Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  The square milled until Medey was certain no more were coming. He pulled his spear and slammed it on the stage six hard times. The reports rattled out in every direction and shut up every mouth and stopped every heart.

  “I am here to warn you all about a change,” Medey said. “The king has decided…” He chewed on the words, finding them sour and scowling. “The king wants to make Rayph—”

  “Get on with it, Medey. Give out my decree!” Phomax cried. Medey snarled and the king shoved the man out of the way. “You are worthless,” Phomax spit as he shoved Medey aside. The man seemed to catch fire with his rage, but he said nothing.

  “Rayph is a villain and a coward,” the king spat. “He has run for his life, is no longer in this gem of a city, and has left the fiefdom for safer havens. He deserves to be hunted like a dog. He needs to pay for his crimes with pain. I will give him searing agony for his murderous heart. I will shame him and drag him behind my horse, from wherever he is found, to my castle, where I will slowly rip the sanity away from him with every foul implement at my command.”

  Konnon’s gut rolled with disgust at the blustering king.

  “To this end, the man who kills Rayph Ivoryfist will be tortured and left for the rats in my dungeon cells. Rayph will be brought to me alive. If he dies by the hand of any of you, then I would advise you kill yourself now. For when I find you, I will crush you to a pulp.”

  The king swung around and almost fell in his drunkenness. Medey caught him and tried to steady him, but Phomax shoved him away and stumbled off the stage into a carriage.

  “That is all,” Medey snapped before climbing on his horse and riding away.

  “That makes things a little harder,” Artiss said.

  “Not impossible, but harder for sure,” Konnon said. “Is Tama up for a wizard brawl with Rayph Ivoryfist?”

  “No one is, but if she can keep him busy for even a moment, we can take him down. With you and Barrigan and me rushing up on him, he will be hard pressed. If we can get close, we can take him, but without killing him we will have to be perfect,” Artiss said.

  “What about Smear?”

  “I’m going to send my acrobat after him. She is sly and nearly invisible when she wants to be,” Artiss said. “That little Cor-lyn-ber slut will fall to me. I love defiling a holy woman.” Artiss licked his lips and adjusted his crotch. “It has been a long time since I had a believer on her knees.”

  Konnon saw it then, the real Artiss pushing forward. All of the talk of friendship and the jovial laughing, the respectful, almost loving way he talked about his crew, and his apparent desire to bring evil to justice, all dissolved to show the true nature of Konnon’s acquaintance. Artiss was a vile beast. For years in the work camp, Konnon had listened to one horrifying deed after the next described to him as he tried to work. Artiss was a man of atrocities. At the end of this job, Artiss needed to be put away forever.

  Three Vases

  The woman was gifted. Her work was pure and haunting. Rayph lifted the bone white vase in his hand, feeling the weight of the piece. The side depicted a warrior on his knees praying beneath a thundering sky. Behind him lay a battlefield he had just stepped from, victorious. The piece held a feeling of hushed awe, as if the vista depicted had been the site of a crippling loss of life. Rayph didn’t care how much was being asked for it. It was perfect, and he had to have it.

  He set it on the counter beside the other vase he had chosen and turned back to the showroom. He closed his mundane eyes and opened his third eye. The room held a breathtaking amount of artistic light. The muses tread here regularly. This was a place of inspiration, and he felt wonder in its humble grandeur. He walked the aisle, slowly peering at the aura of each piece and searching for the right vase. But it was not here. He heard a slight clearing of the throat, and Rayph spun, his eye falling upon a beautiful woman speckled with white clay dust, her hair held up by a failing bun. Her arms chalky white with dust, her garments soiled and filthy, she must have walked right out of her studio.

  “Rayph?” she said.

  A jolt of fear raced through his chest, and he shook his head. “Um, no, ma’am, what did you call me? I am Tental Hoven of—”

  “You’re Rayph Ivoryfist, the commander of the Manhunters.”

  Rayph stared at the woman, seeing for the first time that her eyes were closed.

