by Tom Lloyd
Lynx howled and raised the gun over the head of the masked newcomer, not bothering to aim as he shot at the snipers above. Another jet of flame burst out and washed over the far wall of the cemetery. It fell short of the assassins, but for a second they were illuminated clearly, reeling from the heat and light below. It was long enough for Toil to shoot the first and Gold Mask took the other with an icer a moment later.
Gun spent, Lynx hurled it at the traitor as he shakily found one of his pistol-bows. The throw was good enough to make Umor flinch as the pistol cracked against his shoulder. Before the man could take aim Toil was on him, leaping forward with a knife in hand. In his haste Umor shot wide. Lynx saw the dark bolt zip through the moonlight past Toil’s shoulder. Umor fell backwards to kick up with his feet at Toil as she dived on him, one boot slamming into her ribs and throwing her sideways.
Toil rode the kick and rolled, but Umor was fastest to rise. He lurched forward and aimed a haymaker at Toil which she barely saw coming. At the last instant Toil ducked and the blow glanced off her head, but still with enough force to rock her back. He made up the ground quickly and Toil had to ward off a flurry of punches before he swung a knee up at her face. Somehow she seemed to take the blow on her crossed arms and used its force to propel herself upright, smashing her head into his nose and buying herself a moment. She stamped down on his instep then swung the point of her elbow across his face.
Umor staggered a pace back, Toil panting for breath before attacking again and almost taking a punch full in the face for her troubles. As his fist glanced past her Toil ducked inside his guard and clawed at his eyes before she got a grip on his shoulder and heaved her whole weight into a knee to the ribs. Lynx heard Umor cough as the air was driven from his lungs before Toil finally found the time to draw another dagger and punch it twice into his belly.
Umor cried out in pain and tottered back before Toil gave him a hefty punch to the sternum and knocked him off his feet. She stood over him panting, almost doubled-over, while Umor moaned and clutched at the glistening blackness seeping out of his belly.
‘No really,’ Toil rasped, glancing back at Lynx. ‘Don’t help, I’m fine.’
‘Oh.’ Lynx realised he’d just watched the fight, almost transfixed, while Gold Mask strode on past, reloading and firing twice more before the last assassin was dead and the cemetery fell silent.
‘So you didn’t want to finish it yourself?’ he said lamely. ‘Because it’d got personal?’
‘Look at the fucking size of him!’ Toil snapped, waving in Umor’s direction. ‘Screw personal, he could’ve killed me!’
‘Ah. Might be I misread that one.’
Toil hawked and spat on the floor, finally straightening up with a wince. ‘You think?’
Gold Mask rejoined them, loading his guns one final time then retreating with both levelled in case another threat presented itself. None did and after a long pause as he inspected the dead he found Toil’s eye and gave a curt nod.
‘This doesn’t mean I like you any more than I did,’ the man called as Toil ripped the mask off her face.
Lynx watched her open her mouth to reply then give a weary shake of the head. She looked exhausted and pained as she inclined her head to Gold Mask. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth and a welt was already appearing on her forehead, but she wore a small smile at his tone nonetheless.
‘I’d expect nothing less,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘Thanks all the same.’
‘It was my duty,’ was his curt reply.
With that he turned on his heel and holstered his guns, fetching up those he’d discarded and returning to his tomb without another word. He stepped in and pulled it closed behind him by a handle on the inside.
Lynx found himself gaping after Gold Mask – for quite how long he wasn’t sure but it was only the metal click of Toil reloading that brought him back to his senses.
He turned back to Toil. ‘And who the fuck was …?’
‘A friend,’ she said, a little more bleak humour in her smile now.
‘He doesn’t seem to think so.’
Toil shrugged. ‘He’s a tease. You hurt?’
Lynx scowled as a sudden feeling of exhaustion washed over him and prodded his arm. ‘I, ah – nothing that a few days won’t fix.’ He pointed towards where Gold Mask had disappeared. ‘You’re serious, that’s all I get by way of explanation? Man with a gold face crawls out of a crypt, barely misses a shot, makes a pissy comment then fucks off back into his tomb – and “a friend” is all I get?’
‘A contact, then,’ Toil sighed. ‘A man I could trust without question – unlike this viper,’ she added giving the traitor a kick that made him cry out. ‘You don’t need to be friends to know if someone’s trustworthy. Umor here has just proved it’s sometimes better if you’re nothing close to friends, if there’re no illusions or ties. The list of people who know my home address is a bloody short one, and mostly they’re pretty disreputable sorts. Couldn’t trust the rest until I knew who had sent the assassins, ’cept our golden friend there.’
‘Shit, Toil, how do you live this way?’ Lynx asked with a shake of the head.
The traitor managed to sit up, hunched over his wound with legs splayed wide. He gave a pained cough and spat a gobbet of blood on to the ground. ‘Shattered gods, this mewling lump’s the best you could find, woman? Of all the—’
‘Quiet,’ Toil snapped. ‘You’re already leaking bad enough as it is, don’t test my mood.’ She pointed to the fingers he had pressed to his side, slick with blood.
‘Or what? You’ll make it worse?’ Umor said with a forced laugh. ‘If I’m quiet will you slap me on the wrist and put me on a horse? Make me promise to ride away and never return to the city again?’
‘Fair point.’ Toil said. She didn’t give him time to reply, just extended her gun and pulled the trigger.
