Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8)

by Lucas Thorn

  “You want me to kill the uncle?”

  “No!” Cheeks flushed. “Well…”

  “Give me two days, Myrna. I’ve got another job. Then you can tell me who you want dead.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “Don’t sweat it. You’ve got two days to figure out what you meant.” She lifted her head again. Stuck out her chin. “Food’s going cold in the hall.”

  “You never make it easy.”

  Myrna returned with the tray, then shuffled out without another word. But her expression, concerned and tired, said it all.

  The elf averted her eyes. Looked down instead.

  At a small bowl of soup. Plate of meat drowning in thick gravy with onions. Slices of potato. Few chunks of spicy pickled cabbage.

  Foaming mug of dark ale at its side.

  She reached for the ale first. Had to use both hands and fight against the numb sensation still wringing her fingers. Nearly dropped the mug more than once.

  Sucked a sip and set it down.

  Began to knead palms down her leg. He’d hit hard. She could feel the worms threading through her thigh. Felt them wriggle under her palm. Felt sensation slowly return.

  But it still took a while for her to be able to work her limbs with any strength in her fingers.

  Little longer before she felt comfortable enough to try standing.

  Satisfied herself there was no permanent damage.

  Was wobbly, but it’d be fine. Just needed to wait it out.

  And eat.

  There was still light coming through the windows. A flock of seabirds flapped past, croaking throaty caws as they wheeled toward the rooftops high above.

  Sound of hawkers outside.

  Offering food to those looking for early evening meals.

  Soon their voices would be rising in pitch as they tried to grab as many customers as they could before the evening rush was over.

  Someone clanged an iron pan for attention. An irritating beat she was getting used to.

  Chanted a well-worn phrase. Something about cheap desserts.

  Spooning soup, the elf kept one eye on the door. Running the encounter through her head. Not just hard, he’d also hit fast. And in key spots.

  Enough to drop her and keep her down.

  She hadn’t felt so helpless since her first few days with the Jukkala.

  Swallowed.

  Drank more ale.

  Shoved potatoes between her teeth.

  Chewed.

  He’d said she needed to remember things she’d lost. And he was right. If her trainers could see her fight now, they’d have her flogged.

  She’d gotten lazy. Too lazy to maintain her training. Muscle had forgotten moves she might’ve attempted if she’d been more alert to his skill.

  An elf had more physical strength than humans. More speed than most, too.

  It meant in most fights against humans, she hadn’t felt like she needed to try.

  Even against some orks she felt she could beat them with speed.

  He made her think she’d had it easy. Which got her thinking about Dreadaxe. A day would come when she’d have to face him. Could be as early as the next few days.

  Could she take him?

  Really?

  Something about him left her feeling cold.

  No doubt about it. When they finally did have to fight, it was going to be bloody.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to think more about the kind of things she’d been putting out of her mind since leaving Lostlight. Her bitterness at the way Jutta had treated Talek made her forget a lot of things. Had also poisoned her feelings toward her old Jadean.

  They were the King’s Hand. The King’s sharp blade.

  Everything they’d taught her was to protect him.

  Trying to remember made her feel a sting of shame. Shame for the way she’d run from the Caspiellan mage. A moment of cowardice which had carried its own terrible price.

  Talek.

  In the dark behind her eyes, she could see him. Blurred by time, but smiling at her. He smiled a lot.

  Why did he smile so much? Warriors shouldn’t smile.

  And why had she liked it?

  She dropped the spoon.

  It clattered to the side of the tray, unwatched and uncared for.

  Placed a hand on her hip, beside A Flaw in the Glass and called; “That better be you, Bograt.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but it ain’t,” a smooth voice called back. “Mind if I come inside?”

  “You alone?”

  “No. Should I be?”

  “There ain’t much room.”

  “That’s okay. We like it cozy.”

  “Sure.” She lifted the tray from the stool. Tossed it on the bed. Kicked the stool across the floor. It slammed up against the wall.

  Tried not to feel tense as she called; “Come on in.”

