Shadowcloaks by Benjamin Hewett

Author:Benjamin Hewett [Hewett, Benjamin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781793811233
Published: 2019-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

There are some moments I’m proud of in my life. Some moments that give me a nice, warm feeling way down in my belly, if I bother to think of them later.

This is not one of them.

Lucinda might be just fine out in the open, but there’s only so much beating my frame can take. It’s a lot less than those four Nightshades and their buddies and can deliver.

I spring the lock with a flick of my wrist, reach down with both hands, and yank hard on the grate. It slides, biting through my gloves. I yank again. The grate barely moves. I jerk again desperately, scanning the rooftops to make sure no one is taking aim. The grate moves again as I pull, but only an inch or so. Even desperate, I can’t move it.

Two of the Nightshades are already on Lucinda, who is trying to back away toward the alley. She doesn’t dare turn her back. Sandy, just a step behind, shouts at them to slow down and flank her but they don’t listen.

When Lucinda stumbles they see the blood, and both go for the kill at the same time, shoulder to shoulder. But it’s a feint, a deception. She’s already pivoting, falling off her bad leg and onto her good in a graceful spin that exposes her side but increases the force of her swing. There is no way for them to dodge or duck. Her blade decapitates the shorter of the two and rips through the taller man’s chin.

Sandy curses, trying to take advantage of her rotation, but even with his ring on he is too slow and too far away. She catches his long dagger on her bracer and twists, swinging her own blade directly through his shortsword, which shatters. Time slows as he slides forward, twisting impossibly under the flying metal shards, his hand already in his jacket.

Lucinda!

I don’t even have time to shout, only to think. Then her boot is there, kicking him back, keeping her space free, her weight on her stronger leg.

Sandy stumbles backward, yanking a second long knife from his jacket, looking frantic for a moment, but Lucinda doesn’t follow him. He swears, knowing he almost had her, unwilling to step into her long reach again without a solid opening. He tries to circle to the left but she matches him, always backing away, always staying between him and me.

The other remaining man puts a fist-size wooden box to his mouth and blows hard into it. At first the box whines like a horsehair bow on taut wire, but the sound builds quickly into a chorus of wounded ducks. The sound penetrates the air, dominates it like a bad smell. It’s more grating than trumpets, bounding over rooftops and squeezing easily between crowded buildings.

Lucinda’s not stupid. She knows she can’t stand against an army. Suddenly she’s there next to me, lending her strength. The heavy, iron barrier practically flies away from the down-shaft to the sewer.

We dive into the hole at the same time, tangling together as we fall.

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