Places To Be, People To Kill

BREIA'S DIAMOND by Cat Collins

Cat Collins began writing at the turn of the century. She lives in the beautiful north of New Zealand with her husband and the youngest of their three sons. “Breia’s Diamond” is her first short story. Her first novel, Sleeping Dragons, was published in November 2005, and two further books in the series await the “right” publisher.

BREIA GROANED and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth tasted like the inside of her boots. She rubbed a throbbing temple and groped beside her for the tumbler of water. Her sword slid away from her questing hand, knocked from its always-ready position to clatter to the floorboards. The sound of shattering glass signified the tumbler’s fate. She cursed, her tongue thick and clumsy in her dry mouth. A gentle snore beside her had her eyes open in a heartbeat. Squinting in the early light, she turned and focused on her companion.

Tagrin. She sighed in relief. Fellow mercenary and occasional, second-choice bedmate. At least he was clean. She tried to recall the events of last evening but was quite unable. No matter. If the previous occasions were anything to go by, he had been adequate-but not memorable. She leaned across his muscular chest and stole his waterflask. He grunted and opened a dark eye.

“No more. I’m done with you. You turn me inside out.”

She scowled and kneed him in the ribs on her way out of the blankets. “I wasn’t inviting you. You’re hardly Terrano.” She drained his flask, then tossed it at him.

“That’s harsh, Breia, truly harsh.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I admit I am a great disappointment to my mother. The sun doesn’t shine out of my arse. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Breia dressed quickly. “In truth, Tag, I don’t remember. You may have been magnificent.” Buckling her sword belt, she glanced through the dingy window and cursed. “I’m late.”

“For what?” Tagrin pulled up the coarse blankets and folded his arms over his chest. His bottom jaw jutted, and his close-set eyes gave him the appearance of a powerful ape that Breia had once seen in a merchant’s caravan.

“Terrano. I’m riding with him today. We drew targets in adjoining towns.”

Tagrin rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Lucky you. Be sure to wear your eye-shields. If he bends over, you’ll go blind.”

Breia snorted. “It’s business, Tag, don’t be bitter. You know how it goes-places to be, people to kill.” She picked up her mantle and stood before the door. “Where’re you headed today?”

“ Crevice Pass. ” Tagrin sat up and scratched his chest, grimacing at the light that fell across his face. “After breakfast. By Carrannah’s Tits, my gut needs food.”

Oily nausea in her own stomach had Breia nodding in agreement. She pulled her fingers through her hair and wove it into its usual short braid. “See you on our return, then. Give my love to the rest of the lads.”

“I thought you already had,” Tagrin muttered.

“Not all of them, Tag,” she said sweetly. “Only you, because you don’t keep me awake too long.” She blew him a smacking kiss and dodged the pillow he threw at her. Chuckling, she descended the narrow staircase and followed her nose to the inn’s breakfast table.

Hot ham and egg scramble packed into a rye trencher seemed the perfect antidote to her hangover. She tossed two coppers to the pimply serving girl. Exiting the shabby inn, she blinked at the glare of winter sun on the whitewashed walls that lined the street. Her head still ached, and probably would all morning. She sighed, bit into her breakfast, and turned west, heading uptown.

The sun warmed her back as she strode toward her rendezvous with Terrano. She smiled around a mouthful of buttery eggs, recalling Tagrin’s scornful remark. That the sun shone from Terrano’s arse was not true. She knew that for fact, having bedded him on many occasions.

The squat shabbiness of their current quarters glowered at her from the shadow of the tall tower it hunkered beneath. Two horses stood tethered outside the structure. Breia’s cheeks heated. Both mounts were ready, bedrolls and bags attached behind the saddles, their breath misting in the cool air.

“Damn,” she muttered, patting Ashen’s warm rump in passing. The gray whickered and rolled an eye at her. Terrano leaned in the doorway holding a steaming mug in one hand and his gauntlets in the other. He sipped the hot brew, his brows raised over eyes the color of a deep lake in summer.

“Glad you could make it.” He tapped the leather gloves against his thigh, his gaze steady and appraising. Breia chewed her cheek and turned toward the gray gelding, checking the animal’s girth straps. Cinched and ready. She dropped the saddle flap and rubbed the animal’s neck.

“Thanks,” she said diffidently. “I, uh…sorry I’m late.”

Terrano drained the mug in long swallows and tossed the dregs at his feet. He wiped his mouth and shrugged. “We should go.” His eyes glinted. Devilry, or irritation? The man was so damned hard to read. “So. Did you have fun?” He set the mug down and pulled on his gauntlets, his steady blue gaze now intent on his preparations.

“I did, thanks. You?” Memory of the previous evening filtered back. Breia’s skin goose-bumped. Tagrin’s blighted Jem-Jem Juice. The fiery orange liquor had fogged her brain, leadened her limbs, and lent seduction to her tongue. Terrano had declined her advances. He always did when she was drunk. Angry, she had stalked away, arm in arm with Tagrin, wearing her tattered dignity as a shield against Terrano’s rejection.

He grinned suddenly, the usual lopsided grin that brought a sunrise to his face. “It was a quiet evening, Bree. Always is when you take yourself somewhere else.” She watched his hands while he fastened his travel cloak. Her head ached in dull throbs. Terrano mounted his tall roan and sat waiting. She hauled herself aboard Ashen, still not meeting Terrano’s eyes.

Terrano clicked his tongue. The roan sidled past Breia and broke into a canter. She sighed and kicked Ashen to a disgruntled trot, watching Terrano’s straight back. She caught up with him just before he reached the Necromancer’s tower. He glanced up at the tall structure, then at her. His horse snorted when he pulled it to a stop.

“Do you know what it is?” His gaze rested atop the tower. One hand shaded his eyes.

