Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

But she couldn’t resist its promise to lead them out. To the surface, she hoped. Out of the dark. Into the light. The clean air. The chance to escape.

  She ran for it.

  Taste of magic churning her guts.

  Fire spewed from holes in the side of the tunnel, narrowly missing them as they passed. Gushing heat swirling hard enough to make the old man squeal when his arm was singed.

  She didn’t turn. Wouldn’t have known if he’d been swallowed by fire. Counted on his desperation to survive being equal to her own.

  Kept running.

  Another door.

  Heavy.

  Bolted, but from the inside. She fumbled the bolts and pulled the door. Dashed out without thinking. Found herself in a street empty of life.

  Empty of exits.

  Smooth grey walls on every side with windows.

  Plenty of windows. Dark and empty.

  No doors.

  “Shit.”

  Fludd drooled out from the tunnel beside her, patting scorched clothes. Panted; “What the fuck?”

  But the elf was spinning, trying to push past. Arm stretching for the door, which was already swinging shut behind them. She dived.

  Was too late.

  It slammed in place, bolts snapping with a cheerful click.

  Leaving them there.

  In the open.

  Sunlight sending shafts through clouds of dust.

  The elf’s eyes squinted at the windows.

  Listened to Fludd wheeze.

  And then a voice, smug and heavy, called from somewhere unseen; “Congratulations, long-ear. Not many make it this deep into our turf like this. Very few get through the tunnels. If the traps don’t kill you and the doors don’t keep you out, then the enchantments usually do for you. But here you are. You’ve done well. All pointless, of course. But it was quite a performance.”

  “Shit.” Fludd paled. “Noster!”

  Nysta whirled, violet eyes threaded with need.

  Heard the creak of stretching wood. Realised she was only seconds from death.

  Chose instead to dive toward the closest window. The Shadowed Halls seeming to scream inside on her heels.

  “Wait!” Fludd, red-faced and slick with sweat. “Where’re you going?”

  “You heard the bastard’s applause, Rojer,” she spat. An arrow sprang from the dark, escaping the panicked archer’s grip. Whipped past her ear. “Reckon I’m about to take a bow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She went through the window head first. Arms extended.

  Senseless Acts of Beauty chopped through cloth, skin, flesh and bone. Blood showered the elf’s face as she used her grip on the blade to provide momentum and swing herself into the room. Tore a gaping hole in the chest of the Red Claw, whose shriek died on his lips when she ripped the blade free and landed in a crouch.

  Pounced again before shock could dissipate.

  “No-”

  Denial delivered too late, the startled youth’s cry failed to register in the elf’s mind. All she could see was his arm, held out toward her. Arrow in hand. Bow already swinging around as he tried to use it to fend her off.

  She raised an arm. Swung her knife like it was an axe. Senseless Acts of Beauty chopped his hand off just above the wrist.

  Hand and arrow dropped. Sodden flesh in a sickening circle of expanding red. Arrow spinning between her legs.

  More blood hosed her chest.

  He dropped down beside his hand, eyes bulging. Mouth so wide.

  Squealing.

  Sound high and bright. Like stars exploding in her ears. A violent song which beat in agonised cadence and sent her dashing across his flailing body like a delirious cat across a polished floor.

  Knife slashed at her eyes as someone recovered fast. Caught a glimpse of his face. Kind of handsome in a feral way. Killer’s grin on his face echoing her own joy for violence.

  Long dagger in gloved fist.

  But she ducked fast and whipped around the driving arm to bury her own knife in guts. Cry of pain made the elf smile. Kind of smile which would have curdled his guts if the horrific pain wasn’t already destroying his last few moments of sanity.

  He loosed a wretched whimper as the Old Skeleton reached from the Shadowed Halls and took his soul.

  Tearing heavy knife free, she was forced to use her feet as another Red Claw came in fast. Powered by desperation and not much else, he used what weapons he had.

  An arrow and a knife.

  The arrow drove for her thigh. Razor tip seeking artery.

  Scissoring her legs, she swept into his knees. Off-balance, he tumbled, taking her down.

  Full weight landing on top of her.

  He twitched.

  Once.

  Was still, Senseless Acts of Beauty trapped between them, spearing up into his heart. Red flooded the gap between their bodies. Warmth pouring across her hand.

  More movement.

  A thin man, gaunt face. Crooked teeth and a tattoo on left cheek. An old tattoo. So old it had lost its original shape and was now just a smudge.

  Stood above, gnarled club in both hands. Spiked studs gave it wicked purpose.

  Wickedness mirrored in the smirk on his face as he sucked a breath between twisted lips.

  “Die, bitch,” he spat.

  Brought the club down in a ruthless arc aiming to crush her skull.

  Instead, ran out of energy halfway through. Swing turned into a wheeling spin. The club whistled past her nose. Dragged across the ground as he lost grip.

  Puzzled look on his face and he staggered back, gasping for air. “What the fu-”

  “Sorry,” Fludd said. Not like he meant it. Pulled his knife from the man’s back and pushed him aside. Knelt beside the elf and helped push the heavy corpse free.

  Winced at the sucking sound of blood.

  “Obliged,” she said, not pausing after squeezing the word through gritted teeth. It was a difficult throw. She was still on her side. Hip pressed to the floor, she lifted her torso and sent Senseless Acts of Beauty curving through air.

  The blade gave a startled whoosh. It wasn’t made to be thrown.

  Had she thrown it a little harder or a little softer, it would’ve done less than irritate.

  Instead, it kissed Forn’s shoulder and dove right in.

  Forn screamed.

  Threw himself down on the ground and kept screaming. Long bellowing peals which echoed through the room.

  Cacophony above as men were running in all directions. Boots drumming hard. Shaking the floorboards.

  Seeking weapons. Seeking her.

  “Shit,” Forn cried. “Oh, shit. Help me. Help me!”

  She powered across the ground on all fours. Snatched a handful of his shirt and rolled Forn over.

  “It’s alright,” she said evenly. Almost tenderly. Confusing him even more. Fist closed around the jutting handle of the blade which hadn’t gone deep enough to kill. “Be alright in a second.”

  And pulled the knife free with a crisp yank.

  “Ah, you bitch!” His voice rang and blood fountained loose. “That fucking hurt!”

  “Sorry, feller,” she said. Grabbed his shirt and pushed him back down. Lifted the knife. “Was meant to kill.”

  Brought it hammering down into his cheek.

  Silence as his soul fled through the gates of the Shadowed Halls.

  The elf kept moving. Didn’t pause after killing.

  Wrenched knife free and twisted toward Fludd.

  Could see the look of horror competing with hopelessness on his face.

  “Which way out?” And, when he looked too dazed to reply; “Rojer! Snap the fuck out of it. Which way?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. You were right. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “You wanted to. You wanted to see Noster die. And there’s still time. You know this place, right? You lived here. Sure, some of it’s changed, but you know it. So, think! How do we get out?”<
br />
  “I’m not sure. I thought more of it would be left, but they’ve changed it. Moved it around. Nothing’s where it should be. This used to be a fucking warehouse. Used to be nothing but fucking boxes and rats!”

  Heavy thud of boots.

  Then a crash as someone cartwheeled into the room, slipping on blood.

  Landed on his knees just in front of the old man and looked up, face flushing red with shame.

  “I tripped,” he said. Held up hands as though showing he had nothing in them. His knife had been lost in his tumble. “I came down the stairs too fast, I guess.”

  Fludd looked like he was going to offer the youth a hand.

  But snapped his arm back as Nysta leaned across to slit the Red Claw’s throat with a savage slash.

  “What’d you do that for?” Fludd shuddered, face so white he looked made of ash.

  “You really need an explanation?” She pointed to the door behind him. “That way, old man. We’re going that way. Fast as you fucking can.”

  “But he was just a kid-”

  “Lived fast,” she growled. “Died young. Means he got what he wanted. Now, move!”

  It all made sense as they left the room.

