“Ryle.” A soft hand on the back of his neck. “Come back to me.”
The man was staring up wide eyed now. Spittle gleamed at the corners of his mouth.
“Tell me,” Ryle whispered.
“Nothing,” the man croaked. “He didn’t tell us anything. I swear. He drew that and then . . .”
It was a good thing he didn’t finish that sentence. Ryle didn’t think he could stop his hand if he heard Korvey’s fate uttered aloud.
“Ryle. That’s enough.” The hand stroked the back of his head. “He’s done, let him go.”
Ryle blinked. Took a breath, then another. When he turned his head, he found Casyne, her eyes as sad as he’d ever seen them. The look shoved cold disappointment through his chest.
He let the man go, staggered up and slumped into the wall. Casyne was there, a hand on his cheek. “Breathe,” she said.
He tried, but hot, ragged emotions raged in his throat, choking off everything else. It took an effort to draw the first breath, a little less to draw the next.
“Stay here.” Casyne ducked out of the room. When she returned, she carried the metal book that had lain on the floor beside Korvey. She drummed her fingers on its surface and eyed the thug on the floor.
“You know what that is?” Ryle asked.
“It’s a strong-jacket,” she said, her voice only barely leaving off the ‘of course.’ When he didn’t respond to that, she glanced at him then shook her head. “Sorry. It’s a book safe. Used to transport important works when you want to keep eyes off them.”
“Korvey used those often?”
“No.” She tapped the cover again. “Only when he had something important to . . . report.” She didn’t have to say to Delago.
Ryle’s head had slowly cleared. He took one more breath and forced himself to think through the situation. Korvey, the thugs, the state of the apartment, the scrap of paper now by his boot with Reckoning’s sigil scratched across it, the way Casyne tapped the book. One by one the puzzle pieces fell into place. “Let me guess. That’s a one-way lock.”
“It is. Korvey couldn’t have opened it if he wanted to.” Her eyes blazed as she glared down at the thug. “And I’ll be he told you that.”
The thug swallowed. A fine line of blood gleamed across his throat.
“So they tried to get him to redraw it,” Ryle said.
“Only he couldn’t. Because Korvey was left handed.” The tendons stood out along her wrist as she squeezed the book in her hand.
The thug looked like he wanted to crawl into the corner. His mouth started to open but Ryle leveled a finger at him and the man’s lips snapped closed. The muck-sucker was useless now, and Ryle had even more reason to finish the job he had started. Only Casyne’s presence stilled his hand.
The idea shook him, and he clenched his jaw. Casual murder, accepted just like that. It was as if all those years studying under the Professor had done nothing. As if he hadn’t gained a shred of honor or respect since he fled from Kilgren. He shoved the thought aside. He’d have time later to wrestle with his past. For now, he had other answers to pursue.
“We need to get that book unlocked.” He already knew who held the only key that could do that. Delago. He wasn’t sure what he thought of the man who had pulled Korvey into the situation that got him killed, but he needed to know what was inside the case in Casyne’s arms. He needed to know it more than anything in years.
“What about him?” Casyne asked. Her voice was as hard as the feeling in Ryle’s chest. Even if he might let himself slip and indulge the feeling to end this piece of chaff, he sure as hex wouldn’t let Casyne go to that place. No matter how much she might think she wanted to right then.
“Find something to tie him up. We’ll get word to the city watch.” Once we’re far away from here. If questioned, he doubted any of Korvey’s neighbors would say anything, but he’d still make every effort to keep Casyne out of any inquests.
After a few minutes searching Casyne found a bundle of clothesline. Ryle sheathed his sword and held the man down while Casyne secured his arms and legs. She applied more force than was necessary, but the thug was smart enough not to stay a word about it, and accept any unpleasantness that left him alive a while longer.
When that was done, they made one more pass through the apartment, pausing for Casyne to lay a sheet across Korvey’s still body, and then left.
Outside the sky had darkened to the color of a purpling bruise. The air cooling. The lookout had vanished while they were inside. Ryle paused as he stepped through the doorway, Casyne trailing behind.
