Lord Torath.
Two men in burnished steel armor flanked Lord Torath and Lord Damuria. One scanned the darkness with wary eyes, while the other fixed the Bloody Hand thugs with a cold, hard stare.
"How in the bloody hells are they both here?" she demanded.
"Don't know," Errik answered. "Lord Torath must have been in Lord Damuria's mansion all this time."
"So Sys is watching an empty house?"
"No." Errik shook his head. "The moment I saw the two noblemen leaving, I sent Athar for Sys."
"How will they know where to find you?"
Errik hesitated. "They won't."
Ilanna cursed. "So we're on our own."
"For now. But you said you sent Laken, right?"
Ilanna nodded.
"No one's better at tracking than the Hounds. He'll find Sys and Athar, bring them here." His brow furrowed. "You did tell Laken where you were going, right?"
"He was the one who told me about it," Ilanna said.
"Good." Errik inclined his head. "Then all we need do is wait for the others to arrive."
"And if they don’t?" she asked.
The Serpent's expression grew grim, but he said nothing.
Ilanna left the question hanging in the air and turned her attention back to the activity around the gangway. Lord Damuria and Lord Torath were speaking with the Bloody Hand thugs, their voices too low to overhear from this distance. The heavy-set brutes' posture showed deference, while the two noblemen stood with the confidence of command.
She had lost count of the captives, but she guessed close to two hundred were held in the ship's hold. The final lines of chained girls had descended the gangway and were being herded toward an open-air animal pen beside the shed that held their fellows. The pen was even smaller than the ship, and she caught the stink of old dropping even from this distance.
She placed her lips close to Errik's ear. "We need to get closer. Follow me."
Not waiting for his reply, Ilanna darted behind another shed, ducked beneath a dry-docked skiff, and slipped into the shadows of a pile of wooden barrels. She took a deep breath, catching a whiff of the potent liquor dripping from one leaking cask, and peered toward the dockside. The noblemen stood watching the last of their property being unloaded from the dock. Their casual attitude toward the pitiful column of slave girls set her stomach churning.
Errik tapped twice on her shoulder, a signal for her to move. She sprinted across an open space and slid behind the shed adjacent to the one holding the captives. Without waiting for Errik, she climbed onto the roof and crawled forward to peer over the edge.
Her hand went to the throwing knife in her wrist bracer. She just needed the two noblemen to come a bit closer, and she'd—
"You there!" Lord Damuria's call froze her in place. "Sailor."
"That'll be Captain, sir," the captain of the ship responded, unfazed by the nobleman's disdain. "Captain Dynnys."
"Captain." Lord Damuria's voice dripped contempt. "You were to deliver a full two hundred twenty. By my count, there are only one hundred ninety-five."
Two hundred twenty. The dispassion in Lord Damuria's voice brought acid to her throat. He talks of them like they're sheep or bales of hay.
"'Bout that," the captain said, scratching his stubbled chin, "lost a few of 'em to the Stillwater Fever a few days out. You know how it is, all of 'em packed tight in that hold. Seems like there ought to be room for a margin of error, if you catch my drift. Your masters know as much, at least."
"My masters," Lord Damuria snapped, "expect to receive the goods as promised. You are to be paid for the one hundred ninety-five delivered, rather than the full two hundred twenty heads."
"Now see 'ere—" The captain swallowed his protest as the four Bloody Hand thugs stepped forward. "Right, then. Seems fair 'nuff, I s'pose."
"Good." Lord Damuria turned to Lord Torath. "Pay the man, Echard, and let's be away." Gathering up his robes, the nobleman strode away from the ship. The two Steel Company mercenaries fell into step beside him.
Lord Torath produced a purse, counted out a handful of coins, and tossed the rest to Captain Dynnys. "We expect the next shipment to arrive in better condition. There are always other captains willing to deliver our goods."
The captain muttered something Ilanna didn't hear, and Lord Torath nodded. "See that you do." With a haughty sniff, he turned and followed Lord Damuria into the night.
Ilanna spider-crawled backward until she bumped into Errik. "They're leaving!" she hissed. "We have to stop them."
