The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (24 page)

Teku had been busy gathering the facts of Tonio’s likely demise, and even Sefron the cleric had assisted as well. The Royal lord now questioned his own judgment by risking an alliance with an underling called Oran. He couldn’t help but think that the underling may have betrayed them all. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, to be sure—but at what cost?

Almen was only mere hours from a reckoning. It was time to put more of his enemies to rest. He was confident, but in the world of Bish, some things you couldn’t plan or prevent.

Melegal glided out of the back stairwell and
headed down toward the dim alley below. The suns had diminished over the horizon, leaving only a black corridor before him. He considered taking a few rooftops first, rather than the streets, but that would require more time and he needed all the extra time he could muster.

Despite the deterrents his former mentor McKnight had offered, Melegal was still confident that he could locate his fingerless little friend. He didn’t count on the aid of the Motley Girls, either, but they could at least serve as a possible distraction to his enemies, perhaps drawing attention away from himself or Venir.

Looking down into the dark pathway, Melegal considered that Venir had his own way of doing things, much different than he himself. Still, they were plenty savvy when it came to dealing with the complexities of the deeper secrets in the City of Bone.

He dropped ten feet down onto the narrow road without a sound. He stared deep into the main street in the distance, allowing his sight to adjust. Nothing seemed unusual so he moved on, his mind a torrent of thought.

For most, this hunt would be in vain. The City of Bone was enormous and crowded. People kept to themselves if they wanted to stay out of trouble. The myriad streets, alleys, catwalks, and building tops would have a newcomer lost within minutes. The colorful and flamboyant banners that marked off the districts did help. But not every portion of the city had an assigned district. The Drunken Octopus was located far from the closest sanctuary. Moving along the city from here, then, was an ominous task. Plus, getting from one outer wall to the adjacent counter wall would take miles of trekking. It was easy to get onto the monstrous roadways that crisscrossed between them all in straight lines. Those who could afford it often traveled on horseback or pony. Personally Melegal liked the mess. It was easy to disappear in when one needed to.

He treaded gray as a ghost over the hardened road, feet missing puddles of muck along the way. He could see activity toward the distant end of the confined alley. Cats, rats, and other rodents were busy hunting in the grime. The sounds of arguing and pleasure could be heard from the tiny apartment windows scattered just above him.

There was always risk of a swarthy purse cutter to challenge him. It wasn’t likely, as they all knew him. Anyone else, though, was open game. He was halfway up the alley when an ominous figure stepped out of the shadows a dozen feet before him. He froze, his spine tingling in alarm. Scented oil he did not know filled his nostrils, mixed with something else. This wasn’t a common cut purse. It was someone dangerous.

Melegal squinted, making out the tall image before him. The man was olive-skinned and wore long white robe-like garments and high-strapped sandals. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon, as his arms were concealed behind him. But then, Melegal knew better: whoever it was had something to hide.

His mind searched for answers and escape. Was this man here to kill him? If so, why? His nerves burst like sparks in his veins. He remained still, calm, waiting for his assailant to act.
Must be an assassin. Dangerous. Not from Bone—but hired into Bone.
He breathed in through his nostrils.
Kitchen spices.

Melegal scanned the alley.

Evade. Evade. Evade.

No sooner had he thought it than twin blades flicked out and flashed his way.
Get to the street. Disappear.
He backpedaled while dodging the two blades that licked out toward his neck like a serpent’s tongue.
Man, he’s fast. Can’t get pinned at the back wall. Inevitable. Must parry, dodge, run … or be dead.

The man pressed inward with his two long butterfly knives dancing in a foreign cadence. The long arms and the long blades fully defended the alley against Melegal slipping past the attacker.

Whistling cuts sliced over Melegal’s ears and under his chin, over and over again. His shoulders and feet shifted between stabs and undercuts like he was a small boxer. The flurry came at him from all directions. He never took his eye off the man that surged at him. The assassin’s white smile was confident. It was only a matter of time before he cut the thief to ribbons. Most men would have been dead seconds long gone, but Melegal was far better at dodging death than most would presume.

Dozens of cut-and-thrust combinations executed to perfection came his way. He dodged the blades like a fish in water. He could see the sweat furrow on the man’s brow, could hear the laboring in his breath. His own lungs were on fire. He fought the urge to place his hands on hips and rest.

The strange man stopped his assault, nodding at Melegal.
Not so easy to kill, am I?
He wanted to make a run for the wall and scramble up to the roof. But the man was too fast. He watched as the assailant angled around, then lowered the tips of his knives near the ground.

The thief felt cornered for what seemed to be the tenth time that day. It didn’t set well with him. It was tight situations like these that he went out of his way to avoid. Now he had no other choice.
Pull out the Twins. No time for games. Wish I didn’t have that last drink. Pull one out. Or two. No. Yes! No! Yes!
His pride caved in to survival and he drew two black-hilted and razor-sharp short swords. They would be a quicker match for the heavy butterfly swords.

Melegal always considered the twin swords to be an inferior option. But it had come to this: a brutal last ditch effort to save himself. Yet it still almost felt like surrender to him; he’d rather avoid the heavy hardware. He knew he was still overmatched, but some swordplay would buy him more time.
Okay, girls,
he thought, twirling the twin blades,
it’s time to play.

The rings of clanging metal filled the alley as the assassin laid into him like a conductor of death. Melegal parried like a defender of life. The heavier blows of the robed man were beating down the lighter blades over and over again. Melegal’s cherished swords, though, popped right back up with their own ferocity. His clothes were sliced here and there, but his blood remained in place.
Can’t kill what you can’t hit.

