A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (19 page)

My stomach turned. I saw cages, stacked on top of each other. Every cage had a destitute-looking child inside.

The man receiving the cart brought a kerchief to his nose. “Stinky little bastards,” he cursed. He motioned for the driver to lower the canvas. “All right, all right. Come on. You know where they go.”

The driver clicked his tongue and pulled on the reins. The donkeys stepped after him. They went in the opposite direction of where Blackstone was waiting.

Before they left, the bald man turned and lowered the door to the cellar. He did not lock it.

I recognized my chance to get into the building. But I hesitated. If I followed the man, I had a shot at stealing the keys from him. If I went inside, perhaps I could find another way to Blackstone and open the doors from within.

In the end, I decided to go in. The man with the keys would return at some point. Even if I didn’t find a path to Blackstone, I could still wait for him and get the keys then.

I looked both ways to ensure the street was empty, and ran across. I lifted one heavy cellar door and dropped inside.

I discovered a long set of stairs in the darkness. I had to trail one hand along the wall for guidance.

When I reached the bottom, I could see a flickering light come from beneath the door of one far room. I started toward it.

I passed a few rooms on my way, all unoccupied and dark. I pressed my ear to the door with the light and held my breath for a count of ten. When I didn’t hear anything, I slipped in.

The room was plainly furnished. An open bottle of wine sat atop a table in the middle of the room. A bed stood to one side. There were some shelves with random, useless things on them. It was the type of room you might expect to find in an inn.

Something did not feel right.

Blackstone taught me how deceiving appearances could be. He taught me that the best secrets are those that can be hidden in plain sight.

This room was as plain as they go. So, I began to search for its secret.

Call it a hunch or a guess. Call it some type of intuition. I knew, somewhere deep down, that this room was more than it appeared.

I started with the walls. I ran my fingers along each of them, searching for a groove that might reveal a secret entrance. I found none.

I worked on the shelves, thinking there might be a mechanism that opens some compartment. I did not find any.

I looked behind the shelving.
Nothing
.

Frustrated, I leaned against one corner of the bed. That’s when I heard voices coming from down the hall.

I ran to the door. The voices were getting closer. Too close for me to sneak out.

I spun back and looked frantically around the room. There was nowhere to go. I was caught.

My heart started pounding hard in my chest. I would be discovered.

Faced with no other options, I did the only thing a boy of ten could.

I dropped down and rolled under the bed.

No sooner did my body disappear than the door burst open. I saw two pairs of feet. I crept slightly closer to the edge to peer out.

The two men I saw conversing outside were now here.

“…some bloke brought in a whole wagonload of King’s Ale,” the bald man confided. “Now, I dun remember ever orderin’ none such. But, I’m not a man to deny a little free drink if the occasion serves, eh?” He elbowed his friend in the ribs. “I had him bring it down t’where all the deliveries go. If a few of those barrels end up missing by mornin’…” He chuckled. “…I dun think anyone’ll be the wiser.”

“You ratty son of a bitch,” the driver grinned.

The other man laughed. “I know, I know. It’s a perk o’ the job.” He knelt down and pulled away a rug that covered a large space in the middle of the room.

There was a crawlspace door under it.

I hit my forehead against my arm.
Idiot
! I thought. Of course the secret entrance would be in the most obvious place.

The man lifted the latch and picked up a lantern. He lit it with a long match, snuffed the flame between his fingers, and held the lantern out in front of him as he descended the steps.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got hours yet ‘till the morn. I say, it’s time for us t’get roaring drunk!”

The cart driver laughed and followed the other man down.

I waited until their voices faded before rolling out of my spot and following them. My steps were soft and my movement light. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I saw the glow of the lantern in the distance.

I followed it.

The men were going to open the very doors Blackstone was waiting at. That was a problem. One, because they would be suspicious when they found him still there. Two, because the moment they opened the barrels, they would discover them full of black powder, not ale.

My feet were silent against the hard floor. The two men turned through a doorway at the end of the hall. I ran through without pause. I was so focused on the lantern flame that I did not notice the black shapes lurking by the doorway.

Two arms wrapped around me and lifted me off my feet. I was too surprised to react.

“Gotcha, ya little bastard,” the bald man hissed in my ear. He threw me to the ground. I landed with a grunt and spun around.

Two shapes were present in the darkness: the bald man, and the driver beside him. My eyes darted to the lantern that I thought was still moving. It was not. It hung from a side hook in the distance.

“Now, y’v got ten words t’explain what the ‘ell you’ve bin doin’ followin’ us,” the bald man growled. I saw the shine of steel being drawn. “Or else I gut yeh like a pig.”

I looked from him to the driver. Both were large men—at least, they seemed large to a boy of my size. The dancing light from the lantern cast menacing shadows on their faces. It made them look more fearsome than they probably were.

“Well?” he demanded. “Speak up, boy!” He stepped closer.

I knew I only had one chance. And for it to work, I had to move fast.

Instinct kicked in. I sprang to my feet. Two knives appeared in my hands. Before either man could react, I flung one at each of their throats.

The first knife sunk right into the bald man’s Adam’s apple. A look of disbelief flashed on his face. He went down with a wet, gurgling sound, choking on his own blood.

But my other throw was off. In the dark, it was difficult to judge distance and space.

I hit the cart driver in the shoulder.

Rage erupted across his features. He drew his short sword and lunged for me.

I leapt back, avoiding the killing blow aimed for my chest by a hair. The man grunted and swung again. His blade arced down in a violent swing.

I rolled to my left. The sword rang off the stony ground. Adrenaline rushed through my body and blood thundered in my ears. I had no time to contemplate my next move as the man thrust again.

I found my ivory knife in my hands. I parried the blow. The shock of it sent a tremor through my arm.

A vicious grin spread across the driver’s face when he saw the weapon I was defending myself with. The odds were clearly in his favor. I was weak. He was strong. I was little. He was big. It was not a fair fight, and both of us knew it.

When he lunged again, I waited for the last moment to jump back from the blow, at the same time parrying it with my small blade. The force ripped the knife from my hand, and I cried out.

I also misjudged where I was. My feet landed in a slick puddle of blood and slid out from under me. My ankle twisted, and I fell.

The cart driver blinked in momentary surprise. Then, he straightened. He walked toward me slowly, savoring his assured victory.

I scrambled back. Hot blood surrounded me. The thick liquid coated my hands and legs and back. I grabbed for one of my throwing knives. To my horror, I found it stuck in the sheath. My wet fingers could not get a good enough grip to pull it out.

“Tell me,” he said, “how a little, useless rat like you manages to kill a grown man?” He gestured at the body on the ground. “A lucky throw? A stroke of fate?” He reached up and ripped my knife out of his shoulder, then threw it to the ground.

It rattled and bounced before coming to a stop.

“Well, boy,” the man said, “it doesn’t matter now, anyway. Your luck’s run out.”

He thrust his sword down. I closed my eyes and thought I was going to die.

But instead of piercing through my chest, ,the sword sunk deep into my upper leg. My eyes burst open and I screamed.

The driver knelt beside me. He twisted his weapon. Excruciating pain ripped through me. “But now is not your time to die, boy. I’m going to make you fodder for the Arena. Tomorrow night, with thousands of people screaming for your blood, you will know what true terror is.”

He sneered at me and brought his face inches from mine. His putrid breath fell on my skin as he spoke. “Tomorrow,” he twisted his sword again, “you will die when—”

He did not get to finish his sentence. His eyes widened, and he looked down at his chest, where my last throwing knife had sunk into his heart.

He gave a dying sputter, spat a mouthful of blood at me, then fell to the side.

I sagged back as my fingers unclenched the knife. I had been able to free it at the last moment.

I was breathing hard. My entire body felt like it was on fire. My hair was matted with blood, and my clothes were completely drenched.

