Spring Showers Box-set

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