by Avell Kro
I grabbed his arm. “What do you mean, ‘you’ll see me back at the Nest’? You’re not thinking of
apporting without me, are you, Sweaty?”
The sorcerer grinned. “Nooo,” he said and then vanished. My hand closed on air.
“Flat-faced, barnacle-arsed, fucknubbin.” I hissed at the space he’d occupied a moment earlier, still
redolent with the smell of his greasy sweat.
Chapter Two
I retraced my route over the rooftops of the sprawling country retreat and climbed down the same
way I’d climbed up. I had to dodge a group of stable hands and slip past a couple of women who
were sharing a pipe by the kitchen door.
I don’t recall what they were talking about because I was entirely focused on escaping and
planning how badly and when I was going to beat the crap out of Sweaty. One tiny lapse in
concentration had caused me to hand over the scrol case. It was beyond stupid, but I didn’t scold
myself too much, not now. I’d have plenty of time to beat myself up over it as I plodded back to
Appleton. Mother would laugh her arse off as she verbally flayed me in front of the entire Guild. She
was a sorcerer and like Sweaty could have apported home in a blink. Even at a run, it would take
me days to get back to Appleton, by which time that amber-toothed cock-knuckle Stefan would
have claimed all the credit for the job.
“Treacherous, fucking cockroach,” I muttered as I hoofed it from the manor, my claws churning up
the mulchy loam of the tree-shaded road. I wanted to wring Sweaty Stefan’s neck so much it made
my teeth ache. I’d wait until he’d forgotten the slight and then, when he’d dropped his guard, I’d
settle his account. In the meantime, I’d have to endure the mockery of my fellow Guild Blades. The
thud of horses’ hooves distracted me from thoughts of vengeance. Without waiting to see who it
was, I dived into a fern-shaded ditch and waited. A minute passed before a contingent of green-
clad guards cantered along the road. It might have been a coincidence that they were heading in
the same direction as me, or it might have been that the senator had more influence than we’d
given him credit for. Either way, I would have to make a detour to avoid them— another notch on
the stick I’d use to beat Sweaty to death.
Instead of heading east along the road, I cut norththrough the woods towards an old packhorse
trail that ran just below the Scathblight hills. It wasn’t used much by common culls, not since an
ogrenwarband had wiped out a group of urux herders a few years earlier. Since then the trail had
become the favored highway of smugglers which was how I knew about it. There were a few
farms and isolated villages scattered here and there, but I was confident that I could slip past
without alerting anylocals to my presence. Friend Night fell like a comforting shroud as I made my
way through the forest and soft pine needle loam deadened what sound I made. I looked back from
the steep rake of the hillside down to the road where torchlight flashed back and forth. Someone
was searching for something, and I guessed that something was me.
When the glittering gold threads of torchlight began to weave through the weft of the trees, I
quickened my pace. The hunters were going to a lot of effort for a failed burglary. Could it be that
the real theft had already been discovered? But even if it had, this seemed like a lot of effort to go
to for something I’d been told was of little intrinsic value. Mother had brushed off the question
when I’d asked her what we were stealing. “A small thing,” she’d said as she gnawed on a butter-drenched pigroach leg, the hot, dark juice running down her chin as she chewed on the delicacy. “A
worthlittle trinket,” she’d said before cracking open another leg and sucking out the marrow,
offering me nothing but a meat-flecked smile.
I put it to her that if it was indeed a ‘worthlittle’ why send me and Sweaty Stefan after it? Why not
send some snot-nosed coves, eager to make a name for themselves? She stopped smiling then and
fixed me with a cold stare before spitting out a piece of bone which caught in her perfectly curled
black hair. “Put it this way,” she said. “If you value your hide you will consider it worthless. Now get
the fuck out of my sight.” And that was that. The memory of past thrashings and the bone throne
on which she sat reminded me that dear mamawas as mean as death and not even her own flesh
and blood should cross her.
Much to my dismay the packhorse trail was stamped with fresh, heavy warhorse looking
hoofprints. The faint taste of blade oil was tangled with the sweet aroma of pine and loam that
warmed the shadows. Again, it could have been a coincidence that warriors were on the
smugglers’ trail, but below me, scattered torchlight blazed like meteors in the amorphous darkness.
Back and forth they went, combing the length and breadth of the sweeping valley.
I found a deer track and hiked higher into the bones of the foothills. As I scrambled over rocks,
avoiding treacherous scree and slithering things, it dawned on me that Sweaty must have known
all along that he would pull a swifty. In fact, Mother had probably told him to do it, which made
sense, in a coldly calculating sort of way. While the senator and the local guards were busy
searching the area for me, she would quietly sell whatever it was she’d had me steal. “I’m such an
idiot.” Something the size of a dinner plate scuttled away from me, the rub of its wing case and the
scrape of chitin on rock echoed like laughter.
I continued to climb for another hour or so until I came across another path that cut athwart the
animal path, east to west. The tracks on this road were old, rain scarred, and windblown into near
obscurity. I decided to take it and head east. It was more of a detour than I’d planned, but I’d be able
to drop down on Appleton from the north, thereby avoiding the risk of bumping into any of the
search party. They would have to give up before riding into the next magisterial jurisdiction which
made me smile. You have to love the law when it works in your favor.
The track shone silver in the moonlight and widened into a road. It was flanked here and there by
the remains of a low retaining wall that had been overgrown by leathery ferns and constricting
snake vine. A few hundred yards further on the skeletal outline of a deserted watermill stood
silentlybeside a deep river race. The wheel lay on its side, a splintered reminder that nothing lasts
forever. Something that sounded like the scrape of metal on leather froze me in a crouch. The
spoor of beasts, and the scent of humans floated on the air. A heartbeat later the scrape of metal
became the clash of steel. The commotion was coming from between the gutted bones of
homesteads somewhere up ahead. As I wasn’t being ambushed I should have left whoever to
whatever bloody-handed work they were about, but curiosity got the better of me. I crept through
the undergrowth, climbed onto the roof of a dead-eyed building, and slid along the bones of the rafters.
I inched forward so I could get a better view of the action, spilling a fine drizzle of rotten thatch
onto the fungus that had colonized the shell of the building. Standing on itshindlegs, with its back
to a well was what at first glance I took to be a rearing bear. On a second, closer look I realized it
was a human. He smelled of p
ickled cabbage, mead, and bear grease somewhat vindicating my
initial mistake.
He was being out-flanked by two coves who were half his size. Two other miscreants were stalking
him head-on, the four of them closing him down like a pack of wolves. Brigands didn’t usually pick
on someone like the bear man, someone who might prove a challenge so I could only assume that
pickings were thin or, more likely given their occupation, they were stupid and lazy. Whatever the
reason for the attack, they were going to win. They might take some lumps,but they had the
weight of numbers on their side. Only in stories could one, heroic human beat four. A thoasa or an
arrachid would hand these fools their arses, a sorcerer likewise, but an ordinary human was
unlikely to win out. Given his size, I didn’t think the fel ow would go down easy, which would make
for an exciting contest.
As I was a gambler, I decided to stay and enjoy a low-risk bet with myself. I reasoned that even if
the noise drew the attention of the greenshanks, the fight would be over, and I’d be long gone by
the time they got here. The bear spat out a mouthful of blood that stained the tails of his pale
mustache. He was wielding a pair of what looked like climbing axes. They had narrow heads and
iron-bound shafts that were as long as his arms, but they weren’t weapons as such. A big ax was
lying about eight feet away beside a slashed backpack. Beyond the pack, a figure lay in a fetal curl,
save that her head was facing in the opposite direction to her body, unusual for a human even one
with above average flexibility. A long knife gleamed in her dead hand.
In my professional opinion, I estimated that he’d take one more, and maybe wound another
before they brought him down. Not the best odds for the attackers, but then if your career choice
was ‘brigand’ you probably didn’t spend much time contemplating the consequences of your
actions. One of the thugs, a lanky cull whose eyes were too close together, made an obviousfeint.
Predictably, the barbarian blocked it. He was ponderous and clumsy and stupid to have been
drawn so easily. This is going to be over sooner than I thought. As though to confirm my
assessment, one of the attackers on his flank darted in, his blade a flash of silver in the moonlight.
The barbarian didn’t even look as he hurled an ax at the sneak with surprising speed and
unsurprising power. It hit him square in the face, splaying his nose and taking him off his feet. The
bandit crashed to the ground. Limbs unstrung, he twitched and gurgled but didn’t rise.
The others froze, shocked at the sudden and fatally explosive counter. Expressions of grim
determination replaced the smug grins that had hitherto been etched on their faces. This is it. I
edged closer to get a better view of the barbarian’s last stand. A soft, almost imperceptible groan
gave a warning that all wasn’t right beneath me. It was quickly followed by a loud crack as the
joists on which I was laying snapped. I was moving as soon as the wood sighed. I grabbed the edge of the wall, pulled myself forward, and flipped off the roof as the rotten beams collapsed.
I landed in a crouch near the fellow who’d just had his face split open and drew my blades. It was
an entirely reflex action, but as far as they were concerned, it looked like I’d intended to join the
fray. Now, given a choice, I would have thrown my lot in with the bandits. They had the advantage
in numbers, and I probably had more in common with them than the bearish cove. He had about
him the look of a warrior, one of those dangerouscovesarmoredfrom sense by a ‘code of honor’.
Warriors swore all manner of noble oaths until some princeling or other cast the spel of gold that
turned heroes into butchers. At least the bandits murdered honestly without the need of pretexts.
You knew where you were with scum.
“Evening.” I smiled.
The oldest bandit backed away from me. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed, quite naturally surprised
by my dramatic entrance. I was about to introduce myself and give my bona fides as a member of
the Midnight Court when the small-eyed fellow stabbed his blade into the ground and drew a hand
bow. “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped at his remaining comrades as he fumbled a bolt into the
flight groove before wrenching the string back. He chinned at the barbarian. “Kill the fuck out of
him. I’ll deal with snake face.”
“Wel , that’s just rude,” I said. “I was only going to—” The string clicked in place, Small-eyesleveled
the bow at me. Following the barbarian’s lead, I hurled one of my blades. It flew true and took a
chunk out of his arm. The bandit yelled and dropped the bow but not before pul ing the trigger.
The bolt zipped past my head and shattered against the wall of the building I’d just fallen off.
“You freakish bastard.” He snarled and clutched his bleeding arm. “I’m going to fucking skin you for
this.”
His words were an unpleasant reminder of Mother’s threat and the senator’s promise. “Why is
everyone so intent on skinning?” I stalked towards the fel ow.
“I’m not intent on skinning you,” the barbarian offered all friendly like as he snatched the bucket
from the well, presumably to use as a shield since he’d partially disarmed himself. The fellow
who’d had his face split groped blindly towards me as I advanced on his comrades. I ended his pain
with a thrust through the heart and left my sword sheathed in his chest while I tugged the ax from
his ruined face.
“Oi, catch.” I tossed it to the barbarian. He grinned, hurled the bucket at the nearest attacker, and
caught the ax. I retrieved my weapon from the corpse. Small Eyes backed away from me, deciding
much too late that discretion was the better part of living to rob another day. I chuckled. “Do you
seriously think you can back away far enough that I’ll get bored? Or perhaps you think I might
forget what I’m doing and wander off?” I flicked the blood from my blade. “You might as well stand
your ground and die fighting because I am going to kill you.” To underscore my grim promise, the
barbarian bellowed a war cry and charged the remaining bandits. Seeing the shift in fortunes, one
of them wisely turned tail and ran like hell, leaving his erstwhile comrade to face the great hairy one’s wrath alone.
It wasn’t pretty, more butchery than skilled bladework, but it was quick as the bear hacked him
open from shoulder to balls. The bandit I was facing licked his dry lips.
“What if I surrender?”
I grinned.
“You miserable, filthy by-blow,” he cursed and then lunged at me. He was sluggish and heavy on the
forehand, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Even with the injury to his arm, he could have
done better. This wasn’t an attack, it was suicide, not an uncommon reaction for a human faced
with an aggressive warspawn. Most of them only saw a monster when they looked at people like
me. They saw only death in tooth and claw rather than someone like them who was making it up
as they went along. Do not mistake me, I wasn’t complaining, his misconceptions made my life
easier. I sidestepped his leaden attack, turned my blade inside his lax guard, and opened his throat.
He gasped, spraying a mist of blood into the silvered night. His gaze clouded as he got busy choking
to death on his claret and staring into the yawning void of eterni
ty.
I turned to see the barbarian wiping his ax on his attacker’s jerkin. When he was done, he
straightened, rolled his massive, fur-clad shoulders, and hammered his fist against his chest. To be
polite, I did likewise.
“Ah, no, it’s not a salute,” he said. “I was just showing you that I’m wearing a breastplate under
this.”
“I knew that.” Happily, I don’t flush when I’m embarrassed.
As the bandits bled out, the barbarian checked his pack, tutted, muttered, and grumbled. “Timely
arrival there, friend,” he said at last, although, even then it seemed like a difficult admission. “It
would have been a mite harder to put them down had you not shown up when you did. The gods
must be watching.” There was so much wrong with his statement all I could bring myself to do
wasnod. “What’s your name, friend?”
“Amberley. Chas Amberley at your service,” I lied smoothly and inclined my head.
“You’re thoasa?”
I nodded. “Close enough.”
“My name is UlthvarrUrisson.” He grinned evidently proud of his name. “My friends call me Uli.” He
spat on his hand and offered it to me. I was tempted to slot him and rob the lot of them. But it was
late, and he might prove useful, so I took his hand. It felt like I’d wrapped a steak around my fist. To
give him his due, he didn’t flinch away from my cold, scaly skin as most humans did, and to give me
my due, I didn’t balk at grasping a handful of sputum. “Where are you heading, Uli?”
“To Valen and then back home to Grundvelt.” I swiftly concluded that traveling with this fellow
would be a sensible precaution given that the greenshanks were looking for a lone warspawn.
Added to which, he was handy in a fight, if a little on the messy side. “These hills are dangerous,” he said in case I hadn’t noticed the dead bandits. “We should maybe travel together a ways. What say
you, Amberley?”
I pretended to think about it before speaking. “I’d be delighted,” I said at last.
“Just one thing,” he added. “I have to make a slight detour, to help an old friend.”
This was not part of my plan. “I wish you well and good luck on your quest, friend, but I must be