Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

  Tati glanced at the elf, who shrugged.

  Taking her shrug as sign it was okay to move, he got to his knees and rummaged in the crates. Found a few small vials. They glowed, cold luminescence twinkling as he handed them over. A ribbon of black, like a worm, threaded the glow. The elf felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at sight of it. Then watched Tati take a few coins from the boy and pat him on the shoulder as he left. “Don’t use ‘em all at once, Nate.”

  “I won’t, man.”

  But he would.

  She knew that. Had seen the same look in his eyes as so many others in Lostlight.

  A ghost, hungry for flesh.

  It can’t be sated. Never be full. It was hunger made manifest. As the trio oozed from the room, spindly fingers twitching, they looked back as one.

  Narrow eyes piercing gloom, they hung on the elf for a moment.

  Just a moment.

  But in their gaze, she felt their feral thoughts as they considered swarming Tati for more Shadow. Only her presence stopped them. Resentment oozed from tattered pupils. Pupils which glittered with sharp light before the primal figures skittered out into the night.

  Whispers twittering in the shadows of their wake.

  Tati shook his head. “Fucking creepy, ain’t they?”

  “One day, they’ll kill you.”

  “Probably.” He didn’t sound concerned. “The streets gotta eat. And the Dark Lord knows I already ate my share.”

  He was silent after that for a long time.

  Seemed to decide it would be her who’d break the trembling quiet.

  But her mind was turning inward.

  Fingering memories she’d thought lost.

  Times she’d crawled from a smoke den, lungs drooling the slime of all she’d been able to afford to blot out the wretchedness of her life.

  The illness which lasted for days afterward. Unable to eat. Shaking uncontrollably.

  Hunger for more.

  Terrible ache squeezing temples and gnashing at her eyes.

  Pulse of heart burning through skin. Boiling blood and bone.

  And, at night, the terrible cold.

  Sweating and crying. Begging.

  Pressed against alley walls and huddled in doorways.

  And, when the meagre coin came, following the invisible silver trail back for more.

  The Jukkala’Jadean had no room for alchemist brews or bacha smoke. No room for distraction.

  They beat the need from her.

  Wrestled it from her soul. Replaced it instead with a different kind of craving.

  A lust for brutality. For violence.

  With a grimace, the elf allowed she still wasn’t sure in whose favour the trade had been made. Maybe she’d never know.

  A moist snuffle drew her attention and her violet eyes snapped open to find the Fish lifting his head slowly and peering at her. Confused and amoebic. Slack jaw working as he summoned the shreds of thought in an attempt to pull a sentence through his mouth.

  “Spud?”

  Tati leaned toward the big man. “Hey, Fish. You alright?”

  “I had a dream, Spud.” Slurred. Spittle dribbling down his chin. Still tried to smile. To split jowled face into a grin. “You won’t believe it. Won’t believe what I dream.”

  “Sure I would. Why don’t you tell me. Tell me all about it?”

  “I saw Mother.”

  “Really? You saw your ma?” Tati licked his lips. Pushed himself onto the balls of his feet and started toward him. The elf let him go, aware the man cared only for his friend’s health. “You saw her? Did she speak, Fish? Did she tell you she was happy? Did she tell you to live your life? Grim’s teeth, tell me that’s what she said.”

  “She looked just like her,” Spud said. Raised a flabby arm and pointed a little to Nysta’s right.

  “The elf?” Tati chuckled. Nervous. “Your ma weren’t no long-ear, Fish.”

  “Not like the elf,” he said. Then bloodshot eyes widened, pupils swallowing the world. “She was like her shadow.”

  “Shadow?” Tati glanced at her. “What do you mean? Fish? What d’you mean?”

  But the big man was sinking, eyes fluttering shut again.

  An aquatic murmur escaped rubbery lips on the back of an eldritch sigh. The alchemist’s potion still swept through his veins. Still drove him deeper into insanity with the grace of a mad god.

  The elf shivered at the thought. Couldn’t stop the urge to rub the scars on her hands. She’d had enough of gods.

