The Wound of the World

by Edward W. Robertson

  And he didn't think he liked what he saw.

  ~

  In the end, it took just two days for someone to collect the reward.

  The someone in question was a young and angry-looking man who refused to give his name. They'd had any number of false reports from drunks and saboteurs, but there was a spiteful intensity in the young man's words that made Dante all but certain he was telling the truth about Dosse.

  According to him, Raxa Dosse was operating out of the upper floor of a tenement deep inside a part of the city where a respectable person would in fact be caught dead, but only because someone there had killed them and used their body as a bridge over the nearest puddle.

  The monk handling the conversation thanked the young man and made arrangements to pay him if his information led to anything useful. The tenement was only two blocks away from a pub where one of Dante's darkling beetles was currently crawling around on the ceiling spying on the overly loud blather of the crooks beneath it. He guided the beetle outside and directed it toward the tenement. On the way, the fierce winds knocked it down half a dozen times.

  They had the shutters closed against the storm. Dante landed the beetle on a windowsill and directed it to search for a crack. This process took several minutes—apparently they'd weatherproofed the upper floor for their princess of thieves—but he finally wiggled his way inside.

  He was in a dim room with four pallets on the floor. He crawled to the ceiling and out the door into a common room. There, two men sat at a table playing dice. They'd put a cloth over the table so their rolls wouldn't rattle. They had scarred arms and faces and the unnaturally calm look of enforcers. A third man stood beside the door to the hallway, hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed dagger.

  Other than the beeswax candles burning on counters and shelves, there was nothing in the way of luxury. Just places to sit and places to sleep. It could be abandoned as quickly as they could get out the door.

  In a back room, a severe-looking woman sat at a writing desk reading a book. Her gray-streaked hair was bunned behind her head and she was frowning vaguely. She looked to be about forty; for some reason, Dante had thought she'd be younger.

  The woman was probably Raxa, but he needed confirmation before he did anything crazy. While he waited for her to talk to someone, he brought two more beetles in from elsewhere in the city, using them to explore the apartments. They found no sign of the book or the sword.

  Wonderful. They were going to have to take her alive, then.

  As he was angling for a closer look at the book the woman was reading, curious about whatever she was so interested in, someone knocked on the door in a complicated code. The guard standing inside the door knocked back and was answered with another code. Satisfied, the guard opened the door, allowing in a burly man with a dense beard and a young woman with wide-spaced eyes and shiny black hair that hung to her shoulders.

  They hung up their long coats and headed for the back room. The big man leaned his head through the doorway. "Raxa? Ready to report in."

  The severe-looking woman continued to read for another few seconds, then marked her place and closed the book. "Enter."

  He obliged, followed by the other woman. He clasped his hands in front of his waist. "They're ready to meet. Practically starving for it. They want to see you this same night."

  Raxa nearly smiled. "Where?"

  "There's a stable on Alloden Street. Next to the old temple, the one that got smashed up in the war."

  "They want to meet at a stable? Why?"

  The man's bearded cheek twitched. "They didn't say. Guessing they own the place. One o'clock."

  She thought for a moment, then nodded. "Tell them I agree."

  The burly man bobbed his head and left, accompanied by the younger woman.

  Dante watched for a few minutes more, then withdrew his attention to his room in the Citadel. "Got her. Right where the source said she'd be."

  "About time," Blays said. "What's the plan, then? You tear off the roof in a god-like surge of power while I rappel in and snatch her up? Or would you prefer something more subtle—a nethermancer on every rooftop backed up by a full cavalry charge down the street?"

  "She's on her way to a meet in less than an hour. There's no need to complicate this. We ambush her in the streets and take her back here."

  "And if she takes her guards along with her?"

  Dante shrugged. "I won't cry if the dawn shines on a city with four fewer cutthroats in it. Going to have to hoof it if we want to catch her before the meet."

