, but drew the hooks, and shouting at the Lamia in front of her,
"Move if you don't want to get disembowelled."
When she'd planned it, Claire hadn't expected that the shout would be as loud as it was, or that all eyes in the room – even those of the people who had been fighting – would turn to her. However, when it happened, she took it in her stride.
"Praedatori Lamiarum here," she said, holding one hook in front of her, the other behind her back. "We don't want to hurt anybody, believe me. But this is a disturbance." What in fuck's name was she saying? "Comply with us, and we won't hurt you." Were they really buying this bullshit? Evidently.
The crowd in front of them parted, and she and Gilbert made their way forwards, saying nothing, until they were standing between Fidèle and the other three Lamiae.
Fidèle grinned.
"So," he said. "The Praedatori, once again, have managed to infiltrate the Lamiae Verae. I'm impressed, really."
"Please be quiet," replied Claire, not looking at him. She wasn't going to look at anyone, not if she could help it.
"Oh, fuck off," came the response from the other Lamiae. Claire didn't check to see which one of them it had been. "Listen; just leave us alone, and don't interfere with this fight, and everything will go fine. Now-"
"No." Claire kept her head down, tightening her grip on her hooks. "It's our job to keep the peace, and we're not going to let you do this. I forbid you from acting to kill the Nescius named Fidèle."
"Well, then..." The owner of the voice laughed, long and low. "We'll just have to go through you first, won't we?"
This was followed by the sound of movement, and Claire felt herself immobilised, unable even to watch what was happening, until she heard a strangled yelp, and the unmistakeable thud of a body hitting the floor.
Slowly, she turned her head to see what was happening, catching sight of Gilbert standing over the corpse of a Lamia, a dripping stake clutched in one hand. He moved away from the body, shuffling his feet as he shoved the stake back into his pocket. Claire was seized by a thought: that's sure to ruin the suit. She almost laughed at it.
As Gilbert moved out of the way, the female Lamia gasped, and Claire watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as she fell to her knees, struggling to breathe.
The thing that she was watching didn't look like a monster. Perhaps it wasn't a human, but...
Well, there didn't have to be a but, did there?
Claire didn't want to think about what she did then, but in a way, she did. It was better if she thought about it, if she justified her actions to herself. When she thought, it was easier to be able to say that it had been the right thing, to hoist one weapon above her head, positioning it so that it would fall in the best place, and, most of all, it was easier to drive the hook's point into the Lamia's back, piercing her heart from behind.
Thinking made it less difficult, but that didn't mean it was easy.
The blonde-haired Lamia didn't shout when she died; just spluttered, keeling over onto the floor.
The shout that Claire heard came from behind her, from the last of the three ex-Praedatori Lamiae, who rushed at her, without a weapon in his hands, but with enough intention to make up for it.
She was paralysed with shock, unable to escape what she was sure was going to be death.
Perhaps she deserved it.
Just as the Lamia was about to reach her, he stopped, exhaling sharply, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, his arms falling to his sides. Then he too began to fall.
It was slow, so slow that Claire didn't think it could be real; the Lamia sank to his knees, as if in prayer for the last time, before his torso slumped over his bent legs, making visible to her the stake that had been pushed into his back.
From behind the corpse, Jones grinned, nervously.
"You okay, Clairy-fairy?"
Claire gulped, and shrugged.
"I've had better days."
There was a laugh from behind them, and Claire glanced back to see Fidèle, his arms folded, watching them gleefully.
"My, my." He smiled, fangs glinting softly. "The two of you are quite formidable. I almost feel bad about killing you."
Claire shrugged.
"That's not going to happen; we're more than capable of defeating you."
"Really?" He glanced up and down at the two of them. "If you want to try, then go ahead, but I doubt that things will go as planned."
Claire rolled her eyes.
"Fucking hell, you're full of yourself. What is it that you think makes you so fucking powerful, hey? Because we can deal with it; whatever you've got up your sleeve, we can counter. It's what we've been trained to do since we were born."
"Really?" It was another voice saying this, a voice Claire recognised, but had doubted she would ever hear again.
Its owner came into view, pushing past the members of the crowd until she stood next to Fidèle, her hands on her hips. She was panting slightly, her eyes fixed steadily on Claire and Gilbert.
Lucille Taite.
Internally, Claire groaned.
Today had been shit enough, and something told her it was about to get a whole lot worse.