Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8) Read online

  He rubbed his face in horror, unable to consider turning to see where she was.

  Knew she was close, though.

  Keld punished his legs and pushed faster. Chest heaving. Sweat slithering down temples. Down cheeks. Neck.

  Sodden armpits.

  Right arm numb.

  Kicked through a clutch of overflowing bins. Tried to roll them back behind him, mouth jetting loose a string of gurgled pleas. A prayer to the Dark Lord.

  Let me survive. Just let me get to the light. Do this and I’ll serve the Deathpriest. I swear!

  There was no pain when the first knife drilled into his back. High. Right of centre. No pain at all. Felt like the bite of an insect. Or as though he’d been prodded too hard with a stick.

  Startled, he stumbled once but kept moving.

  Only when he tried lifting his right arm did he realise something was broken. He couldn’t move it properly, and when he did manage to lift it, muscle tore further and pain roused itself from the darkness of his fear. He coughed a timid yelp before ducking and weaving as best he could.

  Stairs.

  He saw them only at the last second. Five. Leading down. Steep, but not too high. If he’d kept going as he had been, he’d have crashed down them.

  Kissed the floor with his face or something.

  He jumped.

  Landed flat, which made his knees and hips grind. He was too heavy for this kind of agility. Risked glancing back and saw her.

  Just her face in the dark. Not too close. But not far enough away.

  Those violet eyes. Gleaming with spite.

  “Oh, shit.” Words rasped through dry mouth.

  Sprinted, clutching his agonised shoulder.

  Driving himself harder.

  Saw a girl, almost too late. Dressed in the blue coat of the Shivs. Cane sword in one hand. Not drawn. She slouched against the wall inside a small alcove. Legs crossed.

  Relaxed.

  Smiling.

  Just smiling.

  Because she knew what was coming after him.

  The girl raised a hand. Touched her forehead in salute.

  And then he was past, blinking in confusion.

  The girl hadn’t tried to stop him.

  Which meant she didn’t care if he got away.

  Didn’t care if he made it to the light. Light so close he could almost taste it.

  Or…

  The second knife found his lower left side, just under his ribs. Penetrated three inches. Stuck fast. Bounced with every jerking lunge of his body.

  Blood already streamed down his right side from his shoulder. Now, down his left, it soaked quickly into his shirt before sliding down the back of his thigh. Dribbled free in crimson drops.

  The more he ran, the heavier the drops.

  More red carpet for the elf’s boots.

  A whine slumped through his teeth. A whine of pain and dizziness as his head felt lighter than it should. Like he’d been punched too many times. That’d happened before, so he knew how it felt.

  “Alchemist,” he panted. He needed one. Soon.

  He tried to go up the last three stairs which led to the mouth of the alley. Led to freedom.

  So close. Few more steps and he’d be out of Shiv territory. Then he could stop.

  Rest.

  Left foot first.

  He pushed down.

  And agony ripped up his back as the third knife speared into his left thigh. He felt this one. Felt the sudden impact of it as the heavy blade went through muscle, bone, then muscle again. The vicious tip tore free through the front of his leg and stayed there.

  Steel soaked with red. Bright mirror-shine fang.

  The leg gave way and he collapsed, twisting his body. Felt each stair as he rolled down. One at a time, hands desperately trying to halt the fall. Trying to claw his way back up the stairs.

  Spine clipped stone and he howled.

  Howled so hard it echoed through the tight alley and made any who heard it cover their ears.

  Almost anyone.

  Because she was there and her ears weren’t covered at all.

  Crouched at his feet. Watching him. Her own chest rising and falling with exertion. Sweat wet down her cheeks. One of which bore a scar which began at the corner of her mouth before tearing up to a point just below her eyes. Then it jagged out toward her ear.

  She was grinning at him.

  The grin of a wolf made crueller by that horrific scar.

  She was smaller than he’d expected. But there was nothing weak about her. Nothing which made him think her reputation hadn’t been earned. She pushed her coat open. Blue coat. Coat of the Shivs. Showed a tattered set of street leathers beneath.