  More than enough.

  “Crazy fuck,” she muttered.

  “It’s not his fault!” Tati’s rage burst and he rounded on her so fast the elf whipped A Flaw in the Glass loose from its sheath and pointed it right between his eyes.

  “Take a leaf outta his book, feller,” she growled. “And chill out.”

  He bristled, teeth grinding as he worked frustration from his core. Had to chip at it with everything he had to stop diving at her and trying to wrestle the blade from her grip.

  Told himself over and over it’d be pointless.

  He’d seen enough death on the streets to know there were some kinds of fighters you don’t mess with unless you’re sure you can best them.

  And he knew he couldn’t best her.

  His hands were too old.

  Limbs too slow.

  So he stayed where he was.

  Burning her with his eyes until the fire sputtered and died.

  “Shit,” he spat at last. Flung himself down in the corner furthest from her. But close enough he could watch the Fish’s massive chest rise and fall. “I weren’t gonna try nothin’.”

  She let the lie hang.

  “Best you don’t move fast from now on,” she said. Calm, but wired. “On account of if you do, I’ll most likely kill you first and figure out your intentions later.”

  He looked ready to snap at her, then bit the retort. Closed his eyes and let his shoulder slump. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate the warning. Ain’t many would give me that much.”

  “Only give it the once.”

  “I know.” He kept his eyes shut. “He was a good kid, long-ear. Real good kid. Bright. Friendly. Now look at him. He’s a fucking wreck.”

  “Yeah. He looks a little beached.” She thought of the frenzied expression on his face. The strange grin. “Still. He seems happy enough.”

  Snort. “That’s the fucking Shadow. Inside, he’s livin’ a nightmare.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said softly. “Figure he’s having a whale of time.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “That’s not funny, long-ear. Not funny at all. He can’t help how he’s got. He’s gone through a lot of shit.”

  Sourly. A hint of spit ready to be sent sailing toward her.

  Spit he swallowed in anticipation of a violent response.

  A response which never came.

  Instead, the elf remained unmoving. Waiting for the blushing light of morning to begin sliding into the house.

  Time crawled between them, stretching silence to breaking point.

  By the time that light had begun to work its way into the dark streets, Tati was soaked in sweat. His eyes were barely open. Face pale and drawn. Bristles slathered thick across wide jaw.

  The Fish had rolled onto his side, one hand gripping an empty vial. It was his second since she’d arrived. He snored soft, eyes darting behind lids as he navigated a dreamland of disquiet.

  She closed her eyes.

  Felt the shadows curl inside her flesh. A gentle whirl of movement she was getting used to. Hardly ever seemed to notice the feeling of insects crawling across her skin anymore. It was as natural now as the feeling of blood rushing through her veins.

  The steady thud of heart.

  Suck and exhale of lungs.

  And then, above it all, the creak of hinge as the front door opened slowly.

  “Headjam?”

  Tati hesitated. Maybe thought about yelling a warning. Brow twi
tched as her hands slowly dropped to the hilts of her knives. “Corrow? That you? I’m in here.”

  “Shit, man. Had me worried.”

  “Nah, don’t sweat it,” Tati said. “It’s all good. Just looking after the Fish here.”

  The man who walked in was dressed in a long black coat with three sharp red slashes on either cuff. He carried a heavy crate with rope handles.

  Behind him, two more in identical coats with identical crates.

  And identical scowls as they saw her leaning against the wall.

  “Who’s the bitch?”

  The elf’s head lolled to her side and she looked down at the floor with a glazed expression on her face. Tried to pull her mouth back into a slack grin.

  “Uh, y’know. Just another happy fucking customer.”

  Corrow dropped the crate down at the Fish’s foot. Still eyeing the elf. “She’s got a lot of knives, mate. You sure she’s okay?”

  “Why you think I’m in here with the Fish? I weren’t gonna leave her alone with him. I saw her blades. But all she wanted was a blast and that’s that. She’s been there all night.”

