Doppelganger (28 page)

Mirage did not sleep in again her second morning in Angrim. Early rising had been a habit for as long as she could remember; Hunter trainees never lingered in bed, and neither did
Temple
Dancers
, so she had been four the last time anyone let her sleep in regularly. Even when flat on her back in Silverfire's infirmary, she had woken early. Now it was an ingrained reflex.

She went around to the back of the Cracked Oak's courtyard and found a bent horseshoe tossed against the wall. The message had gone out without trouble, then. Wisp was always reliable.

The market streets of the city were already filling up; vendors were opening their stalls and laying out then-goods, and a handful of enthusiastic buskers were warming up on the corners. The snatches of music they played followed Mirage as she bought saddle oil and strong gut cord, reminding her of the witches she was tangling with. It was a discordant note in an otherwise sunny and pleasant morning.

It was still early, and her shopping was done. Eclipse had promised to take care of the rest of it. She could re-turn to the inn, but before she did so, there was one other stop she wanted to make.

Angrim's temple had always been one of her favorites. The open pentagonal layout felt less confining than most temples. Her company of Dancers had performed a specially designed Dance here once, a little over a year before she left them. That had been one of Mirage's first major public performances, back when she was Seniade, back before Criel had come to her and offered her a chance at her long-buried dream.

She brushed the ghosts of the past from her mind and returned to her purpose.

There were a variety of ways to purify oneself for presentation to the Warrior. For general worship, people often went through an exercise of controlled breathing. But the Hunter schools were descendants of ancient Warrior cults, and so Mirage showed her devotion in a different way.

The moves she performed were simple, but she put all her concentration and effort into each one. This was more than just purification; it was the beginning of her worship, and it demanded the best she had to give.

There were several patterns of movement to choose from, depending on the devotee's purpose in coming. Mirage chose the pattern of supplication. It was far from meek in tone—the Warrior didn't value meekness very highly—but the entreaty in it was plain. And then, pattern finished, she saluted the statue at the heart of the shrine. Since no one was there to watch, she made it the full, formal, Hunter's salute. Then, for good measure, she pricked her finger on her dagger and pressed her bloody fingertip to the wood rail that surrounded the shrine. It was stained with the small blood offerings of countless previous devotees.

Then Mirage knelt and prayed.

Warrior. Lady of Blades. Huntress and Protectress.

I got myself into this situation. I know that perfectly well. And it's up to me to get me out of it; I do not seek your aid in that.

But you are a warrior, not a murderer. You value a fair fight, or so the clergy tell us. And so I have to ask that you grant at least that much to Kerestel—Eclipse
—
and me
.

Fighting the Wolfstar: that would be fair. Fighting Cousins: that would be fair. But fighting the assembled forces of Starfall would
not
be fair. Even if it's not all of them, even if it's just a faction, that is not a fair fight; it's slaughter. I'm no more immune to magic than the next person, whatever people say about me. And neither is Eclipse. If we go up against the witches, we're dead
.

Please, grant us this much. Grant us at least a fighting chance.

Mirage lifted her eyes to the statue of the Warrior. Unlike many, it did not depict her in any fighting pose; instead she stood upright, sword raised before her face, eyes gazing outward with calm readiness. The look on the Goddess's face gave Mirage strength.

We will do what we can. If that's not enough, then so be it. But please, Warrior, at least give us that fair chance.

I promise I will use it well.

Something of the quiet she had gained in the temple stayed with Mirage as she returned to the Cracked Oak. The clamor of the streets did not bother her; the annoyance of an overturned wagon of beer kegs did not touch her. She entered the inn feeling calmer than she had in some time. If trouble awaited her, at least she had made her peace with the Warrior.

The common room was deserted; those who wanted breakfast had eaten it and gone, and the rest had not yet risen for lunch. One of the servants had pushed several tables to the walls so she could scrub the boards of the floor, but had left the job half done; the bucket sat abandoned in the middle of the open space. Mirage, carrying her purchases, passed it on her way to the stairs.

Halfway there, she spun and threw the flask of saddle oil.

The Hunter behind her ducked it, but Mirage had bought herself time to draw her sword. And then she was backing up, retreating from the blur that was his attacking staff.

The floorboards were still damp; that was all that saved Mirage a moment later. Another Hunter leapt out from behind one of the overturned tables, but skidded on the boards, and thus gave her just enough warning to drop into a sideways roll. And as. she came to her feet, Mirage realized just how much trouble she was in.

Hunters.

Four
of them.

Thornbloods
, her mind told her coolly, and then she was retreating again, trying to keep distance and the remaining tables between her and her attackers. Two were armed with staffs; two were bare-handed.
No blades? Why not
? She sidestepped a staff blow at the last moment, so that the man went reeling off-balance.
Thornbloods almost always use blades
.

Sword against staff. Mirage tried to cut through his weapon, but it had been well-hardened, and for a Thorn-blood he did remarkably well at catching most of her blows on the staff's iron bands. He wasn't quite quick enough with the unaccustomed weapon, though. Mirage swung at his right side, but disengaged before he had even fully blocked it, then drew her elbow back and turned the motion into a quick jab that found a weak point in his leather armor. He collapsed, and then Mirage was running, vaulting a table to get clear of the other three.

She maneuvered to keep the unarmed pair, a man and a woman, away from her back, so she could concentrate on the other staff fighter. He was better than his friend. Mirage had to leap over the butt of his staff and immediately block the descending upper end. The effort jarred her arms, and all she gave in return was a tiny slice along the back of his hand. She did the same to the other hand a moment later, but it was minor damage at best, and his friends were about to enter the fray.

