Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  Twists and turns later, Rayph reached the Lab, the pub he stayed in now, and he ducked in the door. The stench of the place assaulted him. He thought of the pleasant aroma of the Rain Barrel, and he sighed. He slipped past the crowd and headed up to his room. The floor protested as he trod upon it. The creaking racket poised to wake the whole pub, but that was part of the building’s charm. Every one of the patrons in these rooms could hear every time the floor creaked. This was a place for the nervous, a place for the hunted. Rayph waved a hand over his lock and negated the magic he had left on it. He entered the room quickly and locked himself in.

  The scent of a man filled his nostrils, and he spun. He pulled his spells to his mind and spit out his first. The room was thrown instantly into light and a figure on the far side of the room stood and shielded his eyes. Rayph sprang forward, ripping open the air and catching his sword. The steel flashed in the painful light before it blocked the attack. Rayph spun, lashing out again and again at the intruder as his eyes adjusted to the light.

  Red cloak, slight build, beard. Rayph pulled back, and the man leapt across the bed, putting it between him and Rayph. He could see the gold filigree on the cloak’s hem, and he slipped his sword back into its dimension and showed his palms.

  “My apologies,” Rayph said. “I came in to your intrusion and thought the worst.” He looked the man in the face, seeing something he recognized but couldn’t place. The man kept his hood pulled low and backed to the wall.

  “Who are you?” Rayph asked.

  “Fringe,” the man replied. His words were hushed, almost a whisper.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I want to help.”

  “What help can you be?”

  “I can find the one you seek.”

  “I seek two.”

  “Your man,” Fringe struggled with the words and shook his head in frustration. “He’s a good man, but he is not my concern. I know where they hold the little girl. She holds my allegiance.”

  Rayph nodded. “Smear would want me to concentrate on her before him.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I know not. He has not answered my hailing, but that could mean many things.”

  “What of the rest of your allies? Where are they?”

  He knew too much for Rayph’s taste, but there was no lying. Rayph must trust this man. His only other option was walking into Julius’s trap. “Dissonance stands ready to march. She is with me.”

  “What of the others?”

  “Dreark is not to leave his post. Drelis is more of an advisor.”

  “So it is me, you, and Dissonance?”

  “So it would seem. Where is the girl?”

  “She is in the dungeon of the castle of Song.”

  The words rebelled against all sense. “Shalimarie is being held in her father’s dungeons?”

  “Three generations ago, the lord of Song sealed the dungeons up. He declared his house would not keep their enemies under their foundations any longer. Instead, enemies of the Song family would be charged as criminals and placed in Jailor’s District, under the control of the church of Tyr, god of Justice. Lord Song denied his right to condemn a man or woman to his darkness. He expected for all the lords of Lorinth to hear about it.”

  “Why didn’t I remember this? Brock Song sealing his dungeons, of course, he wished to start a trend of justice among the lords and ladies of Lorinth, but none followed suit. They have her in that pit?”

  “They do.”

  “It is horrible, though I see the brilliance of it. The one place in the world none would look for her would be under her own roof.” Rayph shook his head. “There is only one way to that dungeon, one way other than the portal Julius controls. We will have to walk in the front door.”

  “You are a wanted man,” Fringe said.

  “I am. No matter how much Lady Song wants me to find her daughter, if I am discovered under her roof, by her hand, her family could lose their title. I must find another ally.” Rayph strode to the small splintering table in the corner and grabbed a scrap of paper from his satchel. With a flare of his hand and the spitting of a word, he produced quill and ink. He jotted a quick missive and handed it to his new ally.

  Fringe ran over it a few times in his head and nodded. “I will see it delivered,” he said. He walked to the window and slipped out the shutter. Rayph returned to the window to examine the spell he had set there, only to see it still set and prepared to burn to cinders any who would dare enter his window. He sat on his bed and scratched his head.

  “Who in the nine hells was that?”

