The Assassins of Consequence, page 31
“And Anduette is guiding me through sharing what I’m seeing,” Delmin said. “Focus together, and . . . there.”
The image in front of them came into focus—twelve human figures in wild action. It was amazing, magic nothing like Mila had seen before. Not only could she see everything the folks outside were doing, but it was clear who each of them was.
The whole fight, played out right in front of them.
“How does this help?” Pemmick asked. “Why is this the plan?”
“Because we can see what Veranix can’t,” Anduette said.
“We can watch his back, see the big picture for him,” Delmin said. “But he doesn’t have to worry about our safety.”
Anduette chuckled wickedly, “And I did promise them, I would call it out.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“You got a hold of it, Delmin?” Anduette asked.
“I think so.”
“Then let’s play some ball,” she said. She touched her throat, and when she spoke next, her voice echoed throughout.
“Hello, Aventil! I hope you’re looking forward to a spirited match tonight, because we have the rumble to end all rumbles, the fight of the year going on as our man, our hero, the defender of Aventil himself, the Thorn, faces off against ten lowlife scum, hired thugs of the worst quality, and he is here to give them the drubbing they so desperately deserve. And they deserve it, don’t you know, because they were hired by one Willem Fenmere, the sad, horrific man who lines his pockets by selling poison. Yes, the effitte lord himself, who has dared to come down here to see this show, but it looks like he is already trying to run away.”
“Who can hear this?” Pemmick asked.
Mila shrugged. “I think . . . everyone?”
“How much everyone is everyone?”
Anduette went on, “The Thorn—he’s in fabulous form tonight folks, he’s trying to chase after Fenmere, but the Alchemist—the despicable Cuse Jensett—he’s throwing bottles of his homemade gunk at our boy. The Thorn is batting them away and—”
The church shook from an explosion outside.
“Looks like the Alchemist is not getting any luck, and the Thorn has closed in and crack, hit like a double jack and the Alchemist slams to the stone like a sack of potatoes. Now that Firewing, Pria Mandicall, he thinks he can fly down and surprise our boy from above. Up and behind, Thorn!”
The image of Veranix spun around and fired two arrows, striking Pria, who went spiraling down to the ground.
“Fenmere is getting away!” Mila shouted.
“The Thorn is now giving everything he’s got, knocking those imposters, Erno Don and Enzin Hence, back and forth, and he’s not staying still for a click, folks. It’s just strike, jump, hit, flip, and those boys can’t even get a shot in. The Thorn could be in trouble if he doesn’t notice Magpie, that Deadly Bird, getting into position on his left side. Take her down, Thorn!”
The fight was astounding, Veranix was unbelievable. Mila had seen brutal fights, she had seen Asti Rynax when he let the beast take over and he became an unstoppable killer. But here, Veranix was beyond what she thought was possible. His body moved like a cat, never a misstep, and with each jump, block or flip, he was delivering as hard as he was given, with everything in his arsenal. Grabbing one of his attackers with the rope and bowling them into someone else. Arrows flying to their mark, and every one of Verci’s trick arrows was being deployed.
But still.
“Tell him about Fenmere!”
“And that weasel, Willem Fenmere, he’s gotten in his carriage and he’s running away, folks. Fenmere has fled from this fight! You have to see it to believe it!”
FENMERE HAS FLED FROM THIS FIGHT, YOU HAVE TO SEE IT TO BELIEVE IT!
“Go, go! To Lower Trenn Ward!” Fenmere shouted at his carriage driver as he piled in. His own guards—Kenny and the rest of the Bone Crew—were still waiting inside, and they looked shocked as anything when Fenmere clambered inside and started shouting. That infernal voice was still coming from everywhere.
NOW, SOME OF THESE FOLKS, I’M TOLD, THEY’VE GOT THEIR OWN GRIEVANCE WITH THE THORN, SINCE HE HAD ALREADY MOPPED THEIR HAIR UP AND DOWN THE STREET THE FIRST TIME THEY TANGLED WITH HIM. BUT SOME MUST BE ASKING THEMSELVES, IS THE MONEY WORTH IT, BECAUSE—OH! RORY SCANLIN, THE SHIRTLESS WHIPMASTER, JUST ATE THE COBBLESTONE, FOLKS! I DON’T THINK HE’S GETTING BACK UP!
WAS IT WORTH THE MONEY, RORY? WAS IT?
