Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8) Page 10

  It didn’t matter.

  She hurt.

  Was exhausted. Karl had been stronger than he’d looked. His knee left bruises from her thigh to as high as her lower rib.

  “Bastard,” she murmured.

  Looked up at stone slab ceiling.

  The red light gifted by Tantalon’s brew had meant she’d missed the soft glow of their lamps. Soft because they were heavily gated to release only a mere smudge of light. Treasured by thieves, they ensured stealth.

  Without the red light, she’d have seen theirs.

  Cursed the Bonebreakers.

  Hideg.

  His order.

  Tantalon.

  Cursed the lot of them.

  Finally made it to her feet and began the slow process of retrieving knives. Cleaning.

  Sheath.

  Move on with purposeful plod.

  Or, that’s how it should have been. Instead, heard the urgent whisper of; “Karl? You there, Karl?”

  “Where is he? You said he was around here.”

  “I thought he was, fuck it.”

  And the elf was off. Didn’t bother with silence, though she tried to skim the ground. Snatched blades and tucked them quickly away. Clean them later.

  Flap of her feet made someone yelp. Behind.

  Tumble of sound.

  Then; “Fucking shit! She’s killed Karl! Scrim? Scrim?”

  Bonebreakers.

  They’d followed her. How had they known where to go? And they were kitted for the dark, too. Checking over her shoulder, she saw a tweaked flick of light.

  They were on her tail.

  And the orange glow was bounding silent up ahead.

  Sensing, perhaps, the urgency.

  It whirled down stairwells.

  Up endless passageways.

  And, while she was able to move faster than they could, the Bonebreakers never seemed too far away. Always on her tail. Bubble of whispers at her back.

  When the light finally speared through a wall, she skidded to a halt. The icy fear replaced by molten rage.

  Fuck Hideg.

  Fuck the Order.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  Fuck them all.

  An infernal rant crashing through her brain.

  Found the switch.

  Entered the room like a shade from the Shadowed Halls. As though the Old Skeleton possessed her body. She was the very personification of death.

  A livid strut. Rigid.

  The room was a mess of papers. Files cluttered against walls. A desk. Wide. Mountains of papers on top. Scrolls. Journals. Maps.

  The little man at the desk looked up, blinking like a mole caught in light.

  Looked like one, too.

  “Umm,” he said. Clearing his throat. “Are you lost?”

  The thread aimed right at his heart.

  She shook her head.

  He placed both hands on the desk. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ah. Well. This is awkward. I always wondered what it’d be like on this side of an assassination. I’ve ordered so many of them, you see.”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, assassin. My name is Blood. Captain Blood. You know, when I was a fresh recruit, I-”

  “I ain’t got any more time or patience for this shit.”

  Search Velvet Twilight left her fingers. Thunked into his forehead with crisp finality. Red spurts decorated his desk in crisp lines shooting outward.

  His head dropped forward, hammering the dagger deeper into his brain as jutting pommel hit desk.

  She moved quick. Pulled the gore-drenched blade free. Wiped it on his back. Quickly searched his desk.

  Found a few coins. Couple of gemstones. Paltry in value.

  A ruby the size of her thumbnail. Good for something.

  A mallet caked in dried blood. Old blood.

  Few peanuts under a map of one of the towers.

  Recipe for sweetrolls folded neat.

  She took the coins. Gemstones.

  And the ruby.

  Slid back into the passage with an angry rush. Paused only once to aim a sneer at the body sprawled across its desk. Blood drooled off the edge. A crimson waterfall forming gleaming crescent puddle.

  “Didn’t know you for long, feller,” she said. “But you sure lived up to your name.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The guard’s name was Gamluk.

  His pa’s name was Gamluk. And his pa’s name was Gamluk.

  It was tradition.

  Old Pa Gamluk ran a farm outside Dragonclaw. About two days north. Follow the river and you couldn’t miss it.

  Smell of pigshit should hit you hard before you get there.

