Shadow Rogue Ascendant

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Shadow Rogue Ascendant Page 36

by Mike Truk


  “Milord?” asked the driver from the carriage seat. “Is there a problem?”

  “I need to borrow this horse,” I said. “Either untie it from the harness or I’ll cut it free.”

  “Borrow me horse?” His indignation caused his voice to go up an octave. “You’ve got to be joking. Not even if the Hanged God -”

  I felt my power boil up within me, volcanic and deadly. Turned to face him full on, and spoke, voice turgid with imperious demand. “Unharness this horse. Now.”

  The man blinked, gave a shaky nod, and slid down to the road where he hurried over and began working feverishly at the buckles and straps. I turned and gazed over Port Lusander. The town was spread below me, dark and lit by a hundred lanterns and candles, the streets alive with the Nautical Equinox, a constellation of flickering dots that paled before the inferno that raged at the docks.

  “Oh no,” I breathed. “Maestria.”

  The Bonegwayne should have been less than a shadowed dot at this distance, yet it was putting out such a plume of smoke and fire that it was outsized and easily visible. I could immediately tell there was no putting out that blaze.

  The Bonegwayne was done for.

  “Here you go, sir,” said the carriage driver, stepping aside and offering me the reins. A cold, sick fury coiled within my gut like a large snake, and I took the reins, leaped up onto the horse’s bare back, and dug my heels into its flanks.

  “Go,” I whispered, and the horse burst forth into a gallop, hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones, careening past the carriages and phaetons to exit through the castle gate, racing so quickly that the salt wind pressed back my hair even as it brought traces of smoke to my nostrils.

  Down the hill we raced, a mad ride, all caution thrown to the wind. I crouched low over the horse’s neck, legs clenched as I fought to stay on, and Port Lusander flew by. Town homes and manors, squares filled with revelers and high buildings festooned with festival decorations, celebrants throwing themselves aside with cries of outrage and surprise. Our hoofbeats rang from the high walls, and on we plunged, ever down, toward the water’s edge, following at last a main arterial highway to the docks. I hauled back on the reins as we reached the wooden levels, and for a moment it was all I could do to simply sit there and gape.

  The Bonegwayne was become an inferno, its masts little more than wavering dark shadows within the pyre, its deck raging, the sails already gone. The docks were crowded with strangers, hundreds if not thousands of them come to watch the conflagration, their masks catching the refulgent light so that it seemed the Ashen Garden had disgorged its citizens onto the streets of Port Lusander. Other ships, moored close by, were desperately rowing away. The light from the Bonegwayne was smeared across the choppy waves like spilt blood, and the heat baked the air like the mouth of an oven.

  I touched my heels to the horse’s flanks and it strode forward, laboring for breath, head bobbing up and down as it pushed through the crowd. Which had hung back, I saw, perhaps in respect, from the crew of the Bonegwayne which stood, shocked and still, on the part of the dock closest to their ship.

  Having broken through the last row, I rode up to the crew, and there stopped. The sound of my hoofbeats caused them to turn, a ripple of heads looking my way, and in those myriad faces I saw hatred. The last to turn and stare at me was Maestria. The fire limned her dreads, caused her gold hoop earrings to shimmer, and set a smoldering blaze within the depths of her sole eye that I knew I’d never be able to put out.

  I sat there, sickened to the core, holding her gaze and having nothing to say. No more empty promises. No more apologies. Her association with me had finally led to her paying the greatest price a captain could pay: her ship burned, a destruction brought about by my actions alone, and the gulf between us yawned miles wide.

  She was shaking. Her hand on the hilt of her cutlass. Havatier was by her side, his hair singed, his face darkened by soot. All she had to do was give him the command, and I knew what hell he could unleash upon me.

  For long moments we just stared at each other as the column of black smoke rose up to bleed into the night sky, putting out the stars, the air filled with the crackling hunger of timber and rope and canvas being devoured.

  Then, to my shame, to my relief, Maestria turned away from me and looked back to her ship.

