Queen of the Night Guild, page 28
part #3 of Queen of Thieves Series
“Are you done?” Ilanna arched an eyebrow coolly. “Can we get on with saving Errik and the others now?” Without waiting, she turned and strode down the tunnel. After a moment, the sound of the Serpents’ boots echoed behind her.
They walked in a tense silence. Leo radiated tangible anger. Given a chance, Ilanna knew he’d put a knife in her back. Thankfully, they had a mutual enemy. She could use that fury, channel it into finding and dealing with the Bloody Hand. Before the night was out, Rhynd would be dead. Or she would. Either way, it ended tonight.
* * *
Ilanna crouched in the shadow of an overhanging rooftop, studying the brown warehouse below. Two burly men stood before the white door, beneath the faded sign of the “Silver Tongue Brewery”. The wariness in their eyes and the tension in their stance screamed of high alert. They could only be the Bloody Hand.
I’m coming for you, Rhynd.
She drummed her fingers against her forearm. Verum and Leo had been gone for close to an hour now, since just after the Lady’s Bells had tolled out midnight. She had too few hours to deal with Rhynd and get to the palace to stop the Duke from executing the Night Guild. If the Serpents didn’t hurry, she’d be too late.
As if on cue, two shadows detached from the corners of the warehouse. Verum and Leo glided toward the Voramians, silent as wraiths. They struck in coordination, clamping their hands over the thugs’ mouths and driving slim daggers between their ribs. The Voramians died without a sound. The Serpents dragged the bodies into the shadows.
A few minutes later, a quiet whistle echoed from the alley beneath Ilanna. She slithered down the rope and dropped to the stone street beside Verum.
“Four guards, all handled.” He drew a finger across his throat. “Leo’s doing one last sweep around the perimeter. Two ways in: front and back door.”
Ilanna shook her head. “Three.” She pointed upwards. “Rooftop hatch.”
Verum inclined his head. “Thoughts?”
“One in the front, one in the back. I’ll slip in from up high. Any idea how many are inside?”
Verum scratched his chin. “Rhynd had at least three big fellows who never left his side. He probably took a few more, just in case. No way to know until we get inside.”
Ilanna winced. Jarl had told her Rhynd fled the tunnels with a handful of his best. The Serpents had eliminated at least four enemies, but she could be walking into the arms of dozens more. She had little doubt Rhynd would be on the lookout for her. Thanks to that image of her circulated amongst his men, the Bloody Hand would recognize her on sight.
The Duke’s words echoed in her mind. You are the artist of your own destruction, he’d said. Why did that stick with her? What was it that refused to leave her alone?
Suddenly, everything made sense. Dozens of pieces clicked into place in her mind. She drew out the parchment and studied it in the weak light spilling from a nearby street lamp.
It’s not possible! She wanted to refute the idea but couldn’t. How could I have been so blind? The answer literally stared her in the face.
“What’s wrong?” Verum asked. “You just went dead silent.”
Ilanna answered in a voice of quiet, cold fury. “I know who the traitor is.”
Chapter 36
A chill wind swept over the Praamian rooftops, but the anger burning in Ilanna’s gut could ward off a blizzard. A torrent of emotions churned within Ilanna: hatred at the person who had betrayed not just her, but the Night Guild; disdain and self-loathing at her inability to see the truth; fury that the traitor’s actions had put her in such a dangerous position—had put them all in this position.
By aiding the Bloody Hand, the traitor had forced her to seek the Duke’s help. Dozens of Journeymen and apprentices from every House had died. If Duke Phonnis had his way, the rest would follow suit. And there wasn’t a Keeper-damned thing she could do until she dealt with Rhynd and however many Voramians waited below.
But she swallowed her feelings, compressed them into a burning ball of fire in her gut. She couldn’t act yet, not until Errik, Jarl, and the rest were free.
She took a deep breath; it did little to still the angry tremble in her hand. Gripping her dagger tighter, she slipped across the flat warehouse roof. She placed each foot with caution. One misstep and the creaking of the wooden beams would alert the thugs within the building. Her mission to rescue Errik, Darreth, and the others would end in death. Hers, certainly; her crew would likely follow close behind.
