Dagger and Scythe

by Emilie Knight

  She took his hand, and he let her drag him from the castle and chaos.

  Chapter 42

  Scythe’s cave was cold. The only items left were a table and chairs by a dead fireplace. Around a tight bend in the rock a bed lay abandoned.

  There were a few scraps of wood left in the ashes. She lit a meager fire, though it wasn’t needed. It took a moment to strike the flint because her fingers were twitching with adrenaline.

  Dagger sat at the table behind her. His head was down with his hands buried in his hair.

  Scythe stood, brushing ash off her fingers. The light was small and the warmth was non-existent, but it was something.

  “You’re sure we’re safe here?” Dagger asked quietly, as if Maniodes might hear him.

  “Yes,” Scythe said. “He never came to visit, so I don’t think he knows where this place is.”

  In truth they were still in Skiachora, not far from the hole the Acheron River used to enter Ichorisis. Maniodes would be expecting them to flee as far as they could. She hoped that was the case anyway, so staying hidden but close was their advantage.

  Scythe paced, unable to sit still. Her weapon’s handle was shortened to two feet, and she wrung her hands over it.

  “Did you see what happened to Axe?” Dagger asked, pulling his hands out of his hair. He looked disheveled. “Last I saw, he was unconscious.”

  “I didn’t see him.” Scythe paced back behind him toward the little fire.

  After a moment, Dagger spoke again. “What the fuck did we do, Scythe?”

  “Started a bloody mutiny.” It was probably a rhetorical question, but she gave the obvious answer anyway. The words tasted good on her tongue.

  “Will you stop pacing, please,” he pleaded. “The agitation is not helping anything.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m a little on edge after that rampage and nearly getting killed.” Scythe did stop to face Dagger, though her legs wanted to move.

  She wanted to run, scream, and hit something, anything, preferably Maniodes. They had been so close.

  “Pitch was killed!” Dagger shouted. “And Chip.”

  Her weapon hand jumped at his outburst.

  Pitch was dead, properly dead, because of her. She had scratched that damn box. That little boy trusted them; he loved Dagger like a brother. Chip tried to protect them too. Scythe remembered them both dancing on Nukternios. Chip was wrapped in so much green ribbon it had looked like vines grew from him, and little Pitch having the time of his strange, undead life.

  “Why didn’t Nyx keep him safe? Pitch said if he did her bidding she would protect him. Where was she?” he continued.

  Her scythe suddenly felt heavier as it hung at her side. Her grief didn’t match Dagger’s, though. He just kept staring at the table surface as if trying to summon both of his dead friends. He looked defeated when she wanted to fight.

  She wanted to snap him out of it, but even pacing had annoyed him. She rounded the table and put her scythe on the surface. With free hands, she held his shoulders. He needed that kind of support right now, though she felt cold.

  Dagger sighed at the contact and leaned into her.

  “We can rest here for now, but carefully,” she said. “You go lie down, and I’ll guard the door. Then we’ll switch.”

  Dagger just shook his head as if trying to understand.

  “You actually want to rest?” he asked, surprised. “I thought you’d want to go charging back and chop Maniodes’s limbs off.”

  “I do; that’s why I was pacing,” she explained, “but I know when to pull back. He was slaughtering all of us. We don’t stand a chance in a full attack like that.”

  “Cross,” Dagger said, “and Hammer. Who knows who else he got in that chaos. By Nyx’s bone, Axe is probably dead too.”

  “Some escaped,” she said, trying to reassure him.

  He didn’t reply. Scythe rubbed a hand over his back.

  Dagger stood suddenly. He took her weapon and held it out to her. The grief was still in his eyes, but it was sharper.

  “I have a plan,” he said. “He took Pitch from us, so let’s take something from him.”

  “Does it involve taking his head off?” she asked excitedly, taking the weapon.

  “Not quite, but it’s just as fun.” Even his grin was angry. “Let’s get his bitch.”

