Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

“Shit, long-ear,” the old man said, hand over his heart. “I nearly fucking died right there. You’re crazy. Fucking crazy. What’d you do that for?”

  And, in the silence that followed, the elf grinned. “Maybe I just didn’t want to be the only thing unhinged down here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  While the tunnel stretched into the distance, there was a sealed doorway only a short distance away. Draped in slime, the door looked to have been closed for almost as long as the iron grate the elf had kicked down.

  “I can’t see,” Fludd said. Then dug into his pocket and pulled out a small stone. His tortured hands struggled, but eventually held it out. The stone glowed. A thin concentrated beam, green and phosphorescent. Not bright enough to rouse suspicion in most places. Crackle of electricity snapped across a few runes etched across its face. A thiefstone. She’d seen a few on human thieves in the Deadlands. He turned, sensing her raised eyebrow at the mischievous object. Managed to look a little sheepish. “Told you I did a little work on the side. Didn’t tell you what.”

  “Reckon it ain’t legal.”

  “Might be fracturing a few of the Duke’s laws,” he admitted. “But in Dragonclaw, I reckon it’s expected. It’s be queer if you ain’t breaking at least one on a regular basis.”

  She let him study the door. Seemed to be looking for signs etched into the metal.

  Finally, he nodded. “This is it,” he said. “I just gotta get it open.”

  “I don’t see no lock.”

  “It ain’t got one as such,” he said. Began patting down the side of the door. “More like a trick.”

  “Handle’s right there.”

  “Don’t touch that!” He scowled. “Turn that, and it’ll trigger an enchantment which’ll tear the meat from your bones.”

  “It’s your call, Rojer,” she said, not offended by his tone.

  “That’s right. My call. Remember that. It ain’t safe to just walk around kicking shit down here. Ain’t safe at all.” He rubbed his old hands around the thiefstone, ignoring the brief spark of electricity. A small ritual she guessed was more for luck.

  Then touched his hand to a crooked bump in the metal.

  Pushed.

  Hard.

  A dull click choked metallic from somewhere inside. The frame shuddered. Puff of dust spat into their eyes, forcing them both look away. When she looked back, the door had opened, but only by the smallest of cracks.

  The old man thudded its face with the heel of his hand.

  Nothing.

  Didn’t even shake.

  He turned slightly toward her. Frowned. Half-shrugged with an apologetic twist of his lips.

  “Rust?” Nysta asked.

  “Yeah. Everything down here is shit. I can’t believe Noster neglected all this. Surely he’d use it more. It’s stuck. Stuck fast. Ain’t nothing gonna open it up short of a few barrows of pigfat or something.”

  “Maybe he figured you fellers knew about it. Didn’t want to risk keeping it open.”

  “Then why not block it up properly?” The old man pushed gently on the door, which didn’t budge. Feeling it out. Pressed his eye to the crack and peered through. Dusted his hands. “He’s just got no need for them, I guess. Red Claws are big. They don’t need to hide. Maybe doesn’t use the river, neither. We used to use the river. Good way to smuggle shit down to the docks without the guards or other gangs putting their big fucking noses in. Or back from the docks, of course. Could be he left it like this in case he needed it one day. Here, look at this. Looks more like the hinges are fucked up, is all. Sewer slime dried hard. And the rust. Yeah, it’s fucked.”

  He pushed on the door again.

  Harder.

  Nothing.

  The old man rubbed his face. Defeated. “Maybe we can find another way…?”

  “Maybe you can get out of mine,” she countered.

  “Last time was risky enough,” he said. “If they hear another bang like that, they’ll come running for sure! And what if they put more enchantments down here? What if kicking it triggers something you don’t want triggered?”

  “Just move, feller.”

  “If you plan on kicking it down, then I’m running for it right now.”

  She reached.

  Slowly.

  Grabbed him by the shirt with one hand and eased him aside. With the other, drew Senseless Acts of Beauty. The knife was stubborn. Thick-spined and wide-bellied. Short. A few notches near the tip.

  It had seen better days.