  Havatier stared at me a moment longer. His face was a death’s head, the skull prominent beneath the skin, and I thought that he might take the initiative to strike me down, but no. He, too, turned away.

  Slowly, the rest of the crew did the same.

  There was nothing for me to do here. I couldn’t help. I didn’t even have gold to give. Astride my stolen horse in my borrowed finery, I felt a fool. A clumsy idiot who had swept innocents up into my plans for revenge. I forced myself to sit there and stare at the Bonegwayne. To mark well the consequences of my actions. The outcome to my hasty plans. The main mast began to creak and groan. The crowd murmured in alarm, then yelled and tried to scatter as the mast suddenly shattered at the base, and the whole flaming length of it began to topple.

  The cries turned into shouted blessings to Blind Fortuna, however, when the mast fell instead out into the bay, crashing down into the water with a great hiss as most of the fire was put out, and there it floated, flames still dancing down the length that remained above the black waters.

  Enough. I turned the horse around. Urged it back, back through the crowd, back toward the ramps that led up past the Mermaid toward the avenue that speared into the heart of Port Lusander. The heat was intense at my back, the night cool on my heated cheeks, and I don’t think I saw much of anything as I rode back up. Should I make some silent vow? Some mighty oath to redress this wrong?

  No. I was disgusted with myself. With my many promises. This time I’d simply act when the time came. No posturing. I didn’t deserve such a grand gesture.

  I urged the horse into a canter and left the docks behind. I felt numb. Hadn’t felt this level of loss since Neko had died back in Port Gloom. I’d somehow always thought we’d get out of this with Maestria by our side, ride back home on her ship, that perhaps I’d share her bed one last time -

  But no.

  I guided my mount through Port Lusander at a much slower pace. Again and again I saw the image of the Bonegwayne burning. No matter what I tried to turn my thoughts to, the crimson and black sight returned. My eyes gazed over the people who danced and drank, who laughed and screamed, each square an impromptu party, each gathering a bizarre and bemasked affair. The victory that we’d scored up at Beauhammer’s castle but an hour ago now felt hollow; at what cost had it come? Who else would have to pay for my ambitions? How many others would die?

  I tallied those who had sacrificed for me. Neko, of course. The Bonegwayne. The various others who had died and fought for me over the past weeks.

  How many more would I add to that list?

  I saw Tamara clad in her sheathe of blue slate. Cerys in her emerald green. Recalled my vow earlier that day at Alphonse’s shop. What use were promises if I couldn’t keep them?

  No, I thought harshly to myself. No more promises. No more impressive vows. From now on, you’ll simply do better. Think smarter, plan more carefully, and let the results speak for themselves.

  Gathering my wits, I rode back through the town to Iris’ estate. The finer part of town was less active, the festivities taking place inside the mansions and not out on the street, and with only the occasional carriage rumbling over the cobbles or group of masked horsemen riding along in the distance, I was left alone with my bitter thoughts. I turned into the right street, however, not mistaking it in the dark, and rode up to the large wrought iron gate. Dismounted, pushed open the gate, and led the horse inside.

  The manor was far less welcoming at night than it had been during the afternoon. The weeds rose thick and luxurious in the dark, and the mansion itself loomed over the entrance like a brooding beast. A few lights were lit in the ground floor windows, but the vast
majority of the edifice was dark, as if even the arrival of visitors couldn’t rouse it from its state of decay.

  Up I walked, then tied off the horse at a hitching post and let myself inside through the main doors. A fire burned in the parlor’s fireplace, the sight of which immediately brought back a vision of the Bonegwayne, and I shuddered as I crossed the large hall to stop in the archway and gaze at my friends.

  Tamara was yet in her dress, hands clasped before her, and had been speaking earnestly with Netherys and Yashara. Cerys was absent, perhaps changing, while Pogo was trying to read a ledger by the light of the fire, spectacles gleaming in its light. Pony sat hunched over in the corner asleep, half of what might have been a dog still held in one fist, head lolling onto his bony shoulder. Of Iris there was no sign.

  “And?” Tamara took a step toward me. “The ship?”

  “Gone,” I said. “Destroyed. Whomever set it on fire did a masterful job.”