  Knives.

  So many knives.

  What was she going to do with them?

  Pain and fear forced a brittle squeak from his throat.

  Which she ignored as she sheathed the knife she’d retrieved from the doorway. A knife which had been aimed at his back.

  Then looked up at him again with those cold violet eyes.

  “You made me run, feller. Weren’t very polite of you.”

  He had nothing to say.

  What could he say?

  She shouldn’t have been here.

  Her hair hung about her face in thick matted locks. Some with ribbons of rag knotted into them. The longer he stared at her, the more scraps of cloth he saw. And it was only as she cut a slice from his coat and started knotting it into her hair that he began to cry.

  He felt no shame.

  He couldn’t move.

  Could hardly breathe.

  Tears were all he had left of life.

  Then Keld felt the blade punch into his chest, and his soul screamed her name into the Shadowed Halls. A name the Old Skeleton was fond of hearing.

  “He nearly got away.” Klista peeled herself from the alcove and nudged the dead body with her toe.

  The elf began pulling blades free, wiping blood on Keld’s shirt. “No, he didn’t.”

  “If he got out there, he could’ve been across the street. Port’s just through here. And that’s Trash Fly turf. Filth wouldn’t want you going in there after him. We got an agreement with them.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid,” the elf said, rolling the corpse back down the stairs. “Plain to see he never made it onto this flight.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She sat in a dim corner. Beer in hand.

  Watching.

  Watching Bograt slip between tables in search of dirty mugs.

  Watching three men huddled nearby.

  And watching Myrna, who watched her right back.

  Sipped.

  The three men were old guards. Guards she figured had never patrolled a street, though. Their weapons were polished. Uniforms crisp under clean cloaks. Too crisp.

  One at least had the kind of face which didn’t belong here. Hair too tidy.

  Skin too unblemished.

  Their faces worked hard to pretend common emotions but didn’t quite succeed. Slick smiles which promised more warmth if you had more gold in your pocket than they did.

  Wiping their boots before coming inside, they’d chuckled at Bograt’s jokes. An invisible pat on the goblin’s head, then moved with forced ease to the bar.

  Leaned against it like they really needed a drink after a hard day. Like they’d just been toiling on the docks. Or marching through the streets with regular city guards.

  Just a couple of hard-working chumps out for a night on the town.

  Clean hands drummed cheerful rhythms across the counter.

  Shaved jaws stretched cheeks into polite smiles.

  They proclaimed Powell’s inn to be the best in Dragonclaw. Said they could smell the food from outside and it was so much better than the swill they were used to. Led a cheer among the gathered throng for the best beer in the whole city.

  Before they’d even tried it.

  Offered a round of drinks to the oldtimers.

  Threw a few cheap
compliments at Myrna.

  Then scuttled to their table.

  Pushed chairs close.

  Spoke in secretive whispers too loud to miss her ears.

  “-can do it, Sagg. Trust me. It’ll be easy. The Duke himself signed the orders. There’s nothing the Bastard can do to stop us from taking over. He was real happy to do it, too. I think there’s a shake-up coming, which means a foot in the door for us. Sure, it’s not quite what we were looking for, but it’ll pay well. And there’s opportunity. Real opportunity.”

  Sagg snorted. “Patrolling some old fucking tunnels? Real exciting.”

  “But profitable. And it’s a step to getting our business up and running, right?”

  “Fuck off, Bran. You’re dreaming, and you know it. Even if this takes off, and we get some contracts, outside the Ducal Quarter the Bodyguards have everything shut down tight. We fuck with their turf and their whole fuckin’ guild’ll come down hard on us. Like, hard enough to break our fucking necks and leave us swimming in the bay. They ain’t a bunch of fucking weak-spined assholes like we’ve been dealing with. You know that.”

  The third leaned across his beer. “Hear him out, Sagg. He’s got a point.”

  Sagg snorted.

  Drank.

  Watched Bran grin wider.

