Crown (The Manhunters Book 3) Read online

  “I was a Manhunter. It was the greatest thing I ever did with my life. Everything else was taken from me, but I will go on from here as nothing more than a Manhunter. Celebrate when you bring Chaos low. And when you do, know I am celebrating as well.”

  She walked to the edge of the drop and stopped. “Thank you,” she said before she stepped out into the air and dropped six hundred feet to the frozen rock beneath. When they pulled her up, her head and body were mash. They took her to the center of town and covered her with rocks. The Manhunters walked to their homes and let themselves mourn for a few hours. They needed longer, but Brody still walked the city of Dragonsbane. He still needed to be crushed. They needed to get back to work. Radamuss was still out there. Rayph needed to end that.

  Wolfsbane

  Roth ripped the air open and saw lush green fields before him. A waft of air, fresh and sweet, rushed out to meet him and he grinned. He stood then beside Gale. Since the declaration of war, none of them had ventured out alone. They went in pairs everywhere, and when Gale heard who Roth was going to see, he jumped at the chance to come along.

  Roth stepped out into the field and the portal closed behind him. He reached down to stroke the soft grass and wished he could pull his boots off and walk the ground here without them, but war was upon them. If he got caught without his boots on he would be exposed.

  Great purple birds flew overhead and Roth smiled as the sunlight hit his face. “We need to get going,” he said.

  Gale reached a hand out to stop him. “Enjoy it for a moment. Your head will be clearer when you are working if you have allowed yourself to feel this bliss.”

  Roth closed his eyes and let the soft breeze hit him. It was winter in his world, but weather worked differently in The Veil than it did in Timea. It worked different here than anywhere Roth had ever known.

  “Do you hear that?” Roth asked.

  “I do,” Gale said.

  It was Roth’s favorite thing about the land of The Veil. It had a certain clarity to it. Every word spoken here seemed clean in a way Roth had never been able to express. He turned to Gale and grimaced. “He does love you, you know,” Roth said.

  Gale’s face dropped. He shook his head. “No, Roth, he doesn’t. He blames me for never getting to meet his mother. He is filled with hate for it, and he wants to put that hate somewhere. I am just glad my brother is gone. If he wasn’t, I really think Tate would kill him.”

  “I hold no ill will for you, but your brother is a kidnapper, Gale. You have to see that,” Roth said.

  Gale walked to the forest over the rise and Roth followed. “It is easy to think that Sai has done a bad thing. Separating a mother from her children is a dark deed. But I chose to look at it like this. He knew her best,” Gale said. “Sai was a close friend to Sob. They had fought beside each other and laughed together. They had traveled long roads together. Sai saved her life and she saved his many times. If any man could ever say he knew Meredith Mestlven, an argument could be made that that man would be my brother.” Gale entered the forest and pressed his way through the vegetation. Roth followed carefully. He stepped over a small brook and moved deeper into the forest. “He knew her and loved her. And he decided the best thing for her children would be if they never knew her.” Gale shook his head. “I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I had more answers for you. But the truth is, I was far too afraid to ask. I knew that whoever you two belonged to would be furious, and I also knew that I had to take you in.

  “There was no scenario where I was going to turn you away. I trusted my brother had his reasons. He was a good man. And I hold no doubt in my heart that he saved both your lives by bringing you to me. I will not speak ill of your mother, because I never knew her. But I knew my brother.”

  At that, Gale fell silent, and Roth had no idea what to say back. They walked in serene quiet for a while until they came out into a clearing covered in wild flowers of all sorts. Roth walked to one of these and bent low.

  “Wolfsbane,” Roth said. “It is Roth Callden. If you have time, please come to my aid. I need a gentle hand for some business that might be volatile.”

  Roth stepped back and stared at the wolfsbane flower. The bloom spasmed before spitting up a creature. It was tall for a fairy, at least a foot tall, with great beetle wings and purple hair. The hair was done in many small braids all bound in the back. The tiny figure carried a sword, massive for its size but little bigger than a cheese knife for Roth. The blade was wicked and serrated. Its crossbar was bedecked with small bones and trophies. The fairy looked up at Roth and over at Gale and smiled.

