Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8)

by Lucas Thorn

  Glorious pain.

  Kind of pain which announced survival.

  Fingers were the first to twitch. Then her arm drove up through debris. Clawing for air, she shot upright. Agony lanced spine and her hip bone felt sharp as joint rolled in its socket.

  She tumbled off the junken heap, stomach roiling as the strange crawling darkness flushed through her body on wave of nausea and vibrant sensations which left her on hands and knees retching.

  Spat the rancid taste from her mouth.

  Neck stiff, she looked up. Saw cracks of light through door.

  And knew the Bonebreakers wouldn’t be far behind. They’d be running back down the stairs and be hitting the streets any second.

  Coughed dust.

  Staggered away with determined steps. Each crunch of the wounded building beneath her boot giving more strength despite the worms moving like slow acid through her body.

  Kicked the door.

  Grunted as the pain of it made her head spin.

  Then out into the rear alley.

  Wet slime-covered walls. Rats scurried for shelter behind a clutter of bins.

  A window slammed shut. Sound of women laughing further away.

  The elf saw the thin glow of thread in front of her itching eyes and hobbled after it, ears alert for the sound of boots. Could hear shouts. Something heavy hit the open sore left in the building’s roof behind. Didn’t move again.

  Lucky, she told herself.

  That’s all.

  She was lucky.

  Clenched fists and limped as fast as she could. Her chest felt tight. Breathing restricted.

  Scuffle of boots made her duck into an alcove and she pressed hard against the wall, angling one of the bins in front of her. Pushed a hand to her chest. It felt tight, but she couldn’t move to explore. Didn’t want to make any noise.

  A couple of Bonebreakers whipped past, heading for the door she’d broken through.

  “Hart? You in there? Oh, fucking shit.”

  “He okay?”

  “Fuck no.” Sound of someone puking. “I think I just saw the inside of his head.”

  “Shit. What made the bastard jump? He was a real pro. He should’ve known not to. Not from up there.”

  “Potions.” Spat sick to the ground and headed back down the alley. “Been taking too many. Thought he was the Dark Lord returned.”

  “Think she’s in there, too?”

  “You see anyone surviving that? We’ll pick her out in the morning. Give her ears to the boss. If we can find them.”

  As they rolled back down the alley, the elf slid from the dark and crept behind. Muttered loud enough for only her ears; “I ain’t anything like mister Hart, fellers. Didn’t make a mess.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She followed the trail through Bonebreaker turf. Was almost at the edge before a shadow slipped inside from a balcony up above and set off a clamour within.

  Sound of a tin pot being beat.

  Crash of boots as men swarmed the stairwell.

  And the elf ran.

  Stiff and sore. Head throbbing. She pursued the glittering thread further into the heart of Dragonclaw.

  “She’s alive!” Incredulous shout from behind. “Over here! She’s running along Fifth. Headed to Ninth and Gloom!”

  She looked over her shoulder, Go With My Blessing in her hand. Didn’t see him.

  Lucky for her.

  She didn’t really want to lose the knife.

  Burst onto a street filled with carts and trolleys. The thread weaved among them, sometimes looping across the top. Other times slithering between the wheels.

  “Shit,” she growled. Spun her way through a maze of tight spaces.

  Snatched a few to leave sprawling in her wake.

  Anything to slow them down.

  The thread darted up an alley to her left. A sickeningly steep incline. Steps carved into solid stone ground. Clatter of wood as Bonebreakers waded through the carts.

  She checked their distance.

  Not far enough.

  Ran the incline. Heart beating a hurried beat. Shot past streets so narrow they weren’t even alleys. Filled with tight-packed houses and towers. Old houses. Made from anything their inhabitants could get hold of.

  Small gutter beside the stairs drooled water slick with grease.

  Ran past a small bowl with herbs growing in it. A patchwork cat watched, disinterested. Glassy eyes followed her, though. Ears flicked.

  She kept going. Pain of breathing and heart pounding blood through her ears.