  “Yeah, just listen, Sagg. Listen. The key, mate, like I said is the Halls. And we’re holding that key right now in the palm of our hands. The Bodyguards haven’t been able to get a foothold in the Ducal Keep. It’s against tradition because they won’t swear allegiance to the Duke. But we can get that foothold for them. All we have to do is get some men in right now, and show a good hand for a few nights. Then we’ll win more contracts. You’ll see. Trust me. It can be done.”

  “What? Right now? When does this stupidity start?”

  Reluctant pause. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight? Are you fucking crazy? We can’t organise that!”

  “Sure we can. Coff’s already got a line on as many as we need for now. And we’ve got Fulfar to keep an eye on them. Doesn’t matter if they ain’t trained. They’ll be hungry. We just tell them all about the opportunity. They’ll eat it right up. And then they’ll work. Bloody hard. We can send them into the Halls and they’ll work harder than any of the Ducal Guard. Trust me. It’ll work out. And if they don’t, we can replace them later with our kind of boys.”

  “As many as we need? Have you ever seen the Halls? It’s a shithole. A big shithole. We’d need more than fifty men to patrol it. Maybe a hundred. And who the fuck’s going to stand the coin for that? I ain’t got shit. Barely afford the fuckin’ room I’m renting. And Anj here ain’t got fuck all, do you? Unless we’re paying them in bread, we’re fucked.”

  Anj shook his head “Don’t sweat it. Bran’s got it all sorted, Sagg. All sorted, right, Bran?”

  “Right.”

  “How? You got a rich uncle?”

  “My pa’ll throw in with us,” Bran said. “But I reckon we can go one better. I poached a few more of those who’d been working there already. You know, the ones who weren’t happy with what they were getting from the bastard. And we’ve already got Jorg in our pocket. An enchanter’s just the ticket to cutting some corners. Won’t cost much at all. All I had to do was make a few promises. Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t have to promise much. A few ranks. A bit of booze.”

  Sagg lifted his glass. “You’re making me pay for this one, so I know we can’t afford enough for a troop of fucking thirsty kids.”

  “Don’t worry about that part. I’ve got some contacts. Already arranged the first shipment, in fact. Sure, it’s nothing we’d drink, but these are just soldiers. They’ll drink piss if we put a few apples in it. Look. Apart from a couple of vets, we’ve already got close to fifty men. Men open to new opportunities.”

  Sagg looked blank, so Anj offered; “Our lads.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding. No way. They’re not trained! They’re fucking couriers. Just kids.”

  “So? The worst thing they’ll face in the Halls is a few rats. They’re gagging for something better than what they’re doing. Something meaningful. They want to tell their friends they’re big tough guards now. Get some respectability. They just need one or two old hands to make a difference.”

  “Yeah,” Anj giggled. “They’ll do it, Sagg. Old Toad and Mucker. They’ll fight for us. At least until we can get some mercs from out of town. Plenty of vets from Ravenclaw come floating in all the time. Coff’s been checking them out. Says they’ll do what they’re told, no questions fucking asked. And I hear rumours from the Wall of new refugees. Gotta be some fighters in among that lot. Fighters desperate for a bit of coin. First boat’s due in a couple days. I’ll go down myself and check the fuckers out. We’ll get the cream before the Bodyguards do.”

  “Something else to trade to the Bodyguards.” Bran nodded. “That aside, Aegir’s the key, Sagg. Gotta get him on board, right? He’s been squirreling away coin for two years. I’ve seen his books. He’s a cherry just ripe for picking. We get our hands in his pocket, and we’ll have the Keep by the balls in a week. When we’re in, we can swing things with the Bodyguards. Maybe offer more a toehold, right?”

  “Charge ‘em for it,” Anj said. “Right through the fucking nose. We’ll be rich.”

  “Fuck.” Sagg ran his fingers through his hair. Then patted it back down. “You two think you’ve got this sorted? Think it’s just gonna be as simple as that?”