Breia reined in and shook her head. “He’s taking his time to build it, whatever he means to use it for. The foundations alone seemed to take forever to put down.”

A faint furrow appeared between Terrano’s brows. “Strange. There’s nothing inside, you know. No floors, no stairs, nothing.”

Breia stared at the odd tower. Two doors, one at the bottom, one at the very top. Between the two doors, one massive window the height of several men, crisscrossed with iron bars. She shrugged. “Mages are strange men, and Necromancers the strangest of them. Pays well, though, eh?” She grinned. “He can be as odd as he likes if he keeps the coin coming.”

“And makes good on his promises,” Terrano added, kneeing his roan to a trot. Breia kept pace.

“There’s seven of us to answer to should he try a double-cross. Tag’d rip the man’s arms off and beat him with them, and I don’t think Hex or Del would let him off too lightly either.” Breia frowned. “D’you think he’s planning to cheat us?”

“He’ll owe us all a fortune when the list’s done. It’s likely he’ll try to stiff us for the rest.”

Breia chewed her cheek. The list was two thirds complete. Only one more page of targets remained. Carefully allocated to each of them by the Necromancer himself, each “target” had proved to be a ne’er-do-well: a drunk, a bum, a down-and-outer with no hope and no light in the eyes. “What about his tower? Why build it if he’s planning to disappear once we’ve done the job? Besides, he’s already paid us a third of the coin.” A sudden thought sent a shiver down her back. “What’s to stop him hiring another band to get rid of us?”

Terrano’s eyes flashed azure in the brightening light. He grinned another sunrise and tapped his left ear. “Simple, Bree. The Diamond Dogs are the best. That’s why he sought us out, and that’s why another band would think no more than twice before turning down such a dangerous assignment.” He winked at her. The five kiffs in his earlobe winked also, reflecting the pale sun. Four studs of metal, and the fifth, a brilliant white diamond. Of the seven in their band, only Breia did not yet wear the high kiff. She fingered her own earlobe. Four kiffs: copper, bronze, silver, and gold. The last piercing still stung. She had come to the gold only last month, but Terrano spoke true. She smiled wryly.

“The best,” she agreed, kicking Ashen to a canter. Leaving doubt and the mysterious tower behind, they rode on.

By the time they reached Riverton, Breia’s stomach howled with hunger and her rear felt like a slab of stone. “Carannah’s Tits,” she muttered, standing in her stirrups and rubbing her saddle-numbed backside.

Terrano chuckled, turning his horse toward a public ostlery. “A beautiful round arse like yours, and it’s not a good cushion?”

Breia bared her teeth at him. Ashen’s iron-shod hooves clanged on the stone of the yard. She slid from her saddle with a groan of relief, and handed the reins to the ostler’s lad. A tossed silver piece brought a grin to his clear-skinned face. “A good rubdown, mind.” Breia arched a brow at the boy. “And the best grain, not the leavings.”

Terrano leaned forward, resting his forearms on the pommel of his saddle. The roan shifted beneath him and snorted. The fading sunset sent a last wash of golden light over his face, then died, casting his features into shadow. “Until we meet again, Princess.” He touched a finger to his forehead and kneed the horse from the yard.

“The road home?” Breia called after him.

His teeth showed white in the gloom. “The road home,” he said over his shoulder, his voice and image fading into the dusk.

“Take care,” she whispered, then turned her thoughts to her night’s work.

Later, slouching beside a midden heap up to her ankles in foul-smelling, freezing mud, Breia cursed the unpredictable nature of these assignments. She shifted her position, hoping she needn’t wait much longer. Her fingers warmed in her armpits and her breath steamed in misty whorls before her face. The Necromancer’s scrying told him where the target would be-when the target would arrive was not so easily predicted. This night, she knew that a man dressed in russet would pass this way: a man bearing a pauper’s candle-lantern and wearing a distinctive hat of red hessian.

A night bird called. Breia held her breath at a sudden rustle behind her. A small rodent sprang from the midden heap and scurried past her. A large shadowy form swooped from a rooftop and flew after the movement, ghosting on silent wings. She was only distracted for a moment, but long enough for the approaching man to notice her, to check his hurried progress through the moonlit lane. She cursed, tightened her fingers on the knife she held, and stepped from the shadows.

It happened quickly. Moving with practiced ease, Breia stepped into the man’s path. His breath steamed in long streams, his eyes wary. He raised his candle-lantern and opened his mouth to speak, but Breia laid a finger to her lips and shook her head. A small frown crossed the man’s face. One step, one thrust. Breia’s longknife entered the man’s belly, tore up through his gut, and found his heart. She held the knife firm. He grunted. The frown melted into surprise, then faded. Breia saw death-knowledge in her victim’s eyes even as blood ran from his mouth. A last choking breath sprayed her face with wet warmth.

“Tits!” She spat and wiped her mouth against her shoulder. Heat flowed over her hand, warmed her fingers. When the man sagged against her and life faded from his eyes, she let the body fall. Still allowing no feeling, no reaction, she listened to the night. No sound other than the light wind. One last task. She bared the man’s neck. With quick strokes of her knife point, she scratched a symbol into the skin beneath his hair. Blood oozed, dark and slow, from the death-mark. Number eight. Two to go, and the list would be complete. The band would collect their promised payment from the Necromancer and move on.

Breia slunk away from the midden heap, keeping her thoughts from the stink of blood and the sound of flesh riven by steel. Her penance would be paid in the long hours before dawn. Dead men’s fingers crawled along her spine at the prospect. Damn Terrano. She could have used his solid presence in her bed this night. Even Tagrin, bless his dark heart, kept the specters at bay. Touching cold fingertips to the burn of the golden kiff in her earlobe, she entered the empty lane behind the ostlery and slipped through the tackroom door.

