Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) (28 page)

Aimsley lay there, covered in drink, cut by the glass that had shattered all around him. His chest heaved with sobs.

“Help me,” he gurgled as he wept. “Please. Please help me. Help me.”

The words came from some other place, some place beneath his conscious mind. He wasn’t even aware he was saying them. But the tears came from him. The powerlessness, the complete inability to control himself, stop himself. The things he did, the horrible things he’d done to distract himself from what he’d become.

The thief begged for help until, with a gurgle and a quiet snort, he passed out.

Heden took a deep breath and said a prayer over both of them. Then another, and another. His wounds, the ache in his back, tingled away and the thief started to snore. Heden looked around the bar, the inn. Saw the path of blood and destruction they’d left, and relaxed. It worked. He didn’t know how it would end, but when the polder asked for help, he knew it was over. Knew there was hope, and that was enough. A beginning.

Heden reached down, grabbed the collar of the polder’s jerkin, behind his neck, and lifted the little man until only his boots touched the floor.

He turned and began dragging the polder by the collar toward the door.

“Dangerous way to start a friendship,” he said to himself.

Domnal hefted his bulk around the chair, sat down, and pulled the mug of ale across the table.

“What the fuck was all that about?” he asked, cocking a thumb backwards to the stone cell where Aimsley Pinwhistle lay, unconscious.

Heden took a deep breath. “He killed the abbot,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Dom said. “That little streak of shit?!”

“He’ll need to go to the citadel eventually,” Heden said. “Once he comes to, he’ll figure a way out of the jail.”

“Black gods,” Dom said, “why do you bring this stuff to me?”

“Sorry,” Heden said. “It’s been a long week.”

Dom twisted around to look at the door beyond which lay the cells and the polder, then turned back to Heden.

“He killed the abbot and you bring him to me? You didn’t kill him yourself?” Dom asked, amazed.

“I’m not in the murder business,” Heden said.

Dom gave him a look. “A passel of thieves killed on Moorfield the other night,” he said.

“Oh?” Heden tried to look innocent.

“Someone chewed up and spat out a bunch of thieves and an alchemist went missing a few months ago.”

Heden sighed. “No shortage of alchemists about,” he said. “Or thieves. Easy to replace.”

“Alchemist named Tam, turns out.”

Heden said nothing.

“You used to know an alchemist named Roderick Tam,” Dom continued. “Used to be friends with you lot,” Dom said, meaning the Sunbringers.

“Name sounds familiar,” Heden said.

“You knew those thieves were going after this Tam? You’d stop ‘em, if you could. You’d kill ‘em if you couldn’t. I know you. ‘Not in the murder business’ my arse.”

Heden said nothing.

“You’re going after the count,” Dom guessed.

Heden looked around the room. Then back at his friend.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Shit,” Dom said, disappointed and angry.

“You think the count can take me?” Heden asked.

Dom spit on the sawdust covered floor of his office in the jail. “The count is a little streak of shit, I could take him. You got to worry about Garth.”

“I know Garth,” Heden said.

“Yeah you do. No love lost there, I reckon. Both of you happy to keep it that way.”

Heden didn’t say anything.

“Ragman finds out you were here, probably ask me why I didn’t arrest you.”

“For the murder of Roderick Tam?” Heden asked.

Dom made a noise like ‘psh.’ “Ain’t no one think it’s you going around killing alchemists. But those thieves didn’t drag each other and everyone knows you’re after the count now…and Tam was your friend. Ain’t hard to put two and two together.”

Heden didn’t say anything.

“Plus…you coming in here…telling me you’re about to go murder a man…even the count…Ragman sorta considers that his territory.”

“You know he doesn’t like it when people call him that,” Heden said.

Dom barked a laugh. “Then he should get a woman, find someone to do his washing for him, knit him some new clothes.”

Heden couldn’t argue with that.

“I could arrest you,” Dom said, admitting the possibility.

Heden said nothing.

“I should arrest you, I guess,” he offered, both of them knowing he wasn’t going to.

“For what? For the ragman?” Heden asked.