  “How hard can it be? No one uses the Halls no more. I already got some cheap gear to make the boys look real sharp in case the Duke wants to inspect them. Nothing fancy, but it’ll do in a pinch. Look, I’ve already got a few men inside. They’ve got some maps. Lanterns. Everything they need to look the part. You know. Just to test it out. Test the water, right? And it’s working so far. Fulfar’s keeping a close eye on them. He’s a good man, is Fulfar. He’ll do right by them. So, we’re all good to go. By tomorrow, word will get round that it’s an easy job. They’ll be lining up to sign on.”

  “Ah, shit. Then, what’s the plan? How’re you gonna get Aegir to throw in? That old slush ain’t as dumb as you think he is. And how are we gonna cover the Halls? There’s a reason no one wants that job. It’s a fucking warren of shit down there. And I’m not joking about the shit. The sewers run right the fuck through it, remember? And I’ve heard horrible things about the stink down there. Worse about what lives in it. And if anything goes down, we won’t have any support from the other guards. We’ be on our own.” Sagg shook his head. “Knowing that, you want to have it up by tonight? You know the Ducal Quarter’s got so much fucking bureaucracy it’s like trying to hold a box of fucking snakes. Without the box. If you’re gonna take even a piece of it, we’ll need more than just an idea. We’ll need to plan every step of the way. We’ll need time. It just can’t be done tonight. We’ll need a week at least to go over everything.”

  “A week, you say?” Bran winced. “Well, ah. Look. We’ll figure that out later. Important thing is to try, right? Put ourselves out there. Get noticed. Right now, we just gotta think of a name for our new guild, right? A good name. That’s more important. We can sort the other shit out later. Come on. The boys are waiting at the new clubhouse, right? It should be set up by now. They’re waiting to hear you give some speech or some shit. I told them you’d be in charge. You’ll get them settled. Teach them the ropes. Just remember not to drink the beer. Bloody awful muck, it is.”

  “Teach them the-?” Sighed. “A name?”

  “Yeah,” Anj slapped both hands on the table, enthusiasm nearly knocking his drink. “Something good. Something catchy. You know. Like, United Guards. Bran thought that up last night.”

  Bran folded his arms. Leaned back in his chair. Grinned. “It’s a good name. Says it all. The troops will really rally behind it. We can think of a better one later.”

  “Bullshit.” Sagg lifted his mug and took a deep swallow. Looked to the bar. “A name. I’ll need more drink for this
.”

  The elf’s disinterested gaze moved away.

  Searching.

  Saw a tall thin man with pointed grey-flecked beard shuffling through the crowd. Simple black and brown clothes. Floppy hat uneasily perched on wild grey hair. Sloped down to just above the bridge of his nose.

  A big nose.

  Long and curved.

  Dark skin. Brown eyes. Broad cheeks and thick lips puckered in thought.

  The kind of man who lived inside his skull.

  Paused in the middle of the room, scanning tables. Saw her.

  And made like a bee for honey.

  She said nothing as he sat down opposite and began rummaging in his small pack. Muttering to himself. Pulled out a little vial. Contents blushing bright orange.

  Put it in the middle of the table.

  Finally breathed a sigh as though he’d been on a long journey.

  “Beer any good here?” Then, when she didn’t respond; “I’m Tantalon. You were told to expect me, weren’t you? Sometimes they forget that part. Did they forget?”

  “You’re the Order’s Taskmaster.”

  “Yes. They told you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how’d you know?”

  “Weren’t that much of a puzzle.”

  “You know the job, though? Know what you’ve got to do?”

  “Kill some fellers.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  She gave him a sour look. “Which means it probably ain’t.”

  “Good. You’re not as stupid as you look.” He leaned closer, pulling voice down so only her ears could hear. “There’s nine of them. Needs to be done in one night. Tonight. Sounds impossible, but we’ve managed to ensure they’ll all be in the same place. Might be tough getting around. Usually heavily guarded, too. But Hideg’s sorted that out. Won’t be no guards tonight. He’s arranging some kind of exercise for them. Get them to stand around. Walk this way. Walk that way. Do some saluting. Soldiers love that kind of shit. So, it’s a clear path, if a bit fucking wonky.”

  Nine.