Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter One: The Wrong Target

Lisette slowly brought her rifle to rest on a dirty shingle at the apex of the roof, checking a final time to ensure the weapon's barrel was still smudged. The afternoon sky might be overcast, but Lisette took no unnecessary chances. There were enough necessary ones already. A sunbeam might break through and glint off any undulled metal.

There on the civic building roof, far above the narrow streets, she had a fine view of the bowman. He perched in a small bell tower overlooking the central square, some fifteen feet below and two hundred away. Like many structures in Oregent, the bell tower was tall and slender. The folk of Oregent seemed to like high and cramped almost as much as they liked their damnable bells.

The bowman stood in the shadows, awaiting his own prey, so still he might have been a statue. His finely crafted weapon of polished oak was just a sliver of darkness in his hand.

Lisette ticked off the precautions she'd taken while waiting for a wave of anger to pass. In her dark form-fitting clothes, black hair tied off in a ponytail, she'd be unlikely to draw attention against the soot-blackened slate tiles, even once the report of the gun echoed erratically off the roofs around her. Only a handful of the city's buildings stretched as high as this, and few of them had windows looking out toward her. So narrow were most of the town's avenues that anyone on the street would have a difficult if not impossible task spotting her. The bowman was fast, and she'd likely get only one shot. She hadn't had time to repair her other rifle, and she'd have to be very lucky indeed to hit the bowman from such a distance with either of her pistols. It was this rifle, or nothing. And so she steadied herself, counting slowly down from ten while she lined up the shot.

She spied the hawk in the same instant she heard its screech. It dove into her peripheral vision from the upper right, a keening brown blur with dark claws. She jerked reflexively even as her finger stroked the trigger.

The rifle kicked into her shoulder, and the acrid smell of gun smoke hit her nostrils as the weapon bellowed. She cursed, knowing instinctively that the shot was spoiled even as she saw the bowman slip into cover behind one of the bell tower's structural supports.

His hawk pulled out of its dive only a few feet away, and her frustration got the better of her. She clasped the warm barrel of her rifle and swung out at the thing. She missed by only a few inches, knowing a brief moment of satisfaction as the animal shrilled in alarm.

But in striking out she overbalanced and slid down the shingles. Her ire vanished in an upswell of panic. She flipped to her side, then her back, scrabbling one-handed on the sharp tiles. She dared not release her hold on the irreplaceable rifle, but she could find no purchase. The cobblestone street lay a killing distance below, some sixty feet even beyond the twenty of dormered roof.

Sheer luck sent her sliding toward an elaborate gargoyle outcropping above a downspout. She grabbed the hideous creature's waist with one hand like a desperate lover, then lay half entwined with it as she caught her breath.

A trio of arrows arced up and over the roof. She shifted desperately.

The damned bowman was so good that all three struck the position where she'd just been lying. They hit the dirty shingles and clattered away, one rolling past her to a windowsill beneath the dormer on her left. If she'd remained where she'd been propped, any one of them would have skewered her.

The hawk, meanwhile, was circling back and calling out. Was the vile creature actually signaling her position?

As if things weren't bad enough, from somewhere below came the whistle of one of the Oregent city guard.

Lisette cursed a blue streak, shouldered the rifle, and untangled herself from the gargoyle enough to set one foot on the cracked stone sill to her left. It seemed solid enough. This wasn't the window she'd entered by, but she didn't wait to see if it was unlocked when another arrow chipped off one of the gargoyle's ears.

One good kick from her black boot broke the peeling wood frame and fragmented the window. She threw herself in after, hearing the clatter of more arrows striking the frame even as she dropped into an empty storage room.

She dashed into the empty attic hallway, diverted briefly to the room cluttered with old chairs where she'd gained roof access. There she retrieved Kerrigan's damaged rifle, her hat, and her shoulder bag. In moments she was hurrying out the lower window she'd jimmied open, then out onto the roof of the annex. She retraced her steps across the flat rooftop at a jog. She didn't see the hawk, and the arrows had stopped, but she heard the whistle of the city watch, closer now, and someone shouted, "There's a woman running up there!"

It hadn't been one of her better days. She should have stuck with her original target and worried about the bowman later.

A second whistle blew, and then was promptly drowned by the ringing of some set of great brass bells. The clanging was so thunderous that it set the roof below her shaking in sympathy.

She hated those bells. People in the city seemed so tuned to them that they could tell which particular temple called them to worship, and knew which factory called for shift change. Almost it seemed that people moved at the behest of the bells rather than the other way around. A whole city governed by implacable metal monsters.

She ran on, ducking around a spire and dropping onto the slanted roof of an apartment building before leaping a narrow alley to a two-story stone affair. This was the closest she'd yet gotten to the ground, and she hurried a little farther before spotting a dark alleyway. Just what she needed.

And then she saw that the space was occupied. Three men were turned away from her toward the alley's mouth, facing a stout figure beside a youth lying in a widening pool of blood. The trio advanced menacingly on the short one. She grimaced as she knelt and scanned the surrounding rooftops. This looked like the best way down anywhere nearby and she'd have to get to the street to lay low. The depressingly efficient Oregent guards would already be combing the rooftops.

And so, panting and tired, she swung to the coping and dropped.

