Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8) Page 16

  Was prepared to let them go.

  But one wiped his nose with the back of his fist and his head turned.

  Not much.

  But enough that his lazy eyes slid across and stopped as they saw hers.

  Mouth opened.

  And filled with steel as Folding Space blasted up through the upper row of his teeth to bury itself in his skull. He choked, flung back into the wall.

  Squawking. Arms flapping as the horror of his impending death seized his cheeks and kissed cold his mouth. Froze him to the core as his ears heard the call of the Shadowed Halls.

  His partner, heavyset. Older. Wrinkles and a few more chins than a guard should have.

  Gnarled hands too slow.

  Eyes swollen. Small warts flecked skin.

  Sighed as he saw her coming at him from the alcove’s embrace.

  Managed to squeeze his last words loose, and didn’t bother trying to defend himself. A hurt voice. Too small to belong to him; “Ah, shit. This ain’t how it was meant to be.”

  Died.

  Spitting blood onto her jacket as he fell. Eyes yearning to share a measure of his agony. Hands reaching to claw her shoulder. Thick fingers. Grasping.

  As if holding onto her would keep the life from spurting through the hole between his eyes. A hole she’d drilled with A Flaw in the Glass. The venomous enchantment bubbled inside the meat of his brain and she thought she could see it burning through the blackness of his eyes.

  Kicked loose, feral gaze watching his body twitch as it fell.

  Turned to see the other had crawled against a wall and died.

  Grabbed blades in time to hear another rush of boots.

  “Hagel? You up there? We think the bastard who done for the others is up here. Hagel?”

  And she was off.

  Scampering through the dark with small shuffling steps. Fast as she could. Trying not to whip sound.

  Heard a shout as they found the bodies.

  “Cork?” The shrill cry swept past. “Headed your way!”

  Heart racing, the elf dropped pretence of silence and selected speed. Tore down the corridor before heading down a winding staircase. Boots rapping against stone step.

  Stifling and cramped, both walls pressed nearly against her shoulders. She scraped the mould-slick walls more than once. Nearly hit her head as a wooden support beam thrust across the tight ceiling space.

  Came round a twist to find a young guard looking up at her. Eyes widening in shock. Lifted his club, lamely. Lamp in other hand.

  She kicked.

  Toe caught him across the bridge of his nose and he tumbled back down the steep incline. Bounced on a trail of crumpled cries until he jammed to a stop. Began to sob.

  “Help me. Someone, please. Help me.”

  The elf kept moving. Stamped down on his neck as she went over his whimpering form. Sickening crunch of bone.

  Quiet.

  Ducked and took stairs two at a time, feeling rising giddiness. Too steep. The stairwell too cramped.

  Muffled air and the echo of boots all around. Where were they?

  The orange glow darted through an archway halfway down.

  She took it, sprinting quick through the dark. Shouts and cries flapping all round from passageways.

  Eyes burning. Sweat flicking from her face.

  A shadow moved.

  She drew and stabbed without thinking. Felt the warmth of parted flesh bubble across her fist. The sword aimed at her gut went across her side, slicing a neat hole through her coat.

  She jerked the blade free as his hands crawled across her face like a dying spider.

  Thrust again.

  Splash of blood.

  Gasp in her ear; “No!”

  He wouldn’t let go, so she stabbed him again. Speared the meat of his bicep. The hand squeezed violent before relaxing completely. He dropped, life withering in the dark.

  And she kept going.

  Trail of red in her wake.

  Slammed into a Bonebreaker coming nervous around the corner. Nearly slit herself open on the knife he was holding in front of himself to prod back the dark. He’d heard her coming, so was rigid with fear and anticipation.

  Rigid enough that when he lashed out, it was blind panic which dictated his aim.

  Throwing her head sideways, she angled The Ugly into his wrist. Then used her weight to rip upward, cutting a brutal line to his elbow.

  The shriek rang like a doombringer bell. Split the fetid air and made her ears shiver in its near-banshee wake.

  More boots.

  “This way!”

  Guards.

