Demonbane (Book 4) (18 page)

Kendril’s eyes shifted to the windows of the room again. “Lord Mayor, the new moon will be rising soon. If we—”

“
Enough
,” the man said abruptly. “I’ve had it with your insane paranoia and your demented rantings. I’m still the mayor of this town, and I will not see it turned upside down by your conspiracies. We’ll hear from the royal court at Varnost within a few days. Until then, you’re lucky that I don’t clap you all in irons right now.”

Olan and Kendril exchanged a quick glance.

Potemkin gave a nervous cough. “Your honor, if I might suggest—”

“No, Captain, you may
not
suggest.” The Lord Mayor folded his hands behind his back. “Last I checked, I was the final authority here in Vorten.” He stared hard at Madris. “Unless you intend to make good on your previous threat and order Potemkin here to arrest me.”

There was dead silence in the room for a moment.

Madris raised herself up slowly to her feet with the help of her cane.

All eyes were riveted on her.

“No,” she said at last. “I have no intention of doing any such thing. I understand your concerns, Lord Mayor, and while I do not agree with them, I can still respect them.”

The mayor crossed his arms and smiled.

From where he stood in the corner, Dutraad sneered triumphantly.

“
Madris
—” Kendril started to say.

“Olan,” she continued, cutting him off, “I want you to return to the mansion. Gather the other Ghostwalkers and return to the warehouse. I will join you there presently.”

Olan and Kendril both gawked at the elderly woman.

She sighed sadly and looked at both Ghostwalkers. “We will wait there until the Lord Mayor gets confirmation from Varnost. Is that clear?”

“Madris,” said Olan between his teeth, “I don’t think—”

“You have your orders,” Madris said simply. “This is just like in Delmorren. We have to abide by the rule of the law, even when we don’t agree with it.”

Olan lifted his head, then gave a slow nod. “Understood.” He motioned to Kendril. “Come on.”

“This is a mistake,” Kendril warned. “We can’t just sit and do
nothing
.”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty to do after the King disowns your order,” Dutraad snarled. “Starting with reparations for the damages to my house, as well as standing charges for murder and larceny. Believe me, I’ll see you and your wretched order
destroyed
before I’m through.”

Madris looked over at Kendril. “Go, lad. I’ll handle this.”

Olan turned towards the door, waiting for Kendril to follow.

Kendril hesitated for a long moment, his body tensed and his face scowling.

Finally he turned and followed Olan out the door and into the hall.

“So that’s it?” Joseph followed behind the two Ghostwalkers, his face set in anger. “What about Kara?”

Kendril and Olan paced down the corridor, grim and silent. They passed by the two gendarmes at the front doors and moved out onto the broad stone steps of the city hall.

“
Kendril
,” Joseph said. He glanced back behind him at the squat and ugly government building. “I don’t care what the Lord Mayor says. We can’t just leave her.”

Olan stopped at the last step. He faced Kendril. “Take your friend and go back to the warehouse. I’ll handle this.”

“The Third Fire you will.” Kendril ignored Joseph for a moment, and focused fully on the other Ghostwalker. “You just better hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun.”

Olan scowled. He lowered his voice, barely audible swish of carriage wheels and horse hooves through the slushy street just behind them. “This is a
Sword
situation, Kendril. You’ll follow my orders.”

Joseph stared in confusion back and forth between the two men. “What orders? What are you two talking about?”

“We’ve already been over this,” Kendril said to Olan. “I’m not following your orders, now or ever. Deal with it.”

Olan’s jaw twitched. “So help me, Kendril—”

“I’d hurry,” Kendril said. “Because I
will
go in without you.”

Joseph narrowed his eyes. “You’re both going to the opera house after all, aren’t you?”

Olan grunted. “He’s quick, isn’t he?”

“I still think Potemkin might be willing to help,” Kendril said with a glance back at the city hall. “He seemed concerned enough about the cult. If we could—”

Olan shook his head. “Potemkin won’t move on his own initiative. He’ll follow the mayor’s orders, and right now the mayor isn’t budging. We’re on our own.”

Joseph pulled the collar of his greatcoat up against the cold. “What about Madris?”

