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Queen of Thieves Box Set

Page 106

by Andy Peloquin

The Voramians froze as they spotted the empty table. As one, they turned toward her, and their eyes flew wide at the sight of her standing at the top of the staircase.

  A vicious smile broadened Rhynd's face. "Damn, girlie! Aren't you the clever one?"

  Ilanna swept a mocking bow. "I wish I could say the same about your men, but…" She shrugged.

  Rhynd's smile tightened. "You're going to make this fun for me, aren't you?" The crack of his huge knuckles echoed through the warehouse. "I suppose the First will have to settle for a corpse."

  Fury burned in her chest. This was the man who had destroyed Old Town Market, burned down her home, killed her son and Ria, and beaten a dozen of the Night Guild to death. "By the time I'm done with you, there won't be enough left to send back in a jewelry box."

  The huge Voramian laughed, a sound which held cruel amusement. "Oh, I'll enjoy this, little girl." He bared his teeth in a snarl. "I'm going to break every bone in your—"

  "Boring." Ilanna yawned. "If it's all the same to you, I could do without the dramatics." She hefted the club and beckoned to the thugs. "Let's just get on with it, shall we? I don't have all day."

  Her mock bravado was intended to anger the thugs. Judging by the dark looks of Rhynd's companions, it had the desired effect. They raced toward her, drawing their own clubs, daggers, and even one short sword. With shouts of fury, they charged up the stairs.

  She leapt over a low swipe and brought her club down on the foremost thug's head. The blow staggered the man, but his comrades surged around him. Ilanna darted backward to avoid a vicious dagger thrust, blocked a swinging club, and ducked beneath the chopping short sword. She stayed within striking range. If she could keep the attention of the thugs long enough—

  With a shout, Errik and Verum joined the fight. Despite their pain—evidenced by the tightness of their pale faces—they fought with the skill of their House. Verum grunted as a thug drove a club into his gut but wrapped his fingers around the man's wrist and twisted, breaking the man's grip on the weapon. Errik leapt atop the man with the short sword. Though half the thug's size, he had spent more than a decade training in every manner of combat.

  The two remaining thugs joined in the fray—one coming for her, and the other laying into Errik. Ilanna winced at the loud thud of wood striking flesh, but she had no time to worry about the Serpent. The Voramian was pressing her hard, a club in one hand and a dagger in the other. She ducked, dodged, and blocked the dagger and club strikes, but lack of food, water, and rest left her exhausted. She couldn't block every attack—she had no choice but to give ground.

  Something crashed into the man's legs, sending him stumbling forward. The thug pitched to the ground, and Joost pounced atop the fallen man's back, raising his club. The Voramian lashed out with an elbow, and Joost fell back with a cry, blood streaming from a broken nose. The Voramian managed to stumble upright before Ilanna could strike. She gripped the club in both hands and brought it against the inside of her opponent's knee with bone-crunching force. The Bloody Hand thug grunted, his shattered knee giving way. Ilanna brought the club up, striking him beneath the chin and snapping his head back. He sagged backward, hitting the wooden floor with a thump.

  Ilanna had no time to hesitate. Joost lay pinned beneath the fallen man, hands clasped to his broken nose. Somehow, the Voramian remained conscious. Dazed, but aware enough to fumble for Joost's throat. The Fox wheezed as the thug's fingers encircled his neck and began to squeeze.

  With a snarl, Ilanna brought her truncheon down on the base of the man's skull. Bone crunched. The man flopped atop Joost. Again, Ilanna struck, this time bringing the club crashing into the back of the Voramian's neck. The thug twitched once and moved no more.

  A weak gurgling sound caused Ilanna's head to snap upward. Rhynd stood at the top of the staircase, huge fingers wrapped around Verum's throat and leg, holding the man over his head. Blood trickled from Verum's mouth and nose. He coughed and beat in vain at Rhynd's grip on his throat. Rhynd's enormous muscles bunched.

  "No!" Ilanna could do nothing but watch in horror as Rhynd hurled the Serpent across the warehouse. Verum hung in the air for a terribly long time before he crashed into the table. Cards, coins, and shards of wood flew in all directions.

  Acid surged into Ilanna's throat. Verum lay so still, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled around him. The Serpent would never rise again.

  Rhynd's harsh laughter echoed in the warehouse. He turned his leer on her. "You fly next, little Hawk."