  He prepared another lie, but it would do him no good. She was certain of his identity, and he cursed low to himself. “How have you heard the name Manhunters? How do you know me through my disguise?” He didn’t want his voice to seem violent, but he feared he was being intimidating.

  “I have been expecting you now for many weeks. I have been working hard to prepare your vases.”

  Rayph looked at her with awe on his face.

  “Waiting for me?” He realized she kept her eyes closed. He stepped forward, waving a hand before her face.

  “It is rude to wave to the blind, Rayph,” she said solemnly.

  He blushed red and dropped his hand. “Of course, you’re right. I am sorry. Never did I imagine you could be blind. Is all this your work?” He looked at the delicate ceramics painted with such perfect brush, and he could not work his mind around it.

  “You haven’t time to talk to blind girls, Rayph Ivoryfist. You have a life to save.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Would you like to see your vase?” she said.

  “I would like very much to see my vase, milady.”

  “Margret, not ma’am or milady.”

  “Such a common name for such a wonder of art.”

  She smacked him and shook her head. “Now you don’t like my name?”

  “I’m sorry, Margret. I seem destined to make a fool of myself with you.” He pulled his awe away and followed where she led. “How did you know about my men? How did you hear our name?”

  “It was whispered to me.”

  “Who did the whispering?”

  “I never have asked her name. I just do as she tells me to. She is my goddess. She is my life and my inspiration. She loves my art. And she whispered to me that I was to make these for you and your Manhunters.”

  She pulled a perfect ceramic piece from a drying shelf and handed it to Rayph. He gasped at its beauty and reached with tentative fingers.

  He pulled his hands back. “Is it dry?”

  “It is ready for you, Rayph. It just finished drying this very last instant.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I was to have it ready when you got here. You are here, so it is ready.” The peace in her face was breathtaking. He took the vase carefully by the handles and stared at it in complete awe. Tears welled in his eyes as the pristine face he loved so much stared at him from the side of the piece. Her eyes were closed, her blonde hair ruffled like feathers to frame her face. Her lips, those perfect lips he had kissed so few times. The face he had loved from first sight. He could not hold back the tears at Archialore’s perfect visage. He reluctantly turned the vase to see her again, this time standing, her hair blowing in the wind, her wings spread across her back as she prepared to fly.

  “She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Rayph said. “This vase comes in second.”

  “Who is she?” the woman asked.

  “She is my wife, an avelen guardian of the bridge, Archialore Ivoryfist. The mighty and devastating, the meek and gentle Archialore. She stole my heart when I glimpsed her gliding the skies above me one night while I floated in the Ithian Straights. I was naked, but when I saw her looking at me from above, I was unashamed. I cast my spell and chased her. She led me on a wild chase that lasted four days. She feared I intended to rape her, but sex was the last thing on my mind.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what, Ivoryfist?”

  “I was scared to my core that I would never see her again.”

  Blood on the Roofs

  Konnon entered the Pit and
nodded at Artiss. The group of them broke into action. They met him outside in the night. Artiss pulled his axes and looked at Konnon.

  “Did you find him?”

  “Smear is moving. I tracked him from a bar called the Rain Barrel. We have to move fast,” Konnon said.

  They rushed for their horses, but Konnon called after them. “No time. He is close. We have to move now.”

  They were out in the streets, rushing through the byways of night. Konnon kept looking to the roofs, feeling eyes on him. He came to Lock Street and pointed up. “This street breaks at an angle and heads west. It meets a similarly designed street called Lace. At that corner is a tall, sharp building that used to serve as a small church, but is now abandoned. He went into it. I think he had business there. He might be gone, but it is the best chance we’ve got at hitting him.”

  “Barrigan, go high,” Artiss said. “If he comes out to the west, chase him down and destroy him. He is faster than you, and it will be hard to get your hands on him. Be fast. Watch his fist dagger. It is the most dangerous thing you’ve ever faced.”