  “You’re too trusting,” he grunted. Then stood. Waved the others to drop the crates down. “Forn? Keep an eye on her, will you? I don’t like her.”

  “Got it.” Frowned. “Why’d you come, Corrow? Why you? There something wrong?”

  “I was just in the area is all. Figured I’d let Turm take the morning off. Don’t sweat it. I ain’t here to knock you around or nothing. Why you asking? Is something wrong?”

  “Shit, Corrow. Ain’t nothing wrong. It’s just a surprise, you know?”

  “Sure.” He nodded. Slow nod. “The Fish been taking too much of his stock, Headjam?”

  “He’s okay,” Tati said. Fast. “And he pays for it himself out of his own pocket. You ain’t missing a single copper, I promise.”

  “Never said he was stealing supply, mate. But I ain’t seen him talking straight in a long time. There’s been questions. Questions I’m gonna have to answer sooner or later.”

  Headjam sounded glum. “I know.”

  “Clean him up, mate.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Where’s your part?”

  He lifted himself awkwardly, knees paining him. Shuffled across the room to the stacks beside the sleeping form of the Fish. Cracked one open and pulled out a few leather bags which clinked as he passed them over.

  Heavy bags.

  Forn’s eyes were on Nysta. She could feel them boring into her as the bags were passed over. Expecting her to spring to her feet and try something desperate.

  Something stupid.

  But it wasn’t coin she was after.

  Not in the cold light of morning.

  He grunted in disappointment as she slumped even further.

  Her arms flopped loose across her knees in reasonable simulation of someone lost in the embrace of an esoteric rush. Quiet moan slithered from her mouth.

  Forn dragged his gaze to the bags. “It all there, Corrow? Fat old fuck ain’t holding out is he?”

  “Yeah, Forn. Don’t sweat it. It’s all here. Right, Headjam?”

  “I’ve been with the Claw a long time now,” the heavyset man said, letting irritation seep into his voice. “Why you gotta ask that shit?”

  “You don’t wear the coat.”

  “It didn’t come in my size.”

  Forn sneered. “Maybe you should work out, old man.”

  Tati let that pass. Instead looked at Corrow. “Is this how it is now? Now you’re getting bigger, you gonna prune off the fucking little guys? I ain’t a big fish, Corrow. I know that. But I ain’t so small. I do right by Noster, don’t I? Always have. I took my knocks for him, same as anyone else. Why you come round here and give me shit like this?”

  “You know what it’s like,” he said. Shrugged as he nudged the Fish with his boot. “We see him like this, and we wonder what’s happening with you.”

  “If you’d seen what they did to his parents…”

  “Relax, Headjam. We ain’t here to piss you about. It ain’t a personal thing. Just trying to sound you out is all. You get me?”

  “Sure.” He pushed himself back against the wall, but didn’t lower himself to the floor. Aimed his dull gaze at the elf. “Sure, I hear you.”

  “You’re an old soldier, mate,” Corrow said. Almost sympathetic. But unspoken threats rendered words empty. “And you ain’t been forgotten. It ain’t you I’m worried about. But maybe being out here on the fringe ain’t for you no more. Maybe you can come back inside. Work from inside our volcano, yeah? You got a lot of shit you could teach the lads.”

  “Sure.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I will.”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow.” Again he nudged the Fish. Sucked his tooth with disgust when the big man opened his mouth and let a string of drool slide down his cheek. “Fix this shit, mate. Before it’s too late for him.”

  As they left, the elf slowly got to her feet. Began patting herself down.

  Brushing the butts of her knives. Tasting their names on her tongue.

  He watched her work.

  Knew exactly what was going through her mind. When he spoke, his voice was cold.

  “That kid. One who calls himself Forn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you kill him slow, I’d be grateful.”

  “I owe you anything?”

  “I could’ve told them. Warned them. I didn’t.”

  “I’d have killed them if you had. Killed you, too.”