  The rain became a storm that ripped through the town, reaching into every crevice and scouring every nook as if in search of Shalimarie Song. Rayph walked through the wrath until he found the Mud Puddle again, and he ducked into its shadows. Behind the door, the mood of the crowd seemed pensive. Dancers strutted across the stage clad in ghastly colors. Their skin leaked a harsh smelling sweat, their bodies seeming filthier when oiled with cheap scented perfumes. Every man they attempted to entice appeared more annoyed with them than aroused. The bar sat gloomily drinking in a slow, seething state of morose.

  Could the common man care so much about the Song girl that he would find himself in this sort of stupor? Rayph thought it improbable. These men and women were children of the underworld. This was an agitated state of fret. Kriss was digging into these people. From looking at this group, Kriss had managed to corral them all, to hammer them under his rule, and every single one of them was angry and scared about it. This place was stuffed with Rayph’s enemies, and he shook his head, scolding himself a fool for setting the meeting here.

  The dark corner was occupied and, though he knew he should keep his profile low, he could not help himself but to flash a fist of green fire at the men sitting there. Every man jumped to his feet and rushed away. Rayph wondered at his arrogance and took his seat. Those he ousted found a spot at the end of the bar and turned, looking at him, their fear giving way to anger. Rayph cursed and turned to watch the door.

  Hours later, the door opened for a thin woman in wet red robes and a black cloak against the weather. Her eyes looked the bar over, her face squealing up in disgust. She looked to Rayph’s corner, and he flashed his hand. Only a wizard could have seen his symbol. She pulled her cowl low and stomped to Rayph’s corner.

  “I ought to arrest you right now,” she hissed as she sat. “I’m a fool for anything else.” Kristla the Red pulled her hood back, and her eyes flashed with rage. “Tell me why, of all people, you would reach out to me?”

  “I trust you, and your priorities.”

  “My priorities are to serve the lord and city of Song.”

  “Your priority is to find Shalimarie.”

  “The king proclaims you the culprit of that heinous crime.”

  A tingle of anger rolled up Rayph’s back, and he shook his head. “Do you believe that?”

  She looked at him as if he were insane.

  “Good. Listen, I need your help,” he said.

  “You killed the court wizardess. The king said you were consumed with jealousy.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  She huffed. “You haven’t told me your side of the thing, so I don’t know what to believe. The Rayph I know is not capable of that crime. The shaming, maybe, but not the murder.”

  “I did not kill the Lady Twilight, Kristla. Black Cowl did.”

  Her eyes lit up.

  “You felt him, didn’t you?" Rayph said. “His little ripple of power, you felt it even in your tower across the city.”

  She said nothing.

  He nodded and continued. “Now you know what happened. I was framed by the leader of the Stain. Now I’m a criminal and cannot fight him as effectively.”

  “He is foul to his core,” she stated.

  “He is. Soon he will start sending his bounty hunters after me. He will not come himself, but he will worry me to the bone with attacks of lesser men.”


  Rayph leaned close to Kristla and grabbed her arm, half pulling her across the table. She looked at him with alarm, and Rayph realized how desperate he was. “I found her, Kristla. I found Shalimarie.”

  The wizardess’s eyes lit up as if sparked to fire. She stared dumb for a while before she said. “Give her to me.”

  “I don’t have her yet. I need your help for that part.”

  “What did you do with her?”

  “I didn’t take her, Kristla.” Her accusation wounded him, and he decided not to show it. “I found a man who knows where she is.”

  “The one you sent with the letter?”

  “The same.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Called himself Fringe. I believe him to be a guardian of the city.”

  “One I have not heard about?”

  Rayph nodded.

  The wizardess shook her head. “What has he told you?”

  “Before I tell you, you must promise to stay and listen to everything I say before you rush off.”

  Kristla nodded, annoyed.

  “She is in your dungeons.”

  Kristla’s face dropped open. She stared bewildered. She nodded and punched the table. “It’s brilliant. Who has her?”

