He’d come too far to reconsider now. “Just as long as you get Vulger, I don’t care how many you kill.” The racketeer shuddered as the second risen lurched to its feet. He tried not to think about where his ghastly allies had come by so many corpses, or the nearness of Blocklathe Orphanage to their hideout.
A giggle bubbled from the necrotech’s lips. “When my creations are through with it, you may start calling the Scrapyard the Boneyard.”
CHAPTER III
“ O ver my dead body,” Taryn growled, both hands closing a little tighter around the grips of her magelocks. The idea seemed to hold a lot of attraction for the hatchet-faced Thurian and the two ogrun bruisers behind him. After five minutes of arguing with the gun mage about her weapons, the ogrun looked like they were ready to tear out the nearest support column and beat her with it.
“I don’t like it either,” Rutger said, “but if we’re going to do this, we have to play by the rules.” He’d already taken off his own weapon belt and was only waiting for Taryn to be reasonable before handing his arms over to the Scrapyard’s enforcers.
“I’d sooner go naked than hand over my guns.” She glared at the Thurian.
Marko adopted his oiliest smile and hurried between Taryn and the enforcer. “Now, now, let’s all keep things civil.” With a dramatic flourish he started removing knives from under his vest, handing them to the Thurian one after the other. “See, I’m not worried about getting my weapons back,” he said, looking at Taryn.
“We can still go back,” Rutger said, laying his hand on her shoulder. He knew how important the magelocks were to Taryn. They’d been a gift from her mentor, Henri, the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. Henri had died many years ago defending Taryn’s honor. The magelocks were the only tangible thing she had to remember him by.
Taryn turned away. They were standing in what had once been a shipmonger’s dry dock. The rusted hulk of a never completed ship had corroded into the far wall, where it lay like some mammoth carcass. Pools of stagnant water and jumbles of broken masonry littered the open ground leading back to the squalid Southhold Prow.
She glanced over at Rex. The warjack’s optics stared down at her. Somehow there seemed to be an accusing quality in the ’jack’s gaze. She knew it was foolishness, but somehow she couldn’t shake the impression that Rex was judging her.
The ’jack meant a lot to Rutger, perhaps as much to him as her magelocks meant to her. Yet he’d agreed to risk Rex, allowed her to talk him into a venture he felt was wrong. Only now did she really understand how hard that decision must have been.
“In or out?” the Thurian enforcer asked, clearly impatient to retreat back behind his steel door and blot out the stench wafting from Broken Finger Channel.
Taryn unbuckled her gun belt and handed it to the enforcer. “In,” she said. Before she could breathe another word, Marko was relieving Rutger of his weapons and almost flinging them at the enforcer.
“Good. That’s settled,” Marko said. He waved his hand at the enforcer. “If we hurry there’ll still be time to make some last-minute bets . . . I mean arrangements.” He corrected himself, noticing the ugly looks his companions gave him.
The Thurian made a gesture with his fist, and the two ogrun stepped back toward the door, grunting as they slid the massive portal open. This service entrance to the arena was big enough to admit all but the heaviest steamjacks, yet the ogrun managed to move the door by sheer strength. Beyond the door was a long corridor down which the shouts and cheers of a large crowd were conveyed to the dry dock.
“Your weapons will be waiting for you at the front cage,” the enforcer said, making a point of handing a bronze claim chit to Taryn. “You can get them when you leave.” He nodded at Rex. “The ’jack and its operator take the left turn at the end of
A giggle bubbled from the necrotech’s lips. “When my creations are through with it, you may start calling the Scrapyard the Boneyard.”
CHAPTER III
“ O ver my dead body,” Taryn growled, both hands closing a little tighter around the grips of her magelocks. The idea seemed to hold a lot of attraction for the hatchet-faced Thurian and the two ogrun bruisers behind him. After five minutes of arguing with the gun mage about her weapons, the ogrun looked like they were ready to tear out the nearest support column and beat her with it.
“I don’t like it either,” Rutger said, “but if we’re going to do this, we have to play by the rules.” He’d already taken off his own weapon belt and was only waiting for Taryn to be reasonable before handing his arms over to the Scrapyard’s enforcers.
“I’d sooner go naked than hand over my guns.” She glared at the Thurian.
Marko adopted his oiliest smile and hurried between Taryn and the enforcer. “Now, now, let’s all keep things civil.” With a dramatic flourish he started removing knives from under his vest, handing them to the Thurian one after the other. “See, I’m not worried about getting my weapons back,” he said, looking at Taryn.
“We can still go back,” Rutger said, laying his hand on her shoulder. He knew how important the magelocks were to Taryn. They’d been a gift from her mentor, Henri, the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. Henri had died many years ago defending Taryn’s honor. The magelocks were the only tangible thing she had to remember him by.
Taryn turned away. They were standing in what had once been a shipmonger’s dry dock. The rusted hulk of a never completed ship had corroded into the far wall, where it lay like some mammoth carcass. Pools of stagnant water and jumbles of broken masonry littered the open ground leading back to the squalid Southhold Prow.
She glanced over at Rex. The warjack’s optics stared down at her. Somehow there seemed to be an accusing quality in the ’jack’s gaze. She knew it was foolishness, but somehow she couldn’t shake the impression that Rex was judging her.
The ’jack meant a lot to Rutger, perhaps as much to him as her magelocks meant to her. Yet he’d agreed to risk Rex, allowed her to talk him into a venture he felt was wrong. Only now did she really understand how hard that decision must have been.
“In or out?” the Thurian enforcer asked, clearly impatient to retreat back behind his steel door and blot out the stench wafting from Broken Finger Channel.
Taryn unbuckled her gun belt and handed it to the enforcer. “In,” she said. Before she could breathe another word, Marko was relieving Rutger of his weapons and almost flinging them at the enforcer.
“Good. That’s settled,” Marko said. He waved his hand at the enforcer. “If we hurry there’ll still be time to make some last-minute bets . . . I mean arrangements.” He corrected himself, noticing the ugly looks his companions gave him.
The Thurian made a gesture with his fist, and the two ogrun stepped back toward the door, grunting as they slid the massive portal open. This service entrance to the arena was big enough to admit all but the heaviest steamjacks, yet the ogrun managed to move the door by sheer strength. Beyond the door was a long corridor down which the shouts and cheers of a large crowd were conveyed to the dry dock.
“Your weapons will be waiting for you at the front cage,” the enforcer said, making a point of handing a bronze claim chit to Taryn. “You can get them when you leave.” He nodded at Rex. “The ’jack and its operator take the left turn at the end of
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