Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7)

by Lucas Thorn

“Shit,” she growled. “This is turning into a rocky horror.”

  She jumped to her left, missing a sudden gout of smoke and flame from a hole under her elbow. Missed also a knife thrown at her back as she spun from where she’d landed with a frustrated roar.

  Knife hit rock and skipped like pebble across water.

  Swallowed by fire.

  She lifted her head, wincing. Saw figures converging, thrusting themselves through the thickening smoke.

  Saw Halvik waving arms. Pointing Red Claws through chaos.

  And, behind him, the gates were open.

  “Did you really kill him, long-ear?” Halvik’s question died with a cough. He shouldered back into the gloom. Disappearing through growing layers of white. “You kill Noster?”

  “Yeah,” she called back. Squinting. Getting to her knees and turning. Sound as someone sprinted to her right. Away from her. “Fair to say it’s because of me he went to pieces.”

  “He weren’t alone. You know that?”

  Smoke reached through the atrium with blistered fingers. All around, cracks in the ground split wider. She touched the stones beneath her feet and winced.

  The ground was hot.

  Called; “Then he didn’t die alone, feller. Any reason I should give a shit about that?”

  “Maybe they got out through the back,” someone said, voice muffled by mask. “Could be some made it.”

  “They didn’t make it,” Nysta said. Swung her head, searching for the gate. She’d nearly lost her bearings. It was easy to do. Looking up, she couldn’t see the sky anymore. “They’re all dead.”

  Halvik snarled. Shouted; “We ain’t letting you out of there. If we don’t kill you, we’re gonna shut you in. Let you burn. It’s what you fucking deserve!”

  Licked her lips as the last few figures were swallowed in the smoke.

  Someone coughed. Another wretched as the putrid smell burned his lungs.

  Saw another wrap more cloth around his face before being swallowed by smoke.

  Considered running straight ahead, but knew that’s what they were waiting for. Before many had been lost from view, she’d seen them parting.

  Providing a corridor of opportunity.

  One which would snap shut around her if she dared to take it.

  She could just see the closest of them, brushing the edges of the acidic cloud. Dark figures blurred and shapeless.

  Ghosts.

  And, in that moment, she was struck by the realization that they were the ghosts she should have been.

  They should never have seen her. Never should have known she was there.

  Damis.

  Noster.

  Both should have been dead without the whisper of a scream.

  Instead, she’d been nearly captured twice. Then trapped in their basement. And the only way she’d escaped was by forcing an explosion which would draw the attention of the entire city. When she made it out, she knew the Duke’s guards would no doubt be close.

  It was a miracle they weren’t here already.

  Maybe not so much of a miracle if Hideg had anything to do with it.

  Whatever his reasons, she could only feel a knot of shame in her belly as she understood this hadn’t been a success. This was a bitter failure. A bitter failure which had cost more lives than she wanted to think about.

  If she was still in Lostlight, the Jukkala would’ve her nailed to a wall for drawing so much attention to what should have been a simple murder.

  Pride.

  She’d always been proud of how far she’d gone within the Jukkala’s ranks. She’d risen high enough to be there on the day a Caspiellan mage and his small army penetrated the city and made their way toward the King’s palace.

  Had she fallen so far that she’d forgotten everything it meant to be Jukkala?

  Was she really just a street thug?

  Her cheeks, red with shame, burned hotter than the smoke biting her neck and arms. In some places, skin peeled. Dry flakes brushed free. A few blisters wept tears her eyes couldn’t shed.

  But her fists clenched tight.

  Tighter as the she allowed anger to bleach the darkness of her soul. In this way, it was absorbed. Absorbed into the pounding of her pulse and the cruel line of her smile.

  The ground behind was swollen with heat. It trembled.

  Ruptured.

  Disgorged its fiery blood and spat blackened rock at her back.

  But she was already moving. Even as the ground loosed more quakes and shuddered with every step, she ran. Angling to her right, arm behind her hip to hide the venomous glow of the blade.

  Back bent. Legs crouched.

  Feet barely touching ground before she was moving.

  “She’s over here!”

  But the voice was wrong. She was nowhere near it.