Reaching the small, wooden hatch set into the roof, she sheathed her dagger and drew out the pair of worn lockpicks she’d found in House Hawk. The first tension wrench snapped when she twisted it in the lock. The second and third wrench followed suit. Cursing, Ilanna drew out the last one. She let out her breath in a silent whistle as the lock clicked open.
She pressed her ear to the hatch. Silence. She listened for anything to indicate life within: creaking floorboards, footsteps, heavy breathing, or the snores of sleeping men. Only the eerie moaning of the cold wind met her ears.
The hinges of the hatch squeaked as she pulled it open. She moved as slowly as she dared, opening it just far enough for her to slip her head through. The faint sliver of light leaking through the open hatch revealed a room empty of everything save a thick layer of dust.
Ilanna squirmed her body through the hatch, let herself hang at arm’s length, and dropped the short distance to the floor. She winced as her soft-soled boots whumped on the wooden boards. The hatch thunked closed above her. She darted toward the door and pressed herself against the wall.
She waited, heart thundering, and counted two full minutes—more than enough time for someone to investigate the noise. She poked her head out of the door and peered into the open space two stories below.
Four men sat in the heart of the warehouse. On the table before them stood a lantern, a deck of playing cards, coins, and the remnants of a meal. All four sported the heavy musculature, thick hands, and wooden clubs marking them as Rhynd’s thugs, but no sign of the man himself. Ilanna couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Had Rhynd set those men in plain sight to lull her into a false sense of security? Or were they simply doing as men in their profession tended to do with moments of inactivity? Ilanna didn’t care to find out.
Pressing herself into the shadows of the upper floor, she slid toward a door a few paces away. She tested the handle. Locked. Drawing out the lockpicks, she set to work. Four pins. Within a matter of seconds, the lock clicked and she cracked the door.
Empty. The tiny surge of hope turned to bile in her throat.
The next door stood ajar, but again only blackness and silence within.
Damn it! Muttering a silent curse, Ilanna moved on.
Fifteen heart-pounding minutes later, and her search of the upper floor had proven fruitless. Ilanna hesitated at the stairway to the second level. The closer she drew to the thugs sitting below, the greater the chance they’d see or hear her.
She tested each step with her foot before resting her weight. Silver Tongue Brewing Company had gone out of business a decade earlier; years of neglect lay heavy over the warehouse. Thieves had taken everything of value: wall sconces, wooden furniture, even the glass window panes. The building had become just one more of the abandoned constructions left to rot.
Her heart leapt to her throat as heavy footfalls sounded on the floor beneath her. She froze, fingers tight on the dagger tucked into her sleeve. She had no desire to fight the Bloody Hand unless necessary. Her training with Errik had taught her to outthink her opponent. That meant keeping the element of surprise as long as possible. The longer she remained undetected, the greater the chance she’d find her friends and free them without alerting the Bloody Hand. The rooftop hatch would provide a safe exit. If only she could find them.
The thumping boots moved on after a few tense seconds. The Voramian called out to his friends at the table and joined in the game. So long as they remained clustered around that table, in the direct lamplight, she could slink through the shadows unseen.
She slipped beneath the cover of the staircase and tested the door handle. Locked. A few seconds of work with her lockpicks and it opened.
Moonlight streamed in through a rectangular window high on the far wall. In the faint illumination, Ilanna caught a glimpse of a figure huddled on the floor.
Without a sound, Ilanna glided toward the figure. She didn’t dare call out for fear of a trap. Rhynd could easily have left one of his thugs here, waiting for her to—
“He…llo?” a familiar voice whispered. The figure’s face turned toward her. She stifled a cry of horror. Both of Errik’s eyes had swollen shut, and blood stained his cheeks, mouth, and nose.
“Errik!” she hissed. She darted across the dusty floor to crouch beside him.
The Serpent recoiled at her touch. “No! Don’t hurt m—”
Ilanna pressed a hand to his mouth. “Errik, it’s me!” She spoke in a low, firm voice. “It’s Ilanna.”
“I…lanna?” Confusion filled Errik’s voice. “Ilanna’s…dead. Saw her die.”
“Not a chance, Errik.” A lump rose in her throat. “It’s me, you fool. I’m here to get you out.”