“For you,” Dom said, putting his elbows on the table and looking at Heden. “Garth will chew you up,” he said. “You realize what that makes me, right? Makes me the last person to see the victim alive. Which is also, just sos you know, how we figure out who to press around here.”

He looked down at his mug. “Means if I let you leave, knowing what I know, I’m responsible. A little at least. Which is enough.”

Heden looked at his friend. Thought of the real bind he’d put him in. But the count had Vanora.

“I know,” Heden said. “I’d feel the same way, if it were me.”

Dom looked up from his drink, a sad smirk on his face.

“But you’re not going to lock me up,” Heden said.

“No,” Dom said.

“Not a long term solution,” Heden said.

“No,” Dom said. “Best I could do would be throw you in with the polder. Wait for you lot to get yourselves out, get yourselves killed.”

Heden stood up.

“I’m going to go now, Dom.”

Domnal nodded without looking at Heden.

Heden went for the door.

“You’re a good man, you know,” Dom said.

Heden turned around. Dom was still looking at his mug.

“Many is the time I wondered what you would do, when things were thick down here.”

He looked at his friend.

“I’m better for having you as a friend,” Dom said.

Heden just stared at Dom.

“Me too,” he said, and turned back to leave.

“Maybe that’ll make the difference,” Dom said.

Heden tried to remember to breathe as he grasped the door handle. Noticed he wasn’t shaking. Hadn’t had a fit of terror since he left the Wode. Since he got back in. That was one problem solved.

“Maybe,” he said.

The alley connecting Rile St. and the Broad Road allowed Heden to get from the jail to the castle quickly. It was just after noon, the sun was bright, the sky was blue and he was in no mood to appreciate either.

He was going to find Gwiddon. Going to confront the king, and demand to see Gwiddon. Gwiddon would know how to find the count. And Heden would force him to tell.

As his mind played out the upcoming scenario, he noticed there was no one in the alley. Was that unusual?

He looked behind him. No one. He turned back around and saw him.

Garth.

He stood at the end of the ally, in his black leather, casually standing with his weight one his right leg and one hand resting on the pommel of his rapier.
Apostate.
The prayerbreaker.

Heden put a hand on
Solaris
.

“You knew sooner or later I’d have to…,” Garth shrugged. “I mean, how did you think this would end?” Garth asked. He seemed sad, disappointed.

“I guess it ends when one of us kills the other,” Heden said.

“No point wondering who’ll come out on top,” Garth concluded.

“Nope,” Heden said.

“We’ll find out, and then we’ll know,” Garth said.

“One of us will,” Heden said.

Garth nodded.  “Don’t imagine you’ll have any regrets if it me who goes down.”

“Just one,” Heden said.

Garth raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

Garth smiled and walked forward. Heden walked to the right, forcing Garth to the left. Garth had the initiative, but Heden the defensive advantage.

With his left hand, Garth reached behind him and pulled out a dagger. Heden prayed, and his skin flashed to stone. The strength of Cavall.

Garth threw the dagger, Heden deflected it with his forearm, but in the same instant Garth produced a hand crossbow, and fired a bolt at Heden.

The bolt struck Heden full in the chest, and he gasped as the flood of power given him by the granite prayer fled his body. It was an experience completely new to him. Like vomiting with your whole body.

This was no poison. It was some kind of curse. That bolt was cursed, cursed by a dark god. Nikros or Cyrvis. One of the black brothers or their saints. But the power of the god must be great to strip away Heden’s defenses. The stone skin, the strength. All gone. He felt naked. Felt like someone had punched him in the diaphragm and forced all the air out of his lungs.

“Did you think the dust was our only trick?” Garth sneered. “Never show your whole hand.”

Heden was out of breath and the fight hadn’t even begun. He wrested the bolt from his chest, staggered once, but mastered himself.

“I’ll remember that,” he said, and gripped
Solaris
.
I need you
, he thought.

Together,
the voice of the sword echoed in Heden’s head,
we shall cast light into darkness. Cast shadows out.

There was an eagerness.
Solaris
had been waiting for this moment. Garth was the shadow.
Solaris
yearned to destroy him.

