Thieves' War Read online

  More screaming followed the second volley, and I stepped back, fingering my blades nervously. Rek put a hand on my shoulder, and I spun to him.

  "This was your fucking idea," I spat.

  "I don't..." he trailed off.

  Soldiers spilled from the tree line, aflame, or choking on smoke. The archers went to work, cutting men down as they fled, littering the plain before the forest with bodies. Cord turned to Tug.

  "Wake 'em up and send 'em back in," Cord said.

  The necromancer nodded, raising his arms and chanting. His voice echoed across the hills. The broken bodies twitched, spasmed, and then rose. They found their feet, arrows protruding from them like pins in an insect. They turned as one and shuffled back toward the tree line. Several explosive coughs came from the weapons of troops hidden there. Pieces of flesh flew off, disintegrated, or exploded in bloody gouts, but to no effect. In minutes, the newly reanimated had re-entered the forest. The volley stopped.

  A new sound, buzzing from above, caught our attention. I looked up to see several soldiers soaring in the blue, with bright silver boxes strapped to their backs. The archers caught them as well, and fired into their midst, dropping a few. The survivors swooped down and picked up some of our mercenaries, then dropped them onto the rocks. Even amid the chaos, I heard bones shattering.

  One of the shrikes swooped down and snatched Tug up mid-chant. Cord whirled and ordered the archers to target the enemy. An arrow found the man, splitting his throat like an overripe apple. They fell, Tug entangled in his legs. Below them, the machine waited. As one, they plummeted into its barrel opening, and it chugged dutifully to life12.

  "Well, we're fucked," Rek said.

  “At least he’s with Elvis now,” Cord said.

  The cylinders around the machine spun, clouds gathering above. As before, the engine churned, the air growing unreal around us, static leaping from the armor and weapons of nearby soldiers as it gathered power. As it did, screams nearby joined those from the melee below, each spark lighting soldiers’ steel blue and red. As it arced from target to target, the metal fell away from those touched, and their flesh boiled as if infected by plague moving at the speed of thought. They split like overripe pomegranates, seeds spilling from their gelid flesh, shrieks of horror bubbling in their throats.

  Where the seeds touched, they set down thick roots, tall stalks rapidly springing up from the hulls, red bulbs clinging to the greenery. In a matter of seconds, they were ripe, and the pods burst. They spilled translucent bodies onto the grasses, small and snakelike but for a cluster of spindly legs at the head, and a single eye staring out. They moved in quick succession, searching for something, disappearing into the ranks. I stared on in horror as they found a soldier who’d escaped the arc of lightning. It clutched the man’s leg, shimmying up with dizzying speed, then in a flash, used its razor-tipped limbs to rip a hole in his trousers.

  “What the fuck is going o-” Cord said.

  He winced as the little beast dove headfirst into the man’s ass. The soldier clutched his cheeks, howling in surprise as the thing dug its way inside him. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it ended, and the man stiffened. He turned our way. His eyes deliquesced, forming bloody pools in the sockets. More of the beasts made their way to the few surviving soldiers and turned them toward our group as they were infected. As one, they opened their mouths and spoke.

  “CORD. WE HAVE FOUND YOU.”

  “Ah shit,” Cord breathed.

  “What?” I asked, blades out. I backed into Rek. He clutched his axe hard enough to turn his knuckles turn white.

  “Oros.”

  “Hey guys.” A new voice from behind pulled our attention and made us spin round in surprise. Lux 3stepped from the barrel of the Harrower engine, whole and undamaged. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Miss me?” she asked.

  Hard Magic and Swingin’ Dicks

  The Frustrated Cloisters

  "Fuck, this is hard," Rez dan Spez gasped as he twisted his foot toward his spine.

  Some part of his mind struggled with the urge to belch out that’s what she said in response. His right hand wrote the Sixteen Sigils of Remna on the prescribed vellum, while his left twisted its fingers into the Eighth Sign of Anaxos. It was bad enough one had to be chosen by the Masters by virtue of blood to be inducted into the Cloisters; this seemed unnecessary torture.

  "It is necessary!" Barked Ram dan Anil, his back straight, nose pointed west, the sole of his left foot on his buttocks. It was the Seventh Stance, designed to protect from magical backlash.