Errik forced open an eye, and he gasped. “Ilanna?” He blinked, as if unable to believe it. “Is it…really you?”
Ilanna nodded. “Of course, silly man. Think I’d let you take down Rhynd all on your own?”
Errik flinched at the name. “Is he—?”
“Dead? Not yet, but as soon as I find him, I’ll make the sorry bastard wish he was.”
“No!” Errik moaned. “No, this is all wrong.” Errik shoved her away. “You can’t be here.”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“No!” Errik’s voice had regained some of its strength. “You need to get out of here now. Before Rhynd finds you.”
“No one knows I’m here. Verum and Leo took care of the sentries outside. They’re keeping an eye on the warehouse. At the first sign of alarm, they’ll attack.” She studied Errik, for the first time noticing the heavy chain running from the collar around his neck to a ring set in the wall. A second chain linked to a steel band wrapping his ribs. She drew out her lockpicks and set to work. “Where are the others?”
“I don’t know,” Errik rasped in a voice like crackling parchment. “Rhynd’s been keeping us in separate rooms. I haven’t seen the others since…”
“But they’re all alive? Darreth? Joost and Veslund? Allon?”
Errik winced at the last name. “I heard Allon screaming earlier. No doubt Rhynd’s doing the same to him as he did to me.” He motioned to his bloodied face.
“Anything broken?”
Errik shook his head. “Nothing serious.” Every breath held a quiet wheeze. “Busted ribs, more bruises than a Fox caught by a pack of Bloodbears.” He prodded his cheeks and winced. “Probably lost my good looks, too.”
Ilanna chuckled. “See what happens when I leave you boys alone?”
Errik laughed then gave a quiet groan. “Don’t! Hurts just to breathe.”
“You think you can make it onto the rooftops?” Ilanna jerked a thumb at the ceiling. “Found a rooftop hatch. It’s our way—”
“Roof hatch?” Errik stiffened. “And there was no one there?”
Ilanna shook her head. “Dark and quiet.”
Errik’s swollen eyes flew wide. “No, that’s not right. They were up there…”
The fear in his expression sent an icy dagger of fear into Ilanna’s gut. “What?”
“They left it unguarded, Ilanna,” Errik hissed.
Ilanna’s gut lurched. Of course they did. Rhynd had known she used the Hawk’s Highway to get around Praamis. He’d sent his thugs to the rooftops with the Serpents and Hounds to find her. How could I be so foolish to believe—
The door banged open and dazzling lamplight flooded the room. Ilanna blinked, momentarily blinded, and leapt toward the wall behind Errik. She had to open space between her and the thugs, give her eyes time to recover.
Hands closed about her wrists. She reacted as Errik had trained her to. Her right elbow shot up and to the side. Blood spurted down her arm, and a man cried out. The grip on her right arm loosened. She brought her dagger across her body in a vicious swipe meant to open the throat of the opponent on her left. Her hand met a hard forearm before the blade came close. The strike distracted the man from her true intention: her right knee driven between the fork of his legs. The fingers around her left arm fell away.
Ilanna’s eyes adjusted to the light in time for her to see two more thugs closing in behind the first two. These held clubs and approached her with caution. Errik’s weak kick glanced off a calf as thick as a tree trunk. The thug snarled and slammed his truncheon into the top of the Serpent’s head. Errik collapsed, his face thumping on the hard, dust-covered floor.
The distraction gave Ilanna the opening she needed. She’d positioned herself behind Errik in an attempt to split up her assailants. She darted toward the one on her left and drove the dagger into his gut. He fell with a shriek, hands clasping the hilt.
She tried to leap over the falling body, but the Voramian’s swiping hands caught her foot. She stumbled, fell hard, and scrambled back up. Strong arms wrapped her waist and pulled her backward. Ilanna drove her heel into the arch of the thug’s foot. The man squealed and dropped her. She stamped on his groin as she sprinted toward the door.
Something the size of her entire head slammed into her face with the force of a rushing carriage. The blow snapped her head up and hurled her backward. She collapsed, world whirling around her at a dizzying speed. Tears stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks to mingle with the warm blood filling her mouth.
