Broten looked back and forth between Salt and Dwyn.
“You guys are Night Guard, aren’t you?” The color had drained from his face.
Harold, calm as ever, looked at Dwyn. “Well, I can see you are otherwise occupied, my friend. We shall have to finish our chat when you are finished with this new acquaintance you have discovered. But pray do tell the commander I miss his visits. Not that you are not a suitable replacement, of course, but one does like to speak to the man in charge when at all possible. I’m sure you understand. . . .” His words continued unabated as he walked from the room.
Dwyn looked down at Broten. “We are. And now you are going to tell us all about this Prince of yours.”
It didn’t take a lot of convincing. Like most bullies, he crumbled when he saw his situation was hopeless. Broten became a whimpering wreck not so different from the pimp he’d beaten earlier. He babbled about every detail he knew or had heard about the Prince and his operation. Salt wondered if the man would appreciate that all he was buying himself was a blindfold to go with his noose.
“The Prince’s not afraid of anyone. He’s got this crazy bitch, Banjax, watching his back all the time. She’s nearly as bad as he is. I’ve seen her kill guys twice her size just with a wave of her hand. No one messes with those two. They take everything personal. Three gangs have tried to move in on them since I joined. The Prince wasted them himself and took what he wanted from them.”
“You want in on this one, Salty?” Dwyn asked. “I’m going to call in Gurt and some of the others for this. Maybe two, three squads.”
“Damned right I’m in. Do you have a weapon I can borrow though? All I came out with are your little pig stickers.”
Dwyn smiled. “Glad to have you with us. Ask Urit—he always drags half the armory around with him. He might be willing to part with something a little bigger.”
Salt had met the man in passing but hadn’t ever spoken to him. He had to smile when he saw Urit though. The man did look like a walking weapons shop. It was a wonder he could move, much less fight, weighed down as he was. He had two sheathed shortswords at his belt, two longswords strapped to his back, an axe in each hand, and more knives and daggers strapped to his body than Salt cared to count.
He parted with one longsword reluctantly when Salt asked. “Thanks, Urit.” Salt gestured to his daggers. “All I have with me is these two toothpicks.”
Urit nodded in understanding. “Just be sure to get it back to me after, will ya? I feel naked without my whole set. Can’t help thinking I’ll reach for it when I really need it and it won’t be there.”
“The minute we’re done with this prick, I’ll get it right back to you.”
Urit eyed him warily as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not, then grunted and walked off. Not many of the Night Guard are what I would have called normal, but that guy . . .
Salt took a few practice swings with his borrowed sword. It was really heavy for his tastes, its blade almost a hand’s width wide. Not too sharp either, he noticed. Though I guess smacking someone in the head with a slightly sharpened block of steel should do the trick anyway.
Dwyn came back into the shop. “Salty, you going to be all right with no armor?”
“I’ll make do. Put me in with the mop-up crew. I just don’t want to miss all the fun.”
“Good man,” he answered before raising his voice to address his whole squad. “Gurt’s bringing in two more squads for this, and Lera’s comin’ with him. Grae and Tassos are scouting out the area already. We’re heading out as soon as Gurt gets here. After that, it’s his show.”
Gurt showed up shortly thereafter, Lera on his heels. A large group of Night Guardsmen crowded into the shop after them, most of them more heavily armed than usual. The space was tight for so many armed soldiers, but they all made room for one another without a fuss. Gurt waited for them to quiet down before speaking.
“All right, lads and lasses. Looks like this is a big one. This Prince character is holed up in an old house on the edge of the slums. Lera has detected some serious wards around his place, so this is the real deal. He’s got a half-dozen men standing around on the street, couple more at the door. I’d say it’s an easy guess that a good few more are inside. Doesn’t look like there are any other ways out of the place. We’ll cover the street anyway. I’ll want eyes on the roof as well. Dwyn? Your squad is on point. Tsoba, the guards outside are yours. After that, make sure no one and nothing gets out. My squad will be second in. Lera and Salt, you’re with me. The Prince is ours. Now let’s get this done.”
The Guardsmen filed out of the shop and moved off toward the Prince’s building. The various squads set themselves up with quiet efficiency. It was late, but no one moved in these streets. Even for the slums it was strange for no one to be around.
Gurt looked over at Lera. “It’s your call.”
Lera squinted. “The wards are stronger than I thought. Layers of them. Most of them are just to mask power. Probably more inside. Nothing demonic in the wards, but if I push, I might be able to get a peek inside without letting them know we’re out here . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she hissed. “Demon! Definitely something nasty though I’m not sure what exactly it is. I’ve damaged their defenses. The wards won’t keep you out now. Go.”
Gurt looked at the other Guardsmen. “You heard the lady. Bring out the good stuff and hit them hard. No quarter till I say otherwise. Crossbows to the front. Tsoba, I want those guards down in thirty heartbeats. Dwyn, on her heels. Get that door open.”
The two squads moved forward smoothly. The street guards died almost without a sound. Half were felled by a well-placed volley of crossbow bolts. The last of them died with blades thrust into their lungs before they could call for help. A flurry of bolts flew out of the dark at the ends of the street and took the two men at the door simultaneously. They had barely hit the ground before Dwyn’s squad had kicked in the door and moved inside. Gurt motioned his squad to follow and moved in after them. He waved his squad forward and charged down the street with his shield raised. Salt smiled. Gurt always taught by example. You never take chances in a fight. You keep your weapon ready at all times and keep your shield up if you’ve got one. And if you don’t, you hide behind someone who does and bring a shield yourself next time. Salt could hear sounds of fighting deeper in the building. Two of Dwyn’s men stumbled out toward them clutching wounds. Gurt motioned for a medic to take care of them and pushed in to join the action.
They arrived just in time to see a group of five rough-looking men and women toss down their weapons and beg for surrender. Dwyn and his squad had them surrounded. At least a half dozen lay dead on the floor already. Gurt nodded to Dwyn, and his men immediately set about tying up the prisoners and making sure they didn’t have any concealed weapons on them. Gurt grunted his approval as they moved past. By Salt’s count, at least twenty of the Prince’s men had died already, and only two Guardsmen had suffered serious wounds.
Gurt moved up to the next door they came through. He kicked it in and dropped to one knee. Two of his men released quarrels over his head into the dark. No sound came from the next room. Nor did any counterattack seem to be coming.
“Lera?”
“There’s a residue of magic here but nothing to worry about. Just move up slowly; I’ll give us some light.”
The room beyond the door gradually lit up, and the Night Guard moved forward cautiously. The room was opulently decorated. Thick mismatched rugs covered the floors, and seemingly random wall hangings and paintings were hung all over the walls. The room was dominated by a large dining table and a dozen thronelike chairs. The table seemed to groan under the weight of the feast that had been laid out upon it. A woman sat with her back to them. A man sat at the far end of the table, apparently asleep. Blood and less identifiable fluids had been splashed around the room liberally. Salt found three corpses in a corner. The bodies were so badly mangled he couldn’t tell if they had been
men or women. Lera walked over to a green stain on the floor.
“This was the demon I felt from outside. I’m not sure exactly what specific type it was, but it was definitely Algadi, and strong. Whoever summoned this was no dabbler.”
Gurt never took his eyes off the sleeping man. He gestured for the other Guardsmen to cover him and moved up next to the table. Walking cautiously, Gurt edged around and held out his sword toward the woman. He needn’t have bothered. Her flesh had been peeled back from most of her skull. Her startling blue eyes looked out of her ruined face. She looked to have died no more than minutes before. Her blood was certainly part of what had been spattered around the room.
“Careful, lads,” Gurt admonished as his men moved up alongside the unknown man. “That must be the Prince they’re all so scared of. Make sure you truss him up good and tight. Consider him Chosen.” The men nodded and brought up thick leather straps and ropes. Salt shivered. There was a lot of anger in whoever had been in this room ahead of them. Anger and power if the dead woman was the much feared enforcer they had heard about.