  With a shout of rage, Ilanna charged the huge Voramian. Rhynd carried no weapons, but his massive hands flexed and relaxed in anticipation. His grin broadened as he crouched on the balls of his feet.

  Two paces from Rhynd, she hurled the club at his face. His eyes left her for a heartbeat as he reached out to catch the weapon. Ilanna slid between his tree trunk legs and scooped up the short sword that had fallen from the grip of Errik's opponent. She whirled and slashed.

  Rhynd moved with impressive speed for his bulk, leaping backward. Instead of digging into the artery in his leg, the blade drew a thin line of red just above his knee.

  Rhynd gave a derisive snort. "That the best you can do? I've had worse cuts—"

  The Voramian staggered forward with a grunt as Joost drove his heel into the huge man's knee. Ilanna swiped at Rhynd with the sword. Rhynd slapped the blade wide and slammed his fist into Ilanna's chest. The blow hurled her backward, knocking the air from her lungs. Her head struck the wooden planks hard. Pain radiated from her breastbone. She gasped, wheezed, and clawed for breath.

  She dimly heard a cry of pain. Joost's. Ilanna tried to focus her blurred vision. Rhynd stood over the lanky Fox, pounding at him with blows powerful enough to shatter stone. Ilanna staggered to her feet. Though the world spun about her, she gritted her teeth and launched the short sword at Rhynd. The weapon clattered against the Voramian's broad back harmlessly.

  Rhynd paused, fist raised, and turned to her with a sneer. "Really? That's it?" He gave a mocking shake of his head. "Pathetic." He stalked toward her, outstretched hands still stained with Joost's blood. "I'm going to enjoy ripping you to pieces, you little c—"

  A figure darted from a darkened room and slammed into Rhynd. Ilanna cried out as the huge thug crashed through the wooden railing, taking Allon with him. She felt as much as heard the meaty thump that echoed in the warehouse.

  Allon had saved her life, had given her a chance. She dropped to the floor below, landing in a roll and rising to her feet. The Hound lay still, but Rhynd had already begun to move.

  Without hesitation, Ilanna seized a sliver of the wooden railing and drove it into Rhynd's leg. The huge thug grunted and fumbled for her. Leaping back, she scooped up a thick plank. She brought the wood down hard on Rhynd's outstretched hands. Fingers bent and cracked, and Rhynd cried out.

  As Ilanna cast about for another weapon, Rhynd roared and hurled himself atop her. His huge arms wrapped around her knees. She fell hard, her head striking the stone floor of the warehouse. Spots swam in her vision. A fresh wave of pain exploded in her side as Rhynd's fist slammed into her ribs. She cried out. Bone bent but held.

  She tried to squirm free of Rhynd's grip, but he closed his uninjured hand around her throat and drew her face toward his. "You bitch!" he roared, spraying spittle. "You'll pay for—"

  Something slammed into the back of his head. His grip on her throat weakened, and Ilanna tore free of his grasp. Errik stood over them, a wooden truncheon clutched in blood-soaked hands. He raised the club and brought it down hard atop the back of Rhynd's head.

  Rhynd struck out with a wild blow that caught Errik in the knee, sending him staggering. His hand returned to Ilanna's throat and squeezed. Ilanna choked out a strangled cry. Her right hand lay trapped beneath Rhynd's bulk, and her left beat at the thug's iron-hard forearms in vain. Blackness pressed in on the edges of her vision.

  Rhynd's face filled her world. Teeth bared in a snarl, eyes alight with maddened rage, the
huge Voramian leered down at her. Desperation surged within Ilanna. This would be the last thing she'd see before she died.

  Her right hand pressed against something hard. The dagger in Rhynd's belt. Her dagger.

  With all her remaining strength, she bucked her hips and knees upward. She had no hope of dislodging him, but the movement opened up enough space for her to rip the blade from his belt. The razor edge sliced into the flesh of her stomach as she pulled it free. Snarling her rage, she drove the tip of the dagger into the side of Rhynd's neck.

  Rhynd's eyes flew wide. His ruined hand fumbled at the dagger's hilt, his hold on her throat never weakening. Ilanna tore the blade free. Blood sprayed from the wound, a crimson torrent that washed over her hand. She brought the edge across the back of the hand choking the life from her. Rhynd's fingers instinctively twitched, releasing their hold. She squirmed backward as the thug gasped and hacked. His hands went to his neck in a vain attempt to stanch the arterial spray. His rage-filled eyes never left hers as the light faded. His movements grew weak, his breathing ragged. With a twitch and a hoarse croak, Rhynd lay still.

