He slipped the bag beneath his dingy tabard and headed downstairs. One of the flickering torches waned, then burnt out, sending up wisps of gray smoke. Shadows encroached inward, patiently anticipating the other flame’s impending departure. The patter of rain on the roof came in waves with the wind.
Ahren waited.
Weak blue flames clung to the dying second torch as a bell outside tolled three times in the yard. Ahren extinguished the light, then cracked open the warehouse door. The grounds were mostly empty. A pair of drenched soldiers hurried past, toward the front gate for the shift change. Ahren took a breath, then slipped outside.
Cold rain pelted his face. A cascade of water fell beside him from the slated roof, splattering off the dark cobblestones. Stepping beneath the pouring water, Ahren drenched himself, giving the appearance that he too had been standing in the rain.
Casually, he strolled between the towering warehouses and silos, slowly making his way toward the front gate. He crossed the open courtyard past a stone well when he noticed a group of fresh soldiers standing beneath the covered awning before the gate. An officer in a trimmed and embroidered cloak nailed a poster to the wall.
“Keep your eye out,” he said. “He’s here somewhere.”
Squinting, Ahren could see his own face sketched on the tan parchment, ‘WANTED: The Black Raven’ boldly lettered above it. Lowering his face, Ahren feigned scratching his eyebrow as he turned and headed back.
The weight of paranoia settled in his chest. Who had tipped the guards? How did they even know I was here? Only the buyer, Katze, and Griggs, her father and Thief King, knew where he was. None of them would have betrayed him. He took a long breath to calm himself, then nonchalantly strolled toward the outer wall.
“Hey you,” a graying soldier said. “There’s a thief about. Keep on the lookout.”
Ahren nodded, and then hurried up the stone steps along the outer wall. The strong wind blew harder as he reached the top. Lightning cracked the sky, briefly illuminating the rooftops and stormy sea outside the city. Keeping his head low, as if to shield it from rain, he followed the narrow walkway around to the rear side.
The sentry standing below the tower overhang left his position as Ahren approached. “Have fun,” he chuckled, mistaking Ahren for his replacement.
Ahren smiled as he passed.
“Halt!” someone yelled from the courtyard.
Ahren pretended not to hear.
“I said, halt!”
Ahren stopped beside a spot where the roof of an outside building leaned out over the neighboring street, just a few feet from the wall. He turned to see the officer and a trio of soldiers standing in the courtyard glaring up at him. The freshly relieved sentry stood not fifteen feet away with a confused expression.
“Who are you?” the officer asked.
“Fritz,” Ahren replied.
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Stay right there.” His hand moved to his sword as he marched toward the wall’s steps. Two other soldiers hurried to the stairs on the wall behind him. The guard on the wall reached for his sword.
Ahren raised his hand high above his head in a tight fist.
The sentry stepped closer. “I don’t know you.”
Ahren opened and closed his fist three times.
An arrow flew from the darkened rooftops and pierced the guard's arm. The sword fell from his hand as he dropped to the stones with a cry.
“Archer!” someone shouted.
Wheeling around, Ahren ran and leaped across the chasm to the nearby rooftop. The heavy mail shirt pulled him down, but he managed to catch the edge and roll onto the wet shingles. Guards screamed in alarm as he scrambled to his feet and ran. Arrows whistled past, covering Ahren’s retreat.
Thunder boomed as Ahren jumped to a neighboring rooftop. His hard boots slid on the slick incline, sending him over the edge. He grabbed hold of the wooden eaves and caught himself before he fell to the cobblestones three stories below.
“There he is!” a guard cried.
Ahren pulled himself up and swung his leg onto the roof. He turned to see several soldiers leap from the wall onto the building behind him. Why did Katze stop shooting?
Rolling to his feet, Ahren ran as the soldiers gave chase. He raced past chimneys and scrambled up onto a higher building, desperate to reach her. The warehouse alarm bells had alerted the city guards, who scurried through the streets below trying to find him. Ahren jumped to a flat rooftop and froze.
Katze stood on the opposite end, her eyes wide in terror. Her bow lay at her feet. Black strands of wet hair clung to her face. A shadow moved behind her and a wavy dark blade formed at Katze’s neck.
