Chapter 7: I Told You to Run

The worker came at the stranger before he could steady the marked hand.

His long bone blade swept low. The stranger turned it with his short sword and stumbled sideways under the force. His bare hand stayed raised but useless, two fingers bent inward while the others shook.

Severin moved along the wall. His left knee threatened to give each time he put weight on it, so he kept the bad leg short and dragged the other after it. The worker watched the sword, not him. Smoke from the burning crates drifted between them in dirty sheets.

The stranger saw Severin moving and swore. "Watch yourself."

Severin kept going. A second blow drove the stranger back toward the center of the warehouse. He caught the worker’s wrist with his sword guard and shoved it away, reaching with the marked hand.

The worker tore free before the fingers closed.

Severin was six feet behind him now. "Again," he said.

The stranger looked at him once, but the worker swung before he could answer.

Steel rang against bone. The stranger ducked the shorter blade and stepped inside it. His marked palm struck the worker’s forearm.

For an instant nothing happened. Then the dark lines across the back of his hand lit green.

A white arc cracked between them. The worker’s back bowed. Both arms locked away from his body, the long blade jerking upward while his heels scraped across the floor. The discharge lasted less than the others. The stranger made a rough sound through his teeth, and his marked arm sagged almost at once.

It was enough. The worker’s right shoulder snapped backward. Pale chest plates pulled apart below it, baring the side of the throat.

Severin stepped in from behind and drove the dagger into the opening with his left hand.

The blade went in to the hilt. He felt it scrape something hard, then punched it forward and across as the worker convulsed under the last of the current. Hot blood ran over Severin’s fingers.

The worker did not fall. His head twisted far enough that Severin saw one eye roll toward him. His mouth opened around a wet, broken breath.

Severin tried to pull the dagger free as the worker threw his body backward.

One of the ribs jutting through his torn side had lengthened around the flank, its white point angled behind him. It punched through Severin’s coat and entered the left side of his abdomen before he understood what had touched him.

A hard pressure drove deep into his belly. Then the pain hit, hot and crushing, and his lungs locked. It hurt like hell.

The worker’s back struck his chest and drove the bone farther in.

Severin lost his grip on the dagger. For a second he hung against the man, unable to breathe, his left foot barely touching the floor. Blood spread across his coat around the pale bone between them.

The stranger shouted something as the worker lurched forward and tore the rib free.

Severin dropped onto his bad knee and folded over, both hands pressed to his belly. The floor moved under him. He tried to breathe and got only a thin pull of air before nausea climbed into his throat. For one sick second, he thought he was going to die on the warehouse floor.

Across the warehouse, the worker staggered with the dagger still buried high in his neck while the stranger’s marked hand hung useless at his side.

He caught the worker’s long bone arm with the guard of his sword and turned inside the swing, driving the point into the wound Severin had opened. The blade went through the throat at an upward angle until the hilt struck flesh.

The worker jerked once. The shorter bone ridge scraped across the stranger’s coat without force. His knees buckled. The stranger ripped the sword free and stepped away as the body hit the stones.

It moved again. One hand scratched at the floor. The long blade lifted two inches, fell, then lifted once more.

The stranger planted a boot between the worker’s shoulders and drove the sword down at the base of the skull.

The arm stopped. Severin kept watching it. The bastard had already moved after it should have been dead.

None came. Then the pain in his belly returned all at once, and he pressed his palm to the hole in his coat. Blood pushed between his fingers.

The stranger was beside him before Severin saw him cross the floor. He let the sword fall and caught Severin under the shoulders, lowering him onto his back.

Severin tried to sit up.

"Stay down," the hooded man said.

"Sorry. I couldn’t—"

"Keep your mouth shut, boy. Let me see."

He tore Severin’s coat open at the buttons and pulled the shirt away from the wound. Severin looked down. The puncture sat left of his navel, lower than the ribs. Blood welled steadily from it and ran toward his hip.

The stranger pressed a folded piece of cloth against the opening. Severin swore and grabbed his sleeve with his left hand.

"Shit. Stay with me," the man said.

With his marked hand useless against his thigh, the stranger worked one-handed inside his coat and brought out a small stoppered bottle. He caught the cork with his teeth and spat it aside.

