Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

“Come off it, Renna!” shrilled the smaller woman. “Do you think I don’t know about Arion? About the witchwood dagger you said was lost? You hypocrite.” Renna’s mouth dropped open, and for the first time, Nira saw the tough old bird at a loss for words.

The other woman at the table spoke up. “Maybe if we send her away right now? Can you reassign her somewhere? It has to be now. We only have a minute.”

The Weaver woman at the table shook her head angrily. “Not this one. I could put her on the farthest island, and she’d be back and meaner than ever in two days.”

The Governor gave a little shrug from his corner. “Well, that’s a shame. Garrett, be quick, will you? Maybe take her up the hallway a bit. We don’t want blood on the floor when our visitor arrives.” The general sighed and took Renna by the arm, not lowering his weapon from her throat. He turned her toward the entrance without difficulty despite her resistance.

“Hands off, you clod,” she spat, “or you’ll regret it.” She pulled against his grasp ineffectually, fear dawning in her eyes. “You can’t do this!” She reached for her belt pouch with her free hand, but the General was apparently wise to the ways of the Weavers, because he batted her hand away from her bag of tricks and pinned it behind her, his weapon still at the ready.

This is as good a chance as I’ll ever get. Nira scrambled back from the door fast and quiet and moved away on silent feet. Looking back, she saw the general push Renna into the hallway as the woman flailed at him, shrieking. His attention was on the skinny Hand and his eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness of the tunnel. He looked right past Nira and turned the opposite way down the tunnel.

Nira turned tail and fled, the slaps of her feet masked by Renna’s protests. Sorry, Your Honor, but I’m pretty sure you’d do the same in my spot. She went as quickly as she dared without any light, wishing every second she could go faster. Her arms stretched out in front of her and her feet groped at the rough stones. A fall would be painful, but far more importantly, it would be loud. The cries of rage from her erstwhile companion grew quieter as she rounded the bend and exited the ancient masonry of the tunnel, bare dirt under her feet once more. She ran faster, glad that the earth muffled her footsteps.

On and on she ran, her sides aching and her feet burning. There was absolutely no light, and she kept one hand on the tunnel wall and the other out in front of her. I’ll come to the door soon. The guards will still be unconscious. I sneak out, keep the money, and take a carriage to the Twin Cities. Or somewhere. Where is that door? I should be there by now. There weren’t any branching tunnels when we came this way, were there? I’d have noticed. Wouldn’t I?

Her footsteps slowed of their own accord. Her chest was heaving like a plow chaga pushed too hard. She tried to make herself maintain a trot. If they’d heard me, they’d have come for me by now. She stopped to listen. She held her breath for as long as she could, ears straining. Nothing. She gasped in air and then held her breath again. All was silent. No footsteps, no light. She was safe. She groped her way forward in the dark. Fifty paces later her fingers thumped into wood. Tears of relief sprang to her eyes and she scrabbled at the door, looking for a handle. There was none.

She spent a frustrated minute in the dark combing the surface of the door, looking for a latch or pull-cord. There was nothing but the smooth, round keyhole at waist height. Nira’s heart began to beat faster. Did someone come down after and shut it from the other side? She pried at the edge of the door, but it fit perfectly flush with the door frame, and was so tight in the opening that she could only get the barest fingertip in between. Using her nails she pried at that edge, her hopes rising as the door moved a centimeter in her direction. It’s not locked! Then she lost her tenuous grasp and it pulled back into place. She used every curse she’d learned from the Seafarers and then tried out a few of her own.

Feeling around the door, she discovered the problem. There was a continuous gentle draft from the tunnel up the stairwell. She could feel the barest breath of wind on the backs of her hands when she put her hands in the crevice between the door and its frame. It kept pulling the door shut when she made any headway, and she couldn’t get enough of a grip to overcome that gentle pull. Patience. They’re not looking for you. Don’t rush. You can do this.

Then she heard a whisper of sound behind her. It barely registered on her ears, as quiet as a whisper of silk from the next room. It was a dry, leathery scrape. Or was it? It’s nothing. She pried at the door again, carefully inching her fingertips forward as she gained a scrap of a hold on the door. She wouldn’t let it shut on her this time. Two more centimeters and she’d have it.

A cold hand gripped her by the shoulder and a sibilant whisper sounded in her ear. “Don’t go yet, dear,” it said.

She screamed just as the door came open under her grip. She clung to it, looking over her shoulder. Dim light from the stairwell seemed as bright as a torch after the utter darkness, and she could see her captor clearly. She was the most beautiful woman Nira had ever seen – flawless skin, jet-black hair,