  “Maestria?” asked Yashara. “The crew?”

  “I saw them on the dock. Whomever destroyed the ship didn’t make an effort to kill them. I… didn’t speak to them. They saw me, but… yeah.”

  “By the White Sun,” said Tamara. “The Nautilus company?”

  “Has to be,” I said, moving into the room at last and searching for a drink. “You should have seen the gleam in the father’s eye when the news was announced. Gods but the man savored that moment. His son was all but jerking off in excitement.”

  For awhile nobody spoke, each of us lost in our thoughts.

  I roused myself. “What gold we recover from the ruins. I mean, I know I already owe sizable sums to several of you. But I mean to repay Maestria as best I can. Does… I feel like a fool for asking this, but does anybody know how much a ship costs?”

  Pogo lowered his ledger. “Not with any exactitude, but a ship the size of the Bonegwayne would probably go for about eight or nine thousand gold crowns.”

  “Shit,” I said, and sat heavily in a sheet-covered chair.

  “If you add the sum you owe the Mailed Fist,” continued Pogo, “and other outstanding balances, you are looking at a debt of at least -”

  “No, I don’t think I need it all tallied up just now,” I said, holding up a hand. “I gather it’s an outlandish sum.”

  Yashara crossed her arms over her large chest and leaned against the wall. “Fortunately, we’re descending into what apparently might be a treasure trove tomorrow. If acquiring gold has become a priority, we can spend some time looting as well as striking at the White Suns.”

  “Dangerous,” said Cerys, walking into the living room clad once more in her leathers. I felt a pang of loss. Even now, in all my misery, I missed seeing her bare shoulders and her elegant form draped in that emerald dress. “If we’re going up against the White Suns, we’re going to need to be in our best condition. If we spend our resources and strength on random explorations -”

  The windows burst inward simultaneously. Shards of glass flew across the room as crossbow quarrels punched into the walls around Pony’s head, though five or six of them connected with his skull to devastating effect. His skull shattered, brain matter and blood spattered against the wall behind him, and he would have toppled over were it not for the bolts affixing him to the wall.

  Our reaction was immediate. We dove for cover, drawing blades as we fell, Yashara heaving over a chaise to act as a barrier as we gazed out into the impenetrable dark.

  “You were followed!” barked the half-orc, furious.

  Hadn’t I just promised myself I’d no longer make promises, but instead act smarter? This had to be a record for how quickly someone could fail. Anger and shame curdled within me, and I peered out through the ruined windows into the darkness, trying to sense movement.

  Cerys ran across the room, bent over double, to snatch up her gloom bow where it was propped against the wall by the fireplace, quiver beside it.

  Another round of quarrels shot in through the windows. These thudded into the chairs and chaises we were using as barriers with enough force to punch five or six inches worth of iron heads and shafts through. Yashara let out a snarl of pain - I glanced over and saw that one quarrel had taken her in the shoulder.

  “Kill the fire,” I shouted. “Pogo!”

  The goblin had crouched down behind a footstool, but now darted out, seized the bucket of sand set by the pokers and shovels, and hurled it onto the burning logs. They were immediately doused, the warm cheery light fleeing the room, so that all was left painted in hues of cobalt blue and silver overtones of the darkest black.

  “Heading outside,” said Cerys, and ran out through the archway.

  “Where’s Iris?” I hissed.

  Tamara was crouched by my side. She drew my dagger from my hip and cut a slit down the length of her dress, from hip to hem. That done, she crawled back to where Pony lay.

  Leaving just Yashara, Netherys, and I.

  A dozen shapes leaped in through the windows, arms crossed before their faces, short stabbing blades in hand. I couldn’t make out much in the dark, but the sight of them brought a mad gladness to my heart.

  I rose with a roar, sword drawn, and rushed forward to engage. Yashara was one step behind, both of our weapons flickering purple. The windows incandesced a moment later, and the last of the arrivals found their clothing and flesh catching on jagged shards of glass, so that they tumbled onto the floor instead of landing on their feet.

  And then the night was blades and bodies.