  But it was strong. The bandit she’d taken it from had sworn it was dwarfsteel.

  He was probably lying. He’d have said anything at the time to stop the knife sliding into his neck. Still, it was tough.

  She slid the tip into a gap above the top hinge. Angled it around and twisted until it wedged hard between door and frame.

  Then, with deliberate strength, began to pull.

  “You’ll never break it,” he said, unable to disguise the fascination in his voice as he studied her intent. Tried to gauge her chances of success. “These doors were made to hold back the city guard. We had a troll smash on one for a week.”

  The elf grunted.

  Kept pulling.

  Felt the hinge, crusted with decay, bend a little.

  Give a little.

  She adjusted her grip, knuckles whiter than bone.

  Pulled.

  Muscle in her arm begin to ache as she reached her limit. Could almost feel the meat in her arm trying to pop loose through stretched skin.

  Shifted suddenly, looking for a better angle. Put her foot up against the door and jerked her head for Fludd to grab the handle. Stop it from swinging too fast and making too much noise.

  The hinge moaned.

  Her shoulder flexed and shadows danced down her nerves. Squirreled through meat with an excitement she felt mirrored in her guts.

  A whisper of noise flushed her ears.

  And her arm no longer ached. Instead, a sparkling wave like dozens of needles prickling flesh. Not deep. Just a numb kind of prickle which sent shudders down her spine.

  The hinge whimpered. Then warped as Senseless Acts of Beauty ripped through its iron guts like it was carving butter. Metal, old and past its prime, relented to a blade whose back couldn’t bend.

  The elf staggered, catching herself as the knife popped free of the hinge. Nearly dropped it, but managed to spin her hand and keep hold of it.

  Boots splashed mud.

  The door gave a sullen groan as its grip on the frame was lessened.

  Shivered, but didn’t open.

  She stretched her neck. Felt the worms inside her flesh move.

  Eyed her fist, imagining a flurry of shadows slithering between knuckles.

  “Three more to go,” Fludd said. “Grim’s ass, they must have rotted away. I never would’ve believed it. Still don’t. Maybe this here stone’s gone and enchanted my eyes. You really pull that loose? Tell me I ain’t seeing shit.”

  “Yeah,” she said. Vision speckled and she felt a wave of vertigo thrill her mind. A hand pushing silk curtains across her thoughts. “Three more.”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” Blinked the dizziness away and reached to place a hand on the door again. Wedged the knife, ready to rip the next hinge down.

  Pulled. Steadier this time.

  Scrape of metal against blade.

  The hinge parted with more ease than the last, though her arm was numb and she couldn’t quite feel the knife in her hand.

  It was like the limb had been hijacked. Muscle and nerve no longer connected to her brain.

  “Two,” Fludd said. Uncertain. His old eyes were staring at the broken hinge near his foot. Staring at the thick metal. Wondering. “You elfs are pretty strong. I don’t reckon I could break these. Even when I was younger. And I weren’t no weakling.”

  Nysta grunted. Thought of the box inside her pouch. Said; “It’s a gift.”

  And went to work on the third.

&nb
sp; This one resisted.

  She had to arch her back, hauling on the knife which threatened to break despite the strength of its metal. Teeth bared, the elf found herself holding back a roar of effort. Wanted to let it out. But knew the old man was right. She’d already given in to her impatience, and that still might have cost the element of surprise.

  She couldn’t do it again.

  Had to be careful.

  Straining, she felt the handle slipping in her hand. Her arm suddenly warmed and she could feel a cool wet touch, like slugs, slithering down the back of her bicep.

  They poked at thew and sinew before wrapping around elbow, squeezing the joint into a tight knot of bone, meat, and darkness.

  Couldn’t choke back the horrified sob from escaping her throat.

  Then the hinge snapped, sending screws pinging back down the tunnel.

  Popped loose with the hinge, the elf jerked free. Legs splayed as she worked to stay upright in shallow slime coating the ground. Wheeled her arms for balance.

  Bent double, gasping for air.

  Hissed through teeth; “Fuck.”