  “Obliged,” Filth said. Nudged door open. Entered with the air of someone who owned the inn. Or a king. Took a look at the stool and sat on it like it was a grand throne. Waved Klista to stand in the doorway. “Make sure we ain’t interrupted.”

  “No sweat.”

  “No sweat, is it?” The Shiv leader turned to the elf with a wide grin. “I swear, she’s soundin’ more like you every day, sister. She’ll soon grow a set of ears just like yours, just you wait. You got a mighty big influence on Klista here. And more than a few others. There’s talk. Talk of liftin’ you up the ranks. Some ain’t so happy about that. Think you maybe getting’ ideas above your head.”

  Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

  Her limbs were still a little numb. She doubted she could be fast.

  Maybe she could take him. Maybe she couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t take Klista.

  The girl was quick.

  With how she was feeling, Klista would kill her for sure.

  Easy.

  Klista watched. Face impassive.

  Giving nothing away. Not even a twitch of the eye.

  “Ain’t my call,” the elf said. Cold edge to her voice.

  The aging gang leader raised hand in a regal gesture. “Don’t fret, sister. I ain’t come to bust you up. You wanna know why I rolled my ass all the way out here? Weren’t an easy thing, you know. I had to get Klista here to drag some local Ice Nixes in to let ‘em know I weren’t here to bust their crew. That I was only wantin’ to check you out. Know how they felt about that? Relieved as fuck, they were. Ain’t that right, Klista?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See, they reckon you been stompin’ all over their ground and makin’ them look bad. They’re nervous. Sweatin’, they are. See, they only just took their turf from its former owners. They’re still sore from war. Still healin’. So, they weren’t ready to touch you because you’re one of us, right? You’re a Shiv. You’re family. And ain’t no one gonna fuck with a Shiv unless they’re prepared to fuck with us all. Which is how it should be.” He bounced the cane sword from one hand to the other. Tip pressed to the floor. No threat. Just fiddling. Eyes never moving from her. “I had to tell them you ain’t here for me. You ain’t here for the Shivs. You’re here for yourself. Like a misguided little lamb who don’t know where home is. You know what that means, right?”

  “Means if they stick me in the guts, you won’t follow up on it.”

  “Knew you were smart, sister.” He stopped fiddling with the cane. Leaned a little forward. The smile loosened as he tried a look of fatherly concern. Maybe it worked on younger recruits. “You want to know somethin’ else I know?”

  “Reckon you’ll tell me.”

  “You’re lookin’ for somethin’ bigger. Somethin’ more rewardin’. Somethin’ you can really bite into.” Waved a hand as her tongue touched the back of her teeth ready to speak. “Ain’t no need to deny, sister. We all look for better in life. We all got to rise up. Fly high. All that jizz. Ain’t that right, Klista?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Higher you fly, brighter it is.” He grinned wider.
Wrinkles coming alive at the edges of his eyes. “And I seen it. I seen how bright it gets up there. Seen the sun squeezin’ the clouds. Burnin’ your eyes. Wondrous thing, the sky. All blue and shit. Thing is, sister. It’s high up there. Real high. And higher you go, the more hawks you’ll find. Huntin’. Now, that’s okay if you’re an old hawk with a knowin’ of your way. But when you’re a young hawk, you’re just askin’ to be snatched out of the clouds, wings ripped off, and sent screamin’ to the ground. Long way to fall, sister. Real long way. Only one thing in this world can make that fall end easy. One thing. You know what that is?”

  “Family,” Klista said. Firm, but soft.

  “That’s right. You tell ‘er, Klista.” The smiling Shiv leaned back again. Far enough to press his shoulders to the wall. “You’ve done right by us, sister. You cut when I asked you to cut. Come runnin’ when I asked you to run. Did everythin’ you’ve been asked. More. But somethin’s missin’, ain’t it? You feel like you ain’t got no meat in your teeth, so you’re lookin’. Lookin’ around. This way. That way. In all the wrong alleys, you’re lookin’. Not findin’. But you think it’s there. Waitin’. Just waitin’ for you to walk on in and take it. I’m here now to say that ain’t how Dragonclaw works, sister. Those who walk down an alley sniffin’ for a leg-up, all they get is a hook through their cheek and a knife in their back. You getting’ what I’m preachin’, sister? It sinkin’ in? Or you not gonna get it until that knife sinks right between your ribs?”