  I fought on instinct alone. Moving, turning, parrying, the purple fire guiding my sword where it needed to go. I laughed, a deep power rising within me born of my guilt and shame, finding release now in this moment, this permission to do whatever I desired, to vent my anger upon these who dared affront me.

  Metal clanged. I sidestepped, blocked, ducked, leaped aside, and then hacked a man’s arm off at the elbow. A blade slid into my back and I stiffened with a scream, only to spin, trapping the sword in my flesh, to slash the edge of my own across the stranger’s face, splitting flesh and carving bone.

  Weakness flooded down my legs from the wound, but a moment later fire surged up from my core to burn it away, and I reached behind to draw the short blade and hold it in my left hand.

  Yashara was a whirlwind off to my left, scimitar cleaving body parts as she fought off her half-dozen attackers. I couldn’t stop to watch, however; I still had four on me, and they were skilled, dangerously so. Two leaped back, sheathing blades and unshouldering crossbows while the other two stood between us, hunched over, masked and hooded.

  I growled deep in my throat. I couldn’t let them load those crossbows. So with a bark of fury I hurled myself forward at the man on the left even as I threw my acquired blade at the right man’s face.

  My foe parried my stab, knocked my blade aside and then slid past me, opening up a deep wound along my ribs as he went. The move was so swift, so slick, that I didn’t even know I’d been cut until he was gone.

  The second parried the hurled knife, knocking it aside, and then leaped at me, wrapping his arms around my waist to bear me to the ground before I could complete my charge at the crossbow men.

  We hit the tiles, rolled, and I kicked the man off. My back was already feeling better, but blood was sheeting down my side from my newest wound. I fought with animalistic fervor, hammering the hilt of my sword into the man’s face till he released me, and then rose to one knee to parry the attack of the other, who lunged in to stab me through the throat.

  For a second it took all the skill I had to just keep his blade from my face; it danced at me like a tongue of flame, and then a purple-and-blue arrow speared clear through his head, knocking him back and off his feet.

  I rose, lifting a leg just as the second man went to cut through it, and caught a glimpse of Netherys fighting alongside Yashara, wielding two swords with lethal ability.

  I hopped forward, kicked the second man across the chin, then turned to take a crossbow bolt straight in the chest.
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  It was like being hit by a battering ram. I staggered back, stunned, over six inches of wood sunken between my ribs, and felt liquid heat within my chest as something strange happened to my left lung. It felt wet and heavy and suddenly I was having trouble breathing.

  I reached up, took hold of the quarrel, and snapped it off.

  The second crossbow man had fallen, an arrow in the back of his head.

  The attacker I’d just kicked rose to his feet. He was tougher than I’d anticipated. Four more men were climbing in through the window. Yashara let out a cry of pain and I saw her fall.

  “Tamara!” My shout cut across the chaos. “Get Pony up! Now!”

  I charged the remaining crossbow man, who threw aside his weapon to draw his blade just in time to parry. I drove him back across the floor, blood spurting out of my mouth with each exhalation. My innards were molten. Blood had soaked down to my leggings. Yet the fire that burned within my core kept me sharp, kept me focused, and when a blade slid between my ribs from behind - again - I swung my sword back and around, felt it sink deep into something, tore it free, and fell upon the crossbow man, ignoring how he hacked at my arm to clasp him by the throat and drive the point of my sword through the back of his mouth.

  Panting, coughing up more blood, I reeled, turned, and saw that Yashara was down. Netherys fought over her with two slender curved blades, her every parry perfect as she was driven back by the three assassins facing her.

  Tamara was bending a candle flame toward Pony’s head. He wasn’t moving. A man stepped in, clobbered her on the temple, and she went down.

  I roared in fury.

  Another ensorcelled arrow from outside, and one of Netherys’ opponents dropped, but he was replaced by one of the reinforcements while three more moved toward me.

  The motherfuckers were wary. I didn’t blame them. I had to look a fucking nightmare. Blood was running down my chin. A bolt was sticking out of my chest. My back was torn to ribbons, my clothing soaked in blood.

 

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