Old Man's Ghosts

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘That ain’t nice, especially when she’s your kin.’

  ‘She is no family of mine. She has shamed us and must die.’

  ‘No family o’ yours?’ the man echoed. ‘Aye well, fortunately for her she’s got a new family. We might be bit of a mix, but that’s life for ya. Point is, family should stick up for each other, not hunt each other down.’

  The man leaned forward and his tone turned menacing. ‘And once you’re messing with my family,’ he snarled, ‘the Gods themselves ain’t going to be able to help ya.’

  Vosain sneered at him. ‘The Gods have cursed your family then.’ He could see in the dark eyes glaring back that it scored a hit. The flash of anger distracted the man for long enough for Vosain to whip a stiletto from his sleeve and stab it into the man’s neck—

  Except the man was no longer there. Vosain’s blade cut only air and he felt a jolt of shock. He’d not even seen the man move. One moment he was in the path of that lethal point and the next he was well clear. Before he could recover Vosain felt his wrist grasped and twisted back on itself.

  The stiletto fell from his fingers and was scooped up by his attacker. He tried to move, lurch up from his seat and throw himself sideways, but another punch to his chest rocked him backwards.

  Vosain fell back, mouth open and gasping at the sight of the narrow stiletto hilt protruding from his chest. Then the pain came; a fierce embrace of unbearable heat that flowed around his chest and up through his throat. He tried to breathe but could only manage an agonised wheeze as his chest filled with fire.

  ‘Yup,’ the man said distractedly, ‘that’ll hurt, but you’re a big strong lad. You won’t die for a while yet, so how about we talk some more?’

  Vosain did his best to spit at the low caste. It fell short, but his defiance was clear.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ the man said. ‘I was hoping to spare some o’ your kin. If you want me to kill ’em all as I find ’em, fine.’

  The Wyvern tried to speak but the pain made every movement a stabbing jolt. With an effort of will he found the strength to lick his lips and draw in a shallow breath. ‘We are warriors,’ Vosain huffed. ‘We die for our honour.’

  ‘Can’t persuade you? What about the young lad in the alley? Don’t he deserve a few more years of life before some bastard cousin of his drags him to a fool’s death?’

  ‘He is a warrior.’

  ‘How many of you are there?’ the man persisted. ‘How many like you? Kine says you and her brother, Shonrey, will be the ones in charge. Without you two, will the rest slope off back home?’

  Vosain felt a moment of doubt before anger eclipsed it, but even as he replied he thought the man had caught the hesitation.

  ‘They will die for the honour of family.’

  The man sighed and shook his head. ‘Where would our armies be if it weren’t for boys too stupid to realise what they’re getting into?’

  He reached around the back of Vosain’s head and clamped steel-clad fingers around the base of his skull. The pain increased as the man half-lifted him out of the chair, fingers digging into his flesh so hard it broke the skin.

  ‘How many? Five? Six? Seven? Eight? Okay, seven it is. Would you trust them to see this through if Shonrey and your lovely self were dead? Excellent.’

  Vosain didn’t speak at all in reply, but the man – mage or shaman, he now realised – seemed uninterested in hearing anything.

  ‘Doesn’t look like I need you any more now, does it?’ the man said idly, peering forward at him and releasing his grip.

  A cold sensation slithered down Vosain’s spine. He twitched his fingers, trying to be sure if his right hand was still strong enough to move.

  ‘You hide your face,’ he croaked slowly in response. ‘You hide your name. I am a warrior of House Wyvern. It is my right to know who will kill me.’

  ‘Right?’ The man shook his head. ‘You got no rights here.’

  Vosain moved as fast as he could, grabbing the hilt of the stiletto embedded in his chest and yanking it clear with a cut-off howl. He slashed forward at the man and saw its edge slice the cloth around the man’s head as a hot gush of blood spilled from his own chest. The masked man jerked back and Vosain threw himself forward, using what remained of his strength to propel himself on to his opponent.

  His greater weight slammed down on the man as he stabbed at his face, but somehow the commoner twisted away. Half pinned by Vosain’s massive frame, the man wedged a hand under Vosain’s wrist to keep the stiletto from driving down into his chest. Vosain punched him in the side of the head with his free hand, but it was a feeble blow and the man shrugged it off, so he put both hands around the stiletto grip and all his weight behind the slim point.

  The man punched him in the shoulder, a savage blow that felt like a knife wound, but amid the last moments of his life Vosain was oblivious to everything bar inching the stiletto point down to his assailant’s chest. The man punched again, a second agonising blow, before he realised it wasn’t enough. The stiletto crept a little further down, but then the man got his hand up under Vosain’s own.

  Instead of gripping the weapon, the man moved his hand up towards Vosain’s throat and there came a small wet sound like a blade sliding through flesh.

  ‘Her name is Dov,’ the man whispered. ‘A beautiful baby girl – and you’ll never hurt her.’

  Vosain barely heard him. His body was growing cold and all he could see was the stiletto in his hands. His whole being was devoted to driving it down into the man’s flesh and ensuring he would trail him like the servant he was all the way into the afterlife.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the man commented as the stiletto edged a little further, pricking the material of his clothing.

  With a snarl he pushed his free hand up and away, a razor edge tearing into Vosain’s throat and chopping through his flesh to scrape on bone before it was ripped away. There was a moment of white-hot pain that seemed to fill the world and a gush of warmth from Vosain’s throat – then nothing. No pain, no anger, no honour or regrets. The world vanished and he was no more.

  Irato stalked through the still bodies in the street, the faint bitter smell of gas in his nose despite a silk scarf wrapped across his face. The Wyverns all lay like crumpled toys at his feet, while Narin held back. The Lawbringer – Investigator now – remained halfway up the stairs, waiting for Irato’s signal that the breeze had dissipated Enchei’s little concoction.

  The gas proved stubborn, though, and it was only Irato’s goshe Blessings that kept him upright. It felt as though the night’s fog had slipped into his mind, a disconcerting glassy sensation as he picked his way through the unconscious fallen. As a Detenii, Irato knew he would have used gas when he broke into houses to dose newborns with Moon’s Artifice, but the memories were lost to him, like everything else.

  That time before remained a hole, a sucking emptiness at the heart of him. They had assembled fragments and guessed more, but who he had once been remained a mystery. To walk in that man’s footsteps, however, sent a frisson down Irato’s spine – a familiar echo in his bones but nothing more.

  He looked left and right. A grey spectral figure stood at either end of the street, motionless and watching him. The city was an inverted woodcut to Irato’s eyes, also changed by the goshe doctors. Shades of black and grey were all edged in white, picked out with breathtaking precision that the fog hid nothing of. Instead it only added a strange softness to the sharp white cuts of the city.

  The daughters, Irato said to himself. They’re not worried about breathing this gas either, strange that.

  ‘You going to help?’ he said quietly, the sound travelling easily in the still of night.

  The one he was looking at nodded at the other, a twitch of the head that sent her sister off into the shadows. That done, she slipped the hood of her cloak back and stepped forward.

  ‘I’ll help, she’ll watch our backs.’

  ‘So which one are you?’

  ‘You kno
w which is which?’

  ‘Not really,’ Irato said, trying to make light of it.

  ‘Then stop asking.’

  He snorted. ‘Kesh said one of you was a bad-tempered bitch.’

  She didn’t rise to the bait, instead gathering the pistols from the nearest fallen man. Irato watched her a moment then went to do the same, roughly turning one over to reach his guns. A young man compared to Irato, cheeks dimpled and scarred by some old illness, chest hardly rising as he breathed. He pulled the man’s weapons – two pistols, sword and dagger – and moved on to the next, taking the same from that one.

  ‘It will shame them to be sent home without weapons,’ his companion commented. ‘Father’s sure this won’t make them seek redress?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Irato said. ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘You didn’t ask?’

  ‘No. He said to take their money too.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Aye – leave ’em their jewellery. Some of it might be family pieces they really won’t want to leave without. The rest they can sell for their passage home, but there’s no easy way for us to tell the difference.’

  Irato rolled another on to his back, a big man with fleshy cheeks and a grazed temple where he’d fallen against the wall. He checked the Wyvern’s pulse to ensure he was still alive then gathered his weapons. Arms full he went inside, stepping over the two who’d made it that far. The weapons he dropped in one corner of the back room, stepping aside for the daughter to do the same. From the stairs Narin watched them, looking anxious.

  ‘Have you found the brother? Enchei’s got the cousin.’

  Irato shook his head and Narin pointed to the pair behind him. ‘He’s probably one of those two. Warriors like to lead from the front.’

  Irato went to look, hauling up the limp body of the younger for Narin to see. ‘This the one?’

  ‘I, I’m not sure,’ Narin said. ‘He looks similar to Kine, but they’re all family of some sort. Check his pockets.’

  Irato did as instructed, but he found little of use there.

  ‘The collar pocket,’ Narin urged, ‘Warriors in battle wear name-banners so they might be known to those they fight. Duellists too, I think. They might not have them on show when trying to kill low-caste scum like us, but they’ve probably got something to declare their family honour.’

  ‘The fucking idiots,’ Enchei added, appearing behind Narin. ‘I’d write my name-banner really small so I could kill the buggers while they were still reading it.’

  Irato pulled a fold of cloth from the small pocket and let it unfold, stitched to the rim of the pocket.

  ‘Looks like they really did come ready for a fight,’ he grinned as the name Sir Shonrey Tsudan Wyvern was revealed. ‘Shame it didn’t help ’em.’

  ‘That’s her brother,’ Narin confirmed as Enchei headed down the stairs.

  ‘Good.’ With one violent jerk Irato snapped the Wyvern’s neck and let him fall to the ground.

  ‘Irato!’ Narin gasped. ‘What in the seven hells have you just done?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just murdered him in cold blood.’

  ‘Easiest way.’ Irato hesitated. ‘We wanted him dead, right?’

  ‘Well, ah, yes but …’ Narin floundered for a moment, shocked by what he’d just witnessed. ‘I’m a Lawbringer – an Investigator, I mean. You can’t just murder people in front of me like that!’

  ‘I should have waited till you were looking the other way?’

  ‘Yes – no! Gods, that’s not what I meant at all.’

  ‘Easy up there, Narin,’ Enchei said as he searched the dead man’s pockets. ‘He had to die, you know that.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing,’ Enchei snapped. ‘The Emperor’s law has no place here, or did you forget? This is a blood feud sanctioned under House Dragon law; your law’s trumped. If they’d killed you and Kine then been arrested, you know Lord Vanden would’ve successfully petitioned for their release. If the Lord Martial caused a fuss, the Lords of Dragon would get involved. A high-caste matter of honour? You can bet all our lives they would be set free – they’d demand it and they’re the ones with all the guns round here. No other House would object. Foreigners or not, caste is what matters to those who matter.’

  Narin stood resting heavily on the banister, head down. ‘And the cousin?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Put up a fight,’ Enchei said gravely, ‘but given how quick he was and the wounds he took without stopping, I’d have preferred he was unconscious too.’ He was quiet a moment before adding, ‘This was how it had to end, Narin. I know it goes against the grain, but we’ve got bigger problems, remember? Put the argument aside, lad, tonight ain’t the time.’

  That stopped Narin in his tracks. ‘Gods on high, is it really as easy as that for you?’ he said, aghast. ‘You just put things out of your mind for when there’s time to be upset or angry or … I don’t even know what.’

  ‘Best way to survive.’

  ‘At what price?’

  ‘Bugger the price,’ Enchei snapped. ‘Dov and Kine, that’s all you need in the front of your mind for the moment.’

  Narin had no rebuttal for that, though he still looked sick at the latest erosion of his childhood principles. His hand briefly shook as he made his way down the stairs and fumbled at the unconscious Wyvern’s arm. Eventually he got a proper grip on it and helped Irato haul it out into the street. Just as they reached the door he jumped as a grey-hooded figure darted through, pistol and sword in hand.

  Irato smiled at Narin’s alarm, but it soon faded. The Investigator always looked so timid around violence, jolted from his usual self. By contrast, Irato never felt more alive and his mind seemed to wake from its usual slumber at such times.

  Might be I envy him that, Irato thought sadly. Not enough of me left to spread over the hours of the day.

  ‘Lawbringer’s Light,’ Narin breathed as he realised the newcomer was one of Enchei’s daughters, her face half-hidden from them both.

  ‘Not even close,’ she said with a scowl. ‘Father, there’s one more in the alley. Enay’s gone to bring him round.’

  Enchei nodded. ‘Time to dress the scene a little.’ He yanked a long-knife from Irato’s various sheaths and made a few shallows slashes across the dead Wyvern’s clothing. ‘Might need a packing crate dragged over for him to have broken his neck on—’

  His planning was caught short by a deep boom echoing out through the night beyond – not a gunshot, but something far larger.

  ‘Was that a cannon?’ Narin asked as the four exchanged looks.

  ‘Big bloody cannon if it was,’ Enchei said. ‘Enay, you hear anything?’

  The young woman cocked her head. ‘No, nothing close.’

  ‘Come on.’

  They ran out into the street, scanning the sky just as a second distant explosion roared out across the city. They looked around, momentarily confused by the echoes coming off the buildings around them, until a voice called down to them. Irato looked up to see the other daughter, Maiss, perched on a rooftop.

  ‘Tier Bridge,’ she called softly and pointed.

  As one they rounded the inn on the corner and from the empty street they could see down toward the curved struts of the bridge that reached high into the fog-laden sky. The view was far from clear, even to Irato’s Starsight Blessing, but he could make out enough at that distance. Clouds of yellow and orange illuminated the stark white of the bridge, the brighter light of flames engulfing one section of the upper tier as a third boom cracked the sky.

  ‘A store of gunpowder?’ Narin wondered aloud, only to have Enchei snort derisively at him.

  ‘On the Tier Bridge? No House owns that, no House would store weapons there.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘A trap, most likely. Pity’s light, I don’t like this shit. We should get these boys moved over the Dragon District border and make ourselves scarce.’

  ‘I don’t understand, what�
��s going on?’

  ‘Think, dammit! Where was the safe-house? Upper tier of the bridge.’

  ‘Gods, you think Rhe is …?’

  ‘Nope, but I’m starting to think we’re being dicked around and he could easily be part of it. This can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘Who’s caught in the trap, then?’ Irato asked, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to try and fight the sensation of his thoughts returning to their normal slumber.

  ‘The one group who, if they were told the location of the safe-house, would march straight up there and kick the door in – confident in their ability to tear apart even a pack of hellhounds.’

  ‘Dragon’s Astaren?’ Narin answered.

  ‘Aye. Looks like someone decided not to make it a fair fight.’

  ‘Stars of heaven, there must be more than a hundred people who live up there!’

  ‘Not any more,’ Enay said darkly.

  ‘So they allowed us to find the safe-house? Oh seven hells, that Banshee. We’d worked out where the house was, but they sent someone to report a sighting yesterday to make sure it was found. She must have been in on it.’

  ‘You’re a trusting bunch, for thief-takers.’

  ‘It would have been confirmation of what we knew, why distrust it?’

  Enchei nodded. ‘And then the Dragons only get told there’s a confirmed location so they believe it too. Stupid of ’em, but they’re keen to meet any threat with unassailable force so I’m guessing they were happy to wade into whatever sort of fight presents itself.’

  ‘But what does it mean?’

  ‘It means this ain’t over.’ Enchei grabbed Narin by the arm and pulled him round to look him in the face. ‘But we’ve got tonight’s problem to deal with, remember? You and Irato just killed two warrior caste who followed you here. We’ll take the rest and dump them in some corner of Dragon without weapons or money. They’ll wake with such headaches they can barely move and enough embarrassment they’ll catch the first boat home. Without Shonrey and Vosain, they’ll slope off with their tails between their legs. The knowledge we could’ve killed them will be enough incentive there.’