  On another face, it might have been a cruel smile. It was cold and sharp. It housed a certain amount of sarcasm and bordered right on the edge of a sneer, but Roth knew Gentry Wolfsbane and knew better.

  Roth took a knee and bowed his head. “My good friend and Prince of The Veil, I apologize for taking you away from your life, but I am in need of your help.”

  “What help can I give?” the fey said.

  “I have come here for Mephsat of the Thorn,” Roth said. “I am seeking the Smith.”

  Wolfsbane grimaced before nodding. “The last talks I had with the crafters were not pleasant ones. We are on bad terms,” Wolfsbane said. “I fear I would make the talks harder on you than aid in any way.”

  “I, as well, have had bad dealings with them in recent years. They crafted a weapon I dismantled,” Roth said. “They have been angry with me ever since. I came to you because, as Prince, they have to entertain you and cannot attack you outright without reason. If I am with you, they have to hear me out. This talk might go a long way to mending things between me and the dwarves. I only need you to get me in their midst.”

  “I will do it, but if it goes wrong, it will be a Veil-wide incident that will have terrible repercussions,” Wolfsbane said.

  They walked for a few miles before they reached a tall butte rising up out of the field. The road to it branched off in two directions, each touching the sides of the butte and rising like a sloping hill that corkscrewed its way up. Each was wide and carved into the living rock. Roth nodded at Wolfsbane and the fey buzzed away. He soared to the top of the butte, and within a few scant moments, disappeared in the distance.

  “When you get up there, you are doing all the talking,” Gale said. “I am respected for my involvement in a battle against their enemies, but they have little respect for me as a man because I am a caster. You, on the other hand, are a master of weapons and they can relate to that. Do not expect me to aid you.”

  Roth nodded as he saw a speck flying to him. Within a breath, it was beside him. “They will see you. But remember, this is a fragile invite,” Wolfsbane said.

  Roth walked the sloping roads, winding his way up the butte to the land of the dwarves. A track, laid on the ground beside him as he climbed, was how they moved their carts filled with ore and other materials to the top. He kept walking. A brisk pace so as not to make them wait, but slow enough to allow them time to prepare for him. When he reached the top landing, he found himself at a mighty wall with a stout gate. The gate was open wide with no sign of a watchman.

  A squeal came from within and Roth braced himself as a dwarf stepped within sight.

  He was a little taller than four feet, covered in rock dust and sweating. The sweat cut rivulets of clean skin down his face. The dwarf snarled as he shoved the cart before him. His beard was covered in dust. His eyes were large and hidden under bushy eyebrows. His large nose was caked with grime around the nostrils, and he looked angry, but in some strange way, content. The clothing was simple. A work shirt with a leather apron and a sturdy pair of boots covered in muck and mud. The dwarf walked past them without so much as a word until he started down the hill behind them, then he grunted to them.

  “Get going, Roth, don’t make them wait,” the dwarf said. “You’re lucky we don’t pitch you off this butte as it is.”

  Roth nodded and walked in.

  The city before them was ve
ry plain. It was one large courtyard within the walls. The stones were placed perfectly without any mortar. So perfectly were they set that, to Roth, they appeared as one large stone. That was until he inspected the floor enough to see that every paving stone was cut to a different size and each out of a different rock. Yet so flawlessly had they been cut and placed that this street seemed to be the site where all stone gathered in perfect order.

  The city wall had towers, and without counting, Roth knew there were eighty-five of them. He knew this because there were only eighty-five dwarves in all existence. They had no women and never had a child in their numbers. They were all crafted to look exactly alike, in every feature. Only they could tell one from the other. They had never been born. Each had been built by the gods to craft weapons, armor, and any other thing the gods needed. These eighty-five sets of hands had built heaven, had outfitted the gods with tools and tack. They had built the thrones the gods sat on. When their crafting had been completed, the gods cast them out. They would never need them again, for dwarven craftsmanship never faded. It never dulled and it never needed to be reinforced. Dwarven craftsmanship was older than the races, and it had never been tarnished.