  He watched her through the gloom.

  Thiefstone in his hand smudged the features of his face, but she could clearly make out suspicion growing behind his eyes.

  “That really was something,” he said. Slow at first, then a rush. “This one don’t even look rusted. But you pulled it right the fuck out. Look at that. Ripped it right out the wall. Incredible!”

  “Just hold it. Hold the fucking door,” she growled. Spat on the ground, wet splat snapping at the dark.

  Stalked back to the last hinge. Had to crouch as low as she could to level the knife into the exposed slit. Pushed it in until it jammed.

  Wasn’t sure if she could get the position she needed.

  Wiped her eyelids with the back of her fist as another wave of dizziness slithered through. Crushed her centre of balance for a moment. Left her eyes feeling warm.

  Pausing, the elf let go of the handle.

  Dried her hand on her thigh.

  Grabbed it again.

  Adjusted her grip.

  Sucked a breath.

  Centred herself, toes pressed against the frame for when she’d need to kick away.

  Rolled her shoulder, feeling darkness squeezing across the meat. Through it.

  Pushed her fear as far from her mind as she could. There wasn’t anything she could do about the darkness right now. Maybe not ever. Curse or blessing, she was stuck with it.

  She’d have to live with it and hope.

  Hope one day it’d all make sense.

  Looked up at Fludd. Sweat gliding down her cheek. “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I got it.”

  “It’ll be heavy.”

  “I’m old,” he snapped, hands shaking. He put the thiefstone on the ground between his feet. “Not fucking stupid.”

  It wasn’t easy. So low to the ground, she had to push down, then pull. And pushing threatened to dislodge the knife.

  It slipped twice, forcing her to reset her balance. Nearly cut into her wrist both times.

  Try a slightly different angle.

  Then, when it finally chose to break, the hinge didn’t tear like the others. It shattered. Shattered with a violent crack which made the door fly open as though she’d kicked it.

  The weight of the metal door was too much for Fludd. His hands, twisted by age, made a final grasping lunge before it yanked free. Tumbled off the side of the tunnel and crashed to the ground with another deafening boom. A boom quickly chased by resounding echoes which fluttered like an army of crazed rats.

  They stood there, frozen by shock. Not daring to breathe.

  Waiting.

  For the sound of boots. The cry of alarm.

  Anything.

  Instead, there was only a sharp drip of water from further up the tunnel.

  When her heartbeat returned to normal, she licked her lips.

  “Not stupid,” she confirmed. “Just old.”

  “Fuck you. It was too heavy even for you.”

  She allowed that could be true, and stepped forward.

  Which made him hiss; “Where are you going?”

  The elf pointed the knife into the dark. “Reckon they’re this way?”

  “They heard you,” he said. Moaned. “No way they didn’t hear that. Sound in these tunnels travels like a sonofabitch. I swear to the Dark Lord, you can hear a rat take a piss.”

  “Then why can’t we hear them?”

  “Because they’re being quiet. You ain’t.”

  “You can go back, Rojer,” she said. “I didn’t need you here anyway.”

  He thought about it. Tongue reaching across his lip. Old knuckles creaking as he tried to squeeze a fist.

  She could see him wanting to run.

  But he shook his head. “No. I wanna see Noster dead.” Looked down at the torn hinges still clinging to the frame. “Way I figure it, you’re the only chance I’m ever gonna get.”

  “Thanks for the vote.”

  She moved ahead, as quickly as she could. Was hoping that if anyone was coming to investigate the awful crash, she’d be far away by the time they got here.

  The tunnel split multiple times, sending shafts beaming out in all directions. Some even going straight down. Wells, Fludd said. And dumping grounds, though he seemed to ashamed to say what it was they’d been dumping.

  And Nysta didn’t feel a need to know.

  There were less markings on the walls. Less for Fludd to decipher. But he found enough, he said. Enough to know they were going where they needed to go.