  “Julius Kriss.”

  She stood, turning for the door.

  “You gave your word,” Rayph said.

  Kristla turned back to him and shook her head. “She is under my roof,” the mage said. “How am I supposed to let that stand for even another moment?”

  “Sit and plot with me. Julius is not one to rush against without a plan.”

  She sat back down.

  “What will you do?” he said.

  “I will batter down the stones that seal the dungeons, and I will lead a hundred men in after her.”

  “And he will slip away after killing your hundred men with his army.”

  “What army?” she asked.

  “This one,” he said, waving his hand around the room. “Criminals all, and every one of them lamenting their lot to be under the yoke of Kriss. But every one of them is too frightened to move against him.”

  “You brought me here to a lair of the enemy?” She cast a look around as fear filled her eyes.

  “The entire city is the lair of the enemy.” He grabbed her chin and turned her gaze to him. “I have a plan.”

  “Of course you do. Does it involve me smuggling you into the castle?”

  Rayph nodded. “My allies and I, yes.”

  “Does it involve me rushing into this battle with you?”

  “If you give me your word you will obey my commands, I will take you with me.”

  “You’re an arrogant man, Rayph Ivoryfist. How dare you think I would let you order me about in my own domain?”

  “I have been called arrogant before. And many times, I have suffered for it. But in this, I must have your obedience. If you charge in with me, you must follow my instructions to the letter. If I tell you to run, you run. When I tell you to fight, you fight. If I tell you to take an ally to safety, you do so without question.” He looked at her with his appraising eye and wondered if she would do it no matter what she said. Could he count on her to get Smear to safety should they find him? Would he be marching her to her death, putting her against the likes of Slinter and Julius? She was not a Manhunter, not his choice of people to fight beside. But he couldn’t do it without her, and he couldn’t hold her back now.

  “Will you help me?” Rayph asked.

  “I will get you in. It will be a problem, but I will get you in.”

  “I have an idea for that.”

  The Friend of Kuck Street

  Konnon recognized the dagger sticking in the door of the pub and he grinned. He looked around before pulling it from the wood and setting it on the ground gently. He entered the Rain Barrel and pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head.

  The main hall was warm and shadowed, lit by the sun that streamed in through colored windows. The tables were stout, the chairs looked comfortable and he found one in the middle of the room and sat at it. He let his mind clear and he smelled a familiar smell of his favorite meal, roasted chicken and olives. He laughed and opened his eyes.

  “Already ordered for me, huh?” He looked up to see no one sitting at his table. He looked at the waitress and almost teared up. “Trys?” he said. “Is it you?”

  “Hey, darlin’, what are you in town for?” Her smile reminded him of Tiera. Her laugh, when it spattered out of her mouth, reminded him of his dead wife, and Konnon closed his eyes and smiled.

  “It is good to see you again, Trys. Taking your hand at wenching, I see?”

  “What is it with men and that word? You know, I’ve been working at this place for a few months now, and no woman has ever called me ‘drink wench’.”

  “What would you rather me call you?” Konnon asked.

  “Friend, cousin,” Trysliana said. “Anything but wench.”

  “Can you sit?” he asked. She looked around, peered into the shadows of the room, and smiled.

  “I have a minute,” Trysliana said. “How is Bree?”

  Konnon fought hard against the tears but he could not stave them off. She touched his shoulder and he sobbed. “The medicines aren’t helping much anymore. She can’t feel anything as high as the top of her thigh. The powders are holding it back but I think she is working up an immunity.”

  Trysliana grasped his hand and squeezed.

  “I need money, Trys. I am desperate for it. I have found a wizard who can heal the sickness. She will never walk again, but at least she won’t starve to death.” Konnon looked at the meal before him, his favorite he had ever eaten, and he shook his head. He knew he would not be able to eat it.

  “So you are here looking for money?” she asked.

  “And other things, but yeah,” Konnon said.

  “I have a little I can give you,” she said. “A few gold, not much. How much do you need?”