Only by the greatest effort of will did I manage to push myself to a sitting position. I looked at the sword sticking through my leg. Blood bubbled out from where the metal bit into my skin.

My hands shook as I brought them to the hilt. My breathes started coming faster and faster in anticipation. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and pulled
up
.

The pain that tore through me was worse than when the man had stabbed my leg. My eyes burst open and I emitted the most soul-wrenching, heart-rending cry imaginable.

Blood gushed out of the wound like water from a geyser. I could feel my leg burning. As quickly as I could, I cut a long strap from one of the dead men’s coats and wrapped it around the gash. I gritted my teeth and winced against the pain, but I did not scream again.

Call it a re-awakening of a talent I had forgotten I had. I hadn’t experienced pain of the sort my leg felt since my time with Three-Grin. Back then, my body and mind had learned to work in harmony to shelter me from the agony that defined my everyday existence. That ability had been lost somewhere during my time with Alicia. But it returned to me now with a hungry vengeance.

I allowed my mind to collect the pain and bundle it into a small ball to hide somewhere far away. As I tied the final knot around my leg, I was barely even conscious of the wound.

I picked myself up, and hobbled over to where the bald man lay. My movements were uneven and lurching. Just because I could will the pain away did not mean my body could somehow overcome the very real disability of a gaping hole in its thigh.

I found the ring of keys on the man’s belt and took it. I stumbled toward one wall, and, using my arm for support, began the long, heavy walk to where Blackstone was waiting.

I cannot remember a speck of that journey. All I know is that somehow, I managed to carry the lantern, the keys, and my ivory knife all the way to those two guard doors and open them from within. I do not even know how I found them, given my half-lucid state, especially since I had no visualization of the building’s floorplan in my mind.

Blackstone rushed to me as soon as the doors opened. I must have made a horrifying sight, covered as I was in blood.

“By the gods,” he muttered, “what happened to you, Dagan?”

“Fight,” I managed, before falling into his arms and passing out.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When I came to, the first thought that rushed through my head was that we were too late.

The Arena’s main event was supposed to be the following night. I was dead-certain that I’d been out for days. We’d missed our chance to kill Three-Grin, destroy the Arena, and pull off the caper of a lifetime.

But as I blinked away the haziness in my vision, and the feel of my body returned to me, I realized that I was lying on the ground outside the two massive doors. We were still underground. I rolled my head to one side, looking up to the entrance of the tunnel. It was still night.

A harsh, jerking motion at my leg yanked my attention down.

Blackstone was kneeling over me, tightening a belt around the flesh wound. He was chewing on some sort of leaf. I watched as he spat it out and rubbed it into my leg.

I steeled myself for another shot of searing pain. None came. It wasn’t because I had buried the pain away, either. I relaxed my mind, letting go of that tight ball…

A numbness encompassed my entire leg.

“You’re up,” Blackstone grunted. He did not sound happy. “Dammit, kid, what the hell got into you? I saw what you did to those two men. We were supposed to do this
without
attracting attention!”

“They… jumped me,” I said. My head felt woozy, probably from the loss of blood.

Blackstone made a sound of displeasure. “You got caught?”

“I—”

“You
slipped
,” he corrected. He yanked the belt around my leg tighter. I felt the slightest bit of pressure.

Then again, it could have been my imagination. The leg was as leaden as a log.

“What did you do?” I asked, looking down at the wound.

“
Laciruss
,” Blackstone grumbled. “It’s a plant that takes away the pain. Dulls your senses.”

I could tell by his tone there was something he was omitting. “But?” I asked.

“But,” Blackstone sat back and exhaled, “unless you wash it out of your system in time, you risk the effects becoming permanent. It’ll kill all the nerves in your leg.”

“How long do we have?” I asked.

“Twelve hours. Maybe more, if you’re lucky. But I wouldn’t take the chance, if I were you.”

“The fight’s not until later tonight,” I said. “We can still make it!”