  The great raksa snorted and rushed off into the night, jumping to a roof and pulling himself up. Artiss turned to Lauris and scowled. “You’re not ready, but I am sending you with one of the greatest sword fighters I have ever met. Go to that church with Konnon and find that bastard. Konnon, keep her alive.”

  “Tama—” Artiss began, but Konnon was running already.

  They went through the streets until Lauris slipped into a shadow and disappeared. He looked after her, but sighed as her shadow flicked out over his head. She ran at full speed across a ledge no wider than his sword, and he rushed to keep up. She ran out of roof and leapt. She rolled when she hit the ground and came to her feet only to dive into a window and disappear. Konnon had no way of following her, so he kept running.

  When he reached the building he had decided on, he ducked into the doorway across the street. He watched her flip out of the shadows behind him and land in front of him. She grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He punched her in the stomach and she doubled over. She stumbled back, furious, and drew her knife.

  “If you touch me again in a way I don’t ask for, I will cleave in your skull. Do you understand?” Konnon said. “This body belongs to a woman, and you are not her.”

  “That body belongs to a corpse,” Lauris said with a laugh. “No sex like sister sex, huh?”

  “Go to work now or I will run you through while I stand here,” Konnon said.

  “You can’t touch me. If you come back to Artiss with my blood on your blade, he will skin you alive. He loves this ass too much to allow you to hurt me.” She laughed cruelly and shook her head. “Your cock hasn’t been used in so long, it is withered and dry by now anyway. Follow me in and stay out of my way. Smear and I are the kind of death you swordfighters can’t handle.”

  She rushed across the street, laughing. He watched her grip the ledge on the second floor, after a perfect jump, and flip up to her feet. She slid in a window and disappeared.

  Five stories higher, she ducked out a window and out into the air. She flipped and jumped and gripped and slid up the body of the building until she hit the roof.

  Konnon wondered if he would feel guilty. He waited, and when the shadow flickered by the roof and disappeared across the street, Konnon ran into the building and up. He needed to see the body, needed to hold her in his arms as she bled out, and be holding her when Artiss arrived.

  Artiss and the rest of the Bloodhounds stood over Lauris’s body.

  Tama rounded on Konnon. “Why are you alive and she dead?” she snapped.

  Konnon laughed. “Because I can handle myself and my sword, and I know caution when it is advised to me.”

  Barrigan gripped Konnon by the collar and lifted him from the ground to grunt in his face. “Rumor on the streets says Smear is dead, killed by Julius Kriss.”

  “I know what I saw. No one sticks to the shadows like Smear. No one moves like that. It was Smear Kond. I’d bet my swords on it. I told her not to rush him. Told her we needed to hit him at the same time. She laughed and called me a coward. She ran straight at him. She had no chance against Smear. He ripped her apart.”

  The raksa tossed him and he hit the ground hard. Artiss was standing over him in a flash and snarling. “You let him get away?”

  “I hit him,” Konnon said. “Got him good.” Konnon held out his blood-covered hand and motioned to his sword. “He took the hit well and bounded away. I went to her, to see if I could save her, but it was too late.”

  Barrigan grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully, and sniffed at the blood. “It’s not hers,” he said. “He hit someone else.”

  Konnon jerked his arm back and looked up at Barrigan with cold eyes. “Ever touch me again and I will carve your nose off.”

  “Shut up, all of you. I can’t think with your tussling,” Artiss said. “We need to get out of here. Disperse and meet me at the Pit tomorrow. Julius has called his meeting. We are all going.”

  Konnon left shortly after that. He headed for his bed and dreams of his love. He needed solace tonight. Tomorrow came with Julius, and that idea made him nervous.

  The Arrow

  He left the ceramics workshop with the three vases. He tore a hole in the air and stowed them all in a pocket dimension with his sword and his horn.

