Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  “Shalimarie is sweet, and should she die, I will mourn and avenge her, but she is not my concern,” Dissonance said. “I have been put on this path to avenge my father, not save the king or the little girl.”

  Rayph stopped and looked at Dissonance as if for the first time. His heart stopped in his chest and guilt splashed up around him. “Stoic was your father?”

  Her face spasmed, then she nodded. “He was.” Her cool reserve slowly melted. Rayph turned his gaze to let her gather herself, and he struggled on.

  When they reached the church, he was once again set upon the altar. The head priest waved a hand and shred Rayph’s robes to rags. He touched Rayph’s body with cool, dry hands and nodded to himself. An ugly stain grew slowly around the arrow in his chest.

  “Poison?” he asked. His mind rattled through the different taints that could steal a man’s breath and darken his skin. Every one of them was nasty, and Rayph realized for the first time he was trembling uncontrollably.

  The head priest laid a hand on Rayph’s forehead, and it felt so cold.

  “Fever?” Rayph asked.

  “Please lie back and let me work on you. You need not guess at your condition. Simply lay your head back and pray.”

  Rayph nodded.

  “There is a drain on my healing salves. A pearl is close,” the priest said. The man examined the arrow in Rayph’s shoulder, and he nodded. “This must come out before prayers can be made or healing salves applied. I’m afraid I can give you nothing for the pain.”

  Rayph nodded and clenched his jaw. Dissonance was handed a blacksmith’s pliers, and she smiled down at Rayph. “This will hurt. There are children at study within the church, and many citizens praying for Shalimarie’s safe return, so keep your whining to a minimum.”

  “Whining?” Rayph asked. She motioned to the head priest, and he gripped his knife and sliced deeper into the wound. Rayph hissed and bit his lip, blood coursing down his chin. Dissonance shoved the pliers into the wound and twisted, and Rayph grunted and moaned. He grabbed the woman’s hands and fought to pull her away, but she seemed stronger than him, and she refused to relent.

  “Stop, please, let me catch my—”

  “No time. We have to work on the poison. We have to get this thing out of you now. Quit being a child and lie back and relax,” she said.

  Rayph thought he caught the slightest smile crook across her face, and he hated her suddenly. She shoved deeper, and he screamed. The head priest shoved his sleeve in Rayph’s mouth and shamed him with his eyes, but none of that mattered in the face of this pain.

  The arrowhead sliced deeper into his wound, and Dissonance smiled. “I’m there,” she said.

  Rayph couldn’t draw air and his head lightened. She opened the pliers within him, peeling back the meat of his arm, and he nearly passed out. Then she clamped down on the arrowhead and pulled it out with a slight twist. Rayph grunted and screamed again until the blade of the arrow pulled free of his arm, and he relaxed, hitting the back of his head on the altar.

  “It is carved from a pearl,” Dissonance said, showing the small, diabolical arrowhead to him. Rayph cursed all bounty hunters and groaned as the head priest sewed the wound closed. The arrowhead was placed in the gullet of the church, and salves were applied to his poison wound. They were cold and felt good against his flesh, tingling in his chest. He was helped to a room where he passed out quickly. As he slipped into fitful sleep, the screams of Shalimarie followed him.

  The Face of Evil

  Konnon walked into the Pit and froze. The room was filled with scum of every type. Cutpurses and whores, murderers and thieves. The whole of the city’s trash had come to the Pit, and with them had come Julius Kriss and his nightmare Slinter.

  He sat at his table in the corner, his fingers rapping the surface as his wife bent her head and took another raw and bleeding bite of a bar maid. The woman screamed through a gag, her eyes wild, her mouth frothing. Her arm had been eaten to the bone from the fingers to the elbow. She was covered in blood and the crowd stared in horror.

  Artiss met Konnon at the door and pulled him to the bar. He motioned for a drink and it was handed to him. Artiss stuffed it in Konnon’s hand, and he drank deep.

  “This has been going on for a while,” Artiss said.

