Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  Something thumped onto the ground. Only fear of the guards helped Krea stifle her yelp. She held onto the rope and looked up just in time to see the dark, bloated carcass of a rat tumble out of the new opening. It thumped to the ground next to the first one. The third rat to fall wasn’t dead. It didn’t hit the ground, either.

  Krea dropped her part of the rope and grabbed at the rat trying to scurry down her tunic. The rodent had to be the size of a cat. It was all she could do not to scream as she danced in a circle trying to grab it. Then something bigger than a cat thumped into her and she hit the ground. Spider swore and Tripp yelled, but neither of them came to help. The creature bounced once on her back and disappeared.

  She opened her eye. One of the dead rats stared back at her. “Mother Creator!” Krea jumped back to her feet. Spider and Tripp both stared wide-eyed as Cricket shook the rat she had clamped between her teeth and finally dropped it.

  “Cricket!” Krea dropped down and caught the little brown creature as she leaped. “You followed me. I missed you.”

  Cricket’s fur felt dull and rough. Her tail dangled instead of twisting around Krea’s arm, and when she looked up with her big green eyes, she looked tired. Krea pulled the faerie close and whispered, “You shouldn’t be here, faerie. You go back to the Nayli.”

  A soft trill was her only answer before she jumped to the ground and stared up at the door.

  “We’re going to get Sorin, but then you are going back to the forest, you hear me?”

  “What’s that?” Spider breathed, still hugging the wall.

  Tripp’s whisper almost wasn’t. “Is you stupid? She said it was a faerie.”

  Spider glared. “Shh!”

  “She’s here to help us,” Krea said. “Let’s get this door opened.”

  Several more disturbing things rolled out of the shoot as the door creaked open. Most were rats and most were dead, but not all. The waiting sheema made short work of anything foolish enough to still be breathing.

  Once the door was fully open, Spider found a large stick and knocked the rest of the dead and dying crawlies off the rim of the shoot.

  Krea frowned down at the grotesque pile and then back up to the waiting shoot. “This is going to be so much fun, isn’t it?”

  He grinned. “It leads up to a kitchen, so we got to crawl with our hands and feet spread out on the sides like this, like a spider.”

  “Got it.”

  “You wanna go first?” he asked, still smiling.

  “No, it’s okay, you go.”

  “Tripp is gonna help us up, then wait. Long as there ain’t no guards she’ll leave the door open, but if she sees anyone, she’ll close the door so they won’t know we’s in here. So if you come out alone and see the door down…”

  “I got it. Let’s go.”

  Cricket jumped onto Krea’s shoulder, then up into the shoot. A few seconds later, two more rats slid to the ground.

  “So much fun.”

  Between the rats, the bugs, and the spider webs, crawling up the shoot felt like slithering through the bowels of the underworld. The walls pressed in, making it hard to breathe. Now and again, her hand would come down with a little crunch as it met the rough rock walls. Bug guts would squish between her fingers. The whole shoot reeked of dust and dead things. And if that wasn’t enough, sweat dripped into her eyes, but she refused to wipe it away. Besides, it took all four limbs to crab-walk up the shoot, and by the time the pinprick of light ahead told her the end was near, her thighs were beginning to tremble.

  “Shhh.” Spider listened while Cricket’s tail flicked back and forth under Krea’s nose. “It’s clear.”

  Spider pushed on the boards until one started to shift. A crack of light peeped in, and she resisted the urge to look back. She didn’t want to know what was crawling around behind her. “It ain’t movin’. It’s stuck.”

  “Do they lock this door?”

  “Aye, but this board is loose, and you can reach the latch if we just could wedge it sideways. But it’s caught on something, or the nail got rusted.”

  “Here.” Krea wiggled around Spider enough to get to the door—not an easy trick. Then, with a whispered apology, she drew the dagger, slid it in the crack, and pried it sideways.

  The board slowly twisted on the old nail. Dulled light filtered through a wall hanging of some sort and lit the narrow shoot. She preferred the darkness. Instead of just feeling the roaches climbing over her fingers, now she could see them. When Spider finally managed to wiggle the latch free, she nearly crawled over him, getting out of the death trap.