She felt the shock of the twelve-foot fall. In other circumstances, she would have absorbed it with a roll, but she had two rifles slung over her shoulder. One of the three bravos must have heard her, and he turned, lifting a sword.

She'd talked her way out of plenty of tough scrapes, but this was no time for niceties. She shot the man point-blank with one pistol and was pulling the second free even before he crumpled. His mouth opened, and he might have screamed, but it was difficult to hear over the reverberating crack of the powder.

The second of the bravos turned from his target—a blond dwarf armed with an axe—and she fired a second time. In the confined space the blast echoed like thunder, but when this man dropped, his shrieks outlasted the echo.

Lisette cursed again. This wasn't what she needed. The whole job had been rotten from the beginning. She'd warned Kerrigan...

There was no time for that.

The last assailant seemed to think his best option was to simply run clear, but the dwarf caught him with the axe as he dashed past and brought him down with a spray of blood. It was a swift, efficient cut, and left the dying man no air with which to cry out.

Lisette had both pistols back through her sash now, and considered the dwarf while she pointed her second rifle at him—Kerrigan's rifle. Hopefully the dwarf wouldn't notice the damaged hammer, or know what it meant. Both ignored the third thug moaning in an ever-widening stream of his own blood.

The dwarf proved a rugged, plain fellow with a weathered leather jerkin. There was no missing the battle lust in his eyes.

"Do I have to fight past you, too?" Lisette asked.

"I suppose I should thank you for the assist." His accent was eastern. He frowned as the whistle of a watchman sounded nearby. From his strained expression, she suddenly knew that he was as leery of the law as she was. Was he an outlaw? A bandit? Someone from a local gang?

"You can thank me by getting me into hiding." If the guards detained her, even for a little while, she'd lose her chance at the target. Both targets.

The stout dwarf grunted, then lowered the axe to snatch up a heavy-looking bag lying beside the dead boy at the alley's mouth—a fallen ally? He considered her warily as it clanked with the unmistakable jangle of coins. "Come on."

He walked at such speed it was almost a jog, and she shouldered the rifle to fall in beside him. They'd just made it down the winding lane across the street when the alarm whistles shrilled more vehemently. The guards were close.

The dwarf sped up to a full run, and she loped silently at his side. She could easily outpace him, but there was no point—not if he really did know the way to a safe house. He ducked suddenly down an even narrower passageway between an older stone building and a newer brick one, this gap so thin they had to sidle sideways. Twenty paces in, just a few feet before it dead-ended, a blackened rope hung against the grimy bricks. From the alley opening it was completely invisible, indistinguishable from dirty building in the darkness.

Clever. The dwarf shoved his bloody axe into its holster and clambered up. Mostly he used his arms, but he pushed off the wall with his boots and was soon up to the blank face of the second floor.

Lisette didn't think there was time to waste, so she scaled quickly, using opposing walls for leverage. It was no simple feat, but she thought nothing of it until the dwarf reached a third-floor window and noticed her beside him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he went into the darkened opening without comment.

She slipped in immediately after, reaching back to steady the rope lest its movement catch attention. She then considered the room, alert for ambush.

There was no one else inside the cramped and musty place. The dwarf settled on a bench, breathing heavily through his mouth, presumably trying to make as little noise as possible for him. She heard footsteps rush past the main portion of the alley.

From somewhere below came a strain of fiddle and a woman's laughter, high and a little unnatural. They were above one of Oregent's many taverns, she realized. "What—" she started to ask, and then was drowned out by the pealing gongs of a nearby clutch of bells. Had it been another quarter hour already, or was this some other interval of time being marked?

The dwarf scowled throughout the two-minute long episode. She took the time to inspect the rest of the room. The bedframe and the dirty mattress. The warped floorboards. The single dresser with its sagging left leg. There was a candle sitting upon this last, but she didn't move to light it.

"I hate those bells," the dwarf muttered when the sound had finally ebbed.

Lisette smiled wryly. "What's that batch ringing about?"

"I think another mining shift has ended," the dwarf said, though he didn't sound certain.

"You're not a native, I take it."

"No," the dwarf agreed. "And neither are you."

"Right. But it looks to me like you have some business connections I don't."

"Is that so?" The dwarf listened at the open window, his head in profile so he could also watch Lisette.

She heard a whistle, but it was now quite far away. During the ringing she'd planned her next move, and she acted on it now. "I'm thinking you owe me a favor."

The dwarf snorted. "Way I see it, the favor's already paid. You weren't out to save me. You were on the run and dropped in on the middle of the fight."

He was shrewder than he looked. "Fair enough. But, as you're a businessman, let's say I've got a proposition for you."

"Let's say you do," the dwarf told her cautiously. "There's money?"

"A little. I don't need that big a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"What makes you think I'd know her?"

"It's a him. He might travel in circles familiar to you."

The stout outlaw kept his tone flat. "What circles are those?"

Lisette snorted. "Don't play games, dwarf."

"It's Karag."

Karag likely has ties to the underground—but then, he is a dwarf.

"Alright, Karag. It's easy to see you're no more a friend of the city watch than I am. I'm guessing that bag of coins isn't something you'd want to be caught with."

He glanced down at the bag at his feet. "Not much of a guess."

