Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8)

by Lucas Thorn

  His last gurgle stank of beer and batcha.

  “That’s my name, feller,” she said. Softer; “That’s my name.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She walked in like she owned the place.

  Hoped no one would ask questions that way.

  Grabbed the barmaid by her arm. Leaned in close. Said, clearly; “Beer.”

  The barmaid tugged free. Then nodded. “Take a seat.” Sneered, more at her surroundings than the elf. “Watch it doesn’t break under your ass.”

  “Ain’t my ass I’ll break it on,” the elf murmured.

  Took a place beside a guard so drunk he had his head on the table. Was slurring something to no one in particular.

  Eyes closed.

  Snored a few times.

  “Don’t think I know you.” Heavy man whose tired old frame carried showed only leftovers from the shadows of receding youth. Face crisscrossed with scars. Still, there was something about him which made her think he no longer needed muscle to kill. He had something more deadly. Experience. He leaned against a wall just beside her. Looking down with calm humour. “Ain’t had many elfs working for us. Not any good ones, anyway.”

  “That ain’t changing,” she said. “Ain’t working for you.”

  “Then why’re you here? Didn’t see the sign on the way in? This is for Unified Bodyguards only.”

  She jerked a thumb to the man in crimson. “I’m with him.”

  “Aegir?”

  “Yeah.” She looked up as the barmaid returned with a wooden cup. Not a big one. Set it down and walked away.

  Nysta eyed the meagre offering with distrust.

  “You know, a couple of months ago, they used to rent out an inn for us. The Screeching Bureau. Heard of it?”

  “Ain’t sure. All these names seem to mimic each other.”

  “I guess they do. Was a fine place. Old wood floors. A bar you could lean on without it falling over. Beer in a proper mug. Clean most times, too. Owner was a bit of a dick, though.” He grinned. Watched as she squinted into her cup. “Yeah. I wouldn’t drink that if I were you. Cheap rotgut from some feller Bran knows on the docks. Pretty sure it gets pissed in before it gets here. Probably by Anj.”

  She frowned.

  Sniffed.

  And accepted he was probably right.

  “Strange place to build a tavern,” she said. Not knowing what else to say while her eyes scanned the room. Searching for an idea.

  “Got that right. Ain’t my idea. But Sagg and Anj think it suits us just fine. Don’t let the writing on the wall fool you. That’s what it was called a few hours ago when the kids put it together. As of the speech you just missed, they’re now calling it Unified Heroes.” Snort. “Mighty fine name for a shithole. But look at these drunks. They’re happy. Haven’t been paid in more than beer. Won’t likely be paid, neither. Reckon they’re just trying to get us to train the squibs. Then they’ll keep the squibs and kick us old vets onto the streets. We’re too expensive in the long run, you see. We won’t fall for all this heroes shit. We’ve been around too much to think a pissy fucking get-up like this is a bar. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure you do.” He squinted at the bar. Sighed. “Used to like working with those fellers. Used to be a time we could all sit around a table and talk shit over a few drinks. Always felt they listened to you. Course, things change. Don’t they? Gold. That’s what does it. They get a few in their hand and then they realise they want more and there’s never enough to go around.”

  He was beginning to irritate.

  Almost enough to make her sip the drink.

  “You looking for anything, feller? If you ain’t, I’d be grateful for you to talk to someone else. Ain’t in the mood to earn a wet shoulder.”

  “No, I ain’t looking for anything,” he said. Casual. “But I can tell you are. You’re here to kill someone. Don’t look so surprised, long-ear. I told you. I’ve been around. I worked for the Bodyguard Guild for five years. Then got scripted to the Duke’s personal guard. Was okay. Bit boring. Transferred to Bran’s crew thanks to some fast talking by one of his Captains. They needed experience, you see. Needed someone who could get shit done. And that’s what I do. Get it done. Thanks to me and a couple of others, this happy little venture got itself a good rep. Enough they think they can now go toe to toe with the Bodyguard Guild themselves. Talked me into pulling a few extra shifts. A new ship, they said. Better sails. This morning they said they’ll put me in an office, long-ear. Know what they want me to do all day?”

