Demonbane (Book 4) (13 page)

It was pointed at Dutraad.

The baron fell back. He raised one hand instinctively to protect himself against the inevitable shot.

Kendril leaped forward, but he was too far away.

The musket flashed and exploded.

The bullet pounded into the ceiling above. Bits of plaster floated down from the impact.

Olan had one strong hand on the barrel of the musket he had wrenched up just in time.

Potemkin drew his saber.

The gendarme let go of the spent musket and went for a pistol tucked into his belt.

Olan didn’t pause. He grasped the musket with both hands and slammed the stock into the gendarme’s face.

The man crashed back to the floor, his face a bloody mess.

Another gendarme stepped forward and swung his musket up towards Dutraad.

Olan snapped his head over towards the new threat. “Kendril!” he barked.

Kendril slammed his elbow into the man’s face.

The gendarme crashed back into the wall by the hearth. The musket was still clenched in his hands. He twisted it, bringing it to bear on Kendril.

Kendril snarled like a wolf released from a cage. He crashed bodily into the gendarme and drove the man hard against the wall.

The musket banged out.

The shot knocked out a leg from a nearby table. It crashed to the floor along with about a dozen plates.

The gendarme struggled for his sword.

Kendril rammed his fist into the man’s face.

The gendarme’s head lurched back, cracking hard against the wall behind him. He slumped to the ground.

The first gendarme staggered back to his feet. His pistol was in his hand.

“Stand down, gendarme!” Potemkin roared. The tip of his saber was pointed at the gendarme’s throat.

Dutraad melted back behind a table. Sheer terror was on his face.

The first gendarme stared at Potemkin, then Dutraad.

“I gave you an order!” Potemkin bellowed. “Drop that pistol, gendarme!”

“You will all burn in the fires of Despair,” the man said. He smiled through the blood that streamed down his face. “The goddess rises.”

Before anyone could react, he put the pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.

Everyone in the room stared at the two fallen gendarmes for a moment in horrified silence.

Potemkin himself seemed completely at a loss. “What on Zanthora--?” he said at last. He stared at the shattered body of the man who had been one of his gendarmes just a few seconds before. “
How
--?”

“Eru in Pelos,” Madris breathed. “This situation is more severe than I imagined.” She looked up at Olan and Kendril. “Vorten has been compromised.”

Kendril picked up the fallen gendarme’s sword. He looked back at Madris. “That’s what one of the kitchen maids told me. I thought she was exaggerating.”

Potemkin whirled to face Madris. “Are you telling me that these…
cultists
are everywhere in the city?”

Madris peered down at the corpse of the first gendarme. “They’ve certainly infiltrated
your
command, Captain.”

There was a moment of silence in the hall.

Potemkin looked at the gendarme sergeant. “Have the men’s barracks searched. If any gendarme is found in possession of occultic pamphlets or materials, they are to be immediately arrested. Is that understood?”

The sergeant blinked. “
Which
barracks, sir?”

“
All
of them,” Potemkin snapped. “The whole city. See to it personally, sergeant. Assign men you can trust.”

The gendarme sergeant stared at the two fallen men. “Begging your pardon, sir, but five minutes ago I thought we could trust
them
.”

“We need to speak with the Lord Mayor,” Madris said in her quiet voice. “
Immediately
, Captain.”

Potemkin nodded his head. His eyes were still fastened on the dead body just a few yards away from him. “Garonin. Served under me for…four, five years?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “This is insane. Absolutely insane.”

Dutraad stared wildly at the two fallen gendarmes. “I want protection, Captain! Trustworthy men—” His eyes lit up as an idea flashed into his head. “My regiment. I need to call them up—”

“Ashes you will,” growled Olan. “You’ll be in protection all right, your lordship.
Our
protection.”

Dutraad’s mouth fell open. His face was deathly white. “Look, I—I don’t know anything. About
any
of this. I had no idea that—well, that Mina, or Brionne—”

“You know
something
,” said Kendril sharply. “Even if you don’t realize it.” He pointed at the two fallen gendarmes. “They wouldn’t have tried to kill you if you didn’t.”

