The Colour of Vengeance (35 page)

“Ya heard ‘bout that? Shame,” Swift grinned. “So who’s leadin’ this rabble?”

“That’d be me, Swift,” Betrim said. His right hand unhooking the axe from his belt and holding it ready.

“Aye.” Swift looked from Betrim, to Henry and then back to Betrim. “So how ‘bout we make a deal. I’ll give you the bounty your head’s worth an’ all the money ya shoulda made from the H’ost job. In return you hand over Henry an’ my whore of a sister an’ fuck off somewhere I never have ta see ya again.”

“Don’t reckon that’s like ta happen, Swift,” Betrim replied.

Swift took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Fuckin’ shame that.”

Only the Black Thorn’s long developed sense of impending danger saved him from losing his head. He felt something coming and dived for the floor just in time as the big sword cut through the air just about where his neck had been. He rolled to a stop and looked up at his assailant just as everyone in the warehouse burst into motion.

Anders hopped down from the crate only to find Iron Beth’s sword at his neck. Joan’s hunters drew steel but found themselves facing enemies on both sides; Swift’s mercenaries and Bones’ soldiers. Betrim slowly picked himself off the floor and gave Bones the staring of a lifetime. The giant couldn’t meet that gaze, turned his eyes to floor but kept his bloody great two-handed sword in front of him. Betrim was acutely aware that somewhere behind him stood Swift and his Haarin but he wasn’t about to turn his back on Bones for a second time.

“What the fuck are you doin’, Bones?” Betrim spat.

Swift laughed from behind Thorn. “Turns out even our big friendly giant here has a price though it was pretty fuckin’ big price. Still, he brought the most men ta the party so I suppose it has ta be paid.”

“Sorry, Thorn,” Bones said, still not meeting Betrim’s eyes. “Runnin’ a town ain’t cheap.”

Swift joined in again, always did love the sound of his own voice. “’Specially not when it’s located in the middle of a fog that rots wood an’ rusts metal an’ it’s surrounded by wraiths that have a habit of eatin’ folk. But one thing solves all those problems; money. Well… all except the wraiths, I s’pose.”

Betrim glanced back towards Swift. Both he and the Haarin hadn’t moved and Swift didn’t look to be in any hurry to draw a weapon. He looked back at Bones. Taking on the giant would be hard work, his strength was something approaching legendary and he knew Thorn well enough to know how the Black Thorn liked to fight. Betrim set a grin on his scarred face and was just about to leap at Bones when the screaming started.

It took Pern a moment to realise the scream came from outside the warehouse. No-one inside had moved. The scream cut short and something heavy thudded into the wooden wall. Pern could hear muted sounds coming from outside but he couldn’t quite discern what they were. Another scream pierced the silence followed by another. Whatever was outside was dangerous and no mistake.

Pern glanced around those collected inside the warehouse, their conflicts with each other temporarily forgotten as they waited to see what was happening. His eyes were drawn to the woman Swift had named Henry. Her aura was a sight to behold the likes of which Pern had never witnessed before. It was red; a deep red the colour of darkest gore and it pulsed with a terrifying light. Waves of hatred and anger flowed off of her poisoning the air and subduing the auras close by, tainting them with her rage. It was almost as if Pern were witnessing an emotion taken human form and the very possibility both frightened and fascinated him.

The Black Thorn’s aura was in direct opposition to Henry’s. It was a light blue, strong and bright; the colour of control. Whatever the Black Thorn was feeling he had a tight lock on his emotional state. It was an aura any Haarin would be proud to own.

There were more men screaming now. Pern could count at least three. A hurried banging started on the warehouse door, someone shouting to let him in. Then it was cut short and something heavy was slammed against the wall of the building three times. One by one the screams stopped, cut off in gurgled cries of terror. Fear rose from the warehouse in a cloying mass and Pern fought for control.

“What the fuck is it?” he heard one of Swift’s men say.

All had backed away from the door now. Enemies suddenly forgotten with the threat of whatever was outside. Pern noticed the Black Thorn and the giant who had so recently tried to kill him were standing side by side, weapons drawn and ready to fight but not each other. The little woman who was hatred incarnate had stopped staring at Pern’s client and was watching the door with tense, feverishly bright eyes. Even the blooded one, the fool who had delivered the ransom message had a sword drawn; he was standing next to the other woman, the one with the scar on her throat, as if they were old comrades. Pern regretted his actions towards the blooded man; his client had ordered Pern to hold the man and the Haarin had complied. Swift beat the man bloody, broke his arm and nose and Pern had held him all the while, complicit in the mutilation. He had witnessed his client do a great many evil things but only then did Pern truly feel like he was a party to it. Somewhere inside it sickened him, he sickened himself.

“Could it be Drake?” Swift whispered.

Pern glanced at his client. That’s when he noticed the light coming from his belt. The gemstone, the one Kessick had given to Swift to detect magical potential was shining. Not just shining it was bursting with light so bright it hurt Pern’s eyes to look at. Whatever was outside had magical potential and even at this distance it was causing the gemstone to resonate with such power.

Pern placed a protective arm in front of his client and slowly started to walk backwards, forcing Swift to move with him. At first he protested but once he noticed the glowing gem attached to his Haarin’s belt Swift was compliant. They stepped backwards into the rear of the warehouse, into the shadows.

A polite knock sounded from the door to the warehouse followed by the muted but unmistakeable sound of a man clearing his throat. “Would someone mind letting me in.”

Pern couldn’t describe the feeling of terror. He couldn’t see the aura coming from whoever was on the other side of the door but he could feel it and it was like nothing he could describe. It was almost as if every emotion a person could feel had been combined into one giant mess and there was not a single glimmer of control in it anywhere. He might have turned and fled right then if not for the fact that he had his client to protect.

Swift was not so constrained. He turned and bolted to the rear of the warehouse and Pern fled quickly on his heels. At the back they found another door, this one with a heavy iron lock in place. Pern tried the handle but found it locked, before he could start breaking the wooden obstruction down Swift knelt by the door and produced a set of picks. Without hesitation he went to work and in only a few moments the lock clicked and the door opened.

Just before Pern and his client fled the warehouse he heard the crash of wood as the front door to the building burst inwards.

They fled through the streets of the craftsmen quarter at a steady pace, Pern ready to shield his client from any danger and Swift with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other and all the while cursing that he hadn’t brought his bow. There were few workers out tonight; few workers out at all these days in Chade but a few apprentices ran to and fro carrying goods or supplies. Pern spared them all only quick glances before dismissing them as non-threatening. They stayed clear of any soldiers they saw, it was not possible to be certain whether they were working for Swift or Drake without questioning them and Pern was not about to risk his client’s life in that way. He decided it was safer if they fled back to Swift’s estate by themselves.

They came to a crossroads in the streets and slowed to a stop. The east road led to Goldtown and back to safety though a main road such as this presented a danger. The north road led to a market and beyond that to the north gate. The south road led further into the craftsmen quarter and the west road led back to the guildhall, back to the warehouse, back to whatever terror was now in that warehouse.

Swift was breathing heavily and laughing. All men seemed to deal with fear in different ways; some froze, some raged, some became quivering messes and some, like his client, laughed the fear away rather than admit it existed.

“Ya run like the hells are behind us, Suzku,” Swift said with a grin. “I’m half tempted ta go back an’ find out jus’ who the fuck that was killin’ my men.”

Pern looked at Swift and couldn’t tell if his client was joking. Surely even he would not be crazy enough to court the sort of danger that lay back that way but the way Swift was staring back along the road they had just run from Pern was not so certain.

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones thought o’ runnin’,” Swift said with a nod. “Reckon I might be in fer a fight here.”

Pern followed Swift’s gaze and found Henry staring at them from the other side of the road, her rage surrounding her in a red haze. She had a dagger in each hand and a look on her face that said she was both willing and able to use them. Pern let out a sigh and took up a fighting stance.

Swift placed a hand on his Haarin’s shoulder. “Reckon I’ll take this one, Suzku. Me an’ Henry there got some unfinished business an’ I’m real keen ta finish it.”

The door burst inwards with a single kick sending splinters and chunks of wood scattering across the floor. Jacob took a moment to savour the musty smell of the warehouse and was immediately struck by the more acrid smell of sweat and fear. There were more than a few people inside. He stepped over the threshold.

It took him only a second to count all his potential partners; thirty-six men and one woman. It was a good job the warehouse was spacious. All those inside were armed with a variety of weapons ranging from swords to spears to axes to hammers to daggers. Jacob never carried any weaponry. It was considered strange for an Arbiter not to carry a metal weapon complete with magical charms, how else would they would focus their blessings and dispatch heresy. But Jacob was not an Arbiter, he was a Templar. He had no need for a charmed weapon because he himself was charmed, he himself was blessed, he himself was a weapon.

Jacob allowed those arrayed before him a moment to notice his coat. They would probably be more likely to answer his question if they knew he was part of the Inquisition.

“I am looking for the man known as the Black Thorn,” Jacob said pitching his voice to carry throughout the warehouse.

Some of the men looked about as if trying to locate his quarry but Jacob had already scanned all the faces, and with far better vision than any of these sorry specimens, and had concluded Thorn was not among them.

The biggest man Jacob had ever seen stepped up in front of him and spat onto the dust covered floor. “Already sold my friend out once today. I’ll be fucked if I’m givin’ him up ta a damned Arbiter an’ all.”

The giant planted his left foot and swung a massive sword at Jacob with his right hand. Jacob stepped into the coming attack and, with a lightning fast punch to the giant’s hand forced him to drop the sword. With a roar the giant lunged at him and Jacob locked hands with the bigger man. It had been a long time since he’d had a true test of strength and he was eager to find out who was the stronger.

With his hands gripping the giant’s Jacob pushed and the giant pushed back. The big man’s strength went beyond human and Jacob could feel sweat running down his face as both men growled and snorted at each other. His blessings began to itch as they did when he drew too much power from them.

The giant’s strength may have been inhuman but so was Jacob’s. His strength was a divine gift. A failed experiment he might be but only half-failed. The blessings had been successfully transcribed onto his skin but the process had broken his mind. Jacob knew he was broken, knew he could no longer tell right from wrong and he knew the music he heard wasn’t real but it was a thing he couldn’t control. It was a thing he no longer wanted to control.

He heard the giant’s sharp intake of breath at the shock an instant before he felt the big man’s wrists snap. The giant roared in pain but only for a second. Jacob drew back his fist and punched him in the chest. He felt ribs snap under the force of his fist and with his heightened hearing Jacob heard the giant’s heart stop. The massive corpse swayed for a moment before crashing to the floor in puff of dust.

One song ends and another begins.

A woman screamed a hoarse guttural sound full of pain and anger. Then she charged him and she wasn’t alone. Partners from all over the warehouse started to converge on Jacob.

He let the music take him.

His first partner was a young man with a sandy coloured dusting of hair on his top lip and a rusty long sword. Jacob swayed to his partner’s rhythm and span into the man’s waiting embrace, his elbow connecting with the man’s face. As bone broke and splintered under the force Jacob plucked the sword from his partner’s limp hand and planted it in its owner’s sternum before looking for his next partner.

The second partner was an older man with a split lip. He thrust a spear at Jacob. The Templar caught the spear on the first beat of the drum, snapped off the end with the second beat and sent it flying back to its owner on the third beat.

He could see the woman with the scar on her throat so eager to reach him, so eager to join the dance but there was a wall of partners between him and her.

Jacob’s next two partners lasted only two beats a piece. The first died with a broken neck, the second with the first’s axe in his skull.

His next partner was more elegant; an older man, grey in hair and with two heavy hands. An iron mace flew towards Jacob’s head and in only a moment he had revelled in the beautiful symmetry of the flanges and spotted a tiny blot of dried blood inside one of them, no doubt left from the last time the weapon was used. Jacob ducked under the swing, took hold of the shaft and spun around, dragging the heavy handed partner with him, forcing him off balance. It took only a single punch to shatter the man’s arm. Jacob spun away from his partner, taking the mace with him and then span back. The mace connected with his partner’s face and blood, bone and brain erupted from the shattered mess. Someone close by screamed a woman’s name but Jacob could barely hear over the music. He looked for another partner.