He watched, he didn’t want to, but he needed to see it happen. Tam’s body jerked and twisted. A sound, not Roderick Tam’s voice, came out of his throat. It was despair and hate, and the sound had traveled a long way by the time it escaped Tam’s body.
It jerked to life, it seemed to grow larger. It rose from the ground, stood there slavering, its teeth and fingernails, long and black and rotting. Its eyes now burning red with hate.
Vanora hadn't lied. This was one of the deathless, a ghoul. Its strength could match Heden's, even with his prayer for the strength and skin of a dwarf.
The ghoul lunged forward. Heden hacked at it with his sword. Tam’s ghoul-corpse ignored Heden’s sword, the blade of his father’s father, and grabbed the collar of his armor.
The ghoul sneered and bit deep into Heden’s flesh. His prayer, his stone-hard skin had no effect.
Heden cried out. The ghoul snarled, something like a laugh, as it ripped some of Heden's shoulder out. His entire body felt like it was on fire. Though wounded, the pain galvanized him.
The shades or shadows or whatever was contained within the black marbles swarmed over him, as the ghoul held him fast. They were strong, inhumanly strong, and possessed of immortal will. And there were enough of them to overwhelm him, tear his holy armor off, pull his limbs from their sockets if he gave them the chance.
Thinking desperately of what prayer would grant him the strength to defeat these creatures, he wondered if Cavall would grant him a dominion. Then, thinking of the winged servitors of his god, he remembered his own purpose.
It had been four years since anyone, Heden least of all, had fought any deathless. He had forgotten how. Stupid, he thought.
As one of Tam’s black-fingered hands grasped Heden’s jaw, threatening to rip it out of his skull, Heden spoke a prayer.
Tam’s ghoul, all the shades, shadows, and spectres froze, locked in place.
Heden spoke another prayer, and a brilliant light exploded out from him, like the wave from a rock dropped into a pool of sunlight.
As the wave reached each deathless, they were vaporized, eliminated, evaporated.
A moment later, the street was clear, Tam’s corpse was gone, and four black-clad thieves stood there in the starlight looking around in confusion.
“Well that still works,” Heden said to himself. He looked at the thieves. "Next time you try and kill a priest," he said, "bring more than deathless."
"We did," one of the thieves said. As usual, Heden couldn't tell which one spoke.
He shot at Heden with something from his cloak, a crossbow, a small single-handed crossbow. Heden wasn't a thief or an assassin, he wasn't fast enough to get out of the way. Wouldn't have been fast enough even if he'd seen the weapon pointed at him.
A bolt lodged in his right side, just under his ribs. It was sorcerous, it penetrated his golden armor, his stone-hardened skin, and more, it sapped his strength.
"Ungh," he grunted, reaching down to grab the bolt, but something tugged on it. There was a thin cord attached to the bolt, leading to the thief who'd shot him. The thief had dropped the crossbow and was grasping the cord in his hand. As he yanked, Heden felt something, some part of him, his strength, his will, wrenched out of him, enervating him.
Another bolt slammed into his left side with the same effect. He went down on one knee but, as he fell, he slashed at one of the cords with his sword, breaking it.
"Black gods," one of the thieves said. They had never fought a prelate before, never faced someone capable of resisting them, and more: capable of fighting back.
Heden grabbed the remaining cord, and pulled, causing the thief on the other end to stumble forward.
He prayed and pointed at the thief. All the air was sucked from the black-clad assassin's lungs and he grasped and clawed at his throat, trying to get any air. He fell to one knee; he and Heden in the same pose, on opposite sides of the street.
Heden stood and closed the distance. If this was a black scarf, he'd be able to fight off the effects of the prayer if Heden gave him the chance. He was not inclined to do so.
He sliced at the thief's shoulder, hacking into his collarbone with his ordinary blade. The thief fell over. The twin attacks took the life from him, and Heden stood over another dead thief.