  Familiar feel like insects crawling across shoulders and neck.

  Down thighs like scurrying beads of sweat.

  Itching.

  But slower this time. Sluggish. Their familiar kick of power wasn’t there.

  She frowned. Looked back.

  Heard a soft sniffle.

  Looked up.

  And nearly caught a mace across her teeth.

  Managed only at the last moment to angle head far enough to avoid the blast of impact. Felt the passage of the heavy iron head lick the thinnest edge of her chin. Sharp sting as flecks of skin spat free on a few whispers of blood.

  Turned body sideways and lunged.

  Go With My Blessing drilled into armpit.

  She kept moving, tossing the screaming man sideways. Pulled knife free with a crisp wrench. Kicked. Sent him rolling down the crude steps.

  He let out a few whimpering cries the first few.

  Crunch of bone. Then silence as he ragdolled.

  Ended a crumpled heap the others had to step over.

  Halfway up, the thread angled through a narrow lane of houses. Small houses which screamed poverty with sickened gasping cries. Some had doors. Others didn’t. Just leather or wool curtains.

  A frail old man sat in an old chair and watched her run past.

  Crumpled mouth spread into grin. Single yellow tooth hung loose from upper gum.

  Eyes dull as he lifted a leather cup in dazed salute. Swollen eyes showing he wasn’t quite there. Scratchy voice called; “Good luck, long-ear. Mind how you go.”

  Couple of waist-high earthenware pots blocked a thin gap between two houses. The thread rolled between.

  She pushed one of the pots aside and it shattered under her heel with a crash. Spilled two withered apples and a tattered corner of parchment.

  The elf kept running Had to push herself down the tight space between walls. Almost sideways by the end. As she popped out the other side, a couple of Bonebreakers were already struggling to fit their bulk through. Huffing and squeezing.

  Refusing to believe it wasn’t wide enough.

  A few others were sprinting on, no doubt aware of another way around.

  The thread lifted up a wall. Old and notched with cracks and holes, it was an easy climb and she threw herself over with ease.

  Landed on all fours at the end of a dead-end street.

  Wiped wet forehead with her fist.

  Looked up. More high buildings on either side. Four, sometimes five levels high. Little cramped apartments. A teahouse, closed for the night.

  Couple had windows flung open.

  A young woman leaned on her arms, looking down. Small batcha pipe in hand. Puffed.

  Exhaled.

  The woman looked left.

  Real slow.

  Right.

  Without a word, pointed the elf to a doorway. Jabbed her finger twice.

  Mouthed; “Go!”

  Nysta winced. The thread was leading straight ahead. But she could hear Bonebreakers converging fast.

  She took a chance on the woman and hit the door with her shoulder.

  It was open.

  She kicked it shut as a magelight choked into life and revealed a long hallway. At the end, another door. Streaked white paint and someone had scratched a few words into the face.

  Dawntreaders eat dicks.

  Door was open.

  Led out into a courtyard with many doors along each wall. The first two
she tried were locked. The third opened with spiteful click.

  Another corridor. Crumbling plaster walls. Posters half-peeling away. More gang signs painted or scratched. Few mounds of trash lining the way.

  Old drunk snoring on his back.

  Had pissed himself sometime in the night and vomit clung to his chin. Empty bottle still in fist. Clung to it like a childhood toy.

  “Shit.”

  She took it. Went over him like he wasn’t there.

  As she went, Crowlee’s words bit through panic.

  Remember.

  What had she forgotten?

  How to run.

  Silently.

  In the narrow hall, her boots were scraping across the rough stones. Each sound amplified by echoes. Each echo an alarm hewn out of noise.

  A crashing plea for the Bonebreakers to find her.

  Snarling, the elf adjusted her footing, curling herself catlike so her weight rolled across toes. Less heel. More toe.

  Side to glide.

  Who’d said that?

  A few smooth steps later, she decided she needed new boots.