  Kicking him off her knife, she jabbed him once in the throat before leaving him to drown in his own blood.

  Ran.

  Couldn’t think straight.

  Every option seemed worse than the others. Every decision scattered loose before she had time to think them through. Scowl never left her face.

  Ran through an archway without looking. And was slammed in the side by a guard who’d been waiting. His plated shoulder took the wind from her lungs. Vision flickered as her head hit the wall.

  Should’ve left her stunned and reeling.

  It’s what he’d hoped for.

  But survival was an instinct the elf had lived with too long, so she was pushing through the wave of nausea and imbalance to whip the blade out hard and fast.

  Felt it slice skin.

  Heard him curse, reflex forcing him to double over.

  Expose his back.

  Was winding up for a second strike when two more guards fell out of an alcove and rushed in. Clubs high.

  Chose to shatter his nose with her knee and crossed arms over her face.

  Felt impacts across bracers. Impacts which made her bones shudder.

  Dropped The Ugly from nerveless fingers.

  Dove into the closest body, left hand ramming Go With My Blessing into belly. The blade shouldn’t have gone deep, but the mailshirt was made of light metal and parted easily. Sent rings pinging across the ground. The point drove inside, skewering intestine.

  Arm blurred as she stabbed a few more times before rolling sideways. Left his gut shredded and black with blood.

  Caught a club to her cheek and felt her brain rattle. Drew lips into manic grin.

  The last guard stood in front of her. Pale faced kid with a big round nose and the brown eyes of a lamb. Shaking so hard in his armour she could hear the rings of his mail quiver.

  Could seem to decide whether to bash her head again.

  “Floki? What do I do now?”

  But Floki was dead.

  The elf rolled her shoulder. Drew lips back into a tight snarl.

  Spat blood into the kid’s face.

  Said; “Gonna kill you for that.”

  Horror wilted his face as he saw something in her eyes which froze him to the core. “What are you?”

  “Death,” she hissed. Lunged, ignoring the futile swing of his club. Right hand grabbed him by the collar. Left shoved blade between ribs. Pushed it deep and swivelled blade inside from left to right. Cutting. Searching. Searching for the trigger which would send his life exploding into the Shadowed Halls. His weak squeal hit her ears. A squeal melting into a gargle as blood filled punctured lungs. She stood over him, glaring while he slid through her grip to bleed at her feet. Burning eyes bright with hate. “I am death.”

  The first guard had propped himself against a wall. Was watching with tired eyes as she worked to quickly clean her blades.

  “Coldest shit,” he murmured. Arm on the seeping wound. He didn’t have much time left. And his eyes told a story of how much he knew it. “I been around, long-ear. Thought I’d seen everything. Was a scout for the Emperor’s Red Blades. Worked a few merc jobs. Even ran with raider ships for five years. But that’s some of the coldest shit I ever saw.”

  “Must be getting slow if you saw any of it.” Soft as the heat of violence slowly faded, though the icy fear still rolled in her belly and kept senses sharp.


  “Saw it all. Always had good eyes. Had to be, to be a scout. Still don’t belie-”

  Go With My Blessing blurred from her hands to sink into his forehead. Cut off anything he might have said with a crisp thunk. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Vor was hiding.

  His spies had told him everything. Someone was hunting in the castle. And they’d killed Anglek. He rushed from his father’s party to his room. Didn’t care what anyone thought as he practically fled the ballroom.

  It didn’t matter who the assassin was. Didn’t matter if it was his father, or whether his sister had suddenly decided to announce her intentions with a night of savage violence.

  All that mattered was he wanted to live.

  A few more came with updates. Dead guards were all over the Halls. A local gang might be to blame.

  No one was really sure. It was chaos.

  Another sure sign the Duke was culling. But why kill Blood? No matter how much Vor had offered, the Captain had remained loyal to the Duke.

  It didn’t make sense.

  He chewed at his nail, spitting pieces out.

  What the fuck was going on?

  The last to speak to him was Jer Westbee. A good spy and a reasonably honourable one. Jer had lounged in one of Vor’s favourite chairs while delivering his report. Looked relaxed, but obviously unsettled.

