Shadowbane

“You,” Eden said. “You. Will. Regret. This.”

“Will I?” Toytere smiled despite himself. “Deal’s off. Pray as you will, you divine trash, and let the Rats take you in the dark.”

Eden glared, her hand still covering half her face. “I’m warning you-”

“Tluin you and your warnings,” the halfling said hesitantly.

He stumbled through the jangling dark of the Whetstone. On his way, he shouldered aside patron and coinlass alike, heedless in his desire to be gone. His actions had been unwise. He couldn’t fathom what had come over him-only that he couldn’t sit idly and listen to Lady Darkdance being insulted like that.

Stupid reason to start a war. And gods, how his wrist hurt.

He paused and looked at the wound in the light. The flesh had crystallized around the bite, like uncut garnets in his skin.

“Tluin me,” he murmured.

The halfling staggered away, clearly suffering some terrible malady.

“Good,” Eden said as she leaned down and felt around on the floor.

She hoped Toytere was ill. How dare he spurn her like that. He’d called off her bargain and for what? A slip of a girl?

Eden found what she sought and breathed an easy sigh. She drew it up until it caught the glow of the festhall’s smoky oil lamps. The light glinted off its platinum surface as she turned the coin around, taking in one face, then the other. Its touch was reassuring-a physical blessing that coursed through her.

And oh, there would be vengeance. Eden of the Clearlight, high priestess of Lady Luck in Luskan, queen of the Coin-Spinners gang, would see to that.

She put the coin back in her left eye socket.

Then the Coin Priest took her leave.

The one in the hat appears in the alley. The door bangs shut behind him.

He falls to one knee, his free hand groping alternately at his hurt wrist and at his stomach. He empties his stomach onto the refuse at his feet.

Nearby, a male one holding a female one up against the wall utters a disgusted sound. The female’s face turns the color of spoiled cream. They move on to find a new rutting ground. They escape us.

The one in the hat does not notice them go.

He vomits again. We watch and wait, listening to the other murmuring.

We do not need the small one in the hat.

We already have him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

25 KYTHORN (DAWN)

After the incident on the derelict and the other exertions of the past few days, Kalen grudgingly named 24 Kythorn a day of rest. He didn’t relish sitting around when he couldn’t feel any pain, but he knew his body needed a chance to work out the aches he could not feel. Myrin and Rhett both seemed exhausted and Toytere vanished to an unseen hideaway. Only Sithe seemed unfazed-the genasi was tireless.

The day of inaction also gave Kalen the chance to plan their next move, and plan he did.

The following dawn in Luskan brought the promise of oppressive heat, and chased the rats-be they animal or man-from the streets. As fears of the plague grew, few braved the open spaces anyway, preferring to stay locked in their holes. Through unseen cracks and crannies, they watched and waited.

The streets lay largely deserted, save for a lonely cadre that made no attempt to avoid prying eyes. Had they gone alone, Kalen and Sithe might have picked their way from shadow to shadow, competing to be the first to arrive at their destination unseen. Myrin and Rhett, on the other hand, made more than enough noise to render stealth a non-issue.

“Let’s be clear,” Kalen said. “I don’t have the time to tell you all of it, but follow my lead and you’ll be well. Also, no killing.”

Sithe shrugged.

“Myrin is your ward,” Kalen said to Rhett.

“Aye, saer.” The lad nodded.

“Myrin.”

“Yes, Kalen?” She regarded him mildly.

He’d expected tension between them after their disagreement on the ship, but today Myrin had proved far from upset. She seemed, if anything, completely disinterested in Kalen. From the way she occasionally looked over at Rhett, Kalen wondered if the boy had said-or done-something to make that so.

“I need you to promise me you’ll follow my lead,” he said.

“Absolutely.”

“This is serious business,” Kalen said for emphasis. “If I could leave you behind and guarantee you wouldn’t go seek out a necromancer or some such, I would have.”

“That’s wise.” Myrin peered around him, seeking Rhett’s eye.

Kalen squinted. “Is there something going on,” he asked, “that I should know about?”

Myrin fixed her full attention on him. “No.”

“Good.”

Kalen noted she did not specify which part of his question she had answered.

The buildings around the market bore silver-gray signs, each a single glyph in the Shou language that resembled a dragon. Even without these signs, the Shou’s dominance was clear. Already, Kalen could see narrow eyes and sharp, handsome features peering at them out of alleys and the windows of abandoned buildings. The Dragonbloods were Luskan’s purest gang, accepting mostly immigrants from their native eastern land.

Kalen knew too little of the gang to predict their moves, but more than enough to distrust them. “Blood of the Dragon” they called themselves. Each bore a tattoo in the form of their namesake, usually on the shoulder, chest, or back. The tattoo grew both in size and detail over the years: new recruits had but a wing or claw, and veterans might wear an entire beast all over their bodies. The personality of the wearer dictated the color of the dragon: strong and supercilious like a red, stupid and vicious like a white, or cunning and evil like a black.

“You’re certain Toy didn’t want to come along?” Myrin asked Kalen. “It seems odd, bargaining for an alliance with his gang without him being there.”

“I thought you led his gang,” Kalen observed.

“I thought you thought I didn’t,” Myrin said. “He’ll need to take the throne back once we leave. It seems unfair to bind him to terms we negotiate.”

“We want the Shou’s aid against the plague,” Kalen said. “Let the ’Bloods and the Rats fight it out after we’ve accomplished our task here.”

Myrin narrowed her eyes. “And how does a gang war help Luskan?”

“It doesn’t,” Kalen said, more sharply than he meant to.

Myrin made a face, then fell back to linger near Rhett. The lad gave her a half bow, but they didn’t talk.

Irritation had steered his tongue, Kalen realized: irritation at Myrin’s naivete in thinking she could solve Luskan’s problems single-handedly. By contrast, Kalen didn’t care a whit for this city of thugs and killers. His one and only goal was to get Myrin the Nine Hells out of Luskan. If he had to hunt down a murderer to do that, so be it. If he had to kill a score of men-a hundred men-who stood in his way … well, he almost preferred it that way.

But was that him or the boy he had been on these very streets?

“You and I are not saviors, Kalen Shadowbane,” Sithe had said. “We are destroyers.”

He shivered.

Sithe stopped abruptly. “We arrive.”