by Tom Lloyd
The man leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m a carrot and stick sort of man myself. The carrot here being you’ve still got a chance to walk away with your fingers, toes, tongue, balls and mind intact once the stick’s got uncomfortably intimate with you once more.’
‘Get fucked,’ Lynx said with a determination he didn’t feel in his gut.
The predatory smile widened. ‘Maybe it should be “pride or death” – I think the former’s about to lead you to the latter pretty quick. But never let it be said I, of all men, could deny another his pride. How about I guess? The boathouse? The tavern? The cemetery? The …’
Lynx couldn’t help himself, his eyes twitched at the mention and the traitor saw it in a flash.
‘Ah, there we go; the cemetery it is. You may yet walk away from this, my friend. Which tomb?’
‘Message didn’t say,’ Lynx muttered.
‘That could be unfortunate for you.’
‘Yeah, I worked that bit out.’
The man looked up to someone behind Lynx. ‘You – bind and gag him. We’ll worry about which tomb once we’re there. Assassin of Dark, fetch the rest and get them to take up positions around the Cemetery of the Four in Dagash district. Keep well clear until we’re ready; just watch the surrounding roads from a safe distance. We don’t want her spotting anyone ahead of time. That might ruin the surprise of our little reunion and she always appreciates a little drama in proceedings.’
Lynx felt a hand on his shoulder then the world went black again.
8
Lynx woke to find himself trussed like a goose ready for the midwinter pot. He was being dragged through the dark streets of Su Dregir, surrounded by a small crowd of black-and-white figures. They were all armed and wore the Suit of Dark’s crumbling moon emblem, calmly walking through the deserted city as though they ruled it. Each wore a mask like the ones he’d already seen – white but bearing simple black patterns that were unfathomable to Lynx but all distinct. Lynx counted three figures following him – add one more for whoever was dragging him and Toil’s friend who gave the occasional, clipped command from beside them. Not good odds, especially not for someone tied up and unarmed.
For all that their cloak-shadowed masks were unique, he couldn’t tell much more about any of the three in his view. Their badges were mostly covered while their height and build was difficult to gauge. Lynx realised he could be surrounded by a Suit from his own mercenary company and he’d not be able to tell the difference. Indeed, the ease with which he was being dragged along spoke of Reft’s unusual strength, a disquieting thought even if it was just head-addled foolishness.
The city was quiet now as night passed into morning. He found himself staring in dazed wonder at the great swirls of stars that marked the clear night sky, the chill of frosty air prickling his cheeks like the caress of starlight. He realised they were heading south – that much Lynx could tell by the glimpse of the Skyriver he was afforded – but almost immediately they turned a corner and started east. The winding stepped streets of Su Dregir’s districts made it hard to judge their route, the dark and silent houses they passed all looking the same to Lynx.
Distantly he heard raucous laughter, some citizens clearly not yet done with their celebrations, but even if he’d been able to call out it wouldn’t have helped him. He lay still, hauled along by a loop of rope around his chest for the person dragging him to hold. His head and shoulders were off the ground, but it remained painful going over cobbles and rutted flagstones. From his tailbone to his ankles, each bump and jar made his bones ache as though there was no flesh padding him out at all. By the time they passed through a pair of lichen-clad stone gateposts and into the forbidding presence of a cemetery, Lynx was fighting the urge to keen with pain.
He was deposited roughly on the ground just inside the entrance. He lay still and tried to keep silent as his body howled at a dozen individual hurts. The figures around him had melted away into the shadows before they reached the cemetery, affording Lynx an unencumbered view of the stone fascias of the ancient close-packed tombs around him.
The cemetery was narrow, with the more dramatic crypts projecting out from the walls to create a chicane path through it all. The walls themselves housed great stone blocks in two and three levels; front-pieces to family tombs that could be removed and replaced as members died. Behind one of these, apparently, was Toil’s bolt-hole – though Lynx couldn’t see it himself.