A pale man with jet hair emerged from the darkness. A long scar ran down his face across a milky eyeball; the remnants from the last time they had met. “Good to see you again, Black Raven,” Dolch sneered.
“Ah…Ahren,” Katze whimpered.
“Let her go,” Ahren growled.
An amused smile curled across Dolch’s lips. He jerked the blade and blood burst from Katze’s throat.
Screaming, Ahren ripped his sword from its sheath and charged as Katze’s body fell. Black flames erupted in Dolch’s hand. He hurled the fiery ball across the rooftop.
Ahren sprang to the side. The demonic flames hit a chimney behind him and crackling ice spread over the wet bricks. He jumped and rolled back just as another ball of black fire hit where he had been. Squeezing the sword handle, Ahren lunged.
An echoey laugh escaped the demon-man’s lips. He leaped back onto the low wall surrounding the roof, and then jumped over the side.
Ahren dropped to his knee and lifted Katze’s crumpled body. Her dark eyes stared dreamily up at him, and then faded. Running his fingers across her soft face, he brushed back her black hair and closed her eyes. She lay still, as though calmly sleeping in his arms. Pink smears stained the colorless skin around the deep wound. Streams of diluted blood coursed along the wet rooftop and funneled out the drain to the streets below. “Katze,” he wept, pulling her close. Tears ran down his rain-spattered face. He squeezed her tight. “I’m sorry.”
“There he is!” someone shouted.
Glancing up, Ahren spied a pair of soldiers racing from the neighboring rooftop. Sadness melted into rage. Heat poured though his veins. He laid her body at his feet and stood.
“He’s killed someone,” one of them cried.
“Halt!”
Ignoring his pursuers, Ahren peered over the wall which Dolch had jumped. Lightning erupted above. Four stories below, the demon-man stood in a narrow alleyway looking up at him.
“Here I am, Black Raven,” he laughed. “Come on.”
Ahren jumped to the neighboring building and slid down the steep rooftop.
“He’s getting away,” the soldier shouted. “He’s going down to the street!”
Ahren dropped onto a small balcony and swung over the side to the railing of the floor below. Clutching the edge, he dropped to the filthy alley floor. He charged along the passage back to where he’d last seen his foe standing.
Turning a corner, he ducked as another ball of cursed fire flew past him. Black flames licked up the wall of a wooden shop, chewing into the wet timbers coating them in crackling ice. Undaunted, Ahren clutched his sword and moved into the alley. With an evil smile, Dolch reached down and tore a square iron sewer grate from the ground.
Jingling mail and clomping boots sped up the passageway from the far side.
A young soldier hurried around the corner, followed close behind by his partner. “Halt!”
Wheeling around, Dolch hurled the massive grate across the passage. It slammed into the soldier’s body, knocking him into a stone wall with a terrible clatter, nearly pinching him in half. Blood and broken chips of rock exploded across the walls. With Dolch’s back turned, Ahren charged. He swiped his sword through air as the demon-man jumped into the sewers.
Shouts and thundering boot steps raced from both ends of the alley. Crou
ching low, Ahren lowered himself down the wooden ladder into the black hole.
Sounds of pouring water reverberated through the dark tunnel. Lightning burst outside, momentarily flashing down the entrance shaft and a second grate forty feet up the passage. A walkway stretched between them, running alongside a muddy, fast-moving stream. Cascades of water gushed from small openings spaced along the upper wall, feeding the rushing sewer.
“He went down there,” someone cried from above.
“Fetch torches,” another voice barked. “Alert the others to flush him out. That bastard won’t get away.”
Adjusting to the near darkness, Ahren peered up and down the passage. Fear balled in his gut as he imagined silky fingers of shadow entwining around his throat.
A low voice whispered from the shadows behind him. I see you, Black Raven.
Clutching his sword, Ahren spun to face his enemy.
Are you afraid? The voice came from above.
Ahren shot his hand beneath his soaking tabard and pulled a plamya stone from the leather bag. Thin beams of prismatic light shone from the small crystal, pushing the darkness back. Ahren looked all around him, but saw no trace of the demon-man.
You should be. The voice echoed from the passage ahead. I’m not through with you.
Slick grime coated the narrow walkway alongside the sewer reservoir. Sticking close to the wall, Ahren followed the tunnel to where the voice had come. He held the magical stone low, trying to keep from ruining his night vision. Brown insects scuttled along the path, retreating from the rising water. Horizontal lines of leaves and debris along the walls verified the tunnels’ history of flooding.
The sewer curved then narrowed to a low tunnel. Stooping, Ahren peered into the long passage. A pointed arch roof, four feet at its peak, extended the length of the tunnel. A narrow crawlway ran along the side, not more than a foot across.
Did the mighty Black Raven think I would never find him? Did you believe I would forget you; forget what you did to me?
Lowering to his knees, Ahren crawled into the narrow passage. Swift, foul water rushed only inches away. Pungent slime gripped the walls, reeking of filth and rot. Fresh prints from soft leather soles ran down the walkway. Curling his nose from the overwhelming stink, Ahren followed the path until coming to a set of rusted iron bars across the tunnel. Their attempt to block anyone’s passage had been thwarted by saws decades before, leaving the jagged remnants hanging from the ceiling like sinister teeth. A chamber opened up beyond it, filled with a wide lagoon. Ahren’s small light failed to reach the walls. Crawling under the bars into the room would leave him too vulnerable if Dolch were waiting inside.
Removing a second gem from his bag, Ahren tossed it as far as he could into the chamber. He risked cracking the gem, releasing its magic, but Ahren no longer cared about the client's prize. The glow of the light spun across the stone walls as it sailed past to finally bounce to a stop just short of the far side thirty feet away. Three tunnels fed into the chamber lagoon which emptied out Ahren’s passage and another just like it. Arched bridges linked the wide walkway circling the room. In one quick move, Ahren slipped through the cut bars and into the chamber, ready to defend himself.
Keeping on guard, he circled the room to retrieve the glowing stone. As he knelt to pick it up, voices came from the passage beside him.
“There’s a light down there.”
“It could be him. Be careful.” Orange torch light flickered from the hall.
Closing his fist around the glowing gemstone, Ahren hurried into an adjoining passage. Crouching in the shadows, he peered back to see five Lichthafen soldiers carrying torches emerge into the large room.
“He couldn’t have made it far,” their leader said. He motioned to one of the passages. “Jan, Bemot, you take that way. The rest, follow me.” He and two of his men turned and quickly marched toward the tunnel in which Ahren hid.
Still clutching the stone, Ahren hurried along the dark passage, trying to keep ahead of the soldiers’ torchlight. The tunnel turned unexpectedly and Ahren nearly slipped into the raging current. The marching guards drew closer. Keeping his hand against the wall for guidance, he rushed through the black passage as fast as he could manage.
Lightning flickered through a sewer grate ahead, momentarily illuminating the long tunnel. Gushing water poured from a rectangular hole near the ceiling ahead. There were no side passages or alcoves for him to hide. The flickering lights grew brighter as the soldiers neared. Before they turned down the passage, Ahren raced to the cascading waterfall and pressed himself against the wall behind it. The cold water, polluted with filth from the city streets, flowed over his body.
“He must be close,” one of them said as they neared.
Ahren held his breath. He could barely hear past the sound of running water.
“Be careful,” the officer said, walking past the cascade. “He killed a girl and one of our men already.”
“What does he look like?” a whiney-voiced soldier asked.
“He was dressed as a guard when he fled the warehouses, but now he’s changed into all black.”
“When we find him, I’m…”
Ahren waited for his pursuers to turn down the far side before emerging from the rank water. He loosened his grip from the gem, spilling out light, and hurried back the other way. Torchlight from the other two soldiers still lingered in the far passage. He started toward the tunnel from which the guards had come, when he heard Dolch’s voice behind him.
Wrong way, Black Raven.
He whirled but found no one there. Across the room, the shadows within the second exiting tunnel seemed unnaturally thick. Opening his hand more, rays of light sprung from between his fingers and pierced the inky darkness.
Nothing.
