Spitter shrugged. “There are always a few pirates, I guess. And drunk men knife each other in alleys, I’m sure. It’s a city.”
Up in the gate towers, the guardsmen stared into the distance. They looked bored.
Alleg and the men waited by the door until the guards wrote their names down and collected their weapons. Kurlisk at first refused to give up his sword—it was his calling, after all, his connection to the divine—until Feathers reminded him he’d promised to buy them drinks. When the gate was opened to allow them into the city, Alleg and his lieutenants bowed in greeting to a short man with a tall helmet and an officious manner: captain of the guard. Just before the others pulled Kurlisk into the city, he saw the captain hold out his hand, palm up.
Kurlisk and the men wandered weaponless through the stony streets, letting Spitter lead them to a bar he knew. “Where are the guards?” Kurlisk said, looking around at the marble fountains and tall shops. The other reavers assured him they were probably throwing dice in the guard houses.
The bar was called The Broken Rudder, and there were no tables in it at all, just a bar along one wall and benches in the rest of the room. Spitter assured the others that the wine was good for the price, and without a place to set down their drinks, they’d be drunk all the faster.
“That suits me fine,” Feathers said.
They sat together in circles and told stories of men they’d killed, houses they’d burned, and goods they’d stolen. Feathers had been an archer in the King’s Company in High Laloor, but he’d shot his wife’s lover through a window from a rooftop across the street while he had been fucking her. After that, Feathers had thrown away his sash and fled the city. Spitter had been a pirate’s son too queasy to take to water but too lazy to apprentice with his mother’s family. Other men had similar stories: betrayal, murder, and poaching. One man, called Groaner by the others, had tried to cheat his way into the Achlesdan School of Shadows, the local wizarding school, and had been cursed with an aching belly as a result.
They also told stories of their own cowardice, laughing and shrugging as they mocked each other over fights they’d fled from.
Kurlisk, in his turn, told them stories of his own travels, how he’d been hired to steal an egg from a Swimmer nest and was surprised to find it guarded. How he’d traveled all the way to Faal Elhim to challenge a Hokloshi to single combat. At this, the men jeered—they didn’t believe any man could defeat a Hokloshi alone, but Kurlisk only laughed at them. He told them he’d taken a tusk as a trophy, but had to trade it for safe passage out of the city when every hog and grey cap in the city came after him.
He told other stories, too, of being hired by wizards in towers to kill other wizards in towers, and to carry away instruments that turned out to be too delicate to move. Of being pursued by a team of swordsmen so deadly that any one of them could have bested him, and how he climbed into a ruined Pinzu border tower to hide, while they camped below, taunting him and challenging him to combat. Eventually, Kurlisk said, their shouting caught the attention of a family of razor bears, and he listened to the swordsmen scream and fight and die and flee, while he lay quietly in the tower trying not to smell like food.
By this time, the other reavers were laughing at his stories of bravery and last-minute misfortune. They didn’t believe him, exactly, but they enjoyed his tales. Finally, when the stories had been told and the drunken laughter had turned loud and sloppy, Kurlisk seemed to turn thoughtful. “This is a fine city, I think.”
The other reavers became wary of him. “Indeed it is,” Spitter said. “A fine, well-guarded city.”
“Well-guarded?” Kurlisk said. “There were two men above the gate, and two men to take our weapons. Have you seen a single guard since we entered the streets?”
“Take care,” Groaner warned him. “We may not see the soldiers, but they are there, and they’re trained fighters. We’re mostly cowards.”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Kurlisk said, his words slurred. “I just think it’s admirable.” He had trouble pronouncing the word. “It’s admirable when people mine and sow and hunt and make and build and sail and trade and get themselves rich. I have always liked that sort of person best. What sort of goods do they trade here, with all this river traffic?”
“Everything,” Feathers said. “Or pretty much everything. Satins and silver ingots. Usk furs and Milyami baby leather. Quilts and tents and even, sometimes, asa dust.”
Kurlisk didn’t respond to that. He just drained his cup and looked thoughtful.
