A Circle of Iron (Eldernost: Book 1)

by Greg Benage

  Chapter 6

  The next day, on their first real patrol in the ruins, a wight escaped the net. They were patrolling near the edge of the city where a hundred or more scavs were working strung out along a wide boulevard lined with crumbling statues. The street ran from a plaza with a ruined fountain in its center half a mile to a shattered arch that must once have served as a minor portal into the city.

  The mastiff was trotting twenty feet out in front of the group when he suddenly froze, every muscle in his huge body tensing, and his black nose lifted into the wind.

  “I’ll check the scrying tablet,” said Quinix, shrugging out of his pack.

  “Don’t think there’s time for that, just now,” said Thorn. He saw a blur of movement, a flash of white skin and brightly colored body paint, and one of the scavs screamed. The wight was about fifty feet ahead of the crew, one hand gripping the scav woman’s throat, lifting her off her feet. The mastiff let out a low growl, and the wight turned towards them. It dropped the woman in the dust, crouched, and bared its fangs. Before they could act, it grabbed the woman by the hair and dragged her kicking and screaming into a darkened doorway.

  “Heel the dog,” Thorn said, and then he broke into a trot, moving quickly and quietly to the building. The rest of the crew came up behind him. He put his back against the wall and ducked his head inside. A long hallway stretched away from him, with doorways to either side. The dust was thick on the floor and their footfalls cast it up in billowing, choking clouds.

  Thorn cursed under his breath. “Torches.”

  “The wight ain’t got a torch,” said Mara. “It’ll know we’re coming.”

  “I guess we lost the element of surprise,” Thorn said, “but I can’t see in the dark. Unless you can, I suggest you light a damn torch.” He turned to Blind Tom. “You and the dog stay here. I don’t want anything coming in behind us.” Blind Tom nodded.

  They entered in single file, Thorn, Quinix, Mara and then Big Odd. Thorn paused just inside the doorway and studied the floor, but he didn’t need to study for long. There was a clear trail where the wight dragged the woman through the dust. The trail led down the hallway and disappeared beyond the edge of his torchlight.

  They drew their weapons and followed the trail down the hallway and around a corner into a small, windowless room with stone stairs descending into the darkness. Thorn extended his torch and saw a bloody handprint on the wall, then a long, wet, red smear trailing down. The breath hissed out of his lungs. The scav was fighting; Thorn had to give her that.

  Quinix drew up close to him and peered over his shoulder. “They say there are basements and subbasements and great halls and galleries down there,” he whispered. “A whole city under the city.”

  “Then I guess we better move before the wight gets too far.” Thorn descended slowly and as quietly as he could down the stairs to a landing, where the stairs turned to the left before continuing. He paused on the landing and listened. What he heard sounded a lot like the mastiff working on a rabbit he’d caught in the wood. He turned and whispered to Mara. “Ready the net. It’s feeding.”

  Thorn waited a few moments while Mara freed the net from her pack. He could hear Quinix breathing, quick and fast, just behind him. When Mara was ready, Thorn tested his grip on the hilt of his sword and continued down the last few steps, leading with the torch.

  The underground chamber had a low ceiling and Thorn had to hunch down to keep from banging his head against the stone. The wight was in the far corner, holding the scav woman’s body in its arms, its face buried in her throat. Thorn moved away from the stairs, keeping his back against the wall. Give Mara room to work with the net.

  The wight looked up and locked eyes with Thorn, and it hissed at him. Blood covered its cheeks and its chin and dripped from its lips. The wight was female. She was uncovered from the waist up and he could see the small tits, the nipples painted in bright green swirls. He frowned. Something was wrong; it was right there in front of him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. You’re watching a wight feeding on a woman. Maybe that’s what feels off.

  Mara moved into the room and cast the net. The wight dropped her victim and tried to dart aside, but the net settled over her head and one side of her body. She tumbled to the floor, shrieking in a high keening voice that set Thorn’s teeth on edge and reverberated in the small chamber.

  No time for thinking. Thorn moved forward, thrusting the torch at the wight’s face, maneuvering into position to finish her with his sword. Mara was silent, but he could feel her presence just behind him and to his left. Absurdly, Thorn’s attention was drawn back to the wight’s breasts. Something nagged at him. What are you missing?

  It dawned on him in an instant. He’d only caught a fleeting glimpse, but the wight he’d seen take the woman had been male. And it wasn’t wearing green body paint. “There’s another—” he yelled, and then Mara grunted in pain and surprise.

  He turned and saw her slump to the floor against the wall. There was a flash of white and the dull glint bronze, and then the male wight was on him. It barreled into him, impossibly fast, and slammed him against the wall. Thorn’s head snapped back and cracked into the stone, and his vision blurred. He thrust blindly with the torch and heard flesh sizzle, and his nostrils filled with the stench of burning hair. The wight made a sound like metal screeching on metal. A line of fire traced across Thorn’s ribs. He saw the wight’s blade and his own blood on it.

  Thorn raised his sword and brought it down in a vicious strike at the wight’s neck, but he was too close, off balance, and the wight was too fast and too strong. It slapped his sword arm aside and the blade sparked as it clattered on stone. The wight thrust with its knife and Thorn grabbed its arm, pulling the creature in even closer. Now they were both off balance and they stumbled and went down. The wight rolled on top of Thorn and slammed the knife down at his chest. Thorn caught the wight’s wrists and only then realized he’d dropped his sword.

  The wight’s inhuman strength and most of its weight pressed down on the blade, and Thorn strained against it. The tip bit into the flesh of Thorn’s throat and he felt blood trickle down his neck. The wight grinned savagely, showing its fangs, and licked its lips. Then Thorn saw a figure rise up behind the wight, a dagger of its own gripped in one fist and lifted over its head. Quinix’s eyes were wide and his hands were shaking, but he slammed the dagger into the back of the wight’s neck. The blade burst point-first from the creature’s throat and sprayed blood over Thorn’s face. More of the dark fluid gurgled from its mouth, and the wight teetered and collapsed in a heap, Quinix’s dagger still buried to the hilt in its neck.

  “I killed it,” Quinix said, his voice quavering. He started to lean down to retrieve his blade, then thought better of it and wiped his hands on his robes.

  Thorn groaned and spat blood from his mouth. Some of it was the wight’s, but most of it was his own. Must have bitten my tongue. The back of his head was pounding and the cut along his ribs blazed with pain every time he drew breath. Thorn was still on the dusty floor feeling around for his sword when the second wight leaped on Quinix’s back and sunk her teeth into his neck.

  The wizard fell to his knees, his eyes bugging out. His mouth gaped and a choking, strangled sound came out. The wight drew back from the wizard’s neck, blood on her face, hissing at the iron torq. Big Odd loomed in the dim light, hunched over nearly half in the close space, and the tip of his spear burst from the front of the wight’s chest. She screamed and clawed at the thick shaft.

  Thorn still couldn’t find his sword. Only after wasting precious seconds did he remember the knife at his belt. He jerked it out and advanced on the wight, but she saw him coming. She tore herself off Big Odd’s spear, blood gushing in a thick fountain from the wound, and reached for her bronze knife.

  Mara’s sword sliced into the side of the wight’s neck and nearly severed her head. Blood fanned in the air and the wight’s head flopped to the side, held in place by a few strands
of meat and gristle. The wight toppled to the floor, her head slapping wetly against the stone.

  Mara swayed on her feet, her hand pressed to the side of her head. Blood welled between her fingers. Big Odd shuffled forward, bent low, and slammed his spear into the female wight’s corpse, and then the male’s, just to be sure. Thorn looked over to Quinix, who lay in a crumpled heap. He went to him and rolled him over. The wizard’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he had one hand clamped to the wound on his neck.