Lera walked up beside Gurt to examine the corpse. “There are traces of demonic power on her. Her and the bodies in the corner. I’d guess the demon I detected earlier did this. The flavor is strange somehow though. I can’t quite place what’s wrong with it.”
“So the Prince guy kills the demon and falls asleep?”
“If he’s a mage, then overusing his power could make him pass out. It all looks to me like one or both of these two lost control of a demon summoning.”
“Well, we’re lucky they cleaned up their own mess before we got here then.” Gurt smiled.
Only one door stood on the far side of the dining room. Salt walked over to it and pulled it open. The moment he did, a small thin man threw himself at Salt with a bright-bladed sword in his hand. Salt reacted instinctively. He parried the blow and struck back, driving the man back through the doorway. Not wanting to lose his advantage, he plunged through after him. Then the shining sword burst into vivid green flames. Salt was caught off guard and was almost gutted by the man’s next attack. Disgusted with how easily he’d let himself get distracted, Salt pressed his attack. He kicked the man in the stomach and lunged forward with his blade. The thick sword didn’t penetrate far into the man’s chest, but it was enough. He let out a small gasp and collapsed. The flaming sword hit the ground and went out.
“What is it?” asked Salt as Gurt moved up next to him.
“That, my lad, is a Dreth Firesword if I’m not mistaken.”
Salt poked at the sword with his own blade. It looked cool now. The wood floor was unmarked where it lay. It was hard to believe it had been burning with bright-green flames only moments before.
“Go ahead and pick it up, lad. It won’t hurt you.”
Salt gingerly lifted the saber. The fine blade was long and single edged. Both the blade and the crossguard were engraved with intricate flame patterns. A large green gem was set in the pommel. “It’s so light,” he marveled.
“And as near to perfection as any smith is likely to ever make according to texts I’ve read,” said Lera.
“I’ve seen Dreth blades in the market before but nothing like this.”
“The swords you’ve seen are the poorest examples of their craft. They don’t sell the good stuff at any price. And the really prize pieces like the Fireswords and Firespears only leave their city in the hands of a royal or one of their bodyguards.”
“It’s an amazing enchantment,” said Salt, taking a few practice swings with it. “Though I prefer to have a little more weight behind my attacks.”
“It isn’t enchanted though. Not in any conventional way, anyway. Though I’d wager magic has some place in its making. The fire seems to come from the Firestone in its hilt.”
“Not the usual contraband you find then, I take it?”
“That’s an understatement. I’ve only ever seen one of these before. More than fifty years ago, a Dreth prince came to discuss trade with King Arlon’s father. He carried a sword just like that one. And may I say, Salt, no matter how much you’ve improved your sword work these past weeks, you’re beyond lucky the guy you just fought didn’t know how to use it properly.” Lera held up a hand to forestall his answer. “One of the king’s bodyguards picked a fight with the Dreth and ended up challenging him to a duel. The Dreth cut him in half, warded plate and all, mind you, on the draw.”
Salt’s eyes widened. “And it’s not enchanted? Whatever this fool was trying to sell the sword for, it wasn’t enough.” He shook his head. “So what do we do with it?”
“The Dreth consider these weapons sacred. . . . I’m sure they’d like it back,” Lera answered.
Gurt shrugged. “It’s for the king to decide. Now take it and whatever else you think might be of some use here and let’s go.”
They split up and started to loot the place as quickly as the most experienced team of thieves. Salt looked around in confusion.
“The king likes us to recoup our costs when we can. No sense leaving anything of value for the other thieves to collect.” Salt nodded and held out the sword to Gurt.
“Nah, lad, you carry it. You found these guys, after all. Just don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, and Gurt? There’s no point waiting till tomorrow—I’ve decided my place is here with the Night Guard.” Gurt clapped him on the shoulder.
“Glad to hear it, Salt! We’ll take care of the formalities as soon as we get back to the palace.”
