by Lucas Thorn
But if there’s two of you, chances are one might survive to six.
Make it to seven, and you should be alone among corpses.
If not, you can’t fight for shit and should be peddling your ass on the docks.
Who’d said that?
What was his name?
“Shit,” she said at last. Decided. Pointed to the right. “See the feller with the lantern?”
“You want him dead first. Lantern extinguished.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be blind after that.”
“I won’t be.”
“You’re asking me to trust you a lot.”
“Just kill the light. Then hit the ground.”
“Doesn’t sound fun.”
“It’ll stop me swallowing your sword by mistake.”
“You’ll be able to see me?”
“Yeah.” Reluctant.
“Try not to get in my way, then.” Thinned eyes defiant. “I don’t drop. Not for no one.”
“Fine. Just keep back. Don’t go exploring.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Keep behind me when we run. I want them looking at me. When I hit first, you split and hit the lantern. Got it?”
“Completely.”
They rushed as one. Managed to make it halfway up the passage before they were noticed. Hit the Bonebreakers with a flap of cloaks and flash of steel.
Klista went right the instant the elf hit the first wide-eyed Bonebreaker.
The elf didn’t spare a glance.
Was busy cutting.
Cut into cloth and flesh with a savage roar of fury. Get their attention. Drag it away from Klista. Give the young Shiv as much of a chance as she was going to get.
The Bonebreaker tried pushing her away. Got his hand cut for his trouble.
Another grabbed her shoulder.
He hadn’t had time to pull his club. Grabbed her shoulder and pulled.
She wheeled around.
Arms unwinding.
A lethal pattern of red swept ground as blades found their mark and hot life gushed.
Something hit her on the back. Another club. The echo of it shivered through her ribs.
Worms gliding through muscle nudged the fresh bruise like disinterested fish.
Nibbled, but didn’t quite converge.
Snarling, the elf kicked hard into shin. Rewarded by a crunch of bone and agonised squeal. Squeal cut short as The Ugly ploughed into soft curtain of cheek. Speared between teeth. Shattered a few. Sliced tongue.
Her violet eyes stared into horrified gaze for briefest heartbeat.
Rush of adrenaline spiked her brain with light.
Fist clenched tighter around hilt.
Twist.
Pop of bone. Jaw splintered loose and dropped mouth open in avalanche of blood and chunks of tooth and bone. Inhuman high-pitch scream curdled the Halls.
A scream echoed by another as Klista’s sword found its mark.
Shattering glass.
Darkness.
Soaked in red glow.
The elf’s lip curled into a cruel grin as she watched two Bonebreakers throw themselves back in panic. Spinning around blindly in the dark.
She swung her head. Saw Klista pressed against a wall.
Sword ready.
Eyes wide as they tried to adjust.
To find even the barest glimmer of light.
The closest Bonebreaker kept coming, slashing at dark air in front of him with a straight-edged knife.
Too easily, the elf ducked the swing.
The Ugly cruised like a shark from deep water. Plunged into upper arm.
Burning with hate, she jerked the blade back toward elbow. Tearing open flesh. Severing muscle. Nerve.
Howling, the Bonebreaker erupted in panicked frenzy.
Lashed out with arm and leg.
But her bite had already done its work.
Leaving him to bleed out, she turned to the others. One was already trying to run. He turned and sprinted blind for the exit.
Missed.
Hit the wall with his face and fell back on his ass. Rubbing his nose.
She was moving.
Lunging rapid strikes.
Kidney. Liver. Lung if she had opportunity.
Throat.
Klista dropped another, and the elf noticed the young Shiv had quit trying to see and had closed her eyes instead.
Was hunting by sound.
The blade whipped a second time. Missed its target by a whisper.
Third swing ensured the Shadowed Halls would not hunger.
The Bonebreaker with broken nose began crawling. Reaching out to touch the wall. Tried to follow it toward where he thought the archway would lead him out.
Fingertips found stone.
His other hand pressed to his nose. Snuffled choke.
Nysta let him find the way out. Walked up behind him.
Waited.
His breath whistled through broken nostrils.
He snorted.
Spat blood.
Said; “Fuck.”
And died as The Ugly stabbed from the dark to bury itself in the back of his neck. Speared completely through, tip shot out the other side on a choked gasp.
Silence.
A moment of waiting.
“That all of them?” Klista asked.
“Yeah.” She looked around. Nothing moved. “A measured group of ten.”
“I got four,” Klista said. Calm. “One before the kid with the light. Two after.”
The elf sighed. “You going by the metric system?”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind.” The elf looked down the hallway. “Ain’t sure where the next magelight’s at. Not counting this bunch, it’s mostly dead around here. You might have to walk in the dark. Trust where I tell you to step.”
“Yeah, bullshit.” The young girl fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small glowing stone. “Always said you gotta be ready for anything.”
A pinprick of guilt hit the elf as she remembered the old thief who’d died in Red Claw turf.
This one glowed smoothly, though.
A pale blue light crept across the walls in a tight beam.