  Chapter 43

  The shadows stretched through the tree grove as the sun began to rise and stain the sky. Scythe’s eyes hurt in the sunlight, giving her a headache. The dead maple tree closed behind them. She watched Dagger pull the knife he’d left from the tree and put it back in his belt.

  “I love your thought process, Dagger, but this couldn’t have waited until evening?” she asked. She hadn’t known the sun had risen.

  Dagger came up behind her, rubbing an eye. Dropping his hand, he said, “You’re usually the impulsive one. I thought you’d approve of the blackmail. You did back at the cave, a moment ago. Besides, if we wait, that just gives Maniodes more time to find and kill us.”

  “I do approve, but the sun is blinding,” she countered.

  “I know, I know. Let’s just get this over with.” He set off toward the woman’s house.

  They could see the building through the gaps in the trees. Horses already roamed the dewy field beside it.

  “Wait.” She caught his arm. “Let me lure her here.”

  Dagger was about to protest, then thought better of it. Eventually, he said, “A woman approaching her would seem less intimidating.”

  “Exactly. You stay here and open the tree. I’ll be right back with her, then we take her home.”

  Scythe patted Dagger’s arm and left the tree’s shade. She was still dressed in her riding clothes, so the unlucky traveler image would be easy to pull off. Hard to believe her last visit here was just a few hours ago. Scythe froze and looked down at her feet. They were still bare. She cursed and hurried back to Dagger.

  “Let me borrow your boots,” she said to his confused expression.

  He rolled his eyes, then sat on a rock pulling off his boots. They were far too large for her, but once the boots were on Scythe’s feet she hurried back to the barn.

  The stench of horse was enormous as Scythe approached the barn. It did nothing to help her headache. She approached from the north road, which passed close to the cottage and barn. The woman wasn’t anywhere outside at first glance, but the large barn doors were wide open. Scythe caught movement inside.

  Scythe walked up to the narrow door, spotting the blond and lavender hair inside one of the horses’ stalls. Scythe knocked on the doorframe.

  The woman looked up at the noise, tucking a stray hair over an ear. Seeing her awake in the daylight, Scythe realized calling her a woman was generous. The girl couldn’t be more than sixteen.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, confused, leaning against the stall’s gate.

  “M-my horse fell,” Scythe said frantically. “He got spooked by a snake and ran into the tree grove. His foot got stuck in the roots, I think, and he just toppled over. Gods, his screams wouldn’t stop.”

  “Are you alright?” the girl asked, moving closer. Her desire to help was clear.

  “I’m fine. I managed to jump off before he fell.”

  “What’s your name?” the girl asked calmly.

  “Skie, and yours?”

  “Leda. Your horse is still in the grove?”

  “Yes. I-I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Let me get my father,” Leda said. “We may be able to bind the horse’s ankle, then we can get him here.”

  “Can’t you just come now?” Scythe asked, trying to sound natural and hysterical at the same time. “He’s all alone and hurt.”

  “I know,” Leda said, “but my father is better at binding than I am. He’s just inside the house.”

  Leda led the way out of the barn. Scythe wanted to knock Leda out and drag her back herself. She got as far as gripping her weapon on her back under her tunic before
an older man, with hair so blond it was almost white, spotted them coming out of the house.

  “Leda, who’s this?” he asked.

  “This is Skie. Her horse broke an ankle in the tree grove. She didn’t know what to do so she came here,” Leda explained.

  “Oh,” the man’s eyes lit up with concern. “The grove isn’t far. We should help the poor beast. Skie, can you lead the way?”

  Scythe let go of her weapon and applied the timid persona again. “I can, yes.”

  “Good, let me just grab my satchel.” The man hurried off to the barn.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Leda asked kindly as they waited for her father. “Did you hit your head falling?”

  Given her headache, it felt like she’d been trampled by a horse. “I’m fine.”

  “Does your horse have a name?”

  “Dagger,” she said instantly. She kicked herself for not coming up with something different.

  “Really? He sounds like a tall warhorse.”

  “He is,” Scythe smiled.