Not a lot of space for the living there. Maybe if several neighbouring families had all died out you could hollow out a space behind.
‘Time to get to work, friend,’ came the leader’s voice.
A big, barrel-chested specimen, likely the one who’d been dragging him, walked around Lynx and pulled a knife. He paused long enough for a spark of dread to kindle inside Lynx’s gut before the man bent and cut the rope around Lynx’s ankles. That done he hauled him upright and held Lynx still while the mercenary whimpered into his gag. Only once the noise subsided did he remove it with a doubly-pointed gesture of the knife.
‘I told you,’ Lynx wheezed, ‘I don’t know which tomb. She just said meet her here.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘All I got.’
The leader walked slowly around Lynx, clearly using their proximity as cover. If Toil really was holed up somewhere in here, she’d be armed with a burner. The assassins were trying to do this as quietly and neatly as possible, but Toil would need to kill as fast and messily as she could. So long as Lynx was in danger too, she might hold off – not least because the costumed assassins had spread as far wide as possible to limit the chances of her picking them off one at a time. At best she’d get one or two before they came at her from all sides.
Lynx blinked slowly, trying to get his head straight and his aching body fully under control, just in case Toil was about to spring a surprise. Taking his bearings he saw there were five assassins in sight – spread out and pistol-bows at the ready. Lynx looked up and spotted another two perched on the parapet of some garden on the level above. Those two both carried large crossbows and were carefully placed so they could watch each other’s back, but weren’t close enough to kill with one shot, even a sparker.
That’s where I’d come from, Lynx thought, the high ground. Pick those two off then chance my hand with the rest. Watch ’em scurry away like cockroaches once the icers boom.
He looked down. Guessing that means she won’t come that way. That’d be the soldier’s choice and she doesn’t think like us. And then there’s that damn mage who put me out – she even know about him?
‘Start walking,’ the leader said after a pause. His face was covered just like the rest, though Toil would surely know his voice.
‘Can’t you just get your mage to sniff her out?’ Lynx said in a louder voice.
For his efforts the big man slammed a fist into Lynx’s gut and sent him to his knees. The mercenary saw stars burst before his eyes as he doubled over, but they allowed him only a moment before dragging him back up.
‘Knife comes next,’ the leader advised quietly. ‘Last chance to see dawn.’
‘I don’t know,’ Lynx insisted in a wheeze. Thinking frantically he plumped for the more likely ideas that the man would have already worked out himself. ‘I’m guessing further in, out of sight of the gate. Probably the oldest tombs.’
The man grunted and grabbed Lynx by the collar, putting a knife to his throat. ‘Move.’
Lynx did as he was told, trying not to stumble as he hauled his protesting, half-numb feet further down the array of tombs. The assassins moved cautiously through the shadows cast by the bright glow of the heavens, constantly shifting position around the epicentre of Lynx and his captor. They crept methodically through the winding cemetery, picking their way into the nooks and crannies created by the various ornate tombs.
A twitch of movement caught his eye and he wasn’t the only one, but no one fired as they saw what was causing it. One of the grander tombs had something draped ove
r it – some sort of sheet, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. It was a table tomb with an ornate shield of arms on the side and a stone figure on top. Lynx could see the foot from where he stood. The breeze had caused the sheet to slide off and the revealed weathered stone carving showed the pointed toe and heel segments of ancient armour.
The nearest assassin cautiously approached it, painstakingly checking every angle before rounding the tomb to find nothing there. With a twitch of the wrist they swept the sheet from the figure, pistol-bow at the ready, but the stone knight stayed still and silent, the hilt of a long iron sword lying beneath its steepled fingers.
The assassins moved on, only to find another tomb draped in a sheet around the next corner. Underneath there was a figure in a similar pose, but this one was entirely covered. Again they took no chances, but the robed statue beneath was just as still – this one carrying an iron staff topped by a five-pointed star. Lynx didn’t recognise the style of clothing, but he guessed it was a high priest interred there.
By the time they came in sight of the far end, two more covered statues had been encountered. Lynx had watched both be checked and uncovered in silence, but the confusion of those around him was evident.
Is this some festival custom? Lynx found himself wondering. It seems too obvious to be something Toil would’ve set up herself just to fuck with anyone following her. If she had a handful of sharpshooters around I could see it, but the icers would be flying by now if that was the case. She’s on her own, must realise she’s been betrayed – maybe couldn’t even trust anyone else close to her. So what’s her play? Is there one?
One of the leading figures crouched and made a gesture back at the rest. The others all froze, pistol-bows at the ready, as Lynx craned his head forward to try and see what was going on. The traitor tightened his grip on Lynx and pushed him forward until both could make out the faint glow of a lamp emanating from just behind another covered table tomb – this one sheltered by a free-standing stone roof just two feet above the figure lying on the tomb.
Lynx risked a look around and saw hesitation in the manner of several assassins. Even if the sheets were nothing to do with Toil, it was unlikely anyone else would have left a lantern there.
She doesn’t need the light, he realised, glancing up at the tatters of cloud that drifted in the sky, not unless that really thickens. So what’s this? A challenge? A distraction? Some sort of test of nerve?
Certainly the assassins thought it significant. Two retreated, checking their rear, others spread out to take up shooting positions. The one who’d led the advance was clearly looking back for orders and Lynx felt the blade leave his throat as his captor gestured. He tried to count how many of them there were – two up high, three off to the right, two moving left, and those two behind. The traitor holding him, the big man nearby and the boldest up ahead. He’d lost track of which one was the mage a long time ago, those damn costumes hiding almost everything.
The lead assassin ghosted back towards them, jabbing a finger towards Lynx. The leader released him, shoving the mercenary forward as he himself edged into the protective lee of a pillar. The assassin grabbed Lynx by the throat, a blade appearing with a flourish before his eyes even as he realised this one was a woman, her badge showing a figure holding two masks. With the tip pressed right up against his jugular she dragged him back and wheeled him around until he was right at the foot of the tomb. She took great care to check around up at the tombs and Lynx found himself doing the same, a chilly sensation on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with her knife.
All was still, he could see nothing out of place and clearly the woman agreed. She glanced at her comrades, left hand gripping Lynx’s back like he was a shield of olden days. Half hidden behind Lynx, she twitched the sheet up with her knife-hand and peered underneath instead of just yanking it off. Lynx thought about making his move then, but he couldn’t see her pistol-bow and he had to hope Toil had a plan in mind. Moving now might ruin everything.
The assassin dragged him back and around to the foot of the tomb, peering under there too. Lynx couldn’t see what was hidden, but the assassin turned back to her commander and made a gesture that seemed to be one of firing a gun. The chill on Lynx’s neck intensified as he realised it was booby-trapped. Most likely pulling the sheet off would make a hidden gun fire on whoever stood beside the tomb – a crude trap, but anything to even the odds without giving Toil’s position away might be worthwhile.
But why the lamp? If it was like the rest they might not have even checked properly.
Lynx found himself manoeuvred around the other side of the tomb to where a plain metal lantern stood at the base of the rear pillar.
‘Down,’ the assassin whispered at him, barely waiting for him to comply before cracking him a stinging blow on the side of the head with the pommel of her dagger.
Lynx yelped in pain at the blow and the distraction was enough for her to be able to force him to his knees. She put the knife to his throat, pushing him forward against the tomb so his face was half buried in the cloth as she inspected the trap there. He mostly sensed her look up for orders again and caught nothing of any gestured reply. An image of Toil suddenly appeared in his head, that glittering smile and wary eyes, and it took him a moment to realise his gasp of pain had prompted it.
A deep breath confirmed it, the faintest of smells only and mingled with sweat and blood on the assassin’s clothes, but all the more noticeable for how familiar it was to him: the scent of night jasmine lingering on the air.