"Quickly. Drink this."

Severin barely got the words out. "What... is it?"

"Drink it if you want to live."

He lifted Severin’s head and tipped a mouthful between his lips. It tasted bitter enough to make Severin gag. The stranger pinched his nose until he swallowed, then gave him the rest in two smaller pulls.

Severin turned his head and spat what little remained from his mouth. "Ugh."

"I told you to run."

Severin let his head fall back to the stones. "Why am I so damn unlucky?"

The stranger almost answered, but his attention dropped to the wound. He replaced the soaked cloth with a thicker pad torn from the lining of his own coat and pressed it hard against Severin’s abdomen. A long strip of cloth went twice around his waist before the stranger pulled the knot tight. The pressure hurt nearly as much as the wound.

"This won’t mend anything," he said. "It may keep you alive until help gets here."

"Help?"

A whistle sounded beyond the warehouse, and both men went still. Another answered from nearer the yard gate. Through the smoke came the watchman’s distant, panicked voice.

The stranger looked toward the front doorway, then toward the burning freight. "Of course."

He pushed himself upright with the sword. His marked arm hung loose at his side, and his knees shook badly enough that he had to brace against a crate before moving.

Severin tried to follow, but his legs gave nothing back.

The stranger bent with difficulty and pulled the dagger from the ruined neck. He wiped the blade once on the man’s coat before sliding it back into his belt.

"Wait here."

Severin nodded. "Don’t have much of a choice."

He went to the freight. The fire had eaten through several lids, but two crates near the rear wall still held intact jars and wrapped bundles. The stranger smashed the jars with the pommel of his sword and shoved the bundles into the burning center. Powder from one broken container scattered over the stones. He swept it into the flames with a plank, then kicked the shattered glass after it.

Next came the dead worker. The stranger hooked both hands under the man’s coat, but his fingers would not hold. He swore and changed his grip, using the good hand and the back of his forearm to drag the body against the nearest burning crate. One of the bone blades caught between two floor stones. He wrenched until the wrist turned with a crack, then pulled again.

Flames took the coat first.

Outside, someone hammered on the yard gate. "Fire brigade!"

The watchman shouted back, words lost under another whistle.

Severin blinked at the roof beams. Smoke had thickened above them, folding around the rafters. The bitter taste of the draught still clung to his tongue. At first he could not tell whether it was doing anything. Then the pain drew inward. His bad knee tightened, and the muscles around the wound in his belly clenched hard enough to make him suck in a breath. His hands kept shaking.

The stranger returned and crouched beside him. "Listen."

Severin looked at the one blue eye he could still see clearly.

"When they come in, tell them the smoke got to you and you fell after the fire started."

Severin laughed once, then winced as the wound pulled tight.

"I’m serious."

"Got it. But what about that... man?"

"Thief. Burned in the fire."

Severin coughed. "They’ll see there’s something wrong with him."

"Then you’d better think fast."

Severin looked at the burning body and tried to think through the pain. Nothing useful came. Somewhere outside, the gate gave way. Metal struck stone, followed by several men shouting at once.

He looked toward the rear of the warehouse, where the rail-side doors stood behind the smoke. "They’ll see you."

"Worry about yourself right now."

"You ruined everything."

The one-eyed man glanced toward the yard. "I saved your life, boy."

Severin let out a slow breath. "They’ll blame me for this."

The one-eyed man hesitated. "I’m sorry."

Severin wanted to hit him. He tried to close his right hand and felt the fingers barely move. His left was stuck over the bandage. Fucking useless. Even lifting his head made the warehouse shift around him.

Lantern light moved across the yard outside as the stranger got to his feet and picked up the short sword. Before turning away, he pressed two fingers of his good hand against the side of Severin’s neck as if counting something.

He disappeared into the smoke toward the rail-side doors.

Severin listened to boots striking the stones outside. Someone shouted for water. The watchman yelled that there was a man inside, then yelled it again when nobody answered quickly enough. Severin tried to call back.

Nothing came out. The lantern at the doorway blurred into a yellow smear before narrowing to a line and going dark.