  They were still dressed in their common garb. They grabbed their knee-length coats and headed outside, pulling their hoods tight over their heads. Gant intercepted them at the gates, looking perturbed. Dante told him they were on their way to secure the book and they'd be back before the four o'clock bells. Gant nodded and made for the keep.

  Jogging through the gates, Dante glanced back at the Citadel. "This was a lot simpler before I had to tell everyone who I'm off to kill."

  "Time to implement a new rule," Blays said. "If anyone asks, you'll kill them."

  In this weather, horses would be more trouble than they were worth, leaving them to jog toward Alloden Street. Dante knew it couldn't be so, but their choice to meet next to the damaged temple felt like a personal affront—he'd been meaning to patch the place up for years, but there had been so many other projects to attend to that it had slipped through the cracks.

  "So," Dante said. "Ideas for how to take down a shadowalker?"

  "Don't tell me you've never thought about how you'd fight me."

  "I'd keep twenty feet away from you at all times, force you out of the shadows whenever you try to dive into them, then blast you into a pile of pulp topped by floppy blond hair. Unfortunately for that plan, we can't kill her. Not until we've got the book."

  "She'll try to bolt." Blays wiped half-melted snow from his cheeks. "Don't think I've ever fought anyone in the shadows before. Think you'll be able to keep track of where she is?"

  "Not sure." Dante grinned. "But I won't have to. You can follow her in the shadows. Wherever she goes, you point her out to me and I'll force her back out. We can keep that up until she runs out of strength."

  "Assuming I can spend longer in the shadows than she can."

  "Hopefully, I'll be able to lock her down tight and we can just carry her back to the Citadel."

  "In this snow? New plan: you do the carrying while I scout ahead."

  The larger avenues had pathways tunneled through the snow, but in many of the smaller streets, the drifts ranged up to their waists. Annoying. Then again, it would limit the routes Raxa could take to the meet.

  Movement in the tenement. Dante switched to the beetle's vision. "They're leaving. Just her and the big guy."

  They broke into a run, slipping in the loose snow and the packed ice beneath it. Dante watched with half an eye as Raxa and her underling went downstairs and trudged toward the distant stables. Once it was clear he and Blays would beat her there, they got several blocks ahead and parked themselves at the corner of a major intersection, huddling down like a couple of drunks with nowhere to go.

  Raxa left the main street, opting for a smaller one that would take her right behind the stables. Her enforcer stayed on the main road.

  Dante stood. "The big guy's peeled off."

  "Is she trying to make this easy for us?"

  "Probably scouting their escape routes. Let's take her down."

  They ran down the cross street. Nearing the intersection of her route, they slowed. There were no lanterns out and the only light was what little spilled from shuttered windows, but most of these were dark as well. The streets looked as vacant as the snowfields of the Woduns.

  Dante hooked around the corner, squinting into the gloom. A lone figure stood out from the whiteness of the snow. He moved toward her, making himself sway and breathe hard, like he'd been out drinking. Beside him, Blays belched.

  They neared. Raxa had both hands in
her pockets. It was cold, but Dante was sure there was a knife in there, too. He bit the inside of his cheek and called to the nether. Black flakes swept between the white ones. Blays stumbled to the right, putting space between them to create a second angle on Raxa.

  Dante came to a stop twenty feet away from her. "Raxa Dosse. You can try to run, if you like. But the only thing that will accomplish is getting more snow in our boots."

  The woman had halted as soon as he'd spoken Raxa's name. He couldn't place the expression on her face, but he knew one thing: it wasn't fear.

  He felt something in the darkness to his right. As light as a mosquito landing on his arm. And as unmistakable as their whine.

  He whirled, going for his sword. "Blays!"

  But the dark figure was already materializing in front of Blays, her dagger plunging for his heart.

  13

  Raxa lunged out of the shadows and into the cold darkness of the street.

  The man who'd done the talking—Galand, had to be, a realization that turned her veins to ice—yelled, "Blays!