“Thiefstone?”
“Ain’t sure I know what you’re talking about, sister.” Mockingly; “Do I look like a criminal?”
“You want an answer?”
“Only to which way we go now. I’m fucking lost as shit.”
The elf closed her eyes. Eyes whose itch was almost unbearable.
Counted off.
“This way.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“If there’s an archway with a big fucking bear and some crazy runes on it at the end, then I’m sure.”
“Let’s go find out, then.”
The elf grunted. Led the way, wiping blades on scraps of cloth which she tossed to the ground in her wake.
Like bloody breadcrumbs.
But no one was on their trail.
Tension clutched her heart in bony fist until she saw the arch half-buried in stone. Saw the bear. Crudely carved into the wall. Claws reaching for the runes dancing in a circle in front of it.
Old runes, she’d been told.
From the Night Age.
No one knew what they meant anymore.
Five steps past the archway, she turned right. Stared at the wall. A sconce, the magelight cracked and oozing phantasmagorical ooze. Still glowed a little, but less than Klista’s thiefstone. Deep within the ooze, the dying enchantment’s last few pulses worked like a broken heartbeat.
The elf reached for the sconce, trying to avoid touching the slime.
Twisted.
First right. Then left.
Click.
“Neat,” Klista murmured.
“Wait here,” the elf whispered, and was relieved when the young Shiv nodded.
She’d worked tough gigs, the elf thought as she slipped into the brightly-lit room. Had learned to follow orders whe
n she had to.
Reminded Nysta of her first years with the Jukkala. Obedience whittled into her bones. Carved into the meat.
Orders had meant everything.
Do, don’t think.
Never think.
Some habits, she thought, were hard to break.
He was seated at his desk.
Head down.
Back to her. Facing an open window. Breeze kicked through the curtains.
“It’s a nice night,” he said as she crept closer on her toes. “In all my years, I don’t think I’ve tasted a finer breeze. What do you think, assassin?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said softly. Eyes flicking across the room. No washroom. No large wardrobes. Door locked. Bolt pushed across. Bed, sheets pulled back. Rumpled. It had seen some action recently. His clothes were mostly over the floor, though he wore his boots, pants, and a pale shirt. “I ain’t had as much fun tonight as you have by looks of it.”
He chuckled. “If you live for a thousand years, young killer, you won’t ever have a night like this. Not ever. Don’t worry, I’ve done you the courtesy of clearing out the room for us. I’ve been following your progress, and you’ve been remarkably efficient. I don’t think my guards would hold you for long. Even if they pushed you back into the Halls, I’d guess you’d only come again tomorrow.” He still didn’t turn. He had a quill in hand and was writing as he talked. “You know, my father hoped to die in bed. If not, battle. He was a simple-minded man. Unfortunately, he died on the way home from a visit to some poxy little brothel on the docks. Used to visit twice a month. Never missed a tumble. That’s how I knew where he’d be, you see. I sent someone just like you. Someone with a steady arm and a taste for blood. Dark Lord, he ripped my old man to pieces. We had a hard time being sure it was him, I tell you. Old bastard. Still. That’s the risks you take when you’re in power, right?”
“Something else you’d know more about, Duke Boregard,” she said, allowing a slight grin to peel back her lips. “Figure you’re the expert on Hazards.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I’m not afraid of sending soldiers to their deaths,” he said. Still writing. “That’s their job, really. To die for me. But I can’t stand waste. People like you, thugs for the Iron Sky, all you do is waste. No offence. But how long do you think your career will be after this? They can’t keep your name secret forever. You’ll be hunted. Your masters are powerful men, and powerful men don’t remain so by holding onto pretty notions such as loyalty. You’ll be betrayed. You know this. Handed in for reward money. The reward for you will be high. The man who killed my father was brought to me in the end. His head, anyway. I paid more than ten thousand gold for it. I hired the Order to kill my father, you know.”
The elf shrugged. “Figure they’ll pay me first. Then try to get me from behind.”
“And you think you’ve got what it takes to get away from them?”
“Reckon we’ll find out.”
“I wish you luck with that, believe it or not. But it’s hard to fight a faceless foe. Kill a few of their kind, and they simply send more.”
“Helps to know who to kill.”
That made him pause. “You know who’s leading them?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d pay a lot for that information.”
“Got any on you?”
“Would you take a marker?”
“It any good?”
“Probably not.”
“Ain’t no point, then.”
“Before I die. Will you tell me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’d appreciate it. Will you give me a moment more? I have one more letter to write. I tried to have them all done before you got here. After you killed Anglek, I knew you’d be coming for me. The Order wouldn’t kill my son and leave me alive. They’re not entirely stupid. I admit to not having a conventional love for him, but I was proud. He would have made a fine successor. As would Vor, in his own way. I imagine you killed him, too.”
“You can write,” she said. “But I ain’t got much time.”
“Of course not. I won’t be long.” He dipped the quill and kept going. “You took Anglek’s right hand. A spiteful choice. What did you take from Vor? Was it his brain?”