The reavers didn’t have the coin to visit a brothel, and Kurlisk wasn’t so free with his money that he’d loan it to thieves. The owner kicked them out of the bar at midnight, thanking them for their custom and cursing them under their breath. Feathers began to sing in a loud quavering voice. The lyrics were in Laloorian, but he assured them it was about bedding other men’s wives and daughters, and the men were determined to learn to sing the chorus, at least, even if they didn’t understand the words.
They crossed a high, arching bridge and came to a flat island ringed with docks well out in the river beyond the walls. Here, moorage was cheap. They collapsed onto the damp grass and slept under the spring stars along with the boat men.
Kurlisk, Feathers, and the others returned to the glen in the morning, not arriving until well after nightfall because they were brutally hung over and could barely manage to plod over the hills. The narrow stair was nearly impossible, and only Kurlisk’s goading—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—prevented them from lying on the hill and sleeping through the night. When they finally stumbled into the tents, Kurlisk found a square of stale bread and a wedge of cheese waiting for him.
He slept late the next morning, knowing the reavers would settle in for a few days before they made another foray. He’d barely finished breakfast when Otter leaned into the mouth of his tent and said: “Alleg wants a word.”
Kurlisk rolled to his feet and went down into the bottom of the glen to Alleg’s tent. He was acutely aware of the matron and other reavers watching him. He hadn’t been inside before, but he wasn’t surprised to see it was laid out like a suite: There was a couch along one side, a table with six chairs in the center, and a large locked chest behind his desk. “Welcome back to the glen, Kurlisk, my boy,” Alleg said. His long curved sword lay unsheathed on the desk before him. “I hear you bought a fair share of drinks for my boys.”
“True.”
“I also heard that you were admiring the wealth of the fort. ‘Satin and silver ingots,’ eh?”
“Your hearing must be very sharp,” Kurlisk answered, “but not sharp enough to tell when I’m speaking and when I’m silent. It wasn’t me talking about satin and silver.”
“Nonetheless! We do not venture into cities. We are a kind of farmer tribe ourselves: we cultivate the Unorkans, reap their wealth and preserve what we need for next year. Most bandits live a year, maybe two, but my boys and I have raided here for eleven summers. That’s why I can’t have you talking to them about wealth. It gives them bad ideas. We are not working for a single big score. We are building our wealth, bit by bit.”
“By staying within the rules.”
“Yes. And the man who breaks the rules risks breaking me. Do you know why I took you into our little group?”
“Because you did not want any of your men to die for a cart full of winter wheat.”
Alleg waved his hand as if lazily shooing a fly. “That was a side issue, yes, but it was not the important one. I wanted you because I saw a fire for killing within you. A fire for taking that I thought could be tempered. A reaver can live easier than a lord if he is smart about it. You could be that smart, but only if you choose it. Can you do that, my boy? Can you steal within the rules?”
The tent flap opened and Kurlisk heard Binj’s heavy step behind him. He turned to see him enter, axe in both hands. Colbi, his slender straight sword already drawn, followed just behind. Binj’s mouth hung open but his hooded eyes were watc
hful. Colbi had beads of sweat on his brow.
Kurlisk turned back to Alleg. There was no pretense between them. Alleg knew Kurlisk had undermined his leadership, and that challenge had to be met immediately. If Kurlisk backed down, he would become just another one of the men. He’d be given a ridiculous nickname like “Knifer” and kept in the middle of the pack, paid in copper coins and porridge.
“You know, Alleg,” Kurlisk said. “I’ve followed other reavers before. I played my part, took my orders, collected my shares. But I’ll be damned if I’ll take orders from a captain of the city guard.”
Colbi had the lighter weapon but it was Big Binj who moved first, thrusting forward with the spike atop his axe. The point went low, aimed squarely at Kurlisk’s belt buckle.
But Kurlisk ducked below the thrust, his knees and elbows touching the cotton carpet, then he sprang upward. With his left hand he drove the shaft of the axe into Binj’s chin. With his right, he drew his small sword and, from a distance of four handwidths, cut the arteries in both Binj’s arms.