  “It’s pretty brutal work, Vor. Efficient in some ways. Brutal in others.” He tapped his chin. A nervous habit. “You know, whoever it is took Blood’s eyes. And Aegir’s liver. That was messy. Fimafeng said he’d not seen anything like it.”

  “From Anglek?”

  “Hand.”

  “Which one?”

  “The right.”

  Snort. “Ritual, or humour?”

  “Hard to tell. Excessive, though. Wouldn’t you think? Even if it’s a ritual.”

  Vor agreed.

  Jer left, sniffing about to see who’d paid for the hunt. And how long before it was done.

  “I need to know, Jer. Am I a target?”

  “Of course.”

  East tower.

  That’s what first popped into his brain as Jer left.

  He stuffed a few clothes into a pack and moved swiftly. Couple of guards at his back, he almost sprinted across the courtyard. Felt shivers down his spine with every step. Half-expected an arrow between his shoulders at any second.

  Chewed the inside of his cheek.

  Tasted blood.

  Thought about Aegir. He’d always expected to hear the old sot had died. But not like this. Torn up. Liver taken.

  Why his liver?

  And Anglek’s hand. Blood’s eyes. The others.

  Almost like their killer was collecting bodyparts. For what?

  Ritual.

  It reeked of forbidden rites.

  Still.

  It sounded familiar. A memory itched his skull. Itched it bad. Like a flavour he couldn’t recall. A name eluding his tongue. But right there. In front of him.

  A shining beacon of forgotten knowledge.

  The guards made the tower.

  “Ain’t no one’s allowed in,” someone said behind the door. “Not until morning.”

  “Open the fuck up,” one of his guards growled. What was his name? Loper. Something like that.

  “You deaf or sommik? I said ain’t nobody allowed in. It’s fucking orders, right?”

  Loper looked to the others. Raised an eyebrow. Half-amused. Half-annoyed.

  “You open this door, you little cunt, or I’ll tear you out through the fucking keyhole.” Paused. “By way of your dick.”

  “Tellin’ you-”

  Vor pushed up to the door and hammered on it with his fist. Fear of being out in the open curdled his guts. “You listen to me, you pointless little prick. I’m Vor. I’m the fucking Duke’s son. And if you don’t open up, I swear to Grim’s fucking ghost I’ll have you killed. And all your family. Every fucking one. I’ll have them ripped to pieces by dogs. Right here in the fucking courtyard. And I will make you watch. Make you eat what’s left, I swear. You listening to me, you fucking shit?”

  “Shit. How’d I know it was yer lordship?”

  Vor turned to Loper. Held out a hand.

  Loper filled it with a smirk.

  And, as the door opened, Vor plunged the knife into the guard’s ribs.

  Kicked him as he fell back.

  Pointed blade at the dying man’s eyeball. “And next time, you’ll know to open the fucking door, won’t you, you fucking piece of shit?”

  Blade struck again.

  The man died.

  Loper nudged the corpse. “What you want with him?”

  “Leave him by the door.” Vor handed back the knife, wiping hands on a cloth. “Clean it up in the morning. We haven’t got time for this.”

  “I’ll grab the keys.”

  “Right.”

  He let two go ahead, and three followed up behind.

  Loper led the way.

  He trusted Loper.

  And he was a tough bastard. Big. Hard. He doubted if an axe could break the man’s skin.

  The cells were empty.

  And, more importantly, none had secret doors into the Halls. Whoever wanted him would have to fight through Loper. Then the others. And, if they made it that far, they’d need to break through the iron door.

  Solid iron. Runed and enchanted to fuck.

  These prisons were made to hold mages.

  They’d surely keep out an assassin. Even one from the mysterious Order of the Iron Day.

  If that’s who’d been sent after him.

  Jer had tried infiltrating the Order twice. Each time, he’d failed.

  Whoever led them was careful.

  Which was fine when they were doing jobs for him.

  But taking a contract to kill him?

  Well.

  That deserved retribution.

  If he survived.

  “You sure about this?” Loper paused in the act of closing the door.