Potemkin gave Dutraad a long hard look. “By royal decree, I am required to extend you Ghostwalkers every courtesy, but the line stops at allowing you to take an innocent man and torture him for information.”

“Hardly
innocent
,” Kendril mumbled.

Madris shot the Ghostwalker a glare. “I assure you, Captain, there will be no torture. But I must insist that Baron Dutraad be formally remanded into our custody. I am afraid that time here is of the essence.”

Potemkin scrunched up his face. “Why? Are these cultists plotting something?”

Kendril and Olan exchanged glances. Maklavir cleared his throat.

“I think that is something I should discuss with the Lord Mayor,” Madris replied.

Potemkin frowned. “I see.” He looked down at the letter in his hand. “This is all highly irregular.”

“I know, Captain,” Madris continued in her infinitely patient tone. “But it
is
necessary. Many lives are at stake here.”

Potemkin gave the elderly woman a sour glance. “I would say I have only your word on that, but it seems that two of my own gendarmes have made a very convincing argument for your position. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, at least until the Lord Mayor gives me other orders.”

Madris gave a polite bow of her head. “Thank you, Captain.”

Potemkin gestured to the baron. “Dutraad is now in your custody, Madris. Question him all you like, but I expect him to come to no harm in your care. And for now I want him to remain here at his estate.”

Dutraad’s eyes burned with fire. “
You
…mark my words, Captain, I’ll have your
head
for this.”

“You may indeed, your lordship,” Potemkin responded amiably, “but considering the circumstances that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Olan and Hamis grabbed the flustered Dutraad and escorted from the room, followed closely by two of Potemkin’s gendarmes.

“We would also like to interrogate that one as well,” Madris asked gently. She nodded her head at the unconscious gendarme, now disarmed and surrounded by two other burly gendarmes.

“He’s one of
mine
,” Dutraad responded roughly. “Or at least he made us think he was. You can question him after
I’m
done with him.” He handed the royal letter back to Madris. “Sorry, Ghostwalker, but courtesy only goes so far. I’ve got a city to protect here, and I need answers.”

“So do we all.” Madris took the letter and tucked it away inside her black cloak. “Things may well get worse before they get better, Captain. I hope we can trust on your full support?”

Potemkin pulled himself up to his full height. “Trust seems to be something in short supply as of late, Madris.”

“Fair enough,” the elderly woman agreed. She turned and limped from the room, her cane clacking across the floor as she went.

Joseph stood from the chair with a grunt. He swayed and balanced himself by grabbing the mantelpiece.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Makalvir said with a raised eyebrow. “You can barely stand, for Eru’s sake.”

“Someone has to find Kara,” Joseph said between breaths, “and we’re not going to do it by sitting around here.”

Kendril sighed and looked over towards the door. “Dutraad is our best bet, Joseph. Right now, he’s our
only
one.”

“I hope so,” said Joseph between his teeth. He turned to face the Ghostwalker. “Because Eru help me, Kendril, if anything happens to her I’m holding
you
responsible.”

“Now, Joseph,” said Maklavir in a low voice, “this isn’t Kendril’s fault. He didn’t mean to—”

“
Didn’t
he?” Joseph retorted. “I’m starting to wonder if Olan was right about you, Kendril. Do you really care about anyone? Or are we all just playing pieces on a gameboard to you?” He wiped cold sweat from his forehead, his hand clenched tight on the mantelpiece. “I won’t let you sacrifice Kara, Kendril. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”

The Ghostwalker glowered at his friend, but didn’t respond.

“Sit down, Joseph,” Maklavir ordered in a firm but kind voice. “Callen said you shouldn’t be on your feet yet.” He put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, old boy, you have my word. Now Tuldor’s beard, sit
down
before you pass out.”

Joseph looked over at Kendril. “You’re all about penance, right? Well add this to your list. Get Kara back.”

He collapsed down into the chair again, out of breath.

Kendril stared down at his friend for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room.

Chapter 8

The first thing Kara felt as she slowly regained consciousness was the throbbing pain in the back of her head.

The second was grinding self-blame.