  Rez dan Spez cursed under his breath and scream-sang the Seven Pentameters of Lenon. His body fizzed with energy, and just as he was to unleash the Fire of Huma, a stray fart escaped his clenched cheeks. Undirected power lashed from him, burning several of the potted ficuses in the room, and roasting a small bird in its cage. For his part, Ram dan Anil was untouched.

  "This is why magic has rules!" Ram dan Anil1 shouted, spittle covering Rez dan Spez.

  His apprentice sighed, twisted his ankle until it pointed skyward, and tried again. He wished, with a glum sort of resignation, that he hadn't had that second bowl of lentils.

  Rez dan Spez sweated as he made his way down the halls of the Cloisters. They had been established in the year of the Enklil, 4656, long before the uprising of the Honka and the subsequent One Day War that led to the emancipation of the mountain people of Juven. Later, when the Barrows were emptied, and Lord RedBack came for the Tyrant Gods of Miliwaka, the Cloisters were razed to the ground. A hundred years later, they were rebuilt by a lone herder and his wife, privy to the secrets of the Thousand-Fold Way and the coming Convergence. Now, they were little more than a stone shell inhabited by the mage monks of the Seven Path.

  Rez dan Spez recalled one other brother who had shown great promise—Rek dan Met. A big man, gifted in the ways of the Ninefold Fist. He had been stolen away in the night by the Outsider. Rez dan Spez always suspected Rek dan Met was the Great Smith in disguise, but could never prove it. He’d even peeked beneath the other monk’s loincloth while the big man slept, looking for evidence. It was said the Great Smith’s anatomy was shaped like a hammer. Truth be told, Rez dan Spez could not remember. He suspected inadequacy quashed memory and curiosity that night. Regardless, the times when he had to perform his lessons for Ram dan Anil dan Anil made him wish the Outsider would visit again.

  A pounding came again to the iron-bound doors of the monastery, pulling him from his thoughts.

  “Just a fuckin’ minute!” Rez dan Spez swore.

  He reached the doors and offered up a prayer to Liminial, the Scholar of Ruin, then flung them open. Blustery air reached him, and a hint of something else. Smoke? A great wheezing filled the air, and Rez dan Spez strained to see its source over the man standing in the doorway. He was massive, muscle built on muscle, and clad in tight black leather studded with skulls. The newcomer’s white hair blew in the breeze, and his indigo eyes stared down at Rez dan Spez with no compassion. A black blade, the width of a hand and easily as tall as the skinny monk hung from the stranger’s back. Whispers rolled off it like the purple smoke steaming from its deadly edge.

  “What?” Rez dan Spez snapped.

  “I have come.”

  “Yes, and you’re letting the air out. State your business.”

  “I am Calamine Crood, Son of the Morning Star, wielder of Horcrux, the Whispering Blade, and Bringer of the Gloaming.”

  Rez dan Spez peered up at him. “Gloaming, eh? What is that?”

  Crood sighed. “It’s the time between dusk and dawn. Look, is your master home?”

  “Rama? Sure.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t selling something, are you?”

  “No. Yes. My services.”

  Rez dan Spez looked up at the big man. At the muscle, the tight leather. The handsome face. He didn’t know what Ram dan Anil was into, but he wasn’t there to judge. He stepped aside.

  Rez dan Spez poured steaming tea into a d
elicate cup for Calamine, then turned to his master. Rrn dan Ith was shadow swathed in ebon robes, even his face hidden behind the Veil of the Ancestor. Rrn dan Ith raised a gloved hand and waved Rez dan Spez away, the fledgling mage scuttering to the corner to wait on the next call.

  "Fine tea," Calamine said.

  "Indeed," Rrn dan Ith said. His voice was a wet blurble, as though he spoke through a raw wound. "Tell us master Crood, why you darken the Cloisters' door. Are your Hestian masters finally going to relent and allow us access to the Book of Eibon?"

  Crood tipped his head back and laughed, the sound rich and threatening at once. "Old fool. I have come for what is promised."

  "Not..." Rrn dan Ith's voice trailed off.

  "Yes."