“Take her,” a rough voice said.
She tried to move, to fight, but more hands gripped her arms and legs. Loops of rough hemp were passed over her wrists and ankles and pulled taut. Another loop slipped around her neck. With a yank, the noose was jerked tight. She gasped for air as she was hauled upright by the rope.
A cruel, bearded face hovered in her wobbling vision. “Hello, little girl.” Rhynd gave her a smile reminiscent of a cat grinning at a mouse trapped between its paws. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Ilanna of House Hawk.”
Chapter 37
Ilanna blinked away the tears and stared up at the huge Voramian. Rhynd towered close to two heads taller than her. Heavy bands of muscle bunched along forearms bigger than her thighs. Intricate tattoos decorated every part of his body—from the swirling lines around his eyes to the razor wire wrapping his legs, every decoration shrieked of cruelty and malice. The delighted gleam in his eyes sent icy feet dancing down her spine.
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He leered at her. “You’d fit in among the painted women working The Arms of Heaven nicely.”
The noose pulled tight around Ilanna’s neck prevented her from retorting. Every bit of effort went into drawing breath through the constricting force crushing her throat.
“Come, girl. We’ll leave your friend here to get some rest.” Rhynd’s huge fingers twitched the rope, as if tugging at livestock. “I’ve a special pen made up just for you. But first.”
His hands pawed at her clothing, poking and prodding as he searched her. He held up her dagger. “Cute little thing.” Tucking it into his belt, he drew out her pouch. He threw the lockpicks and quickfire globes into the corner of the room.
Ilanna stiffened when he found the melted tin hawk.
His eyebrows rose. “Something important?” He ran a thick thumb over the figurine. “Looks like the sort of thing a child would play with. Your child, perhaps?” His tone rang of cruel mockery. “Shame about that fire, eh?”
Ilanna leapt toward him, snarling. The thugs holding the ropes around her limbs dragged her back. One punched her hard in the side, and she sagged with a groan.
“Bring her.” Rhynd tossed the metal figurine to another thug. “Throw this in the fire.”
Ilanna wanted to cry out, to scream, but the noose around her neck cut off her air. She could do nothing as a Bloody Hand thug lifted her onto his back like a satchel of flour and followed Rhynd from Errik’s room and up the staircase. Her gut twisted as the man dropped her to the floor of the chamber where she’d entered. The light spilling from the lamps in the thugs’ hands revealed four rings of steel set into the walls. Two men seized the ropes around her wrists and ankles and threaded the ends through the rings. She resisted their pull on her limbs, but her strength proved no match for theirs. The tightening ropes pulled her legs apart and stretched her arms until her shoulder joints protested.
Rhynd’s huge fingers dug into her throat as he loosened the noose and pulled it over her head. Ilanna sucked in a deep breath. Her throat ached and her head pounded, but at least the blackness filling her vision retreated with the rush of oxygen.
Without a word, Rhynd’s thugs trooped from the room, leaving her alone with the huge Voramian. Rhynd sat on a chair that had mysteriously appeared in the once-empty room. “The way my comrades in Voramis talked about you, I expected something a lot bigger and…more impressive.” He scratched at his beard, shedding large flakes of skin. “Though, given the fact that you’re a thief, this makes more sense.”
“What…do you…want?” Even the few words sent pain stabbing into her throat.
“A golden throne. Beautiful women to bounce on my knob. The lost treasure of Rach-chan-neth.” His face darkened. “A Keeper-damned thief to fall in line and accept the Bloody Hand’s power in Praamis. Looks like I won’t be getting any of those things, will I?”
Rhynd rose to his feet. He towered over her, his bulk as imposing as the fires burning in his eyes. “You’ve cost me a lot, girl. You and your ridiculous defiance. Years we’ve spent working to turn the Night Guild to our desires, wasted! Because some silly little girl gets it in her head she wants to run things herself.”
“What?” The words caught Ilanna off-guard.
“Even a fool could see your plan, plain as the tail on a horse’s ass. You wanted to become the next Master Gold. And you couldn’t have us coming in and spoiling that for you.” He bared his teeth. “Big mistake. People who piss off the Bloody Hand don’t live long to regret it.”
