I unclenched my fingers and pushed myself up from the street, gasping to clear my lungs.
I saw Degan and Shadow almost immediately. They were less than ten feet away, limned in red and gold, blades at the ready as they measured each other anew. Degan held his sword in one hand, his hat in his other. He had the hat by its brim at chest level, slightly out from his body. I’d seen him use his hat once before in a fight to foul his opponent’s blade, but that had been against seven men. That he was using it against just one didn’t bode well.
Shadow, in turn, was holding a silvered piece of the moon in his left hand—light and fast and beautiful. The blade was slightly thinner than Degan’s, and slightly longer. When the steel moved, the moonlight seemed to run along its length in gentle waves, lapping against the blue-black guard. It was Black Isle steel, just like Degan’s, only of an even better temper, if the pattern of light was any indication.
Shadow’s other hand was closed into a loose fist, but I could see tiny glints of metal showing between the fingers. The ends of throwing darts held against the palm? Brass knuckles in case Degan got close?
I squinted for a better look even as I gathered my feet beneath me. The movement caused my vision to blur. When it refocused, Shadow was in motion.
He stepped forward, blade lashing out to meet Degan’s and drive it off-line. At the same time, his right hand came forward and threw two pieces of metal at Degan. I saw with amazement that they were coins—copper owls, by the look of them.
Degan twisted his body, bringing his hat around to meet the coins even as he tried to keep his sword in the line with Shadow’s blade. On anyone else, it would have seemed graceless; on Degan, it looked like a practiced dance.
Their swords met, high and outside. At the same time, Degan scooped the coins from the air with his hat. An instant later, he twisted the hat to one side. Where two bronze owls had gone in, numerous lines and gobbets of molten metal came flying out. The shower of melted bronze sent up tiny spikes of steam where the drops hit the street.
Portable glimmer; the kind that would pass any Rag’s inspection until it was used. And worse, it was the kind you could carry by the handful; which looked to be about as much as Shadow had.
I took a closer look at Degan. Yes, there was at least one set of burn marks running along the sleeve of his sword arm. I also noticed Degan’s hat was pitted and showing wear—many more catches, and it would either catch fire or fall apart.
I scanned the street for my knife, saw it on the other side of the fight. So much for getting in a quick, poisonous slash. Nor was I sure enough of my night vision, or my aim, to try throwing one of my other blades. A wrong step at the wrong time and I could end up hitting Degan as easily as Shadow.
My rope, though, was closer. It lay in a dark puddle well behind Shadow, its knots bubbling and steaming in the water.
Staying low, I drew my rapier and quick-shuffled toward the rope. The world still seemed to fuzz and sharpen at random as I moved.
I stopped and knelt at the edge of the puddle. As my fingers quested out for the rope, my eyes lighted on Shadow’s broad gray-cloaked back less than ten yards away.
I smiled. I didn’t need perfect night vision or the steadiest feet or even the surest hands to deal with him this time. All I needed was to take a few quick paces and swing the rope. That much, I knew, I could do.
I was just closing my fingers around the rope when a boot stepped down on my wrist.
“Ah-ah-ah,” scolded a man’s voice softly. “No time to play, Drothe—you’re wanted elsewhere.”
I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“You have crap timing,” I told Rambles.
“All part of my charm,” he said. The boot shifted on my wrist. I winced. Something cool and hard laid itself across the back of my neck.
“Drop the tail,” said Rambles. I let my rapier fall to the street. “Now,” he continued, “leave the rope where it is and stand up. Slowly.”
His boot lifted, and I brought my hand in toward me. I cradled it against my thigh as if he had hurt it more than he had.
I twisted my head to look up at him. The coolness on my neck was the forward edge of a short-bladed sword. A dark, self-satisfied smile was on his face. That was when it hit me.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I said. “You’re the one who told Nicco I was working for Kells.”
