“Damn it, stop!” Stephen said. She waited for the killing blow, but before it came, something heavy blasted open the door, and then Stephen let out a cry. An object, perhaps a body, slammed against a wall. She heard the sound of metal, then a cracking of a bone.
“How dare you?” she heard Zusa ask. “Where is Laerek? Where is your master hiding?”
Stephen let out a moan, and it ended abruptly with a wet smack.
“Where!”
“He...he’s waiting for me by Eddleton’s.”
“What street?”
“Songbird!” Stephen cried.
Alyssa heard crying, and then she felt a soft hand take hers. It trembled. Despite the poison, she gently curled her fingers about it, the weakest support she could offer. Nathaniel’s face pressed against her chest, then lifted back, no doubt realizing how close he was to the arrow still embedded there.
With an abruptness that startled her, Stephen’s cries came to a halt.
“Alyssa,” she heard Zusa say, and then wrapped hands touched her face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should have left you.”
“Zusa,” Alyssa managed to say, but that was it.
Lips kissed hers, and then out came the arrow. Her scream was a pathetic whisper of air exiting her lungs.
More movement at the door, plus a surprised gasp.
“What insanity is this?” asked John’s booming voice. “Oh gods...Alyssa! Stephen!”
“You’re safe now,” Zusa whispered hurriedly into her ear. “He’s dead, but one monster still runs loose. I have to find him. Please, understand, I have to.”
Zusa left her. More voices, more people, cries for a priest or a healer. Nathaniel stayed pressed against her through it all. At some point Melody arrived, her sharp feminine cry easily discernible.
“Stephen!” she heard Melody say. “Alyssa! Oh you dear, you poor dear...”
Nathaniel clutched her tighter. Despite the soothing words, and her mother’s hand brushing against her forehead while she whispered comfort, all Alyssa could think of was Zusa’s absence, and how it had been Stephen’s name Melody cried first upon seeing the bloody carnage, not hers.
Haern dragged the unconscious Bloodcraft through the alleys, knowing it would only be a matter of time before the city guard arrived to investigate the noise and chaos that had been their battle. And despite his trust for Antonil, Haern didn’t want the city guard to be the ones to discover the name he sought. No, he wanted that for himself. Whoever it was had made it personal in attacking the Eschaton, and he’d deal with it personally in return.
At last he reached a nice, secluded spot tucked against the outer wall of the city. There’d be no patrols, and anyone who heard screams would be wise enough to keep the matter to themselves. Haern propped the man against the wall, then opened up his red coat to see the rows of leather loops for holding knives, half of them empty. Removing the rest, Haern cut strips of the coat into lengths, then bound the man’s hands and feet. The throwing daggers he left in a pile nearby, having every intention of using them if the need presented itself. Ready, he started slapping the man’s face and pinching his nose to disrupt his breathing. It took a bit, but at last he awoke, gasping for air.
“Where the fuck am I?” the man asked.
Haern drew a saber and smacked him across the face with the flat side.
“I’m asking the questions,” he said. “Let’s start with your name.”
“Percy,” the man said. “And that’s the only question you get an answer to.”
Haern grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head against the wall.
“For your sake, I’d hope not,” he said.
Percy grinned at him despite the blood that dripped down his neck.
“You think you can frighten me?” he asked. “You got Veldaren fooled, but you won’t be fooling us. You’re nothing.”
“Us?” Haern asked. “There’s no ‘us,’ not anymore. The rest of your group is dead. You’re the last.”
This seemed to shake him a little, but not much. Percy bit his tongue, then turned and spat.
“Fine,” he said. “Not much point protecting anyone if what you say is true. What is it you want?”
“Who hired you to kill us? I want a name, and where to find him?”
Percy shook his head.
“Can’t do it. If I’m to have any chance as a mercenary after this, it can’t be with the reputation of a snitch. Bad enough a bunch of pussies like you beat us.”
“A mercenary?” Haern asked, leaning in closer. “You think I’ll let you live?”
“If you don’t, what reason I have to talk?”