by D. P. Prior
Shadrak tumbled under a windmilling slash and stuck him in the gonads. In the same movement, he took a swipe at the other one, but the runt skipped out of the way and tripped over his own feet. Gonad-boy staggered back, white as a sheet and clutching his knackers.
“Oi, what?” Shadrak said, kicking out at his knee and getting that satisfying crack in response.
The big bloke went down screaming, but Shadrak shut him up with a deft cut across the jugular.
“What’s up, cockleburr?” Shadrak advanced on the runt, who was scrabbling back on his ass, mouth trembling and nothing coming out but spittle. Poor bastard hadn’t even thought to draw his sword, he was so scared. “Lost your swagger now your mates are shogged?”
He stepped in close and rammed a dagger through the bloke’s thigh. The scream was shrill as a girl-child’s, but what was really pathetic was that there was still pleading in his eyes. You got this sort all the time: those who thought they’d never die. If only they begged enough or promised riches beyond your wildest imaginings, they’d get off the hook. Problem is, Shadrak liked the begging, and as far as the second were concerned, guards like this lot didn’t get paid enough to exactly make a big difference in his life. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked the bloke’s head closer.
“W-W-Wait! I can pay—”
Stab, stab, stab in the face. “No, you can’t.” Shadrak let go, and the soldier slumped to the ground.
As he retrieved his dagger from the man’s thigh, a familiar presence tugged at the back of his mind, but he wouldn’t let it in.
“Not now, Kadee,” he muttered. “Can’t you see I’m working?”
When he reached the prison, a clutch of workmen were unconscious at Nameless’ feet. The dwarf was perched on the edge of the barrel, holding a tankard up before his great helm and staring at it through the eye-slit. The guard had his sword out and was stumbling toward Albert, who was reeling in the tubing with a smug grin on his fat face. Albert hadn’t seen the danger, and he bent down to disconnect the tubing from the bellows. The guard raised his sword and half-tripped, half-ran in a swaying zigzag toward him. Shadrak ran, too, but he was too far off to use a dagger. He stopped for a moment to sheathe one of the knives and grab a razor star. A booming laugh from behind made him turn. Nameless had the tankard raised in a toast, and the great helm was looking straight past Shadrak at Albert. Something clanged to the pavement.
Spinning round, Shadrak let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The guard was facing him, arched back at an unnatural angle, arms thrashing, legs twitching. His sword was at his feet. Albert had something wrapped around his neck and was grinning like the cat that got the cream. A couple more shakes and shudders, and the guard flopped to the pavement. As Shadrak drew close, Albert unwound a garrote from the bloke’s ruined neck.
“Credit where credit’s due, eh, Shadrak?” Albert said, straightening up and picking bits of flesh from the wire. “Chef Dougan might have been a terrible cook, but his cheese-cutter works a treat—much nicer than the one I lost.” He stuffed it in his jacket pocket and adjusted his rumpled collar.
“Good job, Albert,” Shadrak said. “That all of ’em?”
“Unless there’s a change of guard on the way.”
“There was,” Shadrak said, slipping the razor star back in his baldric and wiping his dagger clean on his cloak. “But not no more. Any sign of a key?”
Albert rifled through the guard’s pockets, checked his belt, and came up shrugging. “It’s all yours, then.” He gestured toward the door.
Shadrak slipped out his tool-pack and unrolled it. He hadn’t had chance to analyze the lock when he’d scouted the place out, but it can’t have been that tricky, by the looks of it. He put a hook pick between his teeth till he needed it and took out the torsion wrench. The lock was at eye-level for him; anyone else would’ve had to bend down. Without looking, he wagged his fingers over his shoulder. “Light,” he hissed. “Bring me some light.”
Nameless came up behind him with one of the workmen’s lanterns. “Poison or no, I’d have a swig of ale, if not for this shogging helm, even if it killed me.”
Shadrak’s face tightened with irritation, and he gave the dwarf a narrow-eyed look.
Nameless tossed the tankard over his shoulder and held the lantern close to the lock.
