City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [83]
Pierce was holding his bow, and he nocked an arrow as he walked, calculating that he could loose approximately four shots before the pursuer could close. But this was a city street, not a war zone, the events of last night not withstanding. There were bystanders about—Cyran refugees mostly. He couldn’t risk the chance of a stray arrow. Pierce released the tension on his bowstring and slipped into the next alley, disappearing in a pool of shadows.
A moment later the stranger appeared, features hidden beneath a ragged oilskin cloak. The hooded figure slid into the alley, looking cautiously from side to side. It moved with the grace of a predator, but even a predator can fall prey to a superior hunter.
Pierce melted out of the shadows behind the stalker. He had dropped his bow and drawn his flail, and with one smooth motion he wrapped the chain around the stranger’s neck. One hand was on the ironshod haft of the weapon; the other gripped the chain, just below the spiked steel ball.
“If you present any sort of threat, I will snap your neck,” Pierce said. “Is that understood?”
“I have no need of breath, brother,” The voice was low and feminine … and distinctly warforged. “And if it had been my intention to present a threat, we would not be having this conversation.”
After a moment’s consideration, Pierce let the stalker go. He loosened the flail and pulled the weapon away from her neck but kept the chain loose and ready to strike. She turned to face him, keeping her hands in sight.
Feminine warforged were an oddity. The ’forged were fundamentally inorganic, and while body designs varied slightly based on the duties of the warforged, functionality was the first concern. Pierce had never met a warforged that had a feminine appearance, but he had met one other ’forged with a female voice and personality. Perhaps the magewrights who built the warforged thought it was a better match for her military specialty—or perhaps it was just a quirk of an isolated female artificer who wanted to put her mark on the warforged she created. This ’forged was smaller than Pierce and lightly built. In some ways, she reminded Pierce of Lei. She’d done a remarkable job of hiding her armored body beneath loose clothing and her cloak. A cowl and woolen scarf hid her face, and even Pierce had taken her for a refugee bundled up against the frequent rain. But there was no mistaking the feeling of the metal and wood that had scraped against the chain of his flail when he’d circled her throat.
“What do you want?” he said, setting the chain of his flail spinning slowly. “And why do you call me brother?”
Her voice was as cool and impassive as his own. If she felt threatened by the flail, she didn’t show it. “We share the same parents. We were born in the same womb. Does that not make us siblings?”
“We are not creatures of flesh and blood. Two swords made by the same smith are not brother and sister.”
“If they could speak, they might say differently.”
She pulled the scarf down from her face, revealing mithral features coated in dark blue enamel. Her faceplate was the standard model used for the Cyran warforged, scaled to her slight frame. Aside from the color, it was a perfect match to Pierce’s own face.
“Believe as you will,” he said. “My weapon has never spoken to me. What is it you want?”
“The question is what you want, why you remain among these creatures of flesh?”
“I was built to defend Cyrans, and I continue to do so.” Something about the stranger made Pierce uncomfortable. The female voice was odd enough, and in spite of her empty hands he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dangerous.
“You were built to serve. You are a sword, bought and paid for. But unlike a sword, you have a voice. You can choose your destiny, and now is the time to choose. Even now,