Errik shook his head. "Not a bloody chance, not just the two of us against all of them. We wait for Sys and—"
"There's only four of them—the two mercenaries and Lord Damuria and Lord Torath. The Bloody Hand stayed to guard the girls. Surely we can work with those odds."
Errik frowned. "I don't like it, Ilanna."
"You don't have to. You just have to do as your Guild Master commands."
He raised an eyebrow. "This is an order then, Master Gold?"
Ilanna hesitated. She knew she was acting in haste, without a plan. It bordered on desperate and foolish. But this was the best chance she'd have to get her hands on Lord Torath, possibly even Lord Damuria as well. Perhaps her only chance, given that the Bloody Hand knew she was in Voramis.
"It is." She drew a dagger. "We've come this far, and I won't leave empty-handed. Besides, we've survived worse odds, right?"
With a sigh, the Serpent drew his own dagger. "Never by choice."
She turned to leave, but Errik's hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"I go first," he said. "No arguments." Not waiting for her reply, he slipped into the shadows.
She followed him, marveling at the utter silence of his step, the way his clothing seemed not to make a sound even as it flapped in the wind. He moved with the grace of a predator, in control of every step. She'd yet to meet anyone who could match him with sword or dagger.
We've got this, she told herself. Two of us against four of them.
Yet try as she might, she couldn't banish the worry. Lord Damuria didn't seem the sort to travel with just two guards. And what if they ran into a Bloody Hand patrol, or someone managed to summon reinforcements? She'd fought Lord Torath in Praamis; he wouldn't surrender without a fight. Too many things could go wrong.
It's worth it, though. I'll swallow a bit of risk if it means we can put an end to this flesh trade tonight.
She froze as Errik held up a hand. After a moment, he pushed her around behind another storage structure that reeked of fish.
He held up four fingers. "Steel Company on the outside, noblemen in the middle." He bent his middle and ring fingers. "Eliminate the mercenaries first."
Ilanna drew out a leaden bullet from her pouch and uncoiled the sling from her wrist. "Those guards chose the wrong day to forget a helmet," she said with a savage grin.
Errik produced a throwing dagger. "Once they're down, think you can handle Torath?"
Ilanna nodded. "He's mine."
"Good. I'll take Damuria. If I can bring him down quick, I'll help you take care of Torath. We do this right, it'll be done in less than a minute. We do this wrong…"
She gripped his arm. "Then let's do it right."
With a quick nod, he pointed toward a stack of wooden crates. "Wait there until they pass, then make your move."
"Got it."
He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Watcher keep you," he said, and slipped away.
"And you," she called quietly after him.
The silence and darkness pressed in on her as she took her place. They'd hurried to get in front of the noblemen, but her targets would pass at any moment. She drew in a deep breath, tasting the salty tang of ocean on the cool night air. In a few minutes, this would all be over.
Her ears pricked up as she caught a faint noise. A heartbeat later, it came again: the faint jingle of armor. She huddled deeper into the shadows and listened for the approachi
ng mercenaries. Her grip on her weapons tightened, and her heart pounded a nervous beat. At any moment, the light of the mercenaries' lamps would brighten the night.
Again, the clank of metal armor reached her ears. That can't be right. The sound came from somewhere off to her right, but Lord Damuria would be coming from her left.
Her brow furrowed. Could the night and her nerves be playing a trick on her mind?
At that moment, Lord Damuria, Lord Torath, and the two Steel Company mercenaries appeared around the corner. The lantern in their hand brightened the night, and their armor clanked with every step.
But there was no mistaking the sound that had come from the opposite direction. Even as she slid deeper into the shadows, she scanned the darkness, ears straining to hear. The clatter of the approaching mercenaries' mail drowned out any other sound.
Had she been imagining it?
Realization hit her like a blow to the gut.
It's a trap!
Chapter Ten
It had to be a trap. The Bloody Hand knew she'd come to Voramis, and they knew what she wanted. What better way to flush her out than offer her a tethered goat?