  A man knelt near the Kriss table, weeping and mumbling as he fought to look away. Every time he did, Julius’s gentle hand reached for his chin and led his gaze back to the woman being slowly devoured before the assembly.

  “Who is that?” Konnon asked, motioning to the man.

  “That is the bar owner. He was told to bring a succulent meal for Slinter, and she was not impressed with his offering. She asked him to bring her the bar maid,” Artiss said. “Turns out the bar maid is the owner’s daughter. He said he could make a more delicious meal for her if she would but give him time.” Artiss shuddered and looked at his feet. “Slinter said he had already made such a delectable piece of meat, she would eat what he had brought her. Then she began devouring his daughter.

  “Julius told him that when Slinter is full, she will give him back what is left. The bar owner has to watch to make sure she enjoys the meal.” Artiss tossed a drink down his throat. “He is making us all watch.”

  “We need to do something,” Konnon said.

  “Rowdy, if you try to save that little girl, you are only going to get her and yourself killed. Julius is making a point. He wants us all to see him for who he is. He has a job for us. We do it, we live. We don’t, he will feed us to her appetites.”

  Konnon stared at the woman as the demoness chewed thoughtfully and Julius redirected her father’s gaze. Konnon wondered when the world had gotten so ugly.

  The fingers and hand, the arm to the elbow and most of the thigh, Slinter ate it all slowly, and when she was done, she took the woman’s bloody apron and wiped her jaws with it, smearing even more gore on her mouth than had been there before. The woman sagged in her father’s arms as he carried her away.

  Julius stood and held his arms out over the assembly.

  “Tomorrow, Rayph Ivoryfist will come to me of his own free will and hand himself over for my treatment. When he has done that, I will hand Shalimarie, the sweet darling of Song, back to her parents, perverted for all time.” Julius grinned. “I will take him and bind him and hand him over to one of you for your reward money. All you must do to earn him is fight for him. When you kill every one of those that would stand to take him from you, you may have him. Bounty hunters will be allowed to choose two from their crew to fight side-by-side. When I have relished in the death and blood you gouge from one another, I will hand him over and let you walk away with him unharmed, to collect the small fortune that is being given for him.”

  Slinter laughed and wrapped her tail around Julius’s arm and up to his throat. “Tomorrow you will meet me on the corner of Tread and Languish, and we will all walk him silently and carefully into my trap. If he tries to escape, stop him. If his friends show up to break him out, slaughter them all.”

  Julius clapped his hands together and grinned.

  “Very well now, all of you get out of my bar. I heard there is a lovely waitress around here, and I want to watch her serve me drinks and maybe dance a little for my enjoyment.”

  Artiss looked about to be sick. Barrigan rose from his bar stool with a grimace of disgust on his face, and Konnon fought back tears when he turned to go.

  “Barkeep!” Julius yelled, “Send your lovely daughter out here with your most delicious wine. My wife is thirsty,” Julius chuckled. “Make it good, though. She has peculiar tastes in drinks.”

  Eye on the Target

  Konnon and Artiss walked into the Mud Puddle with a fist full of gold and, under heavy cowl, stopped at the filthy bar top. The barkeep smiled at them with a crooked mouth, devoid of teeth and covered in seeping sores. He pulled in close. His revolting breath crawled on Konnon’s face and clawed its way into his nose and throat.

  “The great hunters,”
the man said. “What do they call you and your bunch?”

  Artiss scowled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Konnon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “We are the Bloodhounds,” Konnon said. “We are dangerous and legendary for our quick and terrible tempers. We were told you had an eye on Rayph Ivoryfist and you would part with the secret for a few gold. Here is the gold.”

  Artiss opened his hand and five gold coins dropped out. The man scooped them up and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. He chuckled at them and smoothed his greasy hair back.

  “Where is he?” Konnon asked.

  “He is the one in the corner,” the man said. “Can’t miss him. He is the one no one is looking at.” The man laughed again, his wretched breath assaulting Konnon. Artiss looked at Konnon with alarm and dropped a fist on the bar. “Two drinks, preferably something that won’t rot our gut.”