"I'm not sure what you were doing, and I really don't care. I need to find someone. And I'll bet your boss knows someone who can help me. I'll pay you both. But the man I'm after is going to slip away if I don't move fast."

"How much money?"

"For some introductions? Five sails for you. If your boss knows the way, I'll cut him in for more."

The dwarf shook his head. "That's pretty cheap. Look, lady, let me offer you some advice: If you go poking under the wrong rocks in Oregent, you'll end up dead. You don't just wander in and start asking around. It gets people suspicious. And you start throwing around gold, they might just knife you to take it all."

"They can try," Lisette said softly.

He eyed her sidelong. "What do you want this guy for?"

"I'm delivering flowers. What do you think?"

Karag grunted. "What'd he do to you?"

"He killed a friend."

At this, Karag nodded. He pointed to her waist. At the pistols, she realized as he spoke. "You a witch?"

She forced back a laugh. "No."

"Sorceress?"

"No."

"What are you, then?" he asked with a truculent growl.

"I'm just a lady hunting a killer, and I'm willing to pay for information."

Karag grunted again. "Come on, then. I need to report to Belvar in any case. My advice, keep things simple."

She smiled thinly. "Oh, I always do."

Coming Next Week: Into Oregent's seedy underbelly in Chapter Two of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Two: Dockside Entertainment

Lisette followed Karag into the bosom of Oregent's underworld, such as it was. The folk of Andoran were different from those of Cheliax, addled perhaps by their own slogans about liberty. Their enterprises were not especially well interwoven with that of the city government, and required more furtive activity. Or so she had deduced. As evening came on, Karag led her via a circuitous route to a tavern in the warehouse district, then through a small crowd of incurious drinkers to a large back storage room. Somewhere, more bells were signaling. All was dark but for a lantern near the door and another over a card table occupied by four thick-necked bruisers. Crates and barrels were stacked more or less neatly upon shelves, amid bits of discarded junk and rusted winches.

At sight of Karag, one of the card players, a big balding Keleshite with a nose ring, got up.

"I've got the delivery," the dwarf announced. "And some news."

"And a visitor." The thug gave Lisette a once-over. He stepped back to knock on a paneled door and announce: "Karag's back, with some woman." The others kept their seats, appraising the newcomer.

After only a brief delay, a fifth man stepped out from a shadowy office. He was of a different cut than the thugs: aquiline nose, firm chin, high cheekbones. He was well dressed, gone a little to fat, but handsome save for lips that seemed small for his face, and somewhat petulant.

This, then, was Belvar. If she managed things right, he could get her past all the obstacles this ill-fated mission had thrown into her path. Belvar had the Keleshite take Karag's satchel, then his dark eyes raked Lisette thoroughly. He made sure she knew that he liked what he saw, as powerful men so often did. She had even, regular features, and her chosen occupation kept her fit, even if it also led to the acquisition of scars and bruises. As yet, none had permanently marred her face. So much the better for playing these kinds of games.

Belvar's a small-town crook with a big-city ego.

"Who's this, Karag?" Belvar's voice was thin, a little oily. He gave her a half-smile as Karag explained how he'd been ambushed, his partner killed. Then Belvar's eyes slipped to the butts of the rifles poking over Lisette's shoulders. They flicked to the blue feather in her brimmed hat, and his expression froze.

She kept her smile fixed in place, pretending that she felt no alarm. He'd recognized her. How had he recognized her?

Karag was in the midst of his report about Lisette dropping into the alley.

"What did you say?" Belvar asked him.

Karag summed up flatly, as if familiar with such interruptions, "Vermet's men jumped us after we'd collected most of the protection money."

"And her?" Belvar snarled.

"She killed two. I got the other one."

Belvar demanded a few more details, then spun and barked orders to one of the muscle boys about arranging a proper "thank you" for Vermet and his crew. The man departed swiftly with an eager, self-satisfied air.

Only then did Belvar step a little closer. "So," he said to Lisette. "It seems I'm about to become involved in a business dispute with a competitor."

"A turf war," she said, picking up on Karag's lead.

"And here you are, dropped right into the middle of things, guns, plume, and all. Coincidence?"

He seemed to have recognized her specifically, not just the fact that she carried guns. She'd have to play things very carefully. She adopted a softer, more feminine tone. "I have to find the man that killed my friend," Lisette told him. "A bowman. And I've learned this bowman is now after a banker you may know. I can see you have more important matters to attend to, but if you could just—"

"I'm afraid your reputation precedes you, my dear." Belvar snapped the fingers of his right hand. "I think I'd be more comfortable discussing your little problem with you unarmed." Instantly he had the attention of the remaining muscle, who rose, grinning with menace, to take up positions—two in front of Belvar, and another who circled behind Lisette. Karag was at her side, though he seemed a little puzzled by his boss's action.

"Hold on," Lisette snapped. Like hell he was going to get her guns. Good thing she'd taken the time to reload. Too bad she only had three shots. There just hadn't been time to repair that broken hammer yet.

"Belvar, she's here to make a deal," Karag told his boss. "She can pay well for basic information." He was trying to prevent a fight, bless him.

"Can she." Belvar sneered, but he held up a hand to his men, who didn't advance. "Did she tell you who she was, Karag?"

The dwarf's gaze shifted doubtfully between the two of them.

"I'm Lisette Demonde," she announced.