Ashen’s whiskery muzzle probed Breia’s neck with warm and moist insistence. The horse lipped at her ear. Opening gritty eyes, she pushed him away and yawned. He blew gently and stamped a hoof in the packed straw. Breia pulled her blankets closer beneath her chin.

“By the Divine Witch, I hate cold.” She extended a reluctant arm from her bedroll, clutched her mantle, and drew it beneath the blankets, only succeeding in entangling herself in the fine-woven garment. “Tits!” She stood and wrapped the mantle around her shoulders, shivering and goose-bumped in the chill morning. Blasted alchemists. Couldn’t they have worked a little heat magic into the robe? Her “Mantle of Exclusion,” gifted to her by a Sister of the Flame of Fianna in return for services rendered, had yet to be put to the test for any of its purported protections. Still, she wore it in the hope that it would deflect weapons and magic. And besides, its ability to conform to the wearer’s shape and size made it a damnably flattering garment to wear. It also hid armor plates and weapons alike beneath its clever folds.

The night had taken its toll, as usual. Fatigued and irritable, Breia saddled Ashen and made a clandestine exit in the dawn’s peach glow. Breakfast could wait until she reached the first town on the road home. As well to be away before the frozen russet mound was discovered beneath the dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. A layer of innocence over a dark deed, she reflected. Carrannah forgive me. These killings lay like stones on my soul. She heaved a sigh. Two more. Then she would return to good, honest mercenary hire-outs. No more knifing desperates in the dark. No more nights of relived killings, of eyes leaking life and light.

And yet, the Necromancer’s coin had been too good to refuse. A small fortune, in fact. Enough to ensure a comfortable future. After all, a bluff woman such as herself was unlikely ever to know the comforts of the marriage bed. As if she had need of a man. She had always provided for herself, and among her fellow mercenaries she had found acceptance, although it had been hard-won. A few cracked heads had convinced them she was a worthy fighter and not an easy mark. She grimaced and tightened numb fingers on the reins. Except for Terrano. He had observed her struggle for acceptance, for respect and a place in his small band. Observed with his usual amused indifference and kept his distance.

Kicking Ashen to a canter, she shook her head. Terrano was not averse to sharing her bed, but he never sought her out. It was always she, drawn like a moth to a bright flame, who instigated their trysts. She sighed, her breath misting only a little in the warming air. She knew his reputation. Ta-grin had delighted in passing it on. He used to hire out to the Temple Tribunes in Tamisia, until they found him humping a priestess or two. Tribs didn’t take too kindly to that. Ran Terrano out of the last five northern regions he tried to work in. Similar stories abounded. Don’t be getting fond of him, Bree, Tagrin had warned her.

Breia put all thoughts of Terrano aside. That he was under her skin was an unfortunate fact, but she would dwell on it no longer. Carannah’s Tits! Was she not a fine mercenary? Self-made and already wearing the golden kiff? She shortened rein and dug her heels into Ashen’s ribs, sending the gelding into a full gallop. The road was straight and even, and her irritation was soon lost in the exhilaration of speed.

By midday, Breia’s rump numbed once more. “Well, Ashen my friend,” she murmured, rubbing the gelding’s neck beneath the slate-gray mane. “My backside tells me it’s time for a stop.” Deciding to seek a hot tavern meal and perhaps an ale, Breia turned Ashen away from the main route that would bypass the next village.

Before they had reached the village way-stone, the sound of a fast rider made Breia’s spine crawl. Always, after these missions, she feared discovery. Hunching into her mantle, she drew up the hood. Ashen plodded on, his head bobbing in a steady cadence with each step. Breia stared straight ahead, her pulse loud in her ears. Within the mantle, her hand crept to the hilt of her shortsword. Ashen rolled an eye at the newcomer and whickered in greeting. Breia glanced sideways. The red-speckled muzzle of Terrano’s roan set her fears to rest.

“Good hunting, Princess?” Terrano’s familiar grin seemed a little strained, and fatigue shadowed his lake-blue eyes.

“Of course,” she said airily, then frowned. “What happened? You look like shit.”

The grin faded. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be glad when the list’s done, is all.” He kicked the roan to a trot. “Come on. It’s festival day in these parts. Hare pie and venison steaks, and any pastries you care to name. Hungry?” The grin reappeared, but did not touch his eyes. Heartened at the prospect, Breia followed.

A short time later, they sat outside a busy tavern, claiming a corner of a long table. Breia ate a hearty stew of mutton and vegetables. Terrano dipped coarse bread into the pink juices that ran from a generous portion of roasted deer haunch. “Today is the Eve of the Rising Flesh,” Terrano murmured, and winked at a girl whose coy glances had not escaped Breia’s notice. The maiden dimpled at him, licking her fingers clean of grease.

Breia snorted. “That’s the festival?”

Terrano shrugged. “It’s only a name. Same function as May Day serves in the north.”

“Fertility rites and associated trysting?” Breia raised her brows.

“We should stick around.” Terrano spoke around a mouthful of venison. “There’s no hurry to get back, and festival night’s always entertaining.”

Breia stared. “For who?”

Terrano nudged her gently. “Ah, Bree. I could use a little diversion this night.” He raised his tankard and took a long swallow of ale, his eyes roaming the growing crowd in the village square.

“You want me to leave you here?” She scooped up the last of the stew with a crust of bread. He considered her. She washed the bread down with cool ale. “You’re staring,” she muttered, licking her fingers before wiping them on her breeches. A faint line appeared between his brows. He looked away.

“Go if you want.” His diamond kiff glinted in the wintry sun. His eyes rested on the girl who had caught his attention earlier. Following his gaze, Breia sighed.

“Festival sounds like fun, Tee, but I don’t want to…get in your way.” She drained her tankard and rose from her seat, wanting to kick his licentious backside.

