Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

Cutter tightened his grip on the bone handle, screaming at the agony shooting down his arms, and slashed out. Tiel released one hand from Cutter’s neck and grabbed hold of his wrist. Cutter screamed in pain as the heat flared into his raw skin, Tiel’s fingers sinking into his flesh until he touched bone. Blood sizzled and spat as Tiel tried to force the razor into Cutter’s face.

Cutter thought of Rowen and pushed everything he had into his arm, forcing it away from himself and toward Tiel. The halfling’s eyes widened. Cutter grabbed hold of the halfling’s arm with his free hand and slowly pried the fingers away. One by one they loosened, until Cutter held the halfling’s arm out of the way.

Then he slashed out with the razor.

Blood sprayed into the air. Tiel looked confused. The heat faded from Cutter’s neck, the halfling’s grip weakening. Cutter staggered backward, breaking the contact.

Blood pulsed rhythmically from Tiel’s neck. The halfling lifted a hand into the red spray, almost as if he were feeling for rain. He studied his hand, then looked at Cutter. His eyes went to the cutthroat razor Cutter held.

“That’s my razor,” he said in a gurgling voice. Dropping to his knees, the halfling locked eyes with Cutter. The blood slowed its pumping, slackening to a trickle that soaked his chest. He stood dazed for a few moments, then gravity took over and he hit the ground.

Cutter collapsed onto his back and stared up at the sky. The smoke from the fires in the trees drifted up into the storm clouds. He watched the smoke whisked about by the wind, then he heard a voice shouting something, but he couldn’t make out the words. He strained his ears.

Don’t… don’t do something. Don’t… don’t kill him . That was it. Don’t kill him .

He turned his head and stared into Tiel’s lifeless eyes. Too late. Sorry.

He looked to the sky again and saw the underside of a skycoach. A face peered over the side. Looked familiar. He knew that face.

Then it hit him. The half-elf. Wren.

Cutter smiled, then closed his eyes.

Bren listened to the growing hubbub above him, the sounds of laughter and talking. The clink of glasses and the rattle of cutlery. He reckoned all the guests had arrived by now.

He withdrew the shard from his pocket and lowered it into the machine. It pulled away from his fingers and sank deep inside.

After a faint click, the machine started to hum.

The third day of Long Shadows

Sar, the 28th day of Vult, 998

Wren peered over the edge and tried to see through the smoke as Col lowered the skycoach for a landing. “I think they’re both dead,” he called over his shoulder.

The skycoach bumped to the ground. Wren jumped out and rushed over to Cutter. The wounds on the man’s arms were grisly. He knelt to feel for a pulse, wincing as his fingers touched blistered skin. He could smell the charred flesh and fought to keep from vomiting.

He detected a faint flutter beneath his fingers. “He’s alive,” he said to Col, who approached with a pouch. Col fished around inside while Wren hurried over to the halfling-guessing he was responsible for Rowen’s death. He checked his pockets twice, but there was no sign of the shard. Where in Khyber was it?

Wren stood and scanned the rooftop. Had the shard been lost in the fight? He turned to Col. The man leaned over Cutter, pouring something down his throat.

“Healing potion,” he said in response to Wren’s look.

Cutter coughed and spluttered, spraying some of the potion over Col’s shirt. Col held Cutter’s mouth closed, forcing him to swallow what remained. As Wren watched, the wounds on his arms began to heal, the blackened flesh sloughing away and being replaced by glistening red muscle and tissue. Skin crawled slowly over the raw flesh and closed across his arms.

Wren waited until Cutter’s arms were smooth and pink, then leaned over and patted him down. The dragonshard wasn’t there, either.

A shudder ran through the roof under Wren’s feet. He frowned and looked at Col, but the man was just as puzzled as he. It came again, vibrating all the way through his body, this time accompanied by a deep rumbling.

Wren stood, his stomach twisting.

“Is that thunder?” asked Col.

Wren walked over to the wall. The hotel grounds were silent. Something floated on the air … anticipation. A buildup of tension on the breeze.

Then another shudder ran through the ground. Wren heard the sound of breaking glass, the scream of a woman. A statue in the gardens toppled and broke apart when it hit the ground. Wren gripped the wall. Col moved next to him.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure,” said Wren, “but I don’t think it’s a good sign.” He pointed to Cloudpool Park. The white cloudstuff that formed the park was changing color, turning from the fresh white of newly fallen snow to the oily black of tar.

“Not a good sign at all.”

The ground shook again, more violently this time. Wren tightened his grip on the wall. Guests ran from the hotel, crying out in alarm, looking around for the source of the disturbance. More statues fell over. As Wren watched, one of them fell on top of a dwarf, crushing him beneath its weight.

A horrific rending sound filled the air, like the tortured screech of metal magnified a thousand times. Then … everything moved .

Wren was reminded of the time a lift he traveled in malfunctioned and dropped a few floors.

Wren turned to Col, a look of horror on his face. “Did you feel that?”

But Col wasn’t listening. He stared up into the sky “The clouds just moved,” he whispered.

“What?” Wren looked up. “What do you mean?”

Col tore his attention away, stared at Wren. “The clouds. They moved higher into the air.”

“That’s imposs-”

It came again. His stomach lurched.

“There!” said Col. “They did it again.”

“Khyber’s breath,” whispered Wren. “Come on.” He ran to Cutter’s side and slapped at his face. “Cutter. Wake up! Where’s the dragonshard? Who has it?” He slapped Cutter harder, drawing a groan from him. “Cutter!” he shouted.

Col grabbed his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you see? What Diadus was talking about? He said that Tiel’s attack on the council was a cover, that the dragonshard would do something worse. Something the warforged had been planning for years.”

Col looked around, realization dawning.

“It’s bringing down Skyway, Col.”

“It can’t. That’s …”

“Insane. We need to find it. We need to find the shard. Otherwise, Skyway will fall on Menthis and Central.”

Wren grabbed Cutter under the arms. “Help me get him aboard.”

Col grabbed Cutter’s feet and they manhandled his limp body into the skycoach. Wren and Col climbed aboard, Col grabbing hold of the controls. The low rumbling had become constant, the shuddering running through the skycoach and vibrating their limbs. Col lifted the vehicle off the ground, rising straight up into the air. As soon as they left the ground, the vibrations stopped.

Wren turned his attention to Cutter, to find the human staring up at him with bleary eyes.

“Cutter, where is the dragonshard?”

“Wren?”

“Yes, it’s Wren. Well done. Now, where is the shard? It’s important.”

Cutter struggled to sit up. Wren helped him up and pointed at the people running in panic. “Do you see that? We need to find the dragonshard, Cutter. What did Tiel do with it?”

Cutter shook his head, then stared down at his arms, gingerly touching the pink skin. He turned to look back at the rooftop.