Thread of Death (Page 13)

He was a little smarter than his friends, because instead of hoisting his shovel over his shoulder again, he whipped it down and in front of him, holding the point out like it was a spear he wanted to skewer me with. Shovels weren’t exactly ideal for that sort of stabbing attack, but the dwarf had more than enough strength to bury the point in my chest. Part of me admired his ability to change tactics, but not enough to spare him. Mercy had never been my strong suit.

He lunged at me with the shovel again and again, but I managed to sidestep him every time, despite the throbbing pain in my knee.

"Stand still, you bitch!" he growled at me.

"You first!" I snarled back.

Around and around the coffin we went, each of us trying to stab the other with our respective weapons. Our boots kicked up dirt and grass, and we knocked over the flower arrangements and waded right through them, grinding the delicate petals into the ground. The sudden explosion of floral scents made my nose twitch, but I held back a sneeze and kept fighting.

The dwarf came at me again with the shovel. I stumbled out of the way, and the tip of the spade ripped into the portrait of Mab, right where her necklace was, making it look like her throat had been cut. Despite the fact I was fighting for my life, I still smiled at that.

But the situation was all too serious. This was the first real fight I’d been in since I’d battled Mab, and it was taking its toll. I just couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, and the cloying scent of the flowers only made it worse, like I was breathing in petals instead of air. My legs and arms ached from the strain I’d put on them, and I felt like they were made of wet rubber flopping this way and that instead of actual muscle and bone. And, of course, my bad knee throbbed and threatened to go out from under me with every step I took.

But I gritted my teeth and kept on swinging, slashing, and stabbing right through the pain – and that’s when the dwarf finally made a mistake.

He came at me with the shovel again. I managed to hobble out of the way at the last second, and he rammed the point of it deep into the side of Mab’s coffin instead of into my stomach. The dwarf cursed, then paused for one precious second, trying to decide whether or not to yank the shovel out of the wood or just leave it where it was and come after me with his fists. He went for the shovel and I went for his throat, knocking us both down.

This time he didn’t get back up.

The dwarf’s head had snapped against the ground, momentarily stunning him, and that was all the time I needed to slice my silverstone knife across his throat and follow it up with a couple of quick stabs to his heart. He died without another sound.

I lay there sprawled over the dwarf, my hand curled around the bloody knife still in his chest, breathing hard, sweat pouring down my face, my whole body shaking from the exertion of the fight and the adrenaline running through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to lie there until the tremors and exhaustion passed, but I made myself roll off the dwarf, pull the knife out of his chest, and sit up.

The cemetery was completely quiet.

I peered out over the still, silent landscape, my eyes going from one gravestone to the next. But no one else could be seen lurking among the monuments, and there weren’t any more snipers perched in the trees, hidden among the leafy branches, waiting to take another shot at me.

When I realized I was alone and that the danger had passed, I let go of my Stone magic. Then, knife still in hand, I lay down on my side in the bloody grass and curled into a loose ball. I stayed that way until the air was back in my lungs and my arms and legs quit trembling.

I could have stayed there longer, in the quiet of the cemetery, recovering from the fight, but I just didn’t have the time – not with three dead bodies dotting the grass around me. So, after a minute or two had passed, I roused myself into a sitting position, then managed to stagger to my feet even though my twisted knee still throbbed with pain.

I looked at Mab’s casket. It was closed just like it had been before the fight, although the dwarf’s shovel was still stuck in the side of it, like an arrow in a target, scarring the black surface of the wood. But the sunburst rune on the side was still intact, the ruby in the middle just a shade brighter than the dwarves’ blood that covered my clothes and body. The golden rays and faceted sides of the gem seemed to wink at me, like eyes opening and closing, as the afternoon sun reflected off them.

"What are you looking at?" I muttered.

The rune didn’t respond. If anything, it just glinted a little brighter, almost like Mab was mocking me one final time.

Phillip Kincaid

I couldn’t believe she’d killed the three dwarves.

Oh, I’d heard the rumors for weeks now about Gin Blanco. About how she was a powerful Ice and Stone elemental. About how she was really the assassin the Spider. And most especially about how she was the one who’d finally killed Mab.

Jonah McAllister had whispered those things and many more into my ears while trying to insinuate himself into my good graces. McAllister shouldn’t have bothered sucking up to me. The cocky bastard had caused me far too many problems over the years while working for Mab for me to ever consider allying myself with him. Still, his information interested me enough to do my own digging into Gin Blanco. Family murdered, some time living on the Southtown streets, taken in and raised by an old man who was also rumored to be an assassin. What I found had only made me that much more curious about her.

She’d caught my attention earlier today when she ran toward the sniper in the tree instead of finding a tombstone to hide behind like most everyone else had. Not something a normal person would do. So when it became obvious that she wanted to say her good-byes to Mab alone, I pretended to leave the cemetery, then snuck in a back way and took up a position behind the same tree the sniper had been in earlier.

At first, nothing happened, except that Blanco said a few soft words to the coffin that I couldn’t quite hear. Then the dwarves appeared. I thought they’d merely come to dig Mab’s grave, but they crept up on Blanco and attacked while her back was turned.

I thought about shouting a warning, showing myself, and stepping into the fight, but Blanco didn’t need my help. She moved with ease and grace, like the knife in her hand was a natural extension of her own body: Owen’s work, I’d wager. He’d always enjoyed making weapons, and what better present to give his assassin lover than a knife or two?

It was one thing to think that Blanco was an assassin; it was another to see her handiwork for myself. She was as impressive and dangerous as McAllister claimed, striking quickly, brutally, and ruthlessly, with no wasted movements, no hesitation, and no remorse.

I watched Blanco stab the last dwarf to death. She slumped over his body and then rolled over onto the ground, and I thought she might be injured herself. But after a few seconds she got back up on her feet. She looked down at the dwarf, her face cold and dispassionate, then slid her bloody knife up her sleeve with no more thought than most people would give to tucking spare change into their pocket. Definitely no remorse there. I liked that about her.