  “I need two days.”

  “Two days.” Filth turned the words across his tongue. “She needs two days, Klista.”

  “I heard.”

  “Well, Klista here seems to think that’s reasonable. And, given you always done right by us, we’ll do right by you. You got two days, sister. Two days to get your shit all sorted and see if that alley of yours will pan for gold. But if it ain’t workin’ out for you, and I got a hunch it won’t, then you come let me show you what family can do for one of its own.” He shook his head. A parent who knew more and wanted to share. “You weren’t made to sift our borders, sister. When I got a look at you carvin’ up Red Claws, I never wanted you to be some wet-ass on the street for me. The Shivs ain’t like other gangs, you hear? We’ve got fingers in all kinds of pies. And all kinds of places. So, I got big plans for you. Ones where the gold you’re lookin’ to taste ain’t fool’s gold. It’s real. In your hands kind of gold. That right, Klista?”

  “You’re one of us,” the girl said. Gripped the cane tight. “And we ain’t children. This ain’t a game to us. It’s our life. That means something.”

  “You tell ‘er,” Filth said. Lifted himself off the stool. “I hear you put this inn under your wing, little hawk. Any particular reason for that?”

  The elf shrugged. “Powell gave me a beer when I didn’t have any coin to pay for it.”

  “That’s it? Well, now. There’s hope for you, yet, sister. That’s what we call loyalty, and we like that. Like it a lot. If you’re set on keepin’ your wing over their head, best you make sure no one cuts it off.”

  “I can look after myself.” Sounded petulant, even to her ears.

  “Never said you couldn’t. Maybe we can talk old Powell into movin’. Probably not, but maybe he’ll listen. City’s heatin’ up. Can feel it in my feet. Been heatin’ up since you arrived. Maybe more where you’re goin’.”

  “I can back you up,” Klista said, words rushing free. “If you want.”

  “Ain’t no need,” the elf said. Thinking of the Order. Thinking of Dreadaxe. Thinking he’d tear Klista apart with his bare hands. Realised she’d been curt, so added; “But I’m obliged.”

  It appeared enough.

  The wiry old Shiv chuckled in his throat.

  “You two. You’re like two sides of the same coin.” He motioned for Klista to open the door. “Finish what you’re doin’, sister. Then come on home. Nothin’ I said tonight were a threat. You ain’t done wrong by us. You just don’t understand how this city works, and that ain’t your fault. You come home. We’ll set you straight. You gotta stretch your wings first, my little hawk. Stretch first. Then you fly. You proved you can do the work. Time you found out where you belong.”

  “You belong with us,” Klista said. Pushed her way out into the hall. Looked back. “You’re one of us. A Shiv.”

  Filth took three smooth steps and was out. “Any last questions, sister?”

  “Nope.”

  “One last thing, then. You heard of the Bonebreakers?”

  “Outfit from the east side?”

  “That’s the fellers. You piss any off lately?”

  She shook her head. “Ain’t ever even looked at one.”

  “Then keep your eyes open, sister. They’re lookin’ for you. Been askin’ questions. Lots of questions. Kind which make a normal person mighty fuckin’ nervous.”

  Her eyes thinned. “I’ll be careful.”

  “I hear a lot of things, you know.” He moved out of view. Crafty. “Like, I hear where you’re going, you’re gonna need the Dark Lord’s luck. But, just so you know, I’ve put my money on you to fly faster than Hideg’s little crows. Look at you, lookin’ all surprised. You figured out who told me? It weren’t the nervous old buzzard downstairs, I can tell you that.”

  The elf couldn’t hide the scowl.

  If Filth knew more than she did about Hideg’s plans, then who else knew?

