Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

  “Me bring elf.” The goblin held a hand out. “Like me say. See? Hide in other rooms was good goblin trap. You give silver now.”

  “Sure, little man,” Noster said. Tugged a pouch off his belt and dumped it in the goblin’s hand. “Just don’t forget to tell everyone out there, I always keep my word. Even to your kind.”

  Nysta hissed, mind racing. Hatred glistened inside her veins on burning rivers of blood. “Bograt, you little fuck!”

  “Not nice words, Knifehand,” he said, stuffing the heavy pouch into his shirt. “What me do?”

  “You fucking betrayed me!”

  “How me do that?” He waved at the alchemist. “Me say me bring Knifehand to Damis. Here Damis. You inside Red Claw secret place. Me not backstab Knifehand. Me help. Goblin never betray goblin friend. Eventide not like that. Me old goblin now. Me want good seat. Not place outside with backstabbers. It too cold there.”

  She rolled across a crate to avoid getting a club to the head. Heard the Red Claw’s breath suck in frustration. He didn’t follow, though. Preferred to keep a cautious distance.

  To continue circling. The other masked Red Claws did the same.

  A pack of wolves sniffing for weakness. Slowly working her toward a corner.

  She turned A Flaw in the Glass in her hand. Tried to decide who’d eat the blade.

  Wanted to send it into the old goblin’s forehead, but he wasn’t the first threat.

  Killing him wasn’t a need.

  It’d be dessert.

  “Don’t blame the goblin,” Noster said, watching carefully. “If it wasn’t him, it’d have been someone else. This is Dragonclaw. A city of thugs and thieves. You’ve got to be mean to survive. Reckon you just weren’t mean enough.”

  “You could be right,” she said. Touched tongue to the back of her teeth. Could feel rage moving inside guts like a living thing. Feel it wrapping calloused fist around the icy ball of fear and bringing it to a grinding halt. Feel it heating up. Ready to burn. She was cornered. Trapped. “But I’m remembering real fast.”

  “Put the knife down, long-ear. There ain’t no way out. You can see that.”

  “I ain’t the type to die easy, feller.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I’d put twenty fucking arrows in your head.” Impatience made his face red. “But you got lucky. Vor wants to talk to you. You know Vor, long-ear? He’s one of the Four. They own this town. Really own it. This is your one chance to get out of here alive. One chance. The only chance you’ll get. You gotta stop letting your frustration tell you what to do. Be calm. And do what I say. Put the knife down.”

  She dropped her hand into a pouch. Felt the cold stone inside. Felt it hum between her fingers and drew her lips back into a cruel smile as she drew Old Fludd’s thiefstone into the open.

  The small stone glowed sullenly in her palm.

  A crisp spark kicked loose.

  Holding it out, she grinned wider as Damis choked on a cough to let out a strangled shriek of alarm.

  “Reckon it’s you who needs to do what I say, feller,” she said. “On account of right now I’m feeling a bit flinty.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  She’d guessed right.

  The alchemist’s mist crawled from all corners of the room. A mist which hungered for flame.

  As the Red Claws tensed and began to shuffle closer, snapped; “Freeze! Anyone moves, and I drop this into the nearest fucking barrel. Ain’t sure how big a blast it’ll make, but I’m betting it’ll take out the room at least.”

  “You’re bullshitting,” Noster snarled back, though his face had lost colour. “You’d be killing yourself, too.”

  “I drop my knife and let you drag me away, I’m dead anyway. I ain’t got nothing to lose.”

  “I told you. It ain’t like that. Maybe it was before, but it ain’t now. It’s different. Word came down and Vor wants you alive. To talk. You do this, and you really will go up with us. I ain’t lying about that. Come on. It ain’t worth it. Really.”

  “Be taking you with me,” she said, hand steady despite the small sparks snapping at her palm. “Reckon that’ll count for something in the Shadowed Halls.”

  “You wouldn’t…” Less certain as his eyes were held by the elf’s violet stare.

  “Try me.”

  “I can take her, Nos,” the masked man to her right said. “No fucking sweat.”