Pain exploded across the side of Ryle’s head. Lights exploded across his vision.
He stumbled away from the impact, grasping for his sword. His back fetched up against the railing. A figure loomed before him, closing in. He found his sword, but a hard blow crashed into his chest.
The world spun. He was over the rail, flailing, falling.
Cold, unyielding, force shot through his back. The world went black.
Ryle swam through the dark, hollowed out, grasping for anything. Sensations hovered at the edge of awareness. Distant, fractured.
Move blast it! Wake up!
His eyes peeled open to a purple sky. A deep sucking void crushed his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Blood filled his mouth.
Scrambling. Cursing. The slap of feet on stone. Voices.
“Ryle!”
Ryle pulled his head up and pain burned down through his neck.
“Well, well, look who we have here.” A sneering Egan descended the stairs and stepped onto the cobblestones a few paces away.
Don’t just lay here. Get up already!
With a groan, Ryle shoved himself up to one elbow. His chest spasmed. He coughed hard, spat blood, but managed to suck in a shaky lungful of air. That was about all he could do at the moment. His arms and legs felt like lead weights.
Before he could try anything further, Casyne was there crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Rather than lending any comfort, the idea of her being so near to Egan shot fire through his body, reconnecting every tendon and ligament with strands of pain. With gritted teeth, he forced himself upright. He might not have made it, but Casyne looped an arm around his back and pulled him up the rest of the way.
Ryle stood swaying, his skull throbbing with pain, while Egan looked them over. The traitorous swordsman shook his head. “When I saw Hadel laid out up there, I thought that I hadn’t hurried back fast enough and one of Paundon’s rivals had picked up the same tip and decided to cause us some trouble. I never guessed you would be involved. How delicious.” He rubbed his hands together. “So how far did you get? From where I stand that strong-jacket looks like it’s locked up tighter than her ass. I’m guessing you don’t know shit.” Casyne clutched the metal book closer. Egan smirked. “All those fruitless years asking after Reckoning only to come up short now. It must be so frustrating!” Ryle was too tired to keep the anger from his face. Egan laughed.
Ryle wanted to snap a retort but his mind was stuck on Egan’s words.
“Hurried back.” Ryle swallowed blood. “Were you here when he died?”
Egan paused, but then smiled much wider. “You didn’t recognize the death blow? I thought my handiwork was more recognizable.”
Casyne’s hand seized on Ryle’s shoulder, but he barely felt it. Rage lit his insides like a bonfire.
“He was weak and useless. Just like you. Hand over the book or I’ll do worse to her and make you watch.”
Ryle forced words past his tight jaw. “You can go eat muck and die.”
“I have a better idea.” Egan reached up and slowly drew his sword from over his shoulder. Like the black metal grip, the rest of the blade was composed of a similar dark metal Ryle had never seen.
Ryle’s stomach lurched but he pulled away from Casyne. He stumbled as he did so, his head spinning. With a growl, he caught himself and stayed on his feet.
Egan shook his head.
Ryle b
arely had enough strength to draw his sword. The blade felt way too heavy in his hands as he raised it into second position, both hands wrapped around the grip. He squeezed harder, willed the fire in his veins to give him strength.
In the background, he heard shouts of alarm and the confused cries of children as adults rounded them up and hustled them away.
Egan stepped forward, sword in seventh, blade down along one leg, his face entirely unconcerned.
For once, the traitor’s arrogance might be appropriate. Ryle’s hand shook, he didn’t have a bit of willpower left to reach for his kenten.
Egan struck. Ryle only just saw the blow coming. He managed to parry the strike and stop the counter attack but it was a close thing. He staggered away, sucking in air, trying for some semblance of calm and finding none.
The next strike got even closer. Ryle turned Egan’s blade a finger’s width from his throat. Only the swordsman’s sloppy form gave Ryle room enough to counter with a blow of his own, but his sword didn’t get close. Egan swatted the strike away and danced back, eyes gleaming.
“That all you got?” The taller swordsman asked. “I expected more from Mero’s protégé.”
