A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

and opened their bag, spilling its contents onto the floor just as a third figure stepped inside. He walked with a cane, one I recalled seeing days ago. He leaned on the cane, but the large broadsword that hung at his waist dispelled any notion that the man was feeble. I looked at the contents of the bag on the floor. He was young, maybe a year younger than me, with wavy brown hair. He was thin, and by the state of his decomposition, dead for less than a day.

“Who is that supposed to be, Crylwin?” I asked the man with the cane.

“You, you stupid half-Ruk bastard,” he answered as he bent low and opened the boy’s eyelid to reveal a core of copper surrounded by a sea of blue. “Took us some time to find one that would suit, not many of you lot running around.”

“Did you kill that boy for—”

He waved his hands emphatically. “No, god’s man, we pulled him out of Southquarter. He died of fever, I think. I just meant we had to get Quill to doctor up his eyes a bit.”

I looked again at the boy’s eyes and saw the copper had a bit of a haze to it; as I looked closer, it seemed to move as if whatever substance was injected into his eye was still settling into its permanent place.

I lifted his arm, where a mass of black ink covered his identification mark. “And that?” I said, pointing.

“No one said it was a perfect plan, Fae,” Crylwin said. “Now is there anything else, my lord? Or can we get the fuck out of here?”

I changed quickly into a suit of clothes Crylwin brought, black all around with boots that fit suspiciously like my own. They dressed the dead Ruk in my clothes and positioned him back onto the cot. The two men left the room first, carrying the empty bag. Crylwin followed, then myself. Crylwin closed the door behind, turned the key, and headed for the doorway at the end of the hall.

“Wait!” I yelled in a whisper.

“Gods, Faerin, we don’t have time to…” he trailed off as he saw me standing next to Vox’s door.

I paused then, unsure entirely of where Crylwin stood, how much or how little he knew.

“Do you know what is in there?” I asked plainly.

His look confirmed my suspicion. “Think,” I said, “an army of Sunemere are camped less than ten miles from here, how long before they grow impatient and march down here looking for him?”

Crylwin did not say anything.

“We are a terribly...impatient people,” I heard a voice say from beyond the door.

“I don’t know what side of all of that you are on,” I said. “But if you are here to free me, free him. My life means little at this point, but freeing him may be enough to stop a war. A war that will destroy Belen just as it will destroy Cyllia. I have seen them, Crylwin; even a few hundred are enough to take this city.”

Crylwin starred at the door, then turned to me. “You really kill that prime?”

I met his eyes. “Got him with Jaeron’s dagger.”

Crylwin grunted. “The kid deserved better.”

I nodded as he walked past me and put a key to Vox’s door. With a quick turn, the latch sprung, and the door creaked door.

“Hello,” Vox said, extending his hand. “I am Vox of the House of Vox.”

Crylwin slowly extended his hand. “Uh, Crylwin Monroe. Pleased to…”

Vox moved so swiftly all I saw was a blur; he held a piece of sharpened bone to Crylwin’s jugular. Vox coiled his arm around him and walked him back to the opposite end of the hallway. It was only then that I noticed he was missing a finger on his right hand.

“Faerin?” Crylwin said. “Tell him to lower—”

“I hold your life in my hand, human,” Vox spat. “Move, and you bleed out before me.”

“Vox!” I shouted. “What are you—”

“This does not concern you!” He snapped. “This is between me and the Monroe.”

I raised my palms to him. “Vox, this is a friend of mine and the man who has just saved us both. It doesn’t matter what his name is. Let him go.”

Vox looked at the two men at the end of the hall, then at me before pushing Crylwin forward.

Crylwin swung around, his hand going to Adamant in a flash, but Vox was gone, running down the opposite hall before being consumed by the shadows. I heard the sound of breaking glass then shouts of alarm.

Crylwin turned back to me, his face hot with anger. “Time to go!”

He led us down the hall until we reached a staircase. I thought we would travel up, aiming for street-level, but instead, we went down two flights then weaved through several corridors until the air became foul and musty.

At the end of a long hallway we came upon a brick wall where a hole opened into a dark tunnel. Dozens of bricks lay in front of the breach. Inside the tunnel was a wooden spade and a bucket full of what looked to be liquid stone. A steady breeze flowed through, carrying the scent of excrement.

“Get in,” Crylwin said.

I took a breath and climbed in. Crylwin followed while his men began repairing the wall from inside the tunnel. Crylwin did not wait for them to finish as he crawled forward, his cane against the stone. Thankfully, the tunnel was not the sewer as I expected, only a maintenance shaft running adjacent to it. Still, the smell kept us silent as we crawled along in the dark. We must have crawled a quarter of a mile when I saw torchlight ahead.

“Took you long enough,” a man said when we reached the end of the tunnel. He offered Crylwin his hand and pulled him out.

I cleared the tunnel next, then arched my back as I looked around. “Penir, Quill? What are you—”

“No time for all that, lad,” Penir said. “How far are they behind?”

“Few hundred yards,” Crylwin