It came back to her all in one fuzzy moment. The Dutraad estate. The guards chasing her. Opening the strongbox.

The
Soulbinder
. Eru, she had had it in her hands, and then…

And then she had let someone sneak up behind her.

Some thief she was. Back in New Marlin she would never have been so careless. She was just lucky that she had only got a knock on the head, and not a knife across her throat.

She tried to move her arms.

Nothing. They were tied securely behind her back. She couldn’t even feel her hands any more. The ropes were so tight they had completely cut off the circulation.

So he had been captured. But by who? And what for? Why had they not just killed her?

Not, of course, that she wasn’t grateful to still be alive.

Her legs were tied, too. There was a gag in her mouth that tasted awful.

She blinked her eyes open, trying to take stock of her surroundings.

It was dark. The air smelled of dust, mold, and mothballs. Looking around, she saw several unmoving figures standing in rows on either side.

Startled, it took her a moment to realize that she was looking at racks of clothing, with various hats and helmets hanging on top.

So where was she? A closet? If so, it was certainly a large one.

Kara peered hard at the clothes hanging in front of her. Through the gloom she began to make out capes, suits of armor, fur-lined vests, and silken robes from the Spice Lands.

Costumes. They were
costumes
.

It was a closet, then. Some kind of costume and props closet for…for
what
?

Kara twisted, pulling at the ropes that bound her fast.

It was no good. Whoever had tied her up had certainly known what they were doing. The ropes didn’t give an inch.

There was a whining creak as the door to the room opened. A golden light bobbed into view, illuminating a pale face above it.

Kara stopped struggling and stared at the newcomer.

It was Bronwyn.

“I know you can’t speak, so I won’t bother to ask you any questions,” said the witch with a smile. She set the candle down on the floor next to the bound redhead. “Honestly, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway.”

Kara glared at the dark-haired woman. She didn’t bother at trying to spit any words past the gag or twisting uselessly in her bonds. She was determined not to give Bronwyn that pleasure.

“So,” said Bronwyn as she knelt down near Kara, “you’re finally awake, and you’re no doubt wondering why you’re not dead yet. I think that’s a fair enough question.” She drew a dagger from behind her back. The steel reflected the orange candlelight. “I could kill you right now if I really wanted to.” She gave a smug grin. “Truth be told, you falling into my hands right now is an unexpected boon. I have use for you.” She slid the edge of the dagger up against Kara’s throat.

The thief tensed. She continued to stare directly at Bronwyn.

“Well, well,” the witch said, “you’re a brave one, aren’t you? Are you a Ghostwalker, too, like Kendril? Or just some red-haired strumpet he picked up along the way?” She cocked her head. “Don’t tell me you’re
actually
married to that buffoon Maklavir?” She sighed. “That would probably be the most disappointing revelation of all. At any rate, it really doesn’t matter.”

Kara couldn’t help herself. She pulled at the ropes around her hands as subtly as she could. She was desperate to get loose and bash this arrogant witch in the face.

Nothing. The bonds were too tight.

“You see, my little magpie,” Bronwyn crooned softly, “in just a few hours you will play a very instrumental part in the greatest moment in Zanthoran history. You should really feel quite honored.”

Kara resisted the overwhelming urge to scream obscenities through the gag filling her mouth.

Bronwyn leaned over the helpless redhead and brought her mouth right next to Kara’s ear. “The goddess will be reborn,” she whispered. “Too bad you won’t be alive to see it.”

“For Eru’s sake, Callen, I
told
you to tie her up.” Kendril turned from the window of the room, his face drawn in frustration.

“Forgive me,” the other Ghostwalker sounded back, “I guess I was a little too busy saving your friend from certain death. Besides, the whole house was in confusion, and I had nothing to tie her up
with
. She looked like she could have been dead, for all I knew.”

“Well she
wasn’t
,” Kendril snapped. He shook his head angrily. “And now she’s gotten out right from under our noses. Ashes, Lillette could have given us information, maybe where Bronwyn escaped to, or what part Lady Dutraad is playing in all this…
anything
. Now we’re just left with more questions.”