  "You have no right!" Rrn dan Ith slammed a fist against the small table beside his chair, making the teacup jump with a clatter. Rez dan Spez winced. Those were exceedingly difficult to replace.

  "I have every right! I am the Son of the Morning Star! I wield the Whispering Blade and the Barrow of Obfuscation!" The cords on Crood's massive neck stood out in stark relief. "Give me what I want, and I'll leave you in peace. Refuse me, and I'll make the walls drip with every bodily fluid imaginable."

  "How... unsanitary," Rrn dan Ith said. His hood swiveled to Rez dan Spez. "Let the brute have his prize.”

  Rez dan Spez nodded and left the room with a sigh of relief, leaving the two sitting in silence.

  "So... how's Marn?" Rrn dan Ith asked.

  "Good, good. How's your... horrible disease?"

  "Painful. Irritating. Itchy."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  Rrn dan Ith waved a gloved hand. "It is what it is."

  The door opened, interrupting them. Rez dan Spez entered, a pale skinny man on a leash trailing behind. The man's hands were bound, a gag held in place with a leather band around his head. He looked to Rrn, then Crood, his eyes narrowing.

  "Remove his gag," Crood commanded.

  "I do not think that wise," Rrn dan Ith replied.

  "I will do as I please, old man."

  Rrn dan Ith nodded, and Rez dan Spez reached up with hesitant fingers, undoing the clasps. The gag fell away.

  "Cuck. Cuck cuck. Cuck cuuuuuck cuck cuck." The man tilted his head, nose forward.

  Crood's great brow beetled. "I thought chickens clucked."

  "Yes, well," Rrn dan Ith said. "This is a man possessed by a chicken. You see the difference?"

  "Cuck. Cuck." The man bent at the hips and licked the floor.

  "Was it a particularly stupid chicken?" Crood asked.

  Rrn dan Ith shook his head. "The chicken was quite bright. The man however..."

  The leashed man flapped his arms. "CUCK!"

  Crood loosed his sword. It bathed the room in a purple glow, and the whispers grew louder. "I would have you know; no matter how necessary, this death brings me no pleasure. It's like killing an invalid. Or a painfully stupid politician."

  "That's redundant. Why not like killing a crippled puppy?"

  Crood turned his head and glared at Rrn dan Ith. "I do not kill puppies. A man has to have a line."

  "Fine." Rrn dan Ith flapped his hands and turned away. "Get it over with already before someone suggests a worse comparison."

  "Cuck?" the man interjected.

  Crood set his lips in a tight line and swept Horcrux down, cleaving the pale figure in two. Gore showered the men in a disgusting baptism. A wisp of smoke rose from the red ruin, joining the vapors at the sword's edge. The blade's glow shifted to a deep red, and Crood smiled.

  "At last. It is ready."

  He left the room, long strides taking him away and out of the Cloisters in short order.

  When he had gone, Rez dan Spez asked the question that had nagged him the entire time. “Why are we doing this again?”

  “Because the Plot demands it,” Rrn dan Ith replied.

  The Plot. Foreseen long ago by the greatest Sages of the Cloisters, it was said to detail every event that would or must happen. The monks had become so beholden to their belief in it over time that it was now the answer for every unanswerable question. “Because the Plot demands it” had become a fatalistic cry for the faithful. To Rez dan Spez, still in his apprenticeship, it sounded suspiciously like “Fuck if I know.”

  He looked around at the mess left behind by Crood.

  "What a fucking disaster," Rez dan Spez mumbled.

  Rrn dan Ith shot him a glance.

  "Yes, I know. I'll get a mop."

  Bon Jovi Sucks

  We smashed headlong through the camp, making a beeline for the waiting carriage. As we ran, the—I wasn't even sure what to call them—assbeasts? invaded more soldiers. They turned in slow succession as we passed, as if we were celebrities, and they our adoring public. That is, if your adoring public has an irresistible urge to pull your guts out and festoon several acres with them.

  "Why are we even running?" Cord puffed, legs pumping furiously. "It's just a dead god. We've beaten him before. I'll bet Rek could take him."

  Rek smashed aside a red-eyed soldier with a massive elbow, caving in the interloper's helmet and sending him sprawling in a clatter of steel. "Uh-uh," he said.