  They stood for a moment in a tiny nook nestled behind the wall tapestry, picking the worst of the bugs off each other and catching their breath. The only sound in the room was the crunch of them stepping on the offending roaches. Only the sudden pulse from the dagger still clenched in her fist warned her that someone was there. Someone the dagger didn’t like. She looked down. The jeweled gold dragon once again gleamed in her palm. Then someone jerked back the wall hanging.

  The dagger jerked up and slashed. Krea yanked it back as blood splattered across Spider’s face. He dove for the floor. Elder Ulryk grabbed her bloody arm and screamed, but before she could back away, the dagger slashed again. Without another sound, Ulryk crumpled to the ground, just like the proth had in the field. Dark blood drained into the blade and disappeared, leaving only gleaming steel behind. The rush of Ulryk’s life force, her Essence, rushed into Krea.

  “What is this?” said a voice near the door.

  Krea checked the dagger. The dragon still shone a brilliant gold. Another enemy.

  A man stepped out of the shadows. His features reminded her of a statue—sculpted, hard, etched. White-blond hair melted into pale skin and shrouded eyes so light they reminded her of the sky on a sunny day. The sweet scent of decaying leaf litter wafted through the room. “How did you come by that dagger, girl?” His voice matched his features. Both were ice cold, and Krea shivered when the tip of a pointed ear peeked out from his hair.

  At some point Cricket had vanished, but now her shadow form blurred across the room. She darted along the wall to circle behind the strange man. Spider remained stone still on the floor.

  “No, faerie.” The man flipped his hand, and Cricket tumbled backward into a wall. “We’ll not have that.” He turned back to Krea. “The dagger. Where did you get it?”

  Her heart stopped. She knew that motion. She recognized the profound arrogance. “You’re an elf, aren’t you?” she said, looking behind him to see if Cricket was okay.

  The man laughed. “An elf? You say it like it’s a small thing. Haven’t you heard? Ah, that’s right. Shhh. It’s a secret, but you can be one of the first to know.” He bowed without taking his eyes off Krea. “I am Nyrit, the groom. Now.” He stepped toward her. “The dagger. It is not meant for you. Give it to me.”

  The dragon hissed. Just once she wanted to be watching the thing when it did that.

  Nyrit paused and cocked his head at the gleaming blade. “Come now. Have you forgotten your master so soon?” Something caught his eye and he leaned in, staring hard at the hilt. “You have been reclaimed!” he hissed. “Stolen from me!”

  He raised his hand and started inscribing runes in the air. Small orange trails marked his writing, but he didn’t get more than three drawn before the markings on Krea’s arm blazed.

  Krea yelled and pulled back her sleeve. The red spiral glowed as hot as burning embers. Her arm pulsed with pain. When she looked up again, the runes were gone.

  The elf stared, hatred seething from his pores as he started toward her. “No!” Nyrit stepped over Ulryk as if she were a tossed rug. “No!” He reached for her left arm, but then jerked back as the blade darted forward. The full fury of his gaze once again fell on the dagger. “You may not remember your master, Markalri, but you will obey me.” He waved a hand through the air and the gleaming dragon dulled in her hand, its warmth sucked away.

  Again, the elf reached out. Krea
jerked back, but he was too fast. He captured Krea’s wrist and almost yanked her off the ground. Fear and anger rushed in, making it hard to think. He gave the dagger as little regard as he did Ulryk. Without its burning dragon, he apparently considered it useless. Krea didn’t agree. As he twisted her arm to see the pulsing brand, she pushed back the panic and plunged the blade into his soft belly. With all the strength she could gather, she yanked it up toward his chest.

  Nyrit screamed and so did the dragon, one in agony, the other in triumph. Spider yelled with him, but Krea only stared in shock as the blade flared back to life, turning crimson in her hand. The elf before her staggered backward, dragging Krea with him since the blade buried in his gut would not release her.