  The walls were a fake facade to lull the expectations of any who thought themselves fortunate to make their way through the tunnels below. It was, she found, just a single building with an open atrium in the middle. A mini volcano with three levels. Circling the atrium, dozens of rooms looking out into the arena where archers would send death to pluck her soul if she hadn’t taken the fight inside.

  She poked her head into a corridor and jerked back as a dozen or so arrows sizzled through air and embedded themselves in the wall where her head had been.

  “Shit.”

  “We’re trapped,” he said. “No way out.”

  “Always a way out,” she said. Looked back to where the kid had come tumbling into the room.

  Stairs.

  He’d said he’d come down the stairs too fast.

  She bit her lip. “Now, you said this was a warehouse, right?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Right. And there was light, remember? When we came outside. Sunlight. So, they must’ve taken the roof off. Which means we might be able to get out? Get out onto the roof and get away?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. Doubtful. He looked down at the cane in his hand.

  “We’ve got about a hundred men between us and the front fucking door. We ain’t getting out that way.”

  “Roof it is, then.”

  “This way.”

  “Where?”

  “Up.”

  She took the stairs three at a time, determined to make it to the top before anyone came around the corner with a bow in hand. Made it and spun into an empty hallway. Motioned for Fludd to follow.

  The old man sighed. Shook his head.

  But followed.

  Two Red Claws. Fighters. Eager. A slim woman with knives and an older man with a star-tipped mace. Erupted into the hall like two angry wolves.

  Charged. Howling as they came. Bestial lusts cruising toward the elf.

  And she met them with a whirl. Senseless Acts of Beauty angled to the woman’s thigh. Aiming for a string of veins and arteries Nysta knew promised a gushing death if severed.

  At the same time she was twisting her hips. Torso winding like a spring. Felt the mace cruise past forehead. Got caught in her long hair.

  Changed her angle of attack, deciding to stab instead of slice.

  He flicked his wrist, and the mace forced her to whip her head out of the way. Almost made her miss the woman’s leg.

  Almost.

  Red spurted. A passionate spray on the wings of sudden cries.

  “Oh, shit. Melkor? I’m bleedin’!” She twirled back, clutching her leg. Trying to stop the fountains squirting between her fingers. Froze him with a frightened stare. Tears studding the edges of her eyes. “Mel? Help me, Mel. Fuck. It won’t stop. It won’t stop!”

  The woman’s cry was cut with a wet grunt as Nysta buried Endo’s Forgotten Secrets in her throat. Still spinning, the elf pulled the small dagger free and tried to bury it in Mel’s belly with the same movement, but he brought the mace down.

  Hard.

  It smashed into her arm. A few inches below her elbow. Could’ve broken bone, but the toughened bracer spread the force. Hurt enough for her to wheel away, arm numb all the way to her shoulder.

  Pain ringing the limb like a bell.

  “You killed Kari,” he seethed.

  “Yeah. Shame about that. Sounds like you were a real sweet couple.”

  “I’ll fucking destroy you for it. Hear me? Destroy you.”

  “Not if I slice you first.”

  She flashed at him. A blur of speed and steel.

  Felt worms lunging through muscle, pushing her forward faster than she could have thought. He brought the mace up. Leg lifted as he pushed himself sideways to give her less of a target.

  She feigned high. Went low.

  Snuck Senseless Acts of Beauty into his groin while he was still expecting Endo’s Forgotten Secrets in the face.

  The blade, capable of wrenching solid iron hinges, slit upwards without hesitation. Then tore sideways, ripping him open to the hip. Might have gone further, but the elf was sidestepping the wound vomiting gore at his feet.

  His mouth moved.

  Air travelled across vocal cords.

  But his dying mind could summon no words.

  Mel dropped to his knees, eyes unfocussed as the Shadowed Halls rushed to swallow him. Didn’t see her boot connect with his jaw to send his body spinning out of her way.

  She kept moving. Could hear shouts from below as more archers came running.

  Could hear another voice, familiar, shouting for them to rush upstairs.

