"Blankets, now!" she snapped. A pair of Hounds rushed to obey.
Ria coughed and retched water.
"Damn it, Ria! Why'd you have to go and do that?"
"Save you, you mean?" Ria asked. "Trust me, I won't be doing that again."
Ilanna's eyes widened at the sight of blood staining the girl's dark clothes.
"You're hurt!"
The river barnacles clinging to the wooden piling had shredded Ria's clothing and lacerated the flesh of her legs, thighs, and waist. But the real concern lay in the crimson trickling from Ria's side.
Ilanna ripped open Ria's shirt, revealing a deep puncture wound just above her belt. Cursing, Ilanna ripped off her cloak, bundled it, and pressed it to the wound.
Ria groaned. "Bastard stuck me with a dagger."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know," Ria said. Her shrug turned into a shiver; the Stannar River was as cold as it was deep and fast-flowing. "After he got me"—she gestured at her side—"I lost my grip on him. It was all I could do to stay afloat. I was lucky the river carried me into the pilings."
Ilanna squeezed the girl's hand. "What in the twisted hell were you thinking?"
Ria returned the grip with force. "You were in danger."
Relief welled in Ilanna's chest. She pressed her lips to Ria's and crushed the girl's lean frame to her chest, uncaring that she was getting soaked. All that mattered was that Ria was alive.
When she broke off the kiss, a polite cough sounded behind her. Jarl held a thick woolen blanket out to her, an apologetic grin on his face. More than a few Hounds, Serpents, and Bloodbears stood gathered around. They made a show of not looking at her and Ria.
Ilanna took the blanket and wrapped it around Ria.
"Go," Ria said, pushing her away. "Do your duty as Guild Master."
Ilanna hesitated.
"I'll be fine," Ria insisted, sitting upright.
"That wound—"
"A scratch." Ria shook her head. "Barely even hurts."
The flow of blood had slowed, though Ria still winced when she moved. Sighing, Ilanna released her grip on the dark-skinned woman and stood. "Henley!" she called.
The Hound hurried forward. "Guild Master?"
"Get her to Tyman. I don't care if you have to drag him out of bed or pull him off Master Acorsa, he's to see to Ria immediately."
Henley grinned. "You got it, Master Gold. Though I expect he'll be sharin' his displeasure with you at full volume later."
Ilanna shrugged. "Perks of the job, Henley."
With a chuckle, Henley began shouting orders at his Hounds.
Ilanna strode toward the nearest door into the warehouse, but not before casting a final worried glance over her shoulder. That girl's going to get herself killed one day. Ria was fierce, bold, and headstrong, admirable qualities that brought more than their fair share of worry.
All thoughts of Ria faded as she entered the building that served as the Bloody Hand's base of operations in Praamis. The crumbling, ramshackle exterior was a façade; the warehouse's roofs had been shored up with thick beams, and doors of solid oak provided a sturdy barrier that would take a battering ram to bring down.
Wooden walls had been erected to divide the massive warehouse floor—easily sixty paces wide and thirty long. Rings of dust indicated where the Bonedust barrels had been stacked within the huge section that occupied the northern third of the building. Open doors revealed living and sleeping quarters built into the southern third of the building. Truncheons, staves, and swords sat in racks beside the four doors leading out to the street and the quay. A bright fire still burned in the two metal braziers that stood in the middle of the warehouse. Chairs, tables, playing cards, and coins lay scattered around the floor—proof of the Bloody Hand's swift reaction to the assault.
Not swift enough. More than thirty corpses littered the warehouse floor, most wearing the dull-colored clothes of the Bloody Hand. Here and there, however, she spotted robes trimmed with green, red, and white. The Voramians hadn't yielded without a fight.
At least some were smart enough to surrender. Fifteen men lay hog-tied on the floor. Their Bloodbear guards nursed bruises, cuts, and wounds; any attempt to break free or struggle would be met with fierce punishment.
Errik stood nearby, arms folded, leaning against a pillar. "Master Gold." He inclined his head. "Quite the haul tonight."
"Master Serpent." She returned his nod. "How fares your House?"
