Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  “You go,” Dissonance said. “I will follow in a moment.” She closed her eyes and headed the opposite direction they had come.

  “We have no time,” Rayph said.

  “Then go.”

  “I’m not leaving you here,” Rayph said.

  “Then we make time,” Dissonance said.

  Rayph pulled another arrow. Another cord would hold him fast if the tower crumbled around them, but he knew he might not be able to save her if it did. Rayph pulled a rope from his bag and bound it to her. He tied the other end to his waist.

  Dissonance’s footfalls never wavered. She walked up the stairs and into a small room that stunk of sweat and rotten blood. Dissonance stepped into the center of the room as the tower trembled around them. She spoke a word and the tip of her spear glowed a gentle blue. The light strobed as she turned slowly in the room. This was a prison of sorts. Cages and barred chests filled the room. Each held tight a figure, and Dissonance closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  “Most belong here,” she said. “But this one does not.”

  She walked to a twisted bird cage where sat a cowering figure, filthy and covered in tacky blood. Dissonance reached into the bars and the figure crawled closer, whimpering.

  Rayph heard the level below them beginning to crumble, and he gripped the bow tighter as he watched. They had no time, but as dire as their situation was and as desperate as he was to escape the failing tower, he could not pull his eye away from the tiny figure who reached a filthy hand out to touch Dissonance.

  Rayph recognized the street urchin who Julius had killed, and he fought back the tears.

  Dissonance looked at the young girl. “I need you to back away, sweet child. I need you to back away.” She grabbed the bars and, whispering a prayer, wielding holy might, she bent the bars to crumble and break in her hands. She reached out to the child and smiled. “Come, my love, come to me.”

  The child wept and climbed into Dissonance’s arms. Dissonance wrapped her in her cloak and looked up to Rayph. “Wanna get out of here?” she said with a smile. Rayph wondered at a woman who could smile in Hell. But he did not have time to question it.

  “Let’s go,” Rayph said.

  Through the ruined tower they ran. Down crumbling stairs and through collapsing doorways they leapt, until they reached the room where they had entered.

  Rayph looked up to see Smear’s steel-covered face peering down at him.

  “Curiosity satiated?” Smear said. “Seen enough of Hell, have you?”

  “A bit too much,” Rayph said. He wrapped an arm around Dissonance and spoke a word. They lifted into the air and soared through the rip in the dimension. When they had won the dungeon again, Rayph dropped to his back and stared into the black above him.

  Dissonance whispered comfort to the child in her arms. The girl’s back spasmed once, and she dissipated into light for one brilliant moment. They heard a sigh, and the soul of the young girl was gone.

  Dissonance uttered a smattering of words and the rip between Song and Hell slammed shut.

  “Can you stand on your own?” Rayph asked Smear.

  Smear nodded. “Did you bring me anything?”

  Rayph ripped open a hole and reached in, pulling two fist daggers and a small sword. Smear grinned and tied the weapons onto his steel-plated waist.

  “We have a problem,” Fringe said. Rayph looked over his shoulder at a mass of black, swirling like a tempest against the far wall. It was forming into a portal, and Rayph cursed.

  “Time to leave,” Rayph said. The tempest portal opened up, the snarling of a demoness coming from within it.

  He jumped to his feet and charged for the tunnel out. Dissonance and Smear took the lead. Her spear grown only to her waist, she could fight in the close quarters with little trouble. Smear moved seamlessly, slicing and stabbing with perfect precision as he moved up the hall.

  Julius’s men from the sewer rushed for their rear, and Rayph fought side-by-side with Fringe, as Kristla hugged Shalimarie and the dog, and followed after Smear and Dissonance.

  Behind the sewer’s charge, Rayph could hear the lamentations of Slinter as she screamed and wept. She howled of her revenge in her demonic tongue, of which Rayph knew a little. The horrors she promised gave Rayph little pause. He urged his men forward and covered the rear. When they reached the third level, they broke out in a run. Rayph fired massive blasts of power behind him, and soon he was sure none dared follow. They reached the tumbled stones of the seal. Rayph waved his hand as the stones ascended one another again, and the mortar sealed it all up.

  Rayph turned to Kristla and Shalimarie. “Take her back to her mother. Tell the woman whatever you want to. You saved the girl, she found her way home, she fought off and killed Kriss herself—anything you want, but don’t let them know we were here. I don’t want you in that kind of trouble. Take Fringe with you. Tell them anything you want, but you and he get credit for Shalimarie’s life.”

  Fringe looked at Rayph, “That is not necessary.”

  Rayph looked him in the eye, “It is, and you deserve it. You will be praised for saving Shalimarie.”

  “Rayph, I can’t let you do this and not get credit for it,” Kristla said.

  “You have to, at least until the king is gone. If he hears you let us into a castle he was staying in, he will have you killed. Not a word, to no one. Do you hear me?”

  “I will tell Thomas,” Shalimarie said. “He will hear what happened.”

  “Tell him it is my desire that he mention my involvement to no one.”

  Rayph tapped the child on the head and Kristla set her down. Meekly, she stepped around Rayph to stand before Smear. His steel-coated chest was ragged from the lash, his face dimpled and swollen from the abuse it had weathered. He took a knee before her, and she touched his face.

  “I couldn’t. He is so sweet.” She nuzzled the puppy, and Smear shook his head.

  “No, dear, you did perfect. He tried to turn you into a bad person, but no one can do that except you. Thank you for what you did. You are a beautiful person. Please don’t let that change.”

  Shalimarie threw herself at Smear, squeezing him and weeping. Smear patted her back and nuzzled her neck with his steel-plated face.

  “You’re so hard,” she said, wiping her tears away. “And cold.”

  “If he changes me back, I will bleed all over you. It’s better this way.”

  “Smear, we have to go,” Dissonance said.

  Smear nodded and hugged the girl quick one last time.

  “How do we get out of here?” Dissonance asked.

  “We go home,” Rayph said. He spoke a word as he stroked his fetish. A portal opened to a cold wind and a bleak night sky. Kristla looked within the portal, and her eyes widened.

  “Where is that?”

  “Better if you forget about it, Kristla the Red. You’re not meant to be there.”

  She nodded, and Rayph led his crew back to Ironfall.

  The War Mage

  One drink in the Stalwart, and Rayph took to his feet. Dreark could not be with them, and they drank to him for luck. Dissonance visited her church where she found a humble priest cleaning her chapel. Rayph left her with him. Smear stayed coated in steel until they returned that night to Song. They made their way to the church of Cor-lyn-ber, and Smear laid upon the altar. When Rayph took away the spell, Smear groaned as his body returned to torn flesh and swollen bruises. They ushered Rayph away and went about the work of patching Smear.

  Two days later, Smear was on his feet again. Rayph sent him on the next part and went back to his room at the Mud Puddle.

  After three days of quick meetings with Smear, sly missives to Medey through Trysliana, and walking the street ducking bounty hunters, Rayph felt a presence enter the city.

  An impending dread filled the air, as if nature itself felt the approach of something sinister. Rayph walked to his window and opened the shutter, smelling the errant wind blow cold and sour against his face. Evi
l wizards, true evil wizards, were known to mask their foul taint so as to travel unseen, undetected. This power now present wasted no effort in that disguise. This darkness was unabashed, unashamed of its aura. Rayph grabbed his cloak and bag, and headed for the Rain Barrel.

  If darkness wanted to find him, it would be on his terms. He needed a place where he felt comfortable, and the only place he could think of was Trysliana’s bar. Long ago she had gone from being a serving girl to being the main presence of the establishment in Rayph’s eyes. He hurried to her company and found a glass of wine sitting on his favorite table when he got there. Within moments, she brought forth a massive steaming mug with a steel cap holding back the aroma, and locking in the heat.

  “Am I expecting company?” Rayph asked.

  Trysliana nodded. She looked pale, or at the very least frightened, and she quickly scooted to the bar and steadied herself behind it.

  The door opened with a rush of wind that hurried through the place, seeking all corners and rushing back outside. Rayph knew that spell, and he knew the caster of it had a lay of the entire place now in his head. This caster knew the character of the pub and a bit about everyone within it.

  Rayph braced himself as a fierce wizard stepped through the door.

  Rayph smiled, though his skin crawled, and he settled back, waiting for the only mage in the country he was not sure he could kill. The heavy treads of Sabrar Maul told of his steel war boots. His long, thick black hair seethed unnaturally around his head. His face seemed a part of the shadow cast upon it, as if light could not touch the man’s face. His heavy war staff thunked solidly along the floor with each deliberate step he took, and as he approached each table, its patron rose to hurry away. Most sought the door, knocking over tables as they ran, or bumping into their fellows in their haste to be anywhere but the Rain Barrel.

  Sabrar came to a stop before Rayph’s table and bowed in deference. He motioned toward the chair before him, and Rayph nodded. With a second wave of his hand, the chair slid back, and he lowered himself within it. As he sat back, the chair thickened and widened. The back grew taller, the chair produced armrests, and a darkness settled about the table.

  He drove his staff into the ground. The bottom of it groaned as vines and roots grew, twisting and shoving their way into the floor. They held the staff up like a sour flag that had grown into the bar.

  “He sent for you,” Rayph said.

  “He did. Lady Song is beside herself with worry for her daughter. My master said she begged him to call forth his greatest weapon to guard the young girl for the duration of the festival.”

  “So, of course, Medey called his war mage.”

  “He did.” Rayph looked into the horned skull that adorned the top of the staff. Sabrar once told him the skull belonged to his master of magic, the being who had taught him how to shape the spells he called forth. Sabrar Maul could not let such a vile creature live after learning its secrets. Once he had wrung out every ounce of knowledge he could from his master, he had tortured him for more and killed him when he was done.

  Rayph looked back to the war mage and smiled. “Why here? Why me?”

  Sabrar lifted his mug and removed the steel cap. He sniffed it and shook his head. “How did you get this?” he asked.

  “It’s a story.” Rayph looked at the bar, seeing Trysliana steeling up her nerve. “Is there anything else you desire? The kitchen is quite good.”

  “There is nothing. I gave up eating many years ago.”

  “I heard something about that,” Rayph said. Deals such as that cost dearly, and Rayph wondered how Sabrar had paid such wages. “You have yet to answer my question. Why did you come here, to this bar, and why to me? If you came to arrest me, then this city will suffer for it. I cannot let you take me in.”

  “Do not ask me to believe those ridiculous charges. Phomax is insane to think you capable of that level of wanton destruction. Twilight did not fall by your hand, though I am glad she is no more. I would imagine whoever killed her was trying to have you cast out, which in that case worked. If my lord asks me to find you, I will refuse. He will fume, but I do not expect that to happen.

  “No, that is not why I sought you out. My people taught me that when a wizard in good standing enters a city for any true amount of time, the mage must present himself to the most powerful peer in the city.”

  “Song is not my city. You need to speak to Kristla the Red. This is her town,” Rayph said.

  “If she were my peer, would I be here?” Sabrar asked.

  “She is an extremely competent wizardess.”

  Sabrar sniffed the air about Rayph and shook his head. “Has she seen its face?” he asked, before taking a long drink from his mug.

  Rayph shuddered at the mention of his last experience with Sabrar and the memory of the thing they had banished. “No, she has not seen its face,” he said, wiping his brow and steadying himself with a drink.

  “Would she have survived had she seen its visage, had she smelled its stinking breath?”

  “Not many would.”

  “You and I did. Therefore, when you sit a city, I will present myself to you. I know no other peer by my reckoning.”

  “The Stain, did they approach you?” Rayph hated the question, for he called himself friend to Sabrar, but he needed to ask, whether he received the truth or not.

  “Black Cowl never learned to play nice with me. He came to me and presented the idea, asked me to storm Mending Keep with him. But he is a petty man, and I dislike a man I can’t trust.”

  Rayph’s anger rose, and he beat it back. The city would not survive a fight between himself and Sabrar. “You did not mention the attack to me.”

  “I did not. Had you been at Mending Keep that day, he would have flown in to find me standing beside you. Things would have gone differently that day. I held no love for your guard. When I brought you Pulse to put in that cage, your guard had some choice words to share with me. So when I heard of Black Cowl’s plan, I did not warn him. If the man expected to have friends looking after him, he needed to treat people with honor.”

  “Stoic was an honorable man, Sabrar. I cannot let you tarnish his name with any other word.”

  “There is honor as most see it, then there is honor in how you treat another, even one you do not see eye-to-eye with. That kind of honor is the kind where you do not assume yourself better than another because of your own code. In that way, he lacked. His faith did not make him better than me.”

  “I agree.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, Sabrar, I do.”

  Sabrar sat back. He said nothing for a long time before he opened his mouth again. “What have I walked into here in this ridiculous city?”

  “I stand fighting the Stain.”

  “You have people with you?”

  “I do, Smear and Dreark. Drelis answers my call. I stride beside a warrior of Cor-lyn-ber and another I know little about.”

  “How fares Drelis?”

  “She still talks of you.”

  “Those days are gone for her, I’m sure. I am an easy man to look back on fondly, harder to live with daily,” Sabrar said. “I need to show myself before my lord. He knows I’m in the city and must be growing angry at my absence. Do you wish me to tell him anything?”

  “Nothing I can’t get to him myself, thank you.”

  “If you need me—”

  “I will not call on you, for you need to protect Thomas’s intended. No, Sabrar, in this you cannot help me. I have a furious demoness coming for me. And Kriss had others about.”

  “Julius Kriss?”

  “The same.”

  “He is no more?”

  “Almost.”

  Sabrar nodded, clearly impressed. “Well done.”

  “It was not me alone.”

  Sabrar looked Rayph deep in the eyes. “You are hounded by bounty hunters.”

  “I am.”

  “Do you know who hunts you? Do you know what mind is bent agains
t you?”

  “I saw him earlier, just a few days ago.”

  “I loathe betrayers,” Sabrar said. “Let me reach out,” Sabrar moved his hand out over the table, curled like a talon, his black nail sharp and long, and slowly he closed it, his fingers curling into a fist. “Let me reach out and crush him.”

  “He is desperate.”

  “He is a fiend.”

  “If he comes for me, I will deal with him. I ask you to let him be.”

  “I will be around.”

  “That comforts me.”

  Sabrar finished his drink, set the steel cap back on the stein, and headed for the door. He stopped to look at Trysliana as he left. His eye lingered on her, then he turned and strode away.

  The Snap of the Trap

  Konnon stood on the third floor of the building, watching the cart they had bought and the enormous crate that sat on top of it. He kicked his foot up on the windowsill and looked out at the darkening streets. Dusk was coming fast. They had been waiting for hours, and Konnon was getting nervous. He turned to Artiss, who sat drinking from a jug of wine and cutting off the feet of a rat he had caught. He chopped slowly, letting the rodent feel every bone crack and snap as the dagger blade chopped through the delicate feet and paws. Konnon turned back to the window and the ledge to the building beside it. He could do nothing more until the moment, so Konnon went back to the table where Artiss sat and pulled his dagger. With one swift stab, Konnon ended the rat’s life and Artiss laughed.

  “I was going to set him loose when I was done.”

  “You need to read more,” Konnon said.

  Artiss looked at him stunned, and then turned his gaze to the window facing the street. “I bet it’s hot in that crate.”

  “That raksa has to be sweating by now.”

  “Gonna smell like the wrong end of a sewer rat when he finally makes his move,” Artiss said.

  Konnon felt sick. The situation, the tender plan, so easy to crumble, played itself out in his mind. Konnon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “What has you so worked up?” Artiss asked. “You’ve been in this situation before.”