Ravencaller
Page 31
There was no sudden kill moment, not like with Larsen. The guard’s movements merely slowed, his breathing turned ragged and uneven, and then his limbs went limp. None of it seemed real. She withdrew her thumbs, saw the mess of gore coating them, and felt nothing. The man’s weapon lay on the floor, and she retrieved it without any sense of urgency. At least now she was armed. She tried to remember how many guards she saw when she entered the Gentle Rose. Two? Three? Wealthy clients. Expensive bed warmers. There might be more, hidden, but she couldn’t think properly.
You’re in shock, she told herself, as if understanding that would suddenly make it better.
With all the fighting and commotion, more would come. Had to run. Had to get out. She checked her scarf, ensuring her tattoos remained covered. That was important, right? She checked her arm as well. A shallow cut, more blood than real damage. Something to worry about once she was out. Jacaranda hurried to the stairs at the end of the hall, paused to catch her breath, and then sprinted down them.
The layout to the Gentle Rose was simple, with the stairs leading up to the rooms blocked off by a heavy desk and a banister with a lone latched entrance. The greeter turned upon hearing movement, his practiced smile vanishing the moment he saw she was armed. He dove over the desk, and before she could chase, a guard emerged from a curtained side room. Jacaranda leapt off the steps and onto the desk, needing its height. The guard barreled out like an angered bull, and no matter her skill, he’d have crushed her with sheer size and weight without some sort of advantage.
“Who sent you?” the guard asked as his sword slammed down upon the desk, just missing her left leg.
“No one,” she said. Her heel caught his forehead. It felt like kicking a wall. He swept at her shins with his sword, and instead of parrying, she attempted to block. A poor decision, she realized, as their weapons connected. The flat side of her sword pressed against her own leg, preventing the edge of the guard’s from piercing flesh but doing little to stop the force of its swing.
Jacaranda decided not to fight it further. She released the sword and dropped to the other side of the desk. Her foe’s free hand caught her knee, twisting her fall into an awkward angle. Her head clipped the desk’s sharp edge, and a fresh trickle of blood rolled down across her jawline. Jacaranda groped the shelves underneath despite her momentary disorientation. She couldn’t delay. Delaying meant death. Her fingers closed around the two short swords she’d handed over upon purchasing her room.
“Much better,” she whispered.
Jacaranda rose from behind the desk like a whirlwind. The guard threw up a meager defense, but it meant little. Jacaranda finally felt like herself. She had her weapons, an escape plan, and control over the fight. Instead of panicking, she took the offensive, cutting the guard several times to get him raging and then sidestepping his eventual desperation slash. Both swords crisscrossed across his throat. As he died, a dark, disgusted voice whispered within her mind.
Another innocent man dead.
But now was not the time to dwell on her guilt and misdeeds. She dashed out the door of the Gentle Rose, praying that the false name she’d offered would be enough to disguise her presence from ever reaching Gerag’s ears, wherever the fat bastard might be hiding. She rushed back to Devin’s house, making no attempt at stealth. Several times a passing stranger asked if she was all right, no doubt disturbed by the blood on her face and clothing. She smiled and waved them off. Keep moving, she told herself. Keep going. Get home. Get safe. The night was young, and though Londheim had been relatively peaceful since the failed attempt to retake Low Dock, it was still not a time anyone wanted to be out for long.
At last she turned down Sermon Lane, but she was still not free of intervention.
“Miss?” asked a woman not far from Devin’s home. “Are you all right?”
Jacaranda glanced at her. A Soulkeeper, she realized, one not much younger than Devin.
“I’m fine,” she said, pushing past the auburn-haired woman.
“Would you at least accept an escort home?”
“I am home,” Jacaranda said, and she gestured at Devin’s house. Thankfully the Soulkeeper let her be. Jacaranda less opened the door and more collapsed against it so her weight forced it ajar. She stood in the doorway, overcome with relief. This was home, her home, and she knew exactly why when Devin lurched from his fireside chair.