Two of the three remaining thieves lunged at him simultaneously.
Heden blinded one, and turned the cobbled street below the other to mud. The blinded thief shook his head, but continued advancing, trained to fight in complete darkness. Meanwhile, opposite him, the other thief took one step into the mud, sank, and then disappeared.
Heden again guessed where the shadow-walking thief would reappear. He prayed and gestured with a hand, and a gust of wind lifted the blind thief off the ground. He twisted harmlessly in the air.
With another gesture, the wind hurled the thief toward the street, just as the other thief reappeared. The blind thief smashed into his conspirator and, making a mistake fatal to both of them, attacked with his poison blade, mistaking his teammate for Heden in his blindness.
As the poisoned thief clutched at his back with one hand, fumbling in his vest for the antidote with the other, Heden stepped forward and ran the blinded thief through. When the blind thief cried out, clutching the blade protruding from his chest, he realized he'd killed the wrong man, and the mistake cost him his life.
These were battle tactics; the kind of fighting Heden was used to. Had done for years. Though expertly trained, the thieves had nothing like the experience Heden did.
He walked forward casually and grasped the hair of the poisoned thief from behind. The man gave up searching to the antidote to the poison, and attempted to stab Heden. Again the blade glanced harmlessly off Heden's golden armor.
Heden drew his blade across the man's exposed throat, and kicked him in the back, causing him to tumble forward onto his face. Another dead thief.
His body pulsing with battle fury, Heden felt no remorse. These men were trained killers.
One thief was left, he stood there, watching, apparently terrified. This would be the brown scarf. A brown scarf was nearly a match for a black, but whatever the difference was, it meant this one was scared. Watching men he considered unbeatable, invincible, be eviscerated on the cobbles in the middle of the night had scared the piss out of him.
Heden walked toward him. His golden armor glinting in the starlight. The thief pulled three throwing daggers, and threw them at Heden. They were well-aimed, but Heden batted them away.
Then he was on the thief, grabbed him by the throat, as he had the first of the group he'd killed.
"Tell your master," Heden said, his body shaking from the fight, his breath coming fast and hard, "you tell Garth, I'm coming. I'm coming for him and the man who holds his leash."
The thief nodded frantically, and Heden released him. He fell to the ground, then scrabbled away before getting up and running into the night.
Heden stood there alone with four corpses in the middle of the starlit street, trying to master his breathing. He walked over to Tam's old shop. Stood on the stoop and pulled the door closed. Then he turned and slumped against it.
He slid down until he was sitting on Tam's stoop. He dropped his sword. His golden armor vanished and his skin returned to normal.
Then he put his head between his legs, and threw up.
Chapter Fifty
Breathing heavily from climbing up the granite stairs, the abbot waddled around to his desk, but did not sit down. He looked at the bookshelf behind him, searching for a tome.
“Ooh,” he sang to himself. “Why can’t you organize yourselves?” He fingered one book, and then another. Then found the tome he was looking for. “Ah-hah!” he said, and turned to sit down.
An assassin stood in front of his desk.
Seeing this apparition materialize caused the abbot’s knees to buckle. He fell, drooped the book he was holding. Tried to catch himself on the desk, failed. Crumpled to the ground in a heap.
; “Get up,” the assassin sneered.
He wrested himself to his knees, looked over the desk.
“Where’s the girl,” the killer asked.
The abbot’s face was pained, reflected pain. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“No, I don’t. I enjoy it.”
“You’ll never find her,” the abbot said, shaking his head. “This place is a maze, on purpose.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the assassin said. “I just needed to know she was here. Now I can find her myself.”
The abbot deflated a little. He should have kept his mouth shut.
“Sit in the chair,” the assassin said.
The abbot agonized over pushing himself up. Dropped down into his chair with a sigh.
“Is this because of the girl?” the abbot asked curiously. “Or because I’m Heden’s friend?”