  “No.” Noster bared his teeth. “Back down, Corrow.”

  Corrow shouldered ahead one step. “But she-”

  “Shut your hole. If this place goes up, it’ll take everyone with it. You want your sister to burn? And her kids? They’re upstairs, fuckwit. Everyone’s upstairs, and this shit’ll go right through the fucking roof. Now, get back here. Ovi? Tur? Cover the way out. And if you make a move toward her, I’ll gut you myself.”

  The elf turned slightly, keeping everyone in sight. Watched them drift back.

  Felt the thiefstone crackle in her hand. Heart rattling inside her chest.

  Just one spark in the wrong place and Noster was right. They’d all die.

  Would she drop it? Could she throw her life away like that?

  Her jaw clenched.

  Yeah.

  She could. She’d take them all with her. The Red Claw leader. His crew. Their families. The grinning goblin smirking at her.

  All of them.

  Ovi and Tur pressed shoulder to shoulder to her left, covering the way out. Promising escape if she could get past them. Up the stairwell no doubt full of waiting gang members. Through an atrium of Red Claw thugs.

  Maybe through a guarded gate.

  Gate reinforced with iron and steel.

  Into the street with Red Claws on her heels. And she wasn’t on the edge of their territory this time. She was in its heart.

  The elf sucked air through her teeth. Face twitched as mind raced.

  Little hope that way, then.

  The rest formed a small army behind Noster and Corrow. Blocking the way she’d come.

  Too many of them. She’d earn more cuts than she could count and, even if she did survive, chances were she’d bleed out before making it two steps out of the tunnel.

  She couldn’t count on the darkness keeping her alive. Not with that much damage.

  So. Drop the thiefstone? She had no doubt the fire would incinerate everything in the room in less than a second. Including her.

  Three ways out.

  None looked good.

  “Well?” Noster watched her think it through. Knew that, in the end, he still had the advantage. As soon as she left the room, the thiefstone wouldn’t be a threat. She was stuck. “Now what?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Don’t take too long,” he said. “I get impatient. And the longer you take, the more I reckon you won’t do it.”

  She pointed A Flaw in the Glass at the alchemist hunched down behind him. “All I want is right there. You could give him to me. Then I’ll leave. No more blood spilled.”

  “Ain’t happening.” The Red Claw leader sighed. Ran his hand through his hair. “Look, long-ear, you’re new to Dragonclaw. I get that. And maybe I figured you for a piece of shit thug, right? Maybe I made a mistake there. But you made a bigger mistake coming to our turf. See, no matter what you hear, we ain’t just a couple dozen punks no more. Look around. More of us than you think are upstairs. And, like us, they’re kitted out. Check this shit out. Some of it’s military. We got clubs. Knives. Pikes. Fucking swords. Chainmail even. And ain’t no one got a better volcano than us. When summer gets round again, we’ll have the biggest fucking tower in Dragonclaw. You wait and see. And not just the biggest. Never mind the Shivs. We’ll be even bigger than them. See, we’re connected, long-ear. We got one of the Four on our side. And in case you ain’t heard of them, they’re royals. Vor’s the Duke’s heir. That means we’re protected. You listening to me? He’ll take the throne one day. Whoever hired you, they ain’t got half his balls. Nor half his gold, if you get me? You’re on
the losing side. Smartest thing you can do is switch. Not just smart. Profitable. Right?”

  “I’m listening, feller,” she said.

  His smile was slight. Barest of curves. “See? Now we’re getting somewhere. We’ve got a dialogue, right?” Eyes flicked to the thiefstone in her palm. Twitched as a spark danced across its surface. “Sure you won’t put that away? You’ve no idea what you’re doing. You see that shit right there? In the cauldron?”

  “I see it.”

  “We put it in the Shadow. You drink that shit, and you see things. Visions. Crazy shit. And the more you see, the more you want to see. We’re making a shitload out of it.”

  “Sounds like something to be leery of.”

  He frowned. “Sure. Heard Damis tell you a few things. You can see it ain’t easy to get hold of. Ain’t easy to make, neither. We got to use all kinds of shit in here. Shit which really burns. Burns quick, too.”