  Vor looked around. A small cot.

  Desk. Wardrobe.

  He dropped his pack onto the bed. Turned to the guard. Waved a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Call out.”

  Vor nodded. Looked down at the cloth in his hand. Stained now with blood.

  In his fear, he’d lost his temper.

  It wasn’t the first time. Most of his life, he’d been afraid. He’d never been as physical as Anglek. Had always thought his guards could protect him. The very idea of training his body with a soldier’s reflexes had never occurred to him.

  He’d even openly mocked Anglek for it.

  What use is the muscle of an arm when the muscle of the mind is weak?

  He’d spent his whole life mocking his brother.

  Competing with him.

  Conspiring against him.

  Hating him.

  And now he was dead.

  The news had rocked him more than he’d expected. Hurt him, even.

  “Everything I’ve done, I did because of you,” he told Anglek’s ghost. “What now, brother? Who will test me now?”

  He took the chair and put his head in his hands. Elbows on the desk. Staring at the glossy sheen of the wood. Felt the burning of tears he hadn’t thought himself capable of shedding.

  He’d always thought he’d be dancing when Anglek died.

  Laughing.

  Joyous and exultant.

  Free.

  What he knew now was the man truly was his brother. His blood.

  With dreadful shock, he suddenly wished the thought had occurred to him years ago. Too late now.

  His back shuddered.

  Shuddered as grief spilled from the corners of his soul and bled into his body. Flooded out through his eyes and drooled down his cheeks.

  He wanted to run.

  Run at a wall.

  Pound on it. Beat the stones with rage and frustration.

  Who kille
d him?

  Who was it?

  Only their father was so ruthless. Unless the old man had pissed off someone else. Who?

  The Emperor?

  His father’s bold talk of being King. Had those words found their way to Doom’s Reach already? Was the Emperor taking steps? Asa was rumoured to be at the Wall. Had she sent assassins?

  Was this because of the old goat’s senile dreams?

  A rustle of cloth outside the door.

  Cloth?

  “Loper?” Voice hoarse. “You there?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sigh. “I thought I heard something.”

  “Nothing’s getting through, Lord Vor. Not even Rule himself.”

  “Thankyou.”

  Silence.

  Both men awkward. The relationship between master and servant unsettled by the master’s sudden weakness. A bond to be tested.

  If he survived, he would owe the man more than he could pay.

  Would he try?

  Or would everything stay the same?

  Suddenly, a scream.

  It bent the world in two. Vor had heard a hundred men tortured. Had tortured more than a few himself. Had heard their screams. Their cries for mercy.

  This was something else.

  This was a hot scream. Born in violence.

  There was a desperation to it like nothing Vor had ever heard before.

  And it wailed on.

  And on.

  Pausing only for rapid sucks of breath and then it continued.

  “Stop,” he murmured. Eyes still raw with grief. Shouted at the door; “Stop!”

  And silence plunged through the dark like a knife.

  Scuffle.

  Curses.

  “Loper?”

  Distinctive sound of bone breaking.

  Howl of agony.

  Something wet hit the ground.

  Rolled.

  He tried again; “Loper?”

  Silence.

  Then, murmured through teeth. Too muffled to know whose; “Fuck you, you bitch.”

  Sodden crunch.

  Death’s silent wings rushed down the hallway.

  Vor pressed back to the wall, far from the door. “No,” he said. “This can’t be happening. No one knew I was here. No one. How could they know? Loper? Loper! Talk to me!”

  Silence.

  A boot trod through a puddle of gore. A few wet steps.

  Closer.

  Coming closer.

  “Whoever you are,” he called. “I’m rich. I can pay you. You don’t have to do this. I can pay you more than they’re paying you. I promise you that. I’ll double whatever price it is. Triple it. Shit, I’ll fucking quadruple it! Hear me? Answer me! You’re a killer, right? For gold? I’ll give you more gold than you can count. I’ve got it. You know that? I’m Vor. Vor, do you hear me? The Duke’s son. I have gold! So much fucking gold. Why won’t you answer me?”