Then he sagged, groaning before falling to one knee, his breathing labored through the pain in his side. It had been a couple years since he’d suffered a broken bone, and ribs were the worst. There was nothing really to do except wait and give them the time to heal.
Time he probably didn’t have now…
Forcing himself back to his feet, Raz ignored the sounds of the slaves behind him. He moved back into the shadows of the storage area, kicking aside the junk in his way. Ahna was there in the dark, right where he’d left her, and he picked the dviassegai up gingerly as his side throbbed. Stepping over bodies, he made his way out from under the lofted floor, chuckling darkly when most of the slaves shrank away from him.
“Stop worrying. You’re safe.” He groaned, putting his back to the wall and sliding to the ground haltingly. “For the time being, at least. The Mahsadën will be here in the morning, unless they’ve already been alerted. Can you all walk?”
One of them—the girl Goyr’s had been fondling—hesitated before nodding. “We can,” she said, her accent surprisingly educated for someone who’d probably been Caged. She paused again, then scooted forward a little. “Are you hurt?”
Raz laughed, then hissed as that turned out to be a horrible decision. Rolling his head on the wall, he looked at her. “I’ll be fine. What’s your name?”
“Eva,” the girl replied quickly.
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Eva. Now. The keys to those chains. Do you know where they are?”
The girl nodded. Raising a hand, she pointed to one of the bodies. Raz followed her finger.
Kî.
Groaning, Raz used Ahna to pull himself back to his feet, limping over to where the dead woman lay spread-eagled in the dirt.
VII
“The name “Mahsadën” was a combination of old desert words—mahar-sadan-adën—and the organization made no secret of the phrase’s meaning. Roughly translated, it could be read as: ‘Give Life and Spirit, or Have It Taken.’”
—exc. “As Death Rose from the Ashes,” by Kohly Grofh
“They’re WHAT?”
Adrion Blaeth smirked as his employer’s denying shriek rang through the door to his left. He was standing outside Ergoin Sass’ office, using the wall and his tailored pine-and-ivory crutch to balance on his one leg, the other severed just above the knee. It wasn’t often he heard the man lose his temper like this. Sass was generally the calm sort, the one to keep his cool even when the other šef were bickering and throwing empty threats at each other.
Now, though, whatever had happened seemed to have pushed him over the edge.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE GONE?”
“I mean,” said another voice evenly, “that your merchandise wasn’t at the granary. Neither were your men. Not alive at least.”
Ooh, Adrion thought, listening more closely, this is going to be good…
“Dead?” Sass’s voice demanded. “Those were the best sellswords money could buy! What happened?”
“Then three of your best seem to have been bested,” the other man responded, and Adrion could hear the sneer in his voice. “As for what happened, I’ll give you a hint. No, three hints rather: Davin Goyr had his head pushed through a wall, Shryn Or’Tand’s throat was ripped out, and his brother Skore’s neck was wrenched around so badly he was facing the wrong direction on his body. Whether that happened before or after he was hurled a dozen feet across the room, I couldn’t say, but I needn’t remind you that he was no small man.”
There was a creaking, and Adrion could just imagine the man, whose voice he still couldn’t recognize, leaning forward, drinking in every ounce of Sass’ rage.
“Now who does that remind you of?”
“Raz i’Syul,” Sass breathed angrily. “I said it was a bad idea to have him brought into this, Evony. The Monster isn’t what you think. If you pull his strings, expect him to bite, not dance.”
Adrion’s intake of breath hissed as he heard the names. Raz i’Syul Arro, the Monster of Karth… Now there was a character he hadn’t dealt with in some time. In truth, though, it was the other name that caught Adrion’s attention the most: Evony. Though the Mahsadën’s highest echelon had no actual form of ranking—theoretically giving each šef equal power—if someone were said to be in control of the underworld in Miropa, it would have been Imaneal Evony. The man had his hands in everything, including the businesses of his colleagues, and he didn’t mind flaunting it.