"Which she volunteers now," Belvar said with a smirk. "After I've already worked it out."

"I'm not keeping any secrets." Lisette strove to sound as reasonable as possible. "I'm after a bowman, and there's money in it for you."

"Maybe," Belvar said, small lips curling, "and maybe you're really after one of us."

Karag's expression foundered. "What's going on?"

"You ever hear of Kerrigan Sure-Shot? The bounty hunter?"

Apparently Karag hadn't. One of the enforcers, a good-looking Ulfen, muttered under his breath. The other, the big Keleshite, growled.

"She's his." Belvar turned to the Keleshite. "You've heard the stories, right? How many pretty, gun-toting bounty hunters do you think there are? Let alone one wandering around in a feathered hat."

Lisette forced a wider smile. Things were going south. She heard the thug behind her shift. Someone thought he was quieter than he truly was. "I'm a business woman," she tried. "Just like you."

"Bounty hunters killed my brother," Belvar spat.

"Other bounty hunters," she emphasized. "Not me. There's money in this for us both. I hear this banker has some business interests on the shady side, and I figured someone you know has dealings with him."

Belvar snorted in disbelief. "You want to pump me for information?"

"Pay," she repeated. She sensed now that if the window remained open at all, it was closing fast. Now she understood the dwarf's hasty speech. Belvar had a short attention span. "The bowman will be where the banker is. Dronsbech doesn't know the bowman's after him, so I need someone to intro—"

"Dronsbech? Jhon Dronsbech?" Belvar's eyes fairly bulged. "You think I know him?"

"I came here betting you know someone who does. And I'll bet the rich banker will be grateful to whoever helps him out. I just want the bowman. You collect the gratitude."

"Maybe I'll see about talking to Dronsbech myself." Belvar flashed an oily grin "I don't like bounty hunters. Even pretty ones." He snapped the fingers of his other hand.

The man behind her sprang.

Well, so much for the diplomatic approach. Lisette whipped about, fired from the hip, and took the shirtless thug through his sagging belly. He dropped with a scream. She spun back and, with her second pistol, shot the lantern above the card table. It shattered in a spray of glass, plunging the area into darkness. She ducked the knife swipe of the Keleshite, clubbed him in the side of the head with her pistol butt. As he staggered, she swung the rifle around her shoulder so that the barrel pointed forward and triggered it upside down.

The Ulfen had thrown himself flat; he learned fast, though he hadn't been the target. Lisette's third shot blasted the second lantern, plunging the storeroom into darkness. Now the only light source was the dim evening sun filtering through the shuttered back door window.

"She'll rush the door!" Belvar shouted. "Stop her!"

But that wasn't her intention at all. She holstered the pistol, then drew her sword with her off hand. The guy she'd pistol-whipped was groaning on the floor, but the handsome Ulfen was climbing to his feet. And there was Belvar. And Karag, a squat figure who had unlimbered his axe, but stood uncertain.

The Ulfen got his blade up and out as she charged. She deflected his strike and took him down with a precise kick. He groaned and crumpled. So there was only Belvar, and Karag. Neither was likely to know enough about guns to tell that Kerrigan's was broken, and it was too dark to see detail in any case.

To Belvar she presented the bore of Kerrigan's rifle, her curved short sword in her other hand. The crime boss held only a knife.

"I'd drop that, if I were you," she instructed.

She couldn't make out Belvar's expression, but she saw the glint of his blade reflecting the window light behind her, and it quivered.

"Karag?" he said.

"She came for business," Karag replied stubbornly.

"Damn straight," she agreed, then addressed Belvar again. "Drop the knife."

Belvar's oily self-assurance cracked, and he cursed at Karag in a high-pitched tirade. Lisette risked another step towards him. The boss's weapon thudded against the floor planks.

Belvar's voice shook as he screeched. "You ever come near me again, Karag, and you're dead."

"I think you have more pressing worries," Lisette told him smoothly. She slipped in beside him and put the blade of her sword to his throat. She heard the intake of his breath, and let the rifle hang back over her shoulder as she grasped the back of his shirt with one hand and tugged him toward the door. "I wasn't after you at all. I want the bowman. But I bet there's a bounty on your head, somewhere. Maybe I'll take it anyway. To keep in my hope chest."

"This is a misunderstanding." Belvar's voice had risen another half an octave in fear. Lisette looked past him to the shapes gathering in the doorway to the storeroom. The Ulfen had climbed stiffly to his feet and looked like he might still be able to try something. Karag followed her, warily, on a course parallel to her own, axe at the ready.

She heard Belvar lick his lips. The others drew closer.

"Call them off."

He gasped as she pressed the sword edge to his neck. "Get back! All of you! I'm serious."

The Ulfen pulled back, though he watched alertly.

"You're making things a lot more difficult for me, Belvar."

"Just a misunderstanding. We can still talk."

There was nothing more to talk about. She'd be a fool to trust him for an introduction now, and she didn't think there was anything more than her own skin that could be gotten out of the situation. But she had to play things cool. "Alright, but I'll do the talking. Karag"—she had almost called him dwarf—"seems like your name's mud around here now. Earn some coin and show me out of here."

"I don't owe you anything. I had a good thing here."

"Maybe. I think you're probably smarter than Belvar, who's going to end up in a noose before long. Show me around. I'll make it worth your while."

