Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  The representative from the church arrived. Dissonance stood within reach of Rayph, her spear full-length and ready to deal death. Cor-lyn-ber was to be represented at every execution of Song. It was no strange thing to see her standing beside Rayph, and he wondered if her presence might change the outcome. Would she be recognized? She wore her hood down tight around her face, but every other piece of her garb spoke of her involvement thus far. Rayph shoved it from his mind and fought hard not to look at the hoodsman marching to stand behind him. The man held a massive axe that seemed all at once too large for his trim body. He wore a shabby black-hooded mask, and dingy clothes smeared with blood and tissue. He set the axe handle down on the stage and folded his hands over the blade. He appeared patient to his core, but Rayph knew better.

  Phomax looked out over the people. Rayph had time to beg him not to make a flowery speech before the king stood, pulling his sword and brandishing it in Rayph’s face.

  “Confess all you have done and I will be merciful.” Hope, real hope, resided in those eyes, and Rayph shook his head.

  “What crimes would you like me to confess? I cannot remember all the horrible things I have done.” Rayph looked to the crowd, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He turned back to Phomax and let his mind settle into the proceedings. Phomax slid his sword home and strutted across the stage.

  “How about, to begin with, abandoning your post? A post I appointed you to, a post you vowed to serve until you were no more.”

  “Service under your rule was no longer an option.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.” Rayph looked the man in the eye and Phomax nodded.

  “How about the death of The Lady Twilight? Confess to her demise now and I will be lenient.”

  Rayph lowered his head and shook it gently. “I did not kill The Lady Twilight.” He thought back to that night, to the cruel way he had treated her and the shame he had brought to her before her men. “I was no friend to Twilight, but I did her no physical harm, though I regret that I did lasting harm to her memory.”

  Phomax stomped forward and stopped a breath away from Rayph’s face. “You are a liar. None of these people believe you.” He turned to the crowd to receive a half-hearted cry of assent. “That is the sound of justice, Rayph Ivoryfist. That is the sound of the ones who will condemn you.”

  The crowd cheered, and Rayph let his head droop on his neck. He took a deep breath and looked up at Sabrar. The war mage stared, in barely checked rage, at the king and his posturing. His long fingers drummed quickly on the shaft of his staff, his long nails tapping out their derision against the black wood. Sabrar looked to Rayph, then whispered and closed his eyes.

  “Say a word to me now and I will reduce this man to ashes.” Sabrar’s voice was loud in Rayph’s head.

  Rayph winced. “Prepare yourself,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Grab the girl and fly away as soon as I nod to you.” Rayph turned to see Sabrar staring.

  “You will be helpless should an enemy arrive,” Sabrar said.

  “When have you known me to be helpless?” Rayph asked.

  Sabrar stepped closer to Shalimarie. He placed his hand on her seat and nodded to Rayph.

  “Your words of denial will not save you, you fool. We all know your mind. You are a proud man, and when you were so easily replaced by such a powerful wizardess, you grew enraged. You killed her out of jealousy and spite. Spite for the king you served, and spite for the nation you have come to hate.”

  “Lorinth is my home. I love her people too much to ever hurt them.” Rayph turned to face the crowd, seeking out the most curled, hate-filled faces. “I will never abandon her to her enemies.”

  Phomax shook his head in disgust and walked away. “This is my nation, Rayph, not yours. I love this land, and I have decided you are no longer welcome in it. I condemn you to die. Let his head be severed and placed on high for all Lorinthians to see and rejoice at. Hoodsman, do your deed.”

  Rayph turned his gaze to the stage, his eyes desperately seeking any sign his plan had worked, any signal this had been the right course. The hooded executioner kicked him to his hands and knees, and moved beside him. Rayph looked at the king and smiled as a black vortex formed before the throne.

  “He is here,” Rayph stated. The axe rung against the stage as the hoodsman dropped it. Dissonance extended her spear and held it before her as the portal ripped open and Julius’s men rushed from its maw. They closed on Rayph, and Dissonance stepped in the way.

  “Hurry,” Rayph said, “We have no time.” Smear threw the executioner’s hood from his head and pulled out his lock-picking tools. In the span of a breath, he freed Rayph’s hands. Smear’s fingers were a blur when they unfastened the collar around Rayph’s neck.

  Smear rushed to aid Dissonance, and Julius stomped out of the portal.

  Rayph pushed his way closer and Julius grabbed Phomax. He put the black hissing blade to the king’s throat and grinned. “I came to watch you die, and to kill your king before your eyes. I guess I will have to kill you myself after slicing your king to ribbons,” Julius spat.

  “That’s not my king,” Rayph said.

  As Rayph approached, the magic-sapping pearl erased the alter-appearance spell he had placed on the one Julius held, and Dreark bellowed as he punched out, viciously connecting with Julius’s jaw. Julius made for the portal, but Rayph threw the pearl collar directly at Julius’s only escape, snapping the portal closed forever, trapping Julius in Dreark’s grasp.

  Dreark grabbed Julius’s arm and, with a twist, snapped the bone. “This is for Reghar the Brawn!” Dreark roared as he kicked Julius in the crotch and gripped his other arm. With a twist of his wrist, Dreark snapped it, too.

  Rayph looked to the queen, Medey standing before her, killing any enslaved criminal that came within reach of her. Sabrar was a wisp of black smoke on the air, having taken Shalimarie as promised. Mandrake carried Thomas away, and Dreark snapped and shattered Julius to bits.

  “This is meant for Kriss, your brother,” Dreark said. “I didn’t get a chance to kill him, so I will have to take out my vengeance on you.” Dreark punched Julius in the jaw, shattering his face and dropping him to the stage. He struggled pitifully to rise, attempting to push himself up with broken limbs, and failing utterly.

  Rayph watched the last of Julius’s men fall under Dissonance’s and Smear’s blades, or rush out in a panic into the fleeing crowd. He let them go. When Julius was reduced to a pile of broken bits, Rayph leaned over him and smiled.

  “You are the brother who killed that little girl in front of me.”

  Julius sneered as he gagged in terrible pain.

  “Are you that twin?”

  “I am. I still have her body, and when I get back to my tower—”

  Rayph smiled. “My companion freed her soul when I went to your tower and destroyed it, when I killed your brother. You have nothing, and will find yourself alone and suffering in Hell.”

  Rayph picked up the hell-forged sword and flashed it before Julius’s eyes. His bluster vanished. Rayph put a knee in Julius’s chest and pressed. The man’s eyes widened, and he stared in horror at the blade.

  “Answer me this, what happens to the soul of those who are killed with this blade?” Rayph stared down at Julius, who shook his head in terror. “No matter who they are, their soul is damned to eternal torment, is it not?”

  Rayph could see the girl’s terrified face, and his heart swelled with hate. He did not wait to hear Julius plead for his soul. He sheathed the hell-forged sword into Julius’s head and stood to go.

  Medey stood before the throne. He looked from Dreark to Rayph and grimaced. “What have you done with my king?” Medey gripped his spear as Sabrar landed behind him. The two men were easily the scariest thing Rayph had seen in years.

  “I will send him back to you unharmed,” Rayph said. “The only way to keep him safe was to apprehend him myself. He will be furious when he returns, but
he will return.”

  “He will ask me to hunt you,” Medey said.

  “I’m sure he will.” Rayph turned to his men as Dreark touched his fetish and created a portal to Ironfall. Rayph nodded to Song, the city he loved, and went home.

  The Cell

  Rayph and his Manhunters stood before the jail cell in Ironfall, staring in at the king as he screamed in rage. Long ago, the words he spoke had become unintelligible. His threats and venom rose ominous to the air as his face sweat and his neck reddened.

  Rayph heard it all—the armies Phomax would send, the bounty hunters he would pay, the horrible deaths that awaited every one of them at his hands. They all stood there and listened. When the king had raged for over an hour, he fell silent, and Rayph spoke.

  “I’m going to send you home now. I think you are safe for the moment.”

  “You are a dead man, Rayph Ivoryfist! I have seen the way your mind works. Barging into my feast so you can keep all my warriors busy while your diabolical fiends kidnap me and take my place! Do not think you will be able to do it again. I have learned your methods. I know your tricks and will not fall for them a second time.”

  “I’m sure you won’t, love. Until such time as you can send me to this terrible death you have promised me, I will send you home. Be good to your wife. She is a treasure. Be good to your son. He is a great boy and will become a wonderful king. Be good to your country. Love her as she loves you, and you will both prosper.”

  With a wave and a command, a portal opened within Phomax’s cell. He cursed them all one last time before he stepped in and it closed behind him.

  “Dissonance,” Rayph said.

  “Yes?”

  “Take this blade to your church,” Rayph said, handing Dissonance the hell-forged blade. “Hide it until I can figure out what to do with it.

  “Smear, I need you to do one last thing for me in Song. Drelis, I need to know what Black Cowl is planning next. If you can find that out for me, I would be in your debt.” He walked out into the fallen city of Ironfall. There was so much to do.

  Epilogue

  Konnon looked at Glyss and smiled. The building was rising slowly, but it was coming. With the money from Rayph’s bounty and the patronage of the church of Boxhead, the orphanage was assured. He thought of his childhood on the streets of Dragonsbane, and the horrors he had known after his parents’ deaths before Brole had saved him from the streets. He did not know for sure how he was going to keep the doors of his new venture open, but a life led serving this cause would not be a wasted one.

  Konnon’s daughter floated on a cushion of air as she ran the streets around the building site with children he did not know, all filthy and excited about what would be their new home. Konnon struggled and failed to hold back his tears as he thought about the life she would lead and the things she might do after the mysterious redheaded girl came to her.

  Glyss walked up to him with a grin on his face. “He wants to sit down with you. He wants to talk.”

  Konnon felt a shot of rage and gritted his teeth. “I will not beg.”

  “No one is asking you to.”

  “He cannot see Bree. I will not allow him to curse her and belittle her. If he wants to see her, he will have to earn it,” Konnon said.

  “Fair.”

  “I will not meet him at his house. It will have to be neutral ground.”

  “Fine,” Glyss said, turning to look at the structure and the men working to build it. “It’s gonna be amazing.”

  Konnon fought back his anger and looked at his future and the future of the orphans of Dragonsbane.

  “Yeah,” Konnon said. “I am worried I won’t be able to keep it open.”

  “Father is proud of you,” Glyss said.

  Konnon felt a swell of emotion at the words. He did not know what to think of it. It had been a long time since Brole had been proud of him. It felt kind of nice.

  Trysliana ran up the stairs of her broken-down apartment building. She eyed the door carefully before reaching her hand in, through a hidden crack, and unfastened the dart poised to prick an intruder. She disarmed her trap and opened the door, locked it, and crossed the room.

  She reached under her bed and pulled out a long, thin, wooden box. She lifted it to the bed and opened it slowly. She reached in and tied the sword belt to her hips. She strung her bow and grabbed her quiver, checking her arrows. She pulled out her red cloak and fit it on her shoulders. The golden hem gleamed before the cloak’s magic transformed her facial features to that of a trim, built man. She ran thin fingers through her beard and tried to smile.

  He hadn’t said goodbye. Smear and Rayph had left the city, and took her heart with them when they did. Smear had not come back to her for one more night, had not returned to tell her he would come back. She had been a stop along the path and nothing more.

  She shook the thought off as best she could and pulled her bow onto her back. Julius Kriss had left a void, and the city’s worst were filling it. She screwed up her courage and set her mind.

  A slight knock on the door brought her back.

  She pulled her sword and crossed the room, opened the door slowly and peeked out. At her feet sat a box, six inches by six inches, with a lid and a bow. She looked down both sides of her deserted hall before grabbing the box and slamming the door.

  Door locked, she set the box on the bed and stared at it. She told herself not to open it. There was no telling what it was or from whom. She had so many enemies in this city. It was almost time to move on. Song had been good to her, but it was almost time to find a new home. She thought about all the villains who could have left the box at her door, and she decided not to open it. She turned her back on it and left the room, setting her trap again and making for the city streets.

  Moments later found her back in her room, standing before the box. She opened it and nearly cried as she looked inside. The black leather base had, secured to its surface, a bat’s skull framed by two feathers. She grabbed it and held it to her chest, where she had seen Smear and Rayph wearing theirs.

  Inside her head, a voice set her body to thrumming.

  “Hey, ‘Fringe’. Went back to the Rain Barrel and they said they fired you after the Slinter fight. You looking for a new job?” Smear said.

  Trysliana cried.

  She ran to her door and threw it open. He was there, her Smear, her man. She grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss. He pulled back. He gripped her hood and her cape, carefully and slowly untying it. He looked up into her eyes with a smile.

  “Can we lose the beard, too?”

  He took off his fetish, picked her up, and kicked the door closed behind them.

  The Manhunters, Book Two

  The Decimation of Midvor

  Six Years After The Escape

  Dusk lay uneasy on the abandoned farmland. Crops grew out of control, wheat laying on the ground, too heavy for its stalks. Corn slumped, raided by crows and other birds. A hush had fallen over the surrounding land, and Rayph Ivoryfist and Sisalyyon stood on the road hidden within the trees, studying the town and its growing shadows.

  “You say your people told you of the animals here?” Rayph asked.

  “The trees are restless here,” she whispered. “All animal life, save the birds, has vanished. The people all left.”

  Rayph could see the tracks of carts that had passed, though they seemed to be carrying very little. Maybe a hundred people had walked this road recently, but Rayph doubted they carried much in the way of belongings. “Can you tap into the forest while I go check things out?” he asked.

  Sisalyyon nodded. She stepped into the gloom of the trees and dropped her cloak, exposing her naked body. Rayph pulled his eyes away, thinking of his wife and how long it had been since he had seen her.

  Sisalyyon was the most ravishing woman Rayph had ever seen. Her perfection was a thing of legend. He heard her roots begin to take the ground, and he turned to see her warping into the form of a cherry tree. The half dryad du
g into the ground, and her arms exploded into branches and blossoms. Her face alone remained that of a woman, and she nodded at Rayph as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “It’s all dead. On the other side of the village, a mass grave holds hundreds of animals. Everything here is either dead or has fled,” she said. “So much decay and murder.”

  She heaved as she wept, and Rayph nodded grimly. “Keep me posted.” He stepped from the trees and walked the road to the heart of the village of Midvor and the isolation it promised. Crows screamed at him, raising a storm of belligerent cacophony that gave Rayph pause. He pushed on, letting the night and the sudden chill weigh heavy on his mind. Darkness seemed in a rush, as if filled with bloodlust for the death of the day. Blood red clouds and bruised purple sky spoke of the brutality of the night’s advance. Rayph touched his dagger, feeling the ally within kick suddenly awake.

  “Are we alone, Fannalis?” One pulse and Rayph knew they were not. He crossed the threshold of the arch over the main road and into the ragged edges of the village, where the houses teetered and moaned with the upkicking wind. He could feel it then, eyes resting on him as he moved, hungry eyes devouring every detail, and plotting as he walked. Every door hid shadowy secrets. Every curtain waved in the wind, betraying the darkness within the abode, hungry and waiting.

  Fear stabbed Rayph as he walked the dead village, and he wondered at what might have scared away its citizens. He reached the center and found the mill and the town pub. The mill house squealed as the vanes overhead slowly turned, casting new shadows. The mill door was an open mouth, waiting and set to snap closed.

  Rayph turned his back to it and approached the pub door. He touched the handle and spit a word, hearing the lock on the other side slide, and the door burst open to slam the frame. The stench of old blood and dead flesh assaulted him. He spat a word and light burst forth from his hand, and he flew into the room.

  Chairs had been shattered. Blood splashed the wall and sat in dry, peeling puddles on the tables and floors. Signs of murder hung everywhere with no indication of the bodies that should be left. He searched the floor for drag marks and found none. Rayph moved on, stepping past tables, cracked and broken, and floorboards creaking, to make his way to the bar and jump behind it.