  “They were busy,” he said. “Dug it all out. So many rooms! Bigger, too. We used to have to crawl through here on our hands and knees. Never could walk. It wasn’t like this. I wonder what it was for? Seems like a bit much for the Red Claws to handle. Well. On their own, anyway.”

  “Reckon they had help?”

  “Had to.” He licked his lips. “Shit. I’ll bet it’s Vor. Yeah. Gotta be his work. He’d have enough coin to hire real engineers and shit like that. Maybe when the slave trade dried up, they got the poor bastards in here digging instead. It’d be just like Noster to ram his head so far up Vor’s ass to get that.”

  “Don’t look like they use it much, though,” she said. Nudged a mound of filth with her toe. “Ain’t much traffic come through here in a long time.”

  “Yeah. And it’s quiet. Too fucking quiet. I really don’t like it.” He squeezed his fingers around the thiefstone while sliding a small knife from a sheath hidden in his boot. Electricity snapped at his thumb. “Don’t like this at all. They enlarged the tunnels for a reason. Why stop using them?”

  She wanted to laugh. To mock him for his fear.

  But she felt it too.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The air was too still.

  Smell of something faint.

  Something familiar, nudging at the putrid stink of the sewers. Not powerful enough to penetrate the smell of rancid piss and shit.

  Couldn’t quite place it.

  But it didn’t belong.

  She reached down. Scratched her palm.

  And it came to her.

  The smell.

  It was bitter. On the back of her tongue.

  Acrid.

  “Fucking magic,” she spat. Started running, which triggered an explosion of sound from all around. In the tunnel, with the crash of her boots through mud and echoes bouncing around, there was no way to pinpoint where the explosion came from.

  Fludd let out a cry and was quick on her heels, the old man proving he could still sprint when needed. Heavy tap as he leaned harder on the cane.

  Behind them, rumble of something heavy moving through the tunnel. It scraped against stone walls. Sound of rock sawing against rock.

  Then ground to a halt with a tremendous shudder of earth. She looked back. Saw something heavy was blocking the way.

  Fludd shrieked; “We’ve got to get out of here!�
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  “Left!”

  They took another tunnel, this one curving back toward the river. She sprinted hard, dodging thick puddles of slime. Had to leap across a weed-coated mound which she only recognised as a ribcage after her boot kicked the skull clear.

  Every step triggered another enchantment. Which triggered another. And another. Turgid light coughed and sputtered from runes which came to life and expired. Some too old to do much. Others exploding in fiery huffs of flame.

  Sparks cascaded from the ceiling, igniting sewer gas.

  Terror wrenched her heart as the stink of magic rose to smother everything else.

  Two doors.

  One to the left. One to the right.

  Manhole above, ladder broken and out of reach.

  Otherwise, a dead end.

  She moved without hesitation, slamming her body into the left door. It resisted, sending her bouncing back, rubbing her shoulder.

  “Wait!” He hurried up beside her, exhausted and pale. “The door could be trapped.”

  “Whole fucking thing’s a trap,” she snarled. “But we ain’t got time to be fucking mice.”

  She kicked the door open. This time it relented and caved in.

  Looked inside.

  Jerked back out and ran at the second door, sending it spinning open with a loud crash. Took three steps in, looking wildly. Eyes scraping every shadow clean.

  “What’re you looking for?”

  “The fucking cheese,” she said. Spat on the ground and ran to the other side of the room as the floor began to splinter and crack beneath each step. Fludd followed, narrowly missing one of the gaping holes which opened under him.

  Holes which led to nowhere. A deep drop into a yawning chasm.

  He flailed. Cane in one hand, thiefstone in the other. Unwilling to drop either of his last remaining treasures.

  Still, he had to leap.

  He jumped. Awkwardly. Old legs unused to propelling him any great distance.

  Might have fallen, but the elf snatched his arm and dragged him up. Didn’t wait to hear his gasped chain of gratitude.

  Instead she threw herself at the door leading from the crumbling room. Old wood shattered like a curtain of glass. Scattering shards.

  Another tunnel, angling up. Shallow stairs crusted with slime. Dark stains racing up the walls. Looked like blood. Old blood.