  She tried not to grind her teeth.

  Instead looked down at the empty mug lost in muddy light as he walked away.

  His chuckle swayed away into the bubble of the taproom.

  Klista watched him go before asking; “Do you know who it was? Who told him?”

  “Nope,” the elf admitted. Then drew lips back into a sour grin. “Figured there was no point asking. Probably just say a little birdie told him.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bograt watched her go.

  Pensive look on his face. Didn’t say anything.

  Just watched.

  She felt his old green eyes on her and chose to ignore them. Walked down the main street, following the slim glowing thread which hovered just out of reach with all the solidity of a rainbow.

  Stopped just once to grab a cup of fried potato slices from a vendor. Dusted in spice, they made the elf’s mouth burn in a way she’d come to enjoy.

  Eating as she walked, she kept head down but eyes skipping through the crowd in search of the man who called himself Crowlee. Knew he was there. Could feel his mirth like grease drooling down her back.

  The glowing trail led into an alley’s ragged mouth.

  She followed it, tossing the paper cup to the ground for the Alley Rats to find. Didn’t know what they did with it, but there wasn’t a scrap of filth that didn’t go through their hands.

  Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Thought about a drink.

  Above, on a balcony, an old man peered down. Had to squint to see her through the thin mist hugging the ground.

  “Hey,” he called. “You don’t belong here, Shiv. Hey, you hear me? You don’t belong here! This ain’t your turf!”

  She didn’t answer.

  A slim girl uncurled from a doorway. Not wearing much. Advertising.

  Dark hair coiled around quiet cheeks and thoughtful pout.

  She watched the elf approach.

  Unsure if she was interested. Unsure whether to thrust her shoulders back and smile.

  Chose instead to hold her ground. Wait.

  And, when Nysta was close, chose to creep her voice toward the elf’s ears; “It’s a hot night, long-ear.”

  The elf, whose collar was pulled up over her neck, frowned. “Ain’t that warm.”

  “Ain’t it?” The girl moved her head a little. “Maybe you just ain’t found a warm place to settle. Yet.”

  Something in the girl’s voice made the elf look at her again.

  Notice the tight lip.

  And eyes a little too round.

  Th
e girl was taking a chance on something.

  The elf looked ahead at the empty alley which was about to open up onto a dark street.

  Grunted.

  Dug into her pocket and pulled out a small coin. Thumbed it once then tossed it. A silver kiss dancing into the girl’s waiting palm.

  “Be cool,” she said.

  And kept moving.

  Hands close to the hilts of her knives.

  Mouth murmuring names.

  Their names. The whisper of their steely souls.

  Stopped at the end of the street. Right in the middle.

  Looked left.

  Two men sweeping the street. Long brushes in hand. Young men. Clean hands.

  Looked right.

  Two more. Leaning against a wall. One let out a guttural laugh. “Yeah, you got that right, man!”

  Bit too loud.

  Bit too forced.

  She looked down at her boots.

  Up to the skyline.

  Nothing along the rooftops.

  Scratched the scar on her cheek.

  “Hey!” The old man screamed down the alley from behind. “You better get outta here, long-ear! Before the Ice Nixes get here. They’ll fuck you up! Buddug gonna get ya!”

  “Relax, feller,” she murmured. “I’m about to be gone in sixty seconds.”

  As she began tightening the bracer on her left arm, the streetsweepers flicked a glance across the street at the other two men.

  Who looked at each other.

  Shrugged.

  Looked back.

  She breathed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Rolled shoulders to clear the tension.

  “Fuck this,” someone said. “She’s rumbled us.”

  Crash of sound as she leapt from the alley into the street. Coat rippling, a leather shadow in her wake.

  Instant Increase in Morale creamed through air on glittering wings.

  Buried to the hilt in the chest of the closest streetsweeper.

  He croaked a sound of disbelief before blood poured across his lips. Fell, clawing at throat as he tried to suck a breath back down a rising river of red. A river too thick to let air back into punctured lung.