The four men reached her hiding place and marched past at an unhurried pace. Lord Torath passed within five paces of her, as if tempting her to spring out. But the instinct shrieking in her mind kept her in place. The Bloody Hand had lured her into the empty port at night, and she'd fallen for it.
She had to get out of here, get away before—
One of the Steel Company mercenaries suddenly went rigid, giving a hoarse cough, and crumpled to the ground. Horror surged in Ilanna's gut as a dark figure dropped from the roof of a one-story shed, directly in the path of the three remaining men.
Errik!
She moved on instinct. "It's a trap!"
Even as she screamed the warning, she dropped the bullet into the sling pouch, whirled it twice around her head, and let fly. Her aim was off. The heavy lead projectile she'd intended for Lord Torath crunched into the back of the second mercenary's head. He stumbled forward and fell hard onto his face.
The shadows around them came suddenly alive. Before she could draw another bullet, half a dozen men in burnished steel armor boiled out of the darkness. Booted feet pounded across the port toward them.
The instincts that had kept her alive all these years kicked in, and she whirled to flee back the way she'd come. Two sword-wielding mercenaries leapt out ahead of her, cutting off her escape. With agility honed through decades on the Perch, she raced up a pile of barrels and onto the roof of an animal enclosure.
She had an instant to decide her escape route. Dropping off the far side of the structure, she raced toward the thick shadows between a row of piled crates. If she could just get out of sight long enough, she could—
Four huge figures surged into view. These wore no armor and held truncheons in ham-sized fists. She skidded to a halt—no sense trying to cut her way through those slabs of muscle—and sprinted between two more sheds.
Keeper take it!
"Got you!" Strong arms encircled her waist and a man crashed into her back, bearing her to the ground. She fought to break free, but the man held her fast. "I've got her!" he shouted. "She's—"
Ilanna's small push dagger cut off his words. Gagging, he clapped a hand to his throat, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood pumping from his jugular.
Ilanna shoved him off her and leapt to her feet. Too late. Men carrying lanterns and torches appeared from everywhere. Close to fifteen men—some wearing the burnished armor of the Steel Company, others in dull Bloody Hand garb--surrounded her. She whirled, desperate, but they had cut off her escape.
She slid her sword from its sheath with a whisper of steel on leather. "First one of you bastards to lay a hand on me will find out first-hand whether or not it's possible to live without a cock."
One bull-necked man chortled. "Feisty little thing, ain't she?" He stepped forward, his gaze falling to her sword. "Little pig-sticker like that won't…" He trailed off, his expression growing confused. His hand went to the stiletto that had sprouted in his eye. After a moment, his body seemed to receive the messages sent from his brain, and he collapsed.
Ilanna straightened and hefted another throwing dagger.
A strong, commanding voice spoke behind her. "Master Gold, I presume?"
She whirled, raising the stiletto.
Two Steel Company mercenaries stood between her and Lord Damuria. Beside him, Lord Torath stood, his face frozen in a scowl. "She's the Guild Master?" he asked.
Lord Damuria nodded. "Hair's the wrong color, but there's no mistaking that spirit."
Ilanna snarled. "Come a bit closer and I'll show you what we of the Night Guild think of you Bloody Hand cunts."
Lord Damuria grinned. "Save your vitriol for someone who cares, woman. I'm sure the First will have a wondrous time carving you up and hearing you scream. All that matters to me is that you pay for the interruptions to my business." His face hardened. "Men who cross me tend to end up dead, and none of them have done half the damage you did on your last raid alone. I look forward to the day the Bloody Hand displays your corpse at the city gates."
As the nobleman spoke, Ilanna scanned the crowd of men. She saw no sign of Errik—that could be good or bad, depending on how quickly he realized it had been a trap. The longer she could stall, the greater the chance Sys, Athar, or Laken would show up.
"Tell me, my lords," she snarled. "How can you sleep at night knowing what you're doing to those poor girls?"
Lord Damuria sniffed. "I sleep quite well, thank you."
Lord Torath sneered. "Business is business, isn't that right, Uncle?"
"Quite," Lord Damuria agreed. He gave a dismissive wave. "Prostitution is the oldest profession known to man. We've simply found a way to meet the demand at a significantly lower overhead."
