Demonbane (Book 4) (20 page)

And even if she did cut through the rope, what then? She would have one arm free, but her other hand and both feet were still bound fast. She couldn’t escape off the altar, couldn’t even really defend herself.

So really, what was the point?

Survival
, she thought. Getting her wrist free was a chance. Not much of a chance, but a chance nonetheless. She hadn’t survived as long as she had by giving up. It wasn’t in her nature. She would fight to the last, claw any face that got to close, make them pay for killing her—

If, that is, she was even cutting the rope at all. She was afraid to look. If she looked, the cultists surrounding her might follow her gaze and notice the subtle action of her wrist.

So she kept rubbing the shard against the rope, trying to ignore the shaking cold that was seeping through her bones and making it hard to think, hard even to move.

Mina looked down at Kara. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she whispered.

The thief swallowed, hoping that in the shadowy darkness of the sewer outlet chamber Lady Dutraad wouldn’t notice what she was doing with the ropes on her wrist.

Kara tried to answer, something snarky, something that would put Dutraad’s wife in her place.

She couldn’t. She was too cold, too numb to even speak. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably. She was cold, colder than she had ever been before. It was hard to think. Kara felt suddenly tired, almost drowsy. She hadn’t slept in so long. It would be so nice just to close her eyes, to drift off into a blissful, oblivious sleep….

The chanting increased, rising in tempo as the cultists sang the incantation in unison.

The words hurt Kara’s ears. She felt so tired, so
cold
.

She closed her eyes and relaxed, just for a moment. A sweet, deliciously long moment.

Kara jerked herself back to consciousness. Her body was half-frozen, shaking, but still there. She
couldn’t
fall asleep, couldn’t let herself doze off. It was the cold. It would kill her if she let it.

Then she realized.

The pottery shard. When she had dozed off, it had fallen out of her hand.

It was gone.

Bronwyn stepped up to the altar. She looked across at Mina with a smile. “Are you ready?”

The noblewoman nodded silently.

Kara felt like screaming. She couldn’t even get her mouth to move.

“Accept this gift, O blessed Indigoru!” Bronwyn lifted the dagger high above her head. Its sharp tip was pointed directly at Kara’s chest. “May this blood break the veil between your world and ours!”

Mina closed her eyes, breathing rapidly. The Soulbinder around her neck seemed to darken, drawing in the faint light around it into a congealed shadow.

Kara pulled as hard as she could on the ropes that bound her wrists.

Nothing. She couldn’t even feel her hands any more.

“
Come to us
!” Bronwyn screamed.

It was over. Kara couldn’t fight any more. She was tired, so tired. She needed to sleep now, to close her eyes and just let the blackness take her into its welcome arms.

The cultists gathered around, chanting eagerly as they strained to see what was going to happen.

Bronwyn glanced down at Kara with a cruel, cold smile. “Goodbye, Lady Maklavir.”

There was a flash and a roar, an echoing
crack
that filled the entire chamber.

One of the cultists next to Bronwyn lurched forward as half his head vanished in a red puff of brains and blood.

At the same moment another cultist whirled around, falling to the floor with a gasp of pain. Blood stained the top of his robe.

All heads swiveled towards the sound of the gunfire, even as the cultists instinctively reached for the weapons they had hidden under their long robes.

Kara managed to turn her head. There, floating in her fading vision like a black spectre was Kendril. He was coming towards her with both smoking pistols in his hands.

Joseph was right behind him, his rapier drawn and shining brightly in the light of the torches.

Kara smiled.

Then her eyes slid shut and everything faded to a soft, welcoming blackness.

Kendril pocketed the pistols and went for the hilt of  his swords. “Wanara!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The female Ghostwalker braced her crossbow against her shoulder.

Joseph saw Kara’s prostrate form on the altar and gave a sharp cry. He pushed past Kendril, running across the icy stones towards the man-made island in the middle of the underground lake.

The cultists moved, shouting and screaming obscenities as they drew daggers, clubs, and various other weapons from under their robes.