  “Figure I’ve seen it before, feller. We had a place like this in Lostlight. Jukkala had an alchemist making fire oil. Smelled a lot like this. That’s why I know you ain’t gonna try anything stupid while I’ve got this in my hand.”

  “You’ve got no idea,” he said. Jerked his head toward the cauldron. “That black shit right there? You got no idea how that burns. It burns like a living thing. Can’t be put out with water. Just have to wait for it to die on its own. And it melts right through steel. Punches through it. Like nothing you ever saw. So, when I say to you it’s fucking crazy to keep that thing out in the open like that? I ain’t lying. Put it away, long-ear. We won’t jump you. We’ll keep talking. But put it away. Cover it up or something. I’m begging you. Really. We got family up above. And if this shit goes up, it’ll take them with it.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, why keep it down here?”

  “When we started, we didn’t figure it being so bad. Then we didn’t have anywhere else secure enough. Safe enough. But we’re moving it soon. Vor’s found us a place. One of the old ziggurats. Ain’t nobody uses them anymore.” Eyes squinted as a spark twittered off the edge of her hand. “See? I’m telling you everything. Please, long-ear? We could all die any moment.”

  “Best you talk quick then. Tell me something I want to hear.”

  “Shit.” Sighed. “You’re just a pawn. Can’t you see that? The Fours have been playing this game for years. You ain’t expected to succeed here. Just to die. You’re just a knock on the door, right? To get Vor’s attention. The Four’s like a show of strength, you see. It’s their meat. They don’t respect anyone who doesn’t at least put an effort in. But no one really wants to succeed. No one really wants to go to war with the Four. No one’s that fucking crazy. You got sent in here to die so Vor’ll lift his head from what he’s doing and reach out for a meet. Whoever sent you gets their five minutes with him, and everybody’s happy. That’s all. I told you before, how’d you think we knew you were coming? They’ve got a fucked up code. They send warnings before they hit each other’s turf. We got a formal fucking notice the day before you followed Corrow’s boys from the Fish’s. You think he goes out on every fucking pickup? He’s my right hand, not my fucking bagman.”

  Corrow nodded. “We knew it was you in that fucking junkhead’s crib. Who else could you be, all tooled up like that?”

  “Come on, long-ear,” Noster held arms out, palms up. Sweat drizzled down his cheeks. “Use your brain for a second. Think about it. Just think. I’m saying why the fuck would anyone hire you in the first place? Because they think you’d make it? If they thought you’d make it, there ain’t no way they’d hire you. No one in their right fucking mind wants to piss Vor off. No one. No, long-ear, you can forget that shit. They hired you because you’re nobody. You won’t be missed. You ain’t in any gang. You ain’t a friend of anyone worth a shit. You ain’t nothing. Just some poor fucking drifter in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time. Now, you’ve got a chance. You got Vor’s attention. That’s something ain’t many get. It’s a chance to maybe make something of yourself. And it’s a real chance, right? No bullshit. He’s extending a hand. Take it.”

  Everything he said sounded right.

  As he spoke, she couldn’t shake the echo of greasy manipulation in Hideg’s words. Nor lose the sensation of strings tied to her hands.

  Her feet.

  Jaw.

  She was a puppet. His puppet. Sent to die just to send a message.

  Truth glittered in every word uttered by Noster. Every frustrated tone. Every glance from her to the thiefstone in her hand.

  He believed his story. Truly believed it. She didn’t doubt that.

  Doubt.

  Crept into her mind on soft-soled feet.

  Hushed whisper in her ear.

  Chill down her spine.

  Had Hideg truly meant for her to fail?

  “Come on, long-ear,” Noster said. Took a tentative step forward. Reaching toward the thiefstone. Not to grab it, but to shield the fumes from the stone which could erupt into sparks at any second. “Put it away. You’ve gotta see you’ve been taken for a fool. Surely you’d want revenge? I would. It’s natural. We can give you that. Vengeance. Tell us who sent you. Was it Anglek? Or is Tara finally put her feet into the pool? She lied to you, long-ear. And sent you to die.”

