The Heresy Within (23 page)

Jezzet saw Thorn's jaw clench. The southerner behind him groaned and the biggest man Jezzet had ever seen, must have been near seven foot when stooped, gave the lad a hard smack on the back of the head.

“By all the Gods, Green. If ya don't stop sayin' his name everywhere we go I'll gut ya myself.” This from the southerner.

“You're the Black Thorn,” Thanquil said from beside her. “The thorn in the Inquisition's side.”

In a flash steel was drawn, shining naked in the sunlight. All six folk opposite Jezzet had drawn weapons. Thorn, the southerner, the giant, the boy, a woman just a bit smaller than Jezzet and with a scar that turned her lips into a permanent sneer and the handsome youth wearing a grin. Jezzet found her own sword out of its scabbard and in her hand; she also found that hand shaking.

Damnit, Jez. This isn't a fight you want to be in. Try to calm the situation.

“You don't want to fight me, Thorn,” she said putting as much command into her voice as possible.

“Ha!” barked the woman with the scar. “Bein' threatened by a girl who can't even hold a sword straight now, Thorn.”

“Shut it, Henry,” Thorn growled at the woman with an acidic glance.

The woman just laughed. “Don't you worry, Thorn. I'll protect ya from the little whore.”

Lady, girl, whore!
It seemed everyone was insulting Jezzet today and she'd just about had enough of it.

The guards lining the streets had taken notice of the bared steel. They wouldn't intervene, not yet. Their numbers were too small and there were too many people with weapons. The guards would wait until most of them had killed each other and then take the survivors for slaves when their own reinforcements arrived.

Jezzet realised the Arbiter hadn't yet drawn his sword. Out of all of them he was the most relaxed. His hands resting in his pockets and he stared at Thorn with an amused half-grin.

“Never thought I'd get to meet the Black Thorn,” the Arbiter said from beside Jezzet. “It's a...

“You ain't takin' me,” Thorn responded.

“Taking you...”

“Dead or alive. I've killed enough o' ya ta know how ta do it.”

“So I hear. What's your count at now, five I think.”

“Six,” said the boy with the cruel mouth. “Everyone always forgets the first one.” Again the giant cuffed the boy on the back of the head.

“Well I have no wish to become number seven, besides, I have places to be.”

Thorn looked confused, his entire crew looked confused, Jezzet could tell she herself looked confused. Thorn had always said the Inquisition wanted him bad, said they'd stop at nothing to take him, dead or alive.

“What sort of game you playin'?” the southerner asked.

Thanquil snorted out a laugh. “No game. I have no interest in you, Black Thorn. Nor any of your gang. Feel free to have me followed though, if it will put you at ease. Jezzet, we should go.”

The Arbiter turned and walked away. Jezzet backed away a few paces, sheathed her sword and hurried after him, leaving Thorn and his crew staring after them.

“Aren't you supposed to be trying to kill him or something?” Jezzet asked Thanquil when she caught up. Now the possibility of a fight was over her hand had stopped shaking, though truth was she hadn't quite ruled out the possibility of a knife in the back at any moment.

“Fight the Black Thorn... now there's a scary prospect,” the Arbiter replied. “He's killed six Arbiters already and I wasn't joking when I said I have no wish to become the seventh.”

“Follow 'em, Swift. An' don't get caught,” the Boss said with even more frown than usual.

Betrim didn't like it. Didn't like the whole damned situation in fact. First they take on a job from Deadeye to free some bloody witch from gaol and now an Arbiter just happens to cross his path with Jezzet Vel'urn in tow. That there was a recipe for trouble.

“Thorn.” The Boss nudged Betrim to get his attention. “That woman he was with, ya knew her?”

“Aye.” Betrim watched Swift trot off after the Arbiter, always keeping his distance, always keeping behind other folk so as not to be seen. Useful lad to have about was Swift as long as you could keep him in check. Might be Betrim was going to need useful friends sometime soon.

“Is she trouble?”

“'Bout as big as it gets. Knows her way round a sword like no one I've ever seen.”

Henry snorted. “Bitch was shakin' more 'an Green.”

Betrim didn't bother replying to that. Henry didn't get on too well with other women and Betrim couldn't be bothered figuring out why.