Bronwyn grabbed a nearby cultist with a snarl. She jerked the startled man in front of her.

Wanara’s crossbow sang out. The cultist fell back hard against the altar with a bolt through his right eye.

Wanara ducked back to reload.

Maklavir stepped up beside her, his blade out and ready. He saw Kara as well, and started to follow Joseph towards the altar.

Kendril leapt into the midst of the cultists like a hurricane.

His short swords hissed and swiped, cutting a swathe through the lightly-armed zealots. He ducked, parried, slashed and thrust like a madman, tearing his way into the heart of the enemy.

Within seconds three cultists were dead on the slimy stones. Two others were bleeding badly.

Bronwyn dodged back behind the altar.

Mina stood stock still, either unable or unwilling to move.

Joseph jumped up towards the altar.

Two cultists leapt into his path to block him.

The grizzled scout folded one arm behind his back, dropped into a fencing position, and cut forward with his long rapier. The stabbing blade shot forward and back like the flicks of a long steel tongue.

Both cultists fell dead, run through by Joseph’s blade.

“
Mina
!” Bronwyn shouted at the stunned woman. She grabbed the noblewoman by the back of her robe and bodily pulled her away from the altar.

Kendril dodged another attack, then lunged forward with his sword and knocked the cultist into the chilly green water. He looked back up at Joseph.

Joseph brought his rapier down on the ropes that held Kara in one swift stroke after another. The steel of his blade sparked as it rang against the stone of the altar.

Kara wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed, her red hair splayed out behind her head like dead rose. Blue tinged her lips and outstretched fingers.

Joseph dropped his rapier and grabbed Kara’s face with both hands. He turned her head towards him.

A cultist appeared suddenly behind the scout. He raised a club.

Joseph didn’t even notice.

Maklavir crashed sideways into the cultist.

The man flew down the stone island and into the sludge of the lake.

Maklavir spun around, his sword out and ready. “Watch your back, old chap!” he called back to his friend.

“Kara!” Joseph shouted. He leaned in closer to the unconscious girl. “
Kara
!”

Kendril took a step back and blocked a frantic blow from another attacking cultist. His blade rang from the impact.

Maklavir looked to his left. “Kendril!”

Kendril parried another blow, then killed his robed assailant with a thrust through the man’s unprotected chest. He snapped his head around in response to Maklavir’s warning.

Bronwyn, Mina, and two other robed cultists were dashing down the stone path towards the chamber’s exit.

Wanara was kneeling between the fleeing group and the doorway. She was still reloading her crossbow.

Kendril snarled in rage and frustration as he pulled his sword out of the cultist, then kicked the body into the icy water.

“Maklavir, help me!” Joseph roared. He tore away at the last ropes that bound Kara to the altar.

Wanara dropped her half-loaded crossbow to the ground. She rose and drew a dagger from beneath her black cloak.

Kendril tossed aside his sword, then snatched a third firearm, a small silver pistol from behind his back. He aimed it at the cultists. “
Bronwyn
!” he yelled.

The witch hesitated, and so did Mina and the other two cultists.

“She’s dying,” Joseph gasped to Maklavir. “Grab her feet.”

Wanara stepped between Bronwyn and the exit.

Bronwyn smiled coyly at Kendril. She nodded to one of the hooded cultists.

The robed figure tossed back its cowl. A long brown ponytail uncurled from underneath. A half-white mask glistened in the half-light of the room.

Nadine.

Kendril shifted his pistol and aimed at the female assassin.

Wanara took a step forward.

Maklavir gaped over his shoulder at the scene on the causeway.

“Her
legs
, Maklavir!” Joseph cried. “We’ve got to get her—”

A cultist appeared out of the darkness on the other side of the altar, a dagger in his hand. “The goddess rises!” he screamed. The dagger in his hand flashed down.

Straight towards Kara’s breast.

Chapter 12

Kendril fired.

His pistol barked. The flash lit the darkness of the chamber for a moment, like a stray lightning bolt.

The shot hit the cultist right above the heart.

