Killing the Dead (A Tale of the Assassin Without A Name #2) by Scott Marlowe

Author:Scott Marlowe [Marlowe, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Umberland Press
Published: 2013-06-10T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The stables were empty but for the usual horses and priestly carriages. I even found the alcove where the gardening tools and supplies were kept. But there was no Hesul and no urn. Then I heard the sounds of voices coming from . . . beneath me? I started looking for a way down. There were no obvious stairs, but, in one of the empty stalls, I noticed enough of a disturbance in the otherwise matted hay to raise suspicions. Closer examination revealed a door set into the floor.

I tightened my gloves and took a deep breath. Then I lifted the door and, seeing the ladder I expected, slid down it with only the instep of my boots and a loose grip with my hands to slow my descent. The second I hit the floor, I drew my killing knife and dagger, then spun around.

"You are not Kem," said the one who must be Hesul. Fancying himself a clergyman of sorts, he wore a non-descript habit and an expression on his face that spoke of the harm he meant me or Kem, since it was he who he'd been expecting. Clearly, Hesul gave Father Kem more credit for his daring than he deserved.

Hesul was not alone. I recognized the three bruisers from the cemetery. Not just thugs, after all.

All four of them stood at the other side of a circle that was carved into the stone floor and rimmed with runes. At the center of the circle was an urn I felt quite confident held the hardened ashes of Ashunde.

Hesul spoke. "Our master wanted Kem as his first sacrifice, but no matter. The time of rising is nigh, and you shall do."

I was flattered.

"Take him!"

The three bruisers—still armed with their clubs—began moving around the summoning circle, mindful of not crossing its lines.

I wasn't nearly so careful. With my knife in one hand and my dagger in the other, I charged right into the middle of it and—wincing even before my soft-shoed foot had hit the urn—kicked it as hard as I could. I was hoping Hesul had lied about cementing the ashes. He had not. Kicking the urn hurt about as much as I expected it might, but it also had the intended effect.

Hesul's eyes went wide as it clattered across the floor, end over end. Though the top fell off, nothing but a small amount of dust came out. The clanking urn distracted the other three enough that I was amongst them before they knew what was happening. This time, I showed no mercy. I dropped the first one with a slash to the throat. The next, I gutted with my dagger. The third had enough time to raise his club, but that was all. I slashed his belly open, then, as he fell, opened a chasm in his neck. He wasn't dead when he hit the floor, but he didn't last long past that.

Hesul had spent the time chasing the urn as it bounced off a stack of dusty old crates and settled into a corner.

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