Orlo was warming to his theme. “And they won’t go away— they’ll know suckers when they see them. You’ll have traded one set of monsters for another. Human monsters with weapons, coming back again and again to bleed you dry.”
The Guild Master drew himself up. “That’s why we can’t sanction the hunters. Because they’re just another type of monster. We have to trust the Lord Mayor. We have to trust the guards to protect us— and Ravenwood. I know you’re scared. And we’ll do something about the monsters,” Orlo promised. “Just don’t take the law into your own hands. That will only make the problem worse.”
Corran and Rigan slipped out before the Guild meeting ended, unwilling to be drawn into the argument. They walked in silence for several blocks before either dared speak.
“He’s lying,” Rigan said. “I don’t think he means to do anything.”
“Not a thing. Erstine and his crowd, though... They’re probably already taking action on their own.”
“You think they’re going to get in trouble with the guards?” Rigan asked.
Corran shot him a look. “You mean, will the guards assume they’re hunters, since they spoke out in favor of action?”
Rigan nodded.
Corran sighed. “Maybe.”
“That’s why I wanted to stay in the back, out of sight,” Rigan said. “I didn’t want either side pulling us in. The less anyone thinks of us, the better.”
“It can’t go on like this, you know,” Corran replied. “The monsters, the killing. Couple of times now, when we’ve gone out, we’ve found signs that there are other groups, other hunters. And there’ll be more yet, unless the guards step up.”
Rigan shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people can put up with a lot of shit to ignore a problem. You heard the Guild Master, talking about how lucky we are to have such a great Lord Mayor who does so much for us, and how the Guild protects us. Did you see the folks eating that up? How fast he turned them on the hunters?”
“You still think there’s magic involved? That someone’s summoning the monsters?”
“I’m certain of it—but I don’t know who or how—or why. And I sure as the Dark Ones don’t know how to stop it. I’m hoping I can get some answers when I go Below.”
“If your… friends have any real power, why aren’t they doing something to stop whoever is controlling the monsters?”
Rigan glanced behind them before he replied. “I have a suspicion about that. The guards don’t go Below often, and neither do the monsters. What if someone made a deal? The witches get to live in exile without being hunted by the guards, and in return, they don’t interfere Above.”
Corran caught his breath. “Like the protection money we pay the guards so they don’t wreck our shops.”
“Yeah. And maybe the witches Below don’t have the kind of power it would take to fight someone strong enough to conjure and control the monsters. Maybe they’re hiding because they couldn’t fight and win. But still, it all seems a little… cozy.”
“I thought you trusted Damian and the others.”
Rigan shifted uncomfortably. “Damian saved my life. He offered to train me. Aiden has healed both of us. What choice did I have except to trust them… at least that far? But there’ve been too many questions I’ve asked that don’t get answered. And there’ve been times when I’ve wondered, while I’m training, whether Damian’s really pushing me to improve my skill, or just to test what I’m capable of.”
“You mean, seeing whether you’re a threat?”
“Maybe.”
“Shit.” Corran ran a hand back through his hair. “Isn’t there anyone else who can train you?” The memory of Rigan waiting in a darkened workshop for a knife in the back, afraid of what he might become, was still too raw to forget.
“Aiden.”
Corran glanced at Rigan. “The healer?”
Rigan nodded. “I trust him. My gut says he’s all right.”
“If you could learn how to do that kind of magic, having a healer in the family might come in handy,” Corran replied.
He could still feel the bruises from the last hunt, and the gashes that Rigan had stitched, which had still not quite healed.
“I’m not sure I’d be able to learn healing magic,” Rigan replied. “But control, focus, grounding—I’m betting he could teach me those. The question is, how do I ask, without letting Damian know I don’t trust him, and without putting Aiden in a tight spot?”
Corran did not have a good answer for that. By now they were back at the workshop. “If Orlo has his way, they’ll end up blaming everything on the hunters,” Corran said.