  The man dropped two frothing mugs on the bar and chuckled again. He turned and walked away. The two of them took their ales and Konnon walked to the middle of the bar and sat at the table. He looked to his right, where Rayph sat with his hand on a strange emblem on his chest. Ivoryfist seemed to be talking to himself, saying something urgent.

  “We could call in Barrigan and Tama and hit him right now,” Artiss said.

  Konnon closed his eyes and remembered the first time he saw Rayph.

  Konnon was angry and screaming. He felt the need to break something, to watch it bleed at his feet while he roared. He held the rib of a boar they had eaten the night before. He gripped it in his hand and howled. A boar’s rib was a good weapon. And Konnon needed a good weapon. Maybe he could go back to Hon. Maybe he could kill once more for his god and the need for blood would play out.

  Rayph walked in. He was a simple-looking man wearing a brown cloak and nice clothing. Konnon screamed at him and ran. He held the rib back in his fist, the end he had chipped to a sharp point out and ready, and he came at Rayph with all the insane fury his nine-year-old body was capable of.

  Rayph met him with a boot to the chest and dropped him on his back. Konnon could not breathe. He could only stare up at Rayph, who looked down at him and laughed. Rayph pulled a dagger and held it before Konnon. Konnon knew he was dead, but Rayph tossed the dagger to stick in the ground beside him.

  “Pick it up. We need to get started,” Rayph said.

  “Konnon!” Artiss hissed. “Konnon, get your head on. We need to hit him now.”

  “We hit him now, we both die. Smear is around here somewhere. He will be watching Rayph. Even if we do get the better of Rayph—which we won’t with just the two of us—we have to get him out of here and we can’t do that alone. Smear will find us and he will hit us hard. We need to get everyone together. Every one of us needs to be here.”

  Artiss scowled and looked at his drink he was not drinking. Konnon took a swig of his and wished he hadn’t.

  “We can’t be impulsive. We have to be smart.” Konnon motioned with his head. “That is the most dangerous man in the nation right now. We need all of us to take him in.”

  Konnon felt the boot in his chest again and Rayph stood over him, smiling. “You lost your temper again. That is how I beat you,” Rayph said. “Get up when you’re ready to think. Until then, stay down.”

  Konnon took Artiss and left. They had planning to do.

  Artiss told him to keep his eye on the Mud Puddle, but Konnon was far from there now. He stood across the street from the church of Cor-lyn-ber, watching Tama sit and feed birds that pecked at the ground outside the church. She wore no disguise or in any way tried to mask her identity, but she had a look Konnon had seen before. Tama was hungry. Tama wanted blood.

  When a warrior of Cor-lyn-ber stepped out of the church and started down the street, Tama stood, tossing the rest of her bird feed and walking after the warrior.

  Konnon followed. He might need to serve as back up.

  The warrior wore a blue hood and robes. She was thin but muscled. She had a clear face free of any sign of trouble. She was a pure woman, a powerful woman. As Konnon watched, Tama lifted her hands above her head and spoke one loud and terrible word. A flash of green light and massive purple cords shot from her hands and wrapped the holy warrior instantly. Tama laughed and the warrior spun in the air at movements from Tama’s hands.

  “Dissonance, whore of Ivoryfist,” Tama spat.

  Citizens were fleeing. Only Konnon, Tama, and Dissonance remained still.

  “I am going to shred every muscle from your body,” Tama yelled. “Church trash like you needs to suffer!”

  There was a blur of movement between Tama and Konnon as dozens of people ran for their lives. Tama stumbled and righted herself before she fell to her knee.

  Men and women ran in every direction and Tama swayed. Her back was bleeding above the right kidney. She stumbled back toward Konnon, her hands dropping as she fought for balance.

  Dissonance fell to the ground, released by the failing magic, and Konnon turned. He walked to a doorway across the street as Dissonance pulled a tiny spear from her hip and prayed. The spear grew to full size and Dissonance knelt. She closed her eyes and stood. Two quick stabs, and Tama hit the ground. One final thrust, and The Bloodhounds were down one more member.

