5. Kira
Chapter 5
Kira
THIS IS INTERESTING
“ Y our draw,” I declare.
Zayne grins at me over the faded red pattern on the back of his cards. Normally, I’d say anyone with a grin like that would be terrible at cards, but I’ve played enough rounds with Zayne now to realize it’s all part of an act. And the act seems to center on getting just enough coin out of Barrance to keep the dimmest member of their mercenary group playing.
Zayne taps his fist on the wooden table, then raises an eyebrow at Girwin, the third and least talkative mercenary in our merry little band. I can’t tell if Zayne and Girwin are deliberately teaming up to fleece Barrance with methodical efficiency or if they’re just so good it looks deliberate.
I glance through the open window of the Golden Peaks Hunting Lodge as Girwin studies his cards. It’s a beautiful day out there, and it’s almost enough to make me wish we were still roughing it. Almost. It took us a full week to get here, and then we spent another five days roaming around the lonely roads and trails that cut through the Daggers. This is easily the most desolate, gods-forsaken place I’ve ever seen.
That’s not saying much, I know; before this trip, I’d never left Silver City. Still, these mountains scare the nine hells out of me. The first time Zayne said we’d sleep under the stars, like freaking animals, I panicked. I spent the entire night clutching my dagger and flinching at every sound that came out of the looming darkness. Two nights later, we heard wolves screaming at the moon. I almost pissed myself.
But now we’re here, in this lovely hunting lodge that’s so fucking fancy I’m guessing one night here costs more than my entire life is worth. The tracker the Towers hired, a weaselly little man whom Zayne seems to hate, argued that we’re more likely to pick up the Godkiller’s tracks in the woods, but Zayne pulled Tholious aside for a low, whispered exchange of ideas, and now here we are, settling in for our second night as the only late-season residents of the Golden Peaks.
It beats the hell out of sleeping on the ground, I’ll say that. And I even have my own room. It’s tiny, but the bed’s all mine, and the door locks. Luxury of luxuries. At this rate, I’m starting to hope we never catch the Godkiller.
“What in the hells are we waiting for?” Barrance grumbles.
He takes another pull from his mug of ale. Barrance is the only one drinking. Zayne and Girwin raise their mugs to their lips occasionally, but the level of foamy beer in their mugs doesn’t seem to be going down. And I know enough about playing cards to know not to put any money up against someone who’s only pretending to drink, which is why the stack of shills in front of me has stayed pretty much the same for the past two hours.
“We’re waiting for Girwin to make up his mind,” Zayne purrs.
Girwin glances up, gives us a quick glimpse of his teeth, an expression that’s more like a feral animal trapped in a corner than a smile, and then taps his fist against the wood.
“Fucking hells,” Barrance replies. “Took you long enough.”
Barrance shoves a stack of shills into the meager pile in the middle of the table.
“I call,” he declares.
Barrance spreads his cards out on the table, revealing his run of tens. Zayne makes a noise in the back of his throat as he looks at his cards.
“And we’re waiting for our esteemed tracker to return,” Zayne says.
I glance through the window again. Wind ruffles the pine trees across the river, making the shadows beneath them dance. Behind them, patches of snow gleam on the flanks of the Daggers. It’s a nice view. From inside.
“You think that little shit’s gonna show his face again?” Barrance says.
“If he wants to get paid,” Zayne replies. He lifts an eyebrow in my direction. “Ladies first.”
I lay my cards on the table. It’s not enough to win, but I’m not upset. I don’t have much in the pot and I’m still nine shills up for the trip. Barrance whoops like he’s already won the game.
“What’d I say?” Barrance declares. “The Towers’s punks can’t play for shit.”
I smile politely as I flip my cards and pile them back on the stack. I’m beginning to think the only reason Zayne brought Barrance along was to beat him at cards. It’s a hobby I’m finding increasingly entertaining.
Girwin shrugs, then places his cards face down on the table. Barrance looks like a direwolf who’s scented blood when he turns to Zayne. Zayne’s face is completely expressionless as he meets Barrance’s gaze.
The main door creaks open, then slams shut. I glance up. If that’s the tracker, one of us should go upstairs and knock on the door where Tholious and Matius are doing whatever essential work they claim to be doing.
But it’s not the tracker. It’s a young man with dark hair and a grave expression. His face looks like it’s streaked with ash, and he walks across the room with the easy confidence of someone who knows he belongs here, heading straight for the innkeeper behind the bar.
Zayne comes to his feet silently, then grabs his mug of beer as he leaves the table. Barrance stares at him, blinking.
“But what was your hand?” Barrance blurts.
Girwin hushes him. Barrance pouts. I watch Zayne lean against the bar as the grimy stranger and the innkeeper speak to each other in sharp, hushed tones. A moment later, the innkeeper tears into the kitchens like he’s being chased by demons. The man ambles over to one of the tables by the windows. Zayne leans back from the bar, grabs his beer, and returns to the table.
“Well,” Zayne says in a low voice as he sits down and picks up his cards. “This is interesting.”
“What?” I ask.
“Show your damn hand,” Barrance snaps.
Zayne lays his cards on the table, face up. Kings and knaves, a hand that could have beaten Barrance twice over. Barrance sputters as Zayne pulls the shills from the middle of the table into his pile.
“That man’s a guide for a private hunting party,” Zayne says, nodding at the stranger who just burst in through the lodge’s front doors. “They were due to stay in the Daggers another week, hunting direwolves near Desolation Peak, but they’re coming back tonight.”
Zayne hesitates. I take the bait.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Seems their base camp was attacked,” Zayne replies. “Direwolves descended last night, spooked the hells out of the horses, and scared the hunters so badly they decided to end their trip early.”
“Shit,” I mutter as the howls I heard in the mountains echo around the inside of my skull. The room suddenly feels colder.
“Unusual,” Girwin offers. It’s the first word he’s spoken since the game started.
“Indeed,” Zayne says, as he collects our cards and shuffles the deck. “And the guide said the wolves weren’t alone.”
Zayne deals a fresh hand to all of us, which we all ignore.
“There was a man with them,” Zayne continues, in a soft voice that’s hardly more than a whisper. “A man with long, black hair and a cloak.”
“Godsdamn it,” Barrance says. “That’s our man. That’s the Godkiller.”
“Perhaps,” Zayne says, with a shrug.
“Perhaps?” Barrance snaps. “Who the hells else could it be? Runnin’ with wolves sure sounds a lot like magic, and this fucker’s got that.”
“I suggest,” Zayne says, fixing Barrance with a pointed look, “we save our drinking for tonight. The hunting party should be here by this afternoon, and a bit of ale and a few friendly card games could loosen their tongues significantly.”
Barrance frowns like he’s about to argue but stays silent.
“Find out everything you can,” Zayne says, in a low voice, “but don’t be too obvious, and don’t push it. With the storm coming tomorrow, we’ll have plenty of time.”
“Storm?” I ask, with another glance out the window and into the clear blue sky.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” Zayne says with a grin. “I’ve seen a thing or two.”
With that, he grabs his cards, flicks a shill onto the center of the table, and gives me a smile that makes me think I’ll pass on betting this round.