“Jac?” he asked.
Jacaranda collapsed into his arms, her face buried against his chest. For as much as she hated Gerag for damaging her, she loved Devin that much more, and through that she would overcome. No matter how broken she felt, she’d find a way to be worthy of the arms holding her close.
“Hey, Devin,” she said, laughing despite her sudden onslaught of tears. “It’s been a long night.”
CHAPTER 26
Lyssa stared at the closed door, the other woman’s words echoing within her troubled mind.
I am home.
“Whose home?” the Soulkeeper whispered aloud. Her feet rooted in place. She’d come to invite Devin to a round of drinking. Not for his sake, but for hers. The rumors had been getting to her, and so she’d come to put them to rest. Devin wouldn’t lie to her face. Devin wouldn’t take a soulless woman as some sort of… comfort creature, no matter how pervasive the snickers she heard when gathered with other Soulkeepers in the Church District’s fancier taverns. Devin had always been a bit different, she’d argued with any brave enough to say so within earshot of her, much more of a loner, but he’d never do such a disgusting thing.
But then who was the red-haired woman with violet eyes calling Devin’s house her home? And why was there blood on her clothes?
Lyssa abruptly turned and left, her fingers rapidly tapping the smoothly polished handles of her pistols. She couldn’t force herself to knock on Devin’s door. It’d be the easiest way to get her answers, but perhaps some answers were none of her business. Let Devin have his secrets. There were a dozen things that woman could be. A friend, a relative, a prostitute, a lover…
“You could have just told me,” she muttered as her legs moved faster. They carried her toward no specific destination, just a vague direction opposite of Devin’s. Hadn’t she and Devin always been friends? They’d been practically attached at the hip during their training inside the Soulkeepers’ Sanctuary. Void’s sake, she’d been his honored guest at Devin and Brittany’s wedding. Then again, things had never been the same after Brittany’s death.
“Soulkeeper?”
She snapped alert. A city guard was beckoning her closer.
“Is something the matter?” she asked him.
“You might say so,” the portly man said. “This is beyond my expertise. Think you could come weigh in?”
It was only then she realized that two more guards stood at the entrance to a brothel, and their glares made it clear no one was to enter. Several bed warmers in various states of dress stood not far to the side, quietly chatting with and comforting one another. Lyssa shot a glance to the brothel’s name. The Gentle Rose.
“I’ll help as best I can,” she offered.
The guard scratched at his bushy mustache.
“I pride myself in solving killings, but all this shit’s gotten weirder as of late, as I’m sure you know.”
“Painfully well,” Lyssa said, thinking of the broken bones she’d suffered from her first entangle with a gargoyle. “So what’s the story here?”
The guard led her through the door and into the small entry room. The body of a burly man lay in a pool of his own blood upon the wood floor. A pale man stood speaking with a fourth guard near a curtained doorway leading farther into the brothel. Lyssa frowned as the smell of death hit her nostrils.
“Some man not want to pay for their fun?” she asked.
“Not a man,” Mustache Guard said. “A woman.”
Lyssa hoisted an eyebrow.
“A woman took down a man that size?”
“Not just him. She killed another guard up
stairs in the hallway, and with her bare hands by what I can tell. And she did all that after she killed the bed warmer she paid for an hour with.”
Lyssa walked past the corpse and up the stairs, the city guard following.
“So why do you think you need a Soulkeeper?” she asked.
“Some skinny lass barely above five feet tall doing all this? It’s got me thinking some sort of magic or monster might be involved.”
Lyssa glanced over her shoulder.
“Wait, you have a description?”
“The greeter in charge of booking rooms got a good look at her. He got a name, too, but I’d bet my hide it ain’t her real one. That ain’t all of it, either. The greeter swears he saw chain tattoos on her throat.”
Anxiety crept its little claws along the sides of her neck and spine. She reached the upper floor to find a second body lying in the center of the cramped hallway. It didn’t take much to decipher his throat had been crushed by the belt looped around his neck. The savagery of it was what really shook Lyssa. At some point, both of the guard’s eyes had been gored from their sockets, and she had her suspicions it was by the assailant’s thumbs. His body lay in front of an open door. When she glanced inside, she found the third victim, a lovely man with his head twisted at an unlovely angle.
“Soulless killing people,” the guard said. “That ain’t a thing, is it? I mean, I know they can when we teach them to be guards and soldiers, but to come here and kill like some sort of assassin? That’s a bit much.”
“Is it?” she wondered aloud. “I want to speak with the greeter.”
The two returned to the entryway. The greeter, an olive-skinned man in his fifties who had aged as gracefully as a swan, gladly accepted her offer to describe the killer.
“She wasn’t very talkative, but most people coming here aren’t, at least not until they get inside their rooms,” the greeter said. “As for her, she wasn’t very tall, maybe a few inches above five feet. Very pretty. Had violet eyes, I remember seeing them and remarking to myself of how lovely and rare a shade they were. Oh, and her hair was as red as the setting sun. A tragedy that someone so lovely could be so brutish.”
Lyssa felt her insides twist and harden into stone. Her jaw clenched so tightly she had to consciously force herself to relax.
“This woman,” she said. “Did she wear a white scarf?”
“She did,” the greeter said, immediately perking up. “I remember because it tangled during her fight, and that’s when I saw her chain tattoos. Does the scarf mean something? Do you know who she is, or who she belongs to?”
Home, she thought, remembering the blood on the violet-eyed woman who had stumbled through Devin’s door.
“No,” Lyssa said. “But I know where she lives.”
CHAPTER 27
At last the summons Cannac had been waiting for arrived at the tower. Tommy accepted the message graciously, careful to keep his body blocking any sight farther into the tower from the messenger. To the unprepared, viewing inside the tower was… distressing.
“We’ll be there as soon as possible,” Tommy assured the older man before slamming the door shut. He put his back against it and wiped his forehead with relief.
“Has the summons finally come?” Cannac asked from his tree-born perch.
Yes, as much as Tommy could understand it, there was a tree growing in the center of the Wise tower. The walls had expanded outward at a fairly steady rate, with the stone floor fading into a deep shadow that appeared to have no end. A thick, stubby tree simply appeared overnight at Cannac’s behest, its branches perfectly shaped to form the dyrandar a comfortable chair. The floor and rug didn’t even appear damaged by its intrusion. Tommy might have questioned why it didn’t die without sunlight, but then again, that main floor was now bright as day, as if the sun lurked just outside his line of sight. Plus, he still wasn’t sure if the tree was actually there there, a common issue when dealing with the dream-weaving creature.
“It appears so,” Tommy said. He gestured with the tiny scrap of paper the messenger had delivered. “We are to present ourselves before the Royal Overseer at his mansion at our soonest convenience.”
Cannac pushed off from his perch.
“Then let us make haste. Too much time has already passed.”
Tommy retrieved Malik from his room, and together the three prepared to leave. Once he’d put on his boots and looped a scarf around his neck, Tommy looked to Cannac and raised an eyebrow.
“Um, aren’t you going to… you know… make another illusion?”
The dyrandar shook his head.
“I have reconsidered its wisdom,” he said. “It is time we peaceful dragon-sired ceased our hiding. Let the shadows and disguises belong solely to those who seek chaos and bloodshed.”
“I’m not sure this is a wise idea,” Malik said. “It’s a long walk, and people are on edge. Things might get ugly.”
Cannac pushed the door open. Logically, Tommy knew that the dyrandar was much taller than the entrance, yet Cannac did not even need to duck to allow his antlers passage. Tommy’s stomach did a fun loop in appreciation of the constant unsteadiness of the world. As much as he loved all things magical, Tommy did miss having reality feel solid like stone instead of squirmy like water.
“I do not fear the crowds,” he said. “Nor should you.”
The moment Tommy stepped outside, it felt like the tower shrank behind him to its proper size, almost as if the stone exhaled. Cannac, having been there once already, needed no guide to reach the mansion. He strode ahead, not waiting for Tommy or Malik. Given the dyrandar’s massive size, it meant Tommy had to walk at an unpleasant clip to keep pace.
The reactions of those nearby were about as he’d expected. Some gasped, others pointed, and a good many suddenly found their paths veering away. Tommy didn’t exactly blame them. Cannac was enormous, and his arms and chest appeared made of solid muscle.
“It’s all right,” Tommy called to the onlookers. “He’s nice, I swear. Very nice, not scary.”
“Tommy, please stop that,” Malik muttered. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Just trying to help.”
“Tommy, please stop helping. It’s embarrassing.”
“Fine. Fine. You don’t need to ask twice.”
“I clearly did.”
The fearful looks and quick retreats turned out to be preferable to what happened once they turned onto one of the main roads leading to the mansion. City guards quickly set up an escort, and they looked none too pleased about it. Once there were armed soldiers to keep them safe, the mood of the crowd turned ugly.
“Get the fuck out, monster!” a middle-aged man shouted, only the long handle of a guard’s spear keeping him at bay.
“Why are you protecting it?” others asked. Many joined this chorus, jeering the guards and urging them to turn on Cannac. Tommy lowered his head and focused on walking. A couple times he felt stones pelt his back and shoulders. Just pebbles, really, but he feared that might change. About thirty people followed now, with half gawking at the sight of the dyrandar, and the other half itching for a fight.
“Pay them no mind,” Cannac said, his deep voice easily discernible above the din. “They act only out of fear and ignorance.”
They seemed far angrier than fearful to Tommy, but then again, other people were not exactly his forte. The numbers only grew the farther they traveled. Many more shouted questions, wondering where they were going, or accusing Cannac of all manner of things. Tommy weathered their insults as best he could, but the abuse was shocking to him. Each time a stone struck his robes, he wondered if it would be the last straw, and the crowd would surge past their escort to do Goddesses-knew-what to Cannac.
Assuming he let them, of course. Tommy glanced at the serenely calm dyrandar. It would take many people to bring him down, and that didn’t count whatever magic he might use in self-defense. Given his ability to distort reality as if it were a dream, Tommy feared what might happen if Cannac were tr
uly angered.
When they arrived at the mansion, several soldiers had to rush from the entrance to help push away the last of the crowd. Tommy and Malik darted inside, with Cannac ducking the entire upper half of his body so he might fit through the doors without his antlers striking the archway. The doors slammed shut behind them, blocking the sounds of chasing jeers and insults.
“Should have used a damn illusion,” Malik muttered.
“I encountered nothing beyond my expectations,” Cannac said. “You did not need to escort me if you feared for your safety.”
“We’re not going to abandon you if things get scary,” Tommy said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
Malik’s glare seemed to indicate he felt otherwise. Together the three followed an escort through the mansion, this time to a much larger lounge area located in what seemed to be an enormous library. The focal point of the room was a long oak table that could seat thirty people, and at its very center waited the Royal Overseer, the Mayor, and an entourage of other wealthy and important members of Londheim’s civil structure.
“Let’s start with the most important question first,” said a red-haired woman with a scar sealing over her left eye, skipping right over any pleasantries. She was General Kaelyn, the person in charge of the soldiers stationed in Londheim by the Queen to support the Royal Overseer’s rule. “Did you have any part in the attack on Low Dock?”
“Have I done anything to make you suspect my involvement?” Cannac asked. Tommy was impressed by his calm demeanor. He wasn’t even the subject of the meeting, yet he felt his armpits already soaking through with sweat. The others weren’t entirely certain how to answer the dyrandar’s question.
“I ask only because we must,” Overseer Downing said. “Please, were you involved?”