  “Nope.”

  “Want me to go round to local businesses. Tell them all about the joy of having someone like me around. Only, they don’t get someone like me, do they? They get someone like that little fucking toejam, Fergus. Little prick used to run with orks. Now calls himself Horsepower. You met him, yet?”

  Laconic tone.

  Too laconic.

  Forced.

  Enough that she dropped a hand to A Flaw in the Glass.

  Gently.

  Thumbed the hilt with equally-forced ease.

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “Ah, well. Nevermind. I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.” He grinned. Scarred face looking more hideous. “I guess what I’m saying is, if you pay for monkeys, you know what you get?”

  “Monkeys?”

  “That’s right. Monkeys. And look around. Plenty here. Old Righthand in front of you? He ain’t woken up from that seat in five days. Ain’t done a patrol in six. Had a rep, once. But what good’s a rep if you can’t back it up?”

  “You tell me, feller. It’s your story for now.”

  He picked up the threat. Grinned wider. “Don’t sweat it, long-ear. I’ve seen Horsepower’s blood pooling out from under the door and I know exactly what I’m gonna do about it.” He unfolded his arms. Pushed off the wall. “Nothing. My pride just wanted you to know we ain’t all a bunch of fucking monkeys. Some of us are smart enough to know when to leave. I’d be obliged if you’d wait until I’m out the door before kicking up a fuss. Obliged enough to forget I ever saw your face. And it’s a memorable one.”

  She looked up at him.

  Saw the old soldier inside looking for something.

  Recognition, maybe.

  She nodded. Picked up the cup. Raised it in salute. “You’ve got as long as it takes me to tip this piss on the floor.”

  “Appreciate that.” Then; “My name’s Talgen. Tell Filth I said hi. It’s been a while, so I might look him up. Got a feeling I’ll be unemployed by end of the night.”

  “Sure.”

  He turned away. Loped slowly toward the door. Paused to speak to the women looking awkward by exit.

  Smiled at them.

  Said; “Evening, ladies. Don’t block the doorway, yeah? Move along if there ain’t enough seats. Some good taverns outside if you’re interested in sitting on something softer than you’ll find in here.”

  Not the kind to miss a chance go by, they tucked their arms in and shot themselves out the door.

  He turned.

  Caught the elf’s gaze.

  Winked.

  Looked around one more time.

  Sighed.

  And was gone.

  No one said goodbye.

  They didn’t need to. They didn’t owe him a farewell, and he had no reason to offer the same.

  As he disappeared, the grey-haired man shrugged free of Bran’s grasping arm.

  “Come on, Aegir,” Sagg said. “You ain’t getting a better offer. You refer your friends to us, and we give you a cut. It’s a win for us all.”

  Aegir sniffed, somewhat haughty. Put a hand to his nose and winced.

  Shook head.

  “My friends have high tastes, Sagg. I’ve tried telling you this.” He cast an arm around the decrepit room. “You think they’d be impressed by this? There’s rooms upstairs with golden tiles. Velvet curtains. Furs on the floor you can safely fuck on without picking up fleas. A
nd you offer me a place even rats wouldn’t make a home in. And beer which tastes like my morning piss.”

  “We’re getting a new place,” Bran said. “You’ll like it. It’s got polished floors and everything.”

  “Whatever. Speaking of. Where can I take a fucking piss? Or would anyone notice if I went right here on the bar? Would it be safe, you think? Or would the force of my pissing on it break the fucking thing?”

  “Through there,” Anj said. Voice only a little tight. Waved to the small hallway near where Horsepower’s body was stored. “Second door left.”

  Aegir mumbled as he staggered away.

  And the elf slid from her chair to follow.

  “Hey, long-ear?” Righthand lifted a weary head. Slurred; “Where ya goin’?”

  “Go back to sleep. Just gonna help a feller take a leak.”

  “Oh?” Dropped his head. “Sounds fun.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Bloody fun.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Anj kept a close eye on Aegir, but the elf was able to slip past while his gaze flicked to a fast-talking Sagg. The elf caught a brief snatch of conversation.