He winced. "One dead, two wounded."
Ilanna placed a hand on his shoulder. "My condolences."
Errik sighed. He cared about his Journeymen and apprentices as people, not just sources of income. It was one of the things that made him a good House Master, and a true friend. They'd endured a great deal together—she owed him her life many times over, a debt she would never repay.
"But take comfort in this: we know who is helping the Bloody Hand from within Praamis."
Errik perked up. "Who?"
"Lord Stonecroft."
Errik's brow furrowed. "Mayharn Stonecroft?"
"Is there any other?"
He shrugged. "No, but it seems an odd choice. He's one of the least powerful nobles in Praamis."
"Which makes him the perfect tool," Ilanna replied. "All they have to do is offer him enough money, and he'll do anything they want." In Praamis, a patent of nobility meant very little without the coin to back it up.
Errik nodded. "Fair point." He cracked his knuckles. "Perhaps it's time the Night Guild paid our Lord Stonecroft a visit."
Ilanna gave him a savage grin. "Get what you know from him, then turn him over to the Duke."
Errik's eyebrows shot up. "The Duke?"
Duke Phonnis, brother to King Ohilmos, was Chief Justiciar, highest-ranked servant of law and order in Praamis. She and the Duke had a past, one of him trying to kill her in vengeance for stealing from and humiliating him. He also had personal reasons for hating the Night Guild—his ancestors had founded the criminal organization, and every Master Gold before her had been a royal bastard. Only her deal with the King had prevented the execution of hundreds of Journeymen and apprentices.
"Say what you will about the man," she said, "sanctimonious, pompous, arrogant—"
"Spear-up-his-arse rigid," Errik added.
"Aye, all that." Ilanna grinned. "But he will see justice done. King Ohilmos will not take his collaboration with the Bloody Hand lightly. We may be able to torture and kill Lord Stonecroft, but the King and the Duke have the power to eradicate his house, seize his holdings, and ruin him completely. Given what he's done, I'd consider that fair recompense."
Errik nodded. "Wise as ever, Master Gold." His voice had only a hint of sarcasm.
Ilanna waved him away. "You have your orders, Master Serpent. Dismissed."
With a mocking bow, he hurried away.
Ilanna turned to Jarl, who had remained hovering protectively behind her. "Where are they?"
With his usual verbosity, he grunted and thrust a finger toward a nearby door.
Ilanna hesitated a heartbeat, took a deep breath to steel herself, and entered the room.
A wall of stench assaulted her nostrils—the reek of filth, stale air, soiled fabric, and ordure. A single candle flickered at the far end of the room. The faint light shone on the pale, fearful faces of the thirty girls packed into a space barely ten paces wide and long. There were no beds or furniture, only ragged, threadbare blankets lay strewn across the floor.
"Get them out of here," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. Her legs quivered as she hurried from the room. White-hot rage surged within her. A lump rose to her throat, and she swallowed to hold back the flow of furious tears. No one should endure such horrors. These conditions alone were bad enough, but she had no desire to imagine what the girls had been forced to do.
Her eyes fell on the fifteen Voramians hog-tied on the ground, and a desire to see them suffer gripped her. It took all her self-control to keep her hands away from her weap
ons.
"You!" she shouted. At her nod, the Bloodbear nearest her dragged one of the prone men upright.
Ilanna glared into his eyes. "Let me be perfectly clear: I would love nothing more than to slit your throat here and now, watch you bleed out. However, my knives will remain sheathed if you answer me a simple question."
The man tried to keep his expression defiant, but a Bloodbear's fist sent him back to the ground. When he'd been jerked back up, a hint of fear shone in his eyes.
"An antidote for the Bonedust: does it exist?" Ilanna demanded.
The man's brow furrowed. His eyes darted to the side, but Ilanna gripped his chin and dug her fingers into the joint of his jaw.
"Speak," she snarled, "or I will put weapons in the hands of the girls you so cruelly mistreated and let them have their way with you."
The Voramian swallowed, made difficult by her grip on his jaw. "It does," he muttered. "Given to the girls the master wants to keep alive longer."