  Shouted curses.

  Scramble of boots.

  And then a frightened face puffed free through smoke and stared, slack-jawed, into her snarl.

  Opened his mouth to yell warning.

  And earned A Flaw in the Glass between his teeth. She grabbed a fistful of his hair as she rammed the wide-bellied blade home across his tongue. Drowned the rush of noise trying to escape his throat. Thundered to a halt as the tip burst through the back of his neck.

  His arm swiped.

  Knife in his fist. A weak attempt to attack with his last strength in search of token vengeance.

  The elf let go of the knife to seize his wrist. Implacable grip.

  Held his arm, tip of blade only an inch from her ribs. Staring into his eyes as life flickered in the dark of his pupils.

  “I remember,” she whispered to him. Soft. Words which floated with his soul to the yawning abyss promised by the Shadowed Gates. “I remember what I was. I remember how I lived in the dark. How I killed without sound. I remember everything now. And I won’t forget again.”

  Dropped the corpse with a sodden crash and ducked further right, deeper into smoke. Forcing her body to flow across rubble, rather than let her feet explore it. Feet barely touching ground long enough to slip.

  Could smell the sour stink of smoke through the cloth wrapped around her face.

  Smoke which yearned to sear her lungs.

  Could hear others coughing all around.

  “Where is she?”

  “Here!”

  “Lay off, you dumb fuck, it’s me!”

  “Shit-”

  “Grim’s ass, you nearly fucking killed me…”

  “Sorry.”

  “Get to the gate!” Halvik. Bellowing like a bull. “The fire’s out of control. We can’t see shit anyway. Close it the fuck up. Let the bitch fucking burn! Come on, you bastards. Run. Run!”

  She reached.

  Grabbed the kid by the back of his neck as he leapt up from the ground in front of her and began running. How old was he? Too small. Too skinny to tell.

  Fifteen?

  Did it matter?

  His body spasmed in fright as her hand grabbed him.

  Pressed her mouth up against his ear before he could squeal. Hissed; “Quiet! She’ll hear us.” Her voice muffled. “You see her yet? Have you? Seen her?”

  “No, I-”

  “Forget it. Hey? Which way’s the gate? We’ve got to get out of here before she gets us.”

  And he relaxed in her grip. Began to turn. Pointing. “Just up ahead-”

  “Obliged.”

  A Flaw in the Glass speared up under his ribs, clipping spine before punching into stuttering heart.

  He screamed.

  Everything he had was put into his scream. Every ounce of agony. Every morsel of fear.

  And no one heard it.

  Her hand clamped his mask tight against his mouth, smothering sound.

  He hung on her blade for a moment, venomous enchantment burning inside his body. Throbbing in time with his heart’s last confused twitches.

  As she pulled A Flaw in the Glass free, blood gushed down her pants.

  Into her boot.
>
  The gates were closing.

  “Hilfe! Where are you?”

  “Here!” Sputtered cough close. She couldn’t see the woman, but she could hear her. Scrambling like a rat. She must’ve been on all fours.

  The elf squatted low.

  Listening.

  “Halvik? I’m coming.” Cough. Then desperate shriek; “Don’t close the gate without me! Halvik? Don’t close it without me!”

  “Hurry the fuck up! Hurry!”

  Rubble shifted.

  Hilfe spat. “Shit.”

  Pebble skittered. Hit the elf’s boot.

  Nysta sprang, soaring above ruined earth.

  Lifted blade high above her head. Then down in a silent whip of light.

  Buried to the hilt in Hilfe’s skull.

  The sound of impact was crisp, then wet. Sick crunch of bone as the elf wrenched the blade free. Uncaring as the skull splintered open to flood the ground with brain and gore. A bucket emptying its awful contents.

  Turned fast, heading quickly toward the gate.

  The gates were closing.

  Cough from her right.

  Eyes stinging, the elf shook her head to clear her vision.

  “Hilfe? You here?” Small voice. Trying to keep quiet. “Where are you?”

  Cough. Coughing hard.

  She took a step. Rolled heel on loose rubble.

  Saw him. Lanky. Pressing a rag to his face with both hands. Blinking rapidly.