  In the center of the courtyard was an X of sorts. Each arm was formed by twenty-one forges, with one humble forge in the center. As Roth looked, he saw the single mar on the collection. One of the forges had been ripped out. Every stone was gone, the anvil that had been set beside it also missing. Roth fought hard to pull his eyes away. Nothing angered the dwarves more than talking about the one of their kind who had gone astray.

  A single dwarf joined them, stopping them before they got too close to the forges. He held his hand out and marched up to stop inches from Roth. Roth knew better than to step back. Dwarves stood close with little personal space. When they talked to someone, they wanted to inspect the quality of the person before them. The first time he had come before the dwarves, he had been too thin, and they had sent him away. Now this dwarf standing before him finally nodded and peered up at Roth.

  The dwarf’s hair had been swept back in a tail to keep it out of his face, but in every other way, he looked like the brother they had seen earlier. Roth wondered at this man’s name but knew better than to ask, knowing it to be insulting.

  “Why are you here, Roth?” the dwarf said. He looked at Roth and seemed to be chewing something. Roth had never known dwarves to eat.

  “I’m looking for the Thorn Smith. Every rumor I heard has turned me here.”

  “The trouble with wizards, I would say, is that sentence right there. ‘Every rumor.’ Wizards deal in rumors and hearsay. I am a man who delights in facts.”

  “Good, because I am short of them. Do me the favor of setting me straight. Is he here?”

  “Mephsat was sent for.”

  “By whom?”

  “The god Rtan. He asked for Mephsat to come and make a dagger for him. Of course, we would have been insulted by this if Mephsat was not the craftsman he was, but a dagger made by that man is a fine thing, so we did not balk at the request. We even told him he could come back to us if he wanted, but we will never see him again.”

  “Why is that?” Roth asked.

  “Rtan took the dagger as promised, but when Mephsat asked for news on his sons as payment for the dagger, Rtan became enraged at the idea of having to pay a mortal to craft anything. They are not used to being asked for payment for services.”

  “How did Rtan’s rage take form?”

  “The god of thieves sold Mephsat into slavery.”

  Roth’s heart stopped in his chest. He shook his head and growled. “Do you know where?”

  “Port city in Leeth is where last we heard, but that was elven rumors. They mark him as friend because of his singing. They long to buy him and set him free, but that is business on Timea, and us fey wish no conflict with your world.”

  “Thank you very much, mighty craftsman. You have been so very valuable to my search,” Roth said. “If ever I can repay you in any way, please let me know.”

  “I never liked wizards much,” the dwarf said, glaring at Gale. “But we always respected you, Roth.”

  “My respect for you is unflinching. I hope we can have fair and friendly dealings from this day on.”

  “What do you want him for?”

  “I am going to free his sons,” Roth said. Power and confidence rolled onto him like a comfortable mantle being draped over his shoulders.

  The dwarf chewed for a bit longer before nodding. “If you can do that, then we will mark you as brother and friend for life. That man is kin to us. Will you need anything to aid you in this task?”

  “If I find myself in need of anything you can outfit me with, I will not hesitate to ask,” Roth said.

  “Good,” the dwarf said. “Roth, when you get that book finished, if you want to send us a copy, we would appreciate it.”

  “As I write it, I am lettering two drafts. One for myself and one for you. That was always my intention.”

  “Good. Well then, I have work to do.” The man left that as his goodbye and turned to go.

  Roth thanked Gentry Wolfsbane, and he and Gale headed for Timea. Roth had to work a miracle. He had only one idea.

  Knot

  Rayph sat drinking terrible wine trying to stop thinking about Trisha. He wanted to go to the church of Cor-lyn-ber and tear the place to the ground. He looked at the bar around him, at the men and women who peopled it, and he felt the weight of his life fall upon him.