  “I know a few things about vengeance, feller,” she said, stopping him mid-stride. Voice cold as steel.

  “I’m sure you do.” A nervous chuckle quickly imitated by a couple of men at his back.

  “I like it.” She squeezed the stone tight, feeling a spark cut into her hand. “Revenge. It feels good.”

  “Yeah. That’s it. You think about it. How good would it be to cut up who sent you? Wouldn’t that be great?” Licked red lip. “We don’t have to be on opposite sides, you and I. Vor’s a powerful man. And generous.”

  She lifted her head, eyes bright with the fire of memory. “Nine men came,” she said. “Killed Talek. And I followed them through the Deadlands.”

  “Deadlands?” He cast a quick look to Damis. “What’s that-”

  “Killed them all. Found one of them was my brother. Half-brother.”

  “Well…”

  “Cut his head off.” She made a sawing motion with A Flaw in the Glass. “Took a while.”

  “Shit,” Corrow said. Fidgeting. “Nos? I don’t like this…”

  “Shut up, Corrow!”

  The elf’s violet eyes hadn’t wavered. Drilled into Noster. “I carried his head back to my husband’s grave. Put it on a stick. Didn’t smell too good by then. Didn’t look too good, neither. But I could see it was still him. Still Raste. Was like a piece of his soul was still stuck in his skull. Screaming. I liked that. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Sure, I do. You’ve been betrayed, long-ear. Tell us who it was. We can help you get their head. You can put it on a stick and look at it for a whole fucking year if you want.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. A piece of awareness detached itself and the fear roiling in her belly ground to a stop. Sharp icy edges glinting like teeth against her spine.

  “Tell me, then.” Impatience he tried to hold down, but it bled into his tone. “Tell me what I don’t get.”

  “Vengeance is taken,” she said. Lifted the thiefstone, feeling sparks snap into her palm. “Never given.”

  “Wait-”

  “You might be right, feller. Maybe I was sent as a message. Maybe all he saw was a cheap thug lured by promises of gold. Maybe he saw someone good enough to get in here, but not good enough to do the kind of damage which would upset this Vor feller of yours. Maybe he did expect you to cut me up. Send the pieces back in a box.” She took a step sideways, toward Ovi and Tur.

  The two men shifted nervously on their heels.

  “Don’t do it,” Noster clenched his fist. Face red with rising anger. “You can’t get out. Even if you make it out the door, you’ve no idea what you’d be doing if you set fire to this room. You won’t make it out of here alive. You can’t.
Nothing can.”

  “Maybe not,” she said. “But when I hunted Raste, I didn’t expect to live. That’s the thing about vengeance, feller. If you want it real bad, then it doesn’t matter if you die.”

  “You-” Then, confused as Bograt pushed past Damis. “Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

  Bograt shrugged. “Me bored. Too many words. Me have big coin. Me go now.”

  As he walked, casually reached an arm out toward a small pile of Damis’ instruments. Grabbed hold of a heavy knife crusted with phosphorus.

  It wasn’t much of a knife.

  And she couldn’t decide who was more surprised when he used it.

  Herself.

  Noster, whose face suddenly mottled with rage.

  Damis, who coughed and shrank down behind the Red Claw leader.

  Or Corrow, who took the blade in his liver from behind.

  The old goblin jerked the knife free with a grunt. “What you wait for, Knifehand? Why you not kill Damis? It what Knifehand here for.” Pointed with the knife. “He right there.”

  Nysta wheeled in confusion.

  Shock. Outrage. Surprise. Hate. All spinning on a ball of ice.

  Frozen in indecision.

  Then moving as her body responded to her needs.

  Unwilling to drop the thiefstone straight away, in one swift motion she sheathed A Flaw in the Glass. Hand moved without pause to draw, aim and send Random Moments of Lucidity hissing through acidic air.

  Singing its metallic song as it drowned in the left eyeball of the alchemist’s head.

  He choked on another cough.

  Staggered.

  Noster roared a string of incoherent sludge and thrust away from the dying alchemist. Skipping out of range of spurting crimson.