  Rayph made his way through the crowd of the marketplace, seeking the church of Cor-lyn-ber, where he would find peace enough to cast his spells. He turned down a narrow avenue and passed a doorway filled with a large man hiding armor and weapons under a voluminous cloak. Rayph walked on. The man stepped from the doorway and walked in Rayph’s direction down the street. Rayph caught movement on the roof above him and readied the words that would drop his sword into his hands. Two men tried not to watch him as he passed a fruit vendor. One crossed the street, flanking Rayph. The other stayed close and followed Rayph’s movements.

  At the far side of the street, at the bend in the road, a man and a woman cloaked in heavy robes, hiding large weapons, spoke in low tones, doing their best to blend into the street life. Rayph saw her face and recognized her. “Tralop,” he whispered. He turned a corner and, with the spitting of a single word, his sword dropped into his hand as he eyed two obvious warriors blocking the road. They wore leather armor studded with steel and carried four matching swords.

  Rayph pulled the first of his spells to his mind, and curled his mouth to fire them off, when an arrow hit his shoulder from the man on the roof behind him. Rayph felt suddenly nauseous, his magic seeping from his grasp. He grabbed the shaft, feeling the arrow just below the skin. He jerked the shaft free and it snapped off cleanly. Rayph realized the arrow shaft was made to snap off at the slightest pressure. The arrowhead within his body was out of reach, the sapping power of the pearls tearing his magic from him.

  The first of the bounty hunters reached him; the man’s face screwed up in determination free of fear. Rayph met his attack with a parry and punched the face with a solid blow that shattered the man’s nose and watered his eyes. He struggled to regain his footing after stumbling back, but Rayph’s sword was too fast.

  “You have taken my spells,” he said. “You have yet to take me. Come, vermin. Learn the cold truth about my ability with steel.”

  The man standing before him surged forward. A laugh bubbled up within Rayph, and his spirits lifted. It had been so long since he had fought with sword alone. His days of training with Tyga came back to him, and he closed his eyes, placing himself back in those days of learning and discipline.

  The man swung fast and hard, too much emotion in his thrusts, too much fear in his footwork. A flurry of parries and a thrust, and the man was dead.

  Rayph felt a sudden blow to the back of his head. He staggered forward and fell to his knees. An arrow took him in the chest, and he hissed in pain. A blade was set on his shoulder, then pulled away. A fatal blow swung but Rayph parried and rolled, springing back to his feet
in front of another hunter. His elbow connected with the man’s face and the cheekbone shattered. The arrow in Rayph’s chest screamed, and he could not breathe. He fought for air as his leg was kicked out from beneath him, and he dropped like a rock to his back. All air rushed from his body. The fetish came suddenly to his mind, and he gasped as a sword descended. He blocked the attack and lashed out at a leg, severing it at the knee and dropping the man in a heap.

  Rayph cursed his arrogance in not calling Dissonance to him immediately. He blocked the next attack and fought for air. The man above him sneered, and Rayph’s vision darkened on the edges. He lifted his sword in defense, but the hunter kicked it aside, knocking it from Rayph’s hand to clatter on the flagstones. The hunter lifted his axe, pulling the weapon back with two hands, and his face exploded. The weapon fell useless behind him, and he dropped on Rayph to thrash and twitch. He hugged tight to the man upon him as he looked up. An arrow flew through the air, directed at the one above. Dissonance spun, her spear knocking the missile aside. She spun her spear at her throat, sending it in a dance around her neck, and the tip sliced a man’s throat.

  She pulled her spear back and stood over Rayph. The archer disappeared, as did Tralop, and Dissonance grabbed Rayph, helping him to his feet.

  “You’re an idiot, Ivoryfist!” she spat.

  “I should have summoned you sooner.” He got to his feet, cursing his stupidity. “But it was my fight. The hunters are my problem, not yours. Your attention should be set on Shalimarie,” he said, gasping.

  Rayph swooned, and Dissonance steadied him. Her spear shrunk to the size of a large dagger, and she slipped it in her belt. She led him toward the church. The arrow in his shoulder and chest sucked the strength from him, and he cursed all archers for soulless demons.