The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (37 page)

He found what he was looking for. Exactly where he had deposited it during his fight with Jana. He pulled it out and flicked it open. The blade of the razor flashed orange as it reflected the glow from Tiel’s hands.

Cutter tightened his grip on the bone handle, screaming at the agony shooting down his arms, and slashed out. Tiel released one hand from Cutter’s neck and grabbed hold of his wrist. Cutter screamed in pain as the heat flared into his raw skin, Tiel’s fingers sinking into his flesh until he touched bone. Blood sizzled and spat as Tiel tried to force the razor into Cutter’s face.

Cutter thought of Rowen and pushed everything he had into his arm, forcing it away from himself and toward Tiel. The halfling’s eyes widened. Cutter grabbed hold of the halfling’s arm with his free hand and slowly pried the fingers away. One by one they loosened, until Cutter held the halfling’s arm out of the way.

Then he slashed out with the razor.

Blood sprayed into the air. Tiel looked confused. The heat faded from Cutter’s neck, the halfling’s grip weakening. Cutter staggered backward, breaking the contact.

Blood pulsed rhythmically from Tiel’s neck. The halfling lifted a hand into the red spray, almost as if he were feeling for rain. He studied his hand, then looked at Cutter. His eyes went to the cutthroat razor Cutter held.

“That’s my razor,” he said in a gurgling voice. Dropping to his knees, the halfling locked eyes with Cutter. The blood slowed its pumping, slackening to a trickle that soaked his chest. He stood dazed for a few moments, then gravity took over and he hit the ground.

Cutter collapsed onto his back and stared up at the sky. The smoke from the fires in the trees drifted up into the storm clouds. He watched the smoke whisked about by the wind, then he heard
a voice shouting something, but he couldn’t make out the words. He strained his ears.

Don’t…
don’t do something.
Don’t… don’t kill him
. That was it.
Don’t kill him
.

He turned his head and stared into Tiel’s lifeless eyes. Too late. Sorry.

He looked to the sky again and saw the underside of a skycoach. A face peered over the side. Looked familiar. He knew that face.

Then it hit him. The half-elf. Wren.

Cutter smiled, then closed his eyes.

Bren listened to the growing hubbub above him, the sounds of laughter and talking. The clink of glasses and the rattle of cutlery. He reckoned all the guests had arrived by now.

He withdrew the shard from his pocket and lowered it into the machine. It pulled away from his fingers and sank deep inside.

After a faint click, the machine started to hum.

W
ren peered over the edge and tried to see through the smoke as Col lowered the skycoach for a landing. “I think they’re both dead,” he called over his shoulder.

The skycoach bumped to the ground. Wren jumped out and rushed over to Cutter. The wounds on the man’s arms were grisly. He knelt to feel for a pulse, wincing as his fingers touched blistered skin. He could smell the charred flesh and fought to keep from vomiting.

He detected a faint flutter beneath his fingers. “He’s alive,” he said to Col, who approached with a pouch. Col fished around inside while Wren hurried over to the halfling—guessing he was responsible for Rowen’s death. He checked his pockets twice, but there was no sign of the shard. Where in Khyber was it?

Wren stood and scanned the rooftop. Had the shard been lost in the fight? He turned to Col. The man leaned over Cutter, pouring something down his throat.

“Healing potion,” he said in response to Wren’s look.

Cutter coughed and spluttered, spraying some of the potion over Col’s shirt. Col held Cutter’s mouth closed, forcing him to swallow what remained. As Wren watched, the wounds on his arms began to heal, the blackened flesh sloughing away and being replaced by glistening red muscle and tissue. Skin crawled slowly over the raw flesh and closed across his arms.

Wren waited until Cutter’s arms were smooth and pink, then leaned over and patted him down. The dragonshard wasn’t there, either.

A shudder ran through the roof under Wren’s feet. He frowned and looked at Col, but the man was just as puzzled as he. It came again, vibrating all the way through his body, this time accompanied by a deep rumbling.

Wren stood, his stomach twisting.

“Is that thunder?” asked Col.

Wren walked over to the wall. The hotel grounds were silent. Something floated on the air … anticipation. A buildup of tension on the breeze.

Then another shudder ran through the ground. Wren heard the sound of breaking glass, the scream of a woman. A statue in the gardens toppled and broke apart when it hit the ground. Wren gripped the wall. Col moved next to him.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure,” said Wren, “but I don’t think it’s a good sign.” He pointed to Cloudpool Park. The white cloudstuff that formed the park was changing color, turning from the fresh white of newly fallen snow to the oily black of tar.

“Not a good sign at all.”

The ground shook again, more violently this time. Wren tightened his grip on the wall. Guests ran from the hotel, crying out in alarm, looking around for the source of the disturbance. More statues fell over. As Wren watched, one of them fell on top
of a dwarf, crushing him beneath its weight.

A horrific rending sound filled the air, like the tortured screech of metal magnified a thousand times. Then … everything
moved
.

Wren was reminded of the time a lift he traveled in malfunctioned and dropped a few floors.

Wren turned to Col, a look of horror on his face. “Did you feel that?”

But Col wasn’t listening. He stared up into the sky “The clouds just moved,” he whispered.

“What?” Wren looked up. “What do you mean?”

Col tore his attention away, stared at Wren. “The clouds. They moved higher into the air.”

“That’s imposs—”

It came again. His stomach lurched.

“There!” said Col. “They did it again.”

“Khyber’s breath,” whispered Wren. “Come on.” He ran to Cutter’s side and slapped at his face. “Cutter. Wake up! Where’s the dragonshard? Who has it?” He slapped Cutter harder, drawing a groan from him. “Cutter!” he shouted.

Col grabbed his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you see? What Diadus was talking about? He said that Tiel’s attack on the council was a cover, that the dragonshard would do something worse. Something the warforged had been planning for years.”

Col looked around, realization dawning.

“It’s bringing down Skyway, Col.”

“It can’t. That’s …”

“Insane. We need to find it. We need to find the shard. Otherwise, Skyway will fall on Menthis and Central.”

Wren grabbed Cutter under the arms. “Help me get him aboard.”

Col grabbed Cutter’s feet and they manhandled his limp body into the skycoach. Wren and Col climbed aboard, Col grabbing hold of the controls. The low rumbling had become constant, the shuddering running through the skycoach and vibrating their limbs. Col lifted the vehicle off the ground, rising straight up into the air. As soon as they left the ground, the vibrations stopped.

Wren turned his attention to Cutter, to find the human staring up at him with bleary eyes.

“Cutter, where is the dragonshard?”

“Wren?”

“Yes, it’s Wren. Well done. Now, where is the shard? It’s important.”

Cutter struggled to sit up. Wren helped him up and pointed at the people running in panic. “Do you see that? We need to find the dragonshard, Cutter. What did Tiel do with it?”

Cutter shook his head, then stared down at his arms, gingerly touching the pink skin. He turned to look back at the rooftop.

“He’s dead,” said Wren. “You got your revenge.”

Cutter was silent for a while. “I still miss her,” he said softly.

Wren resisted the urge to shake Cutter by the neck. “Of course you do,” he said. “Did you honestly think killing Tiel would make that go away?”

Cutter turned to look at him, the pain clear in his eyes. “I hoped so.”

Col looked over his shoulder. “Slap him again, will you? If he doesn’t tell us where the shard is, we’re going to be sitting inside Menthis soon.”

“What’s he talking about?” Cutter asked, barely interested. “Isn’t he that watchman? The one who chased us?”

“It’s a long story. But what he’s saying is true. Look around.
The whole of Skyway is dropping out of the sky.” Wren waved a hand about.

Cutter looked around. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“It’s going slowly, you idiot!” snapped Col. “Just tell us where the bloody shard is.”

“I don’t know!” Cutter snarled. “Tiel—”

“What? What is it?” asked Wren.

“Bren. Tiel’s bodyguard. He said he had to go to Tain Manor. Said he had to do something for Tiel.”

“Col?”

“I heard,” said Col, turning the skycoach around.

Bren was in the garden retrieving his jacket when the first shudders ran through the ground. He steadied himself and looked around, thinking he should probably get away, that it had something to do with the dragonshard. Did the shudder signify Saidan’s death?

The ground pitched beneath his feet, sending him to his knees.

He looked around. The guests from the Tain supper were filing out of the house into the front garden, looking around in curiosity. Bren stood up and saw that Saidan was among them.

A third, more violent rumble pulsed through the ground. Bren managed to steady himself before he was thrown off his feet. Some of the dinner guests were not so lucky. They fell to the ground, cursing and swearing. The statues lining the pathway toppled over and smashed to pieces.

Then the whole island lurched beneath him. The guests cried out in fear. The island shook again, and the thought came to Bren that Skyway was falling out of the sky.

And the timing could be no coincidence.

Bren looked back at the house. He had done this. Or rather, he had been tricked into doing this. Anger surged through him. He didn’t like being manipulated. Using the dragonshard to kill Saidan Boromar was fine. But if Skyway kept falling, it would land on the districts below, crushing thousands of people. He wasn’t going to have that on his conscience.

The dinner guests were panicking, running for their chariots or skycoaches. Bren fought against the push of bodies, shoving those too slow to get out of his way. He ran around the back of the house and through the kitchen, to the stairs leading to the basement. He picked up the lantern he’d left at the bottom of the steps and hurried back to the room with the strange machine.

The ground was rumbling constantly. Dust fell from the ceiling, creating a thin haze in the air that was hard to see through. Bren made his way into the room and reached inside the machine for the dragonshard. He couldn’t reach. It had sunk too far inside for him to get hold.

He sighed. He’d have to resort to the direct method, then. He lifted his adamantine arm, intending to smash the machine into as many pieces as he could.

Something caught hold of his wrist.