  Something about taking Aegir out to dinner.

  Somewhere expensive, but Anj had no money to put in for it. Instead, he offered to cook something in the kitchen.

  The elf groaned inwardly. If this place had a kitchen, she thought, she’d hate to see the food which came out of it. Maybe she’d be doing the old man a favour by killing him before he was fed.

  Aegir had one hand against the wall.

  Other hand tugging at his pants. Working the belt.

  Muttering.

  A flow interrupted often by grunts as he tried to work the piss out through reluctant bladder.

  “…fucking amateurs. Who the fuck do they think I am? Fucking charity? Can’t even organise a decent piss up. Grim’s teeth, this is a shambles. Should’ve told them to fuck off from the get go. Fuck. Stupid buckle. Come on. Come on!”

  Then silence as Back in the Game pressed sharp points to the back of his neck. Up under his skull.

  “You can finish your piss, feller,” the elf said. “Unless you’re going to take all night.”

  “Who are you? You can’t threaten me into agreeing to this . . . whatever this is.” Outraged whine. “It’s shoddy. I simply won’t pay for it.”

  “Ain’t working for these clowns.”

  “Then what-?” Pause. “Oh. Right. It’s come to that, has it? You’re with the Order, I hope.”

  “I’m here to kill you, feller,” she confirmed. “It make a difference where I’m from?”

  “Well, yes, actually. That lot out there would botch it. I’d spend hours down here bleeding like a pig. Ever seen a pig bleed? Oh, who the fuck am I talking to? You’ve seen worse. Anyway, that lot are plain fucking useless. At least the Order’d kill me quick. Won’t feel a thing.” Hard swallow. “I hope.”

  “I’m with the Order,” she said. Didn’t quite like the taste in her mouth or the itch behind her eyes as she said it. “So, you gonna finish, or you want to meet the Old Skeleton with a full bladder? All the same to me.”

  “Right.” He fumbled again. Managed to get his pants open. Started a stream of piss which came in static bursts. “Sorry. I’m not as quick as I used to be, I’m afraid. Hazards of age. And a life spent drinking the finest wines the world could offer. I don’t regret a moment. I’ve lived well. Have to admit, maybe you’re right on time. It’s been harder to get up of a morning lately. Well. Afternoon, but you get the point. And the old stomach’s been aching. Ain’t sure it’s right. Alchemist says it’s the drink. Began to talk about quitting. I can’t quit though. What else is there? Shame to die with the taste of that Unified foulness in my mouth, though. Did you try the beer here?”

  “Rather drink your piss.”

  Chuckle. “It’s kind of comforting to know I’m being murdered by someone with taste. I have a flask. In my jacket pocket. Would you mind…?”

  “Slow. Real slow.”

  “I don’t do anything fast,” he said. Then a dry chuckle. “Ask any of the girls down at the Verminpit. Ask them all. Any will do. If I missed one, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’m slow. Real slow.”

  He pulled his pants shut with one hand.

  Slowly pulled the flask. Popped the cork with his teeth and spat it into the stinking hole in the ground.

  Tipped it up.

  Let out a sigh. “Tell me one thing. Is it personal? Do you know? I’d like to know it wasn’t for anything stupid. Like, over a woman, or something. Or a man. You know.”

  “Sorry, feller. I ain’t sure.”

  “Well. That’s the way Dragonclaw rolls. Ready when you are. Oh. Wait. Could you hold this?” He held out the flask. “It’s too good to drop into this shithole. I know I’m not worth a better place to die. But the drink’s always done me well. Finish it if you like. My thanks for giving me a moment. Please don’t let me fall into the pit, will you? My nephew likes this jacket, you see. Rather it wasn’t ruined. He might like it as a keepsake. If there’s not too much blood on it.”

  She took the flask. “Do my best.”

  “I’m obliged.”

  The blade spiked up hard. Severed spinal cord before driving into brain.

  Blood spurted down her arm.

  She pushed it up harder, pulling the weight of him back towards her so he didn’t fall into the pit. Then lowered him beside the door. Rolled him onto his side.

