Chapter 010

Precision is far more important than strength.

The Depths are littered with the corpses of the strong.

“Wrack and ruin.”

Harker slammed his boot into the window frame. It held firm. He kicked it again, this time cracking the frame and sending the glass raining down onto the sill and rooftop outside.

“There. Not painted shut anymore.” He slid the window up and crawled out, scrambling across the roofing tiles just as the sliding bolt—and the door—blew off its hinges.

With a panicked grunt, Harker tumbled over the roof’s edge, fingers scrabbling for the stone gutter. It groaned beneath his weight, but it held.

His fingers were another question entirely.

“He’s gone!”

“The window is shattered. He must have—”

“Could the Stitcher have taken him?”

“What for? Think, iyeshi.”

“I don’t know!”

Slowly, Harker set his feet against a window casement. His worn boots slipped once, but the rough texture of the stone walls stopped a second time. He held his breath, ear turned up toward the rooftop.

The older woman whispered something that was lost to the bells. Harker’s skin prickled. She was using her Talent. “I cannot pick him out from the clamor. He’s good as lost.”

Bless the Ancestors for small miracles.

“I don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. I have entertained this glory hunt for far too long, Adhira. We’re leaving. Now.”

Listen to her, stubborn girl. Get outta town, but mostly get away from the window!

“Sejal, this isn’t about me anymore.” The young woman, Adhira, banged her fist against the sill. “You know what’ll happen if the Illwrought aren’t stopped.”

“Let the mercenaries earn their pay. You are required at the Travelspire.”

“Three months remain before they make their return trip—”

“And without our hounds, the journey will take us two, even at a swift pace.”

What a strange relationship. Harker adjusted his grip and glanced down. The downspout was two window-lengths away. He started inching his way over.

“That Stitcher didn’t come here on a whim—their kind doesn’t do that. They know something about the artifact.”

“You’re still not listening. This situation is beyond even your ability to master—“

A scream cut them off. Harker stilled. That’s sounds like it’s from…

“The courtyard!” A blur accompanied the voice, one that arced over the roof holding an impossibly large axe.

“Ve nyatti!”

The older woman followed, her robes flapping in the wind and a cloak made of scales flowing off one shoulder.

Yowling roars were met by metal and stone, and whomever screamed went silent. Harker didn’t care to find out more. He clambered down the drain, making the street in record time before he took off.

The sooner he put distance between himself and these insane people the better.

The bells rang wildly, though they were harder to make out from below. It was far easier to hear the Illwrought. They prowled in the distance, cutting across the major thoroughfares in packs of confusing shadow—too swift to believe and too large to be allowed.

Harker moved with caution, keeping to the narrow pathways between homes he’d long since mapped out. He had no clue how many of the fell beasts there were, but that Adhira was right. If they were as nasty as the ones in the north woods, even one would gut half the Vale. Even the survivors would rot from the spiritual poison in their bite.

The alleys intersected, pooling with rainwater that was as still as glass. Harker touched his left arm, feeling the carved flesh. They were indents, slightly smoother than skin, and he half expected them to hurt each time he grazed one—they didn’t, and it was confusing.

That same rot should’ve been tearing him apart from the inside out. That it wasn’t was almost as unnerving as the opposite. Almost.

I’m not gonna argue with survival. He checked his angles and stepped over the pools as quietly as his old boots would allow. The Illwrought could be anywhere. The bells and their howls were wild in the air and the noise covered a great deal. Harker wasn’t moving slowly, but he moved with as much precision as he could muster.

Law 1—Avoid Attention and Law 3—Avoid Conflict often worked in tandem. They were the baseline of how he had survived. Law 2—Everyone Is Selfish came in a close second.

Law 4—End It Quickly was used far less, though it was proving necessary today.

Every step was clean on the cobbles, avoiding mud and debris that the storm had chased out of the gutters. If he could remain in back alleys, then Harker could have slipped free of Vale without incident. It wasn’t to be. Harker approached an intersection of three large roads, just down the block from Whitlock’s Inn and stilled himself.

Pay attention.

The sky was bloody and wood smoke was sharp in his nose along with another scent. It was very familiar.

Stolen novel; please report.

Bodies.

Three of them. Their cloaks were splayed against the wet cobbles and not nearly as pale as they once were. Crimson stained their lengths, especially where the bodies had been shreded into grisly piles. Harker frowned. He’d seen worse working with his mother, but not often. The Illwrought did not eat their kills, but they were not kind to them either.

Harker crept close to the corpses, checking over what remained. Two were closest, and while most of their armor was shredded, their coin purses were quite full.