The blood was bright and warm and smelled of copper. Colbi stepped back, swinging for the back of Kurlisk’s neck but striking the shaft of Binj’s axe instead. Kurlisk kicked at Colbi’s leg, shattering his knee, then cut his throat to the spine before he could scream.
Binj collapsed onto his knees, his axe falling to the carpet. Kurlisk cut off his head with a backstroke.
“DAMN you, boy!” Alleg kicked the table over. It landed upside down on Binj’s torso, wobbling unsteadily.
With a bloodthirsty scream, Alleg swung for Kurlisk’s throat. Kurlisk parried but the next blow came swift and hard, and the reaver found himself hard pressed. Worse, the broad table lay between them; Kurlisk’s sword could not reach Alleg, and he could not close without stepping on it and risking a fall.
Alleg twisted his wrist, mid-swing. The point of his sword slipped below Kurlisk’s parry and cut him lightly on the side. The reaver stepped back and bumped his heel against Colbi’s body, almost losing his balance.
It was a bad spot, and Alleg pressed his advantage, punctuating every blow with a word. “Stupid. Boy. I. Was. Killing. When. You. Were. A. Suckling. Babe.”
Enough. Kurlisk struck hard on one parry, knocking Alleg off-balance slightly. In the brief delay, he sprang across the table, landing beside the reaver. Alleg roared, putting all his strength into a mighty cut, but Kurlisk had already slashed him lightly across the belly. Then he slashed him again. Lightly.
Alleg cried out in a high, fearful voice. He reached down with his free hand, catching hold of his guts as they tried to spill out. It wasn’t enough. He dropped his sword to hold himself together with both hands.
“I don’t want you to have a single, big death,” Kurlisk said, wiping his blade on the tail of Alleg’s shirt. “I want to build it, bit by bit.”
Alleg stumbled over the bodies of his lieutenants, and went through the tent flap and fell to his knees on the grass.
The reavers who had gathered around gasped in shock. Then Colbi’s head sailed out of the tent, followed by Binj’s. Finally, Kurlisk came out, dragging the locked chest behind him. His sword was sheathed at his belt and he held Binj’s axe easily in his hand.
“Look at him!” Kurlisk roared. “Look at all of them! They’re nothing! And when you die on one of their raids, what do you die for?” He raised Binj’s axe and smashed the lock on the chest, then kicked it over. A pair of woolen blankets and three copper coins spilled out. “Nothing.”
The reavers came forward to stare at the threadbare treasures spilling from the chest. “No, boys,” Alleg said in a quavering voice. “That’s not… A needle and gut, boys, please. A needle and gut.”
Kurlisk wasn’t done. “How many men died on the last raid? Six? And for what? A wheel of cheese?”
Kurlisk raised the axe and cut off Alleg’s head. It rolled across the grass and stared up at the men, blinked twice, sleepily, then went still.
“You could have more,” Kurlisk told them. “This valley full of farmhands isn’t going to make you rich! Isn’t that why you became reavers in the first place? To take everything you can carry, and sharp steel for anyone who tries to stop you?”
“Yes!” one of the men shouted. The others began to smile.
“Do you want to sleep in a fine bed instead of a tattered mat on the bare earth? Do you want to wear steel armor over silk? Walk down the street with armed guards at your shoulder and concubines behind?”
This time it was the whole group who cheered. “Yes!”
“Well, that will never happen! Not if you content yourself with stealing from farmhands. But just over that hill is the wealth of Achlesdan…”
“Achlesdan is a fort,” Spitter said. Beside him, Feathers and a few others were nodding. “We’re less than two dozen now.”
“It’s a fort, yes,” Kurlisk said. “But they’ve grown lax. We all saw it. They haven’t faced an army in two generations, and with reavers such as these…” He kicked Alleg’s head toward the other two. “Why should they worry? They need a sudden shock, just as you do, and few things shock a man like a large quantity of gold unexpectedly changing hands.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Men, I have a plan.”
* * *
Night had fallen hours ago and the Forest Gate of Fort Achlesdan was shut tight. The reavers had pushed a cart loaded with empty boxes and their own folded tents along the road to the city but the guards had shouted down that they would have to wait until morning to enter. Kurlisk and the other reavers had nothing to do but wait for the moon to rise.