  Corrow.

  Then Noster, the Red Claw leader bellowing. Huffing in rage. They were close.

  “Come on,” she growled. Wiped the blades and shoved them in their sheaths. “Time to go.”

  His old hand still wrapped around the small knife, but the blood had stopped falling from the blade. Eyes slid across the gruesome sight, sparkling with shock.

  “You’re crazy,” he whispered to her. “You know that, right? A killer. A mad-crazed fucking killer.”

  “He’d agree with you,” she said through her teeth. “Reckon the world’s rigged to make us all more than a little crazy.”

  “Grim’s teeth.” Then sighed. “I’m too old for this shit.”

  “Sounds like you and I belong together, Rojer,” she said. Turned slightly to fix him with a cruel grin. Drew A Flaw in the Glass. “On account of me being such a lethal weapon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  He wheezed hard, breath squeaking with each rattled intake.

  Shook weary head even more by the time she found a way onto the roof.

  He guessed what she was about to try and slumped with his back to the only door. Crooked fingers rubbing wrinkled cheeks.

  Looked down at bloodstained clothes and his hands hovered. Not knowing how to clean them. Where to start.

  Gave up.

  “Well,” he said. Gave a wet cough from overworked lungs. “Reckon this is it, then. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.”

  “You’ll die here.” Her violet gaze held his stare. “You know that. They won’t let you live.”

  “Ain’t sure I give a shit,” he said. Shrugged. “I’m old, Nysta. Too old for what you’re about to do. Look at my hands. They’re all fucked up. I barely had enough in them to stab that kid down there.”

  “We can-”

  “Forget about it. I can’t. You know it’s true. I’m too old. I shouldn’t have come. My own fault, though. I don’t blame you. When you told me you were needing to know how to get into the tunnels, I figured this was my chance. Imagined one last big fight and I’d walk off into the fucking sunset with my head high and Noster’s brains under my boot. Stupid. In all the excitem
ent, I forgot I got old.”

  She licked her lips. Lied; “There’s still time.”

  “You ain’t good at that, but thanks for tryin’.” He patted the door behind him. “They’re gonna be here any second. I’ll keep it closed a while longer. Long as I can. Maybe long enough for you to get off the roof, if there’s a way. We’re only a couple of streets from the river. Head back that way and you’ll be right. If the streets are clear enough.”

  “Obliged.” Violet eyes narrowed. “I’ll kill him, Rojer. Be sure of it.”

  “I know you will,” he said. Head rolled a little on his neck as his heart pumped harder than it had in a long time. “Go on, long-ear. We ain’t friends or anything, and you don’t owe me shit. It’s my time. That’s all. The streets gotta eat, you know. Streets gotta eat. Get out of here. Oh, and take this.”

  He tossed the small stone at her.

  She caught it and looked at it, unsure what to think as it coughed sparks into her hand.

  “It’ll come in handy,” he said. “Cost a small fortune, it did. Just enough light to see in the dark, but not enough to bring a guard running. Sure, it’s a bit old now, and the enchantment’s wearing thin. That’s why it sparks up all the fucking time. But it’s still worth something. Keep it. Please. If it makes you feel better, think of it as doing an old man a favour. I don’t want any of these assholes to find it.”

  Not knowing what to say, she said nothing.

  Kept his gaze a moment longer than needed, though.

  Finally, he nodded.

  Wheezed. “Go. Get out of here.”

  She turned as someone hit the door.

  Ran at the window.

  Dived.

  Didn’t look down at the ground so far below.

  Just kept her eyes on the jutting beam which held the roof. Fingers found grip, but her body swung awkwardly and hit the wall beside the window as gravity pulled her back.

  Another heavy thud as the door was hit by Red Claws desperate to get in. They began to kick it. Hammer at it. Shouting.

  And Rojer began to sing.

  A bawdy song about a girl waiting for her man.

  Waiting in the brothel she worked.

  He sang loudly, smothering his fear with crude nonsense.

  The elf looked back, hanging from the beam. Legs dangling weightless.