“Regardless,” Evony answered Sass’ retort, “after the decision was made to use i’Syul, you were told to get a group together that could control him if he decided not to cooperate.”
“Given the circumstances, I did my best. We wanted a small group to do the job. A large one would have attracted attention. But the reality is that there is no small group that can handle that animal. He’s a winged demon, Evony, which you would know if you weren’t frightened of meeting him.”
There was a silence, and Adrion realized he was staring at the floor so hard he was surprised there wasn’t a hole burned through it.
“Call me a coward again, Sass, as underhanded as you think it might be, and it will be the last mistake you ever make. The fact that I haven’t ever met the atherian has nothing to do with being afraid of him. It has to do with the reality that such menial tasks as feeding our pets are generally passed on to society members of less… importance.”
Another silence.
“Get out,” Sass’ voice spat.
Adrion heard a chuckle and the scrape of a chair, and he hurried to cross the polished floor, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. Sure enough, within moments of his settling against the opposite wall, the office door swung open, and a tall man in purple and gold robes strode into the marble hall.
Imaneal Evony was the oldest of the šef, nearing his seventieth birthday, but he was fit and strong, his dark eyes sharp and savagely intelligent. He was bald, but his beard was trimmed silver, tapered to a point an inch or so below his chin. When he caught sight of Adrion, he stopped, smirking.
“You keep the company of animals and cripples, Sass,” he called over his shoulder, gaze traveling down Adrion’s body to the limb that wasn’t there. “Small wonder you’re losing your edge. They’re rubbing off on you.”
There was a crash of something being thrown against a wall in the room, and Evony laughed, striding down the corridor before disappearing into a stairwell. When he was gone, Adrion moved to knock on the open door, peering into the office.
Sass had his back to him, leaning against his desk and staring at the wall. He wore a crisp white shirt with frilling at the collar, nicely offset by a set of black pants, boots, and gloves. His blonde hair was stylishly spiked in the front and cut long at the back so that it barely touched his shoulders.
“Come in,” he said gruffly, and Adrion closed the door behind him, dodging around the broken remains of the clay vase on the floor.
“What’s going on?” Adrion asked, acting the innocent bystander.
Sass looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play coy. You know exactly what’s going on.”
Adrion smirked. “I wouldn’t have learned from the best if I didn’t,” he agreed, crutching to the desk and taking a seat in the chair Evony must have just vacated. “I remember a few of your tricks, believe it or not.”
Sass’ office was a small marvel. Deep-crimson curtains of thin silk hung over the three windows, and at night there was always a fire burning in the hearth along the right wall. Shelves of black wood lined every spare surface, broken only by a painting directly behind Sass’s desk portraying a Cienbal sunset over the roofs of some mud-brick city. Books and trinkets and odd mechanisms were neatly displayed everywhere, Sass’ way of proudly showing his talents as a “collector” of fine things. It encouraged his clients to think they were in the absolute best of hands when they paid him a v
isit.
A few years ago, Adrion hadn’t been able to appreciate what his employer did. Slavery, extortion, assassinations… it all went against every moral he’d been raised with, every ethic and belief he’d had since before he could remember. Still, it was a job, and far come from his previous employment as a baker’s apprentice. It offered him the means to support himself and the Grandmother luxuriously, something none of his family had ever attempted, much less achieved.
But it had bothered him, nonetheless.
Over time, though, things had changed. He’d grown closer to Ergoin Sass, and found him to be a dangerously charming individual. An individual whose opinions he valued. It hadn’t been long before he was seeing a side of the Mahsadën and its dealings he’d never imagined. What else were the people who were thrown in the Cages going to do with their lives? Most were beggars and whores, the scum that clung to the city’s underbelly. By forcing them into labor, those people became something, became a part of the society by serving and building. They were also taken care of, and Sass had long ago convinced Adrion that a life of servitude was far better than a life of begging and starving. As for the contract killings, a day didn’t go by in this city without a half-dozen murders. Why not maintain some control over the proceedings? It was distasteful, yes.