  Not that he had any pigs. Just he used a lot of pigshit on his crops.

  Brought it in by the wagonload.

  Wasn’t popular with his neighbours. They were mostly woodcutters around those parts, but they didn’t complain too much so long as the wind didn’t turn.

  Gamluk had his thoughts entirely on that farm.

  He’d grown up on it. Worked it so much his clothes had reeked of pigshit.

  The other kids teased him about it.

  Teased him so bad he packed a knapsack and headed to the city. Told his pa he wasn’t made to be a farmer.

  Would’ve broken his old man’s heart, but Gamluk had two brothers.

  Both were called Gamluk, too.

  The forest near the farm was wild. Untamed.

  All kinds of animals lived there. Birds. Deer. Boar.

  Wolves.

  Even a few trolls. He’d met one. Became sort of friends with him, too. As much as anyone could be friends with a troll. A big gnarled looking creature with swollen eyes. Called himself Loosebag.

  Had a gentle voice for something so rugged-looking.

  Gamluk remembered Loosebag talking to him, a few weeks before he’d left for the city. He’d told the troll he was thinking of leaving.

  “Cities are not good places for my kind,” the troll said.

  “Good for me, though. Won’t smell of pigshit.”

  “Smell of human shit instead,” the troll said. Without humour. Hard to tell if he was joking or not. Gamluk no longer tried. Just took everything literally.

  So, he nodded. “Yeah. I guess. But at least I’d be like everyone else.”

  “Why be like everyone else? Why not be Gamluk?”

  “I don’t know.” Looked up at the pale grey sky. “I guess I just want to fit in without people pointing at me. Laughing. I just want to have fun, you know?”

  “I know, Gamluk,” the troll said. “Young trolls want the same. Always looking for fun. I hope you find your fun in Dragonclaw.”

  He’d found a career, instead.

  Worked for the local Watch just outside the city. Was picked up by a scout for the Duke’s guards.

  Recruited. Got a real uniform. Sword. Shield. Boots.

  Everything.

  Was pretty proud of that. Sent a letter to his pa, but never heard back.

  Wondered, as he looked up towards the chipped stone ceiling, how the old man was doing. Would he be missing his errant son?

  Doubted it.

  The archway above was carved with old runes.

  He hadn’t noticed that before.

  Amazing, he thought, the kinds of things you noticed when you were dying.

  And he was dying.

  He hadn’t heard her approach, but he sure felt the loop of leather as it went around his neck. Pulled so tight he couldn’t breathe. Didn’t even think of dropping hand to sword. Hadn’t occurred to him.

  Not until his arms were too weak to move.

  Then he could almost hear Sagg’s mocking voice in his ears.

  “You dumb fuck. Why didn’t you grab your sword? That’s what we fuckin’ gave it to you for.”

  Yeah.

  Problem was the scabbard was too tight anyway. He’d tried pulling it loose a few times. All it did was tug at his belt. Maybe came an inch out. Th
en he needed to grab the scabbard and actually hold it to tug the sword out. Fulfar said it’d be easier to hit someone with the scabbard.

  He’d been joking at the time. Now? Now, it wasn’t a joke. Mind you, it’d probably have broken on her head.

  Cheap scabbard.

  Cheap sword, too.

  Made by Salik Bell. Weasel-looking bastard whose only talent was greasing his mouth before talking to Bran.

  Wouldn’t trust him to make nails, Gamluk thought.

  Managed another wet gagging choke. Wasn’t loud enough to scare a rat. And there were a couple of them about. Watching from the shadows.

  When she was gone, they’d come gnawing.

  He was glad he’d be dead by then.

  She jammed her knee into his back. Just under his shoulders. Jammed it in tight and pulled hard. Grunted. The leather cut further into his throat.

  Lights glittered in front of his eyes.

  Or was it inside of his brain?

  Was there a difference?

  Dark Lord’s salty cock, he wanted to yell. Why the fuck is it taking so long to die?