His smile widened. “It was either you or me. Lucky for me, you’ve been screwing up enough that I was able to make the story believable. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
Lucky? Believable? Rambles hadn’t actually known I was working for Kells?
He thought he’d made it all up!
Oh, I was going to enjoy dusting this bastard.
The ring of steel on steel sounded behind me.
“We need to go,” said Rambles, pressing harder against my neck with the sword. “Get up.”
I started to comply, holding my left hand, seemingly limp and hurting, against my body. As I rose, Rambles took a step back to give me room. In the moment of his step, I felt the pressure of the sword ease off. That was what I’d been waiting for.
I lunged off the ground with both feet, driving myself upward. At the same time, I thrust my left elbow out. His eyes grew wide at my movement. They got even wider when my elbow drove into his crotch with the full force of my body behind it.
I ducked my head as I came up, but still felt a light cut slide across the back of my neck. It was worth it, though, to see Rambles collapse on the street next to me. I drew my boot dagger and gathered up the rope as he began to vomit on himself.
“I wish I could make this linger,” I said. “Angels know you’ve screwed me over enough to deserve it, but I have more important business than you.”
He blinked the tears from his eyes and rolled on the ground, drawn up into himself. Rambles looked at me, then past me. “Kill the fucker,” he grated through his teeth.
“Kill him yourself,” said a voice behind me. “I have orders.”
Damn! Since when did Rambles run with a partner?
I rose and spun, lashing out with the rope. The woman was standing just beyond its reach. As the end passed by her, she slipped in neatly and punched me in the face. I staggered, brought my dagger up, felt it taken away. Then I noticed the white sash around her waist.
What the hell was a Sash doing here? Where were Nicco’s people? Or even Iron Degan? If Rambles was going to have backup . . .
She hit me again. Between her and what Shadow had done to my night vision, my head wanted to fall off.
I tried to back away. She grabbed my doublet, holding me in place, and brought her fist back yet again.
“Stop!” I said, dropping the rope. I held my palms out toward her. “Enough!”
The White Sash glared at me. “Hardly,” she said, “but it’ll have to do for now.”
I looked up at her and felt a stirring in my memory . . . A savage smile, cloak streaming out in midleap, her blade brushing me aside in the rain . . .
“The Barren,” I said. “You’re the Sash who ambushed us in the Barren.”
“And you’re the fuck who helped kill two of my brothers,” she grated. “Now, let’s go.”
She yanked on my doublet, pulling me toward her. She was tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a hard presence—lots of muscle, lots of reflexes there. Her eyes were a pair of copper coins on a winter’s morning, while her mouth seemed most comfortable set in a stern line of displeasure. The only thing remotely soft about her was her hair—a long auburn braid, the hair interwoven with a white ribbon edged in fine lace.
I remembered I’d thought her beautiful in the Barren, and she was. But it was the beauty of a finely swung sword, or a freshly frozen lake at morning. It was a beauty you knew better than to touch.
I glanced back at Degan. He was busy pressing Shadow, forcing him back, even as the Gray Prince reached into his pouch for more coins. I groaned. If there was ever a
time to tap Shadow from behind . . .
The Sash followed my look.
“That’s a Gray Prince,” I said. “Shadow. Think of the feather in your cap.”
She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Orders,” she said, and pulled at my clothing.
“Screw you, Sash,” I said, digging in my heels. “I’m not about to—”
Her face was suddenly inches from mine. More important, though, I felt a firm, constricting pressure clamp itself around my balls through my pants.
“I don’t give a damn about your friends right now,” she snarled. “You’ll move your ass, and fast, or we’ll leave a few nonvital pieces behind.” She squeezed to emphasize the point. “Understood?”
“Understood,” I gasped.
She let go and spun me around, then gave me a shove. I would have bolted, except my legs were still shaky from her . . . handling. By the time I caught my balance, I felt a hand on my shoulder and a blade at my back.
“What about me, damn it?” gasped Rambles from the ground behind us.
“Don’t stand so close next time,” she said. Then, to me, “Go.”
