The Bonehunters

As they set out, westward, the cliff-face of the promontory to their right, the Adjunct said, 'Do most grown men bounce off when they run into you, Kalam Mekhar?'



'Quick always said I was the densest man he ever knew.'



'A Hand has broken cover,' T'amber said. 'They're moving parallel to us.'



Kalam glanced to his left. Seeing nothing, no-one. How does she know that? Do I doubt her? Not for a moment. 'Are they converging on our path?'



'Not yet.'



More official buildings, and then the first of the major estates of the Lightings District. No marauding riots up here. Naurally. 'At least we've got the streets to ourselves,' he muttered. More or less.



'There are but three gates leading down to Old Upper Estates,' the Adjunct said after a moment, 'and we are fast coming opposite the last of them.'



'Aye, any further west and it's all wall, an ever higher drop the farther we go. But there's an old estate, abandoned for years and hopefully still empty. There's a way down, and if we're lucky the Claw don't know about it.'



'Another Hand's just come up through the last gate,' T'amber said. '



They're linking up with the other one.'



'Just the two here in Lightings?'



'So far.'



'Are you sure?'



She glanced across at him. 'I have a keen sense of smell, Kalam Mekhar.'



Smell? 'I didn't know Claw assassins have stopped bathing.'



'Not that kind of smell. Aggression, and fear.'



'Fear? There's only the three of us, for Hood's sake!'



And one of them is you, Kalam. Even so, they all want to be the Hand that takes you down. They will compete for that honour.'



'Idiots.' He gestured ahead. 'That one, with the high walls. I see no lights-'



'The gate is ajar,' the Adjunct said as they drew closer.



'Never mind that,' T'amber said. 'Here they come.'



All three spun round.



The deadening effect of the Adjunct's unsheathed sword was far more efficacious than that of Kalam's long-knife, and its range was revealed as, thirty paces up the street, ten cloaked figures shimmered into existence. 'Take cover!' Kalam hissed, ducking down.



Silvery quarrels flashed, barbed heads flickering in the faint moonlight as they corkscrewed in flight. Multiple impacts on the mossstained wall behind them. Straightening, Kalam cursed to see T'amber rushing the killers.



There's ten of them, you fool!



He raced forward.



Five paces from the fast-closing Claws, T'amber drew her sword.



There was an old saying, that for all the terror waiting in the gloved hands of an assassin, it was as nothing against a professional soldier. T'amber did not even slow down, her blade weaving to either side in a blur. Bodies sprawled in her wake, blood splashing out, knives clattering on the cobbles. A dagger hissed through the air, caught the woman on the right side of her chest, sinking deep. She ignored it – Kalam's eyes widened as he saw a severed head tumble away from what seemed the lightest slash of T'amber s longsword, and then he joined the fight.



Two Claws had darted past, out of T'amber's reach, and set off towards the Adjunct. Kalam shifted to come at them from their left. The nearer one leapt into his path, seeking to hold Kalam long enough for the other killer to close on Tavore.



A dancing flurry of parries from the Claw had begun even before Kalam engaged with his own weapons – and he recognized that form – the Web – 'Gods below, you fool,' he said in a snarl as he reached both longknives into the skein of parries, feinted with minute jabs then, breaking his timing, evaded the knife-blades as they snapped across, and neatly impaled both hands.



The man screamed as Kalam closed in, pushing both stuck hands out to the sides, and head-butted him. Hooded head snapped back – and met the point of Kalam's right-hand long-knife as it completed its disengage to come up behind the Claw. A grating crunch as the point drove up into the base of his brain. Even as he crumpled Kalam was stepping over him, into the wake of the last killer.



The Adjunct watched calmly as the Claw launched himself at her. Her stop-thrust took him in the cup of his throat, between the breastbones, the heavy blade punching through windpipe, then spine, and out the back, stretching but not cutting the cloak.



The Claw had thrown both daggers a heartbeat before spitting himself on the sword, and the Adjunct had lithely evaded both as she turned her body sideways in extending the stop-thrust.



Kalam slowed down, turned round, to see T'amber walking back towards them.