Free City of Light & Shadow by Ian Whates

steel flash past her face a hair's breadth from her nose and feeling the other blade cut the air close to her leg.
    Â Â Kat landed, rolled, snatched up her discarded sword and went on the attack, blocking a clumsy strike from one blade and moving inside its reach to clash with the second. These were different from the barb she'd hacked off, broader and with longer – edged weapons or tools whereas the barb had been all about stabbing – more scythe than sword. The limbs that supported them differed as well. These were less flexible and more muscular, with clearly defined joints identifying them as arms or legs. More vulnerable, too; flesh and bone above the ankle or wrist.
    Â Â Kat jumped to avoid a further pass by one of the blades, tucking her knees up to her chest so that it passed harmlessly beneath her feet. As she came down she thrust – her own swords designed to be versatile, capable of both cutting and stabbing – and felt the point bite home. Again that disturbingly almost-human wail sounded as Kat pulled her sword free, ripping through the creature's flesh. Other Tattooed Men were there now, fighting beside her, grasping and hacking at limbs. They'd pulled the thing almost entirely free of the ground, revealing a long multi-ribbed body which writhed and bucked as the creature tried to escape back into the muck beneath them.
    Â Â She saw a pair of the Blade move forward, but she didn't want that. This was Tattooed Men business. "No!" She held out a restraining hand, sword still clasped.
    Â Â "Finish it!" she said to her men, and caught a glare from M'gruth as he grappled with a limb while struggling to avoid getting stabbed, which seemed to say "What the hell do you think we're trying to do?"
    Â Â Then someone found the creature's head with a heavy blade, landing a blow that took half its skull away. The fight was over, as suddenly as that. One spasm, which sent scythe-tipped legs thrashing dangerously, and then it lay still. The Tattooed Men stood in a ragged circle around its elongated, improbable corpse, panting and staring at each other. The creature looked to be an unholy blend of man, machine, scorpion and snake.
    Â Â "The Maker's work, do you think?" M'gruth asked as he came up to stand beside her.
    Â Â "Maybe." She could well imagine that madman conjuring up something like this during a particularly dark period. Her gaze turned to the prone form of Half-hand. One arm seemed to be reaching out towards her with the hand that boasted the two absent fingers – the source of his nickname.
    Â Â "I was standing beside him in the arena the day he lost those fingers," M'gruth murmured, evidently following the direction of her gaze. "He took on a snow devil with nothing but a knife and his naked fist."
    Â Â Kat grunted agreement, remembering the awe and excitement that bout had generated even though she hadn't witnessed it or been a part of it. "He saved more than just his own life that day."
    Â Â Half-hand's lifeless body acted as an uncomfortable reminder of her own mortality, one which only strengthened her resolve. It had taken the deaths of Chavver and the others who fell at Iron Grove Square to bring home to Kat a harsh fact. There was no one to replace them. No matter how formidable the Tattooed Men might be in terms of the City Below, their numbers were finite and dwindling. They had to change, had to settle down, or the Tattooed Men were doomed to disappear. Her thoughts turned to Shayna, whom she'd charged with starting that process in her absence. She hoped the healer was having an easier time of it than they were here. One thing she was certain of: not even Shayna could have helped this time. Half-hand's injuries were too severe.
    Â Â "We'd best be moving on," M'gruth said.
    Â Â Kat nodded. They couldn't spare the time to tend to the dead. All being well the bodies would be here later when they came back this way – assuming they did,