Fresh anger surged up Ryle’s spine. Even that emotion felt weak, but right then he had to use anything he could. He leapt forward before Egan finished speaking.
Somehow he caught the traitor off-guard. The prick must not have bothered to take his kenten. Normally Ryle would’ve cursed him as a fool, instead he thanked him and threw all his energy into a rapid series of strikes.
Egan swore and back peddled, his dark blade darting to meet the incoming blows. He deflected most of them, but not all. Ryle’s last strike, a rising thrust, ripped across Egan’s right trapeze, drawing a gasp of pain. If Ryle possessed a moment’s more energy, he could’ve finished the fight right then, but the combination had burned out what little strength remained and he had to stumble back.
The swordsman clamped a hand across the wound, glaring at Ryle. For his part, Ryle held his ground and sucked in shallow breaths. A deep ache had grown in his bones and it now throbbed through his body with every pounding beat of his heart, making breathing, much less moving a painful experience.
He feared that Casyne, who remained near the apartment building, would chime in with some verbal jab against Egan, but she was smart enough to recognize that Ryle had gotten lucky with that shot. She clutched the metal book to her chest and kept her face still, though her eyes remained wide.
When Egan pulled his hand away, crimson coated his palm. Anger filled his eyes. “Enough of this shit.” He raised his sword, and as he did so, a soft hissing filled the air. Ryle frowned, and with an effort, brought his own sword up. Egan’s lip curled. “I told you I’d found an advantage, and despite your idealistic bullshit view, I wasn’t speaking only of coins. Paundon supplies more much than that.” Egan flicked his thumb against the hilt of his sword and with a whoosh, blue fire leapt up his blade until every bit of dark metal was consumed in writhing flames.
Casyne gasped. Ryle’s heart raced. Egan waved the oldcraft weapon back and forth and blue fire trailed in its wake. Without his kenten Ryle couldn’t hold back the wave of fear that blew through him like a foul wind. Leave it to underhanded Egan to latch onto a chaff sucking weapon such as this.
He met Egan’s first attack, a crushing downward blow, and retreating, turned the second. The third got close but he dodged away while Egan smirked and struck with renewed vigor. The traitor’s fourth blow swept in from the side and Ryle managed to catch it with his sword, but Egan kept driving forward and Ryle’s shaking legs buckled. The burning blade pressed in and even though Ryle stopped it short of his chest with a roar of effort, the unnatural blue flames licked up across throat. The air smelled acrid but contained a tang that was almost familiar.
He gasped and steeled himself for the pain, but instead he felt, nothing. Quite literally. He couldn’t feel his neck or jaw. Confused, he scrambled away. Egan let him go.
Ryle’s chest heaved, trying to draw breaths but his mouth refused to respond. His lips remained pressed together. While panic mounted within him, he sucked air in through his nose and ran one hand across his lips. It was like touching warm wax.
“Ah, now you understand,” Egan said. “It’s impossible to stop me. With this.” He twirled his blade through a lazy figure-eight. “Mero’s techniques count for shit when I only have to get close to stop you in your tracks. It just takes a caress to do the job. Just a touch. How are you enjoying it?”
Sharp fear seized the back of Ryle’s neck.
“Ryle?” Casyne asked. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. He couldn’t even tell her to run.
He lunged forward, arms weak, lungs screaming for more air. It was a good attack, but he was too slow. Egan flicked his blade through a defense, caught Ryle across the back of his scarred left hand. It was barely more than a scratch, but it was enough.
In an instant, all feeling fled his hand. A heartbeat later the same numbness severed all sensation from his wrist and forearm.
Fear, cold and burning rampaged through him with tingling, needle like fingers. His breathing was down to gasps. The sword dragged at his remaining good hand like a ton of lead.
Egan strode in lazy, arrogant, and still in control. Ryle tried to put up a defense but it was useless. He managed one deflection before the traitor spun into a slash that grazed across his left thigh, dumping him to the cobble stones.
Then Egan stood over him, blade poised a hand’s width from his chest.
“You want to know what happens when I touch you here?” His eyes glittered in the flickering blue light of his weapon.
