Mountain of Daggers (11 page)

“Help,” he screamed. “The Black Raven is here.”

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Over Kirril's shoulder, Ahren saw Konstantin Rusukny wheel around, his gold-hilted rapier in his grasp. Ahren flipped over the oak table, knocking half-full glasses across the room. With a hard kick, he drove the table into the door, slamming it shut.

“This is between us,” he growled, tightening his grip on the horn-handled dagger.

Kirril clumsily drew his rapier with his wrapped, injured hand and thrust at Ahren’s chest. Ahren side-stepped the blade and slashed upward. With a wild swing, Kirril dodged it. His sword nicked the small candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Shadows danced and spun along the walls as the fixture swung back and forth.

Ahren feinted to the right, then circled the blade around, slicing Kirril across the wrist. Crimson blood burst from the gash and poured down the  man’s arm.

The door shuddered violently as it was struck again and again. The table shifted, allowing the opening gap to grow with each blow.

Kirril swung his sword, slinging blood across the room. Ahren ducked and stabbed at his enemy’s open belly. Kirril jumped back, but not before the dagger tip nicked his stomach.

Kirril’s face contorted with fury. Screaming, he brandished his sword high and charged.

Stepping into the attack, Ahren caught Kirril’s sword arm. He thrust his dagger, but Kirril managed to grab his wrist. Their arms locked. Straining, they wrestled over the sharp blade between them.

Kirril hissed through gritted teeth as he drove his weight through his arm, pressing the dagger tip against Ahren’s breast. Ahren’s tense muscles burned as he struggled to move the blade away. His wounded hip spasmed in pain, threatening to buckle under him. His slashed flesh tore wider and fresh blood spread across his already stained clothes.

With a crash of battered wood, the door flew open. Konstantin stood panting in the doorway, silhouetted against the raging fire engulfing the fore deck behind him. The shimmering light gleamed off the gold rapier in his hand.

Wrenching his body around, Ahren knocked Kirril off and kicked him hard in the stomach. Kirril flew back and screamed. A slender blade erupted from his chest as his body slammed into Konstantin, knocking him down and driving the duelist’s sword though his body.

Jerking his blade from the dead man’s corpse, Konstantin staggered to his feet. With nowhere else to go, Ahren sprung out the cabin window and grabbed the upper deck. Climbing to the top, he pulled his legs up just as the duelist’s blade swept past.

Quickly, he shoved the silver oar cap into his soaking satchel. He was about to jump the flaming barge when one of the yardarm ropes gave way. With a crash, the heavy pole slammed against the deck, knocking the ship askew.

Falling against the deck, Ahren slid along the smooth wood and into a post. The oar cap tumbled from his bag and skittered toward the edge. Lunging after it, Ahren managed to grab the treasure before it could fall into the black water.

A voice sneered from behind him. “There you are.”

Ahren rolled to the side to see Konstantin maneuver up the slanting steps to the upper deck. He held his rapier in front; its needle-like point transfixed Ahren.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time, Black Raven.” He advanced down the sloping deck toward where Ahren lay. “I was disappointed when Kirril said he had killed you.”

“It is not as easy as it appears,” Ahren said, inching his fingers toward the dagger tucked into his belt.

“I doubt that. You seem to bleed like any other man.” The young man stepped past the dead helmsman’s body sliding toward the edge. The hull creaked and the ship leaned further to the side. Water crept up onto the lower deck, extinguishing flames with hissing plumes of steam.

Working the dagger out from under his belt, Ahren slid the handle up under his forearm and pinched the blade near the tip. “Then try it.”

Grinning, Konstantin closed the distance between them. He reared his arm, readying for the fatal thrust.

Ahren flung the dagger at the duelist’s face. It twirled toward its mark, but Konstantin deflected the blade with his sword. The dagger sailed out into the darkness and plunked into the harbor.

Before the swordsman could recover, Ahren scrambled away. He jumped down onto the lower deck where Kirril’s body lay in the doorway, staring up at him with dead eyes. He still held his rapier in his bandaged hand.

Running footsteps pounded from above as Konstantin charged. Ahren grabbed the sword from the dead man’s grasp and raised it, just in time to block the duelist’s blade. Metal rang and Konstantin attacked again with a series of quick blows, driving Ahren back.

The slender blades whipped back and forth with blurring speed. Backing away, Ahren moved along the raised port side of the listing ship. Furniture and cargo crashed from inside the hull and cabins, unbalancing the barge even more. Water surged in through the open doors and the ship rolled further

Parrying Konstantin’s sword, Ahren hopped over the deck rail and onto the ship’s side. As if immune to the rolling footing, the duelist stepped onto the narrow strip of hull still above water.

“Give it up,” Konstantin shouted, driving Ahren back with quick thrust.

Ahren swung his blade at his opponent’s open side, but the swordsman caught the blow with his rapier. He hooked one of his quillons though the open bars of Ahren’s hand guard and pulled. The sword flew from Ahren’s hand and into the water.

Konstantin brought his sword tip to Ahren’s throat. “Goodbye, Black Raven.”

Trying to back away from the sharp point, Ahren slipped and fell on the wet hull. The swordsman chuckled and moved in for the kill.

Ahren shoved his hand into the satchel and pulled out the Ferrymaster’s jeweled oar cap. “Back,” he shouted, holding it out over the water.

The young Rusukny relaxed the blade, but held his ground. “If you drop that—”

“You’ll have nothing,” Ahren spat. “Now back away!”

“You’re death will last six months if you drop it.” Konstantin reared the sword back for a thrust and extended his other hand. “Give it here, and you’ll die with honor.”

Ahren met the swordsman’s cold stare. “You’ll never be the Canal King.” He opened his hand and with a plunk, the oar cap was gone. “I pay the master, but not you.”

Konstantin’s eyes widened and his face twisted with rage. “You idiot,” he screamed.

Smiling, Ahren braced himself for the strike.

Konstantin’s muscles tensed. His eyes seethed with hatred. “Die!” He stepped into the lunge, but the ship jolted beneath his feet, knocking him off balance. The duelist staggered back but did not fall. He raised the sword again.

A spongy green hand exploded from the water and grabbed Konstantin’s leather boot. He shrieked as a bloated head rose to the surface and stared up with bulging white eyes. Yanking his leg free, Konstantin stumbled away from his gruesome attacker.

Water poured from its mouth and nose as the corpse pulled itself up onto the sinking barge. Dark sludge and slime coated its skin and patches of thin, tangled hair. Torn and filthy rags mixed with seaweed hung from its dripping body. The overpowering stench of rot filled the air.

Another arm thrust up from the water, as another corpse crawled onto the ship behind him.

Konstantin stabbed with his rapier. The blade passed through its soft body almost effortlessly. Dingy brown water poured from the open wound. Flesh fell in chunks from the creature’s boney fingers as it reached out.

Screaming, the swordsman slashed with his rapier, splitting a wide gash across the creature’s belly. Water and worm-ridden intestines gushed out onto the wooden planks. The corpse continued forward, stepping on its own entrails. It seized Konstantin by the doublet.

“Help,” the swordsman wailed, struggling to get away.

The putrid corpse grappled around Konstantin’s torso as the other seized him by the hair.

Terrified, Ahren scrambled away off the boat and into the water.

Behind him, Konstantin’s scream echoed across the harbor, followed by a violent splash. Wood creaked and groaned and the remains of the barge fell below the waves.

Swimming as fast as he could, Ahren struggled to get away. His muscles burned with exhaustion and his wounded hip stung with almost paralyzing pain. Fighting to keep his head above water, he gulped air in desperate breaths.

He felt himself sinking. His legs gave out and he slipped beneath the waves.

Hands grabbed him by the waist. Ahren screamed, releasing an eruption of bubbles.

More unseen hands seized his legs and shoulder. They lifted him to the surface. Disoriented and weak, Ahren gasped for air.

The city rushed toward him as the hands dragged him with incredible speed. He pulled against their grip, but they held fast. More hands slid under him, almost cradling his body still below the water.

They carried him to the stone edge of the city and released their grip. Ahren reached up for a mooring ring above his head, and he felt himself lifted up toward it. Grabbing the iron ring, he pulled himself out of the water and onto the land.

