by K. T. Davies
From Hell’s Heart
The Chronicles of Breed: Book 4
K.T. Davies
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From Hell’s Heart
Contents
The Empire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
The Spider and The Fly
Free Books
Author’s Note
About the Author
To Fi Sutton and the November Crew.
The finest of coves.
&
In Loving Memory of Siku and Iki.
Loyal companions to the end.
1
Johann liked to live dangerously…at the gaming tables. He was sure that dice, cards, and the occasional cockroach race gave him the same, rare thrill experienced by warriors in the arena and knights at the tilt. As he was under five feet tall and as slender as a twig, he would never, ever willingly find out if this assumption was correct, and he was happy with that.
And yet here he was following the trail of blood left by a wounded sorcerer.
Much to his disappointment, the spattered tracks did not lead to a sumptuous mansion where his injured rescuer would be waiting to reward his faith and diligence with handfuls of gold. It led as these sorry trails most often did, to a grubby alley in a dangerous part of town. From there the trail led to the cellar door of a brooding, old warehouse upon which a faded sign read ‘Blookmann’s Grindery’.
He guessed that, like a wounded creature, his mysterious rescuer had come here to die. It was quiet here, away from the haunts of gutterscum who’d strip a corpse from boots to teeth before it was stiff. He considered it a sound guess until the moment he opened the door and discovered he was wrong.
The only body lying on the grimy floor was the desiccated corpse of a rat. The spattered trail and slurred footprints of his savior continued into the shadowed depths of the cellar. Johann hesitated, unwilling to leave the false security of the light and enter the darkness. You’ve come this far, Jojo. Just a little further…surely? He followed the tracks. They led him between the dust shrouded forms of nameless machines, to a door that was hidden behind a stack of shelves that sagged beneath the weight of forgotten things.
Had the door been locked, his conscience would have allowed him to turn back. Alas, with only the slightest encouragement, it swung open, revealing a flight of steps that plunged into drear darkness. A rush of air ghosted up to meet him carrying with it the pungent stench of effluent. He paced before the door. “This is the most stupid thing I’ve done in days,” he said aloud for want of company. “Breed’s most likely dead by now, so what’s the point? And the damp sets me coughing.” Even by his low standards, he knew those were weak reasons for deserting his rescuer. He was disappointed. He was usually much better at coming up with excuses. With a heavy sigh, he grasped the slender nettle of his courage and headed down.
The residual terror of being beaten and almost drowned in a sack was banished the moment he stepped onto the narrow walkway, and dozens of feral, yellow eyes swiveled towards him. “Please don’t eat me, there’s a nice er, pack.” His words became a sibilant echo accompanied by the rats squealing and the phlegmy drip of sewage that slopped from slime-lipped pipes. Ahead of him, the wispy glaze of a flickering light sketched the curve of a side tunnel from which came the unmistakable sound of angry, raised voices. Oddly estranged from his beloved caution, he continued to follow the blood and head towards the light.
The side passage led to a verdigrised, copper-plated door that was hanging precariously from a single hinge. Caught by a groaning breeze, a rusty cage on a chain swung above it. Heart pounding, he crept inside. The room was empty save for a globe of witch light floating above the dusty bar. The silvery light picked out scuffed footsteps in the dust and droppings, overlaid by the blood trail. He followed it into another room that was lined either side by moldy booths. The blood and the footprints disappeared beneath a ragged tapestry of an imperial knight that was hanging on the far wall.
Three distinct voices rose suddenly to a sharp crescendo freezing him in place. He waited until the shouting stopped before drawing the tapestry aside. Steps leading down were lit by a sliver of light stealing from around a door at the bottom. He headed down.
“Oh, do fuck off, Ludo. That was never the plan,” a woman snapped.
Two voices answered in unison. Something about them made his skin crawl. That was it. He’d thrown the dice and come up short on guts. He headed up the stairs more quickly than he’d descended until he was eye-level with the top step, whereupon he pulled up sharply. The dog rat sitting on the step slowly blinked its amber eyes. The beast was dirty grey and easily half his size with a muscular body, claws made for disemboweling, and yellowed incisors as long as his fingers.
“Shoo!” he hissed unconvincingly, the breath catching in his throat. The rat’s whisker’s twitched, but it didn’t move. “Go on, fuck off!” He looked around for something he could throw at it. The rat’s mouth widened as though it was smiling. Defeated, he backed down the steps and, as much as he didn’t want to, stole a peek around the door.
Breed was laying on the floor, slumped against a yellowing throne made entirely from what looked like dog rat bones. A thin woman wearing a yellow gown was standing with her back to Breed. She was toe-to-toe with a monstrous, two-headed creature possessed of a massive, crab-like pincer. Johann shrank back. He’d made a terrible, possibly fatal mistake coming down here. He glanced over his shoulder. The giant rat had quietly descended a few more steps. It bared its fangs. It might have been a yawn, or it might have been displaying its impressive teeth in an attempt to intimidate him. Erring on the side of caution, Johann slipped into the room.