He flew back. The dagger that was in his hand a moment before clattered off into the darkness and skittered off the slick stones into the lake with a splash.

Joseph and Maklavir stared at the dead cultist in shocked surprise.

Kendril whirled back towards the causeway.

Bronwyn and her companions were just escaping through the archway.

Wanara lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Kendril snatched up his sword and ran towards the fallen Ghostwalker.

Maklavir and Joseph lifted Kara off the altar.

The redheaded thief gave no sign of life. Her body was completely limp.

Kendril threw himself next to Wanara. He rolled her over onto her back with his black-gloved hands.

The woman’s chest was dark with blood, her vest torn by a vicious stab wound. Already a pool of red was spreading underneath her, running into the green slime of the lake.

She blinked up at Kendril. Her face was pale, almost as white as her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Kendril said. It was all he could think to say.

Wanara closed her eyes. Her ragged breathing ceased.

Kendril stood back up. His face was as hard as flint.

“She’s freezing to death,” Joseph called out.

Kendril turned his head.

Joseph and Maklavir hurried up the causeway, carrying Kara’s unmoving form between them. “We have to warm her up,” the scout continued. Doubt and concern were plain on his face. “
Fast
.”

Kendril didn’t answer. He stared down for a long moment at Wanara’s lifeless form.

He could have shot Nadine.
Why
hadn’t he shot Nadine? For that matter, why not Lady Dutraad? She had been wearing the Soulbinder around her neck.

But he hadn’t. He had saved Kara by killing the cultist.

Madris was right, Kendril realized in a single blinding moment of clarity. He had put his friend over the safety of the entire city, over all of Zanthora.

And now Wanara was dead, the first of many. All because of his own short-sightedness.

And cowardice.

Kendril spun towards the chamber’s exit, his face burning with shame and anger, anger at
himself
, at his own weakness and selfishness. He ran like a man possessed, ignoring the shouts of his friends behind him.

He would catch Bronwyn before she got away. He would get that Soulbinder back.

He would avenge Wanara.

“It was
him
.” Lillette pushed back the cowl of her robe, her brown hair in disarray. “The Ghostwalker from Dutraad’s house.”

Bronwyn smiled. She pushed her way past a prop tree leaning against the backstage wall. “Yes, it was. Dear, dear, Kendril. You really have to admire his persistence.”

Lillette stared at Bronwyn in confusion. “He killed the others and disrupted the ceremony. How can we summon the goddess now?”

Bronwyn turned suddenly.

Nadine stopped beside her.

Mina, still trembling, stood nearby. She glanced nervously back down the row of unused sets that loomed in the darkness behind them.

“Actually,” Bronwyn said, “we finished almost all of the ceremony.” She looked over at the assassin. “Nadine, the Ghostwalker and his friends will be coming after us. You know what you need to do.”

Nadine clenched both hands over her heart. “Yes, mistress.” She vanished back into the shadows.

Lillette glanced back behind them too, as if expecting to see the Ghostwalker at any moment. “But…the
sacrifice
? We still need blood to complete the ritual, don’t we?”

“Actually,” Bronwyn chimed with her cloying voice, “we
do
. So sorry.”

Lillette turned back around, a look of sudden alarm on her face.

Bronwyn stabbed her dagger into Lillette’s chest.

There was a round of thunderous applause from the stage. It was hard to imagine that in the main opera house there were a thousand audience members watching a performance, oblivious to the conflict that was happening right now backstage.

Kendril pushed a stagehand out of his way with a bestial growl.

The startled man stumbled and crashed into a pile of boxes.

Kendril didn’t look. He didn’t care. Inwardly he cursed himself for being such a soft, sentimental fool. There was only one thought on his brain, and it burned like a hot coal.

Stop Bronwyn. Get the Soulbinder. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

There were no tracks to follow, no trail to guide him. Kendril just ran on instinct and sheer gut, chasing after a foe that could be lurking anywhere in the shadows of the backstage. He dodged around piles of rope, leapt over crates, weaved through sets and sandbags. Every step was either taking him closer to his quarry or farther away from them. There was no way to be sure which.