“Yes,” the assassin said, removing a garrote from his belt.
“What’s that for?” the abbot said, staring at the black cord in terror.
The assassin looked at the garrote. “Stops you calling out.”
“Can’t there be another way?” the abbot asked. “I abhor violence.”
The nameless assassin shrugged. “There’s lot of ways,” he said. “How about poison?”
The abbot nodded.
“You got any wine?” the assassin asked.
The abbot bent down, fumbled under his desk for the bottle.
When he sat up again, bottle in hand, the assassin plunged a dagger into his heart.
The abbot gasped, grabbed the dagger, looked at his murderer in shock.
“You don’t get out that easily old man. This is about causing pain.”
The abbot’s corpse slid out of its chair.
The assassin’s eyes instinctively went to the wall where the only hidden door could logically be. The girl, beyond.
“And I’m only just getting started.”
Chapter Fifty-one
The three specials picked their way through the abbot’s office. Dead animals stuffed and posed, suspended orreries, and phials of unguents balanced on towers of tomes made this difficult.
“Black gods,” Fandrick growled. “Don’t they got closets in churches?”
Aiden, having just arrived, surveyed what appeared to be a wreckage but was probably just an old man’s office.
“What do we know?” he asked.
“Come in through the door,” Rayk said, pointing to the doorway. There was no door, just an arch. “Kills our man here, probably in a moment. Then he leaves through this passage,” she indicated the narrow, open hallway and the door leading to it, pulled open, creating a hemispherical clean space on the floor where it swept the debris of the abbot’s life away.
“Left it open, didn’t bother to cover his tracks. Didn’t care if anyone came after.”
“He got whatever he came for,” Fandrick growled.
“Which was what, exactly?” Aiden asked. “What’s down there?” he stepped over the piles of books and peered down the dark hallway. A cool breeze blew on his face. Air made cold by granite walls far from the sun.
“I checked that,” Rayk said. “It’s a maze. I found libraries, more secret doors. There was an apartment, a cot, a pot for cooking. No idea who stayed there. Food around the place, fresh, more or less. Could have been whoever was in there our man was after.”
Aiden turned his back on the secret corridor, looped his thumbs into his belt.
Heden was standing in the doorway.
“The girl from the fishmongers,” Aiden said, no surprise at seeing Heden. “Isn’t it?”
Heden walked into the room. Fandrick and Rayk looked at him, then to Aiden. Aiden seemed prepared to handle the questioning.
Heden said nothing. Just walked over to look at the body of his dead friend.
“Our man wasn’t very careful,” Aiden said. “Kills a rector in the middle of the church. Someone comes by in time, they could have brought him back. Saved his life. Gotten a description of the murderer.”
“He weren’t being careful,” Fandrick said, picking up the bottle of wine and smelling it to see if it had been opened recently. “’Cause he don’t give a shit.”
Aiden sighed. He walked up to the priest, staring at the dead man on the floor. No expression on his face.
“You don’t happen to have any idea why the count would want to murder a random rector in the middle of the church?” Aiden asked.
“Abbot,” Heden corrected, his voice rough. “He was an abbot. He was a friend of mine. That’s why he’s dead.”
“And that’s the only reason,” Aiden said. “Piss you off.”
Heden said nothing.
“Some friend you turned out to be,” Aiden said, his voice clipped.
Rayk threw the young man a look, letting him know his comment was in poor taste. Fandrick betrayed no reaction. Fandrick had no taste. If Aiden was trying to provoke Heden, it didn’t work.
“Yeah,” the priest said.
Aiden let his disgust show. “You know, I’m trying to figure this out. Rose Petal burns down, turns out you know the proprietor. She was a friend of yours too. Now probably dead.” Heden didn’t bother correcting him. There was no benefit to doing so at the moment. “The count is trying to take over the city, everything’s exploding, and somehow,” the young man stressed, “the bigger it gets, the more it all comes back to you. How is that?”