The carriage surged forward.
Fenmere had heard the stories, he’d excoriated his men for what they had let the Thorn get away with, but seeing the boy—the rutting boy—out there in the street, that was something else entirely.
Cal’s son was a savage, a sinner, an unholy force.
THE THORN SHOULD KNOW HE’S HEADING WEST ON TULIP. I KNOW THE THORN HAS HIS HANDS FULL TAKING ON THIS CREW OF BASTARDS—PARDON MY COARSE LANGUAGE, GENTLES OF AVENTIL, BUT THEY TRULY ARE—BUT FENMERE IS HEADING WEST ON TULIP.
“Go faster!” he yelled at the driver. They had to get to the Lower Trenn Ward. Fenmere would make good on that promise.
“Boss?” Kenny asked. “Should me and the boys get out there and help take him down?”
THE MAGIC IS CRACKLING, THOUGH, FOLKS. MISTER ENDORIFF, THE SELF-STYLED GENTLEMAN MAGE, HE’S THROWING DOWN SOME POWER! BUT DID YOU KNOW HE FAILED OUT OF SCHOOL? HE’S UNCIRCLED BECAUSE HE JUST. COULD. NOT. HACK. IT. DOES HE THINK HE’S GOT WHAT IT TAKES AGAINST THE MAGIC OF THE THORN?
“Did you see what went on out there?” Fenmere asked. “No, you are staying with me, at my arm as we get down there.”
“Why are we going to Lower Trenn, though?”
“Long unfinished business.”
OH, SWEET SAINTS ABOVE, I DON’T SEE HOW JENDLE IS WALKING AWAY FROM THAT ONE. WHEN THE THORN HAS YOU IN HIS ROPE, IT IS OVER FOR YOU. IF YOU’RE NEAR SAINT JULIAN’S CHURCH, FRIENDS, YOU KNOW YOU ARE SEEING ONE BLAZES OF A FIGHT—FORGIVE MY COARSENESS—AND YOU ARE SEEING THE PRICE YOU PAY FOR TUSSLING WITH THE THORN! FENMERE KNOWS, THAT’S WHY HE’S RUNNING.
“Who is this bird that won’t shut up?” Kenny asked. “And where am I hearing it from?”
“A young mage whose impudence we’ll deal with,” Fenmere said. He had seen all their faces, he would find them again, all students on campus. They couldn’t hide. He would have glorious punishments for each of them. “When we have her, Kenny, you can carve her just how you’ve been wanting to.”
BUT IF YOU’RE NOT THERE, IF YOU ARE, SAY, AT TULIP AND TRENN, AND YOU SEE A CARRIAGE TURNING SOUTH, THAT CARRIAGE BELONGS TO THAT COWARD, WILLEM FENMERE! HE’S TRYING TO GET TO THE LOWER TRENN, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, TO KILL AN INFIRM OLD WOMAN. THAT’S THE SORT OF MAN HE IS.
“That true, boss?”
Fenmere had no intention of gracing that with an answer, but he didn’t have a chance to, as a rock cracked against the carriage. Then another. Then a third, and there were dozens of Constabulary whistle calls in the far distance.
“The blazes is this?” the driver asked as the carriage stopped.
“Just go!”
“Can’t!”
Fenmere grabbed a crossbow from one of the Bone Crew and stormed out of the carriage. A small crowd of rabble had formed in the street. Fenmere raised the crossbow and put the bolt in the chest of the closest person. The rest screamed, some ran away, some charged. Kenny and his boys piled out and started delivering beatings on anyone who got too close.
A FEW OF THE ASSASSINS ARE STILL ON THEIR FEET, BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER, THE THORN IS ON THE MOVE! HE FLYING DOWN TULIP, LOOKS LIKE HE COULD CATCH UP WITH FENMERE!
Fenmere ran ahead, smashing the crossbow into the face of the first person who got in his way. “Follow me!”
The Lower Trenn was just a few blocks away. If he had to crack every skull of every petty fool who got in his way, so be it.
AND THE THORN IS MOVING AND . . . HE’S STOPPED. WHY’D HE STOP? NO, I CAN’T SEE ANYONE ELSE, IF THEY’RE NOT—THORN YOU NEED TO MOVE! HE’S GETTING AWAY!
THORN YOU NEED TO MOVE! HE’S GETTING AWAY!