“She was quick enough ta draw steel on ya,” the Boss continued and Betrim knew he'd keep at it until he had the whole story.

“That's the problem with Jezzet Vel’urn; never know which side she'll come down on in the end. Few years back was workin' a protection job here in Chade, nice easy work, easy money. Sit around an' look after some boxes 'til folk came ta pick 'em up. That was 'til some of the lads decided I'd look a better corpse. Wanted ta brag about killin' the Black Thorn most like.

“Eight o' them came at me an' only the one decided ta back me. I did fer two of ‘em; she got the rest an' not one even a shade of life in 'em by the end of it. She stuck with me fer a while, right up 'til she got a better offer. Someone prettier or richer or with less folk tryin' ta kill 'em, I reckon.”

“So she goes with the highest bidder?” the Boss asked.

Betrim shrugged. He had no idea how the bitch thought. Up until a few minutes ago he'd have counted Jezzet Vel'urn as an old friend, right up until he found her keeping company with the Inquisition.

He was aware that there were more guards than before, seemed some of their backup had arrived and they were all still more than passing interested in the crew. Despite no steel being naked they made for a dangerous looking group of folk and, fact was, they didn't look like they belonged standing around in the middle of a street in Goldtown. Betrim reckoned the guards probably thought the crew looked like they belonged in iron collars.

“Might be about time we got movin', Boss.”

“Aye.” Betrim wasn't the only one who had noticed the guards, the Boss did not look happy about the situation, but then the Boss was looking less and less happy every day now. “Bones, take Green an' find us another safe-house, close ta the Oldtown gate as possible.”

“Speedy exit it is, Boss,” Bones said and started dragging Green away.

“Me an' Henry need ta see the contact...”

“'Bout our money? From Deadeye.”

“That too,” the Boss said. “Get back ta the house an' wait there, Thorn. An' try not ta run into any other old friends while ya about it.”

Betrim waved the comment away and started walking; already wishing the Boss had never decided to treat them to a fancy breakfast. It had seemed a right good idea at first. They'd done the job and done it well, none of them dead and the only injury a bump on the back of Betrim's head where he'd hit the wall after the witch had thrown him. So, as no payment had been made yet the Boss took them all to a fancy tavern in Goldtown to eat as much fancy food as they could and drink some good dark beer while they were at it. Fact was Betrim had thought himself to be on the drunk side of tipsy before coming face to face with the Arbiter. Funny how running into a man looking to kill you could sober you up so quick.

Fact was if it hadn't been for the Boss' fancy tavern Betrim would never have run into the Arbiter, or Jezzet and would have been more than happy to spend his day drinking beer that tasted like piss in a tavern that smelled of piss until he was so drunk he could no longer feel his scars. As it was he was about to spend the rest of his day hiding in a house like some scared no-name boy.

At least it was hot. Betrim had never liked the cold. He'd once spent a winter in the Five Kingdoms, up so far north that the rain turned white and solid it was so cold. The northerners had thought nothing of it but Betrim knew better. Water was bad enough when it was liquid, it had no cause to be solid and settle on the ground as it did there.

He was being followed. The lad was good to be sure but when you had a name like the Black Thorn and you'd been around as long as Betrim had you tended to know when someone was paying particular attention to you and right now Betrim was getting that feeling like an itch he couldn't quite find to scratch. The lad crept along, keeping to the shadows where possible, ducking round corners but not quite fast enough. Betrim turned into an alley and waited. And waited. And waited.

He was just about to give up and admit he'd been mistaken when the boy's head poked around the corner of the alley. Betrim's hand shot out, fast a snake, and grabbed the boy by his ragged shirt pulling him into the alley and shoving him against the wooden wall of the bakers he was hid behind. A knife leapt into his three fingered hand and Betrim held it up against the boy's throat. He looked around to make sure there weren't any folk watching. The only spectator was a fat, ginger tom-cat that stared through lazy golden eyes as it lounged in a patch of sunlight. It had that look that cats get, the one that makes you feel guilty because the alley belongs to them.

The boy was silent but scared. “Who put ya after me?” Betrim asked as he threatened, pressing the knife into the boys neck in a real threatening manner.