Shuddering, he felt up and down his legs, making sure nothing was still holding him. He rolled onto his side and looked out over the harbor. In the moonlight, a single black ferry drifted past. The smooth craft glided across the water without disturbing the surface.

A well-dressed ferryman in black and burgundy stood at the rear, his face hidden behind a long silken veil. With a sweep of his oar, the boat stopped. Glittering rubies sparkled off the silver knob capping his oar.

Frozen in terror, Ahren stared back at the Ferrymaster for several long seconds. The ferryman held up a long raven’s feather, then let if fall into the water between them. The black quill floated toward him, as if carried by an unseen current.

Ahren reached down and removed the feather from the water. He looked back up, but the Ferrymaster had vanished.

Lover’s Quarrel

A faint breeze swept across the nighttime road and out over the sea cliffs. Ribbons of moonlight shimmered off the black water, waves crashing into the rocks below with steady cadence. Ahead, a walled, fortress-like manor overlooked the bay and the adjoining port.

Keeping to the shadows beneath the trees, Karolina followed the sinuous path toward the house. A sudden gust swept her blue cloak and pushed against the basket in her arms. She adjusted her grip until the wind subsided, all the while maintaining the appearance that the empty vessel was heavy.

Her skin tingled with anticipation. She slowed her breath to prevent it from steaming in the chilly air. Excitement coursed through her body, spiking her senses. She heard the scuttle of mice in the leaves. The sweet taste of salty air danced across her lips, and she smelled the flowered vines creeping through branches above.

Nearing the house, she turned and circled to a clump of large rocks bordering the property. She crouched behind them and watched. A pair of guards, armed with rapiers at their belts, stood at the wrought iron gate. Through the bars, she spied at least one more patrolling the grounds inside. Slivers of yellow light peeked through the manor’s shuttered windows. Two on the third, and highest, floor hung open. A dark figure walked between them, silhouetted by lamplight. Guard or a servant, Karolina couldn’t tell. Both would be plentiful within the house. Somewhere, hidden within the ivy-drenched walls, Mikhail Svelovich thought he was safe.

Karolina untied the bothersome cloak and shoved it into the basket. There was no more need for disguises.

Unclasping the slender leather box on her belt, she removed a round gem from its padded cradle. Even in the moonlight she could make out the wisps of inky smoke that swirled and danced within the inch-wide ruby.

She slipped the stone into her mouth and shuddered, a sudden jolt shooting through her flesh. To the world she was invisible, but when she looked at her own hands and body, she saw black curls of fog confined to her form. Pressing her tongue against the gem so it wouldn’t roll back into her throat, she stood and walked across the clearing toward the manor. She moved softly to not make any noise or overly disturb the grass.

The gossiping voices of the two gate guards became clearer as she neared the ten-foot wall.

“I’m not lying, it’s the size of my head,” said one in a high pitched voice.

“It can’t be,” the other replied.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to town and I’ll show you.”

Their voices faded as another gust of wind swept them away. Karolina followed the stone wall to a narrow patch devoid of vines. She grabbed hold of one of the worn rocks and quickly scaled to the top.

Peering over the edge, she surveyed the property. A sentry stood alone at the front door, but the side servant’s entrance appeared unguarded. A lone patrolman circled the grounds; his blank expression said his mind wandered on other things. Patiently, she waited for him to pass out of earshot before dropping quietly to the ground.

Steering clear of fallen leaves, she made her way around to the side of the manor. She maintained slow breathing so the plumes would not give her away in the unlikely case anyone looked her direction.

She reached the side door and listened. Nothing. The hinges faced inward, making it impossible for it to suddenly open and hit her. Carefully, she knelt, swung the metal cover away from the keyhole, and peered through.

A slender, mousey-haired maid worked quietly at a table rolling dough. Karolina watched for a few minutes, but the woman made no sign she intended to leave the kitchen for a while. She slid the keyhole cover back in place and continued her circle.

A white marble statue of a woman holding a lily stood in a hedge garden behind the house. Beyond it, a knee-high wall ran along the rear of the property where it fell away to the sheer sea cliffs. A double door set with large glass windows looked out from the manor. Inside, several chairs and sofas lined the walls leaving the inlaid floor open. On other nights the ballroom might comfortably hold forty people, but tonight it lay empty.

Karolina checked the door. Locked. She removed a small set of picks from her belt and unlocked it within seconds. Taking a quick moment to be sure the patrolling guard was not near, she softly cracked it open and slipped inside.

An impressive, life-size painting of Mikhail Svelovich hung on the side wall between two doors. Gray stripes accented his dark, curly beard. A fleet of merchant ships filled the ocean behind him as he stood poised in a regal stance.

His rival, Igor Vshlaci, had offered her five thousand gold bishkas to bring an end to the blood feud. It was just like a merchant to offer gold as payment. How would he expect her to move it out of the city, let alone carry it? Besides, five thousand bishkas was far below her price. She was Polnoch, and if her clients wanted the best, they had to pay for her reputation. Of course Igor tried to haggle at first, all good merchants do. But in the end he agreed; twenty Mercińan emeralds, each the size of a robin’s egg, all in advance.

Tonight, the Merchant Kings’ War would end.

After checking the door, she crept out into a long hallway. According to the ex-servant she had coaxed, Mikhail spent most of his evenings either in the library on the second floor or his chambers on the third. The servant, like most young men, was eager to please, and drew a very detailed layout which she memorized.

Karolina turned up a tight staircase to the second floor. Lowering to her hands, she ascended like a cat to prevent the wooden steps from creaking loudly. As she reached the top, a thin-nosed guard walked past, his legs coming within inches of her face. She froze and watched him continue on, completely unaware she was there. He strolled down the passageway until it turned before she stepped out into the hall.

A long rug ran the length of the hall. Her map had said the library was located near the southeast corner of the house. Silently, she followed the corridor until it came to a dark oaken door.

Her tongue rolled along the magical gem in her mouth as she quietly crouched at the keyhole. The soft, red glow of a dying fire flickered across the room. Carved shelves packed with tomes rested along the walls between paintings and heavy curtains. A lone figure sat in a high-backed chair facing the fireplace.

Resting her ear to the keyhole, she heard nothing but the popping of embers.

Opening the door would give her away. Her prey might cry out in alarm and rouse any nearby guards and servants. Relying on her invisibility would be reckless and unlike many of the others who had owned the magical gemstone in its long and bloody history, she was a professional. Mikhail would have to leave eventually and all she needed was patience.

She retreated to a nook in the hallway, periodically checking to see if her target had moved, and waited.

The patrolling guard made his rounds one more time. After another twenty or so minutes, the kitchen servant came down the hall carrying a silver tray of food. She stopped at the library door and pushed it open with her hip, brass hinges groaning.

Quickly, Karolina made her move. She slipped through, behind the maid, and slid to the side of the door.

The thin woman kept her eyes low as she approached the leather chair. “I brought you your dinner, sir,” she mumbled.

The seated figure gave no response.

She set the platter on a low table beside him. “I will leave it here for you.” The woman shifted uncomfortably, bowed, and quickly left the room.

Karolina waited until the door closed. Luxurious paintings and elaborate vases decorated the spacious library. Curtains of lemon yellow velvet draped across the ceiling and down the walls. A thick, fringed rug dominated the room, almost completely covering the wooden floor’s intricately inlaid pattern. Warmth issued from a mahogany fireplace filled with flickering red coals.

Carefully, she approached the lone chair. Normally, the footprints she made in the soft rug would concern her. But with her prey’s back to her, no one would see the telltale signs.

The man sat quietly with a thick tome lying open in his lap. His hanging head said he was asleep.

Reaching to her belt, she removed a glass stiletto from a padded leather sheath along her back. Squeezing its smooth, twisted handle she poised it inches from her victim’s neck beneath his gray beard. With a sudden and hard thrust, she struck. A triangular hole opened in the man’s throat as the invisible blade drove through his flesh. His body jerked. The stiletto scraped against his vertebrae and with a twist, she broke the glass blade inside him.

