Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8)

by Lucas Thorn

  An image of Raste crashed into her head and she had to work to keep her face from showing emotion. Returned his tone; “All at once, or one at a time?”

  “They’ll be in different rooms. But the same, ah, place.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “It will be.” He nudged the vial. “But that should make it a whole lot easier.”

  “How?” Couldn’t hide the doubt.

  “It’s one of the Order’s most guarded alchemical secrets.” He looked left and right before speaking. “Drink it and you’ll see a thread of light leading to each target. The thread disappears when the target’s dead. It’s not easy to make. Took three days and too much fucking pissing about. I doubt I could make another for these specific targets. And it doesn’t last all that long. Hours at most. So don’t waste it. Oh, I should also let you know it doesn’t taste too good, either. Try not to spit it up.”

  She lifted the vial.

  Watched orange contents swirl. Beads of light awash within a molten acid sea.

  “That’s all it does?” Suspicious. “It won’t fuck up my head, will it? I’ll need my wits.”

  “No. It’s not that kind of brew.” Pursed lips. Then sigh. “It’s an alchemical tracer, okay? That’s all it does. Fuck, I hate explaining this shit to new recruits. Every time. Tantalon, they say, this one’s different. Smart. Worldly. And every time, they’re wet behind the ears. No offence, long-ear, but with you that’s an awful lot of wet. Let’s just agree you know nothing about alchemy and cut to the bit where you drink the fucking thing.”

  She unstoppered the vial. Watched contents glitter bright as fumes uncoiled like ghost snakes.

  Sniffed.

  Acrid stink like magic.

  Winced.

  Upended it into her beer.

  Tantalon hissed. “What the fuck?”

  “You said it tasted like shit,” she said. Drank deep. Ran tongue across the back of her teeth as the beer helped mute the bitter taste. “You weren’t wrong. But this helped.”

  “Grim’s fucking putrid breath, I hate new recruits.”

  “Got any other tasks, old man?”

  “Old?”

  Finishing her drink, the elf set the cup down. Reared uncomfortably from her seat.

  Her eyes felt warm.

  Tingled in their sockets. Feeling of sweat beneath eyelids.

  A soft orange trail was slowly forming in front of her. Floating just above the ground and snaking its way to the front door. Glittering with energy.

  “Take that as a no.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Heading to my room, feller. You ain’t invited.”

  The old Taskmaster pushed up from his chair. Pressed against her shoulder but stopped short of reaching out. Spoke fast. Voice measured and low. “One more thing…”

  “I got a feeling there’ll always be small print with you, feller.”

  “I know what you are.”

  Something in his eyes froze the spaces between her bones. The worms, drifting soft, stopped. Strangled muscle as though gorging on the elf’s icy fear and feeding her hate. Urging her to reach out.

  Grab him by the throat.

  Squeeze answers from him.

  “Ain’t sure what you mean.”

  “Yeah, you do. But I ain’t gonna tell anyone. All I’m saying is, when this is over, come see me. I have a place over the Startled Buck. It’s in the Verminpit. I see you know where that is. Meet me there. I think I can help.” Licked his lips. Breathed the next words so soft she could only just make them out. “When you’ve killed your last target, run. Don’t wait. Don’t try to hide. Just run. You can’t trust them.”

  “Who?”

  “Any of them.” Shrug. “It’s all turning to shit. I can feel it in my bones. Something bad is happening. Whatever was in the ziggurats was just a shadow from the past. Not the real thing. Hideg’s playing with shit none of us understand. In a way, I hope you fail.”

  Desperation was a layer of pain beneath his breath.

  “Reckon I know what you are, too,” she said. “You’re confused.”

  “If you’d seen what I’ve seen...” Shudder. “I went inside. Not the first time. The second. With Dreadaxe. Even he was uncomfortable in there. There’s things on the walls. Writing. Glyphs. Pictures. Terrible things. Things you can’t understand. And the walls themselves? Something horrible made them. Something ancient and terrifying. He wants to wake it. Will it thank him? Reward him? I doubt it.”

  “You’re talking betrayal.”

  “No.” Harsh. “No, not betrayal. I have an oath. I’m talking self-preservation. I want to live, long-ear. I’m too old to fight. But I can help. I know things. Things you might not know yourself, no matter how long you’ve had it within you. I’m willing to tell you everything I can. But if he succeeds, I’ll want out. Out of the city. Maybe out of the Fnordic Lands! And you can ensure it. You’re strong. If anyone can get me out, it’s you.”

  “He’s paying me a lot.”

  “Is he?” Bitter twist of mouth. “I can pay you with something more valuable than gold. Your kind can make gold wherever you go, but he can’t give you what you really seek! I can see it in your eyes. You don’t know anything. You’re just living with it. Don’t you want to know what it really is?”

  She did.

  More than anything.

  “I’ll think about it, feller.” Her mouth curled as she turned away. Drawled; “But I’m sure you’ll be fine in the end. After all, you’re a feller with solutions.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Her mind turned the Taskmaster’s words over and over in her head.

  What did Tantalon know? How much was guesswork? How much was hope?

  She could turn around. Could drag him out into the alley behind the inn.

  Give him a good kicking.

  Tickle his vitals with Go With My Blessing.

  Tear him to pieces until everything he knew was pouring from his mouth like an open wound. But would that get the truth?

  The Jukkala knew torture only drew forth the simple truths. Complex ones were harder to retrieve. Sometimes impossible.

  And Tantalon belonged to the Order. He’d spent most of the conversation looking around. He wouldn’t be alone.

  Someone she hadn’t noticed had been there, she was sure of it. Maybe more. The three guards seemed to be talking about getting into the bodyguard business. They didn’t seem to be interested in the old alchemist, but maybe they were better than she’d given them credit for.

  Maybe.

  Doubted it.

  As she walked upstairs, her hand fisted around the knife on her hip as frustration worked at her guts. Jaw clenched tight. Eyes narrow violet slits. She could feel heat course through her body, inflaming emotions.

  Breathing life into coals she’d thought cold and unresponsive.

  Confusion whittled in her ears. A breathless click clack scrape of possibilities speaking wordless into her mind.

  Talek’s Cage seemed to burn in her pocket, begging her to take it out.

  Look at it.

  Study it.

  Remember the frozen darkness ripping into her arm.

  At the top of the stairs, she was barely holding back a snarl. Half-turned to head back downstairs. Into the taproom.

  Out the door. Into the street.

  Follow him.

  Find any who were with him.

  Kill them.

  Rip the truth out of the bastard.

  What stopped her short was the sight of a cloaked figure knelt in front of her door. Lockpick in hand.

  Service to the Clown was torn from its sheath beneath the loose bracer on her left arm. Flashed in the light. Took flight from fingers. Caught in a whisper of steel.

  Not loud.

  But loud enough.

  The figure gave a start and threw himself back, slamming into the opposite wall as the thin blade slipped across his nose and drove into the doorframe. Stuck with an angry quiver.

&
nbsp; “Again, you surprise me.” Rasped. Spun toward her, a fighter’s crouch. No weapon in hand. Amused despite everything. “But I still can’t tell if you’re good, or just lucky.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Couldn’t. The echo of her need to kill was consuming her. Constricting her throat. Unable to kill the Taskmaster for his secrets, she eyed the cloaked figure of a man who’d called himself Viktor Crowlee and hungered to spill his blood.

  Hungered with a need she was unwilling to deny.

  Words forgotten, she moved instead.

  Darted up the narrow hallway, A Flaw in the Glass flaring venomous in her hand. The green enchantment curled around steel and lit her fist with eldritch glow.

  Blind speed thrust for his throat as worms inside her flesh made muscle dance and nerves flash. The blade cruised toward skin and the throbbing wet crimson ready to burst from within.

  He turned with the curve of her strike, spewing a curse as he swept under the knife’s bright edge. And kept moving.

  She felt his boot slam into her shin, but planted her weight and sent her left fist ploughing into ribs. A blow he couldn’t avoid.

  Soaking her punch with a gasp, he showed his own speed by dodging two quick slashes of her blade. Tried to leap past, but she slammed her knee into his hip. Drove him against the wall.

  Arm lifted high then came down fast.

  He caught her wrist. Both hands.

  Her strength nearly killed him, but he managed to stop the blade only a short sliver from his eye. Stared into the venomous glow for a moment, then swung against her arm. Kicked off the wall with a sputtered grunt.

  Left hand whipped into her shoulder.

  Pain exploded as the tips of his fingers jabbed deep into knots of nerve and muscle.

  Shocked, she watched A Flaw in the Glass drop from numb fingers. Clattered to the ground. She’d never felt anything like it. A wave of terrifying emptiness swept down the limb in the wake of impact.

  What had he done?

  Then he hit her again, sucking breath with the raw effort needed to evade the reflex kick she aimed at him.

  Left shoulder this time.

  She staggered away, wheeling her torso. Useless limbs flopping. Unable to feel her hands. Blind panic brought her leg up to form a barrier between them as he lunged low.

  Hoped to snap her leg out to kick him off. Send him bouncing away.

  To get a chance to figure out what he’d done to her. But his arms crossed the feeble barrier, fingers jabbing deep.

  Twice.

  Then a punch to the gut, and she crumpled like a puppet on cut strings

  Stared at him, eyes wide with absolute confusion as he heaved breath into lungs and flexed his fingers before rubbing wrists. Threw the hood back to reveal his face.

  Sleek.

  That was the first word which came to her mind.

  Without the putty and paints, he looked sleek and sharp. Feral features tight across skull surrounding two bright green eyes. Jaw licked with stubble. Sweat gleaming on his forehead as the aftermath of violence slowly drifted away.

  Under the cloak, he wore simple street clothes. Nothing special. Grey and blue. Mottled and not too clean. A few stains. Couple of tears hastily repaired. Just a man in the crowd.

  Hatchet tucked against hip.

  He made no move to draw it.

  Instead, as she watched, paralysed and cold with fear, he bent to retrieve her knife. Held A Flaw in the Glass and twirled it to get a look at the enchantment.

  “Don’t see many of these,” he said. Whistled through his teeth. “You want to be careful with it. They’re worth a lot in Doom’s Reach. Shit, they’re worth a lot anywhere. Never seen an enchant like this, though. What’s it do?”

  She spoke between clenched teeth, lips wet with spit.

  Had to force each syllable across reluctant tongue.

  “You try taking that with you and you best kill me now. Because I’ll find you. I’ll kill you in ways you can’t imagine.”

  “I’m sure you’d try.” He crouched next to her. Stared into her eyes. Expression curious. Close. Searching a beast’s eyes for trace of humanity. “You know, Nysta, I’m good at what I do. I’ve been doing it for a lot of years. I’ve infiltrated places no one else could. Even did the Mage Tower at Godsfall, once. That was tough. I’ve been watching you. You’re good at getting away from me. Nearly led me down more than one dead end as you tried to catch me out. You’ve been closer than anyone ever has. Yet, to look at you like this, you’re not much more than a thug. A step or two above a street urchin. You’ve got no finesse. No art. Just instinct. And it works for you. Amazing. Really, it is.”

  The elf glared. “My knife.”

  “This? I could sell it.”

  Thrashing, she tried to replace feeling in her arms with solid hate. Enough hate, and she was sure she could get her fingers to move. To grab him by the throat.

  Could feel nothing, though.

  Not even the worms. It was like they’d been shocked into stillness.

  “Bastard,” she spat. “When I-”

  “Yeah. I know.” Slid A Flaw in the Glass into its sheath on her hip. Patted it like a child he was saying goodbye to. “But I don’t need your knife. That ain’t why I’m here. Just here to keep tabs on you is all. You know. Make sure you don’t do anything too stupid. Like what you’re doing for Hideg. I tried to warn you about him, but it seems you won’t listen to good advice. They told me that about you, at least. So, I’m gonna give you some slack. Mostly because I’m sick of working so fucking hard. But also to let you find out the hard way that sometimes the advice you get ain’t a leash. Sometimes it’s a shield. Try to remember that, when this is all over.”

  “Your name ain’t Crowlee. So, who are you?”

  “That ain’t important just yet. We’ll meet again, of course. And yeah, I’ll still be watching you. From a very good distance from now on.” He patted his side where her fist had landed. “You punch hard, but it’s about where you punch as much as how tough you hit. You’re supposed to be Jukkala. Either you didn’t finish their training, which is a shame. Or, you didn’t think it was worth remembering. Which is stupid. You’d do well to remember. Especially if you plan on doing what Hideg wants. You really going to follow through with his Iron Day shit? It’s a scam, you know. If I had an apprentice fall for that, I’d slit his throat to save anyone else the trouble.”

  She bared teeth. Felt a tingle of sensation return to her shoulder. “You really all that interested? How about you stick around? Maybe we’ll talk about it.”

  “I don’t know what shit for brains kind of fuckheads you’re used to dealing with, but I ain’t one of them. I know you’ll be wriggling about soon. And you’ll feel like fighting. But try to remember we ain’t enemies. If we were, I’d kill you right now. Then take that pretty knife of yours with me.”

  He turned to walk away, aware of her violet gaze trying to stare holes into his back.

  As he headed to the stairs, she clenched her jaw.

  Felt a finger move on her left hand.

  Said; “I finished. The training.”

  Shrug. “Then remember.”

  “You sure whoever’s got you in their pocket would want that?”

  That stopped him.

  Slight turn.

  Smiled over his shoulder. A feral smile which showed the tips of his teeth. “Sure. Why not? Told you before, Nysta. We ain’t your enemy.”

  When he was gone, she struggled to work her legs. Could feel the worms roaming like a listless school through her body. Armies of ants crawling down veins and arteries. Insects creeping drunk down her spine.

  She tried not to think about them. Tried to think about getting onto her feet instead.

  Getting into her room.

  Shoulder pressed against the wall. Legs wobbling as she pushed herself up. Was still struggling to slide up the hall when she heard movement on the stairs.

  Her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t mak
e a grab for her knives.

  Not yet.

  Heard a gasp of breath.

  “Nysta?”

  “Myrna.”

  “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” Sourly. “Just met a feller who knocked me off my feet is all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Myrna helped her inside, grunting as she became a crutch to the limping elf.

  “Usually it’s because they’re drunk,” the barmaid muttered. “Not because they’ve been playing in the hall. What’d you do? Fall over?”

  The elf leaned on the barmaid and shook her head. Winced with every step. “Forget about it. He just had a real disarming style is all.”

  Myrna frowned.

  Looked at floor.

  The walls.

  Ceiling. Then doors.

  Sighed. “Which one’s he in? I’ll get Bograt to scrub up.”

  “He’s long gone,” the elf said. Felt a dart of heat through her heart. “Nothing to clean up. Just my pride is all. Left it all over the fucking floor. Reckon Bograt’s got a big enough mop to clean that shit up?”

  Pain made nerves twitch as she rolled onto her bed. Then every muscle cramped with a suddenness that made her nearly cry out.

  The gasp which did escape lips mingled with Myrna’s sigh.

  “This is what happens when you fight as much as you do,” she said. “One day you meet someone who’s better. What if he was mean, like you? What if he’d killed you? What then?”

  “Relax,” the elf dug thumbs into her thigh, trying to work the muscle loose. “Rent’s in my pocket, so my debt’s clean.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” Pause while pain subsided. “You bring any food?”

  “I’ll get the tray.” Stopped at the doorway and looked back. Teeth resting across bottom lip before speaking. “Nysta, will you be around over the next few days?”

  Something in Myrna’s voice made her look up. Violet eyes narrowing slightly. “You got a problem needs taking care of?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I don’t know.” The barmaid pressed a hand to the doorframe and tapped her fingers. Nervous twitch. “It could be nothing. But I told you before. About Powell’s family. Maybe I didn’t make it clear. They didn’t like when he left. His uncle more than most. Well, they come around sometimes. They make offers. They argue. Threaten him. It’s just a feeling, but it seems like it’s getting more serious. A man came by this afternoon. He made threats.”