  Around the corner, Kok and Kon were half asleep in a little alcove. Too much to drink the night before with Sagg and Anj.

  He was supposed to be watching out for them.

  Didn’t want to.

  But they were in tight with the bosses. So, they did what they want.

  Too many leaders, he thought vaguely. Not enough workers.

  Everyone busy doing nothing.

  Leaving Gamluk to do the work. Exhausted.

  She twisted the leather.

  Wrenched up.

  He felt something pop in his brain.

  Ah.

  That’s the way, long-ear.

  Lights out. Shadowed Halls, cold and silent, snapped jaws around his soul.

  The elf felt him go. Let him slump against her shins and lowered his head gently to the floor. Didn’t care about him, but didn’t want to wake the other two around the corner. Let them sleep.

  For now.

  She should’ve used a knife. It’d have been quicker. But she wanted to cut off any shout and she couldn’t be sure of getting her arm around his neck to slit it fast enough. Had instead tossed a loop of leather over his head. Pulled it hard as she could.

  On the end of the leather, a bell each side.

  Something the deathpriest, Lux, had given her and she’d now found use for.

  Had pulled the clappers free not long after arriving in Dragonclaw. Knew stealth was better than the soft tinkle of metal.

  The leather was strong. Now wet with blood from where it’d sawn into his throat.

  She tied it around her wrist again, trying to recall the last time she’d strangled anyone. Too long. But it wasn’t the sort of thing you could practice, and the best thing to do was try breaking the neck, which is what she’d been angling for.

  Nudged his body with her toe before moving forward.

  Paused at the edge of the alcove.

  Looked inside.

  Two men.

  One propped into a sitting position, head down on his chest. Snoring.

  Other on his side. Legs curled up. Cloak over his torso.

  Dreaming.

  She went in quick.

  Silent.

  Chose the bald guard first. Clapped a hand down on his mouth and stabbed The Ugly down hard into his throat. Severed anything which could be severed and washed the ground in blood.

  The sleeper’s legs kicked out. Hit the other guard in the foot.

  Who choked on his snore.

  Eyes fluttered.

  Opened just in time to see the needle-thin point of Bile of the Sand Worm. The blade found the perfect centre of his pupil and drove inward. Hit the back of his socket. Kept going.

  Pierced brain.

  Sent wild visions climaxing through his mind.

  Wanted to scream as she tore the blade out before plunging it in again across the bridge of his nose. Scream, his mind howled.

  He tried.

  Died.

  She took her hand off his mouth. Wiped bloody fingers and knife on his leather jerkin.

  Retrieved The Ugly from the still-twitching corpse.

  Watched the last few spasms before continuing further into the stony heart. This was the second group of guards she’d found since killing Blood. The first had been walking so loudly through the tunnel they hadn’t heard her coming.

  Their conversation had interested her at first because they seemed to be talking about the dead she’d been leaving behind.

  But then one mentioned butchery.

  Hands cut off. Taken away by the killer.

  Tongues missing. Organs on display. Flayed skin.

  That kind of thing.

  Nothing to do with her, then.

  Still.

  It wouldn’t be long before guards began to swarm.

  The elf moved, keeping low. The Ugly still in her left. Go With My Blessing in her right.

  Just in case.

  Followed the light into a long corridor lit by dull blue magelights. The glowing orbs floated above extinguished torches. Emitting enough light to make the red glow of her eyesight seem purple. Too garish, it made her stomach churn.

  She moved quicker.

  Turned into a staircase leading down.

  Into a cellar of some kind.

  Stink of death in the air.

  Stagnant puddles of gore spread like footprints. And five bodies neatly piled against a wall. Blood still wet. Arms crossed across chests in identical poses.

  Couple of rodents chittered angrily before darting into holes.

  She didn’t remember being here before. Definitely hadn’t piled any bodies. And the big gaping holes in their bellies weren’t from knives.

  A sword.

  One had a deep gash down his back, but it was the thin wound entering the back of his skull and exiting the front of his face which had killed him.