The cloth? For a moment he was confused – surely she just pulled it off some washing line as she headed this way?
My sense o’ smell might be good, but I’m not a fucking bloodhound, Lynx realised.
She’d have held the thing for a few minutes at best, so the cloth wasn’t the source. He ducked his head almost in prayer, the assassin still pushing him into the side of the tomb, and slid his hands under the sheet.
Ah. Now it’s got interesting.
The assassin straightened and shook her head at the leader. He growled a curse and trotted forward, the big man keeping protectively ahead of him.
‘What’s the play now, Toil?’ the leader asked, looking around at the quiet moonlight cemetery.
‘This, Umor,’ replied the assassin holding Lynx in a voice he recognised – Toil. His heart jumped as the woman turned and pulled a mage-pistol from inside the folds of her cloak in the same movement. She pulled the trigger before either man had time to react. A sharp detonation split the air like thunder as a jagged spear of lightning raced forward. It caught the big man in his teeth, white claws tearing at the mask hiding his face and lashing at the traitor behind.
Somehow the traitor, Umor, managed to hurl himself away, pistol-bows falling from his hands as he dived and rolled over the grey gravel ground. He howled and writhed in pain as the sparker trails skittered over his body. The big assassin never even got a chance to cry out, caught in an eye-watering cage of lightning. He was savagely wrenched around under the impact, eyes bursting, skin seared as he collapsed under the sparker’s impact.
Lynx didn’t wait to see the gruesome result. He yanked a mage-pistol from under the cloth and turned on the flanking pair behind. A small, wordless prayer on his lips, Lynx fired two-handed – hands still bound together.
A jolt of shock ran through his body when he realised it had been answered. An orange flare of fire erupted from the mage-pistol’s muzzle and exploded against the tombs between the two assassins. The conflagration washed over the dark stone slabs behind and enveloped one, but the other reeled away with hands raised to ward it off and somehow the fire obeyed. The assassin fell backwards, but a wall of shadows remained to keep the flames back.
Lynx instantly realised it was magery – he’d seen Sitain do the same thing in a tunnel under Shadows Deep. He dropped the gun and reached for another from under the cloth, but Toil beat him to it. She kept moving forward, not presenting a standing target to the remaining a
ssassins as she fired her pistol-bow at the night mage. His magic had no defence against a steel bolt and he folded forward in pain as it slammed in his gut.
A small spark of light flashed past Lynx’s eyes, causing him to flinch backwards as a crossbow bolt glanced off the tomb’s roof. He levelled the second pistol, but found himself squinting up at shadows within shadows, unable to make out a target of the two men prowling above the cemetery.
He ducked after a moment of searching, aware he was presenting a target of himself, and heard the sharp chink of another bolt strike somewhere behind his head. A glint of light and movement the other side of the tomb had him raising the pistol again, but surprise stopped his hand long enough for him to realise it wasn’t a threat.
The tall tomb frontage half a dozen rows away had tilted up like a canopy and another masked figure emerged into the moonlight. Ornate, brass-chased mage-pistols and a shining golden mask caught the pale light, the figure striding forward like an avenging spirit and firing once, twice, at the assassins.
It was a man, that much Lynx could tell behind the face-plate suspended from a steel circlet, his grey hair cut short, a large ragged-lobed ear bearing a sparker scar. He wore a rich green tunic with an intricately-detailed baldric slung across it, holsters hanging from that and his belt. He fired and dropped his guns, pulling another pair as he strode forward like the avenging angel of Toil’s myth.
Off to his right, Lynx saw Toil reload and fire so rapidly she couldn’t have had time to aim. As the man in the golden mask crossed his view of the others, Lynx lowered his aim to the traitor still shuddering and twitching in the dirt. He was about to fire when he checked himself, realising it could be another burner in the mage-pistol, and in the next moment a bolt had sliced into the meat of his bicep.