  Her long dagger dived toward the blond man's heart. He was already turning, reaching for his swords, but it was too late. Yet he was smiling.

  As abruptly as a man clapping his hands, Blays disappeared.

  Raxa's blade speared through empty air. Her mind seemed to lock up. Galand's sorcery? An illusion?

  Down the street, Anya had already turned and was running away as fast as the snow allowed, just like Raxa had told her to do. Nether bloomed in the priest's hand. He condensed it into a black dart and sent it streaking toward her head. Heart booming, she grabbed up a lump of shadows and whipped it toward his dart. The two forces met and dashed apart in black twinkles. Galand looked gobsmacked.

  She waved at him and leaped into the nether.

  She shouted out. Blays was right behind her—he'd probably been right about to shift back into reality and jab both of his swords through her back.

  Seeing her, he grinned. "Ready to find out if we can die in here?"

  The words sounded dreamlike, almost like they were coming from inside her own head. He should have been driving one blade at her throat and the other at her gut, but he seemed to be waiting on something. Giving her a sporting chance to speak her mind?

  Okay then. She sucked nether to her hand and flung a dark blade at his throat, its edges shining silver.

  His eyes flew wider than Galand's had gone. He skipped back, flicking instinctively at the bolt with his right-hand sword. The bolt should have passed right through the steel and into his flesh. Instead, the two objects met with a whopping sound not unlike slapping a wet pair of trousers against a flat rock. The nether dashed into a thousand little sparkles and poofed away.

  He looked as surprised as she felt. Before she could make sense of what had just happened, something rammed into her side. Felt like a bag of sand wrapped in a down blanket. She staggered hard, flickering between worlds. Not good. If she had to stay in reality for longer than a few seconds, the priest would smear her across the snow.

  She plunged back into the land of black and silver and took off at a dead sprint, putting distance between herself and Galand. Blays shouted out and gave chase. The two of them skimmed over the snow, the soles of their boots barely sinking in. Galand slogged through thigh-deep piles, quickly falling behind.

  As she neared the end of the block, she slowed. Blays closed on her. Without warning, she stopped, skidding over the snow, and whirled on him, jabbing for the base of his neck. Blays was sliding straight toward her blade, trying futilely to slow his momentum. Seeing it was hopeless, he threw his feet out from under himself, smacking down on his back. The knife passed over his head.

  Lying on top of the snow, he lashed at her ankle. Raxa hopped over the horizontal strike and dropped to a knee, stabbing down at his ribs. He rolled to the side, long coat flapping, and popped to his feet.

  He was good. Faster than anyone she'd ever fought. Had the reach advantage on her, too. Raxa fell back a step, tossed her dagger to her left hand, and drew a small knife with her right. She hurled it at his chest. He spun to the side and swept out his coat, catching the knife in its folds.

  She felt something nudge into her side. Galand was getting closer. She took off again. Blays swore and followed, dropping out of the nether for a moment to yell directions at Galand. Rada slipped another small knife into her hand. She saw another way for her to win: see if she could outlast him, and then when Blays was forced back into reality, gut them both.

  Thing was, she had a deep-down feel like he had more juice than she did. Even if she had more, every time Galand tried to bump her out of the nether, it took serious energy to stay put.

  The Order had been around for years. Enough time to assemble its own codes and lore. Like Urt's commandments, none of these were written down. You had to be initiated. Ironically, it was Gaits who'd taught her the four rules of surviving an encounter.

  First, don't get in one.

  Second, if you absolutely have to fight someone, hit them before they know what's happening.

  Third, think ahead so you can recognize when the fight isn't going your way.

  And fourth? Always have a route out.

  As they danced over the snow, Galand was falling further behind, but Blays was making gains. Raxa adjusted her grip on the knife. With Blays closing on her, she spun and feinted a throw. As he sidestepped a knife that wasn't there, she threw it for real. He twisted his shoulders, but the blade punched through his sleeve and into his forearm.