Ryle glared up, unable even to curse him in defiance.
“Stop!” Casyne shouted.
Egan snorted. “Why should I?”
“I’ll give you the book!”
No! The scream echoed in Ryle’s head but made it no further. No matter how hard he fought against them, his lips remained locked together.
“I can take the book!” Egan snapped.
“Oh really?”
Her tone drew Egan and Ryle to look over at the same time. Casyne knelt on the cobblestones, the metal book held on edge between her knees, a chunk of brick raised overhead in both hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Egan asked.
“This is a strong-jacket.”
“So what?”
“It does more than keep the contents locked up. It keeps anyone without the key from reading them. You try to breach this, say so long to what’s inside. What do you think this is?” She lowered one hand long enough to tap the end of a small glass cylinder set into the spine of the book that Ryle hadn’t seen before. “Crack. Whoosh. Acid eats what’s inside.”
Egan’s jaw flexed but he didn’t make another move.
“You let him go, I give you the book. That’s the deal,” Casyne said. She looked as scared as he’d ever seen her, but her voice didn’t waver in the slightest.
Blast he loved her, but right then he wished she would’ve ran and left him behind. The idea of handing over his only lead for the House of Reckoning to Egan, of all the bastards in the world, ate at his guts like the acid she threatened to unleash.
Egan’s hand worked on the hilt of his sword while the flames nearly licked the front of Ryle’s jacket. “Fine!” he snarled and jerked the blade away. “Paundon wants this one anyway. Though I don’t see why.” He stepped back. “Hand it over.”
“Stow that.”
Egan’s eyes blazed but the flames cut out with a hiss and he shoved the sword back into the sheath on his back.
Only then did Casyne leave the book laying on the cobblestones and step back. Toward the mouth of the nearest alley Ryle noted with approval. As much as he could approve anything right then with the gray creeping in along the edges of his vision.
Egan collected the book, and for a tense moment, Ryle thought he’d make a grab for Casyne, but she still held
the chunk of brick in one hand and shot him her most deadly stare. It must’ve been enough, because Egan turned away and with a flick of his lapels, sauntered off across the courtyard.
“See you next week at the Marker’s Bid,” he tossed back over his shoulder before disappearing into the gloom of twilight.
Casyne crouched over Ryle, her eyes wide, her nostrils flaring with rapid breaths. Her shoulders shook as she ran her hands along his chest and face, searching for injuries.
Ryle focused on moving air through his nose with the deepest breaths he could manage. Even that was a struggle.
“Do you know what he did to you?” she asked.
Ryle shook his head as far as he could. It was little more than a quiver.
“Can you speak?”
Another quiver. He saw the sob roll up from her gut but she clenched her jaw and choked it off. Blast she was tough.
“Okay, then just keep breathing. Nice and slow. Let’s give it a minute.” She couldn’t hide the fear from her eyes, but he appreciated the effort.
So, he lay there and gasped through his nose while his body calmed from throbbing panic, to a dull ache that suffused every pore. He took that time to curse himself. How the mucking hex had he let Egan beat him? And take his only lead! He was pathetic, useless. He couldn’t even stop the dark laughter when it came. He was helpless before it all and had to let his mind and body burn themselves out until eventually he lay still upon the cobblestones.
When the rage had passed and he had shoved the shame down inside, he forced his thoughts toward determining what the hex Egan had done to him. It must be a kind of toxin and the weird flames were its delivery mechanism. Maybe a substance along the blade that was released through burning. If that was the case it left few possibilities. Only a few poisons thrived in fire rather than were neutralized by it. Even fewer would affect their victim via skin contact.
As he thought back over the fight, he recalled the smell of the flames. The strange tangy scent in the air. It took a minute of racking his brain to recall the memory, but then he had it. A rare substance his mother had shown him only once. The toxin was derived from one of the few poisonous snakes in the realm. One found in the north-east. It could be mixed into incense for some interesting effects, but was not lethal unless deeply inhaled, and its effect was supposed to be short lived.
Harbinger, A Gearspire Story Page 4