He frowned. “Stay, Bree. Have a little fun.” He waved a hand at the crowd of young people heaving a gaudy pole upright in the square. Blessed Carannah! Breia gawked, then chuckled. The wooden pole, painted and beribboned, was crudely carved at its tip. Still grinning, Breia watched while several young men secured the pole. Maybe she would stay and ingest enough liquor to ensure an untroubled night’s sleep.

A spell-hawker approached, selling charms and potions to the tavern’s patrons. “A philter to ensure your potency tonight,” he proclaimed, thrusting a packet at Terrano. The small man winked at Breia. “Perhaps he won’t need it with a lusty woman like yourself in his bed, eh, my dear? But if he does, it’s only four coppers-three to a beauty such as yourself.”

Irritated by the hawker’s misplaced flattery, Breia pushed away the offered philter. “I have no need of your spells, good fellow, and my friend here can answer for himself.”

Terrano chuckled and declined the packet with a wave of his hand. “As you so rightly pointed out, spell-maker, my lady’s beauty is all the potion I need.” He pushed himself to his feet and tossed the man a few coppers. “Take yourself to the lass over there by the well. The one in green. Give her my regards and your prettiest ribbons.” He turned to Breia, his expression suddenly unreadable. “And my apologies. I won’t be seeing her tonight.” His mouth firmed. The spell-hawker grinned and left them with a sly wink at Breia.

“My lady?” Breia arched her brows at Terrano and folded her arms over her chest. Terrano’s eyes hardened. He grasped her elbow, steered her away from the table and shoved her against the tavern wall.

“You know, Breia, for a moment I forgot who I was talking to.” His voice was low and hard. “I saw a beautiful woman, forgetting that beneath that elegant mantle lies a breastplate of hardened leather and a sword that could take off my head.” His eyes glittered like blue gemstones. “For a moment, I saw a lady, not a killer.”

Breia stiffened. She shook off his hand and stabbed a finger at his chest. “I don’t need your pity, nor your pretty lies.”

He blinked. “I’ve never lied to you.” His brows drew into a frown. “For all your miscreant ways and unusual life path, you are beautiful.” He stepped away from her.

Breia stared at him, daring him to laugh, to admit the jest, the tease. He only tilted his head a little and returned her stare. Beautiful? She threw the mantle back from her shoulders, baring the scarred leather armor, the glint of knives and the comforting presence of her shortsword. “Let’s not fool ourselves, eh?” she whispered.

The shadow returned to Terrano’s eyes. Before he could answer, a collective cheer rose from the burgeoning crowd behind them. It was late afternoon, and much ale had flowed. Several youths hoisted lasses onto their shoulders. The girls shrieked, skirts askew and pale limbs wrapped around their mount’s shoulders. A race ensued. The crowd whooped encouragement while the sturdy lads strove to outdo each other, flushed and panting beneath their giggling burdens.

Breia leaned against the tavern wall and folded her arms. The hardened leather pinched her armpits and flattened her breasts, but it was a familiar discomfort. The breastplate did not accommodate the female form. Beautiful? She had hair and eyes the color of mud and a mouth that grimaced more readily than it smiled. She snorted under her breath and scuffed a booted heel into the packed earth. Either Terrano had questionable judgment, or he was muddle-sighted.

He stood with his back to her, his arms crossed over his chest. His longsword glinted in the late sunlight, its hilt resting between his shoulder blades. Wanting to restore their usual, easy peace, she reached out one foot and poked him in the back of the knee. “Hey.” He didn’t turn. The race ended amid much cheering and applause. The winners were liberally doused with ale, and the girls dismounted from their steeds with as much decorum as they had managed to retain. “Come on, O complimentary one. I’ll buy you a drink. May as well catch up with the rest of them, hm?” Breia elbowed him in the ribs on her way into the tavern.

Much later, the horses attended to, Breia and Terrano had indeed caught up with the villagers. Twilight settled over the village. Lively music played, and old and young swung partners in dance. The phallic pole stood resplendent among the revelers, its paper ribbons fluttering in the heat of bonfires lit around the square.

Breia lounged against the tavern wall, having lost her place at the long table. She sipped warmed wine and closed one eye to focus on Terrano. Challenged to an arm-wrestling match, he had assessed the risk and made a substantial bet. The raw youth who had challenged raised coin from his friends and matched Terrano’s stake. Others had joined in the betting, and now a noisy crowd surrounded the table where the combatants had claimed space.

Breia knew his technique. Had laid a bet of her own. Terrano’s lean form belied his strength. If he put coin on the line, it was fairly certain he’d win. Two years of riding with the Diamond Dogs had taught her much. His face contorted in a fierce grimace, and his biceps bulged. She grinned and took another swallow of spiced wine. Terrano’s opponent gave a mighty roar. Terrano twitched, a slight release of his shoulder. Breia closed her eyes and counted to three. Groans and cheers erupted from the watchers. She grinned and looked again. The massive youth rubbed his arm and shook his head ruefully. Terrano collected his winnings and tossed the defeated man a silver coin, to the loud approval of the crowd. With only a slight weave, he made his way to Breia.

“Yours, I believe.” He dropped two gold coins into her palm. “I thank you for your faith in me.” She inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment. Before she could suggest utilizing the winnings on a night in the comfort of an inn, the music stopped playing. In the sudden quiet, a rhythmic drumming began. A slight shift in the direction of the breeze blew smoke across the square. In the haze, a group of young women gathered. All wore mantles of bright-dyed wool, and slow-stepped around the pole in time to the drums.

