A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,57

the fallen Karkauns, and in half a minute, we have reached the balcony across from the brothel.

The distance between the buildings seems greater now—looking down makes me ill. Don’t think about it. I back up, run, and leap, landing so heavily on the brothel’s roof that, to my horror, I slip off. But then Faris is there, pulling me up with a grunt. More Karkauns approach, and we skitter across the roof until we are directly above an open window that rattles from the force of Grímarr’s chant.

“Ready?” I ask Faris.

He swings down from the roof through the open window, and bowls over a pair of guards. I follow to find myself in a sprawling room cleared of furniture with a door at one end. Grímarr stands over a larger brazier that emits clouds of choking white smoke. He is stripped to the waist and painted in woad, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

A line of Grímarr’s guards, all armed with crossbows, stand in front of him, facing the window. All at once, bolt after bolt hits my shield and Faris’s.

“Bleeding hells!” Faris lurches back, his shield cracking. Mine splits down the middle, and he flings me behind him, covering me until the Karkauns run out of bolts.

The crossbows drop—and the guards have no time to reload before we are upon them.

As I take out one Karkaun, and another, and another, bootsteps sound from outside Heera’s quarters.

“The door, Faris!”

He gets there just as it bursts open, and falls beneath a wave of fresh attackers.

“I was wrong about you, Blood Shrike.” Grímarr does not appear at all alarmed that the men protecting him lie dead. He grins, blood in his teeth. “I thought you were but a woman, but you—”

He barely ducks the throwing knife I fling at his throat. I shake my head. Men and their skies-forsaken bleating. They think words matter in a fight when really, they’re just a distraction.

“Fight, then, girl, fight!” He roars and beckons me toward him. “The heat of your fresh-spilled blood will be as ambrosia on my lips.”

Would that I could issue a Karkaun blood challenge. From what Dex told me, they are not complex. One must spill one’s own blood, cast all blades aside, and fight without weaponry to the death. The loser’s body is desecrated, their name, deeds, and history obliterated. It would be a just end for Grímarr.

But right now, I just need to kill the bastard. Quickly.

Faris is on his feet, beating back the onslaught of Karkauns at the door, and I cut through the three who stand between me and Grímarr. As they fall, I ram into the warlock, knocking him to his knees. But he bats away the blade I try to shove into his heart, and wraps an arm around me, pulling me into a choking embrace. I cannot breathe, only claw at him as he rips my armor back and bites into my neck like a rabid wolf.

I draw a dagger from my belt and stab him in the thigh. His arm loosens and I punch him, the first blow breaking his nose, the second sending blood and teeth flying. He reels back but rolls to his feet immediately, and I draw my scim. Blood pours down my neck, making my fury burn hotter.

Grímarr is too fast to leave himself exposed to a mortal blow, but I open up his milky skin with a half dozen quick slashes, just deep enough to slow him down.

“Shrike!” Faris is on one knee, still fighting, but fading quickly. Now or never, Shrike.

“You cannot kill me—” Grímarr advances, a shield on one arm. “Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi. Your blood is the conduit by which—”

“Again with the talking!” I pivot a half step back and feint with the dagger in my right hand. He comes within range of my scim, and I whip it up, intending to take off his head.

But one of his lackeys bull-rushes me. I drive the dagger into the bastard’s guts and slash up with my scim, cutting clean through Grímarr’s arm.

He screams, a brief, high-pitched sound. Then his men are abandoning the fight with Faris, surrounding Grímarr and dragging him away from us, out the door, and down the stairs.

“Come on!” Faris grabs my hand and pulls. “There are too many, Shrike.”

“Wait—” I sweep up the severed arm and take it with me—out the window, down the balcony, and into the street. Here, it is quiet, the Karkauns who had set