  He began to turn, searching for the woman whose brains were cooking on the ground nearby.

  “Hilfe?”

  Nysta slammed into him, sending him wheeling onto his back. Threw herself onto his chest and dragged A Flaw in the Glass across his throat. Slicing as deep as she could to ensure no scream ghosted his vocal cords. Relished the sudden spurt of red as it jettisoned across her shoulder and neck.

  Splashed her face as he writhed.

  “Forget it kid,” she murmured, holding his mouth shut. Pushing his head hard into rubble. “Ain’t no one here can help you now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hot warmth bubbled between fingers. Across knuckles.

  Her violet eyes weren’t looking at the body twitching beneath her.

  Instead, her head jerked this way and that as she searched for sign of more Red Claws. Trying to find passage through dense smoke.

  Hoping she was going in the right direction.

  Had she been turned around after killing Hilfe? Was she heading back into the heart of the inferno?

  “Who’s missing?” Halvik. To her left. Not far away. Choking on smoke. “I said, who’s fucking missing? Everyone got out?”

  “Marek went back in.”

  “Marek?” Lifted his voice. “Marek? Hilfe?”

  The elf lifted from the shivering body. Blood dribbled from her fist. She peered through smoke and began to creep toward his voice.

  “Close it.” Halvik again. “Fucking close it.”

  “What about Marek?”

  “He’s dead. She got him. Close the gate.”

  “But-”

  “Close the fucking gate!”

  Heavy creak of iron. Iron twisted by heat.

  She moved quicker. Keeping low. Shimmer of light through smoke.

  “Halvik? It’s not closing. Look, heat’s warped its hinges.”

  “Shit.” Thump as the bigger man put his shoulder to work. “Come on, you bastards! Get over here. Give us a hand!”

  Faster.

  She moved faster.

  Stumbled over an arm half-reaching from the debris. Dead arm. Blackened to the wrist. White bone nudging through burnt flesh.

  Sudden gout of flame from the ground made her skid a circle before regaining balance. As the fire choked, she thumped her thigh with fist. Frustrated.

  Couldn’t see anything from more than a few feet in either direction and it was blurry.

  Everything was blurred.

  Eyes too wet.

  And the air was thick. Warm. Humid as though she was breathing her own exhalations. She wanted to tear the rags from her face. Suck clean fresh air.

  But knew the toxic fumes would kill her quicker if she did.

  Lost.

  She didn’t know which way to the gate.

  She’d been spun around.

  Couldn’t see the arm in the ground. Had she kicked it loose?

  “Fuck.”

  Which way?

  Grunt as men pushed with all their strength.

  She swiveled on her heel and darted toward the sound. Blind and snarling beneath the makeshift mask.

  Undulating moan in her ears as the gates began to close.

  Halvik roared; “Push!”

  Sliver of light. Promise of freedom.

  Something moved. A hand raised. Then she saw the whites of his eyes.

  “Look out!”

  A Flaw in the Glass plunged into Halvik’s arm, just above the elbow. Sliced up to his shoulder before ribboning free on crimson spray.

  He jerked back, fast enough that the enchanted blade missed as she tried to slash his throat. Didn’t even get close enough to nick skin.

  But it didn’t matter.

  He grabbed his arm. Tried to push the flaps of his flesh back together. Wished he could staunch the flow of red.

  Took three steps.

  Dropped onto his ass, back against the gates. All strength leaving in a startled rush.

  He’d bleed out in a few more moments.

  Still pushing on the gate, a short Red Claw, mask slipping to expose grimace.

  She swung in low, thundering into his chest with her shoulder. Arm in uppercut, shearing the nose from his face in a flash of venomous green.

  It dropped to the ground between his feet. A startled splash and roll of cartilage in mud.

  He would have shrieked, but she brought her knee up hard. Smashed into his abdomen and sent air whooshing from his lungs on bloodied spit.

  He rolled to the ground on his side. Tucking himself into a ball of agony, trying to breathe enough to scream.

  Hoarse cries gurgled and died in the back of his throat. Throat made raw by the acidic air.