  Raxa had never fought anyone inside the darkness before. Hadn't even been sure they could hurt each other. That question was answered definitively as blood leaked from his arm, as bright as molten fire, bright silver flecks of nether racing toward it as thickly as a swarm of locusts. The light from his arm was dazzling, hypnotic in a way that made her want to drift to a stop and gaze deeply into the full glory of the gods.

  She wrested her mind away from the awe of the blood, turned her back on Blays, and broke into a sprint. She raced around a corner and pressed herself to the face of a stone building. Inside the netherworld, living bodies gleamed like moving moons. It was all the nether in them. Your average slab of stone or chunk of dirt had a little bit in it, too, but compared to something alive, they were as dull as…well, dirt.

  She reached inside herself, gathering up great handfuls of nether. When her body was as plain as the rock behind her, she flung the shadows into the night air, sending them whirling away.

  Blays veered around the corner, boots whispering over the snow. A tight spiral of glowing shadows trailed from his wounded arm. He passed by without so much as glancing her way. After continuing for a hundred feet, he came to a stop, staring down the street. Chips of snow spun in the breeze. Galand came around the corner, scowling as hard as he was breathing. His trousers were crusted with snow past the knee.

  He came to a stop just up the street from Raxa. "Blays? Is that you up there?"

  Blays popped out of the shadows, going hazier, the glare around his arm dimming to the glow of a candle. "Don't suppose you've seen an invisible crimelord come through here?"

  "You lost her?"

  "Wrong. We lost her. Now help me search."

  Blays sharpened as he reentered the darkness, light blooming once more from his arm. He jogged down the street. Galand wandered a few steps further away from her. Pressed against the wall, Raxa could feel his mind questing through the shadows, rustling them like a dog crawling beneath a blanket. She had the feeling that if she tried to move, his attention would snap to her in an instant.

  His focus wiggled from one side of the street to the other. When it reached the end of the block, Galand turned around, frowning at the way they'd come in. His mind reappeared. Coming toward her.

  Raxa clenched her teeth. He was forty feet away. Too far to try charging at him; he'd strike her down before she was halfway there. Think. Think, or in another thirty seconds, he'd find her, eject her into the real world,
and cut her into a thousand pieces.

  As his focus moved to the other side of the street, Raxa delved into the nether in the building at the far end of the block. Her hold was shaky. Threatening to collapse at any moment. She clamped down with everything she had, pulling the shadows out into the open and shaping them into a loose oval the height of a person.

  Galand spun, snow crunching beneath his heels. His attention flew down the street. Raxa sent the oval of nether darting around a corner. Galand headed for it in a dead run. Keeping herself tight to the building, Raxa headed the opposite way down the street, hooking right at the intersection.

  She ran as fast as she could. She didn't let go of the shadows until they were on the brink of spitting her out like a bite of bad fish.

  ~

  Vess rose from the low stone wall she'd been seated on. In the darkness of the snowy courtyard, her teeth shined white, but Raxa wasn't sure it was a grin.

  "Made it back," Vess said. "That mean you got them?"

  Fresh anger pulsed up Raxa's spine, spilling into her head. "It started off exactly like I planned. They thought Anya was me. Tried to jump her. Instead, I jumped them. But they had powers I wasn't expecting. Spotted me before I hit either one. I barely made it out with my skin still attached to my body."

  "Shit." Vess made the oath sound like a sigh. She sat back down on the stone wall. "They make you?"

  "There's no doubt."

  "Shit again."

  "That's my assessment."

  "How you know where to jump them in the first place?"

  Raxa kept her gaze steady. Vess knew she'd made a breakthrough with the book, but didn't know about Raxa's ability to blink on and off. Unless Vess did know, and was hiding that knowledge from Raxa for the same reason Raxa was hiding her ability from Vess: because you always kept a final knife hidden up your sleeve.