The side of his head exploded over the grey gravel ground, a pale icer trail hanging in the air like a ghost’s spear before fading to nothing. Umor was hurled a yard before falling limp to the ground. He twitched once and was still, staring sightlessly up at the shining arc of the Skyriver, one eye a bloodied hole edged in frost.
Lynx blinked at the careless execution, momentarily stunned.
‘Didn’t you want to ask him why?’ he croaked. ‘Nothing like that? Not even shout at the bastard? Spit in his face? He was a friend who betrayed you, right? Tried to have you murdered in your home?’
Toil glanced at the corpse and shrugged. ‘Turns out, I didn’t much care. Man wanted to be in charge. He was never the trustworthy type – good to have on a mission with you, but too much in love with his own legend. Mebbe I’ll be pissed about it tomorrow, but I’m too tired to give much of a shit about anything right now.’
Her head sagged as she spoke and for a moment Lynx thought she was going to topple forward before she jerked it up again and fixed Lynx with a defiant look.
‘He’s dead, that’s good enough. He wasn’t one to play well with others; I doubt I’ll find any more of my crew under these masks and everything else can wait.’
Lynx opened his mouth to reply then closed it again, remembering the differences between them and all the ways he didn’t understand her. He checked his arm more carefully. The crossbow bolt had opened his sleeve to the night air and sliced his flesh on the way, but it was a shallow cut. He’d live.
‘You hurt?’ he said as Toil let her arm fall and her pistol slipped from limp fingers.
‘Me?’ Toil chuckled drunkenly. ‘All giddy and girlish – the excitement of the Skyriver Ball will do that.’
She took a few unsteady steps forward and grabbed Lynx’s arm, partly for support and partly to urge him back towards the tomb with her. Struggling at first, Toil tore the remains of her borrowed costume off. She revealed a plain tunic and trousers that reminded Lynx of how stupid he felt in his torn and filthy Knight of Blood clothing, then slumped unceremoniously down against the tomb with a groan.
‘Not
sure that costume suited you anyway,’ Lynx said as she sat.
‘It served its purpose. Not like the original owner needed much after I was done with her.’
‘Please say you weren’t one of the ones who tortured me.’
She gave a small, weary laugh. ‘I turned up just before they headed out this way, just nodded when spoken to and got sent out here to scout the area.’
Lynx joined Toil on the ground, the battering he’d taken over the course of the night catching up with him all at once.
‘Did you have to hit me so hard?’ he winced, touching his fingers to his head.
‘I barely touched you,’ she said. ‘Stop whining.’
‘Your bedside manner’s not improved.’
She gave him a sideways glance. ‘A girl invites you to a high society ball and you reckon that includes her bedside too?’
‘Oh shut up, Toil,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I’ve been hit in the skull a few times today; I ain’t sparring words with you now.’
She patted him on the arm and sat back so her head was resting against the edge of the tomb. ‘Oh come on. You didn’t expect a date with me to be dull, did you?’
‘Never.’ He inclined his head. ‘Must admit, though, I didn’t expect this. Seems a little elaborate a way to get me to chase after you, but turns out it worked. More fool me.’
‘I’d hate to be too obvious or easy.’
‘Somehow I doubt that’ll ever be your problem.’ Lynx groaned, shifting slightly. ‘Still, here we are, all alone with the stars above us and most of our blood still inside us. Could’ve worked out worse, I guess.’
Toil wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t say the smell of shit and blood adds much to the romance of the star-lit night.’
‘Ever the practical one,’ Lynx conceded. ‘How about we find somewhere with chairs and hard liquor instead of dead bodies?’
She smiled, cat-like. ‘Just talked your way out of my place, then.’
Lynx paused. ‘And mine, most likely. Can’t tell what the tavern will look like after festival night, but I doubt the Cards will have left it pretty.’
‘Guess it isn’t fated to be that magical a night for us.’
‘Oh I dunno, making a man in a gold mask appear from nowhere was a good trick,’ Lynx said, ignoring her teasing.
Toil laughed. ‘Aye, was pleased with that one myself. Sure I’ll pay for it another day, but it’s another day I’m breathing so who gives a shit? Now, if only we knew someone who owned a tavern and didn’t ask many questions, life would be a whole lot better.’ Toil heaved herself to her feet, wincing as she put her weight on her left leg. ‘Mebbe one who’s good at sewing up flesh too, think my leg’s opened up again.’
Lynx stood slowly. ‘Need an arm to lean on?’
‘How very courteous of you,’ Toil said, accepting the offer. ‘It’s no Skyriver Ball, but fancy escorting me to the Billhook? I could stand you a drink or two, I reckon.’
As they passed the corpse of Umor she gave it a kick then carried on walking as though the traitor was now gone from her memory.
‘Grand balls ain’t really my style anyway,’ Lynx said, looking down at the grubby wreck his costume had become.
‘I know that. Why do you think I invited you?’
‘’Cos I’m the most handsome bastard you know.’
Toil sniffed. ‘Sure, let’s go with that. Mebbe after a few bottles you’ll start to improve.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’
Also by Tom Lloyd from Gollancz:
The Twilight Reign
The Stormcaller
The Twilight Herald
The Grave Thief
The Ragged Man
The Dusk Watchman
The God Tattoo
Empire of A Hundred Houses
Moon’s Artifice
Old Man’s Ghosts
The God Fragments
Stranger of Tempest
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Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Gollancz
an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2016 by Gollancz.
Copyright © Tom Lloyd-Williams
The moral right of Tom Lloyd-Williams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (eBook) 978 1 473 21323 4
www.tomlloyd.co.uk
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