A gradual hush fell over the square. Terrano took the goblet from Breia and drank, watching the ritual. The drumming stopped. A lone piper began a high, sweet melody. The girls formed a circle, moved to the edges of the crowd and began a weaving dance in and out of the line of young men who stood at the front. A fiddle and a flute joined the piper, and before long the drums began again. At the full crescendo of the music, the girls unfastened their mantles and each singled out a lad. The music stopped abruptly. Mantles flew. As each gay mantle settled around the shoulders of a young man, the girls stepped away, hands clasped behind their backs and eyes downcast.

The lads glanced around the crowd. Some grinned, some looked uncomfortable. One tall lad pulled the mantle from his shoulders and handed it back to the girl beside him, grinning awkwardly and shaking his head. Disappointment filled her round face, but she shrugged and smiled. Several others were similarly rebuffed, and the crowd groaned in sympathy with each returned mantle. When the youth closest to the tavern reached up with deliberate slowness and fastened the yellow mantle across his chest, the girl beside him threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with great exuberance. The remaining youths also accepted their mantling, and the musicians began a lively dance.

Terrano rolled his eyes. “Fools! Going so meekly to the mantle. Hardly more than boys, yet committing themselves to support a wife-and a babe before the year’s out.” He shook his head. “No experience of life, nor their options. Blind fools.”

Breia pursed her lips and glanced at him sideways. “What of the warm bed and the home, to say nothing of the care and affection? Mantling is good for a man, especially these village lads. Most of them will live here all their lives.”

Terrano snorted. “Or run away to sea when the squalling of babes and an acid tongue greet them each evening. I’ll settle for an occasional warm bed.” The beginnings of a smile curved his mouth at the corners. He leaned closer, tickling Breia’s ear with his breath. “Your bedroll or mine, Princess?” His hair brushed her cheek. He smelled of leather and wood smoke, and she leaned into him, already responding to his invitation. Jingling the gold coins in her pocket, she took his arm and tugged him toward the inn beside the tavern. “No bedrolls tonight,” she breathed in his ear. “Let’s get really comfortable.”

He grinned and followed her into the welcoming pool of lamplight that spilled from the inn’s doorway.

Two weeks after Breia and Terrano’s joint sojourn, all of the band except Keenan had completed their lists. Breia’s last kill still haunted her. A ragged and pathetic young whore, dying from her disease, a dead infant lying in filth at her side. Wrestling with her conscience, Breia had taken several days to complete the mission. Eventually, she smothered the girl with her own greasy pillow and vomited outside the shack until her eyes watered and bile dripped from her nose. Memories of the thin body twitching beneath her hands filled her nights with shame.

But it was over. The list was done, her future secured. Breia ran her fingers down the blade of her sword. She poured a dipper of water onto her whetstone and began the careful process of honing the weapon.

“Keenan’s back.”

Lost in her thoughts and the scrape of metal on stone, she started at the voice behind her. Terrano dropped to the bench beside her and leaned his elbows on the scarred table behind him. “We can be gone from here in the morning.” He scanned the worker’s quarters where they had lived for the past few months. Breia followed his gaze. The low building had been an adequate shelter in which to pass the winter-more of a bunkhouse than a home, but they had seen worse. A wide hearth set into the back wall was seldom without a blaze, and a cook pot hung close to the fire, bubbling with the evening’s offering. Rabbit with onions, according to the aroma that filled the quarters. She tested her blade with her thumb.

“So where to next? Any ideas?”

Terrano grunted and stretched out his legs. “Tag’s making noises about the northern lands.”

“And you?” Breia kept her eyes on her sword. “I heard tell you were run out of the north. Something to do with the Temple Tribunes, I believe.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So Tag talks in his sleep, does he?” She squinted down the length of her blade and frowned. Terrano chuckled. “The Tribs don’t last long. The Temple is a hard master. I doubt I’d be recognized now.”

“And the priestesses?” Breia sheathed her sword and tucked the whetstone into her pack.

He sighed. “Gentle does, with the curves of the Divine Witch herself.”

“And Divine Carrannah’s lusty appetite for pleasure, I hear.” Tagrin’s rumble announced his arrival. “Keenan scored. We’re to gather tonight at the tower.” He pulled a chunk of rabbit from the simmering pot and blew on it. “Did you see the latest development?” The meaty chunk waved in the direction of the tower, then disappeared into Tagrin’s mouth.

“The slide? Hm. Who would have thought that the old corpse-waker was building a helter-skelter?” Terrano barked a short laugh. “A desperate attempt to shore up his reputation-gain the approval of the townsfolk.”

“By providing a costly toy for their children,” Breia said thoughtfully. “The metal alone is worth much coin, not to mention the work that’s gone into bending it around that tower.” The chute had arrived in sections, and workers had this day assembled it, fastening and smoothing each length of the slide with the help of a metallurgist’s spells. The curved slide spiraled its way from the top door of the tower to the bottom, encircling it several times like a giant silver serpent.

Horses clattered into the small yard before the mercenaries’ quarters. Terrano turned, peering through the doorway. “Here’s Hex and Del. Where’s Donell?”

Tagrin thumped his chest and belched. “Gone to buy bread to soak up the stew.” He stirred the cook pot with a massive ladle, shielding his fingers with his thick sleeve. He grinned at Breia. “And Jem-Jem Juice, if you’d care to join me…”

Breia grimaced and shook her head. “No thanks, Tag. That stuff’s dangerous. A girl could wake up anywhere.” Tagrin clutched his heart and staggered, his broad face contorting into a grieved expression. Breia grinned and ignored him.

Terrano’s jaw twitched. He pushed himself to his feet and left the bunkhouse without another word. Tagrin pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Was it something I said?”

“Shut up, Tag,” Breia muttered, suddenly aware of how things had changed between the three of them.