  The Tunnels

  Rayph counted the hours until he was strong enough to attack Julius Kriss. He met Kristla and gave her the three vases, cautioning her to be careful. He cast his spells and left her to them.

  He made his way from the Mud Puddle and out into the streets. The overcast night sky turned the air the yellow color of an old bruise. The streets he moved down hushed as they watched him. The eyes of the night searched his details, moving from street to street as they followed him. He did not need to look up to know they shadowed his movements on the roofs, did not need to look back to see Kriss’s army hot on his trail.

  They moved after him like a slowly approaching tide of murder. He would be hemmed in soon, and he waited for that moment with great anticipation. Rayph reached an intersection and paused. He let them think about what he might be doing, let them get nervous, before he set his feet again in a slow, methodical approach of Jailor’s District.

  The street names passed slowly. The buildings in this section of town were blackened and shuttered. Every pub had closed its doors. Every shop locked itself up tight. All innocents were gone. Only the vile remained to haunt these streets, watching his approach. He looked at the fetish on his chest, lifeless and useless, and he smiled. Fear, real and resounding in his chest, hammered out a frantic beat like terror-driven war drums on a field of bone and blood. If this didn’t work, what would come of their plan? What would Kriss do if he sniffed out Rayph’s designs?

  Rayph kept walking. Smear and Shalimarie hung in the growing wind of chance, their lives twisting and bending in the cold currents of Rayph’s mad plan.

  He reached Tread and Languish Street and stopped. He spoke a word, and his sword dropped into his hand. He squeezed its handle and stepped behind the leaning apartment. The alleyway around him teemed with eyes, the shadows thick with Kriss’s minions.

  When he reached the back of the building, ten men stood just outside the shadows. Rayph looked them over, their weapons and light armor, and he nodded to them.

  “I need one of you to open this door,” he said. “I took an arrow to the shoulder and I can’t budge it. If you want me in there, you will open it for me.” One of the men stomped forward. He slammed his shoulder against the swollen door five times before it gave way.

  The darkness beyond was immense. Rayph flexed his fist, giving the slight whispering of a spell. His hand glowed with green flame, lighting the way in ghastly, sickening color. Rayph stepped into the breach. The stairs were so badly damaged they seemed almost a ramp. The stairs had crumbled, losing all their angles, and reducing the way to a shuffling of stones and dust. The stairway turned many times until he came to an expanse of filthy, black water. The place hung thick with the stench of feces and refuse. Decaying bodies and oth
er horrors waited beyond, and Rayph cursed as he stepped into smooth water, submerged to the waist in the dregs.

  The men following behind splashed in after him, and Rayph let them come. He passed alcoves hiding waiting archers. He passed twists and intersections of tunnels that held three and four waiting men, watching as Rayph moved by. He nodded to each of them and pressed on.

  The sound of running water filled his ears, and he followed it until he came to a great room with a massive pool of churning sludge and a landing beyond. Water surrounded this landing on all sides, with one bridge in the center made of slick, crumbling stone. Above, on each side of the room, a pipe vomited up its water into the churning pool surrounding the island of stone.

  Julius stood in the center of the landing. He held Shalimarie by the throat, with his blade to her neck. His sneer showed him locked in the comedy of the situation. Slinter stood beside him, her prehensile tail slashing the air around her, her thin tentacles dancing her neck and draping before her chest. In its movements, Rayph could see her perfect, sweat-covered breasts. He felt the sting of that corrosive sweat again on his body, and he winced. The tunnel behind him spewed its charge of Julius’s army, and they milled around Rayph with their weapons flashing.

  “I’m here to get you, Shalimarie. Everything will be just fine,” Rayph said. “I’m taking you back to Thomas. Would you like that?”

  She said nothing, as Rayph expected. There was no change in her fear-streaked face, no lightening of her worry as her young love’s name was mentioned. Julius spoke quickly to change the subject.

  “You are as arrogant as I remember, you old fool. You possess the allies to come at me with a team, and yet you come alone. Do you think you will make it out of here alive? Are you that blinded by your own greatness?”