  Ty stood close to the bar, his dagger gripped on his hip and he sloshed his drink in his cup. He was not drinking. Ty had not drunk all night. The man had the instincts of a god. Rayph watched Ty’s discomfort, and it alone told him what was coming.

  Cable sat at a table with Smear and Trysliana. They talked and laughed, but from the look in Cable’s eyes, her attraction to Smear had not died as Rayph had predicted it did. He wondered at what Trysliana thought of this, and he looked to Smear, seeing stress in his face and hearing it in his voice.

  Silk sat talking to his brother. Their eyes roved the room, darting from face to face as they spoke in hushed tones.

  Rayph knew what they were doing. He knew they were dividing up the city. Trying to imagine how much power and wealth would be left after the blood dried. Rayph knew it too early to be doing this, but he did not want to tell them. They were focused on other things. It was best they stayed that way until Rayph told them otherwise.

  Dirge sat at the bar with Eloam talking about different subjects. When the priest spoke on death, Rayph cast a spell to overhear everything being said. He knew the man a problem, knew his rank and his words would be false. He concentrated on the sermon and thought about everything he heard.

  Flawless. The words were flawless, and with them came conviction. This man was either the greatest stage actor Rayph had ever met, or he believed everything he said. Rayph weighed the idea and decided Dirge was indeed a high priest of The Pale. His love for the goddess of death was undeniable. Rayph decided he must have been wrong about the man’s loyalties.

  Jon Jon had yet to come out of hiding. He was wounded. Very wounded. Shiv had concentrated his attacks on the boy throughout the fight, only concerned with keeping Lyceanias back, but striving to kill the thug. Many of those hits had landed. Rayph hoped wherever the young man was he was getting help for his wounds.

  Rayph looked at Ty who stared at the door.

  Ty shouted and spun. The dagger was in the air before the door exploded from outside and Blade Silvertooth stepped in.

  Rayph jumped to his feet and called for his sword. It dropped into his hand and he rushed forward. He needed to make Chaos bleed today. Needed to make Blade pay.

  The windows shattered and Rhonda was in the room. Rayph heard the windows break upstairs and knew Radamuss had come. Rayph turned and ran. Rhonda met Smear in the middle of the floor as men rushed into the room from every entrance. Cable and Trysliana jumped up to defend Smear as he fought Rhonda, striving to keep th
e thugs and toughs from the street off their man.

  Rayph rushed up the stairs and into the room. A figure stood in the corner. It did not move. It did not speak.

  “I know it’s you,” Rayph said. The room was dark, far too dark to see any details clearly. He swung his sword from side to side and grinned a maniac’s smile at the figure before him. “Come to me, Rat. We will see if you can survive me.” Rayph needed Radamuss’s blood. Dissonance’s face flashed before him and he flinched.

  “My rat is beyond you, Rayph,” Brody said as he walked out of the darkness and into the light of the moons. Rayph grinned.

  “Well, I will have to make do with you until I find him,” Rayph said.

  He rushed forward, leading with his sword in a feint, and spat out a spell that slammed into Brody blasting him against the wall, exploding it out into the night sky. Splinters and snapped boards flew in every direction and Brody lifted into the air. He swept his hands out to his side and stopped tumbling through the air. He hovered there and laughed.

  “Rayph Ivoryfist. The great leader. The Hope of the Nation. How did you kill her?” Brody asked.

  Rayph whipped his fist out and a flaming cord wrapped Brody’s ankle. He jerked the man toward him and slashed out with his sword. Brody’s skin deflected the blow. Rayph cursed.

  “Impervious to blades this time,” Brody said. “Every time I come back, it is a mystery to me what strange powers I will have. This time, I’m a wizard as well as a priest. I also have skin that cannot be punctured. I’m afraid you’re going to have to put your sword away.”

  Rayph cast again, slamming Brody with a bolt of pure magical power. It hit Brody and the man flew. Rayph lifted into the air and followed.