“Weren’t me taking pieces,” the elf said. Heard a strained tone in the man’s voice. “Stayed back and killed the feller who was doing the carving.”
“You didn’t take them?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well. That does change things somewhat. So, Vor is intact?”
“Last I saw him. Could be they sent someone else.”
“I’m grateful to you for trying.” Without looking, pointed his quill to a small bookshelf by his bed. “See over there? The oldest book. The one with black ribbon marking the page?”
“Yeah.”
“Take it. You have a few minutes. Open to the marked page. Read.”
“Ain’t really-”
“Interested. Yes, I know. But I have a feeling you will be if you open it.” He scratched away at the letter. “It’s a copy of a book called the Tome of Toutatis. The book itself isn’t as old as the text, which is said to be older than the Night Age. Its author claimed to have found the original within the crypt of a Vampire Lord. In a chest under an obelisk to the stars. He says he pieced the shredded papers together and this is everything he could recover. It’s an interesting book. It’s about gods. Ancient gods. Gods from before the Night Age. It was a surprise to me. I didn’t even know the world existed before that. Please. Open it. Call it the final request of a doomed man.”
She shuffled to the shelf.
Looked around, wondering if there was a trap.
If she took the book, would it trigger a mechanism?
An enchantment?
Keeping eye on the Duke, she reached for the book.
Lifted careful.
Nothing.
Opened.
The writing was small. Neat. Precise.
“Start at the top right page,” he said. “Read. Let me know when you’re done.”
Her eyes flicked from page to the Duke’s hunched back. Often. Less often as she began to reach the bottom of the page.
Absorbing the words, she finally closed the tome with a grunt. “Huh.”
“Interesting, don’t you think?”
“You think this is a ritual. The killings tonight.”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I didn’t cut up the bodies.”
“I know.” Smug. “And that pleases me. The copy in your hand is the only one in existence that I know of. I was worried my hidden enemy might have one. I can see now he does not. I want you to take it with you when you leave. You’ll know who to give it to, I think. But, for the moment, I’d advise you keep it out of the hands of your master.”
“Ain’t got a master.”
“Whoever hired the Order to kill me, will want that more than anything. Especially after tonight’s ritual failed. You can see why it will fail?”
“Yeah. I didn’t cut the pieces out with my own hand.”
“The version they’re using is a revised copy of that one. There are three copies I know of. Two in Doom’s Reach. The third was in the Library here until last year. It was stolen. Along with a few other scrolls. Maps. I didn’t give it much thought. But a few weeks ago, the deathpriests sent word their servants were no longer guarding the ziggurats. They were sending someone to deal with it. That person never arrived.” He pointed to an unsealed envelope next to his arm. “I received another letter yesterday, telling me the issue was being dealt with. I was told to ignore reports of fighting within the temples. I have ignored them as requested. But they are disturbing. Creatures out of legend have been seen in the ziggurat grounds. Creatures who crawl from the shadows to eat flesh.”
“Sounds exciting,” she said, grateful she hadn’t been recruited by Hideg to clean out the ziggurats.
But, from the book, she could see why tha
t hadn’t happened.
Her body still tingled from the knowledge.
A particular word had pressed into her mind and ignited something. As soon as she’d read it, the worms had swarmed with an excited flurry of heartbeat and breath.
Volkyrja.
She’d seen the word only once before. On a stone carving in Veil’s temple.
“One moment more,” he said. “I’m almost done, I promise. As you can see, I’m trying to write as fast as I can. It’s a delicate matter, however.”
“Write quicker,” she said. Almost a snarl.
“Did you kill my daughter?”
She thought about not answering.
Thought about testing his temper.
But there seemed no reason to lie.
“Nope.”
“Good. She’s got a good brain. Not as sharp as Vor’s, but fairly quick. She’ll be useful to your real mistress. Will you tell her that?”
“The Order ain’t led by a woman,” the elf found herself saying.
“I know.” He finally turned. Stared at her with the eyes of an old wolf whose body was past his prime, but whose mind still contained memories of blood between teeth. He sealed the letter he’d been writing. Held it out. “When you give her the book, give this to her, too. It will explain everything, I think. And give her a way to hold the city. Although I may have entertained a few ideas, I always knew that now is not the time for the Fnordic Lands to fall apart.”
The elf felt a flare of heat in her cheeks. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about, feller. I just spent the last few hours killing an army of deliveryboys in your Halls. Didn’t do it to take their job.”
“Hold onto it, then. I feel you won’t need to hold it for long. Consider it a favour for making this easier for you. I could have filled the room with my bodyguards. I had a mage, but you killed him.” Wry smile. “Not that I think he could’ve slowed you down.”
“Fine, feller. But that’s the last favour you’ll get from me.”
“I understand.”
She felt the rage wrestle with control.
Snatched the letter from his hand and stuffed it into her jacket. Had a pocket in the back of her jacket just large enough for the book. She shrugged free of coat and heavy leather to slide it inside.
Pulled gear back on with an impatient growl.
Looked at him.