“The guards. Ones 'at saw ya back there. Said they'd gimme a silver bit if I followed an' said where ya ended.”

Deadeye, Jezzet, some bastard Arbiter and now the guards. Seemed Betrim's life was getting more and more complicated by the moment. He pressed the knife closer against the boy's throat and the lad let out a whimper as a trickle of blood loosed and ran down into his collar. A sour smell filled the air, seemed the boy had pissed himself.

Fact was Betrim would have offered the boy two silver to bugger off and never see him nor the guards ever again. Fact was Betrim Thorn didn't have a silver bit to his name. The other option would be to kill the boy, nobody around to see it. One quick cut and it would be over. Wouldn't be the first boy Betrim had killed and he was unlikely to be the last.

He gave the boy a shove, hard enough to knock him to the ground. “I catch ya following me again I'll cut ya up an' feed ya ta the cat.”

The boy was shaking. “What cat?”

Betrim looked over towards the ginger tom-cat but it had already gone, picked itself up and left as silent as only cats can be. The boy ran while Betrim was looking the other way and was gone too. Was for the best. Betrim had no wish to kill some street trash for no reason. Acts like that had a habit of coming back on you.

It was late afternoon by the time the others started to get back. Bones and Green were the first and Betrim was busy occupying himself with nothing. He'd taken to lying on his back and staring at the roof of their little house, counting the spiders he could see up near the rafters. Some of the little bugs were pretty big too.

Betrim had once known a man who kept some spiders, said he '
milked
' them every so often for their poisons. Seemed a damned strange word to use with spiders, '
milking
' them, but Betrim had seen the poison work all the same. The smallest of scratches from a poisoned blade and the victim had collapsed in moments, unable to breathe, a couple of minutes later he'd been dead. Seemed like a shitty way to go; poisoned by a man who milks spiders but Betrim had smiled and nodded along before promptly losing touch with the milker.

“Still hiding, Black Thorn?” Green asked with a smirk as he sauntered in. “Never thought one like you would be so scared of one man. Reckon they should start callin' ya Yellow Thorn.”

It was about as much as Betrim could take not to hit the little shit. Fact was it was a little more than Betrim could take. He pushed himself to his feet, took two steps towards Green and swung a heavy, five-fingered fist at the boy's face. Lucky for Green the boy was fast, he saw it coming and tried to dodge. Unlucky for Green the boy wasn't fast enough; the punch caught him with a solid blow to the nose. Betrim felt the nose break, felt the spatter of blood on his knuckles and felt the sting of the punch in his own hand.

Green went down muttering curses between gurgling sobs. Then Bones was between the two of them, big man could move fast when the situation called for it. He pushed the Black Thorn away with one hand and Betrim almost went sprawling to the floor himself. He managed to stay on his feet and stood shaking out the sting in his right hand. Funny how hitting someone with a closed fist tended to hurt so damned much.

Green crawled onto his knees, he was near gushing blood, coughing and spluttering as it ran down his face. The sight brought a smile to Betrim's face; punching Green was something he'd wanted to do since he'd first met the little bastard. He'd have liked to get in a few kicks while the boy was down but he weren't about to fight Bones for the chance.

“Stay back, Thorn,” Bones warned in very warning-like tone. “Boy's had enough.”

“Reckon that's so,” Betrim replied still smiling. Wasn't often he had this much fun. “One punch is no doubt all it takes fer the likes of him.” Boys like Green didn't last long in this game, something to do with their constant need to challenge men like the Black Thorn.

Green coughed, lurched to his feet and staggered towards Betrim. Problem was Bones was in the way and the giant just pushed the boy back with one hand.

“Calm down, Green,” Bones said in very calm-like tone. “Sit over there an' I'll have a look at that nose, looks like it broke.”

Green spat on the straw-covered floor. Blood and spittle and from the looks of it a few tears. Problem for him was it just made Betrim grin all the harder.

“Fuck you, Thorn,” the boy shouted. Was nice and loud, very brave of him considering he was being held back by a giant stronger than both of them put together. “I'm gonna fuckin' kill you.”

That was all the invitation Betrim needed. He unhooked his hand axe with his right and plucked a dagger from his belt with his left and stood ready. “Get out the way, Bones. The boy wants ta die.”