  Ilanna gasped for air. Her throat ached, and fire raced through her lungs, chest, and ribs. Rhynd's weight pinned her to the ground. The stink of blood and his loosened bowels washed over her.

  Errik crawled toward her, his face twisted in pain. Together, they levered Rhynd's corpse from atop her until she could wriggle free. She lay panting on the floor, too tired to move, to think. Allon gave a weak cough that ended in a groan. Joost's bruised and bloodied face peered over the balcony.

  Ilanna dragged herself over to Allon. The Hound's right arm lay twisted at an angle that turned her stomach. Blood seeped from a massive gash in his forehead. But he would live.

  Every shred of effort went into climbing to her feet. Retrieving her dagger, she stumbled up the stairs to collapse before the room where Darreth waited.

  "I-Ilanna?" Fear filled the Scorpion's voice. "Is that you?"

  Ilanna coughed and winced at the fire in her ribs. "It's me, Darreth. I'm going to get you out of here." She forced the dagger into the space between the door and frame and shoved. The door popped open. Darreth knelt in the darkness, ropes holding him bound instead of chains.

  "I've come…to save you." She staggered two steps forward and collapsed. The dagger skittered from her hands as exhaustion, fatigue, and pain washed over her. With a weak cough, she gave in to the merciful embrace of unconsciousness.

  Chapter Forty

  The peal of the Lady's Bells snapped Ilanna awake. Each toll drove the dagger of fear deeper into her chest.

  Six bells. The sixth hour of morning. Dawn lay less than an hour off.

  She lay on the hard stone floor of the warehouse, not the wooden planks of the second story. Darreth must have cut himself free and carried me down here. Three bodies lay on the ground beside her. One belonged to Veslund, and beyond him Allon lay silent and still. Rhynd's enormous corpse remained undisturbed. A fire crackled in the brazier beside the card table where the Bloody Hand thugs had sat.

  She tried to leap to her feet, but her body proved clumsy and unresponsive. Every muscle throbbed, adding to the pounding in her head. Her chest ached with every labored breath.

  Darreth looked up from where he crouched over the unmoving figure of Allon. "Ilanna, you shouldn't be moving. You need more rest before—"

  "No…time!" Ilanna gasped out. It felt as if a mountain sat atop her chest. The thump of her heart sent threads of pain darting through her torso, and each breath brought fresh waves of fire. "Have…to go."

  Darreth stood and bustled over to her. "One wrong move and you'll snap your breastbone. It's only by the Mistress' grace that the bone's not broken." His eyes flicked to Rhynd's corpse. "Had he caved in your chest, not even Tyman could've saved you."

  She gritted her teeth against the pain. "But there's no immediate danger? No ribs about to puncture my lungs? No internal bleeding?"

  Darreth shook his head. "No, but if you move—"

  "Can't you wrap it or something?" she demanded.

  Darreth shook his head. "You don't wrap injuries to the ribs or sternum—adding pressure runs the risk of snapping the bone. That'd be dangerous. Any sort of movement is dangerous right now."

  "I don't have a choice." Ilanna groaned and struggled to a crouching position.

  Frustration in his eyes, Darreth helped her to stand. "You really should take it easy, Ilanna. Your injuries may not be as severe as the others, but they're bad enough to warrant bed rest."

  "I'll have time to rest later. First, I have to stop the Duke from executing the Night Guild."

  Darreth's eyes flew wide. "What?" Confusion marred his face. "What do you mean?"

  Ilanna winced. Rhynd had dragged Darreth, Errik, and the rest of her crew from the Night Guild tunnels when the Duke's men invaded. They had no idea she was behind it. "I…"

  She had no desire to tell them the truth. They would no doubt perceive her as a traitor and hold her responsible for the death of so many of their comrades. But she couldn't lie to them, not about this. If they discovered the truth on their own, she would lose the trust of the only people in the Guild she considered her allies, her friends.

  "When I heard what Rhynd was doing to the Night Guild," she said, her words coming out slowly, "I enlisted the help of the only person in Praamis who could do anything. I brought the Duke's men into the tunnels." She steeled her expression at Darreth's sharp intake of breath. "It was the only way to get rid of the Bloody Hand. And it worked. But then the Duke arrested me and every Journeyman, apprentice, and tyro. Their trial starts at dawn." In less than an hour. Every second spent here could mean more Night Guild deaths.