“Madris knows what she has to do,” Kendril said brusquely. “She’ll keep the mayor occupied as long as she can. It’s up to us now.”

Joseph put a hand on the hilt of his rapier. “Not that I’m complaining, but didn’t Madris order you both to go back to the warehouse?”

Olan smiled. “She said this was just like Delmorren. We had to bypass the local authorities there, too.” He looked over at Kendril. “Of course, you were certainly being obtuse about it.”

“I had to sell it, didn’t I?” Kendril gave an unconcerned shrug. “Besides, the opera house is the only lead we have. There’s no way I’m going to sit around while the new moon rises and do
nothing
. Whether you and the others want to tag along or not doesn’t matter much to me.”

“Then you’re even more of a fool then I thought you were,” Olan snapped. “We have no idea what is in store for us. The whole
cult
might be operating out of the opera house for all we know. We may well be walking into one giant hornets’ nest.”

“Or it might be nothing at all,” Joseph commented quietly. He watched a large carriage slosh by on the street. “We can’t be sure Bronwyn and Lady Dutraad were actually
meeting at the opera house, much less that it’s the base of their cult’s operations.”

Olan glanced down the street, stamping his feet against the cold. A glow-globe flickered to light down by the corner of the small plaza. “It’s getting dark. We don’t have much time.”

Kendril nodded. “For once, I agree. Get the others, then meet us at the opera house. We’ll go in together.”

Olan clucked his tongue. “Careful, Kendril. That’s sounding suspiciously like cooperation.”

Kendril turned away and raised his hood. “Believe me, I’d go in by myself if I had to. But I’m happier to have you and the others at my back. Ashes, I wish we had fifty of Potemkin’s gendarmes too.”

Olan nodded, a wary look on his face. “Alright. Thirty minutes. I’ll meet you outside the theater.” He turned and headed back across the square.

Joseph thrust his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat. They were already red from the cold. “What about Maklavir?”

Kendril glowered. “In this situation I’d say he’s more of a liability than a help. Besides, he’s probably still back at Dutraad’s mansion, enjoying another bottle of sparkling wine.” He clapped Joseph on the shoulder. “It’s you and me. Let’s go.”

“Dear, dear Kendril. Why is it you’re always trying to get rid of me?” Maklavir came up to them, dancing around the edge of a half-frozen puddle. He rubbed his hands together against the cold. “It’s enough to give a person a complex.”

Kendril gave a look of genuine surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Maklavir rolled his eyes. “Waiting for you, of course.” He took in their confused glances. “Not
outside
. It’s bloody cold.” He gestured back over his shoulder at a well-lit building on the edge of the square. “There’s an inn back over there. Excellent cider, beautiful wenches.”

“We’re going after Kara,” Joseph explained. “Olan’s getting the other Ghostwalkers.”

Maklavir gave a quick nod of his head. “The opera house? I thought that much already. I’m assuming that you’re taking along at least a hundred gendarmes with you?”

Kendril slipped his gloves on, one after the other. “No. It’s just us.”

Maklavir pushed his cap back on his head. “Ah. The usual insanity, then. Oh, these are for you.” He tossed a small burlap sack to Kendril.

The Ghostwalker caught it. He flipped it open and his eyes grew wide. “Grenades?”

“You
asked
for them, didn’t you?”

“Not for you to
throw
them at me,” Kendril corrected testily.

“Yes, well beggars can’t be choosy, can they? Besides, like I’ve told you before, they won’t explode unless you light them first.”

Kendril gave Maklavir a hard look.

The diplomat shrugged. “Well,
probably
won’t explode.”

Kendril weighed the grenades in his hands. “Well…thanks all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Maklavir replied cheerfully. “Oh, and I’m coming with you.”

The Ghostwalker’s face shot up. “No, you’re not.”

Maklavir cocked his head. “Please, Kendril, the way you say that is practically insulting.”

Joseph crossed his arms. “It’s probably nothing, Maklavir. A long shot at best. But…well, if things go badly, it’s going to get—”

“Violent?” Maklavir glanced over at Kendril’s brooding figure. “Yes, I could tell that just by the little sparkle in Kendril’s eye.”

Joseph scratched his beard, his face confused. “Then why—?”

