Chapter 6 Landon #3
I realize now that it is what Finn would choose too.
The thought twists painfully inside my chest. I feint left, and Torvan follows. His fire sweeps across my path, cutting off my escape.
One of my shadow lynxes reforms behind him and pounces, sinking its teeth into his back. The wound is shallow, not enough to kill him, but enough to make him stagger.
Torvan spins, his face twisted with pain and anger. “You bastard.”
“I’m sorry.”
I mean it. But I still evade his next strike and send shadows curling around his ankles. They tighten and pull.
Torvan hits the floor. His head strikes the edge of a table, and his body goes still.
He does not get up.
I stare at his unconscious form, my chest heaving. How many times did we fight beside each other? How many battles did we survive together?
A warrior crashes into me from the side.
We hit the floor and roll through broken wood. He lands on top of me, a knife descending toward my throat. I catch his wrist with my forearm, but the blade bites into my skin. Heat spreads beneath my sleeve.
He snarls inches from my face. “Traitor. Deserter. Devil-marked filth.”
I drive my forehead into his nose.
He reels back, and I throw him aside before scrambling to my feet. The informer appears behind him and drives one dagger into his side. The warrior collapses.
“We need to leave,” she gasps. Blood darkens the fabric over her ribs. “Now.”
I look around. Six warriors are down. Torvan lies unconscious among the wreckage, and the bartender stands over two more, breathing hard with her axe clenched in both hands.
“The back,” she pants. “Cellar door. It leads to the tunnels.”
Movement fills the shattered entrance. More warriors. Reinforcements.
“Go!” the barkeeper shouts. “I’ll hold them.”
“You should come with us,” I call over the approaching clash of armor.
She grins, savage and bright, and hefts her axe. “This is my tavern.”
There is no time to argue. I grab the informer’s arm and pull her toward the cellar door.
She stumbles, leaning heavily against me, and I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her upright.
The wound in her side is deep, and blood is already soaking through her clothes. We move as quickly as she can manage.
Behind us the Orkan barkeeper roars a challenge and steel answers. Someone screams. The cellar stairs are steep and dark and I half-carry the informer down them, one hand on the wall to keep us upright.
At the bottom, a tunnel opens before us, its rough-hewn stone walls dripping with water and reeking of old earth and rot. My arm throbs where the knife caught me. The informer’s breathing worsens with every step, and she leaves a trail of blood behind us.
The sounds of fighting continue above us. Then silence falls. I don’t know whether the barkeep survived or surrendered. I can only hope she made it out.
The tunnel branches, and we take the eastern path. It divides again, then once more. The passages twist beneath the city in every direction. It is a maze down here.
“Who built this?” I ask, more to keep the informer conscious than from real curiosity.
“Smugglers. Deserters. People who... who need to disappear.” Her voice is weak. “Akilla uses the tunnels to hide lesser fae and groundlings. Sometimes she gets them out of Hellsmouth entirely.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Akilla?”
“The Orkan who owns the tavern.”
I glance at her. “Hide them from whom?”
“The fae nobility.” Her mouth twists bitterly. “Eirik stopped caring what happens to those beneath their notice. The noble houses take what they want now. Coin. Homes. Anyone who refuses them is beaten, imprisoned or simply vanishes.”
I think of the king who once stopped my own people from burning me alive. I barely recognize the person she is describing.
We emerge into a larger chamber. Three tunnels branch off. I pause, listening.
Footsteps echo through the passage behind us, distant but growing closer.
They’re following.
“Can you run?” I ask the informer.
She shakes her head. “Leave me. You need to—”
“No.”
I don’t know why I refuse. I don’t know this girl. I owe her nothing. The gold has already been paid and the information delivered. Perhaps my mate’s habit of trying to save everyone is catching up with me.
The footsteps grow louder. I study the three tunnels. The eastern passage is the obvious choice, which means it is the one they will expect us to take. The northern tunnel slopes upward, while the southern one descends deeper beneath the city.
I choose south.
We stumble down the descending path. The informer’s weight grows heavier against me. She’s fading.
“Stay with me,” I say. “Just a little farther.”
The tunnel opens into a natural cave. An underground stream flows through its center, rushing over dark stones. The sound echoes from the walls, loud and disorienting.
I lower the informer against the wall. Her hood has fallen back.
She is a young groundling fae with dark hair plastered to her face and gray eyes that reflect the light strangely.
Perhaps it is a foolish question to ask a fellow fae, but I need to keep her talking. “What’s your name?”
She smiles weakly. “We don’t give out our names at a first meeting.”
“Then what do I call you?”
“Elle.”
I examine her wound. It’s bad. The blade went deep, possibly striking something vital. She needs a healer. Soon.
“I can get you to Volundr. There are healers there.” I press my hand over the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
“No.” She grabs my wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong.
Footsteps echo through the tunnels above us. There are several sets now. The warriors are spreading out and searching the passages systematically.
“Then where?” I ask.
The informer reaches into her cloak with trembling fingers and pulls out a small carved token. She presses it into my hand. “Greenvale. I have a sister at the Painted Moth. She’ll help.”
The Painted Moth. I know that place.
“That’s two days’ travel,” I mutter.
She won’t make it two days. We both know this.
“There’s another way,” I say slowly. “I can call my wyvern. She can carry you out, get you somewhere safe while I lead them away.”
Her grey eyes widen. “They’ll shoot her down.”
I shake my head. “Not if I keep them busy.”
She studies my face. “Why? We’re... not friends. Barely allies. I sold you information. That’s all.”
“You fought beside me.” I tighten my grip around the hilt of my blade.
A faint smile touches her mouth. “Business decision. I can’t collect payment if the client dies.”
“I gave you three bags of gold, and you’re still here.” I raise an eyebrow.
We stare at each other. Then something shifts in her expression, reluctant and almost amused.
“Just so you know, I stole your last bag too, but I left you some coin. I’m not heartless.” Her smile widens.
I laugh despite myself.