I considered asking her what the hell was going on with Rambles but decided it would likely get me a punch in the kidney. Her being with Rambles meant she was most decidedly not going to be a shortcut to getting the journal to the emperor.
Instead, I took three dragging steps in the direction she was steering. Then I heard Degan call out.
“Drothe!”
I smiled and looked back past the Sash. Degan was stepping back from Shadow, as if to come after me. Shadow paused for a second as well to look our way.
“Stop!” shouted the Gray Prince.
Even better.
Both of them began to move in our direction, although not at a run. Each was eyeing the other as they moved, blades at the ready for any kind of treachery.
“Fucking brilliant!” muttered the Sash. Her fingers dug into my shoulder. At the same time, I felt a sharp spike of pain between my kidneys. “Understand this,” she said as she prodded me forward. “I’ll kill you before I let them have you, orders or no. So move.”
I moved. Part of me wanted to stumble, to drag my feet . . . to do anything to give Degan a chance to catch us, but the knife in my back argued otherwise. Then we went around a corner, and I realized that even if I could slow us down, it wouldn’t matter.
In front of us, nearly filling the small street, was a patrol of Rags—waiting.
“There’re two Crawlers behind us,” said the Sash to the Rags. “I don’t want them following me.”
“Don’t worry,” said one wearing a commander’s steel gorget. “We’ll stop them.”
“No, you won’t,” muttered the Sash as they parted and flowed past us, but she said it soft enough that only I overheard. There looked to be more than a dozen of them, but I knew she was right; at most, the Rags would delay Degan and Shadow, not stop them. That delay would be long enough for us to get away, though.
“Nice job, sending them off to die,” I said as we moved forward again. “Is that standard procedure?”
“Shut up,” she said. The pressure against my back increased.
“No, really,” I said as we exited the street and cut across to a not-quite-parallel one. “That was well-done. I know some Upright Men who would have been impressed by that.”
“Shut up!”
She steered us down a narrow side alley. I could almost touch the walls on either side.
I took a deep breath, let it out. “You know,” I said, “if you ever get tired of working for the emperor, I can probably get you in with the Kin.”
That did it.
She roared and shoved me toward a wall with her free hand, intending to drive me into it, quite likely repeatedly. I spun with the push, though, and lashed out with my fist. On the downside, the punch didn’t land as solidly as I would have liked; on the upside, it hit her in the side of the neck. She staggered and started choking.
I bolted.
There was no way to get past her in the narrow space, so I headed in the opposite direction. I dodged piles of garbage and even kicked over a bucket of rainwater as I passed. Anything to make the footing worse and slow her down. Behind me, I heard cursing and the beginnings of a stumbling pursuit.
The alley exited onto the end of a rambling lane. There was a fence to my left; I headed right. After half a block, the lane widened enough to allow for a line of small trees down the middle. I cut to the left side of the avenue, hoping the trees would obscure me when the Sash finally came out of the alley.
Up ahead, I could see a corner wine bar, its light spilling out onto the street through the open door. A single table sat out under the trees. Even with the empire surrounding Ten Ways, someone was at the table, having a glass in the moonlight.
You had to admire the locals around here.
I swerved to give the table a wide berth and put on a last bit of speed. Around this corner, then a few more, and I’d be safe. After that, I could backtrack, help Degan, and deal with whatever came next.
Except what came next was a chair. It came flying in from the direction of the table, low and too fast for me to dodge. I leapt, anyhow, but the chair’s legs got tangled with my own, and I came crashing down hard. Something beneath me snapped, and it took me a frightening second to realize it had been the chair, and not me, doing the breaking.
A large shadow loomed over me. I blinked in the light as my night vision faded. The shadow resolved itself into a man with heavy shoulders and an iron gray fringe of hair poking out from beneath a gray flat cap. He smiled, showing small, even teeth, and pushed the cap back with a thick-fingered hand.
