Joran found all this murdering to be funny, but Trax was so brutally efficient, I was starting to feel pity for our enemy… Just a little.
“Do not feel bad, Carnavon. I recognize this scent. This one was also on the island. He fired a gun at your female but missed.”
Well, fuck him, then,I thought.
“I do not think that action would be appropriate.” Trax moved back to us. His snout was covered in blood. “The exterior threats have been eliminated. The path is clear.”
“It’s time to demonstrate our devotion to Saint Murder. May Brotbeck enjoy tonight’s offering.” Joran drew his sword. “Let’s go, boys.”
Unlike Rade, I knew very little about swords and fighting with them. Our deadlander’s enchanted blade was a long skinnything, made for quick movements and thrusts. Joran’s was more of a long meat cleaver, like an implement a farmer would use for butchering livestock rather than something a duelist would use in an arena, but Joran had a legendary record that put my meager one to shame, so I kept my ignorant critique to myself.
We headed straight for the nearest door. The plan was to strike fast, get what we’d come for, and get away before the watch was summoned. I was glad for this plan, as I wanted no quarrel with the Core City Watch. Sure, one of their inspectors tried to frame me for murder, but Adderlane had been corrupt and quite possibly insane. The other inspector I’d dealt with, Borg, was actually rather helpful and gave me useful advice. I’d hate to repay that kindness by getting caught working for the city’s most notorious gang.
Having been a trapper, I knew how to move fast and quiet. The Latros were good at it too, probably having gained that knowledge through various acts of burglary and assassination. All of us sounded like clunking, clanging oafs in comparison to Trax, who glided along behind us like some apparition from the Plane of Death.
One of Joran’s men tried the door, but of course it was locked. He produced a pouch of tools from inside his coat and went to work on the mechanism. Before I could count to twenty, there was aclick, and we were in.
I won’t lie. I was scared to death. Danger was an old friend of mine, but it had come in the form of fire and monsters. I’d never wanted to conduct midnight raids on a mercenary company. I’d killed men before, but only in self-defense. This was different. Except, by robbing us and leaving us to die, the Tooth and Claw had demonstrated themselves to be no different in morals than the elf pirate who’d destroyed my family’s barge.
That comparison made me feel a bit better about what we were about to do.
The building was mostly one big interior space. A single light charm had been set to float above the center, which provided just enough light to navigate, but nothing more. There were boxes, barrels, and crates stacked everywhere. It reminded me of the inside of the Red warehouses in Fort Silver, only this was far larger. There was a balcony and second floor above the back of the big room. Up there were more lights, and I could make out a few voices talking. That would be where most of the mercs would be sleeping.
Joran took the lead. I’d say he was confident, but that wasn’t quite the right word. It was more that he’d done this sort of dangerous thing so many times, he was simply unmoved by it all. Murderous violence came naturally to him. This was his element, just like Trax in the sea.
There were some bedrolls thrown down on an open spot on the warehouse floor. From the empty bottles lying around, the mercenaries had celebrated today’s score with a lot of drinking. A few men were lying there passed out and snoring.
One of the Latros nodded toward them and ran his finger across his throat, but Joran shook his head in the negative. We’d leave those be. Killing them might make enough noise to alert the others above, and by the time these woke from their drunken stupor, we’d be gone. I was glad for that decision, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of killing someone asleep in their bed. I wasn’t squeamish about killing. That’s just part of living. But everyone I’d killed so far had been face-to-face, and they’d had it coming.
The Latro wizard took a device from his belt. It was a small spool of wire attached to a copper box in the middle. He tied one end of the wire to the leg of a shelf, and wrapped the other around the handle of a chest, just high enough that if one of these men got up, they’d surely trip over it. He paused just longenough to whisper some activation command to the box, then left it there, armed and deadly.
Joran reached the stairs and started up. It was nearly impossible for his boots to not make a noise on the metal steps, but he kept his steps natural and unhurried. If someone heard him, they’d just assume one of their fellows from below had awakened and was coming to join them. He reached the top, looked around, then signaled for us to follow.
The top floor contained more storage, though it was all smaller and lighter goods piled onto shelves, which we stopped and hid behind. There were several doors leading to who knew what, and at the end of the balcony was where most of the Tooth and Claw were gathered around a Red-fueled heater. There were about fifteen in total. They sat around on boxes or lay on the floor, and from the looks of things, much like downstairs, they’d been celebrating. The ones who were still awake spoke with the slur of happy drunks. We were outnumbered, but we were in far better condition than our foes.
I didn’t see Gerzog, but I spotted the strong one named Hans. One of his arms was in a sling from where Azarin sliced him with air daggers, and he had a brown bottle in the other hand. He was the only one standing, and that was to address the crowd.
“So then Aziz says to the monster, ‘Sorry we tried to milk you, but we thought you was agirlminotaur!’ Hah ha!” The mercs laughed, and Hans lifted his bottle high. “To lost comrades. You will be missed, but when Gerzog returns from selling our prizes, we shall gladly split up your share!”
“Staverton,” Joran whispered at the Latro wizard. “Announce our presence.”
“With pleasure, Cutter.” He pulled out a wand and pointed it at the mercs. “Concuss.”
I’d not seen this spell before, but it must have been air-based. As all the small items in a ten-foot circle—dust, playingcards, coins, cups, bottles, hats, even a few loose knives—all got sucked into the center, held together and floating for the briefest moment as the drunken mercs stared at it, confused, before everything exploded outward in a shockwave of wind and deafening noise.
The members of the Tooth and Claw were sent flailing. The ones who’d been sitting were knocked over backwards. Glass shattered and shelves toppled. The men who’d been asleep were startled awake. One unlucky bastard caught one of the pocket knives with his thigh and started screaming.
“Could I pay you to teach me that one?”
“No,” the wizard told me. “Learn your own spells.”
Joran stepped out into the open and began walking toward the stunned mercenaries. “Where is Gerzog?”
Hans got up and stumbled, dizzy. “What?” Then he saw Joran approaching and reflexively whipped up a wand in his good hand. “Eradicate!”
A crackling purple bolt flew across the room to smack Joran square in the chest.
Of course, that potent-looking spell accomplished absolutely nothing. Joran just smiled and wagged one finger, likeoh, you shouldn’t have done that.And poor Hans just stood there stupidly, not grasping what had gone wrong with his spell, because Nulls were rare as vegetarian Squalos, until Joran lopped Han’s wand arm right off.