Nial and Zuly looked back at the Prince’s building. Night Guardsmen were still swarming around the place. The girls had done as Shade asked. Their second target was dead, though it hardly seemed to matter this time. The Night Guard probably would have cleared the whole lot of them out regardless. Still, the woman’s soul was a huge source of power. It was the first talented soul the girls had ever taken. It brimmed with energy, easily worth any three normal souls. Banjax had put up quite a fight, weaving a series of powerful spells around herself, and even summoning a fairly strong Algadi demon to help her. Nial was glad the sleeping powder they had poured into the Prince’s wine had worked. They wouldn’t have wanted to fight the two of them at once. It had been a near thing finishing their work and slipping out before the Night Guard stumbled into the room, but it was done now. The only things Nial and Zuly needed to worry about were the last name on their list and whether Shade would keep his end of the bargain and leave them alone after it was all done.
Zuly didn’t think he would. Power is everything. So long as Shade has a hold on us, he would be a fool not to use us.
“Mister Skeg will be glad this job is finished. And just wait till we tell him the Night Guard were there!” Nial said with a grin. Zuly smiled in shared amusement as they wandered happily back to Skeg’s shop.
Three days! For three days Jeb had been waiting for the bastard to die. Jeb’s job was simple—cut down the deaders once they’d stopped twitching and roll them into the pit in the corner of the yard.
The well had been dry for decades and was too deep to fill in. Some palace official had then had the bright idea of using it to dispose of the criminals who were executed in the courtyard. The job of dumping them in had fallen to Jeb. Those same officials had never bothered to figure out how much work was involved, so Jeb was usually free to indulge in his two favorite pastimes—drinking, and sleeping it off. He was doubly lucky because those same officials had decided the person tasked with such a distasteful job deserved a very generous salary. Not that there weren’t hundreds of people in the city or even in the castle itself doing worse jobs for far less pay. The only time Jeb had gotten in trouble over his work was when he’d left deaders hanging so long they’d run out of space to hang up the new ones and the smells were making some of the servants sick. Jeb had spent a busy afternoon getting caught up. One of the corpses had burst when it hit the ground, spraying maggots, slime, and bits all over. But Jeb was a smart one. He deserved the salary the palace paid him, o
f that he had no doubt. It only took him an hour of scrabbling around picking up the bits with his hands before he thought to borrow a broom from the stables.
Three days, they told him after that. No exceptions. If he left a body up for more than three days, he would be gone. They’d replace him after the five years of loyal service he’d given them. But then this skinny bastard comes along and just won’t stop twitching. The birds hadn’t even come down to have a nibble. Three days. Jeb had watched them string him up. He couldn’t remember what the man’s name was or why he was being hanged, but none of that mattered to Jeb. Leave those details to my betters, I do. In a rare moment of diligence, Jeb had returned the very next day to cut the man down. But the bastard was still twitching. Still moving and breathing! The next day was the same. Now here he was three days after the hanging. Three days! A drink hadn’t passed his lips in the last two. His job was simple. Cut down the deaders. Deaders, not impossibly twitching bastards the crows didn’t want.
Maybe he should use his knife and finish the job. Either way the twitcher was going in the hole. But if he cut the guy, he’d have to explain the blood on the ground. No matter who or what this fucker is, the hole will do for him. . . . His decision made, Jeb felt the dread and fear of the past days lift from his shoulders. He dragged the old box over to the twitcher and climbed up. He pulled out his worn old belt knife and started sawing at the rope. It took longer than he would have liked. It must be time to sharpen the knife again. There was always a point at which the effort of sawing at rope with a dull blade overcame his laziness about getting out a stone and sharpening it. Can’t have anyone seeing this guy still hanging here. Can’t have ’em see me cutting him down with him still twitchin’, either.
The twitcher moved again. A sharp jerk of the shoulders. With a yelp Jeb fell off the box. Any sympathy he might have felt for the bastard evaporated. The man’s arms and legs were securely tied with the same thick hemp that had been used to haul him up by the neck. No wonder the city had so many rope makers. Then he noticed the straps. Three thick leather straps binding the man’s arms and as many wrapping his legs, all with the ropes tied over top. The king’s men weren’t taking any chances with this one. Hardly a surprise. Three days!
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 16