The dwarf only grunted. Well, he'd help or he wouldn't, but if he was as smart as she thought, he'd be out the door right after her. She resisted the impulse to slit Belvar's throat—that could make things even more complicated than they already were. Instead, she sent him careening forward before she turned and bolted for the exit. Immediately, Belvar began shouting for someone to get her.

The door was unlocked. She was through in an instant, and quickly put distance between her and the inevitable pursuit. As she predicted, Karag came out alone a moment later. Three thugs ran after him: one the handsome Ulfen, limping a bit; the other two presumably from the tavern's main room. All were threatening shapes in the twilight. The dwarf jogged along ahead of them, solid, determined.

And dead pretty soon. They were catching up.

She didn't owe the dwarf. Belvar hadn't proven useful. But she might still get some use out of Karag, who at least knew a little more about the city than she.

She dashed behind crates piled by a darkened warehouse door, then unslung the rifle and powder bag. Over the last few years she'd drilled in twilight, darkness, and glaring light, high on rooftops and on rocking boats, and even in the pouring rain. Kerrigan had told her she was faster now than all but the best gunmen of Alkenstar. All her skills were honed so that she might load and reload and keep Kerrigan always supplied with a ready weapon.

She would give much, now to have someone like that herself. Or better yet, to still be offering a loaded weapon to the dark-skinned bounty hunter.

The dwarf was ten feet off, the nearest thug fifteen. There was no time to waste. She cocked the hammer, raised the rifle to her shoulder, and fired, deciding at the last second to shoot one of the others instead of the good-looking Ulfen. Life and death, she thought, aren't always fair.

She absorbed the weapon's kick, felt the familiar smell of the gunpowder wash over her as the pursuing guard's face dissolved into red ruin. The Ulfen and his comrade dove for cover.

"Come on, dwarf!" Lisette called, and ran on. Another twenty feet led them out to what seemed a main thoroughfare, judging by the carriages and the lights. Puffing, Karag joined her. She was about to ask him the best way to go when Karag pointed and they jogged off, stopping only when Lisette flagged down a closed black carriage.

The driver leaned down, the tip of his conical black service cap sagging. She showed him a gold sail, the then glanced to Karag, who seemed uncertain as to her aim. "Give him a destination."

After a moment, the dwarf said, "The Golden Ox."

"No other passengers," Lisette said as she passed up the coin.

"As you wish, madame. My pleasure."

They scrambled into the carriage, and Lisette closed the door, though she held the dark curtain to one side to consider the street. There was no obvious sign of pursuit. "What's at the Ox?" she asked Karag.

"A friend," the dwarf grunted coarsely. "You cost me a lot, woman. I had a decent thing going back there."

She considered the squat, broad shape hunched on the bench across from her. He smelled of sweat and ale and blood.

"I'll probably have to leave the city now," the dwarf muttered.

"You could work for the mine gangs, or Vermet."

He grunted. "Vermet's an ass. And I'm done with mining."

"Well. I didn't expect Belvar to recognize me."

"You'd be hard to forget," the dwarf said. "Don't the guns give you away?"

"Kerrigan usually does the talking." The moment she said as much, she chided herself.

For a long time, she thought the dwarf hadn't understood, but he deduced more than she'd hoped.

"So it's Kerrigan who's dead, is it? What was he, your lover?"

"Yes," she answered, as though the matter was of little import.

"So who's this bowman guy?"

"An elite assassin. There's a contract on him."

"See, you should have told me you were a bounty hunter."

"It's not about the bounty. Not now. I told you that."

Karag seemed to consider that, for he was quiet for a time. "If I help you find him, will you cut me in for half?"

"Help me how?"

"I can get good help. You want to get in to see the banker? I can manage it. And I can back you up so we can collect."

"What kind of help?"

"Let's talk money first. It'll be help that will cut through about anything, though."

She was intrigued despite herself. "A fifth," she offered.

"A fifth of what?"

"You'd get a hundred Sails."

Karag remained silent. The cart turned, and they bounced through some deep ruts. Somewhere far away, another set of bells began their ringing. "Two fifths. Two hundred sails," the dwarf said at last.

"That's a lot of money. Who're these friends of yours?"

Karag grinned. "You wouldn't believe me."

Coming Next Week: Dwarven revelations in Chapter Three of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Three: Lieutenant of the Guard

Even after she and Karag were led to a private room in the back of what proved a pleasant little tavern—complete with dark wood booths and antique table lanterns—Lisette couldn't quite believe the dwarf's claim that he'd get her connected with the banker. Yet the dwarf wasn't one to offer reassurances, and she wasn't one to ask for them, so she simply fell to repairing the musket while he assaulted a large platter of ribs and downed mug after mug of frothy ale.

Proof of Karag's story arrived within a quarter-hour of him asking the tavern keeper to relay a message. A large man in the blue coat of the city guard trooped into their room, closing the door behind him with elaborate care.

Lisette set aside Kerrigan's rifle. Loaded.

Karag glanced up and swallowed quickly before dabbing greasy lips with his napkin. "Lisette Demonde, this is Lieutenant Vech Marill. Lieutenant, this is Lisette Demonde. A bounty hunter."