Void it
—
I've got to get free of this
! Mirage looked for an exit and found none. And in her moment of distraction, the staff fighter struck twice: slamming the elbow of her sword arm, and then knocking her blade clean out of her hand.

The other Thornbloods charged. Mirage created her own exit; she rushed the staff fighter, who had not expected such a move, and shoved him into the unarmed man. She failed to break free, though, and found herself fighting the other bare-handed Hunter, a woman, while at her back the men rose to their feet.

She feinted right, as if to bolt for the door; behind her she heard one of the men shift. Then she reversed direction and headed left, toward the stairs. Two steps into her flight she spun and kicked the bucket of soapy, dirty water. It flew into the face of the staff fighter, blinding him. The woman charged in. Mirage wasn't afraid. She'd bet on herself in a one-on-one fight any day, so long as she didn't have a concussion going into it. But the story would change quickly when the other two got back into the fight.

She broke two of the woman's fingers just as the staff-man arrived. His first blow she dodged, but the second clipped her in the diaphragm; she spun out of that and hook-kicked him in the kidneys, but he hardly grunted. His retaliatory blow, while not very strong, was enough to send her off balance and rolling to the floor. Mirage came up right next to a table and leapt onto its top, but the unarmed man had anticipated that, and was waiting for her there. His roundhouse kick threw her right back onto the floor.

Another roll, but she was hurting now, and the Thorn-bloods knew it. They spread out around her, trapping her near the overturned table, and advanced steadily. Mirage spat blood and forced air back into her lungs. There would be no backup coming for her. She had to finish this now, before they finished her.

The broken-fingered woman was the weakest link of the chain. Mirage targeted her. She got in one good kick, but it wasn't enough to take the woman down, and then the staff smashed into her lower back. Her spine erupted in agony. She snarled it away and spun, slamming her stiffened hand into the back of the staff fighter's neck. The woman kicked the back of her knees and sent her to the floor. A boot caught her chin and she flew backward, hitting the floor hard, and before she could force herself to her feet there was a sharp pressure on the small of her back, and someone twisted her arms painfully behind her. Mirage tried once to heave the weight off and got her face slammed into the floor. Then the female Thornblood knelt in front of her.

The woman wound her unbroken fingers in Mirage's hair and dragged her head up so she could see. Mirage spat more blood at her, but the woman ignored it, instead reaching up to pull the mask of her head covering down.

"Ice," Mirage mumbled painfully.

The Thornblood smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "I've been looking forward to this for a while," she purred.

"I see it only took three friends to get your nerve up," Mirage said, putting as much acid into her tone as she could.

Ice was not perturbed. "Ah, this was not just personal. This was a job." Her smile got nastier. "There's a witch who wants to see you."

Then Mirage's head was slammed into the floor again, and she passed out.

The mirror in Miryo's bedroom was enchanted. She discovered this by accident; she was humming to calm her nerves while waiting for the Hunter to return, and the sound caused a resonance. The spell was one that caused the mirror to show various rooms in the house.

Of course. Can't expect a Fire witch to go skulking in stuffy closets. That's for the Cousins. She can sit up here and spy in comfort.

The enchantment didn't even require power to get it started, just a snatch of the proper music. Miryo, inferring from the type of spell and the tastes of Fire witches, figured the key out easily, and spent some time playing with the mirror. It reminded her of all she stood to gain.

There was a commotion in the house's courtyard; she could hear it through the window. Miryo shifted the mirror to see from above the front door, and found herself staring. Not one but three uniformed Hunters were out there, two of them carrying bodies. What in the Crone's name had happened?

She redirected the mirror again as they came inside and went to the room where
Kan
was waiting. No polite salutes now; the two Hunters at the back, both men, dropped their burdens while the woman Miryo had hired strode forward. She was obviously nursing an injured hand and more than one bruise, but arrogance was written in every line of her body.

"We've got her," she said without ceremony. "Within a day, as I promised. Now heal me and my friends."

Miryo bristled at her tone. Who was she, to order a witch around? Not that
Kan
was really a witch, but the Hunter didn't know that.

Rudeness is the least of your problems.
Kan
can no more heal them than I could direct an army. But she can't admit that, and I can't do anything to help her. Not until my doppelganger is dead
. Miryo eyed the two bodies on the floor, neither of which was moving much. One was a man, also in Hunter uniform. The other was bundled up so that only her boots were visible, but Miryo didn't need a face to know it was her double.

Goddess. I'm not ready yet. I can't just walk in there, stab her, and heal those Hunters.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that,"
Kan
was saying with laudable poise. "Here is your payment, as I promised. I will give you coin for a healer as well, but I have pressing business I must attend to."

"For the Warrior's sake—at least heal
him
!" The female Hunter pointed at her motionless companion on the floor.

"He was not hired for this job,"
Kan
said coldly. Her eyes dared the Hunter to argue. "You were the only one contracted. His injuries are none of my concern."

"He's going to
die
, Katsu." The term of address was ground out between her teeth. "That bitch stuck a sword in his gut. No healer is going to be able to fix that. He'll take an infection and rot to death. I don't care if you didn't hire him; you still ought to heal him."

"We'll pay for the service," one of the other Hunters said.

Miryo felt a sudden pain and realized she had chewed one finger until it bled. She could not take her eyes off the motionless Hunter.
Oh, Lady—I just can't do it yet! Not even to save that man! I want to use my magic, but I can't, not yet. Please, Mother of us all, I'm just not ready. Forgive me. Forgive me. I cannot kill it yet
.