  “We’ll do what we can for him,” Leda said. “He’ll be okay.”

  Scythe kept her eyes down and nodded. She kept expecting Maniodes to appear.

  “Alright,” Leda’s father caught up to them with a threadbare satchel slung over his shoulder. “Lead the way, lass.”

  Scythe took them back up the north road and veered off to the grove. She made sure to keep in the center of the narrow valley, sure Dagger would see the uninvited guest.

  The shade of the trees was blessedly kinder on her eyes. The dead maple waited in the center, but Dagger was nowhere to be seen.

  Scythe stopped and turned to Leda and her father. Confusion held them as they scanned for the injured horse. Scythe reached under her tunic again for her weapon.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” her father demanded, growing angry.

  “Skie?” Leda asked, uneasy.

  Scythe smiled as she extended her weapon behind her back. The two watched in horror as the blade grew and curved over her.

  Dagger appeared from behind a tree and bashed the father’s temple with the hilt of his weapon.

  Leda shrieked as her father dropped like a puppet cut from its strings. She knelt to shake him, crying. A shudder ran through her as she looked from Scythe to Dagger.

  “What do you want?” she cried.

  Scythe spun her weapon around and brought it down just over Leda’s ear. Dagger caught her before her pretty hair could brush the ground.

  Chapter 44

  Scythe crept through the cracked opening of the dead tree into Skiachora. Maniodes’s castle loomed over her quietly. There were no sentries standing guard, leading her to wonder how many of them had been slaughtered in the chaos. It felt like the stone itself was watching her, making her skin itch. She could see the windows of Maniodes’s chamber. If he were inside and looked in the right direction, he would spot her.

  The thrill of the chase pulsed through her veins. Only this time, she was the mouse. She couldn’t deny: she liked it a little.

  Once Dagger had knocked Leda senseless, he picked her up and carried her through the tree to the underworld. As they descended, he noticed her breathing was slowing down considerably and she grew cold. It took a moment for them to realize in the shaded tunnel that color was leaching out of her too.

  With several curses they rushed back to the surface and set Leda down in the grass. Her color and breathing returned to normal. They realized then that nothing living could exist in Skiachora. If they took her down, she would die.

  Scythe had suggested they take a Night Mare and ride back home. The only way of doing that was to steal one from under Maniodes’s nose. Dagger had volunteered to go, but Scythe convinced him to stay. Leda would be more naturally threatened by Dagger. He agreed reluctantly.

  Scythe now kept hold of her weapon, shrunk down to the size of a long knife, and made her way up the steps to the courtyard.

  She veered left, keeping low, practically hugging the wall. Skiachora was always quiet, no chatter from the ghosts below, no birds calling in the sweet air. Skiachora only held stagnant air of a cave and the occasional screech of a bat. Even The Acheron was silent as it flowed. For one hundred years that silence had been her home; now it frayed at what was left of her sanity.

  Scythe found the portcullis she wanted. The iron portcullis in the arch blocked off the stables, but the tall sally port let her in quickly enough after breaking the lock. She didn’t have time or patience to pick it open.

  The sparse soil gave way to patches of dry grass in the courtyard. Scythe found the stables quickly and snuck inside. She half-expected the creatures to have vanished too, but they were there.

  The black fog that came from the beasts pooled around Scythe’s feet. The stable was just like any other except for the stink of hay and manure. They didn’t have to eat, just like the Ferrum or the sentries. Maniodes probably considered that a useful trait.

  Six Mares were housed in this stable, and Scythe picked the closest two. Most of them had their long heads down as if asleep. They didn’t have eyes to close, just more thick blackness inside their skulls. The sight was more than a little unnerving.

  The first one Scythe approached was awake, or so she assumed because its head was up. She grabbed a random harness and opened the pen’s gate. The Mare resisted the harness, but Scythe managed to wrangle it onto its face, cursing quietly. Keeping a tighter hold on the reins than necessary, Scythe went to lead it outside.

  Maime stood there, glancing from her to the Mare. His fists hung at his sides, ready to tear something apart. His glare was not kind.

  “Thank Nyx you survived, Maime.” Scythe pretended to breathe a sigh of relief. She had to keep her guard up.

  “What are you and Dagger trying to pull?” he demanded, dropping all pretense of kindness. Not that there had been any to begin with. “Hammer is dead, and Cross, and probably half of our numbers. All because of that damn stunt.”

  “That stunt was us defending ourselves,” Scythe bit back.

  “Against what? An insult he tossed your way after he killed that pipsqueak?”

  Scythe grew her weapon and swung it around. She aimed it at Maime’s chest. Maybe she would be able to slash something.

  “The pipsqueak was my friend and a child,” Scythe defended. “He was practically Dagger’s brother.”

  “Hammer was my brother,” Maime growled. He stepped forward into the blade. The curve of it was level with him and he leaned into it. Blood spread over his filthy tunic. The man probably only owned the one.

  “Wait,” Scythe said, distracted for a second. “The one with that giant war hammer was actually your brother? As in the same parents?”

  “Yes, that’s what brother means.”

  “How did you two become Incruentus Ferrum together?” She’d never heard of Maniodes choosing a pair deliberately.

  “I recommended him,” Maime sneered.

  “What did the two of you do for a living?” Scythe asked, trying to buy time for a proper plan to surface in her mind but also honestly curious. “I’d love to hear how the two of you became killers under a tyrant together.”

  Maime’s thick eyebrows knit together. “Maniodes isn’t a tyrant. He always ran this place well.”

  “That’s rich,” Scythe quickly tossed the reins around a post to keep the Mare in place. “I didn’t think a man who strangled and beat people to death would appreciate a leash. Hammer clearly didn’t. He fought with us rather than run like a coward.”

  Maime actually growled at that. It sounded like the voice of a bear was lodged in his throat.

  “He complained now and then, but he was smart enough not to cause a bloody mutiny,” he spat. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Change the way things are, bring down the tyrannical king, bring freedom to those oppressed?”

  His tone changed to mockery of a noble speech.

  “We’re dogs to him, Maime. He slaughtered your brother just b
ecause he got in the way. He is going to do that to all of us.”

  “No,” Maime said. “Once you two ran off, he stopped. He said that any of us still loyal would stand guard at the entrances. He couldn’t even trust the sentries anymore because you manipulated them. You tricked Axe too, didn’t you? Maniodes took him below for information.”

  “Axe is alive?” Scythe asked, still on guard but surprised.

  “Last I saw. Not that you’d care about the rest of us. You’re going to answer for this.”

  Maime stomped forward, regardless of the blade in his chest.

  Scythe planted her feet to keep from moving. Incruentus Ferrum might be stronger than the living, but against their own kind it was balanced out relatively. Maime stood a foot and a half taller than her and twice as wide. He could easily overpower her given the chance, and she wasn’t going to give it to him.

  “I don’t have time for this, Maime.” She pushed against the blade with both hands. She’d have to be fast.

  “I don’t care,” he growled. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  He grabbed the point of the blade. Blood welled past his fingers. It wasn’t natural how he didn’t even flinch. If he gained leverage she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Scythe pulled up and away from his hand. The point slid through his fingers and the curve cut deep, leaving a long gaping slice in his chest.

  Maime lunged forward now that the blade wasn’t in his way, as she anticipated.

  Scythe ducked under his fist, shrinking her weapon a bit. Sliding under Maime’s arm, managing to avoid his other hand groping for her hair, she ended up behind him while slicing his calf.

  The bear in his throat came to life again as he made to turn.

  Scythe swung her weapon around, striking his face with the butt end of the staff. The roar was cut off with a choke.

  Before Maime could regain his balance, Scythe swung the blade back and up, gaining as much momentum as she could. She swung it down again into the back of Maime’s neck. She didn’t cut through cleanly as she hoped, but she felt the bones grate against her scythe as his spine snapped.