“He has to oppose the hunters,” Rigan agreed. “Because right now, the hunters are heroes, and I’m sure the Lord Mayor won’t let that stand.”
“That puts us in a bind,” Corran replied. “Because we really can’t stay out of the fight when the monsters come, but I’m afraid the guards—or the Guilds—are going to lay a trap for us.”
“Do nothing, and people turn on you for letting them down,” Rigan said. “Show up to the fight, and get caught.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”
TWO CANDLEMARKS HAD passed, and Corran was pacing the workroom. “Something’s wrong. Kell should have been back long ago.”
“Maybe he stopped off to have a drink with friends at The Lame Dragon,” Rigan replied, worry clear in his voice.
Corran frowned. “I doubt it. Not after what happened with Wil. And Kell wouldn’t be late. Not past curfew.”
“He could be anywhere in Wrighton,” Rigan drummed his fingers, revealing his own anxiety. “Maybe there were more bodies to pick up than usual.”
“He’s been doing the rounds for years now, and he’s never been late. Not even with that fever last winter, when he brought so many bodies we had to work through the night to keep up.”
“I remember.” Rigan mused, fingers tapping. “Maybe he got hailed for a few more bodies than usual,” he suggested. “Or he could have gotten delayed if the guards cordoned off streets, what with the riot on the wharves.” They could see the glow of burning buildings along the docks from their upstairs window, and more than one neighbor had dropped in to catch them up on the gossip.
“Maybe,” Corran allowed. “But it doesn’t make much sense for the guards to force people to break curfew.”
Rigan raised an eyebrow. “It does if the guards want a few more fines to collect. Sounds exactly like the kind of thing they’d do.”
Corran’s thoughts churned. What can we do? How do we find him? Where do we even start? Even if we try to retrace his steps, it’s after curfew. We’re just as likely to land ourselves in the Mayor’s prison—or worse—as we are to help him. But Kell’s depending on me, dammit. If he’s in trouble, he’s expecting us to help. He knows about the hunters, and Rigan’s magic. And right now, I’m damned if I have a clue what to do.
“Can you find him with magic?” he asked, turning to Rigan.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Rigan buried his hands in his hair. “I tried to think about Kell and focus on him. I went upstairs and picked up his shirt, thinking that might help my magic pick up his ‘scent’ or something.” He shook his head, despair clear in his eyes. “But I haven’t felt anything that might be a clue—and I’m afraid to push too hard, or we’ll bring the Mayor’s mages down on us.”
“We can’t just sit here!” Corran’s fear and frustration spilled over and he lashed out. “He could be hurt. He could be in danger. And I don’t know what to do.” He wondered for a moment if Rigan fully understood just how much that admission cost him, but saw from the look in his brother’s eyes that he did.
“We’ll get him back,” Rigan assured him.
Corran turned away. “How do you know? How can you say that? We don’t even know where to start.”
A rap at the back alley door startled them. Rigan went to answer the door, while Corran stepped back and took up a large knife, holding out of sight. A young boy st
ood in the doorway, eyes terrified but resolute.
“Are you Kell’s brothers?”
“Yes. Who are you?” Rigan asked, motioning for the boy to step inside. He glanced both directions in the alley before he closed the door, but saw no one else.
“I’m Tek. I give Kell tips on who’s died, and he pays me.” The boy had a street-wise look to him that made Corran wonder just what he had seen to make him so obviously afraid.
“You’ve taken a chance coming here after curfew,” Corran said, putting the knife away as Rigan went to fetch something for Tek to eat. “Do you know where Kell is?”
“I told him not to go.”
“Go where?” Rigan asked, setting down the food and a cup of tea. Tek gobbled the bread, meat and cheese hungrily and washed it down with tea before he answered. Corran fidgeted impatiently.
“I warned him about the riot,” Tek said with the last mouthful still swelling his cheeks. “Told him the guards were looking for trouble, and that it was getting bad down there.”
“Why did you think he would go near the riot?” Rigan pressed, refilling Tek’s cup, which the boy guzzled gratefully.