“Because,” said Maklavir, his voice suddenly sobering, “they have
Kara
. I admit, I feel more at ease in a court room than a battlefield, but I’ll be Void-cursed if I stand by and do nothing while some cult has her in its clutches. I may not be a skilled warrior, but I am a
gentleman
.”

Kendril rolled his eyes. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Oh do shut up, Kendril.” Maklavir drew his sword and lifted the blade high. The steel reflected the light of the glow-globes that illuminated the street behind them. “Now, let’s go rescue poor Kara.”

“For Eru’s sake, Maklavir, put your sword away.” Kendril glanced over his shoulder. “People are starting to stare.”

The diplomat blushed. “Right. Sorry.” He sheathed the weapon.

The scout said nothing, but only nodded. His face was pensive.

“We’ll get her out, Joseph,” Kendril said quietly.

The other man nodded. “I hope to Eru we do. I can’t even imagine what they’re doing to her right now.”

Kara was dumped unceremoniously onto the cold, wet slab of stone. She could feel the damp of slime and mildew through the back of her flimsy white dress.

She was shivering, less from fear than from sheer cold. The sewer room they were in was below freezing, with patches of dark green ice floating in the sludgy water all around them. With nothing on but the torn white dress she had been wearing the night before, Kara had virtually no protection from the frigid temperature of the room.

A quick swipe of a dagger, gleaming in the torchlight, slashed through her bonds.

She briefly considered trying to make some attempt to escape.

It wasn’t even worth the thought. Before she could even breathe both her arms were gripped in powerful hands and forced down onto the wet stone. A steely grip pinned her legs. She could see the looming shapes of hooded figures around her on all sides. They stared down at her, their faces lost in shadows.

Kara couldn’t help herself. She struggled, fighting like a cornered animal, and cursed herself even as she did it. There was no way she could break free. She knew it, and her captors knew it as well. And she was undoubtedly giving them a certain amount of pleasure and satisfaction as she struggled against them.

But she couldn’t just lie still. She had been held prisoner for too long. Her arms were pulsing with pain, her hands were numb, her body stiff and sore.

The cultists were chanting. Their voices were low, ominous, quiet, but the sing-song words they were saying in unison seemed to drive into Kara’s head like white-hot razors. There was something unnatural about the sounds, something inhuman and obscene.

Her arms were stretched up and over her head. Her legs were stretched out, her ankles pushed apart. Ropes wrapped and tightened around her wrists and feet.

She was being tied into place, a helpless victim on the altar.

Kara stopped struggling. She felt suddenly like bursting into tears out of sheer rage and despair, but she managed to swallow her almost uncontrollable emotions and keep her face stoic.

She had learned more than just burglary in her time on the streets back in New Marlin.

“Don’t worry, child,” came Bronwyn’s soothing voice, somewhere in the hooded faces that hovered all around her. “It will be over soon. Very soon.”

Kara closed her eyes. Her right hand tightened on the sharp piece of pottery that was still concealed in her palm.

She knew one thing. That witch was going to pay.

Kara was determined to live long enough to see that.

Chapter 11

Music and the sound of powerful singing thundered out of the huge archway of the opera house, vibrating into the chilly night air. Glow-globes beamed brightly from where they were affixed near the entrance. Their light glistened off the white snow that was piled against the sides of the building and scattered over its steps.

“
Paletto
,” said Olan as he cocked an ear to the music. “Traditional for Candle Ice.”

“I don’t care,” said Kendril. He moved quickly up the steps, his hood raised. One hand was clutched on the hilt of his sword.

Joseph came behind him, and a rather nervous-looking Maklavir. Scattered in loose formation after them came the other Ghostwalkers, all except Madris.

“Having second thoughts?” Joseph asked Maklavir in a low voice.

The diplomat passed a shaky hand in front of his face. “Of course not. We’re probably making fools of ourselves, anyway.”

They entered the opera house.

More glow-globes blazed inside, filling the massive entrance hall with a white light that almost hurt the eyes after the darkness outside. Red carpet filled the hall, and massive pillars lined the walls on either side, running all the way up to the huge arched ceiling above. Three golden chandeliers hung far above the floor.