Thinblade by David Wells

assistant who was busily packing the little workshop into storage boxes.
    Outside in the courtyard, an inhuman shriek cut through the still predawn air. It was a sound like nothing Alexander had ever heard, a sound born of madness and hate. His blood ran cold. For the briefest moment he froze in utter terror. Whatever had just made that noise was here to kill him. He was certain of that.
    The alarm bell rang. Lucky was up and to his travel packs in a blink. He quickly dropped his plain woolen robes and donned his travel robes. They were much warmer, had an oiled leather topcoat, and were lined with dozens of pockets, all filled with potions, powders, and salves. He took up his travel bag and ordered his assistant to find shelter in the cellar. The young man scurried off.
    Alexander and Abigail followed his lead, picking up their weapons and gear. They heard shouting and then the ring of steel. The three of them emerged into the courtyard from Lucky’s workshop to a pitched battle between three of the Valentine house guard and a single man armed with only a sword.
    Then the man shrieked again and Alexander knew he wasn’t a man, at least not anymore. A man couldn’t make a noise like that.
    Everyone froze for a moment, and the man that was not a man lunged at the closest guard. It was a reckless attack; he left himself completely open. The guard thrust with his short spear, driving hard straight through the midsection of the intruder. It was a kill strike and the guard knew it. What he didn’t yet know was that his enemy was already dead.
    Alexander let his eyes go out of focus. The colors he saw made him catch his breath. The man that was not a man was indeed already dead. He was a corpse, animated by a creature from the netherworlds. The colors of his aura made Alexander’s eyes hurt and his soul squirm. They were not the vibrant colors of life but the inky darkness of death.
    The man that was not a man smiled as the spear drove through his belly. He grabbed the haft and pulled it through his gut to get closer to the shocked guard. A moment later the man that was not a man drove his sword cleanly through the guard’s breastplate and into his heart, then cackled with a whining, scraping, rasping voice that was altogether unhuman. He watched with rapt attention while the guard died on the end of his blade.
    Alexander stood staring at the creature’s aura. He saw a palpable hatred for life, visceral evil, and a coiled, tortured rage, drunk with the chance to lash out at the living. He also saw a pulsating power that was much greater than anything he had ever seen before.
    But the thing that frightened him the most happened when the guard died. The guard’s colors flowed into the man that was not a man and the demon’s darkness swelled. Alexander focused his vision and steadied his resolve.
    Once the life was gone from the guard, the man that was not a man stood and pulled the spear through himself slowly as he looked casually over his shoulder at one of the two remaining guards. Then the man that was not a man moved.
    He spun with inhuman speed and hurled the spear at the guard he’d been leering at. The short spear struck him in the stomach with such force that it drove clean through his body and clattered to the ground, trailing blood several dozen feet behind him. The guard slumped to his knees and keeled over.
    The last guard backed off slowly, looking around wildly, clearly hoping for reinforcements. Defending against bandits or assassins was one thing. This was something else.
    Then the man that was not a man locked eyes with Alexander. He tipped his head back and shrieked with a piercing intensity that nearly brought Alexander to his knees.
    The last guard stood his ground between the man that was not a man and Alexander but it wasn’t clear if it was courage or paralyzing fear that held him fast.
    The intruder lunged so quickly that the guard only had time to raise his shield. The thing backhanded the shield,