He crossed the bridges over the canals and crept closer to the low exiting tunnel. Like its companion, the rusted iron bars meant to block passage had long been cut. Keeping his grip tight on his sword, Ahren carefully maneuvered through the jagged hole and onto the narrow crawlway inside.
The torrential water had risen to just inches below the pathway. The current’s echoing roar filled the tunnel. Knotted strands of moss hung from the dripping stones above and brushed along Ahren’s neck and back as he crawled as fast as he safely could. The tunnel opened into a wide, arched passage.
Squinting, he tried to see into the dark walkway, but the gem’s meager light provided little help. He tossed the plamya stone ahead. The light skipped off the filthy floor, illuminating the mortared brick side tunnels as it passed. The stone skittered, about to stop, then vanished, plunging the passage in blackness.
Panicked, Ahren drove his hand under his tabard. The soaked leather bag had swollen, making it difficult to uncinch. Blindly, he managed a finger inside the pouch and pulled out another gem.
He held it out, expecting to see the demon-man before him, but the shadows were empty. Still cautious, he crawled from the tight passage and stepped onto the wider pathway. Bits of refuse and moldy rat bones littered the ground. Creeping closer to where the last stone had disappeared, he saw that the walkway ended where a second stream cut through, intersecting with the large sewer. He peered into the dingy, brown-foamed water, hoping to spot the glow of the plamya stone beneath the waves, but saw nothing. The current had swept it away.
Lose something, Raven? Dolch’s voice chuckled. Tell me, is it the treasure or the woman that you mourn the most?
Ahren’s knuckles tightened around the sword handle. Holding out his light he scanned the passageway. He saw no sign of his quarry, but the rib-like arches lining the tunnel left dozens of dark hiding places. Something moved in the shadowy distance down the hall. Ahren turned in time to see Dolch step from an alcove and hurl a fistful of stygian fire.
Ahren leaped down the side passage just as the black flames exploded against the stones behind him. A hard wave of cold hit him as frost sheeted across the wall. Glancing back, he saw his attacker flee down the passage.
> Rolling to his feet, Ahren hopped across the open canal and gave chase. The tunnel snaked from side to side, broken by iron grates pouring water from the streets above. He turned a corner and found himself in a wide chamber where two surging streams joined.
“Halt!”
Ahren jumped to see a soaked soldier carrying a lantern hurrying up the other passage toward him.
“Where did you get that?” the man asked, pointing his sword at the plamya stone in Ahren’s hand.
“Back there,” Ahren replied. “The thief must have dropped it.”
“You’re with the warehouse guards,” he said stepping closer. “Where’s the rest of your men?”
“We got separated.”
The soldier nodded. “Me too. Have you seen…” He stopped. “What’s that?” Holding his lantern high, he aimed the light across the rapid water. The yellow glow swept across the gray stones then froze.
Dolch crouched against the upper far wall like a spider, clutching a black wriggling blade of solid shadow. His single blue eye glinted as inky flame erupted in his other hand, dripping hissing drops between his curled fingers.
Staggering back, the terrified soldier cried out as Dolch hurled his evil magic. The black fire burst, engulfing the soldier in dark flames, extinguishing his lantern. Cracks spider-webbed across his screaming face and chunks of icy flesh broke off. Slapping at the cursed flames, he fell face first, sizzling to the ground.
Ahren sprang to the side as another fistful of fire flew from the demon-man’s hand. The frigid blast hurled him forward, knocking the glowing stone from his hand. The ground slid away as Ahren fell into the rushing water.
The cold sewage slammed into him, rolling him end over end. His steel helmet fell off, but the heavy chain shirt dragged him down. Chunks of sweeping debris smashed into his fingers as he blindly struggled to grab hold of anything. He slid across the sewer floor, pounding into the hard walls and tumbling back every time he tried to reach the surface. His lungs burned for air. Foul water pushed its way through his tight lips and up his nostrils.
His battered hands managed to grab hold of a loosened stone along the wall. Fighting the torrential surge, he managed to pull his head above the waves long enough to gasp a short breath before the current yanked him away. He struggled to remove the chain mail shirt, but to no success. His strength waned and he felt euphoria wash away his panic as he began to drown.
Mountain of Daggers Page 17