Crates were piled by the door, and as luck would have it, one had tipped on its side. The lurid green drapes it had contained had been dragged out and shredded by sharp claws. Shaking, Johann crawled inside the crate and put his eye to a gap in the slats. He locked eyes with Breed, saw a brief flash of carmine light in his savior’s yellow eyes before they faded to cloudy grey. A bottle of wine slipped from Breed’s lifeless hand and rolled across the floor. Spilled wine mingled with blood, one stain became another. I knew it. I knew I’d be too late. And now he was trapped.
At the sound of the bottle falling, the woman’s head snapped around. Her custard-colored skirts billowed as she dropped down beside Breed. Johann expected her to cry, to gently embrace the dying hero. Instead, she grabbed Breed by the shirt.
“Oh, no you fucking don’t,” she snarled, shaking the body.
Johann was sure that if nothing else, the cold fury of her voice would give Death pause before claiming Breed. Although, given the look on her face, the woman didn’t seem content to merely cause Death to hesitate. She seemed intent on denying the Reaper its due. The hair on his neck stood on end. He tasted sweet iron as the air grew oppressive, like a storm was brewing in the confines of the
cellar.
“Dear friend…?” The twisted thing tilted its heads questioningly.
“Shut up, Ludo!”
The creature flinched at the sharpness of her tone and backed away. She began to incant. As soon as they left her mouth, the strange words took on a life of their own. They lingered in the air, seemed to crawl over the walls and slither across the floor. The pitch rose and fell, became harsh and sibilant by turns as the chant built in power. Johann put his hands over his ears, tried to block out the painful noise hammering through his skull. Light and sound concentrated around the woman. He rubbed his watering eyes. He was mistaken. The light wasn’t being drawn to her, it was coming from her.
“If you think you’re going to fucking die and deny me the right to fucking well make it up to you, you’ve got another thing coming,” she growled. The light grew sharp as knives, poured from her into Breed’s lifeless body. Sweat coursed down her haggard cheeks. Johann squinted against the painful glare, but couldn’t tear his gaze away.
The two-faced thing’s glittering eyestalks retracted. It half turned and raised its giant pincer as though to shield its faces. Her voice was hoarse, but the woman continued to chant, her tears falling like molten gold onto Breed’s unmoving chest.
He didn’t see the creature move, because Johann’s attention was fixed on the woman. All he saw was a shadow, and then the pincer snapped. Her words died with a gasp. Black curls tumbled, and her body folded over Breed. Her head spun away, eyes wide, mouth working noiseless curses. The killer flicked out a tentacle, snagged the head by the hair, and drew it close. He gazed a moment into eyes filled with hate before planting a kiss on her bloody mouth. The light infused his twisted form.
When he was sated, the two-faced killer dropped the head and locked his mismatched gaze upon the tangled bodies. “Forgive me, dear friends,” it whispered.
Johann stifled a cry and quietly pissed himself. He didn’t want to be chopped up in a crate, not after avoiding being drowned in a sack, which on reflection would have been a better death. Why hadn’t he waited? Or better yet, lit a candle in the temple, dropped a few coins into the collection plate, and said a prayer— anything but this.
“We had to do it; you must understand, yes?” the thing called Ludo pleaded before a jury of the dead. “I gave so much of myself for both of you. Especially for you, Halda. You were my love who smelled of stars. Can you imagine living like this?” The bloodied claw snapped again. “We…I’ve had enough. I served you faithfully, watched madness grow in you, watched insanity eat you like worms.” It began to sob. “You made me do this!” it roared, the sound was all of bleeding anguish and bitter pain. Johann wrapped his arms around his body and prayed for deliverance from this nightmare. “You wouldn’t let me go. But you wouldn’t fix me, either. Damn you, Halda!” the killer raged. “I will fix me! I will stitch my rents and become whole cloth once more. I have your power, witch! I will undo the damage you have caused even if I have to tear this world asunder. I will…”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs halted the discordant rant. Johann hunkered into the corner of the crate. “Master Ludo? Is this…a bad time?”
“Er, no, not at all, dear friend.” The change was shocking. The voices were suddenly as sweet as honey. “It is neither good nor bad, and call us Ludorius, Jarill, my dear.”
“Sweet Salvation…You did it.” The newcomer sounded both awed and horrified.
“Yes, yes, morsel. I have fulfilled my side of the bargain.”
“Who…what is that?”
“Just a poor, little half-breed. A bug caught in the wrong web. Now come, my friend, it is time to clean your house. We have drowned the… rat lover in her own blood. Now we will strangle the spider with his silk.”
“Are you sure you can do it, Master? I do not wish to question you—”
“Then don’t, sweetling.”
“Only, killing Shu Lo Jing won’t be easy. He’s cunning, and his broodlings are fierce.”