The Diamond Dogs ate, drank, and swapped dreams and plans for their extravagant futures. Hex and Del, dark-skinned brothers from the south coast, cleaned up after the meal. When the sun sank below the town’s western skyline, it was time to meet with their employer.

Before they left the quarters, Terrano addressed them all. “No more drinking.” His serious gaze swept the band. Tagrin belched. Hex chuckled and elbowed his brother. Terrano frowned. “There will be much gold to watch over this night, and I would have you clearheaded enough to do so. We will sleep in shifts-three to stay awake at all times. Agreed? Come on, then. Let’s go get rich.” He stood aside, and the band hustled into the yard.

The helter-skelter loomed tall and silent over the quiet street. Early twilight gleamed pale pink on the metallic chute that embraced the tower. The Diamond Dogs approached the open door at its base. Stacked against the outside wall were sections of the giant spiral staircase that would take would-be sliders to the small door at the top of the chute. Lamplight glowed within the tower, and the sound of voices came from within. Terrano stepped up to the doorway and knocked.

“Come in, all of you,” called the familiar rasp of the Necromancer. Peering around Terrano’s shoulder, Breia saw the mage standing alone on the circular stone floor. Beside him sat a large wooden chest. Terrano scanned the inside of the tower.

“Who were you talking to?” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe.

The Necromancer blinked. “Myself. And my…guide, of course.”

“Your guide.” Terrano straightened.

“Not of this world, my dear Terrano, and not something that need concern you.”

Breia’s skin goose-bumped. The mage’s indigo robes swished when he bent to the chest and opened the lid. Breia’s eyes widened. Gold coin filled the chest to the brim, and a soft yellow glow haloed the fortune. The Necromancer’s features smoothed. He tucked his hands into his sleeves. “You distrust me, I see.” He sighed. “My art is one feared by many. I do not hold your suspicions against you.” He indicated the gold with a pale hand. “Here is what I promised you, and more besides. I have been well pleased with you.” He smiled, a mere stretching of lips over teeth. “You have helped me achieve a vast work. Take your reward.”

Terrano sought Tagrin over his shoulder. His brows lifted. “There’s no one about,” Tagrin said in answer to the unspoken question.

Terrano nodded. “Be quick, all of you.” The band filed into the tower. Tagrin closed the lid of the chest and grasped one of its rope handles, testing its weight. It barely moved. Terrano gestured to Hex and Keenan. Del and Donell took the third side, and Terrano and Breia, the fourth. They heaved together, but the chest did not move. The movement of the door caught Breia’s eye too late.

“Tee!” Her eyes met his just as the door closed with a solid whump. Tagrin ran for the exit, his massive shoulder connecting with the wood in an impact that should have shattered the planking.

Terrano whirled toward the Necromancer, but the mage no longer stood on the stone circle. He floated the height of two men above them, and continued to rise toward the topmost door, his features set in a serene smile.

Keenan gazed up at the escaping mage. “The slide! He’s running out on us!”

“But the gold…” Breia stooped and opened the chest. Empty. Shock pierced her gut. “Illusion,” she breathed, and drew her throwing knives. Terrano’s knives already hissed through the air, and Breia’s followed. Before the wicked blades could reach the Necromancer’s flesh, he made a brushing gesture with his hands. The knives fell away, clattering harmlessly at their feet.

“What have you done, you stinking corpse-waker?” Tagrin’s raw bellow drew the mage’s eye. And Breia’s. He clutched his shoulder, and his arm hung at an odd angle. The door remained undamaged. Terrano reached behind his head and drew the longsword from the sheath at his back. He strode to the door and took a mighty swing at the wood. The strident ring of metal on metal filled the tower. A long diagonal slash in the wood revealed the truth. A thin skin of wood over a metal plate. Tagrin and Keenan drew swords and attacked the walls, only to discover more metal plating.

The Necromancer’s thin laughter floated down from the exit to the chute. He stood braced in the upper doorway, his face a pale moon in the cowl of his robe. “Did you think you would escape judgment for your deeds, Terrano? You and your band have sent seventy souls to the realm of the dead. Seventy! Does that number hold any significance for you, Diamond Dogs?” He paused, resting his gaze on each of them in turn. Breia’s breath came in gasps, and her heart threatened to escape her chest, so frantic was its pounding. The slight mage rubbed his chin. “Then perhaps seventy-seven will hold more meaning for you.” His tone chilled Breia’s gut.

Terrano’s face drained of color. “The arcane key,” he muttered, nursing his sword arm. Breia saw a dreadful understanding in his eyes. “We are the seven,” he grated. “He means to dispose of us here.” The whisper of drawn steel sounded around the tower. Terrano’s longknives appeared in his hands. Breia’s mouth dried. She slid her sword from its sheath and stood, shifting her weight from side to side, her gaze darting around the band.

High above them, the Necromancer muttered in a constant burble of sound, his hands outstretched. The tower’s foundations shifted beneath Breia’s feet. She backed toward the curved wall, Hex at her left and Donell at her right. Keenan and Del remained in the center, staring at the stone which writhed as stone should not. The mage’s mutterings grew louder. The foundations heaved, and a massive grinding rumble began far beneath their feet.

Opposite Breia, Terrano’s eyes widened, flew to meet hers. “The death-mark,” he called above the groaning stone. He extended an index finger, moved it in a wide pattern over the floor. “It’s here, marked into the stone!”

Oh, Carannah, save us! A dusky red line she had not noticed before curved in a sinuous design, simple yet awfully familiar. The mark they had all inscribed into their victims’ flesh. A violent crack resounded in the small space. The stone floor rent from Terrano’s side straight across to Breia.

The Necromancer’s voice rose to a thin screech. “Come, Avatar! Rise, Golem God!”

