Sithe let one hand fall from her axe, the better to grasp Rhett’s sword wrist and hammer Vindicator free against the withered bricks. The blade bounced end over end across the alley. The radiance instantly fled from around Sithe, freeing her of its grip.
Sithe wasn’t done with the boy. She flowed from disarming him to elbowing him in the face. Rhett’s nose trailed blood as his head jerked to the side.
Kalen had one chance and he took it.
As Rhett slumped, Sithe danced away, moving with immortal grace. She took a two-handed hold on her axe and brought the ugly thing around, scything for his neck.
Kalen lunged between them, Vindicator raised.
Steel shrieked against steel as black axe exploded into fiery sword. Any mortal weapon would have shattered, but Vindicator held firm. Kalen strained to keep Sithe at bay. The woman looked into his eyes-darkness staring into him-then leaped back, bringing her axe around.
For his part, Kalen strode forward, praying that his injured leg held. He funneled his anger against the deep hurt. “You’re the one who took Myrin, are you not?”
She studied him wordlessly, her axe whistling softly as it tore the air.
“What are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Again, she stared at him silently with those empty black eyes.
“It matters little,” he continued. “You are a creature of shadow and I am called Shadowbane. I suppose you can guess how this will end.”
Sithe inclined her head slightly to the side. “I am not a shadow,” she said. “I am the nothing that the darkness hides-the void that the darkness cannot fill.”
Kalen shrugged. “Well, I’m adaptable.”
She seemed to consider this, turning her axe idly over her head. She caught the haft out wide, letting it hang like a scythe extending from her arm.
“You are the righteous arm of your god,” she said. “A divine killer, as am I.”
The words stirred an old, simmering rage inside him. “I am not like you.”
Sithe’s face gave his words the lie. “Your faith is weak-that is why you fail.”
“Test me,” Kalen said. “Show me that my faith is weaker than yours.”
“No need.” She nodded to the shadows behind him. “He is yours, Master.”
“Master?” Kalen realized, too late, he’d been tricked.
Pain erupted anew in his slashed leg and he fell to the cobblestones. Above him stood a halfling, shrouded in the shadows, blood dripping from the rapier he’d just rammed through Kalen’s thigh. He had auburn hair, eyes like green beads, and familiar sharp features. Kalen knew who he was.
“Toytere,” he said.
The halfling smiled brightly, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth-the better for tearing meat. “Cheers and well met, Little Dren,” he said, showing Kalen one of his own daggers-claimed from the cobblestones. “I’m so glad you be back.”
He hit Kalen in the face with the pommel of the dagger, plunging him into darkness.
We watch from the shadows.
We wait as the men come and take the two away.
“That, methinks, was ridiculously easy,” says the short one with the hat. “Emphasis on the ridiculous, no?”
The dark sister makes no reply. She looks. For us?
We wait.
“Something be amiss, Lady Void?”
She shakes her head. She does not see us. Her axe balances on her shoulder.
She is one of us, though she does not know it.
We delight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
22 KYTHORN (NIGHT)
Blinded, Kalen awoke to a chafing sensation in his lower half. Well accustomed to his benumbed body, he recognized the signs of being dragged. He heard whispers like soft squeaking. The smell-a mixture of sweat and vomit-indicated a sackcloth hood over his head.
“I see you haven’t washed the hood since the last time I was in town,” he murmured.
Thunder clapped as someone boxed his right ear.
He couldn’t see where they were going, but growing up in this foul place gave him a good grasp of the streets, with all their rank odors and other minutiae. The numbness helped: his disconnect from his body sharpened his other senses.
He recognized a gravely crunch underfoot and heard dozens of bickering voices that blended together-a fishmonger’s market, down by the docks: Rat Alley. Despite the foul hood, he smelled seawater and a combination of rot and sour ale that indicated they were in the vicinity of one of the gang taverns. Likely, that meant the Drowned Rat tavern, home of the Dead Rats.
Kalen found it darkly amusing that Ebbius the tiefling hadn’t mentioned that his old friend Toytere was running the Rats these days. That could have been pertinent information, when someone wanted him dead as badly as Toytere did.
His captors dropped him onto cold, hard stone. That alone told him they were at least twenty feet underground. That he wasn’t dead he took as a blessing, though just at the moment, he’d not have minded oblivion. He ached, and considering his curse took the edge off pain, that meant he was badly hurt.
Someone yanked Kalen’s hood off, and he saw a root cellar turned prison cell. A ragged man with jaundiced eyes spat at his feet, then left the room through a stout wood door.
Kalen’s eyes adjusted and he saw the dim outline of Rhett sitting nearby. The boy was just waking. “Saer Shadowbane?”
“Call me Kalen.” He worked the ropes that bound his wrists behind him.
“These are tight,” Rhett said. “Whoever tied these knew what they were doing.”
Kalen regarded him dizzily. “Were you conscious when they bound you?”
“A little. Why?”
“If you flex your muscles when the ropes go on, then relax, the ropes loosen.”
“Oh.” Rhett laughed mirthlessly. “That would have been great to know at the time.”
“Indeed.” Kalen worked at his bonds.
“As long as we’re not going anywhere,” Rhett said after a moment. “Do you mind if I ask what’s going on? I mean, with our captors and their impending murder of us and all.”
“The gang that has us is called the Dead Rats. Why we’re alive, I don’t know, but no doubt it’s for a reason. Keep silent and don’t give them a different reason.”
“Got it,” Rhett said, then continued right on talking. “And that woman? The black-skinned demon?”
“Sithe. She’s-” Kalen paused. He wasn’t sure what Sithe was. He’d fought demons and their scions before, but none like her. “She’s the Rats’ chief enforcer.”
“Well, as long as she’s the best they have, we’ve naught to fear!” Rhett said cheerily. “Except for the bit where she mopped the cobblestones with our faces.”
“True enough.” Kalen saw his fingers turning purple. The ropes gave a little-he could now pull himself free at need, but to what end? He couldn’t get out the door.
“And that other voice I was hearing earlier? Pitched high-a bit like a child’s?”
“Halfling called Toytere,” he said. “Old friend of mine from many years ago-fortune-teller, con artist, thief, and the like. His play was always telling the future. Not that his prophecies ever came true, except when it was the worst for everyone involved.” Kalen shifted toward Rhett. “He was a Dead Rat when I knew him. If he’s running the gang-and it looks like he is-then he must have moved up in the world.”
“You’re from Luskan?”
Kalen smiled despite himself. “Usually it’s the grim manner that gives it away.”
“You don’t seem that grim to me,” Rhett said. “Determined, aye?”
“You don’t know me at all, boy.”
“Fairly said. But this Toytere seems to-and he doesn’t like what he knows.”