  The fallen soldier screeched and leapt to its feet. I spun mid-stride and whipped a blade as it tried to leap for us. The knife sank into its eye, and it dropped. We sped on.

  "In case you haven't noticed," I wheezed, "there are a lot more of him now."

  "Semantics," Cord said.

  "Mathematics," I said.

  We skidded around another corner to a cluster of the red-eyed creeps waiting. Just behind them, the black-lacquered carriage waited, hunkered on its legs.

  "I got it," Lux said.

  She stepped in front of us, and Rek stood behind, fending off the tide of possessed from that direction. Lux raised her hands and screamed. The sound pierced my ears, making my head ache. Cord winced beside me, and Rek grunted in pain. A white wave of power rippled from Lux’s throat, catching the soldiers as they advanced. Heads popped like papier mache struck on a Cruciatus Day celebration, and they toppled, necks spraying red fountains. Cord was already moving again.

  Rek shouted, and I glanced back. The possessed behind us had organized and rolled forward like a fleshy wave. I put on speed, breaking for the carriage. Cord waved from the door, Lux atop the driver's seat.

  "Get in the fuckin' carriage, Nenn!" Cord shouted.

  Rek passed me, and I cursed. I didn't know the big man had it in him. Fingers grazed my back as I reached the step, and bolts of lightning flashed from Lux, burning my retinas. The fingers turned to ash, and Rek hoisted me into the carriage, Cord slamming the door shut. Lux spoke a word from the driver’s seat, and the crackle and smell of ozone filled the air. Impacts shook the carriage, and for a moment, it seemed as if it might tip, then the legs lurched into action, sending us on our way. A frustrated scream dwindled behind us.

  We rode in silence for an hour before I twitched the curtains back and looked out at the countryside as it passed. To the north, trees passed in a parade of green needles and broad leaves. South of us was the long plain of the Gentian peninsula. To the west, I had little to no idea. I'd only seen this part of the world on maps and in some books. I let the curtain drop and leaned back in my seat, searching the pockets of my vest for a cigar. I came up with a stump and lit it. The smoke seared my throat, and I let out a blue plume in an exhale of relief. Rek coughed and waved it away, but he'd learned on our trip across the sea to keep most complaints to himself. Cord stared at and past me, lost in his own world. Behind us, in the driver's seat, Lux maintained the magic that kept us moving. My stomach growled in complaint.

  "I need to eat," I said.

  Cord snapped from his thoughts and eyed my stomach. "So we heard. I know just the place." He lifted his chin and addressed Lux, "Vignon?"

  Lux nodded. I turned back in time to catch her eyes drifting up from my back. She stared straight ahead, and I watched her for a moment. Still pale,
still beautiful. Though, now that I saw her in new light since her absence, a little harder. Her lips twisted up in a sly grin, and I blushed, turning round in my seat.

  "Sorry, have you lost what few marbles you had?" I asked Cord. “Why would we go back to the place we’re running away from?”

  Cord took his turn to push the curtain aside and watch the country pass. He was silent for a moment. I shot Rek a look. The big man shrugged.

  "Opportunity," Cord said.

  Rek grunted.

  "What? What's that? Do you know something?" I asked the big man.

  Rek looked uncomfortable and tried to look anywhere but at me. Lux broke the silence, and Rek breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Vignon is where Cord met Fela. The love of his life."

  "She is not," Cord said.

  "You loooove her," Rek teased.

  "Do not," Cord insisted.

  "Cord, love?" I asked.

  Cord let the curtain drop. "Hey, I can love."

  "I know of only three things you love. Money, sex, and revenge," I said.

  "And Fela," Lux added.

  I pursed my lips and looked at the stocky thief. "Must've been someone special."

  "Something," Rek said.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Something. Fela is the heart of Vignon," Rek said.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "No one does. I mean, look at him," Rek said.

  "Hey. I'm right here," Cord said.

  "No, I mean, what is the heart of a city?" I asked.

  "All cities have hearts. Midian was Cruciatus'. Orleght, the bones of a dragon. In this case?" Rek said. "A dead god."

  "Of course," I said.

  "Not dead. Sleeping," Cord said. "And we did some definitely not dead stuff last time I was there."