“He said he had to pick up a body from the chandler. That’s down toward the docks. I told him not to go, but he said he’d be all right.”
Rigan and Corran exchanged a glance. “When was that?”
“It was starting to get dark,” Tek replied. “He said his rounds were taking longer than usual. So maybe eight bells?” He leaned forward. “I went down there later. I worried about him, you know? And I saw the cart—but not Kell.”
“He wouldn’t abandon the cart,” Rigan said, looking stricken.
“The guards were rounding up Wanderers on the harbor,” Tek said. “It turned into a big fight. So I kept my eyes open. I saw the guards go into an old warehouse. It looked like they had prisoners.”
Tek wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t get near the place—and I’m pretty good at giving guards the slip,” he added with pride. “There were a lot of guards around it.”
“When was that?” Corran asked.
“About a candlemark ago. I had to lie low because the streets are lousy with the Mayor’s men. And it took me a while to find your place. Ain’t never needed to go lookin’ for an undertaker before.”
Corran swallowed hard. “Can you tell us where the warehouse is?”
Tek gave them directions, and Rigan looked up. “I know that block. It’s not far from the dyer.”
“Thank you for coming to tell us, Tek,” Corran said, digging in his pocket for a silver coin. He handed it over to Tek, whose eyes widened as if he’d never seen such a thing in his life.
Tek hesitated before taking the coin. “I like Kell,” he said. “He’s nice to me and brings me food sometimes. I don’t want him to be hurt.”
“Do you need to sleep here?” Rigan asked. “It’s after curfew. Risky to be out.”
Tek looked around the workroom and made a sign of blessing. “In here with dead people?” He caught himself. “I mean, thanks, but I need to be going.”
Rigan handed Tek an apple and a chunk of bread. “For the road,” he said with a lopsided smile. Tek gave him a cockeyed salute, and headed for the door. Just before he reached for the knob, he turned.
“I hope you find him. I hope he’s all right.”
He let himself out into the alley and vanished into the shadows.
As soon as the door closed, Corran began gathering weapons, deciding on his sword, a staff and a long knife. He looked up and found Rigan already wearing his cloak. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“With you. To get our brother.”
Corran shook off his hand. “You can’t. I’m going to round up the hunters. You can’t let them know about your magic.”
“And you can’t call the hunters into this,” Rigan argued. “It could be a trap. Maybe Tek wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe someone suspects you’re a hunter, and they sent the boy to lead you all into an ambush.”
“Did you see him? He looked scared to death.”
Rigan’s gaze locked with Corran’s. “He could have been scared of a lot of things. Maybe he was telling the truth, but maybe someone else made him come here. Or maybe he’s just a kid who’s in over his head. But if you lead a team of hunters down there, you’ll all end up in gibbets, just like the others.”
“So what’s your plan? Sit here and wait for Kell to come back?”
“This is a family matter,” Rigan said, voice quiet but steady. “I can navigate Below and get us to the harbor out of sight of the guards—which is another reason to leave the hunters behind. We go in, we get him, we bring him home.”
“What good can your magic do?”
Rigan did not look away. “It can kill—just as well as your staff and knife. And maybe that’s all it needs to do.”
With a growl, Corran pushed past his brother and opened the door. “Come on, then. We’ve got a long way to go.”
It was strange to put Rigan in the lead, Corran thought, as he followed his brother down alleys nearly too close for his shoulders to fit. Rigan moved with the confidence and dangerous stealth of a predator. How have I not noticed the way his magic changed him? Has being a hunter done the same to me?
Rigan led them to an old building and down a flight of rickety steps to a cellar. To Corran’s astonishment, his brother held out a hand and spoke a word. A tongue of blue flame flickered in Rigan’s palm, lighting their way. “Follow me.”
They crossed several dank, debris-filled rooms before Rigan opened a hidden door and they descended old stone steps.
“Are you taking me to the witches?” Corran asked as they navigated a dark tunnel.