“What you need is a hammer and chisel,” he said. “Lock like this isn’t sturdy, not like the ones in Arx Gravis. One good whack—”
“What I need is peace and quiet,” Shadrak said. “Do I tell you how to lop heads off with that axe o’ yours?”
He placed the torsion wrench in the lower part of the keyhole and applied torque to the cylinder, turning it the merest fraction of an inch. Taking the pick from his teeth, he poked it into the upper part of the keyhole and felt around for the farthest pin. He pushed up on it, maintaining the torque on the cylinder, until he felt it set. The lock was simpler than he’d expected, similar to those used on most of the houses in Sarum, which were based on the Ancient-world locks that could still be found in the towers that had survived the Reckoning.
“My way’s quicker,” Nameless said.
Shadrak bit his lip to stifle a reply. The dwarf was prob’ly right, but that ain’t how Shadrak worked. No noise, no mess, no sign he’d ever been there. It might’ve been a habit, but it was one that’d served him well. He popped the remaining pins and turned the cylinder with the wrench. The lock clicked, and he pushed with his shoulder—but the door didn’t budge.
“Crap,” he muttered, and then, “shogging, scutting bollocks.”
“Oh, don’t tell me…” Albert said, breathing down Shadrak’s neck. He stank of garlic, but that was nothing unusual.
“Yep,” Shadrak said, stepping back from the door and giving it a kick. “Barred from the shogging inside.”
“Well, that’s… sensible, I suppose,” Nameless said.
“This is why I don’t like rushing,” Shadrak said. “Everything needs to be planned out in advance.”
“In my experience, laddie,” Nameless said, “life’s not like that.”
Shadrak sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. He scratched at his beard and shook his head.
“Here,” Albert said, handing him the pick and wrench. “Can’t say we didn’t try.”
“Stand back,” Nameless said, passing Albert the lantern and hefting his axe. “I’ll have a crack at it.”
“No,” Shadrak said a little more harshly than he’d intended. Didn’t matter how strong the dwarf was, it’d take forever to hack through the wood, and in that time the place would be swarming with militia. “We’ll use this.”
He took his last remaining globe from his pouch. He’d been saving it in case the creature that had attacked him came back. See, even when he had a plan, it came to shite like everything else on this poxy mission. That’s why he worked alone. Worst shogging thing when you wanted to get a job done was relying on others, or having to dig them out of the messes they got themselves into.
He moved away from the door, gesturing for the others to follow. He gave the globe a good shake, in the hopes of making whatever made it bang a bit more excitable, and then he threw it at the center of the door. A thunderous boom threw them from their feet and sent clouds of black smoke billowing away on the wind. Shadrak propped himself up on one elbow, coughing and waving the smoke out of his face.
Albert groaned as he sat up and clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, but Nameless lay flat on his back, a deep laugh bubbling around inside his great helm.
“That’ll do it, laddie,” the dwarf said, kicking his stumpy legs in the air. “Just can’t wait for the part where the militia come running and I get to crack a few skulls.”
“Such a pity we don’t have more time,” Albert said with a tight smile, as he stood and brushed himself down.
Shadrak rolled to his feet. “Stay here and keep watch,” he said to Nameless. “Albert, with me.”
“Anything for you
, laddie,” Nameless said, grabbing his axe and using it to push himself upright.
Shadrak headed through the wreckage of the doorway. There was a door with a grille opposite, and off to one side there was a heavy wooden chest. Two guards were slumped over a table, greenish drool oozing from their mouths.
Albert lifted one’s head and used his thumb to raise an eyelid. “Oops,” he said. “A bit over-zealous with the mixture, I fear.” He let the head drop with a thud onto the table.
“But Shader—” Shadrak said, starting toward the cell door.
“Oh, he’ll be fine. I dare say only a trickle made it through to the cell. Here—” Albert unclipped some keys from a guard’s belt and flung them to Shadrak.
Shadrak rattled through them till he found the one that fit the lock. There was a healthy clunk as he turned it, and he pushed the door open.
Shader was face down on the floor. His hair was matted and caked with filth, and his surcoat was a shredded mess, soaked in red. A pair of bunks was the only furniture in the whitewashed room. Bloodstained sheets draped down from the top one, and on the bottom lay a scrawny corpse with a face so bruised and bloodied it didn’t seem human.
