Free Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) by Gillian Philip Page A

anticipating it well, sprawled and rolled, and
the man who’d followed it down from the trees swept his blade across its scrawny back, severing the spine. By now the others were tumbling from doors and broken windows, but we’d taken
them well enough by surprise. They were fast, but we had the space we needed.
    There were four of them besides the first, and I’d made allowance for more. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a fair fight. As I hacked and dodged and flew, I felt always in the back
of my skull my reluctant admiration for them. So efficient, so fast, as scruple-free as sharks but smarter. The translucent thinness of them sometimes made it hard to know where your blade had
passed, and that was what deluded me: thinking I’d gutted the leader when all I’d done was flesh-wound it. The pallid blood spurted and I somersaulted back out of its way, but it played
dead with conviction. When I was stupid enough to turn my back on what I’d thought lifeless, it took Orach to leap to my defence and pin it back to the earth with her sword.
    As I caught my breath and my balance it blinked ruefully up at me, patting Orach’s blade. ‘Spoilsport.’ Colourless blood sprayed from its grinning lips.
    ‘What is it with you lot, Sleekshard?’ I glanced out at the drowned man in the bay, then up towards the village. ‘Haven’t you got enough to do at home?’ So far as I
knew the Lammyr still roamed the queen’s lands at will, since her pact with them four centuries ago. I’d always assumed there was plenty to entertain them there.
    ‘Singing for our supper gets dull. And Kate has other pets.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Oh, work it out. I’m off.’ Sleekshard rolled its eyes dramatically back in its head, the death-grin already stretching its yellow skin. Irritated, I snapped my fingers, and
Orach withdrew her blade, then plunged it belatedly into its shrivelled heart.
    ‘They’re never content,’ she observed.
    ‘No, but they’re happy.’ Carraig leaned his hands on his knees, gasping for breath as he rubbed Branndair’s neck appreciatively. The wolf had saved his throat, for about
the fifth time. ‘Are we done?’
    It took me a while to be certain of five deaths, but at last we could get down to cleaning our blades in the burn that trickled seawards. I sheathed mine, satisfied. ‘Thanks,
Orach.’
    ‘You’re so welcome.’ There was that edge in her voice again, and I cast her a puzzled glance. I’d have asked her, I’d have soothed whatever lay between us and
apologised for my forgotten crime, but she turned away as I opened my mouth, nodded to another fighter, and the two of them went out together to retrieve the drowned corpse.
    ‘Women,’ I grumbled under my breath.
    Sionnach sized me up with his cool eyes, and a couple of the others exchanged amused glances.
    But nobody actually laughed.

    The thing with Lammyr is that you know it has to be done, you know it’s right. You know the bargain you make with them, and the nature of both sides; everyone’s
motives are clear. Human beings: now, they’re more of a pain in the neck.
    I was still riled and distracted by Orach’s behaviour when we returned to the village, and I wasn’t in the mood for its new captain’s attitude. He seemed sulky more than
grateful, and he fed and watered us with a bad grace, as if he was looking after his annoying neighbour’s strayed sheep. There were plain wooden tables with benches outside the inn; he
entertained us there, supposedly to bask in the warmth of the sun, but we knew he wanted shot of us as soon as possible and he didn’t want us ensconced inside some cosy building.
    ‘I daresay it was good of you to come,’ he said snarkily, when the man who brought the beers had turned away, ‘but I’m still not sure who requested it. Dunster
isn’t your protectorate, Murlainn.’
    ‘Somebody has to protect you,’ said Braon mildly, ‘since you’re clearly incapable of doing it