  Wrenched blade free.

  Wiped it on his pants, careful to miss his jacket.

  Took his purse.

  Drank from the flask.

  Swirled the spiced alcohol through her teeth.

  Unsure what it was. Some kind of liqueur.

  Then twisted her mouth into a rueful grin. “I like that, feller,” she said, sucking the rest down. “Should’ve asked where you got it.”

  Tucked the empty flask into his jacket. Whipped up to the door, aware they might be waiting for him to leave. Cracked open the door.

  The orange glow slithered back into the room where Horsepower’s corpse waited.

  She left calmly, sheathing the blade.

  Caught Anj’s eye.

  Cursed as he dropped off the seat and began heading, slow at first, to look for Aegir.

  Then let out a shout.

  No one moved.

  Still weren’t moving for him as she darted over Horsepower’s corpse and into the passageway. Shoved the hidden doorway with her shoulder until it clicked.

  And ran.

  Heard hammering on the stone, but it’d take time to find their way inside.

  Heard Sagg’s muffled shouts; “Quit fucking thumping every Grim-cursed brick. Get the fucking maps, you dumb bastards!”

  Silence.

  And she was gone.

  A delicate iron ladder threaded up a narrow shaft. Up she went as fast as she could. Blocked at the top with a heavy grate. Rustbitten and drooling old black slime.

  Wouldn’t budge.

  She put her shoulder against unforgiving metal and pushed. Felt worms slide with tired grace through muscle before it gave with a rusted squeal.

  Popped loose, sending a bolts rapping across the ground.

  Looked down.

  No one was following her.

  Slid the grate back in place. Echoes choking the dark.

  And kept moving.

  The ethereal thread bobbed cheerful along dusty ground, leading her forward. But, dragging through the dust were prints. Boots.

  Heavy ones.

  She wiped sweat from her cheeks. Nearly drew A Flaw in the Glass but remembered the need for stealth and slid The Ugly free. Balanced it reverse-grip as she crept. Ready to strike.

  Saw a few wet spots glistening in the pale glow of an old magelight. The red overlay across her vision made the wetness sparkle even brighter and she stopped to touch the moisture.

  Sniffed finger.

  Blood.

  The orange thread followed t
he spattered trail around a corner.

  Beneath an archway.

  Into a room with stone chairs on either side. Dust coated the chairs. Thick. A beam of light cut down from a small grille at the top of the wall. Letting a fresh crisp wind bring the moonlight inside.

  Speckled motes of dust hovered in the beam.

  Runes carved into the stone. A small altar. Stone bowl with a couple of dried twigs inside. This place had been an old temple of sorts. Small temple. Maybe only good for a handful of worshippers.

  Or, she thought with a shiver, a coven.

  She remembered stories on the streets of Lostlight about a coven of witches who’d steal street urchins and sacrifice them to Veil. But whatever her childhood fears, there was no doubting the two bodies in front of her weren’t part of any ritual.

  They lay on their side. Facing each other. Weapons dumped between them. Someone had wiped a sword on their coats.

  She squinted at the bodies. Leather cords around their necks carried broken fingerbones. Iron cuffs on their belts.

  Bonebreakers.

  She looked around.

  How many of them were hunting her through the corridors?

  And who was killing them?

  The guards didn’t seem capable. Seemed to be spending their time drinking or sleeping.

  But these two kills had been quick. A thrusting wound had exploded one throat open and a delicate slash ripped across the other. Someone looking to keep the hallways from ringing with screams.

  Inspecting their boots, she saw they were softer than her own, but still too large to think of stealing.

  She stood slowly. Familiar feel of insects crawling across her neck.

  Inside her flesh.

  Dark worms of shadow.

  The elf stopped scratching her palm. Sighed.

  Said; “Fuck.”

  Voices murmuring up ahead.

  The corner was distant. If she stayed where she was, they’d see the bodies before she could stifle their alarm. She had to meet them at the corner.

  She rushed ahead, wincing with each hurried step.

  Felt the sound like a flap of bats.

  Shoved against the wall, inching along to press against the edge.