  She gave her teeth a suck.

  Looked around, half-expecting their killer to slide free of the shadows.

  But nothing moved.

  Drops of water dripped from another corner.

  Music played, louder now. A cheerful melody.

  “Should be a dirge,” she muttered before moving on.

  The glowing thread slithered away, tugging itself around more twists and turns. Some corridors tight. Some wide.

  Sometimes closer, sometimes further from the music.

  A muffled cheer.

  And then the thread drove through a wall again. Sharp dive left.

  She searched for, and found, the mechanism. The click was soft. Barely audible even to her ears. And, when it opened, she found herself in a dark room lit by a thin light under another door. A closet of some sort. Few boxes packed against one wall.

  Shadows passed back and forth, making the light flicker.

  Babble of voices.

  Clink of glass.

  Lewd laughter.

  Slowly, she cracked the door open.

  “You’ve got to be fucking with me,” she sighed.

  The room was a makeshift tavern. Very makeshift.

  So makeshift it looked embarrassing.

  Crates with a plank laid across the top formed the bar. Stacked junk used as furniture. On the wall, painted in crude black letters: Unified Fellowship Tavern.

  Old dusky magelights strung across one wall. Enchantments failing.

  One flickering violently.

  Men in similar uniforms to those she’d been killing. Guards. Some lounged in chairs around wonky tables littered with mugs both empty and full. Jugs of beer lined the long bar.

  Musician pressed against a wall. His was the melody she’d been hearing. He wasn’t too bad, but he looked bored. His fingers danced the strings without enthusiasm. As she watched, he yawned and looked to the front door with hope.

  A small barmaid worked the crowd. Deftly avoided a couple of half-hearted pinching hands.

  An ork was sprawled ac
ross the floor in the middle of the room.

  Vomit peeling from snoring lips.

  An elf slumped in a corner. Head to the ceiling. Face twitching.

  Alchemical flask still clutched in nerveless fingers.

  Couple of men out of uniform. Staring at the table. Not talking.

  Few women cluttered close to the door. Looked like they were trying to decide how they could leave without anyone noticing. Edging slowly. Cautious.

  Like if they moved too quick, the room would explode.

  And the glowing thread wound between them all to point at the back of a man dressed in a crumpled disaster of crimson and green.

  Long grey hair. Beard cut savagely against sallow cheeks.

  Thin.

  Rakish.

  Spiderlike fingers reaching for a mug.

  Three men pressing close around him. Flies buzzing around shit.

  One with a hand across his shoulder.

  The three she recognised.

  Sagg. Anj. And the other. Couldn’t remember his name.

  Among the men in guard uniforms, a few women. Mail shirts too big for them. One had taken hers off and draped it on her chair.

  She looked on sourly. One of the guards, red-haired and pasty-faced, put his hands on the back of her chair and leaned down beside her head. “Come on, Fee,” he chuckled. Fake laugh. Desperate and slick.

  Said something else, but it was lost to the babble.

  Fee showed a passable smile, but turned her shoulder further against him. Tried talking instead to one of the other guards who wasn’t looking like he was enjoying himself.

  The guard rolled his eyes at the red-haired man and offered her another drink.

  She shook her head.

  And the elf waited.

  Then took a chance.

  Slipped from the room. Or tried to.

  As she came out, a hand snatched her shoulder.

  Big hand.

  Heavy.

  “Hey, lady. You lookin’ for a good time?”

  Bit too nervous.

  “What’s your name, feller?”

  “Horsepower.”

  He said it like he was just testing it out.

  He looked young. Too young and too drunk to leave her alone.

  “You’re sixteen, right?”

  Squint through the alcoholic sludge. “Right. Hey, how’d you know? Do I know you? Wait. What’s your name?”

  Quick look around.

  Then tumbled him into the dark room with a shove. Sank Go With My Blessing into his belly. Shoved The Ugly up under ribs in search of the trigger which would tear his soul in two and send the pieces into the Shadowed Halls.