Whoever was advising the Thorn, or calling out his fight like a tetchball match, didn’t seem to know that Benvin and his squad had him surrounded, crossbows raised.
“Consider yourself bound by law!” Benvin shouted. The Special Tactics Squad from the GIU were in the church square, grabbing and ironing up the various folks the Thorn had left in his wake, and it looked like they could handle it. They had most of them ironed up, though it looked like a few of them were still putting up a bit of a fight.
But taking in the Thorn, that was all for Benvin and his people.
The Thorn had the sense to have his hands out, not giving Benvin a reason to fire.
“We got you, bastard,” Tripper said. “Give us a reason.”
“He’s not gonna,” Jace said. “Ain’t that right, Thorn, you won’t give them a reason to have to hurt you?”
“I’ve got reason,” Tripper said. “I haven’t forgotten what he did to Mal.”
“Wasn’t him,” Jace said.
“Cool heads, Tripper,” Benvin said. “Wheth, Jace, take his weapons.”
Wheth came up to the Thorn, taking hold of the quarterstaff, while Jace took the rope from his hands. The Thorn didn’t make a move to stop them, nor did he when Wheth took the bow.
HE’S ALMOST AT THE WARD.
“Lieutenant,” the Thorn said quietly, “please, he’s going to kill my mother.”
“Shut it!” Tripper said.
“If you need to take me in, fine, but send someone, or go yourself, to the Lower Trenn, before Fenmere can get there.”
Even though the Thorn’s face was still in shadow, there was a strange sincerity in his voice. That was what Deena told him, the Thorn’s mother was a patient in the ward. Was this all some elaborate trick?
Benvin nodded to Saitle, who put the mage shackles on him. The Thorn winced but still didn’t fight back. Instead he just looked to Jace.
“Please.”
“Left, we should at least send someone—”
Benvin snapped a finger at Jace, which silenced him. He didn’t need to hear this, not right now. Especially since he needed to say the words.
“Consider yourself bound, your charges will be named, including and not limited to—”
“Hey, hey!” someone shouted in the distance, followed by a great booming sound. Smoke filled the church square. More shouts, then screams.
Benvin signaled to the squad. “Go, help them. I’ll get him to the wagon.” Tripper gave a wave, and the squad all ran into the smoke.
Benvin looked back to the Thorn. “Once this is cleared up, I’ll send a few patrol to the ward, but you . . . your chaos is over, son. After seeing what you’ve done to this neighborhood, I’m more than happy to—”
An arrow struck Benvin’s arm. He stumbled back, dropping his crossbow, going down on one knee as a cloaked figure, bow raised, came out of the smoke.
Erno Don.
“Oh, dear lieutenant, I think you’ll find this job you’re doing is solely mine,” he sang, bringing up two arrows and nocking them together. “But I do like getting to clean up loose ends, so it’s an absolute joy to kill the both of you properly this time.”
He shot both arrows, one of them coming straight at Benvin’s heart. He always knew he’d die serving these streets, but didn’t think it would be tonight.
The Thorn moved in front of him, screaming with effort and surrounded by a red nimbus of light. The arrows stopped midair, also glowing red, and then whipped around lightning fast, striking Erno in both shoulders so hard he fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
The Thorn turned to Benvin, kneeling next to him. That shadow was gone from his face, and Benvin could see he was just a kid. A scared, desperate kid, same age as Jace at most. His hands went to Benvin’s coat pocket.
“What do you think you’re—”
The Thorn pulled out Benvin’s whistle and blew a Yellowshield call. “How bad is it?” he asked looking at the arrow still in Benvin’s arm.
“I’m going to live,” Benvin said, really looking in this boy’s eyes.
THORN, FENMERE’S IN THE WARD. The mysterious woman’s voice echoed all around.
This boy, whose mother was about to die. Die at the hands of a man that neither Constabulary nor the law would touch.
What the blazes am I doing?
Benvin fumbled with his good arm and brought out the key to the mage shackles, unlatching them. “Go, son. Go get that bastard.”
The Thorn nodded, “Thank you, sir.” His face went into shadow again, and he scooped up Erno’s bow, and then with two steps, launched himself into the air.
“He could have done that anytime,” Benvin muttered. That boy was willing to let himself get arrested, when he could have easily laid the whole squad out without blinking.
Tripper emerged from the smoke. “Boss, where’d he go?”