“No. We don’t dare bring them in, for the same reason we can’t bring in the hunters. If this is a trap, or if it goes wrong, we don’t want to get anyone else killed or captured,” Rigan replied in a tight voice.
Corran was used to taking the lead and making the decisions. It chafed to be the follower, though he was completely out of his element here, even more so when it came to magic. I’ve seen what Rigan can do with my own eyes, and I’ve heard him tell of what else he’s done. I’ve got to trust him.
Despite the tales he had heard from Rigan, Corran was astonished by his first glimpse of Below. “It’s true,” he murmured, trying not to gawk.
“Yes, it’s true,” Rigan replied with a hint of dry amusement. “Did you think I made the whole thing up?”
“Sometimes, I wondered.”
Bells chimed the hour, reverberating in the vast cavern.
“Here we are.” Rigan’s voice jarred Corran from his thoughts; they had been walking for a long while. They stood in front of a battered wooden door. “We’ll come up between the chandler’s shop and the harbor front,” Rigan warned. “It’s as close as I can get us. We’ll have a block or so to go, and there might still be guards around.”
Why have the guards become so focused on the Wanderers? Corran wondered. Sure, they push them to be on their way from time to time, but the Wanderers never really leave. They just change location. Or is this some scheme of the Mayor’s because of all the fancy outsiders in town, and Kell just was in the wrong place at the wrong time? He hated to admit it, but Rigan’s suggestion was equally possible. Is it a trap, trying to draw out anyone with enough backbone to fight? Maybe the Mayor just wants to tighten his grip, get rid of the ‘troublemakers.’
A jerk of Rigan’s head indicated they had reached their destination, a dilapidated warehouse with a sagging roof and cracked, weatherbeaten siding. Corran and Rigan waited and watched from the shadows, but they saw neither light nor movement.
Corran gave his brother a questioning glance. Rigan shook his head, then shrugged. They circled the building once, checking that no guards were watching from hidden vantage points. Silent, abandoned buildings hunkered over dark, deserted streets. Why would the guards capture Wanderers and bring them here? If they want rid of them, why not
just chuck them out of the city gates and be done with it?
Corran and Rigan approached the door cautiously, weapons ready. To Corran’s surprise, the door swung open when they pushed it. The unmistakable smell of blood filled the air. No movement came from inside. Rigan lit a lantern.
Bodies littered the floor of the warehouse, lying in dark pools. “Kell?” Corran called softly. In the flickering light of the lantern, they could see the extent of the carnage. Corran took a step, and his boot struck a severed head, which rolled to one side, revealing the face.
“Something’s been gnawing at them, tearing them up,” Rigan said. His voice sounded tight as a cord about to snap. “Monsters.” Corran looked down at the headless body. “A monster didn’t do that. Too clean. Had to be a sword.” He looked around the warehouse, as panic rose in his chest. “Kell!”
“Over here.” Rigan dropped to his knees beside one of the still, blood-soaked forms. Cold settled into the pit of Corran’s stomach as he went to stand beside his brother.
Kell lay still and pale, eyes staring. The gash across his throat exposed his spine, and blood soaked his shirt. His arms were marked with deep bites, and sharp claws had sliced through his shirt and pants, ripping deep into his flesh.
“Do something!” Corran begged, turning to Rigan.
Rigan’s face twisted with grief. “I can’t raise the dead.” “Then what damn good is your magic?” Corran roared. His outburst ended in a sob. “He fought them,” he said, noting the bruises on Kell’s face and the cuts on his hands. “The bastards tied him up, and he still fought them.”
A growl sounded behind them. Corran and Rigan climbed to their feet, weapons ready. Grief would have to wait.
They smelled the creature before they saw it. Corran gasped in recognition at the squashed, bat-like face, with its wrinkled snout and wide, toothy maw. It was the stuff of nightmares. This creature must have weighed more than most men, larger than the beast Corran had faced before, and its four powerful legs ended in sharp claws. Red, angry eyes fixed on them. It shrieked with rage, and charged.
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