Albert stooped over Shader and turned him onto his back. Taken a right pummeling, by the looks of him: split lip, puffy black eyes, streaks of dried blood from dozens of cuts.
“He’s breathing,” Albert said.
“Yeah, but look at the state of him. Game to Sektis Gandaw, I’d say.”
“Really?” Albert said, stepping away from Shader. “You believe all that stuff?”
Shadrak shrugged. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He’d seen some crazy shit lately and got himself mixed up with the Archon’s machinations. But he still remembered the emotionless face of Sektis Gandaw, the cold confidence he exuded.
“Yeah, I believe it, though what the shog we’re supposed to do about it now hero boy’s down is anyone’s guess.”
“Help me,” Shader mumbled from the floor. “Help me up.”
Albert looked at Shadrak and stuck out his bottom lip. Together, they supported Shader as he stood, coughing and wincing, clutching his side.
“Where’s it hurt?” Shadrak said.
Shader looked at him through slitted eyes. “Everywhere.” He shrugged off their help and lurched toward the bunk-bed. His fist was tightly closed about something that trailed a silver chain.
“Dead,” Shadrak said, glancing over his shoulder at the open door.
“I know.” With agonized slowness, Shader lowered himself to one knee beside the bed. Grunting, he set the other knee down, too, and bowed his head.
“Ain’t like you knew him,” Shadrak said. He wanted to add, “So get a shogging move on,” but something about Shader warned him not to. In spite of his injuries—and they looked severe—he was tight as a spring, and tension rolled off him in murderous waves.
Albert gave a delicate cough and nodded that they should go. Shadrak grimaced and cocked a thumb in Shader’s direction. Albert’s shrug didn’t exactly help the situation none.
For shog’s sake! Shadrak stepped toward the bed, for once wishing Kadee’s face would pop into his head and tell him what to do. He’d never been good at the softly, softly stuff. That had always been her department.
“Look, mate… Shader…”
Shader pulled a bloodstained sheet over the corpse’s face. He knelt there like some crazed ecstatic; like some heartbroken teen that’d been dumped; like Shadrak had knelt the day Kadee had gone back to the dirt.
“We need to…” Shadrak said.
Shader pulled himself up using the bed-frame. A single drop of blood fell from the fist around the chain and spattered on the floor. He opened his fingers and looked at what he’d been holding so tight it had cut him—some kind of necklace, far as Shadrak could see. Shader fastened it around his neck, tucked it beneath his tattered surcoat. He look a lurching step and staggered as his leading knee buckled. Shadrak caught him by the elbow, and Albert scurried over to take the other side like an overprotective nursemaid. Shadrak shook his head at that. Seems you never really knew people.
“Don’t hurry or anything, laddies,” Nameless hollered from outside, “but there’s a whole bunch of soldiers coming our way.”
“How many?” Shadrak called back.
“How would I know?” Nameless cried, a hint of effort in his voice, like he was on the move. “I’m just a grunt. Can’t count that high.”
“Oh, shit, shitty, shit, and shit,” Albert muttered, eyes darting all over the place.
“Move,” Shadrak said, heading through the door, dragging on Shader’s arm.
Soon as they entered the guard room, the clangor of steel on steel and barked orders broke like a thunderstorm.
Shader snapped his head round to glare at the chest. He pulled free from Albert and Shadrak and took a tottering step toward it.
“Bugger this,” Albert said, pressing himself against the wall beside the wrecked main door and glancing outside. “Ooh, that must have hurt.”
There was a muffled thud from the road and a grunt that turned into a whimper.
Shader shuffled to the chest, leaned over it. “Locked,” he muttered.
“Here.” Shadrak threw him the keys.
A roar went up from the street, but it rolled on into a booming song:
“I once had a terrible ooze, from my dwarfhood down to my shoes…”
“That Nameless?” Shadrak asked, backing away toward the entrance.
Albert nodded, eyes riveted to the scene outside. “By Mama’s moldy… By my word, he’s good. He’s practically dancing.”
“If I’d known so before,” Nameless sang, “she’s a pox-ridden whore…”
Crash, clang, thud.