  "What can we do?" Errik's quiet voice echoed behind her.

  Ilanna whirled. Errik's swollen eyes looked worse in the light of the meager fire. Mottled bruises covered his face, and he winced with every limping step. A cloth sling, torn from the blood-soaked robes of dead Voramians, held his right arm cradled to his chest. Yet his expression held only grim determination.

  "Nothing," she said. "I made this mess, so it's up to me to clean it up."

  She cast a glance at the window. The first traces of dawn had crept across the horizon.

  "You're not goin’ to do this alone." Joost came up beside Errik. The Fox wasn't in much better shape than Errik. The bruises on his face matched the Serpent's, though perhaps not as severe.

  Ilanna shook her head. "You're barely able to stand, much less fight your way through a pack of Praamian Guards and Arbitors."

  "Neither are you." Errik rolled his eyes. "And we both know that was never your plan. You have something in mind—you always do. So let us help you."

  Joost's expression grew stubborn. "You may feel it's your responsibility to clean up the mess, but remember those are our brothers facin’ the King's justice. If there's somethin’ we can do to stop it, you're a damned fool if you think you're goin’ to do it alone." He gave her a wry grin. "Besides, your last plan made me rich. Perhaps this one will make me famous. Think about it: the Fox who saved the Night Guild."

  Ilanna's chuckle turned into a groan. "Foolish men. Trying to get yourselves killed."

  Errik shrugged. "It's what we do. So tell us what you need."

  Ilanna took a deep breath. Her eyes strayed to Allon. Though the Hound's chest rose and fell, his breathing was shallow, his face pale and clammy.

  "He'll be fine." Darreth made a shooing motion. "I'll keep an eye on him. And the Serpent." He jerked a thumb toward Verum, who lay beside Allon. "You go and do what must be done."

  With a nod, Ilanna turned to Errik and Joost. "If we're going to do this, here's what I need…"

  * * *

  Ilanna gritted her teeth against the stabbing pain in her chest and forced herself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other.

  She wanted to stop, to catch her breath, to sit even for just a moment. Fatigue blurred the edges of her vision. The fire in her breastbo
ne and the fist squeezing her lungs made it impossible to think beyond her next step. She knew if she stopped moving, she wouldn't make it. The exhaustion would wash over her and drag her into unconsciousness. By the time she awoke, the Duke would have executed the Night Guild.

  She'd made the journey from the Warehouse District to Watcher's Square dozens of times. It should take no more than half an hour running at full speed across the Hawk's Highway. Walking the streets of Praamis, pushing through the crowded marketplaces and bustling streets, gasping for each agonized breath, she had no chance of arriving before the Lady's Bells tolled out the ninth hour of the morning.

  Blood rushed in her ears. Her heart pounded a staccato rhythm. Too late, it seemed to say. Too late. Over and over, mocking her failure.

  She pushed away the thought of Jarl's body dangling at the end of a hangman's noose. No, she told herself, I'm not too late.

  Duke Phonnis had started the trial of the Night Guild at dawn, but Praamian law required him to present evidence for each person accused of crimes. That should take hours. Hopefully long enough for her to arrive at Watcher's Square and stop the executions.

  The "how" of that particular problem had yet to present itself. She had no idea what to say or do to stop the Duke from simply arresting her and adding her to the ranks of the condemned. But she knew she had to try. That meant reaching Watcher's Square before the executions commenced.

  A passing cart slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the muddy street. Tears of pain streamed from her eyes as fresh waves of pain radiated from her chest. Coughing, gasping for breath, she staggered to her feet.

  The Ward of Refuge loomed in the distance, and Ilanna turned east to skirt the heavily-traveled temple district. Those Praamian Guards not fortunate enough to be selected for duty in the Watcher's Square would be watching the Temple Market. Only a blind idiot would miss the blood and mud staining her clothes. Best she avoid drawing attention for now.

  Someone bumped into her, and she stumbled against a wall. Fire screamed through her chest. Darreth hadn't wanted to wrap the ribs, but he'd insisted she take it easy. She couldn't afford to take it easy, not until she had stopped the executions. Every Night Guild death would rest on her shoulders.

 

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