The sound of clanking armor alerted her to movement behind her, and she whirled. "Back!" The tip of her sword carved a gash into the thigh of a Steel Company mercenary too slow to retreat.
"Enough of this!" Lord Damuria sounded bored. "Take her."
Men rushed at her from all sides, too many for her to fight off. She managed to wound three before the others bore her to the ground. Heavy fists slammed into her ribs, head, and face. More than a few hands groped her breasts and between her legs as they held her down. She bit, kicked, and fought with everything she had.
Screams of pain echoed above the ringing in her head. The ring of steel on steel filled the night. She caught a glimpse of a Bloody Hand thug slumping to the ground, a dagger hilt buried in his throat. One of the men holding her down coughed blood and sagged atop her. Another released his hold on her leg and whirled, only to collapse with a cry. Crimson gushed from his throat.
Ilanna ripped her right hand free of a thug's restraining grasp. Seizing the dagger from his belt, she drove it into his groin. He fell back with a pathetic whimper. She drove her boot into the face of the man holding her other leg, slashing out with the stolen dagger at the last man beside her. Her first attack opened a shallow gash along his forearm. The follow-up blow carved a long, deep line from his elbow to his wrist.
One mercenary rushed her, sword held high. Her low thrust kick shattered his unprotected knee. He fell, and she leapt onto his back. The tip of her dagger severed the base of his spine with the ease of a smith's hammer crushing a watermelon.
"Get me out of here!" Lord Damuria's booming voice rang out above the sounds of battle.
Ilanna's head snapped around. Six Steel Company mercenaries ringed Lord Damuria, weapons held at the ready. Lord Torath stood just outside the protective circle. He gripped his slim fencing sword in a steady hand, his face a mask of fury.
"Let's go!" Lord Damuria shouted.
With the precision of a military company, the mercenaries retreated, keeping Lord Damuria at the center of their formation. Lord Torath seemed too preoccupied with the fighting to realize he was being left alone. When he finally glan
ced back, his eyes went wide.
"Wait for me, Uncle!" he cried.
Ilanna's hand dipped into her pouch, drawing out a lead bullet and fitting it into her sling. She whipped the leather thong around her head and forward. Her aim was true. The projectile struck the back of Lord Torath's knee, and she heard the crack of shattering bone. He fell with a cry. "Uncle!" he wailed.
Lord Damuria hesitated, but the Steel Company mercenaries dragged him away. Ilanna caught one last glimpse of the blond-haired, bearded nobleman before he disappeared into the shadows.
An enraged cry brought her attention back to her immediate surroundings. A huge Bloody Hand thug charged her, truncheon raised to strike. Ilanna's eyes darted around in search of a weapon. She couldn't face this massive brute empty-handed.
"Ilanna!" Errik's cry came from behind the onrushing thug.
At that moment, a figure materialized beside her, a long sword thrusting over her shoulder. Unable to stop himself, the charging thug impaled himself on the blade. His collapsing body bowled her over, sending her flying into her rescuer.
The impact knocked the wind from her lungs and set her head spinning. She caught a glimpse of a groaning Athar, who lay beneath the immense weight of the thug. Blinking to clear her vision, she struggled upright. Her hand dropped to her belt, but her sword and daggers were gone. A heavy truncheon lay on the floor. She bent to scoop it up.
A cry of pain pierced her ears. Athar lay pinned beneath a Bloody Hand thug, a dagger driven into the meat of his shoulder. The Voramian ripped the dagger free and raised it to strike once more.
Ilanna crossed the distance to Athar in a single bound and brought the truncheon crashing down on the Bloody Hand thug's head. The wood cracked in her hand, and the impact left a deep indentation in the top of the brute's skull. He toppled to the side without a sound.
Seizing the dagger, Ilanna whirled to face a new threat. She had a moment to breathe, to evaluate the battle. Errik and Sys were engaged with four Bloody Hand thugs, while Laken fought off a Steel Company mercenary. The Hound was holding his own, but a gash in his leg slowed his movements. He wouldn't last much longer.
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