“Three down—” Albert said.
“How many to go?” Shadrak risked a peek through the debris of the door.
Must’ve been two dozen of the kilted soldiers, all of ’em with tall rectangle shields and shortswords. The three on the ground had lost their helms, and their shields was mangled beyond repair. One of them was clutching the stump of his arm, blood spraying from it like a fountain.
“… I’d have saved up my coin for some booze.” Nameless insinuated his way between two shields with bewildering footwork and rammed his axe haft into one soldier’s nose, spinning even as he did and scything the blade at the other’s midriff. The soldier swung his shield in the way just in time and hurtled back into a group of his comrades.
“Good show, laddie,” Nameless said, as if he’d intended it all along. “Nice reflexes.”
The rest of the soldiers backed off, forming up into a tight shield wall.
“Pikes,” someone yelled. “And crossbows. Now!”
A soldier at the back broke off and ran down the street.
Shader stumbled to the doorway, shrugging on his coat and tugging his hat down low over his face. Must’ve been in the chest. He adjusted his scabbard so it sat behind his hip. Only thing was, it was empty.
“Sword?” Shadrak asked.
Shader nodded in the direction of the basilica. “In there.”
“Oh, for shog’s sake,” Shadrak said. “If you think I’m going—”
Shader staggered past him, out into the street.
“Good lad,” Nameless said. “Nothing like a bit of rough and tumble to get the blood flowing, eh? You’ll be right as rain in a jiffy.”
Shadrak exchanged a look with Albert. In a minute the place would be swarming with more soldiers, and if they did bring crossbows, they was shogged. He slipped the pistol from its holster and indicated with his eyes that he and Albert should make a run for it down the side-street Nameless had lugged the barrel along. Albert was sweating like a pig, but he nodded all the same. Weren’t no surprise. He was the last person Shadrak would expect to make a stand of it.
Shader was limping toward the basilica, hand stretched out before him like a blind man’s.
“Laddie?” Nameless called after hi
m. “The fight’s this way.”
Trumpets blasted in the distance, and bells started clanging.
“Go!” Shadrak said. He rolled round the doorway and sprinted for the side-street.
Albert half-jogged, half-skipped behind him, puffing and wheezing.
“Shog!” Shadrak said. A mass of pikemen was coming straight at them. He veered across the street to the mouth of a narrow alleyway, and Albert bundled in beside him.
“Now what?” he said.
Shadrak held up a hand. “Look.”
Nameless was goading the cordon of soldiers, running up and slapping his axe against the shield wall and dancing clear before they could jab at him. But it wasn’t him Shadrak was interested in.
Shader’s splayed fingers shook with tension as he faced the overshadowing basilica. His eyes were closed, his whole body taut.
“What on earth—?” Albert started, but he was cut off by a yell from inside the basilica, followed by a series of screams.
Nameless whirled to see what was going on, and the soldiers he’d been taunting did the same. There was a tense moment, punctuated by the thump, thump, thump of footfalls as the pike unit bore down upon them. Then came a sharp thwat, a glint of metal, and a resounding clang. Nameless staggered back as a crossbow bolt ricocheted from his great helm and clattered to the ground. Before he could react, one of the basilica windows shattered outward, and Shader’s sword streaked through the air amid a shower of glass and slapped itself into his palm. Golden light erupted around his body, and Shadrak had to shield his eyes against the glare with his arm. There was more footsteps: faster, moving away from him. He blinked until he could see Albert legging it down the alley.
The pikemen had slowed to a stunned walk, and the shield wall was more of a scattering of gaping idiots. Shutters were thrown open on a couple o’ buildings overlooking the street, and crossbows poked from the windows.
Shader held the sword aloft as the blaze spiraled back up into the blade. The stiffness seemed to have left him. He was standing poised on the balls of his feet, and there was no sign of the cuts and bruises that had marred his face. He glanced at Shadrak and nodded, as if to say everything was under control now; that Shadrak could go. Then he spun on his heel and strode straight toward the shield wall. The soldiers tried to reset, but Shader was upon them, and unlike Nameless, there was nothing playful in the way he cut and thrust with the precision of a surgeon.