Vech was large and thick, and between that and his grim demeanor he might have resembled one of Belvar's thugs if he hadn't carried himself with pompous dignity. His uniform, from the cuff of his pants to the collar of his coat, was immaculate, and his well-groomed mustache ends extended an absurd thumb-length beyond his face.

The lieutenant trod heavily across the planks and bowed. "Charmed," he told Lisette.

"As am I." She had decided against rising, so as to leave the question of who socially ranked whom more uncertain. "Karag told me he had connections in the guard. He didn't mention they were so gentlemanly."

Karag grunted and downed a long swig from a foaming mug of ale.

"Won't you join us?" she asked.

Vech pulled out a chair across from her and took a seat.

Lieutenant Vech is far too fond of his mustache.

"She spoiled my work for you, Lieutenant," Karag growled between mouthfuls. "She royally tupped the whole situation with Belvar. You'll have to find a new spy."

"I saved his life," Lisette said. "Twice."

Karag grunted but didn't correct her. She saw Vech's eyebrows twitch with interest.

Lisette explained. "Karag and his bagman were jumped in an alley where I just happened to be. We got out together. Then, when Belvar proved uninterested in my business proposal, he became combative with both of us."

"A business proposal?" Vech's mustache twitched disapprovingly.

She passed over the bowman's warrant. Vech unfolded it, lingering for a moment upon the bloodstain in the corner. Kerrigan had been carrying it.

"Is this blood?" Vech asked.

Lisette nodded once. "This assassin is after one of your prominent citizens." She artfully brushed hair from her forehead and fixed Vech with an intent gaze. "Some of your men misconstrued my activity earlier today, and gave chase."

Vech blinked. "Wait a moment. Were you the one firing arrows willy-nilly from rooftops near the Centre Street court? That's not—"

She tried to keep irritation from her voice. "Not me. That was the bowman."

Vech frowned and touched his mustache.

"He was planning to shoot his target," Lisette continued, "but I surprised him so he aimed his arrows at me."

"Do you have a license?" Vech asked.

Lisette studied him for a long moment, hoping he wasn't as thick as he seemed. Then she reached into a small belt pouch and handed over a sheaf of stamped papers. She waited as he unfolded and read over each of them, knowing he'd find all of it in proper order. There wasn't only an official Andoren seal affixed to the bottom of the primary document, there were all the proper signatures, and additional bounty licenses from Isger, Druma, and Absalom.

He handed them all back. "You should have reported your activity to the guard immediately upon entering our jurisdiction. A less lenient man might see fit to bring you up on charges."

"And you're a lenient man?" She gave him her best smile.

It worked, and the big man returned one of his own. "I'm willing to provide concessions for a... newcomer to the city."

"I just want the bowman, Lieutenant. He's stalking someone in banking who's known to have some underworld contacts, a Jhon Dronsbech. I thought Belvar might introduce us."

Vech's brows rose.

She'd learned Jhon Dronsbech was a prominent and prickly citizen, a member of Oregent's city council, and she'd been worried about how someone in the guard might react to information that an assassin was on his tail. "If you value his safety," Lisette said, "I suggest precautions be taken sooner rather than later. The bowman is quite deadly."

"Jhon is a wealthy man, with his own security."

Lisette arched an eyebrow. "It's your affair."

Vech fingered the end of his mustaches, twirling them between finger and thumb. "I'll ride out to speak with him at once."

"I'd like to accompany you," Lisette volunteered.

He looked surprised. "You? Why?"

"To bear witness. He may not believe just how dangerous the bowman is."

"You have personal experience with this killer?"

"Yes." Something in her voice drew Vech's eyes to hers for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.

Her eyes flicked to the dwarf. "I'd like him along."

"Karag? He still has half a pig to eat."

The dwarf wiped hands on his napkin. "She wants me to earn my keep. If the bowman's there, I get two-fifths of the bounty."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "You think the bowman will be there?"

"He'll be wherever the banker is," Lisette said, "looking for opportunities to strike. I hope to flush him out with the game."

Vech seemed to think long and hard about that. "I'm not sure I like your analogy, but very well. Dronsbech's a touchy one, and your story might make him a little more receptive."

Vech ordered a carriage and brought along a pop-eyed corporal he assured her was an excellent swordsman. She eyed the slim young man dubiously as the carriage got underway, and the soldier, Culcumber, proved irritating almost on the instant. He pointed at the rifle, just visible in the gloom owing to the open curtains and the full moon.

"What's that?" His voice was thin, sharp.

"A ranged weapon."

"Is it magic?" Culcumber asked.

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Lisette was far more interested in watching the lay of the land as they approached the city gates, so she decided to head off further questions. "It's a gun. From Alkenstar. I carry four. The longer ones have greater range; all have excellent stopping power. And no, I won't be telling you anything else about them." At that she fell silent, then pushed the curtain aside to consider the passing streets.

As they rode out north of the city, Vech attempted small talk a couple times, but Lisette kept her answers curt. Didn't the chatty soldiers realize they were heading into combat? At least Karag was silent.

Before much longer they turned off onto a country lane. A manor stood in the lee of a hill ablaze with light. Lanterns strung on poles ascended the hill, and figures strolled up and down dressed in wild garments with fantastical masks. A band of a dozen musicians, dressed alike in green finery, sat on dark benches, plying their trade on violins, cellos, and woodwinds, and it made a merry sound on the evening air.

