“Say that again and our talk ends,” warned the former shadow-blade.
Chad nodded amiably, then spoke to Angela in a not-so-subtle aside, “In case you’re wonderin’, this man was once the top turd among Mal’goroth’s so-called Shaddoth Krys, but that’s not what pissed him off.” He looked back at the assassin. “I never understood why you hated your name so much. It’s perfectly fine. A lot of honorable men have had that name.” Then he snickered.
“I’m done waiting. Quit stalling and tell me what you have or I’ll end it now,” threatened Oswald.
The hunter sighed. “Alright, have it your way. I just wanted enough time to enjoy this last drink before you kill me. I don’t have anything for ya, not that I’d share if I did,” admitted Chad.
The Roach laughed. “You were stalling just so you could drink more? You really are nothing but a pathetic drunk.” Twin blades appeared in his hands, promising death.
Chad lifted the flask, holding up one finger, then put it to his lips, taking a final pull. He closed his eyes. Forgive me, Joe, for I’m about to sin against your finest gift to mankind, he prayed silently. When his eyes opened once more they revealed smoldering brown pools brimming with malice, then he puckered his lips in a mocking kiss to his adversary.
Oswald leapt forward, then jerked back with a cry of pain as Chad sprayed him in the face with McDaniel’s finest. Taking the initiative, Chad followed up with a solid punch to the rogue’s stomach, for Oswald had raised his blades to guard his now-blinded eyes. The Roach flew back to crash hard against the wall. Then Chad swung the flask, splashing more alcohol on the assassin.
The Roach didn’t stay put for long. Still blind, the rogue jumped to his feet, seeming to charge at Chad before leaping into the air and diving completely over the hunter’s head.
The hunter had expected something similar, and his long knife came up to gut the thief, only to be blocked by the assassin’s own blade. Even blind, the Roach was uncannily skilled. The thief struck the floor behind Chad and rolled several feet farther before springing up again, wiping at his eyes with one sleeve. His eyes were red, but he could see again.
Chad knocked a thrown blade aside, barely, and then the two of them met, not in a clash of steel, but in a lightning dance of sweeping slashes and hasty dodges. He held his own for an eternity of seconds, but as fast as he was, he could tell that Oswald was still—somehow—faster. Eventually, he was going to get a bellyful of steel. “What are you waiting for, girl?” yelled the hunter. “The lamp!”
The ranger launched an aggressive series of attacks to force Oswald back toward the corner while Carissa puzzled out the meaning of his words, and he took several nasty cuts on his forearms in the process.
Carissa finally understood his plan, and the lantern flew through the air. Quick as a flash, the Roach dodged to one side, but Chad had anticipated him and forced him to change direction. Even so, the rogue managed to slip away on the other side—almost. As the lantern smashed to the floor its oil spilled out, and the flaming pool set fire to the assassin’s leg before spreading upward to his shirt.
The assassin shifted his stance in the blink of an eye, and ignoring the flames, he drove his right-hand blade forward and up. Chad had no chance to dodge, but Oswald’s leg slid sideways as he moved, a victim of the burning oil on the floor. The rogue fell, rolling away and screaming as his hair caught fire.
Somehow, the Roach still managed to rise, beating at his face and neck, desperately trying to smother the flames. Careful to sidestep the oil, Chad moved forward, leaned away from his adversary, and then lashed out with a vicious front kick. He felt ribs snapping as his boot landed, launching Oswald through the balcony doors, across the veranda, and into the night. “Drop and roll, asshole,” he muttered to himself as his cousin fell to the street below.
Stunned, Carissa stood mute for a moment, then asked, “Is that man really your cousin?”
“Not anymore,” answered the hunter, then he reclaimed the bedspread from the floor and threw it over the burning oil, hoping to put out the fire. Unfortunately, his effort met with limited success. Moving over to the bed, he helped Angela up, putting her arm over his shoulder. “I hope you didn’t buy this place.”
“We’re renting,” said the maid as they hobbled toward the door. The flames were already spreading.
Carissa started to turn back. “Let me grab some clothes…”
“Forget them,” said Chad. “There’s not enough time, and I need you to help Angela. I need my hands free when we get to the door.”
Carissa took his place, and the two women began moving together. The stairs turned out to be the worst challenge, as they forced Angela to bend her leg several times, causing her considerable pain, though she didn’t complain. Chad waited for them at the bottom, shaking his flask with disappointment as he tried to get a few final drops from it.
“Is that all you’re worried about?” asked Carissa. “You’re bleeding.” She looked at his arms, which were covered in long, shallow cuts.
The hunter smirked as he answered, “Priorities, girl.” Then he held up the flask and kissed it before slipping it back into his jacket. “Rest well, my friend. You made the ultimate sacrifice to save us.”
Carissa shook her head in disbelief as she and Angela continued, making their way toward the front door. “Unbelievable.”
Chad moved past them to open the door, drawing his long knives once more before he stepped out. Seeing no one, he looked back at them. “That’s what they all tell me, lass, but the legends are true.”
“You’re an unrepentant drunk,” accused Angela.
He turned to the maid and gave her a wink. “I see you’ve heard the Saga of Chad before.”
Pulling out a small knife, the maid cut two long strips of cloth from her skirt and began wrapping his forearms. “You’ll be of no use to us if you pass out from loss of too much blood.”
In Chad’s opinion, the cuts were too shallow to be dangerous, but he appreciated the concern. His headwound was what truly handicapped him, although the alcohol had helped with that somewhat. He still felt unsteady. As Angela worked on the second arm, he was forced to drape the other over her shoulder to prevent a fall. He almost felt bad about the bloodstains he left on her dress. “Before we step out the door, find a weapon and hide it under your cloak. I doubt he was lying about there being another man or two outside.”
Angela gave him a doubtful look. “You think we’re in any shape to fight? I can barely walk and you’re having trouble keeping your balance.”
The hunter nodded. “That’s as may be, but I still have my strength. If it comes to it, I’ll try to grab hold of them. Once I’ve tangled one up, try to repeat what you did to my head.”
Carissa returned from the kitchen holding a large meat-carving knife. “I’ll do it. I’m in better shape than either of you.”
“Your only job is to run if there’s trouble,” admonished Angela. “You’re more important than either of us.”
“Too bad,” said the younger woman as she pulled a cloak from the hall tree and draped it over her shoulders.
Chad left Angela and made his way to the front door before Carissa could reach it, swaying slightly as he walked. Fortunately, he’d had a lot of experience walking across unsteady terrain. In the past that was mainly due to excessive inebriation, but the skill seemed to transfer pretty well to his current situation. He gave Carissa a lopsided smile. “I’ll open the door. If there’s a problem, you can try your murder-kitten act then. Just be sure not to stick me in the process.”
Angela hobbled over to them, and he opened the door.
Two men waited just outside the door, and neither hesitated. Adrenaline and McDaniel’s finest helped the hunter as he gutted the first man with a speed neither Angela nor Carissa expected. The stranger grabbed hold of Chad’s shoulders, dying but still dangerous, while his accomplice moved around to confront Carissa.
The maid pushed forward on her one good leg, pulling her w
ard back as the man advanced. Both women were surprised, however, when a crossbow quarrel erupted from the man’s chest, having passed almost completely through his body.
Two shadowed figures stood in the street, one a man; the other was shorter, a woman carrying the crossbow that had just fired. Carissa recognized her first, her eyes registering relief. “Mother!”
Rose handed the empty weapon to her companion, Roger, and advanced up the steps to embrace her daughter. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Angela stumbled forward, attempting to bow on her one good leg. “Milady.”
Rose nodded quickly, then turned to Roger, her eyes having noticed the leg wound immediately. “Help her, quickly,” she commanded.
“Don’t mind me,” said Chad from the ground as he shoved the now-dead thief off. He was thoroughly covered in blood.
Rose stared at him in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” Her expression turned to disgust as she watched the ranger rifling through the dead man’s jacket. He found a purse, which he tucked into his own coat before smiling as he found a half-full wineskin.
“That’s more like it,” crooned the hunter. His smile turned to disappointment as he took a sip, then threw the wineskin to the ground. “Fucking water.” He stood and wiped his blade on the fallen man’s coat before putting it away. “I’m here to find you, but I found these two instead.”
“You’re the mercenary,” said Rose, “or so we thought.” She glanced at the two dead men. “These two were here to guard the house—from you.”
Chad sniffed. “You need better help, besides…”
“They were going to kill me and kidnap Carissa!” interrupted Angela. Then she pointed at Chad. “His cousin broke in and tried to kill us.”
Rose frowned. “Who?”
“Ex-cousin,” corrected Chad. “His name was Oswald, though he was going by ‘The Roach.’ I think he decided Carissa would be good leverage once he found out she was your daughter.” He looked up and down the street. “It would probably be a good idea to put some distance between ourselves and the burning building. We’re drawing a lot of attention.”
A crowd was gathering, and two enterprising citizens had already begun yelling for others to assist in forming a bucket brigade. Rose and the others agreed with him and they began moving away. One brave neighbor tried to stop them, but he backed away quickly when Chad snarled and started to draw his knife.
Once they had gotten a few blocks away, Rose began sharing an abbreviated version of her story, which soon prompted a question from the hunter. “How did you get here so quickly?”
Rose’s companion, Roger, lifted a hand, then Rose answered, “I didn’t trust the Roach entirely, so I paid this dear man to keep an independent eye on things here for me.”
Chad was surprised. “You found an independent contractor? How’d you know he wouldn’t report back to the Roach?”
“I’m not a thief,” said Roger quickly.
“He’s a pimp,” Rose announced, grimacing as she said it aloud.
Carissa moved a little farther away from the newcomer, putting her mother and Angela between them, while Chad snickered. “It sounds like there’s a lot more to your story than you’ve shared so far, Lady Rose. Or should I call you ‘Madame’ Rose?”
Rose sighed. “It will make more sense after I’ve explained things.”
The ranger shook his head. “I think I’d rather guess.” He nodded at Roger. “You thought she was new talent, didn’t you?” The pimp didn’t reply, but Chad saw a smirk on the man’s face before he looked away. The hunter began to laugh.
Scowling, Rose interrupted his mirth, “If you’re quite done—where are we heading? I don’t think my place is safe any longer.”
“I have a rendezvous point outside of the city,” Chad informed them. “Karen should be there in the morning. She’ll take us back to Matthew and the others.” Then he pointed at a building to the left on the street they were walking down. “But first I need to retrieve something.”
After a painful climb, Chad returned a few minutes later with the bundle of dresses that Angela had commissioned for Carissa. He handed it to Rose’s daughter. “This might help make up for what you lost in the fire.”
Chapter 27
They spent over an hour walking through the streets, following a route that Chad thought would garner the least attention on their way to the eastern city gate. Given the hour and the unusual composition of their group, they couldn’t avoid all scrutiny, however. Twice they were stopped by a night watchman, and the second time Chad thought he might have to resort to violence, until Roger stepped in and bribed the man with a few silver coins.
That probably wouldn’t be good enough once the news of the fire and the disturbance Chad had created reached all the watchmen, but they only had one last obstacle to overcome, the gate itself.
He looked over his companions again and sighed. There wasn’t a single good excuse he could think of for three women and a man covered in dried blood to be exiting the city at this hour. His left forearm throbbed, and he rubbed at it through the makeshift bandage.
The best choice would have been to find a place to lay low for a few days. He wasn’t in any shape for a fight, and his appearance was highly suspect. Every beggar, cutpurse, slam-thief, and street urchin in the city, not to mention the city guard, would be on the lookout for their group within a matter of hours. The Roach was almost certain to have contacts within the constabulary, and even if he was dead, some of his men would likely be able to use those contacts.
If he was dead. Chad was far less certain on that count than he had acted earlier. If that bastard didn’t break his neck in the fall, I can only hope the burns keep him in bed until we get out of here, he thought to himself.
“I only see a couple of men guarding the gate,” observed Carissa quietly. “It’s open. Can’t we just walk through?” She paused, then added, “Actually, why isn’t it closed? Isn’t that the whole point of having a gate?”
“Most cities only close their gates during time of war, dear,” explained Rose. “It’s far too much trouble the rest of the time. There’s always someone wanting through for something urgent after you close them. Besides, Iverly is far from the border and they haven’t faced a serious threat in generations. Even during the war with Lothion there was never an incursion into Gododdin itself.”
The ranger grunted. “Yeah, they only had to worry about their own priests cutting their throats.”
Carissa looked at him with sudden interest. “You mentioned the Shaddoth Krys earlier. Was that the priesthood of Mal’goroth?”
Chad shook his head. “No, they were religious assassins, sort of like the secret police of the priesthood. Most of them were just common cutthroats, dressed up and given a special place as enforcers, but some, like my cousin, were given special gifts by Mal’goroth himself.”
“Was he some sort of channeler?” asked Angela.
“Doubtful,” said Chad. “Oswald never had any special abilities as far as I know. He was just quick with his hands. Besides, the channelers lost their power once Mal’goroth died. Whatever Mal’goroth did to him was some sort of physical enhancement.”
“Like the Anath’Meridum, or the dragon-bond?” suggested Carissa.
The hunter shrugged. “I ain’t a wizard. All I know is that the asshole is faster than I am, though I doubt he’s stronger. Also, I have one major advantage he doesn’t have.”
“What’s that?” asked Carissa.
Chad patted his belly. “I can drink that bastard under the table any day of the week.”
Roger laughed suddenly, then spoke for the first time since they had met, “All you need to do now is lure him into a tavern and drink him to death.”
That earned the pimp a harsh glare from Rose. “Don’t encourage him,” she warned. “Do you have anything constructive to add, Roger?”
Roger smiled brightly. “As you’ve already guessed, trying to leave by the gate is going to draw at
tention to you at this hour. You could spend the night at the Painted Lady and try the gate in the morning when the farmers and traders start coming and going.”
“The Painted Lady,” mused Carissa. “Is that an inn of some kind?”
Chad began to chuckle while Angela’s cheeks colored with embarrassment, but Rose answered without hesitation, “No, dear, it’s a brothel, and I’d rather not expose you to that environment.”
“Mama Bear doesn’t want you to see how…,” began Chad before the flash of anger in Rose’s eyes stopped him from ending his sentence. …how she’s been earning a living, he finished mentally. No, that joke wouldn’t have gone over well at all. Recovering, he amended his words, “…how the other half live.”
Carissa was perceptive, and her eyes moved back and forth between her mother and the hunter, noting the tension in the air. Finally, she broke the silence, “What about a distraction? You said you threw a brick earlier to draw the men away from our house. Would something like that work here?”
Chad sighed. “There’s nothing on the other side of that gate but open road and flat land for half a mile. We might draw them away and slip through, but they’ll spot us when they return to their posts. That would only make things worse. I doubt we could outrun a detachment of guards.” He nodded in the direction of Angela, whose limp had become noticeably worse over the past hour. “Then again, we can’t hide in an alley, either. I suspect there are a lot of people looking for us by now. People we really don’t want to meet.
“And no disrespect to you, Roger,” he added, “but they know about you and Rose working together. The Painted Lady is one place they’re bound to look.”
Lady Rose had closed her eyes, deep in thought. When she opened them again she met the hunter’s gaze and addressed him, “You’re sure that Karen will be at this rendezvous point at sunrise?”
He nodded slowly, seeing something dark and serious moving in her thoughts.
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