She withdrew her hand, releasing the weapon, and the blue-swirled handle appeared jutting from the wound. It fell to his lap leaving shards of glass as crimson blood burst from the hole and ran from his mouth.

His eyes sprung open in disbelief and she saw his face for the first time. Something about him looked familiar. She’d seen his pudgy cheeks and thick eyebrows before.

Wheezing and gurgling, he shuddered, knocking the book from his lap. Tight brown cord bound his hands, cutting his wrists. The thick beard slid unnaturally as he convulsed. Karolina ripped it off his face and gasped.

Igor Vshlaci, her employer, sat dying before her. With a final shiver, his body fell still. She removed a long black quill clutched in the dead man’s hand.

Movement reflected in the azure vase in front of her. Spinning around, she saw a figure step from behind one of the curtains against the wall. She froze in shock.

His familiar blue eyes narrowed as he drew a black sash across his mouth with one hand and pulled a hanging silk rope with the other.

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W
ith a hard tug, Ahren yanked the smooth rope. A bell sounded as white flour spilled from the velvet slings along the ceiling, filling the room in clouds of fine powder. His eyes focused on an empty hole in the chalky fog. Metal rasped as he drew his rapier and stepped forward. He’d waited for this meeting for a long time. “Surrender.”

One of Mikhail’s guards burst through the door, holding his sword.

The invisible figure grabbed a nearby vase and hurled it at him. He ducked and the porcelain exploded behind him. The assassin leaped from the floor and across the room.

The guard hesitated, obviously confused by the scene before him. Polnoch lunged, her outstretched arm just a blur of emptiness silhouetted in white. The guard’s neck caved inward and he fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he clutched his throat.

Cursing, Ahren chased after her. He leapt over the wheezing guard and into the hall. White footprints led to the left. He turned to see the streams of flour trailing from nothingness as she ran.

The hallway intersected ahead, and she took the right passage. A woman screamed.

Ahren raced around the corner to see a housemaid against the wall, pointing toward the stairwell. The flour on Polnoch’s feet was thinning, but there was still enough to leave faint marks. Squeezing his rapier handle, he hurried down after the echoing footsteps.

He stopped and looked around as he reached the first floor. The elaborate, multicolored rugs hid any trace of white dust. Listening, he walked a few steps one way then the other. Guards were shouting the alarms above and outside. But he heard nothing from his quarry.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed a pale smudge in an alcove wall beside him. He feigned a glance the other way as his arm shot into the niche. His fingers caught fabric and he closed his fist. She fought, striking his arm and he wrenched her out. She twisted and the rapier dropped from his hand as they both crashed to the floor.

Struggling, Ahren managed to get his weight on top of her. A hand grabbed his throat, digging in its nails. He found her wrist and pulled it away, pinning it down. Through the flour he could smell her breath and skin. The familiar scent of her sweat trembled through his brain. She twisted like an insane cat wrestling to be free. A fist smashed into his cheek. Stunned, he nearly lost his grip. The unseen fist struck him again and he tasted blood. Dropping his weight, he slung his head forward. His forehead knocked against hers, banging it into the floor.

She yelped in pain.

In that quick instant as her lips parted, he saw her. Her fierce green eyes were just as he remembered. He found her other hand as she vanished again and grabbed it, slamming it into the floor above her head.

“Nice to see you again,” he growled.

Bucking her body, Karolina  wrapped her legs around Ahren and crushed his sides, driving the wind from him. She wrenched her weight to the right, throwing him off her. Ahren struggled to hold her unseen wrists, but her knee slammed into his groin. Gasping, his body seized in pain. With another hard kick, she tore from his grasp. The imprint in the carpet vanished and footsteps raced away.

The guard from the library burst down the stairs, clutching his rapier. Staggering to his feet, Ahren grabbed his sword and they hurried after her.

The kitchen door stood ajar. He looked in to see the handle of the outside exit rattling. Holding his sword in front so she couldn’t charge, they stepped inside.

The door handle stopped clattering. Ahren advanced slowly into the small kitchen. His gaze swept across the floor, but found no trace of flour. He cursed the cleanliness of Mikhail's staff. There wasn't even dust to help give her away.