  But the sound was now a dull pitter patter.

  This time, she took the door slow. Tested the handle first.

  Opened less than an inch and saw the back of a Bonebreaker just in front. If she swept it open, it’d hit him. Send him sprawling. He’d have the chance to cry out.

  And the others would come running.

  He wasn’t tall. Wasn’t big. Club hung loose in left hand. Head tugged this way and that. Looking. Searching shadows.

  She pressed the door shut.

  Nibbled lower lip. Looked back to where the old drunk snuffled wet.

  Drew The Ugly and lightly touched the tip to the door. Slowly dragged it down. A bare hush of steel against wood. Whisper.

  Heard feet shuffle.

  How brave was he?

  She waited.

  Violet eyes narrow.

  Sweat squeezing through the pores under her arms. Painful tingle.

  Sucked a breath as the handle turned.

  Pressed against the wall behind the door.

  Watched it open. Saw his fingertips creep around the edge.

  Shadow along the wall.

  Then nose.

  Her left hand whipped into his hair as head came into view. Snatched a fistful.

  Jerked.

  Kicked against the wall to use momentum to swing him into the hallway. As his mouth open to let out a scream, The Ugly chopped into throat. She used the edge and slashed deep. Razor-sharp blade sliced through the cords of his neck and stopped only as it hit bone. Even then, it bit far enough she had to wrench the knife free in a torrential spray of blood which covered the wall behind her.

  More than enough ran thick down her face and chest.

  Dropping the body, she let it twitch and shake. Whatever final words he had, they’d be unheard outside the shattered last thoughts of his brain.

  Into the street she went, leaving dark footprints she hoped wouldn’t be noticed for a while.

  Scuffed soles as she went to lose the remnants of his death.

  Another lesson she’d forgotten. Leave no prints.

  Heard a few shouts, but none were close.

  And then she was at the canal which marked the end of Bonebreaker territory. Saw the glowing thread curl across a small bridge guarded by a group of tentative gang members.

  Four.

  Crept closer, switching shadowy position for another. Ducked behind a low-rising wall.

  Brain bubbling with frustration.

  Frustration which wheeled uncontrollably, spinning through her guts and swatting holes in her mind. Holes being filled by a mist she hadn’t felt since leaving the Deadlands.

  A cold mist as the worms hummed soft inside her skin.

  She shook her head. Tried to clear it.

  Focus.

  Blood of the dead Bonebreaker still wet on her face. She could smell it.

  Taste it, even.

  Taste which triggered the worms to lunge suddenly through her body. Not like their usual frenzies flood. This was different. A spasm of chaos as they beat at her skin as though trying to burst free.

  They swarmed.

  Buzzing.

  Driving her to huddle closer to the wall. Pressing hard. Struggling for silence as the rushing flood beat and battered flesh.

  What did they want?

  To escape?

  Scared and only seconds from panic, the elf squeezed arms tight around her chest and held her breath.

  Grit teeth.

  Snarled inward, shouting into the corner of her mind. Shouting at the worms.

  Be still.

  Stop.

  Then felt them begin to calm.

  To slow.

  Stop.

  A sluggish pool sliding back into the hidden depths of her core.

  Leaving her staring at the glowing orange thread in shock.

  What had just happened?

  Wiped the blood from her face and sucked air. Maybe the alchemist’s brew. That had to be it. It must have done something. Yes, a side effect of the potion.

  Had to be.

  When she found Tantalon, she’d tear his head from his shoulders. He should’ve told her.

  Cold chills gave a few half-hearted nibbles. Like the echoes of fever.

  She pulled The Ugly into her fist. The heavy blade felt comfortable. Felt real. Something she could focus on.

  No time for the curse which infected her body.

  No time.

  She had to follow the thread. Follow it to those she needed to kill.

  The Jukkala’Jadean’s training kicked in. Mission first. Questions later.

  She twisted. Peered over the wall at the bridge where the Bonebreakers were trying to look casual. Muttered conversation too soft to reach her ears.