  The elf began to wrinkle and twist. Power and energy flowed through her as the blade drank his blood and she sucked in what she knew was the elf’s Essence. Never before had she experienced anything so invigorating. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to. When the man finally fell backward over Ulryk’s still body and the blade slid free, she nearly jumped forward to stab him again. Cricket stopped her.

  “No,” she said, panting. “Nyshi, no. Bad magic.”

  The sheema’s warning snapped her out of the spell, and Krea looked up in time to see Nyrit limping away, now twisted and maimed. His skin clung to his bones like old cracked leather, his stony face etched into a skeletal sneer. “Mother of mercy!” Spider jumped up and started for the garbage shoot.

  “Spider. Wait!”

  “Ain’t no amount of shols or nothin’ else worth this.”

  They reached the curtain at the same time. “Spider, just listen to me. Tell me where the dungeon is. How do I get there?”

  “I ain’t for sure, but I think it’s out that same door as where that thing just went. Go two rights, then there is stairs. They is said to be blocked off with a gate, but if you can get through the gate, it goes right to the dungeons.” Spider looked from Krea to the dragon once again gleaming gold in her palm. He shook his head. “Ain’t no one knows it’s there ’cause the wall fell in a long time ago and folks can’t get through. It might not be there at all. I can’t say.”

  He reached for the wall hanging again, but Krea grabbed his arm. “Spider, you have to go to the hold. Find a kyrni there named Feydrhin. Tell him everything you saw. Don’t tell anyone but him. Don’t trust anyone but him. Will you do it?”

  He looked around the room, then at the empty doorway. “Yah. I’ll do it.”

  “You swear?”

  “I said I’d do it; now leave off and get that dagger away from me.” With that, he climbed up into the shoot and dropped out of sight.

  Krea slid the dagger back into its sheath. To her surprise, it faded to black and went willingly. She took that as a good sign and stepped over Ulryk to find Cricket. The sheema had shifted back to her tree form and sat panting against the wall.

  “Cricket!” Krea ran over and scooped her up. Just like the Essence had flowed into her, flooding her with power, she felt it slip out into the faerie. The sheema drank it in. Her coat began to glow again. Her tail twitched, and when she finally looked up, her dark eyes gleamed like they had in the Nayli.

  The sheema dropped to the ground, shivered into her shadow form, and darted out the door. “Nasty elf,” she said, before disappearing down the dark hall.

  Losing the excess power left Krea strangely drained. Either that or coming face-to-face with a torbadyn had done it. Either way, her legs wobbled a bit as she took out after the blurring shadow. “Two rights, then stairs. Two rights, then stairs,” she whispered, and slipped into the darkness.

  Chapter 25 – Truth

  How it was possible to live in a house so big an entire section could be closed for repairs was beyond her. Still, closed or not, someone would be coming up that hall eventually, so she didn’t waste time looking around. Not that there was much to see in the dark halls anyway.

  The first right turn led to a solid wall and a locked door that wouldn’t budge. She tried again. The second right turned out to be another hallway. She ran as fast as she dared, dragging her hand along the wall as she went. More than once, a fallen brick or goddess knew what else nearly sent her flying. A little help from Cricket would have been nice, but the sheema had disappeared.

  Twice, the wall beneath her hand gave way to what she hoped would be her next right, but both times all she found was another door, one locked, one not. She pressed on. Finally, the gap in the wall opened up to a short hall partially lit by a shuttered window. Just like Spider had said, the hall ended in a steep flight of stairs heading down into a gray gloom.

  Out of the darkness, a shadow plowed into Krea, knocking her against the wall. Cricket’s claws dug into her shoulder, and her tail wrapped around her mouth until she could barely breathe. Feet rumbled down the first hall. The flicker of a torch cast a brief red glow on the wall and then disappeared.

  “There were two. Find them both.” Nyrit’s voice stood out clearly enough, even at a distance.

  Someone else called for dogs, but Nyrit spoke again. “We don’t have time. They won’t help anyway. Not with the faerie. Just find them. Now! Go! And kill the caller. They came for him.”