In the end, all the reavers had agreed to go on the job, even Otter and Crowhair. Kurlisk had to order the two boys to stay behind with Matron to watch the camp and their prisoners. The boys had strength enough to push a point through flesh, but not parry a blow. Their time would come another day. He promised them a quarter share if they could bury Alleg, Colbi, and Binj deep in the ground.
The slivered moon crested the hill, shining a faint light onto the gate and the guardsman on either side of it. Kurlisk slid off the cart and went to the far side, where Feathers was sitting, nervously chewing stale bread. “It’s time.”
The night was cool, but Feathers wiped the sweat from his forehead. “This will work, won’t it? Won’t it?”
Kurlisk laid a hand on his shoulder. “The only way this might fail is if you miss. And you never miss, do you?”
“Never.”
“Good. Once the guards are dead, we go over the gate. The casino is right there within sight of the square, disguised as a hat maker’s shop. I know. I’ve been inside. The guards spend their nights escorting drunken lords to their carriages. We gut them and everyone else, grab every coin and bauble, steal the galley we saw at dock and scuttle it at Deep Bend. We’ll be splitting the loot and the women back at the glen while the city guard are still chasing phantoms down the river. But only if you can hit these targets.”
Feathers took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Watch me.” He strung his bow on the ground out of sight of the guard towers, rolled to one knee and, with reavers on either side to screen him, loosed his first arrow.
Even in the dim light they could see it strike the guard full in the throat, but there were a few shocked moments before he fell. Not that Feathers noticed, because he had smoothly drawn a second arrow and nocked it with the ease of long practice. He bent his bow a second time and loosed his second arrow.
This guard fell almost immediately. Now the Forest Gate was unguarded. “Quickly now!” Kurlisk hissed as he ran forward and threw a grappling hook. He was the first to climb the rope ladder, moving with an agile grace the others knew they couldn’t match. At the top, he sat straddling the gate, hooked another grapple and let a second rope ladder fall down the other side to the square below.
The other reavers were not so quick. They huffed and sweated as Kurlisk helped them throw one leg over the top of the gate and descend into the city. The whole operation took much t
oo long, but as Kurlisk had expected, no one interrupted them. Kurlisk himself was the last to descend.
“Which way?” Spitter whispered. His voice was tight and panicky. Kurlisk answered by running silently around a statue of a marine commander straight for a broad brick lane.
In the middle of the block, he hesitated as though suddenly uncertain where he was. “Where is it?” Spitter asked, his voice not so hushed as before. “Where is the hat maker’s?” He looked around at the two-story buildings. None had signs advertising clothing of any kind. The men shuffled their feet nervously. “Are we on the wrong street?”
A line of spearmen suddenly sprinted into the intersection ahead, barring the way farther into the city. The reavers turned toward the gate as though they could flee up the rope ladder, but another line of spearmen was already moving into place to block them. The city guard had penned them in. All along the block, on both sides, balcony doors flew open and crossbowmen streamed out, aiming down into the crowd of reavers.
Silence. The captain—the same man who had held out his hand for Alleg’s payment—stepped forward. He was young for his rank, and he stood with the prim posture of a man who believed himself honest and honorable. His weapons were sheathed, and his plume was very tall and very neat.
“Well,” he said, and waited.
Kurlisk tossed his small sword at the captain’s feet. Behind him, he could hear the reavers throwing down their weapons as well.
Then Kurlisk said: “Here they are, caught in the act as promised.”
* * *
The captain’s office was smaller than Alleg’s tent and no better furnished. It seemed that rising in the ranks of the city guard didn’t lead to a big score either.
The captain dropped a purse on the table. “It’s all there.”
Kurlisk counted the coins anyway. There weren’t many, but they were gold and it was the price they’d agreed to. “My sword?”
The captain made no move to fetch it. “I have begun to think that I made a mistake in hiring you.”
Bad Little Girls Die Horrible Deaths: And Other Tales of Dark Fantasy Page 7