Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

2.2 (Drowned Rat part 2)

Author's Note: In a future revision, this will be the last half of chapter 2, while the first half of chapter 2 becomes the last half of chapter 1. But, tada, this only took me two weeks to write! *tongue > cheek* Real life has been nuts. Anyway. Here ya go. 

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I closed my eyes inside my blindfold, concentrating, breathing slow and even, holding my weight carefully centered over the two-inch wide beam beneath me. I brought my right foot forward, placing it in front of my left, testing to make sure the beam would hold before putting more pressure on it and repeating the process with my left foot. My progress was slow but steady as I crept through Marin's obstacle course. I defeated the beam walk, the wire slide, the spinning wheels, the hand-over-hand rungs, and the climbing wall, which meant there were three left. I was just beginning to think that maybe, perhaps, just once I might make it all the way through without falling prey to Marin's particular brand of creativity.

Idiot.

There was a new feature in the tunnel crawl: an abrupt downward slope painted with a thick layer of grease.

Shortly after discovering the grease, I also discovered the ten-foot drop into a tub full of something cold and squishy – something that oozed through my clothing and smelled like river mud, but slid between my fingers in slippery, slimy lumps. For a second all I could do was sit there, breathing curses on sadistic Ronyran artists while trying not to climb out of my own skin. Then, shuddering and gagging, I floundered to my feet, slapping about to find the edges of the tub as the clock ticked quietly down to zero.

The bell chimed.

I swore out loud. Then I yanked off the blindfold and turned to aim a hot glower at the overstuffed armchair across the room. "Thank you. This was the last pair of clean pants I had left."

Marin shrugged. Then she leaned backward over the arm of said chair and snapped her fingers at the Cog, who was standing at the map table, discussing something with Arramy.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes and a grumbled, "Yeah, yeah," Cog pulled a money clip out of his back pocket and began thumbing bills from it.

At least somebody had thought I stood a chance this time. Cog had lost his bet, though, and Marin was another twenty lyr better off. Again.

With a disgruntled growl, I slogged through whatever foul, stinking substance Marin had filled the tub with, and hauled myself up and over the side, my sodden boots hitting the floor with a juicy splat. I had just squelched my dirty, slimy self halfway to the tunnel door when Orrelian rounded the corner and came striding into the exercise chamber.

The thunderous frown already entrenched on his brow furrowed deeper when he got a look at the state of my clothes. Instead of just walking on by, he came to an abrupt halt, head tilting as he scowled at me, lips pursing in irritation.

I held up my gooey, blackened hands. "There was grease."

Orrelian turned to aim his scowl at Marin, who pushed herself upright in her chair, carefully tucking Cog's bills into the cuff of her jacket sleeve.

Too late. "Flaigha, Marin, this isn't a game," Orrelian snapped, moving to the map table where he began rummaging through the piles of papers at the far end.

Marin sat forward, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

Orrelian's voice was clipped and harsh. "Songbird sent word. Somethin's slated fer delivery up Northside in two days. Somethin' big, that the Magi Commander is bein' paid well t'ignore." He found NaVarre's black notebook and began flipping through it. "Now. There's only one person on NaVarre's List what might be involved Northside." He stopped at the entry he was looking for and scanned the page intently before cutting a sharp glance around at all of us. "We're movin' on Larosh Razhan. And we're movin' tanight."

Silence fell as we all realized what, exactly, Orrelian was saying.

Marin lowered her head and studied the floor.

The Cog swallowed audibly.

The name Larosh Razhan was attached to an obscenely wealthy gentleman who figured as a prominent Council member by day. By night, though, the underbelly of Vreis knew him as the Northside King, the man who moved more pleasure drugs and weapons through Vreis than any other crime lord on all three sides of the river. Slippery as an eel, with many of the Magistrates wrapped up snug in his back pocket, he was rumored to have his own secret police force roaming the streets, ensuring that proof of his activities was never found. His reputation for being ruthless and brutal was well-earned; people who crossed him were found with their throats slit and their lips sewn shut, the letters NK branded into their foreheads.

He was marked as a top Coventry target, but Orrelian had been leery of going after him because he was too heavily armed.

Whatever Songbird had said must have changed his mind.

I looked at Arramy. He was sitting there at the table, silent and impassive as always, his thoughts hodden behind those frigid eyes and that unsmiling mouth. The only sign of any reaction was the faint flicker of a muscle in his jaw, and the fact that he had put his pen down and crossed his arms over his chest. He listened, unmoving, as Orrelian began sketching out his plan on the map of the city spread over the table.

"Cog, Marin — you, Hedwyn an' Erdan will take Razhan's business offices 'ere..." Orrelian said, tapping his forefinger on a string of buildings in Northside's warehouse district. Then he brought his head up and studied me for a moment, lips tight. Whatever reservations he had, though, were outweighed by the information he had gotten from Songbird. "Warring, Cap'n, Rugga, Ynette an' I will strike 'is private residences. This be strictly recon. The objective be anythin' pertainin' ta what e's shippin', an' where an' how e's shippin' it."

My stomach clenched up, hot and queasy.

Suddenly, disgusting slimy clothes were very low on my list of priorities. 

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