Scion of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 8)

by Lucas Thorn

  Key.

  Pushed into the hole. Soft.

  Almost lovingly.

  Turned.

  He should’ve kept Loper’s knife.

  He looked around.

  Nothing.

  Screamed, the frustration whipping his guts; “Fuck!”

  And the door was kicked open.

  No.

  Not kicked.

  Punched.

  She punched it open with her fist.

  He acted without thought. Both hands grabbed the desk and sent it flying toward the doorway. It crashed hard against the frame with enough force to split down the middle.

  Not enough to worry her, though.

  She didn’t look the type to worry.

  The elf just stood there. Enchanted knife in one hand. Venomous green light swirling around blade. Around her wrist. Runes glittering inside the steel.

  Blood dripping from the upswept curve.

  A terrifying knife.

  A knife made for murder.

  She took a step inside.

  Face wet with Loper’s blood.

  She was grinning. Showing teeth in mad grin. Violet eyes so bright they seemed to glow red.

  “Please,” he said. Held a hand out. “Please. Don’t kill me. I’ll give you anything. I promise. Anything.”

  She took another step. Rolled her shoulders.

  Power.

  There was so much power in her that he felt sick. He’d seen men toughened by war. Had worked with some of the worst gangs in Dragonclaw. Even assassins. But when she looked at him, he felt terror in a way he’d never felt before.

  It had, he thought with bitterness, been a day of emotions.

  She wiped blood from her face with back of her fist.

  The slow advance.

  Careful.

  Predatory.

  “Please?” He tried one more time. Sucked in his belly as though he could avoid the knife just by shrinking into the wall. Couldn’t help wondering what piece of his body she was about to cut free. Shuddered, feeling his bowels creep inside his belly. “Please. Anything, I swear. There’s got to be something I can offer you? Something you want.”

  “Sure, feller,” she said at last. Voice frozen and hard. “Like you, I reckon I’m looking to turn a few tables.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The elf sat on Vor’s bed.

  Knife in her right hung lazy from numb fingers.

  The last of Vor’s guards had been tough.

  Big scar-faced bastard. She’d had to tear him open from hip to shoulder to stop him. Even then, he’d kept crawling toward her. Like his hate might be enough to kill her.

  Wasn’t.

  She’d hacked his throat open. Then reduced his back to ribbons as she’s stabbed until he stopped moving.

  Then took the key.

  And found Vor.

  A little man. Not much about him seemed to match with Anglek.

  He’d begged.

  Begged a lot.

  Talked more.

  The desk lay in front of the door where he’d thrown it. She didn’t think of moving it.

  Her shoulders ached.

  Legs ached from running up and down stairs all night.

  Vor’s words hovered in her skull.

  Gold. He’d promised a lot. But did anyone keep promises like that? Promises delivered in fear meant nothing when fear dissipated.

  She’d seen his face enough to know he was more than a weasel. He had his own cruelty. Could easily imagine him amusing himself in the dungeons. Plucking eyeballs from prisoners. Taking fingernails. Teeth.

  She’d heard enough about the man in taverns.

  Enough to know if you were going to fuck with the Four, he’d be the last one you’d want to fuck with.

  He wouldn’t kill you like Anglek would.

  He’d take his time.

  Still, she didn’t regret what she’d done. Refused to.

  So, she sat.

  Silent.

  Waiting.

  Waiting for something she wasn’t sure would come.

  Listening.

  She’d crept across the turrets to get inside the tower. Climbed a few walls.

  Dodged a few guards.

  Killed one and thrown his body over the side.

  Had enjoyed warm breeze across sweat-moist skin before exploring the stifling dark of the tower. Slowly, she brought her left arm up to her teeth. Bit down on the leather lace which tied her bracer. Pulled it tighter.

  Eyes hadn’t moved from the doorway.

  Hardly blinked.

  Ignored the orange trail. It bobbed in the middle of the room like a lost ghost. Sometimes bouncing against the wall.

  Impatient.

  The opposite of Nysta. The elf’s mind was smooth. A drifting stream of casual thought. She had a feeling for what was happening. A hunch.

  Temples in the city.

  Hideg’s obsession with defeating Rule.

  He had a plan, he’d said.

  Obviously a ritual. Magic.

  An occult series of murders, tearing bodyparts from the victims. How insane was Hideg?

  He hadn’t seemed insane.

  And did it matter? She didn’t care what he was doing. Just cared about gold. With it, she could buy her way somewhere she could feel comfortable.

  Wherever that was.

  The thought was an uncomfortable stone in her boot. What would she do with gold?

  Drink it, most likely.

  And if it was more than she could drink?

  Spend it on what?

  What was she killing for? Bleeding for?

  The elf’s violet eyes thinned. Lip curled into a bitter line.

  Gold couldn’t buy Talek back from the dead.

  And if it could, there’d never be enough to buy forgiveness. Never enough to wipe the guilt from her bones.

  The knife hung limp in hand.

  She watched the light bounce off the razor edge. Flashing across Vor’s still form.

  Blood drooled down the side of his head.

  She watched it. A sluggish puddle linked to his skull by thin red lines.

  Turned her thoughts outward as she heard the softest tilt to the breeze kicking in through the door.

  And the bitter snarl turned into a smile.

  Cruel.

  Knife now tight in fist, she rolled quickly from the bed and pressed up against the wall behind the door. Tight muscle tense.

  Dark shadow soon crept light into the room.

  Knelt beside Vor.

  Reached with hand.

  Sucked a breath and started to turn.

  But it was too late.

  Her foot smashed up under his ass with perfect aim to kick hard into his balls.

  Open mouth loosed a scream stifled by her hand clamping across his face. Arched him back across her knee. The Ugly swept around and pressed against his throat. Tucked under his chin.

  Ready to slice.

  She pressed her mouth to his ear and spoke softly.

  Cold voce clipped and clean “You wanna live?”

  He nodded, a moan all he had to give as his abdomen writhed in hot spasms of pain.

  “Good.” She kept the knife where it was. “I’m gonna let you talk. And that’s what you’ll do. Talk. Tell me everything I want to know. You don’t tell me, and I’ll cut you worse than anything you’ve been doing. You got me?”

  Another nod.

  “Take your knife slow. Toss it away.”

  He reached for the handle. Slid it gently from the sheath.

  Thought about using it.

  But winced when she pressed her own even closer to his skin. “Don’t bother. You won’t make it.”

  He tossed the knife. Let it ricochet off the wall before landing on the ground near Vor’s body.

  The elf gently prised her fingers free of his mouth, but didn’t let him turn.

  “You’ve been cutting them up,” she said. “When I kill them, you’ve come along. Cut them. Taken pieces of
their bodies. I’ve got a few guesses, but I want to know why.”

  “I’m just doing what I’m told,” he said. Dry croak. “That’s all. We’re working for the same feller. You know that, right?”

  “Hideg.”

  “Yeah. That’s right. Hideg.” He licked lips. “We’re on the same side.”

  “Are we?” Her words blew against the back of his ear. “What’s your name, feller?”

  “Ogam.”

  “Where’d you take them, Ogam? The pieces you took.”

  “Outside the wall. He’s got people waiting. I don’t know what they’re doing with them. Honest, I fucking don’t. I’m just here to collect trophies is all.”

  “Trophies?”

  “Well, what the fuck else can they be?” Pause. “It ain’t been fun. Something fucking creepy about cutting into a dead body. Not my kind of shit, I tell you. I prefer them alive.”

  “You’re one of the Order? An assassin?”

  “Yeah. For three years.”

  “So, you’re good.”

  “Like to think I am. But I didn’t hear you. Thought you were long gone.”

  “Why ain’t you in here doing the killing, then? Or why ain’t I been told to pluck the pieces?”

  “Fucked if I know. They said not to get close to you. Let you do your thing. That’s what Hideg said. Stay well back and don’t get involved.”

  “You ever done anything like this before?”

  “Nope.” Sigh. “Come on, now. Just let me get on with my job, yeah? We can both be paid.”

  “You kill anyone in the Halls?”

  “Ain’t been a need,” he said. “You’ve been killing everything what moves. I’ve seen it. Ain’t real professional. Where’d he find you, anyway? Some crazy den in the Verminpit or something? You got a real set of screws loose, you know that? That all you need, or you want my opinion of your choice in gangs, too? Now, lemme go!”

  He didn’t know anything. Was little more than an errand boy.

  “Want for you to give Hideg a message. From me. Tell him I don’t like being followed. Tell him it pisses me off.”

  He snorted. “I don’t carry messages.”

  “Not asking you to take it to him. Happy for him to come get it himself.”

  “What? That makes no sen-”

  She dragged the blade across his throat, licking the wall with his blood. He made a lunge, trying to get to his knife. Not quite understanding how deep he’d been cut.

  But she held him close. Tight.

  He wriggled in her grip.

  She cocked her head.

  Thought about it first. Spun him round. Bent him across her thigh and plunged The Ugly deep into his back.

  Ended him.

  Looked down at Vor.

  Said; “I don’t know about you, feller, but it’s beginning to feel like everyone wants a piece of some body.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Vor’s words in her ears, she counted corridors as she ran.

  On the fifteenth, she threw herself left and down a crooked set of stairs. Rubble made the going tricky, but she moved with certainty. The red glow itched her eyes and uncloaked darkness.

  There were no magelights here.

  Guards were running the east side, plucking their way through endless passages which the last kings of Dragonclaw had used to flee during times of rebellion.

  Legend spoke of how one had hidden for more than fifteen years inside them. His ghost still walked the Halls if that legend was to be believed. She hadn’t seen him, yet.

  Still time.

  Deep below, there were also rumoured to be caverns which led to the sea. Or to the mountains outside the city.

  Tunnels and dead-ends.

  A rancid unexplored labyrinth easy to get lost in.

  Easy to die in.

  Which made her heart race even faster as she concentrated on her count.

  Four levels down. Marked by scored runes in the wall. Runes she hadn’t noticed before.

  Hadn’t needed to.

  Four levels.

  Off the stairs and into a long straight passage held up by sharp curving archways. Each with its own distinctive carving.

  An eagle on one.

  Snake.

  Fish.

  At the fish, she paused. Turned immediately right and faced the wall. Probed the stones. Searching. Found what she was looking for and let the hidden doorway swing open.

  Stepped into a room decorated with gold and pale blue silk.

  Lit by luminous magelights shining steady from sconces along the wall.

  She padded quickly through the room, checking the washroom.

  Nothing.

  Back into the tunnels.

  Looked left. And ran. Sweat beading across forehead until it dripped down cheeks.

  Wiped it away.

  Her legs felt numb. Muscle worked on the memory of running rather than direct conscious steps. The worms within were still sluggish. Mostly inert.

  Whether they were poisoned or not, she couldn’t stop.

  One more.

  There was one more kill to make, and she’d figured who it would be.

  The next room was empty.

  Window open, letting wind toy with curtains.

  She looked around quickly. Saw glint of gold coins on a desk. Snatched them quick and stuffed them into her pocket. She might need them.

  Necklace of gold. Gemstone amulet.

  Into pouches.

  Back into the Halls.

  Running with everything she had.

  Passed another body. A young guard. Back to the wall. Slumped. Head low on her chest. She’d died alone with a hole piercing brain via her cheek. Blood sprayed across ground and wall in a thick sticky wash.

  The elf glanced once.

  Kept moving. Mouth a tight grimace.

  Ran into a Bonebreaker, his back bleeding heavily as he crawled. A long raking slash clipped across his spine.

  He looked up as she came close.

  Raised a hand to her. “Help me…”

  She grunted.

  Paused as she was about to pass. Cocked her head.

  Stabbed him in the throat.

  Kept running, The Ugly in hand, the blade’s metal gleaming even more red than before.

  Around a corner. Two more bodies.

  Bonebreakers.

  And a guard.

  The guard’s arms wrapped around his pack. Like it was his lover and he’d died in its embrace.

  Still counting, the elf found more stairs. They forked.

  She chose left.

  Short winding stairs. Narrow, with a stink of death wafting from below. The source was two more bodies.

  Fresh.

  One still twitching. A guard, his helmet nearly split in two by a long blade.

  The elf crushed his face with her boot, spinning the last remnants of his life into the dark. Checked her knives.

  And sprinted onward. Chest heaving.

  Sound of a struggle up ahead.

  Someone let out a joyous roar.

  Another a sharp scream of pain.

  She turned the corner.

  Three guards.

  Four already dead.

  “Got you, you fucking bitch! Got you at last.”

  And the elf leapt.

  Both arms high. The Ugly slit air and creamed through flesh. Also burying into his back beside the heavy blade, A Flaw in the Glass added enchanted steel.

  He wheeled to face her.

  Death choked his words.

  “Fuck! There’s two of-” And died with his last word unable to escape nerveless lips. Go With My Blessing sticking from the middle of his throat.

  A Bonebreaker whipped his sword at her. Clipped the wyrmskin plate across her shoulder. Might have cut into her neck, but she slid across the floor. Knees jabbing up. Hit his shin.

  Which meant nothing to him until The Ugly ripped into thigh.

  The impact of blade into leg halted the elf’s skid and she clenched t
eeth. Grabbed his other leg with her hand. Snapped a gaze into his.

  Smirked.

  And tore the heavy blade up leg. Over his hip and into the bowl of his belly.

  Blood erupted.

  He might have screamed, but their prisoner had scooped up sword and sent it spearing through his back to ventilate lung.

  Like a shadow, the prisoner tried to spin away and escape, but the elf’s hand shot out and seized ankle. Pulled hard to jerk the prisoner off balance.

  Fell.

  Let out a squeal as the thin blade escaped fingers again.

  “Too late,” the elf hissed. “I figured it was you.”

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid. You did alright.”

  “I thought you’d be mad. You said you didn’t want help.”

  “Things have changed a little.”

  Klista twisted to grab her sword. Exhaustion showed in her young eyes, too. But something else. Satisfaction. She’d come to prove herself.

  Considered herself proved.

  Nysta nodded at her. “Everything you ate until now? That’s been just first course. You ready for mains? Or you had enough and want out?”

  “I keep telling you, Nysta. You’re family. We don’t abandon family. We help each other. Every time. We don’t run away when the shit rains down. We stand together.” She thrust a hand out. “You finally getting that?”

  “Relax, kid.” She took the girl’s hand. “Never figured you’d be ready that kind of dessert.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Mink always wondered why there were no women in Bran’s new company of guards. A token one or two littered the lower ranks, but none rose in ranks. Which was strange.

  He was promoted twice. Now stood with fresh badges on his shoulder. What was it Anj had called him? A Sergeant Captain? What the fuck was that? A sergeant, or a captain? How could he be both?

  Jorg had sniggered about it. Told him that, with all the three’s friends taking captain spots, someone had to be promoted who’d do the actual work.

  Fara said Jorg was dead.

  They’d found him bunched up in a corridor somewhere.