  “Maybe. But I made it easy, right?” He ground his teeth hard. “Fucking kids ain’t got no respect anymore. Not a fucking ounce of it. But you do. I see it, no matter what you’re sayin’. You know what it’s like. You know what I’ve done. What I gave up. What I had to become. You know it. You respect that. It’s why you didn’t kill me. Now, I ain’t asking for you to spare my life. If you cut me now, I understand. It’s the way of the streets. Let me live, and I won’t tell anyone shit. I swear it. You know the score. You know I can’t tell anyone shit anyway. All I’m asking is if you kill him, do it slow. Please?”

  The elf squeezed her hands into fists. “Forn?”

  “Yeah.” Nod. “You’ll do it?”

  “How can I refuse that kind of request?” Scratched at the scar on her cheek as she turned to head out into the Dragonclaw streets. “When it seems so dear to your heart?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sun barely kissed the rooftops, smoothing the creases of black with sullen purple glow. Still, the elf blinked a few times as she moved outside. Looked left and right, down rows of tall brutal towers and ramshackle buildings.

  High above, hidden behind a caged balcony, someone whistled a sorrowful tune. It echoed in the tight street.

  Could see the three Red Claws heading toward a side street further down the road. They didn’t look back. Shoulders low and stride shuffling them slowly along.

  For them, it was the end of their day and not the beginning.

  They’d spent the night hassling who they needed to hassle and prowling the edges of their territory. Like dogs, they snuffled through streets. Like dogs, they pissed where they felt like.

  Like dogs, they lunged in packs.

  And, like dogs, some of them died.

  The gangs called it work.

  She kept herself to the shadows as best she could. Didn’t want to draw attention.

  There weren’t many ways to hide in streets and lanes this thin. But she could quickly squeeze into an alcove if they looked like turning around. Which meant keeping a tight gaze on their movements.

  Looking for the telltale sign one of them was about to glance back.

  The three men continued down a side street with as much disregard for their surroundings as before. And why should they care? This wasn’t the border of their territory. This was its beating heart.

  Who’d attack them here?

  The elf let them pick the pac
e. Didn’t get too close. Kept as far behind as she could. With only a minimal crowd on the streets so far, she couldn’t weave among the people.

  An old fruitseller looked up as she passed.

  Looked over his shoulder at the three men she was following and clicked his tongue. “Looking for trouble, lady,” he whispered to her.

  She glanced at him. Reached out and took an apple from his cart before dropping a few more coins than necessary into his palm. “Forget about what I’m looking for, feller.”

  “Forget?” He looked shocked at the suggestion. “Shit, long-ear, I ain’t seen fucking nothin’ to forget.”

  The apple was crisp.

  Sweet. The scent of it in her nostrils after the foul stink of the Fish’s den earned a smile to her face as she followed the three Claws down a lane which zigzagged constantly. Needed stairs in some places as it angled up a steep incline.

  Wet gutters guided smoke-coloured water back down into the sewers. Something smelled bad. Like pig fat.

  Drains gurgled.

  A dockworker nearly walked into her, eyes hardly open. Looked like he hadn’t slept.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She ignored him.

  Realised she was too far behind the Red Claws and tried to catch up.

  Distance muffled their voices, but they seemed to be arguing.

  And kept arguing as they turned out of sight.

  She tossed the apple’s core into an alley and wiped her mouth.

  Dropped a hand to A Flaw in the Glass and edged up to the corner. Pressed cheek to cold wall. Looked around.

  Saw Forn and the other standing in a doorway. Coats open. Hands on hips.

  An old man was wrestling his battered cart into an alcove. They watched him struggle, not looking interested in helping out.

  Corrow had to be inside.

  She scratched at the scar on her cheek. Picking at the rough edge. Feeling the sting of the old wound.

  Drew back as Forn looked around. Not suspicious. Just bored.

  The other man grumbled. Forn shot a quick line back at him.

  Whatever it was, the other Claw scowled. “-smarmy little cunt.”

  Then Corrow stepped out, tucking something into his coat. More coin, most likely.