  Four.

  Could she take them?

  How fast could she get to them?

  They’d shout. Scream.

  But if they did, she’d be over the bridge before the rest could arrive.

  Out of their turf.

  Would they follow?

  She couldn’t afford to have them on her heels. Not tonight. She had to evade them. Then figure out what to do about them tomorrow.

  Why were they after her in the first place? It made no sense. She was sure she’d never even touched a Bonebreaker. Couldn’t recall killing any.

  Lately.

  Assuming it was something to do with Hideg, she sighed.

  Rolled over the wall and found shadows against a wall. Behind a clutter of bins. Pressed herself in tight.

  A rat scampered loose and headed for the canal.

  She watched it go.

  Pursed lips in thought.

  Picked up a small stone. Weighed it. Then threw with all her strength to send it arcing high over their heads. Lost in the dark night, it tumbled end over end until hitting the fetid canal waters with a thick plop and gurgle.

  Four heads turned as one.

  Away from her.

  Squinting into the dark.

  “-hear that?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Somethin’.”

  “Nah. Just more fuckin’ rats.”

  It wouldn’t keep their attention long.

  Wouldn’t need to.

  Sprinting from the dark on legs which powered her fast across the ground. She hit them hard.

  Seconds. That’s all they had.

  Blood.

  Long arterial sprays. Short gushing spurts. Wide drenching rivers.

  And a single red pool which spread evenly across the stone before dribbling off the edge into the canal.

  Four bodies.

  Crumpled and torn.

  And the elf stood alone. Chest heaving. Back bent and fingers clawed around wet knives. Violet eyes working the shadows. Seeking more flesh to rip.

  Tip of her tongue raked upper lip.

  Heat behind her eyes dragged her head around to follow the
glowing thread toward the Ducal Quarter. A place where more guards patrolled.

  The kind of guards who preferred to kill lone gang members than query their presence.

  Pulling the cloak of the Shivs tighter, she crept.

  Skipping from dark place to dark place. Hiding in alcoves. Ducking into doorways. Sometimes climbing along rooftops.

  Until it led down an alley to nowhere. Sheer stone wall some five levels high. Same either side. No windows. No way up.

  And the light drilled through the stone.

  “Shit,” she said. Looked back. Someone would see her soon.

  A magelight hung bright only a few steps behind.

  But how could she get over? Maybe go around?

  She was about to turn, when she remembered the Red Claw volcano.

  Remembered Bograt feeling around the stones. Finding one loose.

  She began to do the same.

  Hurried fingers exploring. Dancing from brick to brick.

  Probing. Pushing.

  Pulling.

  When she found it, the click was barely audible, but a crease revealed a hidden door. She pushed on it, finding it easy to open. Slid into the dark and pressed with her shoulder to shut it again.

  Stayed where she was.

  Listening.

  Quiet exhale.

  Waiting for eyes to adjust to the pitch dark. Pulled lips into a cruel grin.

  Knew she was close.

  Could feel the air tremble in anticipation of a night of slaughter.

  Her eyes twitched and the dark came alive as the orange thread coughed into life, spraying walls with dark reddish glow. Making it easy to see her way down the pitch dark tunnel.

  A glow she knew instinctively only she could see.

  Tantalon’s potion. Another side effect. The Order had prepared it well.

  “Well, feller, I reckon it’ll be easy to stay mad at you now,” she whispered. “On account of your potion making me see red.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The corridors formed a wretched and confusing maze. Twists and turns. Jagged forks and junctions with multiple passages spearing in all directions. Air shafts reaching to the night sky.

  Every step she could feel the walls pressing in. Sometimes too tight to move without edging sideways. Always narrow. Low ceiling.

  Bordering on claustrophobic.

  Even with the subtle red glow, darkness smothered everything. Forced her pace to a steady creep and, even with the thread to guide her way, she felt lost.

  Now and then, sounds of people permeated stone.