Dangerous Games (15 page)

“Make noise in the wrong place and our heads will be spiked around the archwizard’s park!” Knucklebones whispered harshly.

“Sorry.”

The party crept up broken stairs to a floor littered with trash. The old building reeked of cold fires and urine. Sunbright peeked past Knucklebone’s slim shoulder and asked her, “What was this place?”

“Bookbinders,” the thief answered, “A woman named Roni and her family. Friends. Guards confiscated her goods and tools for taxes. She couldn’t work, so she took her children to the edge and jumped.”

“Edge of what?”

“The edge of the city,” she snapped. “What did you think, the archwizard’s wading pool?”

Sunbright shook his head absently. In two days amidst these thieves, Knucklebones hadn’t once mentioned his having killed her lover, Martel, nor their fight, nor offered thanks for his rescuing them from the city guards.

Lacking anywhere else to go, Sunbright stayed in the homestead. Talking to Mother, he learned more all the time. He was tolerated, but doubted he was considered a member of the gang. He didn’t know what he was, except a barbarian out of time, too far from the tundra, stranded under a city suspended too damn high in the air. The thought of someone jumping into that mile high void turned his bowels to water.

Squinting in the dim light, Mother waggled her fingers as she crept to the door and broken crockery and splinters were brushed aside as if by an invisible broom. Another thief’s cantra, Sunbright realized. They had over a dozen between them. What did he know? Minor healing.

Knucklebones crouched by the door, lithe as a seal. She put her slanted eyes to a crack through the door, eased it open and shooed out a twin. Others waited, then there came the squeak of a rat trapped under a cat’s paw. Sunbright found that amusing: a city wildlife call. Silently, one by one, with Knucklebones watching everywhere at once, the party slipped outside. Sunbright was last, and scuffed as he stepped. Knucklebone’s hissed order to, “Pick up your feet!” cut the night.

Outside, the street was black. Sunbright had been told the mission, a raid on a butcher in a district where nobles’ servants shopped. This shop preserved meats like ham, bacon, and sausages. Good for the larder, Knucklebones explained, good to trade with other scavengers. Sunbright thought it simple enough, but Knucklebones seemed tense as a bowstring—though the barbarian had barely said a dozen words to her, so he couldn’t claim to know her. Neither could Mother, she said, who’d known her for four years.

Sunbright picked up his feet and crossed the black street after the part-elf. The twins occupied opposite doorways with thin pipes in hand. Mother had somehow climbed atop a stone lintel, and hunkered on arthritic knees like a weather-beaten gargoyle. The barbarian couldn’t see Rolon, but heard the clink of his new weighted chain. The sound drew a sharp hiss from their leader. The man Hute was out of sight. Sunbright felt a small hand on his belt buckle, was guided into a niche between buildings. Strong fingers signaled he was to draw Harvester and hold it ready, then Knucklebones was gone.

Sunbright tuned his ears until he heard ringing and probed with his eyes until he felt blind. He was used to night hunting in a forest, where he could feel hooves fall against soil and boot soles, smell oncoming game by fur and musk, and sense the wind on his cheek lessen as game closed. But this city was alien, bound by stone flags and hard walls that cut and trapped the wind. He could only guess what his teammates were doing.

He heard a fizz and saw a white light outline Knucklebones’s tousled head for a second. Some magic lock defused? Then he heard the clattering of a key.

A savage growl, deep and low-throated, from a wolf or big dog, echoed around them. The growl stopped as the dog’s mouth clamped down, then changed to a frenzied snarling as the beast worried flesh and bone. Knucklebones gasped.

Keeping quiet as he could, Sunbright streaked across the narrow street. By sound he located the thief, on her back, straddled by a mastiff.

There was more movement. Mother was suddenly across from him; one of the twins scooted past, bent low. They didn’t seem to be doing anything so, still silently, Sunbright hoisted Harvester, aimed as best he could, sent up a prayer, and struck.

The heavy, keen blade cleft the dog’s spine with a meaty smack. The animal flopped limp atop Knucklebones, who grunted at the weight. But before Sunbright could jerk the brindled hound loose, slicking his hand and forearm with blood, the thief had wriggled loose. She whapped at his elbow and whispered urgently, “Go back! There were two of them!”

“Two of what?” he whispered.

But she was pattering for the disused bookbinders’, rallying her troops with chitters and low whistles.