Heden shrugged.
“Yeah,” Aiden said. “Ignore me. Good idea. See what happens once I’m pissed off enough.”
“I’m not ignoring you,” Heden said. “I’m just thinking. If there was something I could do to help, I would.”
“Why don’t I believe that?” Aiden asked. Fandrick and Rayk watched the back and forth.
“I dunno,” Heden said. “It doesn’t sound very believable, I guess.”
“We go to the castellan,” Aiden said, indicating his two partners, “and we tell him all this,” he pointed to the dead abbot, “and your name comes up, again, how do you think he’s going to react?”
“He’ll want to talk to me.”
“No, he wants to talk to us,” Aiden said. “You he’s going to lock up until this all blows over in case more people end up dead because of you.”
“That’s reasonable,” Heden said.
“Cavall’s balls,” Aiden exclaimed, “you’re a stubborn prick.”
“Yeah,” Heden said.
“You got nothing you want to tell us,” Aiden said. “Any other friends about to get stabbed, burned alive?”
“Not at the moment,” Heden said. What, after all, did he know? “I think of anything, I’ll come to the citadel.”
“Won’t that be a surprise,” Aiden said. He spoke over his shoulder to his partners. “We got everything?”
“Dead body,” Rayk said. “Missing girl…”
“What else is there?” Fandrick asked.
“Come on,” Aiden said. “Let’s leave the man with his friend.”
The specials exited through the stone doorway. After a moment, Heden walked over to the divan and dropped himself onto it.
The books, the room, the divan, all smelled the same. Nothing had changed. Except now the abbot was dead. Would always be dead, now.
Why did the abbot try and help him? Why get involved, why the girl?
What a stupid question. He rolled his head back until it hit the granite wall behind him, and stared up at the ceiling.
“Fuck,” he said.
Chapter Fifty-two
The count stood before his table. The same table he always sat at. He liked being easy to find.
Heden stared at the count, saying nothing. He was alone this time.
The count indicated the packed room. “Real customers this time,” he said with a grin. “Not in my employ.”
Heden said nothing. The count blinked, waiting for a response.
“I’m going to sit down,” he said, and hesitated, waiting for Heden to object. When Hed
en did not, he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I trust we are now clear,” the count opened.
“This is a strange way to commit suicide,” Heden said finally. “Come in here, alone, without Garth.”
“Please,” the count said, affronted. “You’re not going to kill anyone in cold blood. If you were a watchmen, maybe you’d try and arrest me,” he admitted. “But you’re not and never should be so. I told you I’d get her, and I have her.”
“And you murdered my friend in the bargain,” Heden said.
The count raised his eyebrows. “I did? I’m sure I didn’t.”
Heden shrugged. “Did it, or had it done. Doesn’t matter. The last time you came here, you said we were enemies. You have no idea.”
The count held up a finger. “We are no longer enemies. I have the girl, I no longer care about you, or this place, or your friends, alive or dead. No one in my organization had anything to do with delivering the girl to me. That’s the point you persistently mistake. Power attracts friends. People who want to please me, get in my good graces. I didn’t have to lift a finger. No order given, I assure you.”
“You should enjoy running the city while it lasts,” Heden said, attempting to be genial, failing. “Because once I find your operation I will take it apart, brick by brick, and then you. Piece by piece.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the count sniffed. “Why would I want to run the city? Bureaucracy. No, I intend to run all the crime in the city. All the profit, none of the overhead,” he smiled, making a joke.
He looked at Heden and his face fell in disappointment. “Ah well,” he said. “Waste of time, I suppose.”
He stood and fastened his cloak.
“If you come after me,” the count warned. “If you make an enemy of me, I will kill everyone you’ve ever known, ever loved, everyone who’s ever cared about you.”
Heden locked eyes with him, his face betrayed no emotion.
“Too late,” he said.
Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) Page 23