The sharp clangs in the alley came quickly, over and over, both pressing the advantage, back and forth, ducking, dodging, and jumping like skilled acrobats trapped in a cage of vipers. Melegal’s arms were tiring, though.
Oh, man, this is getting old. Gotta try something new. Arms feel like fire and lead.
He now labored for breath, a thin film of sweat glistening over his hands.
Too much booze. Should have stayed in bed.

He avoided grappling swords with the larger man. The man wanted to suck him in and cut him down. The fighter whirled before Melegal, tireless and cold. Melegal wanted nothing more than to gouge out the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t take the risk. The butterfly blades banged down over and over, jolting his arms as he struggled with his grip. It was only a matter of time.

Then the unexpected happened: the assailant backed off, winded. Melegal didn’t press, though, only keeping his guard up. He eyed the man, whose mouth opened to reveal filed teeth.
Now why would you do that to your teeth? Oh, yeah … he’s an assassin. I guess that’s why. Better not bite me. I don’t want to die by biting. I won’t be buried with bite marks. Gotta get out of here.

Melegal waited while the man backed farther away.
What is he up to now?
He watched as the man took off his robes.
Why would he do that? Pervert. Oh, wait … that’s why.

The man stood before him, a polished figure of slender corded muscles and white tattoos, garnished with an array of throwing knives. Melegal’s hopes of survival sank all the way to his toes.

Along the man’s colored forearms were bracer-like contraptions.
Son of a Bish!
Melegal recognized the dart launchers that many warriors coveted but could not afford.
I knew I should have gotten some of those.
He knew right then and there he could not dodge them all. So he tried a new tactic.

“
I assume you are hired to kill me only, not capture me?” Melegal asked.

The man nodded, checking his dart contraptions.

He’s got the drop on me. I’m looking at dodging about ten poisoned darts. No way. Not in this condition.

The alley seemed to shrink before him. His path barred, Melegal knew he was unprepared and overmatched. The dart launcher was a powerful weapon. Fast and accurate. He had seen one work before and this guy had two of them. Retreating was his only option, but it was a terrible plan. His last moments on Bish would be spent in a meaningless alley of muck. His life would end as meaninglessly as it began. Melegal lowered his blades.
It’s just as well. I’m tired of the hassle. I wish I could have helped save the boy, though.
But even that thought seemed out of character for the usually cold and uncaring Melegal.

He watched the assassin’s long slender arms take aim. The man even had a throwing blade ready to go in each hand as well.
Not leaving anything to chance.
Melegal pulled back his shoulders, chest out.
This is it: my final move.
Melegal bent his knees while loosening the grip on his swords. A familiar sound caught his ear. He cocked his head.

“
Eh?” the assassin said, casting a crooning ear over his shoulder.

I hope that’s what I think it is.

Melegal listened.

Whirl …

Whizz ...

Whop!

The assassin’s chin buckled into his chest, then he dropped to his knees. A large sling bullet echoed off the cobblestone. Melegal was already running before it hit the street, hurdling the man like a giant greyhound, clearing the assassin before he could blink.

At the end of the alley, Melegal’s eyes spied the tiny sling-wielding hero of his salvation from death.

“
Run!” Melegal yelled.

And Lefty did. A few paces ahead of Melegal.

Don’t look back,
Melegal warned himself.
Go legs! Go!

He cut around the alley corner just as a small barrage of darts imbedded into the stone walls where his body had just been a fraction ago. Two citizens were struck as a dart caught one man in the ankle and another in the hip. The darts themselves did little physical damage, but the poison on the tips dropped them dead in seconds.

Melegal ran past the halfling as the boy turned to find him. The halfling had no trouble keeping up, though.
I can’t believe it,
Melegal
thought over and over again..

“
Who was that, Me?” Lefty yelled from behind.

“
Don’t know,” Melegal said, tears streaming down his face.

“
Good shot, huh?”

“
Greatest shot ever!”

After wiping his eyes, Melegal turned and saw that Lefty was grinning all over himself as they disappeared into a crowd.

*****

Rayal lost the halfling she was following when she saw him burst from an alley, looking like he was chased by a very thin man. Then the man passed the halfling and they were both gone. Two innocent men had dropped dead before her and a crowd began to gather. She peered down the alley, and soon a dark man stepped out of it, rubbing his head. Her blood turned cold. They must have been running from him. She wanted to run too. No doubt her little friend was in danger, but there was little she could do. She wanted to act, but could not. Her trek back to the barns was long and lonesome, as she thought only of adventure.

The Motley Girls went to work that evening. They began by bullying, abusing, coercing, and beating any local cut purses or alley snipes they could find. At present, while Haze was off following the cat, Frigdah and Sis worked over one particular street rogue. Because they all had a grudge against anyone that would torment a child, this man felt their wrath twice over. They’d all been at the mercy of rotten men, and now someone was going to pay.

Sis slapped the man’s cheeks while her stocky sister held him in a headlock. The beggar was young and ferret-faced, with snot streaming from his nose. Sis grabbed his greasy black hair.

“
Did you see the men I described or not?” Sis asked. “And no more of that forked tongue of yours.”

He rolled his beady eyes. “You know, Sis, you are about as pretty as you are friendly.”

“
Oh … is that so? Why, thank you!”

Sis punched his empty belly. He groaned as he sagged, then she leaned over and stared deep in his eyes.

“
Did you think that was friendly, little fella?” Sis asked. “Because that is how I likes to be friendly.”