  “Quit grabbing at it, damn you,” Thorn said, pulling his hand away. Quinix flinched, but then opened one eye and allowed Thorn to inspect the wound. Thorn sat back on his heels and shook his head. “Good thing you’re a husky fellow or she might’ve got an artery. And I reckon the iron made her think twice about staying to drink her fill. As it is, I ain’t sure she got more than a drop out of you.”

  Mara sat down on the bottom step, still holding her head. Thorn went over and knelt in front of her. “Let me see,” he said softly. She folded her hands in her lap and turned her head to the side. The cut was shallow but it was bleeding profusely. “I don’t see any brains leaking out, but that could just be the patient,” Thorn said, smiling. “We need to stop that bleeding and get back to camp so Blind Tom can clean it and stitch you up.”

  “It don’t make no sense to get stitched by a blind man.”

  “Better a man who can sew but can’t see than a man who can see but can’t sew,” said Big Odd.

  Mara scowled. “There’s another hall,” she said, her voice dry and harsh. She nodded to the other side of the room. “There could be more down here.”

  “I guess there probably are, but we’re done hunting for today if it’s up to me. Odd, you get up those stairs and stand a lookout. You’re like a giant in a jewelry box down here as it is.” Thorn found his pack and dug out some linen bandages, and wrapped them carefully around Mara’s head. “You keep some pressure on that,” he said. “It’ll help with the bleeding, and it’ll probably hurt a little less if you hold it steady.”

  Thorn stood up and went over to where the scav was lying. Her eyes stared sightlessly and her mouth hung open, showing a few yellow teeth that had survived the hard years of poverty. Blood soaked her shirt and the gaping wound in her neck was so deep and savage Thorn could see the white glint of her neck bones.

  He turned to Quinix. “We just got to do one more thing, then we can get out of here.”

  “The teeth?” said Quinix. His voice sounded small.

  “Little more’n that, this time,” said Thorn. He walked over to the male wight, found his sword lying on the stone and picked it up. He got a firm grip on the hilt with both hands, lifted it up until the point scraped against the low ceiling and brought the blade down on the wight’s neck. He had to hack at it a couple more times before the head came free. Thorn picked it up by the hair, pulled a leather bag out of his pack and dumped the head in the bag.

  “You take Mara’s sword and get the other one,” he said to Quinix. “She already did most of the work for you.”

  “Why do you want the heads?” Quinix asked. Sweat was beading on his forehead and Thorn thought he looked a little green.

  “You’ll see what I mean to do with them soon enough.”

  Quinix looked a little shaky doing it, but he sawed at the wight’s neck until the head came loose. He placed it with the other in the bag. Thorn went over and hefted the woman in his arms. Then they all climbed the stairs and rejoined Big Odd, Blind Tom and the dog.

  Outside, a large crowd of scavs had gathered. Jem, the man with the greasy woolen cap, stood at the front of them. Thorn carried the woman’s body over, but their employer didn’t take it. Thorn looked around and then laid the corpse in the dirt. No one came forward to claim her, and he didn’t know what else to do.

  Thorn gave Jem a steady look, not hard but not friendly, either. “Two wights,” he said. “That’s six quints.”

  There was an angry muttering in the crowd. “You’re supposed to be protecting us,” Jem said. “Now you bring us a corpse and ask for our money.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” Thorn held the man’s gaze and let all the feeling drain out of his eyes—whatever might have been left, anyway. Jem swallowed hard and his face paled.

  “We don’t mean to cheat you,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s just a hard thing losing one of our own and still having to pay the bounty.”

  “You agreed to pay for dead wights. There’s two down there. That’s two wights won’t be coming for any of you. And it’s six quints for me and my crew.” Thorn titled his head and squinted a little. “I got to tell you, Jem, I don’t like having to ask for what’s coming to me.”

  Jem bobbed his head, and then went around collecting the bounty in his cap. Thorn took the quints and tucked them in the leather pouch at his belt. He gave the scav a long, last look and then turned away, leading his crew back down the boulevard.

  On their way back to camp, Thorn drove wooden stakes into the earth near the scavs’ largest worksite, and then he mounted the wights’ heads on the stakes.