  More running feet. Krea waited until the hall fell silent and dark again before prying Cricket’s tail off her face and slinking along the wall on silent feet. The stairs spiraled down at a ridiculous angle, and more than a few of the steps were missing entirely. The meager light offered by the shuttered window had long since faded, and she was back to feeling her way down the traitorous stairway. The rock wall was anything but smooth. If she had any skin left when this was over, she’d count herself lucky. Just keeping her footing was a challenge in the dark, and when Cricket leaped off her shoulder again, Krea nearly made the rest of the trip down on her head.

  A sliver of light marked the stairs ahead. Krea snuck down along the wall until she came to the long crack in the outer wall. A thread of light leaked in through the eroding stone. No wonder the Empire was in the state it was; the Empress couldn’t even repair her own palace. The ribbon of light fell on a rusted steel gate that barred her way down the rest of the stairs. Cricket slipped right through the bars, but Krea had no such luck.

  She looked at the lock. With the right tools and some time—neither of which she had—she might be able to slip the lock. Then again, with all of the rust, she might not. She moved her fight to the hinges. Now there was hope. The rust was eating through the stone where the gate clung to the wall.

  She worked the bolts, pushing and pulling at the rusted hinges. The stone ground away with her effort, first in tiny bits, then in large chunks, but the gate made enough noise to wake the dead. There was nothing to do for it. Krea put her boot against the wall and yanked with all she had. With a great grinding screech, the bottom bolt broke loose, taking a chunk of wall with it. The effort broke one of the bars loose as well, and between the two a narrow gap beckoned her to enter. She squeezed through the hole and ran as fast as she dared down the rest of the stairs.

  The staircase finally let out into a large room, dimly lit by wall lanterns and stinking of mold and decay. Even though she couldn’t be certain in the pitiful light, Krea thought she saw the shadow of another gate cast against the far wall. Footsteps shuffled somewhere around the corner. Krea hurried over to join Cricket against the wall and listened. Voices again, too faint to make out, and then more footsteps. Krea swallowed and drew the dagger. What she hoped to do when she found Sorin, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t leaving without him.

  Cricket leaped forward and disappeared into the shadows. Moving more slowly, Krea followed, holding to the wall and placing each foot with silent precision. Yet again, she thanked the faerie-born cobbler.

  When she came to the corner, she peeked around. Two men stood with their backs to her, one working a set of keys in a steel door. The other held a sword. A third man stood guarding the main hallway. Cricket flashed to her side and started to leap around the corner, bu
t Krea managed to stop her. She mimicked a twisting key and signaled for the faerie to wait. Cricket twisted her head, clearly confused, but she didn’t move.

  As the two men struggled with the rusted lock, a fourth shadow slid along the distant wall. Krea watched in silence as the shadowy figure slipped up behind the man guarding the hallway. The guard jerked once, then again, before the shadow laid him silently on the ground. Just then, the gate swung open.

  Cricket darted around the corner, her shadow form a blur as she leaped onto the first guard’s face. He clawed at his attacker, already bleeding, but Cricket was gone.

  Krea decided to take Dane’s advice for a change and just let the dagger do what the dagger wanted to do. She ran into the room, brandishing the now raven-black blade in front of her. It swiped at the first guard and missed, but then the shadow figure knocked her to the ground. A sword swooshed so close over her head its wind blew her hair. So much for Dane’s idea.

  She rolled to the side and climbed into a crouch just as Royden spun around and brought his sword down across the guard’s neck. His body dropped to the ground. The third guard lay in a bloody heap next to his partner, a victim of Cricket’s vicious attack.

  “Royden! You believed me.”

  “Not now. We can’t go back the way I came. Do you have another way out?”

  “I came down a spiral staircase, but it may be blocked by now. I don’t know. How did you know he was here?”

  “I heard Ulryk talking to a noble in the landing fields. The Lady Larea is marrying the son of Mishtryl!” Royden turned his head and spat. “Sorin said torbadyn had infiltrated the Empire. Goddess knows he tried to tell me, but I was having none of it. Now, I’ll not hear the end of it. If we all make it out of here. Was that a sheema with you?”