But it was necessary.
“Your cousin is causing trouble for us again, Mychal,” Sass grunted sarcastically, lifting himself from his desk and sitting down behind it.
“Don’t call me that.” Adrion bristled. “That name holds no meaning for me anymore, as you well know. And as for Raz, he stopped being family when he put his own needs ahead of the blood he’d promised to protect. He deserves his ‘Monster’ moniker. He’s an animal, incapable of being responsible for anything or anyone but himself.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Sass said quietly, “because we need to deal with him.”
Adrion clenched his jaw, but said nothing.
“No words? Good, then just listen. You probably caught most of the conversation between me and that stuck-up bastard, so here’s the shorthand. I hired the lizard to help deal with our situation regarding Kî Orran. We figured out where she was going to be, along with twelve of the healthiest slaves that have gotten through the Cages all year. Slaves she somehow thieved right out from under us. Each head was worth three-hundred-and-some-odd crowns. i’Syul was part of a group that was supposed to take out Kî, severing her operation at the top, and reclaim the merchandise. The problem is—”
“Wait,” Adrion interrupted. “Stop. Did Raz agree to this job, or did you trick him?”
“He agreed.”
“And you told him everything?”
“I told him there was a bounty on Kî’s head. I figured the rest would come.”
“Ah,” Adrion said with a smile, leaning back his chair. “And therein lies your problem.”
Sass didn’t respond.
“I suppose it’s fortunate, actually,” Adrion continued thoughtfully, thumbing the bone handle of his crutch. “If you’d told Raz you wanted him to recapture heads you’d lost, he’d probably have taken yours then and there. Or at least torn off several limbs. Raz doesn’t like our kind, the lawbreakers. He butchers them.”
“Which is why he’s been such a useful asset.”
“Yes, true, but where you went wrong is with your assumption that Raz is willing to do what’s wrong to do what’s right. I admit it’s an understandable expectation. Is he willing to murder to be rid of a murderer? Absolutely. Would he accept money in exchange for his talents? Without a doubt. We’ve both seen him do it. But Raz will never—and I do mean never—knowingly put a person in chains, no matter how much you offer or threaten him. In that respect he is stuck in the mindset of our old family and his own deluded beliefs.”
“I thought that was the case as well,” Sass cut it, playing with a polished quartz ball he used as a paperweight, rolling it across the desk with his fingers. “But in the years since he joined us he hasn’t seemed to have any qualms with taking jobs for me. I thought he’d grown up a bit. You did.”
Adrion snorted. “I’m human. Raz is far from, as much as he’d like to think he is. I know enough about the jobs you’ve given him to point out that you’ve only ever offered him assassination contracts and used him as a warning. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence, or if you didn’t give him head bounties for some other reason, but it’s probably the only thing that kept him in line. Raz will never see himself as part of the Mahsadën. He will kill us all before that happens.”
Sass pondered the words, picking the sphere up and examining it, turning it over in his palm. “So where do you think he is now? With the slaves?”
“My best guess?” Adrion asked, leaning back in his chair to think. “You broke him, in a sense. And not in a good one. Up till now we had some measure of control over him, even if it wasn’t exactly a leash. Raz kills for crowns. Coin is the only thing that really mattered to him until yesterday, so the fact that he hasn’t turned up with Orran’s head on a spike isn’t a good thing. If he was just bothered by this particular job, he would have let the merchandise go, returned for the bounty, and told you that if you ever sent him to collect your slaves again he would make you eat your limbs one by one.”
“But he hasn’t…”
“Which means we’re back to square one. Raz is no longer an asset, Sass. His mindset is most likely reverted back to where it was before Master Rafeal convinced him we had some ‘similar’ goals.”
“He ripped Frân Rafeal apart and had his limbs shipped to the šef in baskets!” Sass exclaimed. “I got a foot! I don’t know about you, Adrion, but I hardly consider that ‘convincing’ him.”
“Rafeal offered him the deal that he ended up taking,” Adrion said with a shrug. “The deal that gave the šef some ability to use him.”
“So… what? You think the fact that he didn’t fulfill the contract means he wants to start a war with us again? He’s broken contracts before when he didn’t like the terms. At worst he stopped accepting jobs for a time.”
“But,” Adrion insisted, smoothing the fabric of his pant leg, “in those cases he always informed us of his actions and decisions. This is different.”
He sighed, putting his chin in his palm and leaning against the arm of his chair. His gray eyes followed the tiny sliver of window he could see through the space in the curtains to his left, and after a moment he turned to look at his employer.
“You asked me where I thought he was. I don’t know. But if you asked me what I thought he was doing, I’d say getting ready to turn on you. I would encourage you to warn the other šef that Raz is no longer playing nice. Whatever he’s up to, I would bet my house it has something to do with hunting you and the others down.”
The quartz paused in its rolling. Sass was watching the polished surface without seeing it, preoccupied with Adrion’s words. It was a long few seconds before he looked up.
“We have to deal with this quickly.”
“But quietly,” Adrion told him sharply. “I agree, but if we let on that he’s gotten to us, you’ll find yourself fighting against half the city rather than just one out-of-control animal. Better to take your time and plan it out than rush in and fail. Still, move now. If I know Raz, he’ll be a step ahead of us already.”
VIII
“The Cages are our greatest source of revenue, but also our greatest source of entertainment. I would be a bored old man, I believe, if not for the view of the market plaza from my balcony window.”
—Imaneal Evony, Mahsadën šef
“Ready?”
Raz took a breath. Eva’s hands were shaking, which didn’t bear much confidence to the situation, but any help was better than none. Closing his eyes, he nodded.
He felt the girl give the binds around his chest a last securing tug, and then twist them sharply.
Pop.
Raz grunted, feeling the last rib slip back into place. His claws dug furrows into the room’s dirt floor as agony washed through his chest into every limb. For several seconds he couldn’t breathe, feeling the pain weigh on his body like a heavy stone. Then it subsided, seeping away, and he sighed, opening his eyes.
Beside him, Eva smirked, tying one final knot before sitting back to rinse her hands in the bowl of clean water beside the mat.
“And here I thought I’d never see you wince.” She double-checked the bandages before helping him into a sitting position against the wall.
“Being used to injury doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” he retorted with a grimace, spreading his wings so they didn’t get pinned against the brick. “And pain is pain. Still, I’m glad you were a surgeon. If I’d done that you’d likely find me curled up in the corner crying like a babe.”
“The operative word in that phrase being ‘were.’ And I was only ever the surgeon’s apprentice. Not to mention I’m a bit out of practice ever since… since then.”
Eva’s eyes fell, and she grew quiet. Picking the bowl up off the floor, she moved to the window and dumped it out.
It had been almost a week since the Kî job went south, and with every guard in the city looking for them it was difficult for the group to make any headway toward getting out of Miropa. Raz hadn’t even bothered trying to get back to his room at the White Sands. It would have been the first place the Mahsadën would looked. Eva and a few of the others, on the rare occasions he’d let them run to the market for food and water, returned each time with more stories of how scribed portraits of him were plastered on every shop wall.
Raz wasn’t too worried, though. He had a dozen safehouses throughout the city. Most, granted, were set up for him by Ergoin Sass, but there were still two or three he was positive the šef knew nothing about. He’d manage, one way or the other. At the moment they were all stuffed into a tiny hovel in the middle of the northern shantytowns, too deep in the labyrinth of run-down buildings for the guard to come across them by anything but dumb luck.
Child of the Daystar (The Wings of War Book 1) Page 25
