Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Something flies by, small but intent, hitting the door barely a hairsbreadth away.
It bounces off and falls to the ground—a bolt with a sinister metal tip.
I spin as another one flies, barely avoiding it as I draw my second sickle.
At the far end of the hall, a man leans around the corner, with what looks like a small crossbow pointed my way.
He frowns and curses, and immediately, four more figures appear.
I recognize Baldy and the woman from the barn and—with more surprise—the cleric from the chapel.
Unbelievable. I guess I should have learned my lesson after Avery.
Weapons drawn, they encroach on me. I move to meet them.
“Shoot her!” My traitorous cleric friend sounds nearly in a panic as the man with the crossbow contraption raises it again.
I lunge, colliding with him before he can get the shot off, pushing him into the wall even as the point of my sickle drags across the cleric’s midsection.
A desperate move, but necessary. The man with the darts lets out a hollow gasp, wind knocked from his lungs as the cleric stumbles back, catching his spilling guts.
No time to savor that little victory; I barely avoid the swing of Baldy’s sword.
It hits the wall with a metallic ring, nearly decapitating his friend, who lets out another choking wheeze.
Pushing away, I back into the hall with the door, sickles raised.
Not a lot of time to think. At my feet lies the weapon used to launch the bolts; its owner dropped it.
At least I know now how they managed to get Nolan.
And if whatever poison is on those darts is enough to subdue one of us, I need to avoid even a scratch.
I raise my foot and bring it down on the crossbow; it crunches beneath my heel.
“Get those blades off her!” the woman orders. She’s got a nasty dagger in one hand, but it’s the other that’s more concerning. Empty, but reaching into her bag. I can guess what she’s going for.
“Okay.” I lob a sickle her way. She’s fast enough to try to avoid it, not fast enough to actually manage.
A scream sounds as it catches her above her elbow.
Everything below it drops, including the crossbow she was reaching for.
She backs into the wall and slides down it, blood pouring as she drops the dagger, but Baldy is unfazed, spotting the opening.
He and the other uninjured Renderer surge toward me, blades swinging.
I turn away Baldy’s sword, twisting around him in time to avoid a wild swing by his friend.
Even so, I know this is a bad situation.
I’m down one sickle and these two know how to fight—I can see it in their movements—and the Renderer with the darts is near to catching his breath.
I need room to maneuver. Time to think. Dodging another blow, I go for the door.
I don’t even need to break the lock; it opens easily, letting loose the foul smells within as I plunge into the room.
Immediately, a line of fire scorches down my biceps.
I drop to a knee, roll away before another one of the Cook’s surprise swings ends the fight.
The cut is deep, but I count my blessings once I see what did it: a massive cleaver that looks like it could behead a bull in one blow.
The Cook wields it two-handed, serpent’s gaze trained on me as the other Renderers push into the room.
“Leesh?” Nolan. Sadly, there’s no time to savor the baffled surprise filling his eyes. “Lut ne oos.”
Let me loose. A good blow from my sickle would probably snap the chains, but I have no interest in adding one more to the number of people trying to kill me. “Shush and stay put. I’ll get to you in a bit.” I assess the group again. “Hopefully.”
Three people trying to kill me… no, four.
Crossbow has recovered enough to join the others, sword drawn.
I back further into the room, to where the horrid concoctions bubble.
I regret not paying closer attention to the Cloister chemistry lessons, but it’s not like I have time to take inventory anyway.
I grab the most sinister-looking vial and launch it at Crossbow.
He tries to move, but the doorway has gotten crowded, and my aim is good.
The vial shatters, splattering his face and torso with something that, given his screams, is exactly the sort of brew I hoped it was.
He stumbles back into the passage. But the Cook comes at me, moving around Nolan’s table with a surprising speed.
Baldy and the other remaining Renderer—a lanky man with a scar on one cheek—come around the other side in an attempt to squeeze me.
That’s their first mistake. They may work as a pack, but skilled or not, they clearly haven’t trained to fight as one.
I duck a swing of the cleaver and slip between the two swords, Scar’s blow sinking into the wooden worktable and sticking there.
I put him between me, Baldy, and the Cook, using him as a shield as he attempts to free his weapon.
Second mistake: Baldy attempts to attack around his companion, instead of through him, a sacrifice that might have actually achieved an advantage.
But his angle is awkward, and he moves within my reach.
I slice him across the chest and he falls back, blood pouring.
By then, my shield has gotten his sword unstuck, and Cook is inching forward, searching for any opening.
They’re getting desperate, their eyes bright with it. And desperation leads to clumsiness.
They attack as a pair. I deflect one blow and dodge another, driving the point of my sickle into an unguarded chest. It finds Scar’s heart; he’s dead before he hits the ground.
But it’s the chance Cook was looking for.
Her cleaver comes crashing down—I never saw her raise it—and I barely twist away, its edge so close that I feel the painful kiss of it.
I touch my ear; a small chunk is missing from the curve.
Annoyed, I lunge, getting inside her reach as she raises the cleaver again. I strike, opening up her throat.
“Ack.” The only word I ever hear from her. Drowning in her own blood, she falls, sprawling out across the workroom floor.
She’s done. Which leaves Baldy. I turn to him. Impressively, he’s still on his feet, an arm pressed to his wound and mad as hell.
He raises his sword and points, a mean grin spreading on his face. “Wicked abomination. When I’m done with you, there’s not going to be enough left to bother making anything of—”
I raise my sickle and throw. The words cut off as its point embeds deep in his skull, and Baldy goes down like a dropped doll.
“Uh-huh.” I go over and retrieve my weapon from his twitching corpse. “Sorry, but I win.”
Well, almost.
Nolan, head lifted what little the chains will allow, strains against his bonds, muffled words caught behind his gag.
“I’ll get to you in a minute.” Returning to the corridor, I assess what remains of the situation.
The cleric is on his back, still. The Renderer I hit with the liquid is also dead, with an unpleasant amount of his face melted away.
But the woman is alive and attempting to crawl her way down the corridor.
I retrieve my other sickle, then grab her by the collar, drag her back into the Renderers’ workroom, and leave her slumped against the wall. She’s as pale as a gravestone.
“I can stop that.” I gesture with one sickle at her trickling stump. “You could live, walk away mostly intact. And all I’d ask in return is the answers to a few questions. Which I personally think is a pretty good deal for a bitch that would have boiled me for broth.”
Her eyes find me, watery orbs in increasingly pallid skin. With every beat of her heart, a little more life spurts onto the floor.
“You were going to hunt Chosen if the Goddess fell. That part I know. So, what else are you up to, besides plying the grossest trade of all time? How many more of you are there?”
She glares. Says nothing.
“Okay, let’s try something else. What do you know about reliquaries?”
This time, she looks surprised. And then angry.
She spits at me weakly, teeth tinged red.
“Monster. Lapdog of the Butcher Goddess. May you both drop dead tomorrow and usher in the return of the fallen divine.” There’s a distinctly pious flavor to her vehemence.
And here I thought Renderers were all about the financial gains. Regardless, she has information I need.
I steel myself for the unpleasant task of getting it out of her.
“Mleesh!” Nolan’s full mouth exclamation is louder this time. “Pees. Lut ne oos.”
I sigh and turn. “Not now. Honestly, stop being so needy. I’m trying to work here!”
When I turn my attention back to the woman, it’s just in time to catch her remaining hand drop from her mouth. She bites down.
“No!” I grab her, try to pry her jaw open, but it’s too late; the poison goes to work immediately.
Her face flushes as thick, cloudy drool seeps from the corners of her mouth.
Within a minute, she’s dead. “Fuck!” I spin toward Nolan, more annoyed than ever.
“See what you did? She knew where the reliquary was. She—” I pause.
Take a deep breath. Irritation bubbles like the liquids surrounding me, but there’s no point being pissed off at a corpse.
I turn back to Nolan. “She knew where the reliquary was. And your distraction cost us that information. Remember that.”
His eyes narrow.
“Yes, us,” I repeat, picking my way through the carnage. I find a rag among the Renderers’ supplies to clean the blood and gore from my sickles. I take my time. I need to think, and this next bit is going to be important.
Even if I hate every moment of it.
When I’m ready, I return to Nolan.
“Okay,” I say, looking directly into the eyes that I can’t believe I ever found gentle, or caring. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”