“Good thing for me I decided to have a drink out under the stars, eh?” said Iron Degan. “Otherwise I might’ve missed you. Speaking of which . . .” He looked back down the street. “Where’s your date?”
I groaned and began to gingerly shift myself off the remains of the chair. More aches and pains to add to the inventory, but nothing seemed broken or strained.
I rolled onto my hands and knees and ran a mental inventory. I was depressingly low on steel, which made the dagger at my belt the best option—not that any options are truly good when you’re facing a degan. I groaned again and inched my hand toward the blade.
“Don’t,” said Iron without taking his eyes off the street. “I’d hate for you to end up worse than you already are, but you will if you try to use that steel.”
I sighed, drew the dagger slowly, and tossed it at his feet. Damn degans.
I heard footsteps come running up, then slow, and finally stop. Hard breathing. I looked up. It was the White Sash.
“You seem to be light someone,” said Iron.
The Sash gestured at me. “He took Rambles down in the street.”
“And you left him there?”
“Considering Shadow and that other degan were coming after us, yes.”
Iron straightened up at that. “Interesting,” he said. “So who has Rambles now?”
“I sent a squad of Reds in,” she said. “If he’s smart, he got out of there while everyone else was busy.”
Iron shrugged. “Nothing to do for it now,” he said. “Rambles will come back or he won’t.” He bent down, laid a hand across my neck, and squeezed. I felt my head shift on my shoulders. “No running, now, you hear?” he said softly, as if cautioning a small child.
“I hear,” I said as he half lifted, half guided me to my feet.
“I’ll take him from here,” he said to the Sash. “Best you fade.”
“Hold on,” said the Sash. Her voice was sharp. “We’re done now, right? My end of the agreement is paid.”
“Done?” said Iron. He laughed like a pile of rocks falling over—hard and blunt. “Not even by half, Lyria. You think bringing me this sorry mess of a Nose makes us even? Hardly.”
“But—”
“No!” snapped Iron. “We don’t discuss this here. I’ll tell you when we’re even, unders
tand?”
The Sash—Lyria—crossed her arms and cocked a hip in defiance. “Pretty damn convenient for you, then, isn’t it?”
Iron let go of my neck and stepped up to her. She was slightly taller, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to him.
I knew better than to run. Iron was fresher than me; making him catch me again would likely only piss him off. Besides, the conversation was just starting to get interesting.
“Degans,” said Iron slowly, “don’t break their word. We don’t rig a deal. And we don’t stand being questioned. Understood?”
Lyria’s lips pressed themselves into a narrow, bloodless line. “One more,” she said after a moment. “I owe you one more favor after this.”
“What you owe me,” said Iron, “is your word. We’ll see how long it takes to pay that back.”
Lyria looked past Iron to me. “I owe my word to someone else, too,” she said, running her hand along the white around her waist.
“That’s between you and the emperor,” said Iron. “But I don’t think he’s the one you ought to be worrying about right this instant, do you?”
Lyria’s hand crept to her own sword, then fell away. “One more, degan,” she said as she turned away. “Then my payback to you is done.”
Iron watched her go, shaking his head all the while. When she was out of sight, he walked back over to his chair and sat down.
I stood watching where Lyria had been. Iron Degan had exchanged the Oath with a White Sash? What the hell could he have done for her? More important, though—what was she doing for him, besides grabbing me?
Iron Degan pushed a bottle of wine across the table in my direction. “Here,” he said. “Have a drink before you say something stupid.”
I took a pull at the bottle. The wine was red and soft and peppery. I swirled it around in my mouth, then spit it out onto the nearest tree.
Iron chuckled. “Prefer whites, eh? My father said to never trust a man who drinks whites.”
“I don’t drink wine,” I said.
“Then I ought to cut your throat right now.” He laughed and took the bottle back. More wine went into his cup, then into him.
“So,” he said, staring into the cup, “how fares my sword brother Bronze?”
Among Thieves: A Tale of the Kin Page 31