A voice behind Sunbright stage-whispered, “Stand or die!”

The barbarian whirled. He hadn’t even heard the enemy approach. It was a pair of city guards, starlight and the glow of distant gasglobes flaring on polished helmets. Ahead galloped a tongue-lolling mastiff, twin to the dead one at Sunbright’s feet.

Oh, he thought. Two dogs, one to attack and one to fetch help. But why need the city officials be silent too?

Then he had his hands full, and his feet.

The dog bounded, mouth open, and snapped for Sunbright’s knees even as the guards split to bracket him. No clubs now, but short swords. Instinctively the barbarian dropped to a fighting stance, feet braced and pointed out to allow him to swivel to both flanks. His boot thumped the dog’s big foot and almost tumbled him. The guards, partners in practice, swung at the same time.

To shrink from one blow was to drive into the other, so Sunbright gritted his teeth and took it. Flicking Harvester at the right-hand guard, he deflected the blow with a tiny ting of blades. He’d ducked his shoulder and curled to avoid the other swipe, but felt the cold, bloodcurdling kiss of steel as it sliced open the muscle of his upper arm.

Sucking wind, he swung his left heel up hard to kick the dog in the stomach or crotch, to get it from underfoot. The mastiff yipped at the thud and skipped its bony back up, jarring Sunbright’s own rump. But as it hopped clear, he decided to use the beast in defense. Hooking his foot, he caught the dog above the hock to stop it and stepped back alongside its head. The maneuver put the dog between Sunbright and the left-hand guard for just a second. In that second, the barbarian lashed at the guard on his right.

Eager to strike, the man came too close and overreached to thrust straight with his short sword. The whole weapon wasn’t as long as Harvester’s blade. Sunbright aimed below the guard’s blade and arm, and drove the wicked hooked point into the man’s armpit. The guard gasped, whimpered, but Sunbright used the sword’s great weight to free it, adding his own muscle to wrench down. The barbed hook tore tendons and arteries. Hot blood gushed along the blade as the man’s heart emptied.

At the same time, the other guard struck. Sunbright felt the blade split his goatskin vest, pierce his shirt, and slice his skin above the shoulder blade. It was a glancing blow, but one that burned like cold fire. Sunbright even used that advantage, whipping around so the short blade fetched for a second in his leather. Seeing his mistake, the guard let go of his weapon. Too late. Harvester slammed into his belly, bowling the man back and spilling his guts. Another blow sheared half through the falling man’s neck. Sunbright wrenched his blade free, and the guard fell like a tree. His polished helmet slammed the flagstones with a crunch.

Panting, throat wheezing, wounds aching, blood singing, and ears ringing with a battle high, Sunbright tracked back and forth with his sword, wary, seeking another enemy. But there were none, as part of him had known. The guard dog was gone. So was Knucklebones. In fact…

He stepped away from pools of blood and cooling bodies, put his back against a shop front. Where was everybody? The whole battle had been waged in an eerie silence that he still didn’t understand. He was used to hollering war cries and epithets, and just plain noise. Now the whole block seemed deserted. It was as if Sunbright and the guards were ghosts who waged war in a dead city.

Scanning, listening, peering, he found no one. Thoughts of ghosts and barbarian superstition caught up with him. It had been in just such a dead block that he’d once crashed into the Underdark, a misty non-world where a wraith had almost sucked the life and soul out of him. He still wasn’t recovered from its effects, and sometimes wondered if that wraith still hunted and haunted him across leagues and years—

“Sunbright!”

The barbarian jumped so high his sword point tinked on the stone lintel over his head. The voice had come from alongside his elbow, sudden as a panther attack.

It was Rolon, the skinny boy. “That way.”

“Right! Yes.” Leaving ghosts and dead men behind, Sunbright shuffled in the direction that the boy had pointed. Behind him he heard stealthy chinking as the boy looted the guards’ bodies. Sunbright was content to get his breath back.

Another tiny shadow hustled people into the ruined bindery. Sunbright was last in, but Knucklebones paused to fix the door and erase all sign of their passing. Their last act was for Sunbright to hold Mother up through the hole. With her finger-sweeping cantra, she scattered the trash and dust evenly across the floor again, and replaced the dead cockroaches.

It was only after they’d passed deep into more twisting tunnels, some so low the barbarian had to go through them doubled over, that he realized they hadn’t accomplished their goal of stealing meat. They’d gotten nothing except a handful of coins and wounds.

And more. For when they reached a pocket with stone walls where Sunbright could stand erect, he caught hell.

The party was lit by the strange blue-white stripes that Knucklebones employed. Now, in this small space, some disused cellar or stone foundation, the small thief whirled on him.

“How could you be so stupid?” Her face was hard, her one eye glaring, her lips pulled back from her teeth. She rapped with her brass knuckles on his chest, yet still kept her voice pitched at a whisper. “How could you endanger us so? You’ve doomed every person in this party!”

“What?” Sunbright had cleaned and sheathed Harvester, and stood with his left hand across the slice on his shoulder. “I saved your life!”

“Temporarily! We never kill city guards. It’s insanity! You’ll bring sniffers down on our heads! They’ll hunt us down like terriers after rats.”

“Sniffers?”

More damned city magic, he supposed. His ignorance angered him, but her attitude angered him even more.

“That dog was poised to tear your throat out, or bite through your face! And those guards wouldn’t have spared you! They’d have hacked you to crow fodder—”

“Bah!” She scoffed, waving a gold glittering hand. “The dog was no threat. I could have slipped out from under it, and the guards … why couldn’t you just knock them down? You’ll have the whole cadre after us now! They always avenge—”

“No one told me!” Sunbright bellowed. This was the first real noise he’d made in hours. Instinctively the other thieves shushed him. “No one told me not to kill guards. I thought you hated them. And why was everyone so quiet? Even the dogs didn’t bark!”

“Fool! Don’t you know anything? That district is famous for quiet. The nobles like it that way. Even the guards are trained to never make noise, and the dogs have their voice cords slit. How have you survived this long? Killing those guards will prove fatal. But that’s all you can do, flail away with that sword! It’s how you killed Martel, wasn’t it?’

“What?” he whispered, the change in topic confusing him. It was the first time she’d mentioned her former lover. Was this city madness, thief strangeness, or woman contrariness? “That was an accident! He was out to kill me … I think. I’m not sure what happened!”

“Damn you! You’ve ruined everything!” Hauling her elbows close by her ribs, the thief leader slammed him in the chest and breadbasket with tiny fists weighted with brass. Sunbright grunted, huffed, sucked wind, but took it. The blows hurt, as if someone were pounding him with a rock. On the other hand, his stomach and chest were hard as an oak tree, and she wasn’t really pounding him, he knew, she was just beating out her frustration. So he waited patiently, suffered, and wondered about women. He hadn’t understood Greenwillow’s whims most of the time. Was that because men were thick or because women were enigmatic? Or something else? For a shaman, he thought, he didn’t know much about people, especially female ones.

Shooed by Mother, the other thieves melted away. Sunbright was bashed more than forty times before Knucklebones wound down. She was crying, her soiled and dusty cheeks wet with tears of rage and frustration, and whatever other turmoil she suffered. Sunbright reckoned her tenuous life had finally caught up with her. The stress and strain of watching and worrying over her brood, the constant threat of sudden and gory death, the need for a brave, tough face for her followers and other gangs must have been difficult to bear. Though the barbarian had his own problems—loneliness being utmost—but he didn’t envy her. At least, he had no one else to fret about.

Finally she stopped pounding him, let her knotty arms hang limp by her side. Her small bosom heaved for breath and control. The magical light of her leather vest made shadows rise and fall on the stone walls around them. Tears dripped from her cheeks, and she snuffled and wiped her nose on her wrist. A sob escaped.

Finally, Sunbright knew what to do.

Reaching slowly, so as not to startle her, he gathered Knucklebones in his arms, pulled her against his sore chest. The top of her head barely came to his breastbone, and he bent his head to kiss it, as one might a child. Her hair was dusty and cobwebby from threading these dim tunnels, but still she smelled sweet, like a whiff of wildflowers, though she’d probably never seen a wildflower in her life. Greenwillow had smelled the same, Sunbright thought with a pang. Maybe all women did.

“Don’t cry, seal pup,” he comforted the sobbing thief with his mother’s words. Knucklebones felt like a leather sack of bones in his brawny arms, her back hard, her ribs prominent. When he stroked her shoulder, he felt old, raddled scars like an alley cat’s. But her skin between the scars was soft. “Don’t fret, wildflower. I’ll protect you.”