Downshadow

'I think there's been some misunder-oof,' Fayne said, then dropped to her knees in the wake of a punch to her stomach that cut off her last word.

The torchlight flickered, casting wavering shadows against the chamber wall.

'You do this to yourself,' said Rath. 'Simply give me the gold.' He nodded, and the half-ore bruiser who'd put his knuckle prints on her stomach hit her again-with his foot.

Breath knocked out of her, Fayne went fully to the ground, curled like a babe. She cradled her midsection, struggled to breathe, and glared up at the handsome dwarf she'd come to meet, and whom-until two strangled breaths ago-she'd hoped to hire. Her mistake, she supposed, was to trust him to meet her alone in an isolated chamber of Downshadow.

He'd brought four men. One-a bowman-kept watch down the tunnel. A second, a lanky human with pasty white skin and yellow hair, stood impassively at Rath's side. The other two-a half-ore and a very ugly human who might have passed for a half-ore-had gone to work on her shortly after Rath demanded more coin than she claimed she'd promised. She called it a misunderstanding. He disagreed.

'Can we,' Fayne panted, 'can we talk about this… with words?'

Rath stopped them with a raised hand; Fayne could have kissed him. He stepped forward, and the grace with which he moved stunned her. He cupped her chin in two fingers, and her body went cold and rigid as though he pressed steel to her throat. Slowly, he raised her to her knees.

'Until I see the gold,' Rath said, 'fists and feet will have to suffice.'

He stepped away, pulling his hand from her chin so fast she thought he might draw blood. The ugly man, whose arms were wider than Fayne's chest, punched her cheek and sent her into the wall. The punch disoriented her so that she didn't even feel herself hit the stone.

Beshaba, she thought, where do men learn to hit women like that?

Before she could ponder that deep and relevant question, a hand grasped her red hair and wrenched her head up, the better to slam it against the wall. The half-ore took his turn as well, kicking her stomach and sides. Stars danced across her vision, and Fayne finally felt the cold steel of a knife against her jaw.

'Getting personal, are we?' she murmured.

'Hold,' Rath said, and the thugs did-as obedient as dogs. 'Little girl, you must understand-I do not hurt you out of malice. This is merely business.'

'Aye,' she said, and she spat blood from her split lip. 'I understand. And my reply is: Bane bugger you all.'

Rath sighed and waved.

Crack.

Fayne didn't even know what they'd done to her. She felt staggering pain, and then she slumped against the wall again. Every part of her hurt.

'You're a pretty thing,' said the thug. 'Be a shame to peel your face off.'

'I agree.' Fayne looked right at him, as directly as she could with the dizzying stars in her eyes. 'But where I'd grow a new one, I don't think you have that luxury, pimple pincher.'

The thug snarled, reversed his blade, and brought the pommel down hard on top of her head. He shoved her to the floor.

Serves you right for antagonizing him, her inner monologue noted.

She made squishing sounds as she tried to rise. Dungeons were worse than gutters. Sludge-mostly dust, mud, and human waste- covered her hair and leathers.

Do business with scoundrels, her patron always said, expect to be dunked in shit.

'Big man,' she murmured lazily. 'Big arms, big knife… little blade, I'm guessing.'

The thug's face went red. 'This one's keepin' her mouth shut, boss,' he said. Fayne knew that look in his eye-that of a man eager to prove a manhood sullied. Mostly by unsheathing it. 'Bet I could make her squeal for you, if only-uhn!'

Fayne looked up, head swimming, and saw the ugly-faced thug slam into a puddle of filthy water three paces distant. Rath rose from where the man had been standing. The dwarf had thrown him that ht}

'Do not embarrass yourself,' Rath said to him. The thug sat up, shook his head, and snarled. 'You hrasting worm, I'll…'

And Rath leaped across the intervening distance and drove his fistMown across the man's face. Bone cracked, blood spattered the ground, and the thug curled into a quivering lump.

Fayne blinked. 'That's… ooh.'

Rath turned toward her, and his eyes gleamed in the torchlight without the slightest remorse. He might as well have stared at her with polished emeralds.

The half-ore, Fayne saw, was looking at him with fear in his eyes.

'Give me the coin you promised,' Rath said. 'Do not, and there will be consequences.'

She couldn't help it. 'Like punching me to death?'

Rath looked down at the thug, and Fayne saw his lip curl. 'His crime was worse than yours and deserved greater punishment. You made a simple error of judgment. He exposed his own cowardice and weakness, which in turn dishonors me, his employer.'

'So you won't just kill me,' Fayne said. 'No profit in that.'

Rath shook his head.

'In that case…' She smiled dizzily. 'Piss on the graves of your fathers, beardless dwarf.'

With a sigh, Rath waved to the sickly pale man at his side, whose fingers were studded with rusty, iron claws like fingernails. Gauntlets, perhaps? The man stepped forward.

'Your wight is supposed to frighten me? I'm a grown woman, dwarf.'

'Hold,' Rath said.

The sallow face glared at her.

'You've come to your senses, girl?' asked the dwarf.

'A few more blows and I just might.' She coughed. 'It's just working so well.'

Rath waved, and the half-ore charged forward to kick her in the side.

'That was irony!' Fayne whined in vain.

The half-ore drew back his leg to do it again, but Rath held up a hand and spoke a word Fayne didn't understand. The hobnailed boot didn't meet her belly, so she decided it was her favorite word of the year.

'Rath?' said the half-ore.

'Our sentry approaches,' replied the dwarf. 'Silence.' / 'Thank the gods,' said Fayne, 'that more hitting would be accompanied by further cries of pain.' Rath gestured to her. 'Stifle it.'

The half-ore kicked her in the stomach. The world blurred.

When her eyes worked again, a stick-thin man with a strung shorrbow in hand and a quiver of arrows at his hip appeared in the corridor that led to the larger cavern. His eyes flicked to his dead comrade, but wisely he held his tongue.

'Battle,' he said. 'Attacked a merchant, downed his guard-didn't kill 'em, though. Probably itchies in Downshadow, looking for coin to scavenge or deeds to do.'

Itchie, Fayne recalled, was a term for a sellsword, and most of those brave-or stupid-enough to live in Downshadow were something of the sort. Poor, hungry, and angry. Itching for a fight.

'Who?' Rath asked.

'Kolatch,' said the sentry. 'Awaiting a trademeet, probably.' That name swam around Fayne's head-sounded familiar. 'The fat merchant hisself is coming this way, wild eyed. Babbling sommat like a shadow attacked him, or the like.'

Fayne was about to speak but was spared the commensurate blow by the damnably late arrival of her common sense and the appearance of a figure in the tunnel: Kolatch. When he stumbled into their chamber, she knew him-the merchant from earlier that day. His eyes rolled and his hands shook. Even if he weren't so maddened, he wouldn't have recognized her from the shop-not with a different face and a different gender.

Not seeming to notice the corpse, Kolatch scurried toward Rath and cried, 'Save me-the black knight-save me!'

His hands never touched the dwarf. Rath stepped low in a crouch and threw Kolatch into the wall with a shrug. The merchant slumped. Fayne almost laughed at the way his frog lips burbled, but she suspected that