  “Three thousand gold will cure her,” Konnon said. He broke into fresh tears and shook his head. “I have nothing. I work and fight and do what I can, but I can only seem to scratch up enough to keep her from dying. Glyss is helping but we can’t get ahead. We need a miracle.” He wiped his eyes with his palms and grunted. “I’m losing her. She is all I have left of Tiera and I am losing her.”

  Trysliana listened to him talk for an hour. She heard him talk about Brole and the hate Konnon had for him. She let him talk about the struggle to smile that he fought every time he saw his daughter.

  She told him about her life as a drink wench and he laughed.

  “You’re in love,” he said.

  “I’m in lust,” she said.

  “Lie.”

  “He is fun but he is passing through,” she said. “Maybe I am, too. Within a month he will be gone.”

  “What happened to ‘no man will ever break this heart’? What happened to my cousin’s tough shell of a heart?”

  “No man will ever tame me, Konnon. That has not changed,” Trysliana said.

  “But if he stayed, you would too?” Konnon asked.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” She bent and kissed his head. “You need a bath.” She swatted him with her towel and walked away.

  “Thanks, Glyss, I needed this,” Konnon said.

  When he met up again with Artiss, the man scowled at him. “Give me the slip again and I will dock you in pay. We are supposed to be walking these streets together,” he said.

  “Sorry, I needed to check something.”

  “What did you need to check out?” Artiss stared at him with a distrustful eye and Konnon had to change that.

  “I talked to a contact.”

  “What contact? Where?”

  “If I told you that, she would be our contact, not mine,” Konnon said. “I can’t give up all my friends to you, Artiss. They are all I have.”

  “Friends, two terrible swords, a mind that could set your skull on fire and the charm of a rabid dog.
I would say you have a lot of assets. Tell me of your friend and what you found out from her,” Artiss said.

  “She said the bounty hunters have stopped coming into Song.”

  “That is bad news. They must know something I don’t. Maybe Rayph has moved on,” Artiss said. “Maybe I should stick my ear out wider and find out what rock he is hiding under.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not convinced,” Konnon said. “Tama would know if we were on a cold trail. And I have an itch right behind my spine. Tells me a fight is on. He is still here. Rayph still walks these streets. The only thing to take from my friend’s words is this: the competition is draining out of this city.”

  “And their blood is draining into the sewers. Two more bounty hunting crews died last night. Mysterious deaths, daggers in hearts, throats slashed. Perfect kills. Assassinations, really,” Artiss said.

  “Was it Kriss?”

  “No, the corpses didn’t tell that tale. After your brawl a few nights ago, that brings the total number of hunters in this city to three crews. Ours, what is left of Tralop’s men, and a duo out of Tienne no one knows much about.”

  Tama walked out of a building, and Konnon could smell the scent of her magic in the air. “We have been summoned,” she said. “Twice.”

  “Summoned to whom?” Artiss asked.

  “We have all been called to a meeting with Titus Medey. And after that, Julius wants to talk to us,” Tama said.

  Artiss looked at Konnon.

  “As much as it pains me to say, let’s go see Julius first,” Konnon said.

  “He hasn’t set the place or the time. Medey has demanded that all hunters meet with him today at noon in Stem Square,” Tama said. “We need to go now if we are going to make it.”

  Medey stood in the courtyard, glaring down from the stand that had been constructed, and he looked ready to catch fire. The square was filled with his Demons, and the king stood swaying beside him.

  When Barrigan saw the Demons, he turned and walked off. He had history with Medey and his fighting men. History he would not have repeated. Tama did not like this much attention, and so it was Artiss and Konnon surrounded by Demons and a few other men and women. He also saw a number of commoners. They were nothing of light and cheery. These were criminals and murderers. They were the trash of the streets of Song, and Konnon knew Julius had sent them all. When Medey’s eyes scanned the crowd, Konnon pulled up his hood and kept his gaze down.