Avatar Golem! The mage had worked a summoning. Breia swallowed, gripped her sword hilt in sweating palms and stared into the riven stone. Keenan and Del stepped back, separated by the widening fissure, their swords held before them. With a sound like the first crack of overhead thunder, the floor beneath Del opened. He fell straight down. His sword skittered away when he gripped the edge of the stone, scrabbling and heaving, his face contorted with fear.

Hex leaped toward his brother. Before he could reach him, a massive hand the color of a stagnant pond reached from the rift and gripped Del around the neck. Hex swung his sword down on the green-scummed forearm. The blade impacted with a wet, sucking sound. Del ’s eyes bulged. His mouth worked soundlessly. His fingers slipped, leaving trails of blood. Hex roared and struck again. Tagrin charged toward them, but Del had gone. Keenan raised his sword against a second arm that hooked over the edge of the fissure. Before he could swing the blade down, the stone opened beneath him. He disappeared without a sound. Tagrin and Hex hacked at the emerging back and shoulders, their blows causing no obvious damage. When the hunched creature lifted its head from the depths of the stone, its mouth opened in a gurgling hiss.

Breia’s knees turned to water. She stumbled back against the wall. The Golem’s eyes, deep holes of darkness in a ridged, bony face, stared straight at her. She panted, ashamed to hear a sob at the end of each breath.

“Breia!” Terrano shouted, but she could only stare into the soulless eyes, seeing in their depths the deaths of each victim. The Golem’s face rippled. In quick succession, she saw the features of those she had killed. The last, the young whore she had smothered, stared at her in mute appeal. “Breia! Look away!” Suddenly beside her, Terrano gripped her chin, forced her face from the Golem. Cringing and trembling, she stared into his eyes, blue and alive, his brows drawn in fierce intensity.

Tagrin leaped at the Golem’s back. His longknife flashed at the corded neck. Terrano pushed Breia behind him. “Tag, no! Get clear…” Before he could complete the warning, the Golem reached behind its head with both huge fists. It grasped Tagrin by the head and pulled him over one shoulder. Tagrin roared and struggled, slashing wildly with his knife. Wherever the blade cut, the gray-green flesh melded together, leaving no evidence of harm. The Golem raised its head, looked straight at Terrano and snapped Tagrin’s neck like a dry stick.

“Tag…” Breia choked on the word. Tagrin’s limp body fell from the Golem’s grasp and disappeared beneath the foundations. Hex staggered toward them, his mouth twisted with grief and rage. Terrano pulled Hex beside him. “Don’t look at its eyes,” he rasped. “It’ll paralyze you until it can reach you. Hex!” He shook the dark man. “Grieve for Del later.”

Hex stared at Terrano. Without warning, he launched himself at the still-emerging Golem. Terrano cursed. Hex’s guttural battle cry was cut short. His sword fell, knocked away by a fist the size of a man’s head. The Golem’s other hand crushed Hex’s throat, lifted his body, and threw it at the wall above Breia’s head. She didn’t turn when it landed in a sickening thud behind her.

The Golem braced its hands on each side of the yard-wide rift. Its shoulders bulged and hunched. The stone groaned. The gap widened.

“It needs all of us to free itself entirely,” Terrano murmured urgently. “Seven, each with the blood of ten on their hands. Seventy and seven: the arcane key.” He glared up at their left. Breia looked. The mage appeared to be in a trance.

“How could you know that?” Terror thickened her voice.

Terrano threw her a sideways glance. “A little priestess told me.”

The Golem heaved one huge knee from the rift, but its hips remained wedged. The rotting-meat stench of its breath blasted Breia with each frustrated roar.

“Donell, are you hurt?” Terrano leaned past Breia. Donell’s ragged breathing belied his calm expression.

“No. What do you have in mind?” He drew his brows over coal-dark eyes. Terrano gazed up above their heads. Sweat trickled from his temple. The Golem bellowed.

“The window we saw from outside. It must be above us, but boarded up.”

Donell edged along the wall to where the fake treasure chest rested. Free now of illusion, its weight had returned to normal. He pulled it back to them and climbed atop it. Terrano mounted beside him, pulled two short daggers from his belt and handed them to Breia. “It’s up to you, Princess.” He and Donell clasped each other’s wrists and held their makeshift step ready for her foot. Misery rose in her throat. She could only nod dumbly and tuck the knives into her own belt. Behind her, the Golem thumped a mighty arm on the floor, trembling the walls. It heaved and reached, its fingers only inches from Donell’s legs.

“Carannah’s Tits, Bree! Go now!” Terrano’s chest heaved, his eyes darted toward the stagnant fingers that strained toward them. She set a foot in their hands and felt them heave her up. Donell fell. Breia shrieked and toppled sideways. Terrano grabbed at her, steadied them both against the wall.

“Don’t look,” he breathed, but she did. Twisting and screaming, Donell clawed at the stone. The Golem gripped his lower leg and drew him toward the fissure.

Breia closed her eyes and fumbled with the clasp of her mantle. Pulling it free, she laid it around Terrano’s shoulders and clipped it across his chest.

The fabric swirled and settled around his body, adjusting to his shape. He blinked and frowned, but held his hands ready for her. She set one foot in his palms and pressed her mouth to his. He boosted her high. She stepped onto his shoulders. He braced himself against the wall and raised his hands, and when she stepped onto them, pushed her higher. She wobbled and stabbed at the wood above her with one dagger. Below, the Golem roared a foul-breathed blast. The stone cracked loudly. Her blade struck metal. Weeping with frustration, she stabbed again, but higher. The wood splintered. The knife sank to the hilt into bark-thin veneer, then tore down and lodged on a metal bar with a dull clunk.

