Sourcethief (Book 3) (29 page)

Brannis stifled a yawn. The biting air helped, but
could not overcome the fact that dawn was hours off and he had slept little. He
clanked softly as he walked, his armor muffled by the layers of fur that kept
it from shining gold in the lamplight. The falling snow helped muffle the
world. Scar Harbor's streets were lit well enough to walk safely by, but
Brannis’s concern was more for stumbling on the cobbles than robbery. He pulled
a rented handcart with their belongings as he accompanied Soria to the docks.

"The army coddled you something awful, didn't
they?" Soria teased. "Some of us have to wake when a job needs
doing." She carried a satchel on the pretense of lightening Brannis's
load, but had she sat in the cart with it, he would hardly have noticed the
difference. The docks were the lowest land in the city, and there was a
downhill grade that was nearly imperceptible—that is, unless you were pulling
fifty gallons worth of luggage in a wheeled cart, in which case it seemed a
form of magic.

"All those seasons spent fighting ogres
..." Brannis could not stop a yawn from interrupting him. "They prefer
not to fight in the dark. When the goblins attacked Raynesdark I was up the
whole night without sleep. And if I recall, you are a coinblade who works when
she pleases and an import inspector who gets paid
not
to do her job. I
... will think of a better argument later ... remind me when I wake up."

"I need you awake. Someone left a trail we were
meant to follow. There has to be someone watching it, waiting for us to find
it. Unless I missed my guess,
Poet's Hammer
will be the only Khesh-bound
ship in port right now."

"So you hope they are the sort who sleep
late?" Brannis asked. "I could see how that might be a good guess,
sneaks being night-loving sorts and all."

Soria gave a dainty little snort. "We could
only be so lucky. I'm just hoping to catch them off guard a bit, get aboard
before they get any ideas about trying to stop us and maybe ask a few questions
about who has gone ahead of us. It's the docks; someone must have seen Tomas
and the girl as they left or at least know what the last ship bound for Khesh
was."

They wove their way down the deserted streets. For a
long while, the rumble of the cart's wheels and their own footsteps were the
only sounds. As they neared the waterfront, they could hear the Katamic washing
against the docks and the creaking groans of tethered ships sitting idle in the
rising tide.

There were men about at all hours by the waterfront,
though far fewer than in the daytime. Even the women of the night had since
turned in. Longshoremen and warehouse watchmen lounged on crates and barrels.
Fishermen readied their boats for the day's run. Drunkards awoke from a night's
indulgence to wobble back to a bed.

"Stop and leave the cart here," Soria
said. They passed near a run-down tavern frequented by sailors and travelers.
Brannis looked to the sign and recognized the name "Dogger's Shack"
as someplace Kyrus had heard of but had never been tempted to visit. It was the
sort of place where pissing in the ale was more of a business practice than an
insult to their offerings. Most patrons were too poor to afford even the
cheapest unspoiled ales.

"Around here? Someone is going to rob us,"
Brannis protested.

"If they try it'll give us an excuse to rough
them up a bit for information," Soria reasoned. "Besides, most of the
thieves are done with their night's work and off to sleep the day away."

"With the value of our gear and the gold you
have stowed in there, it will be worth someone's while to take up the
profession," Brannis replied.

"Well, now that you've announced it to the
waterfront at large, certainly. Stay here with the cart then. I'll go in and
have a word with the proprietor." Soria reached to her back and drew forth
one of her daggers. When she reached the tavern, she slid the dagger through a
gap where the door fit poorly. Using both hands she heaved upward and pushed
the door in. Brannis imagined she must have lifted the bar from the outside.
There was a cry of alarm from within but it was cut short when the door closed.

Brannis sighed and shook his head.
This is her
element. I can let her handle herself.
He turned his attention to his own
situation and began scanning the area. It had been a still night for the most
part, and the magic of Liead's armor was keeping him warm enough, but a gust
chilled his uncovered ears and made him shiver. Although his first thought was
to rummage through the cart to find his helm, prudence overrode his discomfort;
the whole reason he was bundled up without the helm in the first place was to
be a bit less conspicuous. Armor was rare enough. The demonic helm of his kit
was both a masterwork and a terror, and it would make him impossible to
overlook.

A sudden crash of wood from within the tavern had
Brannis turning toward the door before he stopped himself. Unless he heard
pistol fire, he was intent on remaining out of her way. She was accustomed to
this sort of thing, he knew. He brushed away the snow from his hair and pulled
up the hood of his cloak, tucking it tight against his ears.

The blow to his head stunned him. Brannis found
himself on his hands and knees before it even registered that someone had
caught him by surprise. He put an arm up to protect his head and felt a gentle
tap against his armor. It might well have been an ogre assaulting him for all
that it would have mattered to the armor's runes; it would have felt the same.

Brannis curled up and got both arms protecting his
head before attempting to rise. He felt something—a hand most likely—pressing
into his back and blow after blow raining down against his gauntleted hands and
plated arms. Whoever his assailant was, he weighed far less, not enough to keep
Brannis down.

Just as Brannis was about to regain his feet,
another body slammed into his, bowling him over. The second man ended up atop
him. He more heard footsteps rushing his way. Brannis wiped his hand across the
back of one of his gauntlets, causing spikes to rise up from the magical metal.
The decorum of wearing armor in polite society had caused him to keep the
spikes retracted since he had discovered the trick. He managed to keep his wits
about him to repeat the process on the other glove and even up the forearm of
his left arm.

"Don't let 'im draw his blade," one of the
attackers called out. It had been said in a low shout meant to carry just the
length of the brawl, and not quite to the ears of any roaming constables that
might have been about.

"Bugger's tougher 'n a mule fer beatin',"
another complained.

Brannis lashed out, catching one with the armor
spikes and sending him cursing. The thought of drawing Avalanche seemed a good
one if he could manage it. It was an unbefitting weapon for a brawl, but
outnumbered against armed opponents, it was forgivable. He tried to reach
across his body, but there were now at least three attackers pinning him to the
ground. He tried to call out for help but someone put a hand over his mouth.

"Hey, what are—" the voice was cut off.
The soldier in Brannis knew the sound of a blade driving into flesh. He heard a
body slump to the ground.

"Somebody st—" another attacker's words
were lost in a pained cry. Brannis felt the bodies shift atop him. He thrashed
free of one grasp raking backhand with his gauntlet spikes. It bought him
enough time to pull Avalanche free of its sheath. Brannis levered one assailant
away and flung him like a horseshoe. The man landed across the road on the
angled roof of a warehouse, where he slid to an edge and fell.

At last Brannis was able to gain his feet. To his
surprise, his rescuer had not been Soria as he had initially guessed. Rakashi
stood three paces away, his half-spear stained with blood in the lamplight.
There were a dozen or so men still standing, fumbling about to draw bladed
weapons as they dropped their clubs and drew back from the Takalish scholar.

"We can solve this without further bloodshed.
Please leave us," Rakashi said. Brannis turned to look at him. The choice
of words sounded odd. He and Rakashi had just slain three of their opponents,
yet by his words Rakashi made them seem the weaker side. Brannis had not been
the only one to gather that impression either, as the men fanned out to
surround them. Rakashi took a step closer to Brannis and turned to keep eyes to
all directions, though Brannis knew that Rakashi's patched eye saw the aether
and needed no aid in seeing all around.

"Put that there sword down an walk away,
mister," one of the assailants told them. "Ain't no trunch comin'
tonight to pull your arse out safe. We're takin' this one alive but we ain't
paid to keep your guts in ya."

Rakashi lowered his half-spear until the tip touched
the cobbles and bowed his head. Brannis realized his game.
He wants to lure
them in. Deception in the cause of combat. The honor of a warrior, not a
knight: "Win, then tell the tale how you like."

Brannis lowered Avalanche, careful to keep the tip
from driving into the street like a dragon's claw should he mimic Rakashi's
stance.

"What do you want with me?" Brannis called
out to them. From the corner of his eye he saw a figure lurking in the doorway
of Dogger's Shack. He fought back a smile as Soria slipped unnoticed behind the
circling thugs.

"Come with us and we won't hurt ya more'n we
have to," the apparent leader called back. They backed Brannis and Rakashi
toward a warehouse wall with no door. Brannis was careful to keep any of them
from circling around to where they would spot Soria. He caught Rakashi's gaze
and the two of them shared a small nod. They waited.

Soria's blades took two thugs in the back before
they knew that they had been trapped. As the would-be hunters became aware that
their status had changed to "prey," they panicked. Backing away from
Soria led them straight into the waiting blades of Rakashi and Brannis.

The short swords and daggers the men had carried as
secondary weapons proved too short to threaten the reach of Avalanche or
Rakashi's half-spear. Brannis waved Avalanche back and forth to keep the men at
bay but Rakashi was not so reserved. He fell upon them with brutal efficiency.
The thugs were unskilled combatants and simple feints opened their defenses
entirely as they danced to Rakashi's lead. Two strokes seemed his preference,
one to the gut—a fatal wound but a slow one—and one to the neck. Heads rolled
free of bodies as he finished off one adversary after another.

After her first two kills, Soria eschewed the use of
her daggers. Brannis winced as she narrowly avoided vicious swipes of dagger
and sword. He knew her shielding spell ought to protect her but could not help
himself. Her opponents were not so well protected from her attacks. Bone
crunched audibly with each of her strikes. She played no games with her
enemies, crushing ribs and skulls.

Brannis held two at bay, uncertain how best to end a
fight without getting soaked in blood. His attackers decided for him. Seeing
their companions die and a clear path behind them, they turned and ran. Brannis
was not inclined to chase them down snow-covered streets. He was less fleet
afoot in his armor, and the thugs' sudden flight caught him off guard to their
advantage of several paces.

A pair of daggers ended their escape before they had
managed to round the nearest corner. One each to the back and both men fell to
the ground, moaning in agony. Soria jogged over to retrieve her weapons from
the fallen men. Brannis grimaced and looked away just in time to hear the
cracking necks as she finished them off.

"We need to get away from here," Brannis
said as she came back. "We cannot afford to be delayed by the city
guardsmen who come to investigate."

"One of them implied that the guardsmen were
bribed away," Rakashi said.

Further discussion was interrupted by clapping. The
three of them turned to see a giant Kheshi with a single-bladed war axe tucked
in the crook of his arm. He was bare-chested in spite of the freezing air, and
looked not the least bit concerned by it. He stood at the head of a group of
ten or so other Kheshis, all armed with hand axes.

"It seems we arrive too late for save
you," the mountainous Kheshi said to them, his accent thick. "I am
Captain Jhorn Kaisson of
Poet's Hammer
. We hear fighting and come. I
think it is our passengers, maybe, and I am right."

"Captain Kaisson," Brannis called out as
he sheathed Avalanche and walked toward the man. "I am sorry for the
inconvenience. I suspect this matter will detain us here a while."

"No time for that," Captain Kaisson
replied. "Get you things and get aboard." He turned to his men and
gave them instructions in Kheshi. They moved at once for the bodies.

"What did he say?" Brannis asked Soria
quietly.

"They're going to drag the bodies into the
harbor. With the snow I think it might serve to buy us time before anyone
realizes what went on ... well, anyone important at least. I'm sure there are
plenty of folk about tonight who are very carefully not seeing what's going on
right now. They'll have stories to tell years from now, but be dumb as a
feathered hat if anyone comes asking later today."