"Where is it?"
The man met her gaze, and the defiance had returned. "It went into the water with our master."
Ilanna's fist cracked into his face. He fell hard, and the Bloodbears didn't help him up.
Damn it! She cursed and strode away from the thugs. She couldn't fault Ria—the Ghandian girl couldn't have known—but that didn't erase the frustration. So close, only to come up empty-handed again. When next she saw the nobleman, she would be certain to question him—before killing him, of course.
Just then, the girls emerged from their rooms, hesitant at first, their expressions growing fearful as they saw the men of the Night Guild surrounding them.
"Come!" Ilanna said, motioning them forward. "You are safe. No one will hurt you."
Sorrow flooded her as she studied them. Emaciated, haggard, clothed in filthy rags, far too young. More than a few still had the too-wide pupils of Bonedust intoxication, but all bore the haunted, terrified look she recognized.
Ustin emerged from a nearby staircase, and behind him followed a second group of girls. Strong Bloodbears carried those too weak or drugged to move. Aldsmor led a third group, and a Hound whose name she couldn't remember appeared with a fourth. Every new face added to the burden of sorrow on Ilanna's shoulder. She counted more than a hundred, and still they came.
One group of girls drew her attention. Dark-skinned, like Ria, they clustered together apart from the rest. They had the same willowy frames, dark eyes, and plump lips as Ria.
She hurried toward them. "You are from Ghandia?"
They stared at her, their expressions blank.
She switched to Ria's native tongue and repeated the question. Their eyes went wide, and one rattled off a string of words that sounded vaguely Ghandian, but filled with odd-sounding clicks.
She shook her head. "I don't understand," she said in Ghandian. "But I know someone who might."
"Poller," she demanded of a tall, grizzled man wearing the white of House Hound, "find out if Henley has already transported Ria back to the Night Guild. If not, have her brought here."
"Of course, Master Gold." The Hound nodded and rushed off.
Another wave of girls shuffled from a nearby doorway. These wore cloth wrappings that barely afforded any modesty, along with cloth masks that covered their mouths and nose. Off-white dust covered them from head to toe, turning their hair and skin a deathly pale.
"Lorrin," she called to the Bloodbear leading them, "what is this?"
The bull-necked man shook his head, sending shaggy hair whipping all around him. "They was processin’ Bonedust," he said, his voice deep and booming. "Shackled like cattle, they was. Workin' as if they had no idea anythin' happened up here."
Of course they don't. Their eyes had the dull, glassy look of a Bonedust overdose. The cloth masks wouldn't stop them from ingesting the tiny grains of powder floating in the air.
Her stomach twisted. These were all women, many into their fourth or fifth decade. Their bodies bore the marks of childbirth and age. Even if the Bloody Hand couldn't sell their flesh, they would still find a way to profit.
"Here she is, Master Gold." Poller's voice echoed behind her.
Ilanna turned to see Ria limping into the warehouse, arms slung over the shoulders of Poller and another Hound. She winced with every step, and blood stained the bandage wrapped around her waist. The moment she caught sight of the group of dark-skinned girls, she seemed to forget her pains.
The girls' eyes went wide as they saw her, and words poured from their mouths in an endless flood. They pressed close to Ria, as if seeking protection from one of their own. But they shed no tears. Though the fearful, haunted look remained, there was a hint of fury and defiance as well. They had the same strength that had drawn her to Ria.
After long minutes, Ria turned to her. "They are of the Issai, neighbors to Ghandia."
"You understand them?"
Ria nodded. "It has been many years since I have heard their tongue, but I can communicate enough." Her face hardened. "Their story is much like my own. They were taken by slavers, brought by ship to Voramis, and sent here. But they were not meant to remain in Praamis, or so they believed. This one, Afia"—she pointed to the tallest of the girls—"said that many girls have been loaded onto boats to be sent upriver."
"Did she know where they were sent?"
After a short exchange in the Issai language, Ria shook her head. "They do not speak your tongue."
Ilanna nodded. "Perhaps some of the others will know. Once they have had a chance to rest and recover, we will ask them." She knew the girls had come from Voramis, but not who bought them or where they went. If she could find out, she'd be one step closer to shutting down the operation for good. She spoke in Ghandian. "Thank you. You honor your people with your strength."
Ria's eyes shone with pride.
The girl Afia snarled something in her native tongue. Ilanna didn't need to understand the words to recognize the fury.
Ria translated. "She wants to know what you will do with the…" She rattled what sounded like a vicious curse and pointed to the Bloody Hand thugs.
Ilanna grinned. "Once we have questioned them thoroughly, they will either be turned over to the law or disposed of. Either way, they will suffer for what they have done."
Ria repeated this to Afia, who spat and retorted something angry.
"She says those three deserve a fate far worse than death for what they've done." She continued to translate Afia's words. "They were the cruelest of the lot, beating us for no reason, forcing themselves upon us. When any of us tried to resist, they forced the white powder down our throats. They stuffed us in those filthy, cramped rooms, filled with our own filth. When it was our turn to service the hyenas who came to have their way, we were thrown into the river to wash. Two of my sisters drowned while they laughed."
Her eyes filled with tears as Afia continued speaking. "I-I…" She swallowed. "I will spare you the rest." She squeezed Afia's hands and said something in the Issai language. "I told her that you would not let them go unpunished."
"You were right," Ilanna said, nodding. "Ask her which ones did that to her."
Afia stabbed a finger at the three men lying on the far end of the line.
Ilanna turned to Jarl, who had returned to stand protectively behind her. "Bring them here."
At Jarl's nod, three Bloodbears cut the ropes holding the three men bound, hauled them upright, and dragged them over to where Ilanna stood.
Ilanna studied the captives. Common as mud, the three of them, with features that would blend into a taproom at any Lower Voramis tavern. She'd half-expected leering, grinning villains, but they looked as bland and ordinary as anyone she'd met. And yet, hearing what they'd done to the girls, she wanted nothing more than to hack them down where they stood.
She forced herself to speak in an even tone. "Take them to the barge."
The Bloodbears hesitated, puzzled.
Ilanna pointed. "Tie them to the wooden barrels."
The
three men complied, dragging the shrieking, pleading men along. One actually managed to break free and darted toward the edge of the pier. A pair of Hounds brought him down, pinning him to the wooden planks until he ceased his struggles.
Ilanna followed the captives out onto the quay. Arms folded, she watched the Bloodbears lash the men securely to the barrels of Bonedust stacked high on the barge.
"Bring lanterns, lamps, and whatever fuel you can find," she ordered one of the Hounds watching the spectacle.
Hounds and Bloodbears brought oil lamps and alchemical lanterns from within the warehouse. At her direction, they poured the fuel onto the boat, dousing the bound men as well.
When the last of her men had left the barge, Ilanna reached into her pouch and produced a firestriker. "Burn it."
Jarl took it with a satisfied nod and strode toward the boat. The captives' eyes grew round as they watched Jarl's slow approach. In vain, they struggled against their bonds and screamed against their gags.
Jarl struck a spark to the fuel. A line of fire raced toward the center of the boat, where it caught alight the oil and alchemical lantern liquid dumped there. Flames exploded into the night sky, reaching hungry fingers toward the bow and stern of the barge, the wooden barrels, and the men bound there.
The light of the burning barge reflected off something lying on the dock. Ilanna stooped to retrieve it: a slim fencing sword, well-crafted, with an ornate hilt and a crest of arms etched into the steel pommel. The same crossed battle axes and raven crest found on the barrels of Serenii fire in the previous raid.
Her mind raced. He must have dropped it when Ria tackled him. Immediately, she cast around for the mask the man had hurled away. It lay in a heap against the warehouse exterior. Picking it up, she marveled at the texture—so soft and pliable, almost like real flesh. She turned it over in her hands. Something about it was familiar, but she couldn't place it.
The screaming began. The fire had burned away the cloths gagging the bound men but not their vocal chords. Their wails of agony filled the night.
Traitors' Fate Page 5