“And you think this was easy, morsel?” Ludo giggled. “Mother Blake was a Mage L— a powerful sorcerer, far deadlier than that toothless old house spider ’pon who’s cock you suckle.”
“Forgive my impertinence.”
“We forgive our dear friend, we forgive. Are your friends ready?”
“They will strike on my command. Or, on yours, if you prefer.” He laughed nervously.
“Silly fish. I don’t want them to strike. I want them to watch. They may play with what’s left when I am done.”
“As you wish, Master Ludorius.”
“Then we are happy!” It clapped a hand against its pincer. “I’ve been such a diligent gardener. I have plucked the weeds from the Guild. Now I will prune the Pearl. I’ll pluck, pluck, pluck all the sickly buds.” He tittered and emphasized his words with a clack of its lethal claw. “And then I will rule.”
“Appleton will be ours.”
“Appleton?” Its laughter was chilling. “Yes, dear friend, Appleton…what are you doing?”
“Taking her head to show the others, and—” The sentence ended abruptly in a strangled gasp. Johann didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t sit there not knowing what was happening. He peered through the slat and saw the newcomer. He was human, garbed in grey, Shennish robes, and floating a foot off the ground in a bubble of rippling air. Ludorius was standing behind and in front of the unfortunate conspirator, having split into two, twisted halves revealing pale, malformed limbs that had been hidden by his motley garb. The killer studied the struggling human like he was watching a bug in a killing jar. When the struggling stopped, and the man’s eyes flickered shut, the killer waved a hand. The bubble vanished. Jarill fell to the floor, choking and spluttering. There was a soft implosion of air, and the two halves of Ludo became one again.
“Leave everything and never return here.” Ludorius intoned. “This place is now a tomb. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good, good. Now come, it’s time to kill your family and friends.”
Johann listened to the footsteps retreat. Too afraid to move, he sat in his cooling piss long after they’d gone. When the pain of cramped limbs became unbearable, he forced himself to crawl from the safety of the crate. The torch on the wall was guttering but shed more than enough light to reveal the gory scene. He made to leave, but as he did he caught the glint of something bright out of the corner of his eye. Sickness abated. He turned and fixed his gaze on the gold crown that was beside Breed’s body. Perhaps his prayers had been heard. Perhaps, after witnessing a truly gruesome murder, he’d paid enough penance and was now to be delivered from the evil of his gambling debts? It was a wild idea, but it made as much sense as anything right now. He crept towards the bodies and picked up the coin as though it might bite him. His heart lurched. It wasn’t imperial, but it was definitely gold. His gaze tracked down and fell upon the full pouch hanging from Breed’s belt.
Mother Blake’s body twitched, and an artery in her neck pumped the last dregs of her blood onto the floor. Johann’s stomach flipped. His heart began to pound, and an old memory rose like a specter from the darkest recess of his mind. He saw his mother’s tearful face, heard the screams of his siblings… They’re dead. They’re all dead! Before the horror could overwhelm him, he ruthlessly cast the memory aside like Cobb had told him to do all those years ago.
“Slap it down, Jojo,” the captain would say when the nightmares woke him. “Slam the lid on them ugly thoughts like you’re closing a book. And never fear the dead, lad. ‘Tis the living who’ll hurt you…”
“I’m not afraid of the dead. It’s the living who’ll hurt me.” His heartbeat slowed. “Particularly those to whom I owe money. So, if you don’t mind.” He crouched, and with trembling hands, began untying Breed’s pouch. In death his rescuer looked younger than they had in life, as though years of care had fallen away. Of course, he had no idea what kind of life Breed had led, save that it must have been exciting and violent. Whatever it had b
een, he was grateful for the help and also for the coin. Trying not to think about the blood on his hands, he tucked the pouch into his shirt and made to leave the hell hole.
He paused, and on a whim linked his fingers like Emma had taught him. He tried to recall a prayer, but before words came, a cold hand clamped around his ankle, making a lie of Cobb’s pronouncements about the dead. He screamed, looked down, and met a fierce, yellow gaze…
“Jojo? Johann!” Emma’s voice snapped him back to the present.
“Yes, sorry. I er, then I ran home. I didn’t stop. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
The half-ogren seamstress wiped her hands on her skirt and gave him a reassuring smile. “Good thing you did. I was worried sick. And good thing at least one of us was here when you got back.” She stared pointedly at Cobb.
He hunkered over his mug of ale. “Do you think the sorcerer will live?”
Emma wrapped a blanket around Jojo’s shoulders, spoke in a sigh. “Last night I would have said no.”
“For the best,” said Cobb, evidently relieved. Soot streaked his beard and clothes, and he smelled like a bonfire.
She cuffed his ear. “What a thing to say and after what they did for our Jojo.”
“We’re in trouble, woman.” He slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t need no dying sorcerer to look after on top of… everything else.”
Shaking, Johann drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders.