***
Malek trailed off, his throat dry. He wiped at his eyes before the tears could start. He looked around for the jug of cider, and Arron tossed it to him. He nodded in thanks and took a deep draught.
The siblings were watching him intently, making him nervous.
“Sorry, I uh… got a little overcome… It’s been a number of years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Nera patted his arm in sympathy. Sometime during the tale, she had sat down beside him on the sofa. “It’s all right. At least you knew your parents and were blessed to have that many good years with them. Arron and I wouldn’t even know what that’s like.”
Arron shook his head. “Neither of us ever knew our parents. Earliest I can remember is being a young, dumb urchin thieving on the streets.” He got up and stretched. “Hell of a tale, mate.” He helped himself to a piece of bread and drizzled some honey atop it.
“Thank you for sharing with us,” Nera said, her eyes intense on Malek’s face. He realized she still had her hand on his arm. Seeing his look, she hurriedly pulled away self-consciously.
No, don’t, he wanted to say, but the moment was past. Nera got up from the couch. The closeness and companionship of another person was a nice change.
“I think that’s enough heavy talk for a day,” Arron said around a mouthful of bread and honey. “I, for one, am up for a game of tiles. Malek, I can’t in good faith take any of your clink today after that tale, but my little sister here is another matter.”
“Aye, you can try all ya like, but words are wind, Brother, and yours have the foul stench of desperation. Or maybe that’s the food not agreeing with your gut.” She punched Arron on the shoulder. “Come on, Malek, what do ya say?”
Malek smiled at the siblings’ banter, relieved to have the attention off of him. “Very well, show me this game of tiles.”
Chapter 22
Waresh eyed the doorway of the flat above the spice merchant’s shop, eager to take down his prey and collect on the four gold crowns Edmond had promised. While tracking the pair, he’d found they had a reputation for being cunning and capable in a fight. He stroked Heartsbane’s haft and smiled at the thought of a skirmish. It had been a very long time since his fighting skills had been tested while retrieving a mark. Besides being worth mere coppers, untrained commoners, widows, and children provided no challenge once he tracked them down, whether they resisted capture or not. He hated to think his skills might get rusty if that trend kept up much longer.
This’ll be two more off me tally, making it one ninety-six to go. Reiktir’s beard, it’ll take forever to collect me whole tally at this rate. He envied the brute Haskell nearing the end of his tally.
While observing the flat, he decided at least two people were inside, from the silhouettes moving past the curtained windows. Not knowing who else, if anyone, might be inside other than his quarry, he bided his time a bit longer. Nexus was one place a person never wanted to barge into someone’s property without having a damned good idea who or what might be inside. He stroked his beard and thought back to earlier how their own guild had sold them out.
“Perhaps some clink could refresh my memory,” the old guildmaster had said, eyes bright with greed.
“Perhaps me axe could refresh it even more swiftly,” Waresh replied, tapping Heartsbane’s haft.
That was at the third guild hall he visited, and the conversations at each went the same way although he could tell the fat old man knew exactly who he was talking about.
In the end, the guildmaster wisely chose to give up the two rogues. Waresh had even tossed him several gems to make it worth his while. A reliable source was a valuable thing in his business.
’Tis as they say—no honor amongst thieves.
Waresh cracked his knuckles and stood up from the barrel he sat on, impatient to cross the street and kick in the door. Just as he took a step forward, the first of a group of Magehunters showed up.
Reiktir’s bloody beard—what are they doing here? Waresh gritted his teeth in anger as a group of a dozen men gathered below the stairway to the apartment. They approached in small numbers so as not to draw attention. Their mere presence earned a number of fearful glances from people out on the street. Understandably, nobody went anywhere near their group.
Two warriors eased up the stairs. A loose step creaked loudly, and they froze for a second before hurrying upward to take positions on either side of the door. A mage followed right on their heels, quickly faced the door, and began casting a spell. The rest of the squad stacked along the stairs, backs against the wall. The warriors all drew steel just as the mage finished the spell. The door burst open, and the Magehunters poured into the flat.
Waresh’s eyebrows rose when the Magehunter commander himself joined his men below the stairs.
Whatever these two have done, they’ve managed to piss the wrong people off.
He cursed profusely at the loss of his lucrative marks. Although headstrong and fearless, Waresh was no fool. Lassiter wasn’t one to be crossed. Waresh growled in frustration but decided to wait in case the Magehunters were after someone else. He wasn’t too proud—if he had to, he’d scavenge whatever scraps were left.
***
Nera, Malek, and Arron were just finishing up a round of tiles when the step Nera had loosened on the stairway outside creaked loudly. The siblings were barely on their feet when the door exploded inward, as if an angry god had unleashed a maelstrom of force into the cozy safe house. The three of them were sent tumbling to the floor and slamming against the back wall. The table flipped over, nearly slamming Malek in the head, had the mage not ducked at the last instant. Tiles, coins, and tankards of ale were swept up in a swirling cyclone, the latter shattering against the floor and walls. Nera got doused with ale in the process.
Armed warriors in bone-white mail and tabards with crimson eyes stormed the room. The first pair through the door stepped on the caltrops Nera had placed along the floor. The men cried out in pain, cursing and hopping backward from the sharp spines piercing the soles of their boots. They collided with their comrades behind them, causing a brief bottleneck.
Nera’s thoughts of how she would spend her winnings from their game instantly evaporated as her instincts took over. She rolled to her feet, both daggers in hand. Arron was on his feet with drawn steel an instant later.
“Magehunters!” Arron cried.
Malek clambered to his feet, looking confused.
“Stay back,” Nera warned him. “Let us handle this.”
“I don’t think you two can handle all of them,” Malek protested as half a dozen warriors shouldered their way through the door, careful to avoid the remaining caltrops.
Arron lunged forward, his short sword stabbing out. His attack was parried by the nearest Magehunter’s longsword. A second fighter attacked Arron, and he was forced back, trading attacks with the pair. He had a dagger in his left hand, paired with the short sword. The Magehunters were hindered in the confined space by the length of their blades.
Nera’s daggers twirled in her hands as a warrior swung at her. She sidestepped easily, daggers raking at the man’s sword arm. His armor parted beneath Lightslicer’s edge, and the keen blade carved a deep gash in the meat of his bicep. The man grunted in pain and slashed wildly. The tip of his sword thunked into a wooden ceiling rafter. That gave Nera the opening she needed, and she darted in against the man’s chest and drove both daggers to the hilt up beneath his breastplate. He swayed on his feet, coughing up a gout of blood. Nera gave him a good shove, and he fell back, hindering the men behind.
Two more fighters shoved their dying companion aside and forced the trio farther back into the apartment.
“Take the mage and flee, Sister,” Arron said. One of his opponents was down, but he now faced three armored warriors. He parried desperately, sweat running down his brow from his efforts. “I’ll hold them off.”
“Nay, I’m not leaving you,” Nera vowed, even as she was force
d to dodge backward from the thrusting sword of the nearest attacker.
A flash of robes came from the doorway behind the Magehunters. The white-robed mage raised his hands, and javelins of fire lanced out at Arron and Nera.
Malek spread his arms wide, and the magefire was redirected as if drawn into him. The fire washed over Malek and disappeared for a second before his hands began glowing. He clapped them together and pulled them apart, and a ball of fire formed, two handbreadths in size. With a gesture, he sent the fireball rolling forward, past the dodging warriors, to hit the mage straight on, blasting him backward out the door. Fire exploded outward in a concussive blast that made Nera’s ears ring. The flames stopped suddenly and harmlessly in front of the companions while the Magehunters were tossed about like rag dolls.
The trio caught their breaths, but then more men charged through the door. The fallen warriors and mage began picking themselves back up, singed but seemingly unharmed.
“How…” Malek was speechless.
