Page 86 of The Cruel Dawn
“You sound confident,” Elyn says, surveying her own handiwork.
Elyn had brought fruit and vegetable tarts from the abbey along with cheese and bread. And I ate it all, until I could no longer stand. Though she couldn’t stop my skin from peeling, she eased the sting with aloe.
I walk toward the raggedy gates and its raggedy guards. I smile as I close the distance between us. I’m not happy to meet these strangers, but I’m ready to enjoy the fight.
The four men wear Syrus Wake’s twin leopard sigils on their tunics, which look like cast-off potato sacks. Their swords are rusty, their blades chipped. Were they everrealsoldiers? Have they no pride? Have they evennamedtheir weapons? They gape at me with marvel and confusion.
The dark amber glow of these men alarms me. It’s a miracle they’re even standing. As I approach them, I notice the cloud of unpleasant smells emanating from them. The sour and rotting sweet of decayed teeth. Sickness and flatulence and wet and solid waste, the smell of people and animals shitting in the street.
“Greetings and salutations,” I say, stopping a few steps away from them. “I’m looking for Prince Gileon Wake. I’m told he lives here on occasion. Also, I’m looking for a woman who should be with him. Big blue eyes, quick hands? Have you seen her around?”
“You better move along, you fuzzy-headed queynte,” the straw-haired guard wheezes.
“Oh dear.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise and amusement. “We’re starting off like this? Let’s begin again, shall we?” I take a breath and say, “Greetings and salutations—”
Straw-Hair draws his rusty sword.
“I’m looking for Prince Gileon Wake,” I repeat.
Straw-Hair comes closer. And then a guard stomps past him.
I shake my head. “You probably should stop right there. If you take one more step, I’m skewering your round ass.”
Ground Round pauses—but not long enough. Though the man called me a “queynte,” I’m not furious yet. No, I’m feelin’…righteous.
Straw-Hair and Ground Round rush me with their swords held high.
In one smooth motion, I pull Justice from her sheath.
Ground Round’s eyes widen at my sword’s beauty—she’s the last beautiful thing he sees before she cuts off his head. A feast for the beasts, a gift from the Lady of the Verdant Realm. I can already hear the grunts and cries of the hungry animals hiding in the desiccated fields surrounding the city.
Straw-Hair skids to a stop.
Still smiling, I look over to him and the other two guards. “Do you understand the language I’m speaking? Maybe you speak Shokata? Du avui indastend na nuw? Or maybe you speak…Paraq? Da I’ay yumlika pi mav?”
All three lift their swords, but their numbers will not save them.
I cock my head. “Is it something I said?”
Straw-Hair rushes to slay me with a sword too dull to slice cheese.
I step back, letting him enjoy swinging his toy at me. Not even a good wind comes from the sweep of his blade.
“Queynte,” he spits, lifting his butter knife to strike at me a second time.
“That word again?” I swing Justice twice: the first time to take his sword and the second time to remove his left arm at the elbow.
He bleeds out even before he hits the soil.
I cock an eyebrow at the next two, their shamefully dull blades still in their hands.
The one with wheezy lungs looks at the bodies around us and says, “Fuck it.” He turns and runs from me, but I close the distance between us and strike him down before he can sound any alarm.
The last guard—whose pudgy baby face fills with terror and determination—hops over dead Wheezy to rush at me.
I step back.
He swings wide, slicing himself in the shin. I put him out of his misery.