Garth saw Heden’s play, and drew his unholy rapier.

Unbidden, with swordsmanship Heden never possessed,
Solaris
willed Heden’s arm to draw itself from its sheath, and counter Apostate.

As their swords clashed, Heden’s entire body erupted in flame.

Garth leapt back, his hand burned, but did not cry out. He assumed a dueling pose, relaxed, as he tried to understand what happened.

Heden felt healed, renewed.
Solaris
was drawn. Something like lava, liquid sunlight, dripped from the blade. When it hit the street, it splashed in rainbow crystals like prisms, bouncing and disintegrating on the stone cobbles.

Heden looked like a summoned creature of elemental fire. His entire body blazed.

Garth’s eyes went wide as he saw the relic Heden wielded. A blade of immense power. More than a match for
Apostate
. He looked back at Heden and his eyes went cold. Dead. He’d made one mistake, one missing element in his research. He hadn’t considered Zaar might forgive him, hadn’t known the dwarf had come with a sword.
The
sword.

Garth would not make a mistake like that again.

Armed with the black steel blade, Garth catfooted forward, back on the attack.

Now, aided by
Solaris
the blade of Saint Pentalion Sunbringer, Heden began to fight for his life.

Shadow and sunlight, the assassin and the priest danced across the cobbled street. Heden relaxed that part of his mind that controlled his body, and let
Solaris
take over.

Heden lunged forward, a memory of skill, experience, suddenly present in his mind. All he had to do was let it happen. Easy.

Garth betrayed no surprise at Heden’s blazing form, his newfound swordsmanship. He parried and feinted, his acrobatics more than a match for Heden’s but
Solaris
was a match for Garth.

Solaris
cast a spell. A wall of fire erupted behind Garth, blocking his retreat.

Instead of retreating, Garth flipped over Heden, an inhuman leap deftly clearing the priest’s reach.

Heden spoke a prayer, a shaft of sunlight stabbed down at Garth, who effortlessly danced out of the way, recognizing the spoken prayer.

Garth produced three crystal throwing daggers, threw them at Heden. Each unerringly struck Heden in the chest, but melted upon contact with his blazing form.

They crossed blades again. They danced out of the alley where it emptied onto a bridge that crossed the Kirk river, the river that snaked through the city, and circled the king’s castle.

Solaris
cast a spell. Heden spoke a prayer. The street around Garth turned to mud, but
apostate
prevented the stone Garth stood on from liquefying. A crystal cube formed on the spot Garth had been standing, it would have permanently trapped Garth within it, but Garth was not there.

Heden whirled around.

Garth was behind him. He produced a garrote with glinting diamond powder embedded into it. The same kind of weapon one of the black scarves tried on him. But this cord had a weight at one end. He twirled it and flicked the weight at Heden.

Heden misjudged the attack and deflected in the wrong direction. The diamond cord snaked around his neck, Garth pulled, and Heden felt the cord bite into his neck, draw blood, cut deep, ignoring the blazing form granted by
Solaris
.

He was surprised and for a moment did not react. But
Solaris
was not surprised. The sword, unbidden, slashed into the cord cutting it.

His body still made of living sunfire, Heden retreated out onto the bridge, skirting the pool of mud, the crystal cube.

Garth followed. Neither man spoke. This was a fight to the death. Garth had previously been cocky, conversational, because he believed the fight was over before it began. Now he made no commentary. He was focused on nothing except the fight. The same campaigners’ instincts that keep Heden alive now gave Garth the advantage he needed.
Kill the Arrogate
, would be the command from the count. Nothing less.

There was no space in Heden’s mind for the future. He possessed no awareness of what might happen next, of who was winning, of which of them would yield, which would die. There was only the moment. Ratcatchers who thought of anything else in the heat of battle died quickly.

Garth grimaced, and spoke his own spell.

His body flashed into a shadow. A living shade, like the ones summoned by the night dust. But unlike those, this form was thick and solid, not a wisp of twisting ethereal dust.

Heden recognized the spell, had seen Garth use it. The
vile form
. The shadow magic expert thieves and assassins learned. It sapped Garths’ life as he maintained it, but he wouldn’t have to maintain it long.

Apostate’s
black steel darted out like the tongue of a snake.
Solaris
burned white hot and met the enemy blade.

Sunlight and shadow, flame and darkness clashed and danced further onto the bridge. People were watching now. Gathered at the far end of the bridge.

The living shadow whirled, tried to find an opening.
Solaris
permitted none. Garth summoned darkness,
Solaris
banished it.

More!
The blade called in Heden’s mind. It relished the fight, drank in the power arrayed against it. Ached to be tested further.

Heden wondered which of them was in control. Would
Solaris
deliberately prolong the fight just to get a chance to manifest its long-slumbering might? As long as the sword kept him alive, it didn’t matter.

As fire-sword and shadow-blade clashed,
Solaris
found an opening. Stabbed into the black mist.

Garth retreated out of the shadow, resumed his normal flesh and blood form. The spell had drained him, sapped him of needed will, and now he was wounded. He grasped his left breast where
Solaris
had pierced his armor.

Apostate
fell to the ground, clattered on the stone bridge. Heden took a moment to get his breath, thinking
Solaris
had created an advantage. Thinking he had won.

Then he saw the small crossbow in Garth’s sword hand. He hadn’t dropped his weapon because he was injured. He’d merely traded one useless weapon for one proven to be effective.

Garth shot Heden again with an unholy arrow.
Solaris
darted out, attempting to deflect it. But the sword was not fast enough. The bolt hit Heden and again he felt his body wrench.

The form of living sun blinked out, leaving Heden a flesh and blood man.

Garth recovered
Apostate
.

Heden could hear the voice of
Solaris
but it sounded far away, indistinct. Somehow, the connection between him and the sword had been broken. He had not known that power existed.

Where did he get that power?
Heden wondered. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

Unable to match Garth, come anywhere near matching him, in swordsmanship, Heden retreated across the bridge.

Garth pressed the advantage, stopping Heden’s retreat just as he reached the middle of the bridge. Heden tried to defend, but his sword training was practical. Garth was a master.

Both of them wounded, neither of them able to muster their full strength, flanked by crowds at either end of the bridge, the priest and the assassin fought desperately, each knowing this was the end.

Heden managed to deflect one lunge, then another, retreating all the while. But Garth had set him up. The two attacks were feints designed to get Heden’s sword into position.

Garth’s black steel blade ran and danced along the edge of
Solaris,
twisting and spinning the blade in Heden’s hand until he had to let go of it, or break his wrist.

The sword flew out, over the side of the bridge, into the river.

“Shit,” Heden said. The dwarf was going to kill him.

Out of options, Heden remembered his battle with the thief in his inn.

‘
Noxa
,’ Heden said, and Garth shuddered. His whole body clenched…then slowly released, and he resumed his fighting pose.

Garth had warded himself against curses. This meant the aid of a powerful enemy priest, a servant of one of the Black Brothers.

Heden began to speak a name. The name of a dominion. But Garth proved faster.

He threw a trio of darts, needle-thin, at Heden. Heden held up his right hand, managed to save one eye. A needle dug into his left eye and the whole left side of his face blossomed with pain like fire.

Heden pulled the dart his left eye. He’d lost it. That eye was gone now. A feeling like panic washed over him. He tried to master it, but in the process forgot the name he’d been searching for.

Apostate
slipped into Heden’s ribs under his left arm.

“Angh!” Heden cried out.

Garth was there, next to him, had followed up the blade thrust, and now with one deft motion grabbed Heden’s left arm as he held it to his dead eye, and in a fluid jerk, snapped Heden’s arm back, dislocating his shoulder.

Heden expelled his breath in one last prayer, a ball of light exploded in front of Garth’s eyes, blinding him. This bought Heden one instant.

Bracing himself on the stone railing behind him, he kicked Garth full in the chest, sending the man sprawling backward.

Blind, Garth hadn’t seen the kick, wasn’t ready for it. By the time he landed on his ass, he could see again.