  As she whirled to a halt in front of the gates, the elf tossed A Flaw in the Glass into her left and drew Queen of Hearts with her right. The evil black enchantment ran black tendrils up and down her wrist.

  Curdling light.

  Eager to kill.

  As though sensing the blade’s eldritch hunger, the remaining Red Claws flinched as one.

  But still lifted weapons. Eyes still stared hate through curtains of fear.

  They’d lost friends. Lost family. Lost pride.

  Alone, she was to blame.

  Halvik gave a last whimper.

  Slumped onto his back and died with eyes to the bitter sky.

  “My wife was in there,” a tall man said. Black hair. Short beard. Voice staccato and sharp. Ready to break. Eyes red by smoke. Red by rage. Red by sorrow. “Didn’t make it. I had a kid. You listening to me? A kid. He was just three. Three years old! What kind of monster would burn a child like that?”

  A young woman. Scarred. Knife in hand. “My brother, Baldr. Remember him as I kill peel the skin from your face, bitch. Remember him!”

  “Ah, Sera,” a smooth voice called from behind. Amusement like honey on his tongue. “Baldr’s dead? Well, you just made my day, sister. Baldr was an asshole. Everyone knows that. Why, if you cast your mind back, you’ll remember the time he whipped Mogey to death right out here in the street. And what for? For looking at him funny. That’s all. Piss poor excuse, even for me. Especially when you take into account old Mogey couldn’t help the way his eyes were. He was born like that.”

  The Red Claws shifted. Spread out, attention torn away from the elf to the new arrival.

  A collection of gasps. A few growls.

  Someone spat on the ground.

  Tall man thrust his knife toward the speaker. “What the fuck are you doing here? This is our turf, Filth! Red Claw turf. Y
ou don’t belong here.”

  “Your turf?” Filth grinned back at him, leaning on his cane. Looked at the burning fire which had been the Red Claw towering volcano. Raised an eyebrow. “It don’t look like much, Spear. In fact, it looks more trouble than it’s worth. Gonna take a fucking year for the coals to cool, I’m thinking. And then another year to build it up again. Or, you know, maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll just put a little bitty whorehouse on it. You know? Cute little pink door and frilly lace curtains? Couple of flowergirls out front selling daisies. Red magelights everywhere and shit. Yeah. I like that idea a whole lot better. You know, Spear, I reckon we’ll be taking over. And if you don’t like it, you’re free to fight for it right here. Right now. Goes for all of you.”

  “I ain’t afraid of you, Filth.”

  Klista emerged from the shadows, smiling with a cruelty to match the elf’s. The cane in her hand was held loose, slim sword still hidden within the wooden sheath. Blue sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “You should be afraid, little Red Claw. You’re all alone. And there ain’t many of you left now.”

  “Alone?” Spear looked at the ragged group of Red Claws. “There’s only two of you.”

  “Always said you Red Claws were stupid,” the girl said. “Can’t even count.”

  And Shivs drifted into the street. Dozens of them. Armed with their canes. Some had drawn the long thin swords free.

  Reflecting the fires at her back.

  Flashing white and red.

  “You made a mistake, Filth.” Spear said. Tried to stare the old gang leader down. “You’re in our turf now. And there’s more of us all around. Ain’t all of us right here.”

  Klista drew her sword. Steel flashed and red drizzled down the edge to drip to the ground.

  She grinned. “We talked it over with them,” she said. “Those still alive are seeing things our way.”

  “You-”

  Sera snarled. “This is bullshit, Filth. You can’t do this!”

  “I already have.” Then, dismissing the Red Claws entirely, gazed at the elf in open admiration. Lifted his arms wide as he delighted in the sight of the volcano as more of its wall slid into the furnace of its belly. “Well, sister. You always make such a mess?”

  “I have my moments.”

  “When you run the streets, it’s easy to be forgotten. Easy for the guard to not recognize your face. But when you burn a volcano down, words gets around. Right? And then they pick you out. Ain’t just the guards. It’s the gangs. See, they don’t like it when a loner gets too big. They feel you’re testing them. Or you think you’re too good for them. And that’s something they just can’t abide. You see what I’m sayin’?”