Stephen Deas: The Thief-Taker's Blade

“Witch-breaker!” What came next was a long shrill scream from somewhere outside. One that ended with a gasping gurgle and then silence.

“That sounded far from good.” Kasmin was almost rigid with tension.

Kakrim pulled something small out of his coat, a tiny bottle. He threw it at the walking corpse in front of him, which promptly lit up with golden fire and collapsed to the floor.

“Sunfire!” snapped Kol. Kakrim threw him another bottle, which the Justicar sprinkled over the pieces around him on the floor. They too burst into yellow flame. By now Syannis was at the door. He stopped. Silhouetted against the night sky at the end of the passage, he could see two figures. One of them was hanging in the air, his feet flapping uselessly in the air, a hand gripped around his throat and another hand apparently busy ripping out his organs.

“Master Syannis, look lively!”

Syannis turned around. The third corpse, less the right side of its head and one hand, had managed to get up and was staggering towards him. He had no idea how it knew where he was, but it came with purpose. He turned his back on the passageway and whatever it was he'd seen there. Some thing slaughtering Orimel, that's what it looked like. Unless there was someone else alive out there.

No. Had been someone else alive out there. Tenses mattered. Tenses were the difference between life and death. Whatever was out there, he didn't need to see that, not right now. Best to be thankful that all he had seen was shadows and shapes. He swung his sword at the monstrosity in front of him. Not a pretty blow, not the sort his old sword-mistress would have approved at all, just madness and fear and ferocity. He swung once and then again and again, chopping it as Kol had done. When he glanced over his shoulder, whatever had been in the passageway had gone. He'd seen it though. Seen it for sure.

The room filled with light and golden fire and the thing in front of him crumpled. Kol stood behind it, shaking his head.

“Here we go again.” He pressed something into Syannis' hand, a small vial of something, then peered out into the passageway.

“You don't want to go there,” hissed Syannis, his voice hoarse.

“I certainly don't want to stay in here.”

“There's something out there.” What to say? What he'd seen, what else? “It killed Orimel. I think.”

“Really?”

“It was ripping him to bits. It was ripping someone to bits anyway.”

“Ah.” That seemed to make him at least stop and think. “Got any sunsteel on you?”

Syannis shook his head. Which was a lie — he had his ringmail — but that was his. Something Kol would never know. Whatever fire was burning these creatures, it was cold. All light and no heat, but it burned them anyway.

“Kakrim?”

“If I had a sunsteel blade, do you think I wouldn't be using it?” Syannis glanced back into the passageway. Still empty. From outside, another unearthly shriek violated the night.

Kasmin lurched forward. He shoved Kol in the chest hard enough to almost knock him down. “What the bloody Khrozus are you doing, Justicar? What do you mean here we go again ? Why didn't you tell us this ship was full of cocking monsters?”

“Because I reasoned that if I did, you might not have come,” snapped Kol. “Besides, I didn't know. I might have guessed, but I didn't know. Why do you think I brought Kakrim and the witch-breaker?”

“You bastard . .”

“Kakrim?” Syannis stared at the other thief-taker. The golden flames had almost died, but they were still bright enough that he could see Kakrim shrug.

“If you'd have been here for the siege as we both were, Syannis, the restless dead would almost be old friends. Sunsteel, fire, water that's what kills them. Chuck 'em in the sea and they'll stop moving. If you fancy carrying them that far. Question is more about what made them. And what made them wake up when they did.” He glanced over at the casket. “So what was that you two were fiddling with?”

Before either Syannis or Kasmin could answer, Kol was by kneeling by the casket, squinting at it. Syannis still had one of the two knives in his off-hand. He quietly tucked it into his belt. Damned if he was going to let the Justicar get his hands on something like that, not after leading them into this.

“Well, Syannis? What is it?”

“A burial casket.”

“And what goes in burial caskets?”

Not very much, that was the answer. No one got buried, not in a stone casket, not like that. When a man died, his body was burned if he was a follower of the sun, or sunk in water if he followed the path of the moon. That was how a man's soul returned to the gods from which it had been born. Syannis had heard there were some places where the dead were left lying out in open fields for three nights, which was supposed to do much the same thing. Burial, though, that was something else. That was to cut off a soul from those very same gods. That was to damn that soul to walk the underworld for eternity with the dead goddess of the earth. Burial was for. .

“Evil,” said Kol, softly. “That's what goes in caskets. Something too evil to be sent back to the gods.”

“It's not done,” murmured Syannis. “It is forbidden. Even for the worst. .”

“Forbidden here, Syannis, but this didn't come from Aria.” He rubbed at the casket lid. “I don't even recognise the words. Was there anything inside it?”

Syannis shrugged. “Not that I found.” No, Justicar, you don't get my treasure. “Just dust.”

Kol peered inside. Syannis waited for his hand to come out clutching the second knife, but it didn't. “Dust.” The Justicar shrugged. “Just dust. Just my luck too. A stolen Taki ship shows up in my port and as if that wasn't bad enough, it's got some ancient restless spirit in it. For all we know, that could be some poor tit who looked at the mistress of some ancient king we've all long forgotten in a way that someone didn't like, or it could be some thousand year old death-mage who wiped out an entire nation before someone took his head off.” Kol frowned. “Assuming that even works for sorcerers. Oh my.” He sneezed. “Cursed dust.” Then he shrugged. “Changes things a bit.”

“A bit?” Kasmin might have hit him if Syannis hadn't stopped him.

“A bit, yes, Kasmin, a bit.”

“Changed things more than a bit for Orimel,” snapped Syannis. “Something had him out there and last I saw it was ripping out his lungs. I'm guess it started with his heart.”

“Someone had to come, Syannis,” said Kol coldly, “and to be blunt, that's what the city pays us for. To deal with whatever needs to be dealt with, and yes, sometimes one of us dies. Besides, if you really saw what you say, I think it's highly unlikely that was our witch-breaker. Whatever it is, Orimel will deal with it. That's what he does.”

“And if he doesn't? If it was him being torn to pieces?”

“Then we take what we can get and burn the ship into the water. Fire and water, Syannis, either one will do.” He nodded at the charts and the papers now scattered across the floor again after the fight. “Fennis, pick that lot up, because aside from finding out what this gods-cursed ship is doing here, that's still mostly what we came for. Syannis, if something moves and you don't like the look of it, throw what's in the vial at it. Won't bother anything that's alive.”

“What's in it?” asked Syannis, wondering whether the Justicar had meant that as an invitation to throw the damn thing in his face.

“Would it bother you, Kol?” growled Kasmin.

“Sunlight, that's what's in it. And no, Kasmin, it wouldn't. Now when you're done helping thief-taker Fennis pick up all this mess, you can join me back on the deck.”