“I made a call,” Benvin said, forcing himself up on his feet. “But your man Erno is right here.”
“Oh, Erno,” Tripper said, a horrifying smile crossing his face. “It looks like you’re in a right spot of trouble now.”
“I do like the sad songs the best, I suppose it’s fitting,” Erno wheezed.
“What happened?”
“The Special Tactics boys had a bit of trouble, there was a tussle, and Erno, Enzin, and Cuse got away. Looks like we’ve nailed down one of those three.”
“Thanks to the Thorn,” Benvin said. “Iron him up and find me a Yellowshield, I’m in a lot of pain.”
“But what about the other two, boss?”
LADIES AND GENTELMEN, FAST AS LIGHTNING, THE THORN IS ON THE MOVE! IF YOU’RE LISTENING, WILLEM, I’D CONSIDER A PRAYER TO BALANCE YOUR OWN SCALES RIGHT NOW.
“Boss?”
“Spread a wide search,” Benvin said. “And for their sake, I hope we find them before they find the Thorn. I pity anyone who gets in his way tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
LADIES AND GENTELMEN, FAST AS LIGHTNING, THE THORN IS ON THE MOVE! IF YOU’RE LISTENING, WILLEM, I’D CONSIDER A PRAYER TO BALANCE YOUR OWN SCALES RIGHT NOW.
Veranix wished he was fast as lightning, wished he could pour magic into speed, make himself jump all the way to the Lower Trenn in one bound. But even with the cloak, he was flagging. Only so much magic left to tap right now, only so much he could spare. He had no idea what fight was still ahead of him at the ward, who Fenmere had there. Plus Erno had gotten away from the constables, who knew who else had.
Had to focus. Get to the ward. Save his mother.
The first time he had come down here, racing with just as much fury, desperate to get to the Lower Trenn and see her . . . he never made it that time. Within sight of the door, a stranger grabbed him and pulled him into an alley. He had tried to blast light in the stranger’s face, and that just earned his hand being swatted away.
“You can’t go in there, Veranix,” the street rat told him.
“The blazes are you?” Veranix asked. “How did you know my name?”
“Because your father told me it.” He was pulled deeper in the alley. “I’m Colin, I’m your cousin, and you cannot go into the Lower Trenn Ward.”
“My mother—”
“I know damn well what happened to your mother. There’s nothing you can do for her. She’s all but gone.”
“But I need to see her.”
He got slapped.
“You know why she’s alive? As a trap. To see who comes looking, and then kill them too. You cannot get killed.”
“Why do you blazing care?”
“Because we’re blood, and I made a promise to your pop, and I’m going to keep it, even if I have to tan your hide and drag you back to campus.”
No one to drag him back now. Nothing left to be dragged back to. Not that he could worry about his academic career right now, as shattered as it must be. Only one task ahead, and he couldn’t fail.
He bounded one more time, up on top of a tenement on Horn and Drum, and then from there, jumped down and landed in front of the Lower Trenn Ward.
Five muscly bruisers, armed with cleavers and long, wicked knives, stood at the front door.
“You’re all Fenmere has left?” Veranix asked.
“He’s already inside,” the one in front said. “But we’ll take care of you.”
He lunged at Veranix with his cleaver, but Veranix rolled out of his way, nocked an arrow and let it fly, hard shot, dead center. No wasting time, no dance with these five. He had to get in there. Draw, aim, fire. Again. Again. One was his last trick one, acid-filled. That fellow screamed something fierce as he fell.
Draw—nothing. No more arrows.
The last fellow—big lunk with a boning blade—came at him hard and fast. Veranix stepped back, wisps of remaining magic sent to his legs. Flip over the guy, to one of the fallen. He yanked the arrow out of the dying man, nocked and fired just as the lunk turned around.
Solid hit right in the eye. Which was terrible, Veranix shouldn’t have even been trying for the head. Center mass, more reliable target. He was getting sloppy, getting tired. He couldn’t waste—
A clatter of glass, a hiss of steam, and then a wall of ice crystals sprung up over the front door to the ward.
“Lovely show, Veranix,” Cuse said, strolling across the street to him. Enzin was with him, now half a foot taller, his arms decidedly larger. He looked much like he had in the fight on the lawn, but now there was no irregularity to his body, no misshapen limbs. “But we can’t have you just going in there.”
“Not when we still want to tear you apart,” Enzin said.