Terrano gasped a curse. She felt him twist beneath her. Not daring to look, she tore through the wooden fascia with the second dagger and heaved herself up. Dropping the first knife, she drove her fist through the shattered wood and gripped the bar behind it. She swung one leg up and kicked in a toehold, pulled the remaining dagger free, and stabbed it higher. Within moments, she clung to the iron-barred window with both hands, and both feet stood firmly on the metal rungs.

She looked up. The Necromancer stood, trancelike, still braced in the exit to the slide. She looked down. Terrano flattened his back into the wall and flinched away from the Golem’s reaching fingers. His face ran with sweat. He fumbled at the mantle’s clasp with one hand.

“Tee, no!” she screamed at him. “Forget the mantling! It’s a Flame Guard’s cape-a Mantle of Exclusion.” Seeing the dawning understanding in his eyes, she continued her heaving climb, gasping for breath, her shoulders burning with effort. Reaching the top of the window, she balanced carefully, then inched her hands up the wall toward the struts that supported the step to the tower’s exit.

Contact. Her raw fingertips closed over the strut. She closed her eyes and swallowed. A loud curse from below and the tremble of the walls powered her tired arms into a prodigious heave. Inch by inch, she hauled herself up until her chin reached the step. At the end of her strength, she hooked an elbow over the small platform, colliding with the Necromancer’s feet. Horrified, she clung to the step. A fall would mean certain death.

His lips moved in a continual mutter, but he did not register her presence. She glanced down and saw the pallor of Terrano’s upturned face. And the Golem, one thigh remaining in the rift, one giant knee now braced on the stone floor. Fresh panic fueled her. By the Divine Witch, let the Mantle’s power be true, and not just myth. Her toes scrabbled against the rough wood paneling, providing just enough propulsion for her to drag herself up in front of the mage’s feet. The tower shook. Breia wormed past the Necromancer and thrust herself through the exit. Holding on to each side of the doorway, she drew her knees to her chest, screamed a foul curse, and shot her legs out.

Her boots caught the mage behind his thighs. His arms flew up. He crumpled forward and fell in a billow of indigo robes. Breia spun and pushed herself out into the chute, desperate to reach Terrano before the Golem could. Night air rushed past her cheeks and whined in her ears. Faster she slid, and faster still. Her eyes watered; fear for Terrano trembled her whole body. The dizzying spiral ride ended in a tumble headlong into cold mud.

Rolling to her feet, she sprinted around the tower to the door. There was no sound. All evidence of their dreadful ordeal lay sealed inside the tower, no doubt concealed by the Necromancer’s art. Reaching the door, she pulled on the heavy latch. The screech of metal on metal set her teeth on edge. Heaving her whole weight against the lever, she groaned in relief when it lifted with a sullen clank. The door itself was solid. Bracing a foot against the outer wall, she strained to pull it open. It swung slowly outward.

Shoulder muscles on fire, Breia slipped through the opening. The Golem turned its eyes on her. She did not look at it, nor at the crumpled indigo heap beside it. Terrano lay still beside the empty chest.

“Tee!” The scream hurt her throat. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Blood ran from his temple, but he managed a crooked smile. Relief weakened her limbs. “Can you move?” He bared his teeth and sat up, swiping blood from his eyes with his sleeve. The Golem growled, a sound between a belch and a drain. Wrapping the mantle tightly about him, Terrano braced his back against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. The Golem’s hand extended toward him, brushed the mantle. Terrano turned his shoulder, and the enormous fingers slid from his back. Astonished, Breia heard a faint hiss, smelled the stench of burning flesh.

The Golem howled, snatched its hand back, and lowered its repulsive head. Terrano half-slid, half-stumbled along the wall toward Breia. Just before he reached her, a gobbet of green expectorate jetted from the Golem’s mouth, coating Terrano from shoulders to hips. In the same instant that Breia grabbed Terrano’s wrist, the Golem’s hand closed around the slimed mantle.

Terrano choked. A phlegmy chuckle gurgled in the Golem’s throat. It pulled Terrano toward the fissure. Terrano tried to prize Breia’s fingers from his wrist, but she would not let him go. His face darkened. The Golem’s grip squeezed the breath from him, and Breia was drawn along with him, her boots sliding on the stone. In sudden inspiration, she leaped forward and released the clasp of the mantle.

The garment slid from Terrano like a shed snakeskin. He heaved in a great breath and tumbled forward. Confused for a moment, the Golem stared at the smoking mantle in its hand. Long enough for Breia to drag Terrano the last few feet to the door. She pushed him through the gap and threw herself out, landing on top of him in an inelegant tumble of arms and legs. He groaned and lay still, apart from the heaving of his chest. Gray-green fingers scrabbled at the doorway.

Breia rolled off and lay beside him, regaining her own breath. She turned her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his face bloodied and bruised. “It can’t get any farther out without killing one of us, right?”

“Not one inch,” he breathed. “Without us, it’ll be long gone before morning. Returned to the depths it came from.”

Breia nodded. She rolled over and stood. Setting her shoulder to the door, she pushed it closed and latched it. “And now?” she asked, dropping to her knees in the mud beside him.

He opened his eyes and licked blood from a split lip. “You mantled me.” His tone was incredulous.

“And I released you from it.” She shrugged and looked away, out toward the peaceful village. “Think nothing of it, Tee. It protected you. That’s enough.” His attitude stung her. Delayed reaction to the evening’s events rose in her chest. Tagrin and four comrades, lost to the Golem. Tears prickled her eyes.

Mud squelched beside her. Terrano sat up with a soft gasp of pain. His shoulder rested warm against hers. “I owe you, Princess. A new mantle, among other things.” He turned her face toward him, his fingers gentle beneath her chin. “And if you should choose to employ it as you did your last, that’s well enough with me.” His arm came around her shoulders.

Exhausted and sad, kneeling in cold mud beneath the stars of early spring, Breia turned and embraced the man who called her beautiful.