Great. What more perfect cover could an assassin encounter when closing in on a target?

The same thought must have occurred to Vech, who was eying the perimeter.

Dronsbech at least had an ample force of guardsmen—grim mercenary types wearing dark red tabards over leather armor. Two came immediately to inspect the carriage. Vech motioned for the others to remain within and dropped to the ground.

The guard who stepped forward to meet him was a well-built veteran with a crooked lower lip. His eyes flicked brightly over the uniform coat and Vech's insignia. "Are you an invited guest, Lieutenant?"

"I've urgent news for Mister Dronsbech." Vech put his shoulders back. "His life may be in grave danger."

The fellow's expression clouded, and he studied Vech for a moment before coming to a decision. "Come on, then. Who's the rest in the carriage?"

"One of my men, and witnesses to the assassin who's after your master."

"Assassin?" The guardsmen's eyebrows climbed a little higher. "Alright." He glanced at his companion. "Laltros, you're in charge of the gate. Might want to call up Murgan."

The talkative guard led them off toward the manor, eyeing the rest of Vech's group with curiosity.

"You'd best get Dronsbech up to the house," Vech said. "From what I've learned, it's a credible threat."

"What kind of assassin?" the guardsman asked.

"A bowman," Lisette answered.

The man frowned, then increased his pace and led them through a side door into the manor house, where they threaded past a trio of servants bearing food-laden platters.

The guard then introduced a frowning servant as Darvus, Dronbech's seneschal, who informed them that the master was with some guests in the garden.

"But who are these?" Darvus asked in a droning voice, indicating Lissette and Karag with a slight gesture.

"They need to see the master," the guardsman answered. "Shall I bring him?"

Darvus's frown only deepened, and his balding forehead creased: he was one long visage of disapproval. "This is quite irregular." He sighed. "Very well; go find Master Dronsbech." As the man hurried off, Darvus nodded to Vech. "I suppose you can wait in the master's office. Be so good as to follow me." He directed a dark look toward the dwarf and stepped off the marble to a parquet floor, highly polished, and then to an ornately carved oaken door. "A moment," he instructed, then stepped through into the darkened space to light a wall lamp and another on a desk.

Lisette entered, followed by the others, and saw then they stood within a finely appointed space, complete with an expensive carpet of green and gold, a wall-long bookshelf, a window overlooking what appeared to be a courtyard garden—for Lisette could see walls beyond the flowers—and a mahogany desk with various shiny knick-knacks.

Darvus stepped back from the desk lantern and cleared his throat. "Make yourselves comfortable." He pointed to leather upholstered seats and regarded Lissette again, haughtily. "Why is it that you're here, again?"

Lisette returned the man's gaze. "I have information that may help your employer avoid considerable danger."

Darvus studied her for a long moment, then considered each of them in turn before departing, pulling the door shut behind him. It closed with a click.

Next to the door was a wide, floor-length mirror that reflected the group: the dwarf, now studying the view through the window; Culcumber, nervously considering the book spines; and Vech, fingering his mustache with a look of disappointment, apparently noticing that one side drooped further than the other.

Lisette stationed herself near the mirror and waited for the sound of approaching steps.

Darvus opened the door and entered, reviewing the room before gesturing with a sweeping motion.

Jhon Dronsbech entered behind him. The banker was a tall man with a widow's peak and stooped shoulders, and he scowled at them all from under high, supercilious brows.

He tapped his ivory-handled cane and was opening his mouth to speak when Lisette snapped up her rifle and fired.

Coming Next Week: Blood and explanations in the final chapter of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Four: Earning Her Keep

Darvus reached out to bat the rifle bore away and had his palm blown through for his trouble. He screamed at the spurt of blood.

She dropped the rifle even as her other hand closed on the butt of her pistol. All evening she'd debated how to play this out once she had the Andorens and her quarry in the same place. "Surrender or die, Chelaxians!" she cried.

As hoped, the words gave her startled and horrified allies pause. Perhaps it would also convince Dronsbech that the little force was united.

Dronsbech lashed out with his cane, discharging a blast of lightning that sent Lisette flying toward the window. She crumpled beside a mystified Karag, her gun tumbling toward the corner.

Vech shouted something about halting in the name of Andoran as she threw herself to her feet, ignoring the tingling in her extremities.

Lisette pulled at the second pistol even as Karag swiped at the nobleman with his axe. At least the dwarf didn't doubt her. Dronsbech dodged, and Darvus the supposed servant extended his crippled hand, fingers flicking in an arcane gesture. Lisette wasn't sure about the nature of the spell, but it set the poor dwarf twisting with a grimace. Dronsbech himself dropped behind Darvus, so Lisette shot the sorcerer. This time the bullet caught him in the chest, and he stayed down.

Vech again shouted for everyone to put down their weapons. Lisette was running out of time. If Dronsbech kept his cool, he could talk his way free, and she'd be hard pressed to escape a hanging.

He didn't, though. As the aristocrat shot to his feet, his features rippled like flowing water, his form broadening. In place of the kneeling nobleman sat a powerful hellspawn with red-gold skin and immense forward-pointing horns. His lower half was virtually identical to his assumed shape, yet his upper body was so layered in muscle that he had burst the seams of his shirt and coat. The hair that crowned his high forehead now seemed more like a furred spearhead.

