Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

  He fell.

  Tried clutching her arm to slow her down, but she pulled away.

  Took her knife with her. Flicking it as she ran to send blood spattering to the ground.

  Corrow was close.

  His shouts were the loudest. Shouting at those fit enough to have kept up to push harder. To the others, he was shouting for them to get up. On the rooftops. Into the balconies.

  Someone had a bow.

  He shouted at them to shoot her down.

  Worms scurried down the back of her neck on a river of goosepimples.

  If they had bows, she wouldn’t see the arrows coming.

  Grim twist of her lips. She’d definitely feel them, though.

  She kept to the sides as best she could. Out of the middle of the street. Had to work even harder as the crowds grew thicker. Felt like she’d been running for hours. Was only a few blocks.

  Up ahead, a couple of Red Claws were waiting. At a crossroads, and they were blocking her way out. Behind them, others were gathering. Others not dressed in long black coats.

  Instead, they were dressed in blue.

  Blue shirts. Blue pants.

  Patched and cut to resemble the clothes of richer men. They carried canes like Dragonclaw’s social elite. But these weren’t for show.

  Each cane carried a thin knife. About the length of fingertip to elbow. Almost a sword. Straight blades made for slashing. Big enough to stab straight through a torso, but not big enough they couldn’t be used in an alley fight.

  They stood on the other side of the crossroads. Like ghosts.

  Watching.

  The elf spat at the ground as she leapt through a cluttered stall. Boots crushed fruit. Slipped across something which burst beneath her heel. Sent vegetables spilling across the road. Ignored the seller whose voice careened through the street, calling for a guard.

  A call which always went unanswered.

  There were four trying to block her way.

  Behind her, around twenty formed an chain of black and red.

  Another thrown knife chipped wood from a pillar as she passed.

  She kicked someone out of the way.

  They doubled over. She shoved them down so she could get over the top. Head hit pavement with a sickening crunch.

  Didn’t know who it was.

  Didn’t care.

  Four of them ahead.

  Heart racing, she considered turning down an alley. Maybe coming around from behind. But a quick glance as she made the mouth showed more Red Claws streaming from the shadows. An army of black coats jumping up the narrow throat. They must’ve come from the next street across.

  Hands glinted as steel weapons flashed in meagre light.

  She kept running.

  No way out but forward.

  Four.

  “Fuck.”

  Hit the first with a splash of red. It arced high into the air.

  He grabbed at his throat and wheeled.

  Second took her boot in his kneecap. Crunch of bone and a sharp spear of white ripped up through the skin.

  Should’ve finished him off.

  Wanted to.

  But the others didn’t pause to witness the suffering. Instead attacked as one.

  A long knife slashed across her hip and an iron-wrapped club smacked off the side of her forehead.

  Flash of stars blurred her sight and Corrow was screaming. “Hold her! Hold her, Snarf! Don’t let her get across!”

  Nysta staggered.

  Felt the club slam into her neck, just above her shoulder. Knew the knife would be next, and sought the glitter of light through eyes still obscured by fuzz and light.

  Caught the cream of steel and lunged, wrenching her torso away from the blade.

  Her own found flesh.

  Not deep.

  But enough to score a scream and the young kid with the knife shoved himself back, clutching his arm. Blood spewed loose.

  It wasn’t much.

  Barely anything.

  But the break between the two men as he shoved himself away from her searching knife was enough to dive through.

  The Red Claw with the club gave a frustrated growl. Snatched her jacket and tried to pull her back. She twirled, knives in both hands. Arms wide. Not aiming so much for his flesh, but to make him let go.

  He did.

  But even though she was loose, she felt the club crack across her back again.

  And again as she stumbled, bent double, toward the other side of the street.

  Again.

  The big man tried to knock her down. To drop her hard. Swung wild and freely. Some connected. Some didn’t. All left their own kind of mark.

  Her right arm went limp and she dropped Prophet of Rage from nerveless fingers.

  Another hammering blow. More footsteps. Slapping across wet cobblestones.

  Corrow shouting.

  Forn screaming.

  Then her legs launched her with one final dive, flinging her across the ground and at the closest man dressed in blue. Who deftly sidestepped and watched as she fell on the ground behind him.

  Seemed amused as she rolled onto her back and looked up at him. Blood streaming from the cut on her head.

  “Well, sister,” he said softly. “You got some game right there.”

  He was short. Slim. Designed for speed rather than strength, though much of the speed had been spent. Wiry and with a warm twinkle to eyes which had seen more violence than most. Black hair dusted grey. Tied back in several small ropes which dangled to his waist.

  Wide pitted cheeks and a thin jaw.

  There was no leadership in his appearance.

  It was all in his voice.

  She swallowed hard. “Question is, feller, what’s yours?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Mine?” He looked back to where the Red Claw with the club was standing about two steps away. “I don’t play games. Do I, Snarf?”

  “Give her back,” Corrow snarled, pushing through to stand only inches from the line of blue. “She’s ours. She killed-”

  “Some of your boys. Yeah. We saw. Was a good show. They bleed real good. Always said it’s the only thing your boys are good at.”

  “You don’t want to fuck with us on this, Filth.”

  The man called Filth smiled. “Noster’s got a big gang now, Corrow. Your volcano’s looking real hot for sure. But any time you think you’re the best, you take a look at the skyline. You ain’t big like us. You figure you want to step up? Step up. Right here. You step the fuck up.” Pause. “Or back the fuck down and live another day. Your call.”

  “Then, you admitting she’s one of yours?”

  “She look like she’s wearing our colours? Sister’s not one of ours. But she’s on our street. And looking what a bunch of limp dicks she made of your boys? Looking how nice she spread your colour all over the fucking place? Well. I reckon we’ll be making her one of ours if she be liking it.”

  The elf sat up.

  Coughed some blood and spat at Corrow’s feet.

  Corrow lunged.

  And was held back by Forn and a few other Claws even as the gang members beside Filth drew long needle-thin knives and aimed them right at his face.

  “You bitch,” Corrow hissed. “I’ll fucking find you. They can’t hide you from me. No one can hide you from me.”

  “Tsk, sister,” Filth said in mock admonishment. “Why you wanna go spitting on a fine pair of boots like that?”

  “Didn’t want you taking offence, feller,” she said. Aware that even if she survived Corrow and his Red Claws, there was no guarantee she’d live. Filth’s mood could change. He protected his gang, not her. The only reason she was alive right now, she knew, was because it amused him to tease Corrow. “Figured the red belonged on that side of the street.”

  A couple of Filth’s gang sniggered.

  Corrow watched her closely. Pulled himself from the grip of his own and tried to kill her with a stare.

  Then turned and stalked a
way, hauling his dignity like a stone.

  “Hey, Corrow,” Filth called. “Noster’s feeding you some bad ideas. Ideas you Claws ain’t big enough to handle. Now, you got a nice little business going on with your Shadowpiss or whatever the fuck you call it, but it ain’t nothing if we don’t want it to be. You tell him to quit getting all itchy looking at our side of the street. It’s an itch you don’t want us to scratch.”

  Corrow spun.

  Stabbed a finger toward the elf. Face red.

  Sweat drizzling down the sides of his neck. “You just protected her! Knowing what she just did, you stood against us right here. You remember that, Filth. You remember this was it. The moment you brought war to the Shivs.”

  “Wars come and go.” Filth shrugged. “Been a while since we had to tear up someone’s turf. But we ain’t forgotten how. Have we, Klista?”

  Klista was young. Barely brushing the end of her teens. But her eyes told the story of a soul beyond its body’s age. A soul which had seen the worst Dragonclaw could offer. A soul which found the solace of home within the wicked embrace of violence.

  She looked Corrow up and down as if he was a piece of meat she was thinking about carving up for a roast.

  Hawked up a mouthful of spit.

  Looked about to gob it at the Red Claw, but then decided instead to lean over and dribble it down between her own boots.

  Grinned through wet lips.

  “Reckon she thinks you ain’t worth spit,” Filth said, echoing the young girl’s grin.

  And the gang called the Shivs let out a rolling guffaw which thundered in the elf’s ears as she saw why it was so loud. Shivs were everywhere. Lounging from the balconies facing the street.

  Gathered in doorways.

  Clipping alley mouths.

  Creasing the skyline, short bows at ready.

  Bleeding into the street from every nook and cranny like blue ants.

  They stamped boots on the ground in perfect rhythm, taunting the Claws. Mocking. Jeering and hooting like draug.

  And the elf sat there. Alone among the horde. Bleeding.

  Unable to move for fear of what Filth would do if she tried.

  When he finally turned to her, the elf’s mouth was dry.

  Smooth and slow, she sheathed A Flaw in the Glass.

  Waited for him to speak.

  “Well, sister,” he said as the jeers died out. Every Shiv eye turned to her. “You really know how to start some shit. If you plan on getting old in Dragonclaw, that ain’t the way to go about it. Fact, it might get you killed. You got lucky this time. Next time, you might not make it out of their turf. Or maybe you’d catch me on a bad day and I’d throw you right the fuck back in. I’m like that, you know. I might look frisky, but sometimes I hiss like an old alley cat.”

  “Me-ow,” someone called, earning a few sniggers.

  Filth twirled the cane once and bent over her. “But you’re here now, sister. And I spoke up for you. So, what do you think I should do with you?”

  “Kill her.” Bored-looking Shiv with mean eyes and fat thumbs. “She looks more trouble than she’s worth, Filth. I don’t mind killing Claws, but I reckon if we start a war it shouldn’t be for a stranger. She ain’t family.”

  “I seen her on the docks,” another put in. She couldn’t see where he was. “Watched her kill a couple of Deadboys. Was fucking brutal.”

  “Deadboys?” A young Shiv with black curls and a wide grin rolled her eyes. “Shit, man. Anyone can kill Deadboys. They can’t fight for shit.”

  “She killed Zwack,” Klista said. Voice cool and empty. “Dragged him into the street and slit his throat. Just like that. I was gonna tell you all about it tonight, Filth.”

  “Zwack?” Filth crouched beside the elf, face curious. “You killed old Zwacky? Cut him up like a pig in the street? That true, sister?”

  “She took out his eye,” Klista said. Pulling her lips into a thin smile. “Dug it right out and dropped it on his head. Craziest shit I ever fucking saw.”

  “Cut out his eye? You do that, sister? You cut out his eye and slash his throat? In the cold fucking street?”

  Nysta looked away from him. At the ring of blue-clad youths surrounding her. All with slender weapons in hand. Ready to cut her to ribbons if Filth said the word.

  Turned back to him. Felt the fear drain into the cold ball of ice which spun in her belly.

  Spun slow. Sharp edges like grit against her spine.

  And the worms didn’t move. Tense against skin, they waited with her.

  Seemed to hold breath with her.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He died. Hard.”

  “How hard? How hard he die? Did he scream?” Leaned in close. Close enough she could smell his breath. Spiced with mint. White teeth glinted. Licked his lips. Words coming in a slow whisper. “Tell me, sister. Did he beg?”

  “He begged.”

  “Begged!” Filth reared like a snake. Cast his arms wide and grinned to the sky. Roared; “You hear me, Zwack? You fucking begged before you died! Always knew you would, you cowardly fuck! Did he cry, sister? Did he cry like a fucking child?”

  “Ain’t sure what you’re after here, feller.”

  “Tell me everything! Every little thing.” Eyes round. “I want to hear it all. How’d it happen?”

  “Ain’t much to tell. Found him in an inn I like, messing the place up. Cut up his crew, then dragged him outside when he tried to run away. Cut his throat is all. Didn’t much give a shit if he cried or not. Maybe he did, I don’t recall.” Pause. “It important to you?”

  “Important?” He pondered the word, then dropped down in front of her. Reached out and cupped her face with his long fingers. She thought of cutting his hands off, but didn’t want to move. Wasn’t sure how fast she could move, anyway. The club had done some damage to her shoulder. “I knew Zwack a lot of years ago. I know his real name. Not many people know that. So, yeah, sister. It’s important to me.”

  “I didn’t see his tears. But he had his back to me most of the time. Was trying to run away.”

  “Run away? You hear that, Klista? Zwacky tried to run away.”

  The bored-looking Shiv nudged the elf’s leg with her boot. “Hey, long-ear? Zwacky piss himself?”

  “He was one of us,” Filth said before Nysta could reply. Voice a crack in the wind. “He ran with me when I was a kid. Me and him, we was like two hands in the same pocket. You know how some people call each other best friends? Well, when it came to us, those words didn’t cut it. We were more than that. Like brothers. Real brothers. Just didn’t share the same blood. He was there when we started the Shivs. Had a good brain, did Zwacky. Didn’t he, Klista?”

  “If you say so, Filth.”

  “I say so. A great brain. Had this idea we should all do work. Most gangs, you see, just sit around. They ain’t got the stones to build a volcano. They’re happy enough to take over a blockhouse or some shit. Their turfs are small. You can piss from one side to the other. But we wanted bigger. He figured if we worked the streets like farmboys work their fields, then we’d grow a big crop. Well, he was right, sister. Look at us. We grew. We got more city blocks than anyone else this side of Dragonclaw. And more bodies in the street than the Claw can dream of. It’s what kept them from coming in here after you.”

  “Lot of you, for sure.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. Jagged grin cut awkwardly across his face. Lifted his shirt to show an ugly scar ripping up his side. “And when I last saw Zwacky, the bastard was trying to pull his knife out. Couldn’t work it loose, though. I keep it now. In a box beside my bed. Reminds me not to trust anybody. Hard lesson to learn, that. Especially from a man you call your brother.”

  Sigh of relief breathed through her guts.

  Not a big one, though.

  Not yet.

  “Reckon you won’t miss him, then?”

  “No. I won’t miss him.” He straightened, reading the fear trickling through her brain. “D
on’t sweat it, sister. I didn’t want to kill him myself or anything. I ain’t like that. Sure, I got honour. But what Zwacky did weren’t deserving of honour. What you gave him was what he deserved. To have his throat slit in the street. Bastard crossed the street right here after cutting me. Started a gang of his own and tried to compete. Back when we weren’t so big. Got himself turfed by the Claws, though. Wouldn’t have happened a few years back, but old Zwack got himself addicted to potions. Moonkiss. Mellow Yellow. Anything he could get. Made him slow in the head, it did. That shit’ll kill you. For sure.”

  She put her hands on the ground, intending to push to her feet. “Will it?”

  The Shivs gripped cane knives tighter.

  Waiting on his word.

  Knowing what she meant, he nodded. “Be easy, sister. We got no beef with you. You can go where you like. You ain’t tagged. Means you ain’t got a gang yet, right? You solo?” He lifted his cane with its blade hidden inside. “Sure we can’t tempt you?”

  “I ain’t good at taking orders. Ain’t nothing personal. Just I’d more likely be a pain in your ass than anything else. We’d both hate it.”

  “That’s kinda what I figured.” He waved the others down, and they sheathed their swords. “But this city’s a hard place to make it alone. Remember us if you feel the need for shelter, sister.”

  “Obliged.”

  “And I’m obliged to you.” He laughed wickedly. “Warms my cold fucking heart to know old Zwacky begged with his last breaths. Just thought of that’s gonna keep me from feeling the chill for a lot of winters.”

  As he started walking away, most of the Shivs started peeling back into their own shadows. Shopkeepers cautiously opened their shops.

  Couple of men with carts figured it was safe to continue, and the wooden creak of their wheels ignited a sudden bustle of movement.

  Klista held out a hand to help her to her feet. The elf took the offered hand with a nod. “He was an asshole,” the Shiv said. “Zwack, I mean. I was only young, but I remember him hitting me. He broke Rafta’s leg, too. Ain’t ever walked right since then.”

  “I ain’t lost any sleep over him.” The elf rubbed her shoulder, trying to work feeling into it. Felt like part of the joint was cracked.

  “I will be,” she said with a satisfied grin. “On account of you making Filth feel like celebrating tonight.”