“They have powerful enchantments to resist magic,” Arron replied. “You two best go—now!”
“Nobody goes anywhere,” a smooth, cultured voice boomed.
The warriors parted, and a tall man with long black hair stepped up behind them. Nera recognized Lassiter, the Magehunter commander. He raised a crossbow and fired.
Arron cried out, spinning around and striking a wall, and Nera saw a bolt buried in his ribs.
“Arron!” She charged Lassiter.
“Nera, no!” Arron gritted his teeth and fought his way forward, grasping his sister’s arm before she charged into the mass of armed warriors. “Run, now!”
“Surrender, and nobody has to die,” Lassiter said. “You two are inconsequential—you can return to your sentences, albeit with penalties imposed for ill-advised behavior.” His cold blue eyes flicked dismissively over Nera and Arron before alighting on Malek with interest. “This one, however, is something different. The Pale Lord would have words with you.” His smile was devoid of humor.
Nera knew if Malek was taken, he would never be seen again. Just as she was about to tell Lassiter to bugger off, Malek placed his hand on her other arm.
“Let my friends go free, and I will surrender peacefully. I will parlay with your ruler of Nexus, on the condition that I speak with my master, a mage by the name of Magellan.”
Lassiter appeared to consider for a moment before shaking his head. “Offer declined. Nobody goes free. Laws are in place for a reason. These two mongrel thieves will return to the foundry with stiffer sentences. That’s the best offer they will get. However, I can perhaps arrange for you to speak to your master.”
“To the Abyss with you,” Nera snarled. “I won’t wear another collar.”
Lassiter shrugged. “If you prefer the morgue, then so be it. Take them,” he told his men.
Everything happened at once. Malek released a spell as Lassiter fired another bolt from his crossbow. It wasn’t until later that Nera realized he hadn’t even reloaded the weapon—it had somehow been ready to fire again. A bolt pierced the palm of Malek’s hand, sending him stumbling backward. The blast of force Malek had summoned went awry, slamming into the ceiling. A rafter shattered, and part of the roof erupted outward. A moment later, with its support beam destroyed, the section of roof nearest Malek and Nera caved in. Nera shoved Malek out of the way and narrowly sidestepped an avalanche of debris. Three of the Magehunters weren’t as fortunate and were buried under falling wood, plaster, and roof tiles.
Arron charged into the remaining group of Magehunters, shouting again for Nera to flee. She ignored his plea, sheathed her long daggers, and drew three throwing knives in each hand. In the same motion, quick flicks of her wrists sent the knives spinning into Lassiter’s coldly handsome face.
The man moved with impressive speed, but Nera had yet to see someone with faster reflexes than she. As Lassiter dodged, three of her daggers went wide, sailing past the commander and burying themselves into the mage and another warrior behind him. The fourth pierced the meat between Lassiter’s neck and shoulder, the fifth cut a slice from his ear, and the sixth stabbed through his cheek.
Arron stabbed one of the warriors through the neck, his enchanted sword piercing the man’s gorget and sending arterial blood spurting high across the room as the man fell.
“Nera, take Malek and go!” he cried. Blood soaked his side, and his face was twisted in pain. Swords came at him from multiple attackers. He stumbled away, managing to dodge the first. The second he deflected with a wild parry, but the third took him in the thigh, carving a bloody gash.
Nera couldn’t bear to watch anymore. The situation was hopeless—if she didn’t flee, all three would die. Malek’s face had gone pale in shock at the bolt stuck through the palm of his hand. Blood soaked his arm and the sleeve of his robe.
Too late to parlay—they’ll cut Arron and me down and take Malek anyway. Letting loose a curse, she did as Arron wished.
The nearest warrior made a grab for her as she ran toward Malek. She slashed his grasping hand, and Lightslicer took the tips off three of the man’s fingers. He howled in pain, and then Nera was grabbing Malek by the arm and hauling him toward the privy.
She turned to see Arron fencing with Lassiter, wielding a dark slender sword that seemed to absorb light. The half-elf was flagging. Lassiter’s weapon flowed like a black tide, sweeping past Arron’s defense and running through his chest. Nera screamed when the tip of Lassiter’s blade erupted out of Arron’s back. Her adopted brother fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground.
Lassiter withdrew his sword in a burst of blood. His head swiveled like an automaton’s, cold eyes locking on Nera. He reached up and plucked her knives free from his neck and cheek. The wounds were bloodless.
She screamed in fury but dragged Malek into the privy, slamming the door and throwing the bar across it although she knew that would buy them only a moment. Malek had wrapped a towel around his wounded hand, careful to leave the bolt in place lest he damage the tendons.
“Leave it for now. We will tend to it after we are away.” Nera angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She crossed the room and shoved at a tile behind the tub, which tilted, allowing a section of wall to be pushed away.
“Arron?” Malek’s face fell when Nera shook her head. “I’m sorry…”
“No time for that now. In you go.” She shoved him none too gently into the narrow passage in the wall.
Heavy blows rattled the door in its frame. Nera dropped another handful of caltrops before the door and briefly considered staying behind in an attempt to slay Lassiter and avenge Arron. I can climb into the rafters and drop down on him. He’ll be dead before he knows what struck him.
Remembering how he had plucked her knives free as if they were mere splinters, she suddenly wasn’t so sure if that would be a good idea.
But then she thought of Malek and knew he wouldn’t last another hour without her help. With a curse, she ducked inside the wall, swinging the concealed door back into place. I’ll make that bastard Lassiter pay, she vowed.
Malek had already disappeared ahead of her where the passage turned into a chute. Nera had heard the panel bang shut where the chute came out into the alley behind the building a moment earlier.
Nera’s feet met empty air, and then she was sliding down the chute. Darkness blurred around her, and she shot out through the tilting panel and into the alley a moment later, landing gracefully on her feet. Turning around, she was surprised to not see Malek awaiting her. What she did see was the flat of a battle-axe that smacked her in the face. The alley spun around her, and then there was only darkness.
Chapter 23
Waresh put his ear to the panel on the wall whence the two had come, hoping for sounds of the half-elf following them down. After listening to the sounds of the Magehunters banging on the walls for a minute, he decided Arron wouldn’t be joining the other two.
I better get these two out of here before they search
the area. Bastards won’t rob me of this bounty. He quickly secured Neratiri’s wrists behind her back with his enchanted rope. The mage was already bound and gagged. With a look around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, Waresh hoisted each of them across a shoulder like sacks of grain.
He was pleased at his own cleverness in staking out the alleyway, since he’d suspected one of the guild’s safe houses would have an escape route. Rendering the two of them unconscious as they came out of the hidden passageway had been as easy as spearing fish in a barrel.
He carried them down the alley and onto a narrow side street, eager to put some distance between himself and the Magehunters. An empty warehouse he knew of nearby would be an ideal spot to question the two.
***
The strip of leather gagging Malek was yanked free of his mouth.
“Did the Magehunters take the half-elf?” asked the brutish dwarf standing over him. He had long red-brown hair and beard, both braided, and a bulbous, scarred nose. He wore a mail shirt and breastplate. The mail shirt appeared to be too tight, not surprising considering the dwarf’s massive shoulders and gnarled, heavily muscled arms. A metal-and-leather collar, similar to Nera’s, was clamped around his thick neck. The difference was the dwarf’s collar had a cryptic set of dials and a much more intricate set of magical runes inscribed across it. It reeked of stronger magic than Nera’s and Arron’s collars had contained.
While Malek had been unconscious, his captor must have removed the bolt and bandaged his hand. The dressing looked clean, but his hand burned as if acid had dripped on it. He lay on his side, wrists and ankles bound together by a rope, his legs going numb from lack of blood flow.
This dwarf is no fool. And judging from his collar, he must be one of those retrieval officers working for the Special Judiciary.
The Twilight City Page 18