She ripped her sword free of its sheath.

The young guard, Culcumber, extended a shaking sword toward the Chelaxian; Dronsbech batted him into the book case with a contemptuous laugh, then lashed out again with the cane, now resembling a tiny stick in his oversized hand. Another lightning blast hurled the charging Vech over the back of the desk.

Lisette's eyes flicked to her pistol, which had slid to the corner beside the window. Karag still lay on the floor, Kerrigan's rifle strapped to his back. There'd be no help from that quarter. Culcumber and Vech were both down and groaning.

Dronsbech—or, as she knew him, Kryllic—spoke in a low, dangerous rumble as he stalked toward her, teeth bared in a jaw open impossibly far. "How did you find me?"

No wonder Kryllic relies on magical disguises.

"I followed the stench." She drew her sword, backing toward the pistol. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dwarf shaking his tousled mane of hair. She needed to buy time. "There's more after me, you know. I told the whole guard force."

"You lie."

"You can't tell, can you? Go ahead—try to read my mind. Darvus couldn't, either."

"You've ruined years of work." Kryllic raised the cane, then turned his head at the sound of a noise behind him.

The dwarf had leveled the rifle. His shot burned past Kryllic's face and shattered the window. Lisette threw herself at the pistol, rolled to her knee, and fired.

Kryllic, stomping toward the dwarf, cried out in agony as the bullet, both holy and silver, took him in the back of the skull. He weaved drunkenly, then suddenly found himself impaled on the end of Culcumber's sword tip.

With that, he dropped, bleeding all over his lovely carpet. Culcumber, face stricken, stabbed his motionless body again and again.

"I think he's dead," Lisette pointed out.

Panting, the boy relented, his eyes round as saucers.

From outside she could hear screams, but all the footsteps sounded as though they were running away.

"Sorry I missed," Karag said.

Lisette shrugged. "You did fine."

Vech climbed to his feet from behind the desk, adjusted his uniform coat. His lips twitched in fury, setting his mustaches wobbling. "Would you mind telling me what just happened? What about your bowman?"

She frowned at the mention of her adversary, but kept her temper under control as she ticked off the salient points. "I misled you about the bowman so Kyrllic and Darvus wouldn't read your minds and be alarmed."

"You lied to us?" the lieutenant rumbled.

"I just killed two agents of Cheliax," Lisette said calmly. She had begun, almost without thinking, to clean and prime her pistol. "You should be thanking me."

"Wait," Karag said. "You planned all this?"

"I improvised some of it," Lisette admitted.

"So all that about the bowman," Culcumber prompted. "That was a lie too?"

"No," she said tightly. "The bowman is after him."

"So there's no bounty on the bowman?" the dwarf asked angrily.

"There's a bigger bounty on Dronsbech. You'll be snagging four hundred sails for him, Karag. Maybe I'll throw in ten for the boy, too, since he delivered the death thrust. Several times."

Culcumber was still too glassy-eyed to respond to the jibe.

"I still don't follow all of this," Vech said. "If Dronsbech—"

"Kryllic," Lisette corrected.

"Whatever his name was," Vech said testily, "could read minds, why couldn't he read yours?"

"I planned ahead and brought a charm to protect me. But he or Darvus could have read your mind like a book. Darvus tried to do it when you came in earlier. Didn't you notice the way he was looking at all of you? They were cautious, but not suspicious, because they could tell all three of you believed my tale. If I'd told you the truth—"

"But someone really was firing arrows earlier this evening," Vech protested.

"Yes," Lisette said. How thick was he? "The bowman."

The lieutenant's expression cleared. "So you were using us to help you get this bounty before the bowman could get Dronsbech himself!"

There came the sound of pounding feet, and then the shouting escalated as the door was pushed open. The guards who'd scattered to the perimeter thundered into the room. If not for Vech's uniform and the strange corpse, things might have gotten deadly, fast.

Matters really weren't settled until late into the night, and even then it seemed like almost half the city guard was there interviewing the staff, the guests, and the hired guards, none of whom admitted any knowledge about Kryllic's true nature or motives.

She and Karag waited to the side through it all. She tried not to think about the bowman. There'd been a chance, of course, that she'd catch him making a play at the same time. Finally, though, she'd been lucky. At that thought, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Karag had been silent for a very long time, and his gruff question startled her. "You think maybe you could teach me how to shoot?"

She considered the dwarf. "First I have to teach you how to load."

"Okay, then."

This was a little unexpected. Her smile grew more genuine. "I tell you what: I could use someone to ready the weapons. If you can load and prime fast, I can keep up a good steady stream of fire. Let's try it out for a week and see how quick you are."

Karag nodded once. "Sounds fair."

She grew conscious of the toll of a distant, lonely bell. "The bowman's my next target," she said. "I could use backup. It's a decent bounty. Not as good as Kryllic's, but decent."

"So all that about revenge—you were just making all that up." He shook his head. "You're a cold one, alright. I thought this whole thing was a matter of vengeance, when really it was all about the money."

"It's always about the money," she lied.

Coming Next Week: Down and out in the slums of Cassomir in Chris Willrich's bard-tastic new story, "The Cloak of Belonging."

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry