Demonbane (Book 4) (7 page)

It was locked.

“Your men are making enough noise to wake all of Vorten, Captain Mayer,” Bronwyn said sharply. She crossed to the foot of the staircase, and looked over at the armed mercenary that stood across from her. “Where’s Dutraad?”

The bearded captain raised his sword. “My men found him upstairs, my lady. He was bound and unconscious. We’re searching for his assailant now.”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “He had a woman with him, did he not? A red-haired lass? That’s who you should be looking for.”

Mayer shifted on his feet. “Your pardon, my lady, but I doubt—”

“Believe me,” said Bronwyn, “she’s the one you’re after, along with her friends.” She looked back down the corridor.

The music and sounds of the party continued merrily from the main hall, unconcerned with the commotion occurring in the rest of the house.

“I want nothing to impede the festival,” Bronwyn said. “At least for as long as possible. Get the carriage prepared. And be quick about it. We haven’t much time. It’s time for us to abandon the Dutraad estate altogether. All we need is one more day.”

“What about the Ghostwalker and his friends?” Mayer asked quickly.

Bronwyn shrugged. “If any of them are still alive, then kill them. They can hardly stop us at this point anyway.”

Captain Mayer saluted. “The goddess rises, my lady!”

Bronwyn smiled. “She does indeed, Captain. And you will be rewarded for your loyalty when she appears.” She looked back down at the closed doors that led into the main hall. “Let the nobles of Vorten dance their cares away, for one more night anyway. Despair is coming on them and their precious city soon enough.”

Maklavir and Kendril staggered down the stairs into the stuffy kitchen. Joseph hang limply between them.

Someone screamed.

A serving girl stood staring at them wide-eyed, a hand over her open mouth. Every head in the kitchen turned toward them.

Lillette, the pretty brunette in charge of the kitchen, rushed over to them. “What in Zanthora? Great Eru, what’s going on here?”

“Our friend is wounded,” Kendril explained. He dragged Joseph over near the firepit, and set him down with his back against a cupboard.

Some of the servants turned and fled the kitchen, shouting and yelling.

Lillette kneeled down next to Joseph. She put one hand quickly on his sweat-covered forehead. “This is more than an injury. He’s burning up with fever.” She started to rise. “I need to summon—”

Kendril grabbed her arm. “No. You can’t summon anyone. Dutraad’s guards are looking for us.”

Lillette’s eyes widened. The first look of fear passed over her face.

“Kendril,” said Maklavir. “We’ve got to get him to the stables.”

“No,” said Kendril. “If we move him any more he’ll die.” He leaned down towards Joseph. “Can you hear me? Joseph? I need your help. You’re the healer. We’re in a kitchen. What do we need?”

Joseph blinked his eyes open. He coughed, his whole body trembling uncontrollably. “Mith—mithridatum—” he gasped.

Kendril whipped his head around to Lillette. “Do you have that here?”

“No,” the young woman said. “I’ve never even heard of it before. Your friend needs help. We need to—”

“
No
,” said Kendril firmly. “I told you, no guards.” He turned to Maklavir. “Get out to the stable. Joseph left his herb bag there, by one of the stalls.
Go.
”

Maklavir stood.

Lillette rose as well. “I’ll get some hot water for him and bandages for the wound.”

Kendril nodded absently. He looked up.

Maklavir stood rooted to the spot.

“
Maklavir
—” Kendril started. He looked up, and stopped mid-sentence.

One of the house guards stood at the top of the stairs. He saw Kendril, and grinned evilly.

Lillette fell back with a cry.

Maklavir threw up his hands.

Kendril leapt to his feet.

In one smooth motion, the guard brought his musket up to his shoulder.

Kara had been picking locks ever since she was a little girl in New Marlin. Her brother Torin had always said she had a natural talent for it, the
feel
for a lock. It was her delicate fingers, he always used to say. Too delicate for the life on the street they were living. He used to tease her about it, even after they moved to the Howling Woods as bandits, where there were no locks for miles.

She missed him terribly.

But he was right. She
was
a good lockpick.

And right now, exposed in an open hallway with guards breathing down her neck, she needed to be the best lockpick in all Zanthora.

She knelt down and whipped out her thin metal lockpicks.

The locked door in front of her might normally take her two to four minutes to pick.

Kara figured she had about twenty seconds.

The lock wasn’t a difficult one, but it always took a certain amount of time to find the sweet spot on the lock itself.

Her brother Torin had always had some jokes for that, too.

She slid the tools into the door lock, and maneuvered them around.

Behind her she could hear another door slam open.

The guards were getting closer. One would come around the corner any moment.

Kara took a deep breath, in and out. She forced her fingers to be still, her mind to be clear. She felt the tools in her hand as if they were an extension of herself, the rhythm of the metal, the scrape of the lock—

A voice shouted. It sounded as if it was directly behind her.

She closed her eyes, and twisted the lockpicks again.

Kara felt the lock, sensed where it was, how it was formed—

The lock clicked.

The guard’s head suddenly jerked to the side, a hand over his mouth.

The musket sparked and roared fire and smoke. The bullet punched into the wall by the spice rack.

The kitchen filled with shouts and screams as the kitchen staff and various servants began to run.

The guard jerked back, his voice muffled. He grabbed for the hand over his mouth.

Tomas’ face loomed out of the darkness behind him. There was the gleam of a knife, and then Tomas jerked the blade across the man’s throat in one swift motion.

Lillette screamed.

The lifeless guard fell heavily to the floor, then tumbled down the kitchen steps.

“There’s more of them coming,” Tomas said. He wiped the knife off on his trouser legs, then glanced behind him. “All over the house. They’re stirred up like bees in a hive.”

“Maklavir,” Kendril ordered. “Get out to the stables and get that bag.
Now
.”

The diplomat gave a dazed nod, his eyes still on the guard’s body. He tossed the sword he held down at the floor by Kendril’s feet. “Here,” he said. “I’m sure it will do you far more good than me.”

Kendril gave it a contemptuous glance. “A gentleman’s blade. I can’t use it.”

Maklavir shook his head in amazement. “You’re still holding to that silly vow of yours even when Joseph is on the brink of death?”

“I am. And you’re right, he’s dying,” Kendril responded venomously. “And he’s not getting any better while you stand there prattling. Now
go
.”

Maklavir gave an exasperated sigh, then dashed for the kitchen’s side door.

“So what’s your plan, now, Kendril?” Tomas asked sarcastically. He came down the steps into the kitchen.

“Get Madris,” Kendril replied as he leaned over Joseph again. “And Olan. All the others. Tell them to storm this place
now.”

Tomas lifted an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it.” Kendril looked up at his fellow Ghostwalker. “Can you get out of the estate?”

“Yes. Dutraad seems to have more men here than usual. Probably added security for the festivities. But I should be able to get out undetected.” He lowered his voice a notch. “You need to come with me, Kendril. The guards will find you in here.”

Lillette sank down to the floor, her legs too weak to support her. She stared at the two men in front of her, dressed in simple servants’ clothes. “You’re—you’re Ghostwalkers?”

“Yes,” said Kendril with a side glance at her. “I don’t have time to explain, Lillette.” He turned back to Tomas. “I can’t leave Joseph. Dutraad’s men will kill him if they find him here.”

“He knew the risks coming in,” Tomas said quietly.

“He’s my
friend
,” Kendril returned. “I’m not leaving him. Or Maklavir and Kara, for that matter.”

Tomas stood, the knife still in his hand. “Alright. Your funeral. You know you don’t even have any weapons, don’t you?”

“Don’t be silly, Tomas.” Kendril glanced around the room. “We’re in a kitchen. We’re
surrounded
by weapons.”

Kara got the door shut just in time. She felt around blindly for the lock, then clicked it shut.

She was locked into the dark room. After the candle-lit corridor, her eyes needed another moment or two to adjust to the dim light.

The thief tried to take a deep breath, forcing herself to think as calmly as she could. She was trapped. It was only a matter of time before they searched the room she was in.

The window. It was snowing outside, and bitterly cold, and she was wearing nothing but a tattered white dress and bare feet. Bare feet? Had she kicked off her shoes? In all the excitement she couldn’t even remember doing it.

Going out the window was dangerous. It was freezing outside. The ledge, if there even was one, would be covered with ice and snow. She would have to climb or drop down to the ground below, at least twenty feet, maybe more. Possible, yes, but if she broke a leg or even twisted an ankle she was done for.

At the moment, however, she was running out of better alternative plans. The hallway outside the room was packed with men all looking for her.

The window was her only option.

She breathed a silent prayer to Eru, one she had learned as a girl. She hadn’t prayed much over the course of her life, but there was nothing like mortal danger to bring out one’s religious side. Joseph would have been pleased, no doubt.

Joseph
….

Kara shook her head, driving the image of the scout’s face out of her mind. She didn’t have time for this. No distractions. Her life was being measured in seconds.

She crossed the room, feeling her way in the darkness. Ahead of her were the curtained windows, almost ten feet in height. Getting them open might be her first challenge, especially if—

She stopped mid-step.

There, to her left, was a large strongbox set against the wall. It was even bigger than the one she had opened in Dutraad’s room.

She paused for a long moment. The Soulbinder. They still had to find it. Kendril seemed sure it would be somewhere in the house. It wasn’t on Dutraad, nor was it in his room. Kara was reasonably sure of that.

But this strongbox…?

Dutraad’s men were closing in on her. She had to escape now or she never would. For all she knew the Soulbinder was on Bronwyn. Kendril probably had it right now.

It was the basic rule of thieving, the first and most important one, the rule that all good thieves learned by heart and lived every day of their lives.

A dead thief makes no profit.

But this Soulbinder was beyond just being loot. Joseph had spoken of the Fourth Despair, Kendril had mentioned the summoning of demons. Everything they had done tonight had been to get that Soulbinder back and prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

Kara looked at the window one last time.

She swore to herself.

Then she turned to the strongbox.

Joseph was unconscious. His breath was ragged, coming in short gasps. His face was a greenish color, covered in cold sweat.

Kendril figured the man had minutes left. At most.

The door had barely banged shut behind Tomas when Lillette started to rise, her face almost white with terror.

“I need your help,” Kendril said bluntly. “He’ll die if you don’t.”

Lillette stared down at Joseph, then back at Kendril. She looked over at the dead body at the bottom of the stairs. “Your friend, he…he killed him—”

Kendril stood.  “My name is Kendril. I’m a Ghostwalker. Your master Dutraad is in league with the dark powers. He’s trying to summon a demon, a Seteru. I know what I’m saying sounds crazy, but it’s true.” He took the girl by the arms, and turned her to face him. “Look at me, Lillette. You know I’m not lying.”

She wilted back. “I don’t know that. I can’t! How could I—?”

Kendril made his gamble. “Because you know what kind of master the Baron is. You’ve seen what he does in secret, what books he reads, what company he keeps. There must be rumors, gossip,
anything.
” He stepped back. “Either you believe me, or you don’t. But I’m willing to bet that you know in your heart that what I’m saying to you right now is true.”

There was a heartbeat of silence.

A very long heartbeat.

Lillette looked at him. The color had returned to her face. “I believe you,” she said at last. “What do you want me to do?”

Kendril looked down at Joseph. “He’s been poisoned. I need you to keep him alive.”

Lillette bent down over the unconscious scout. “How?”

Kendril turned towards the fire. “However you can. Keep his fever down. Bleed the arm, get as much of the poison out as you can.” He grabbed a long fire poker and tossed it into the glowing coals of the pit. “Do whatever you can to keep him breathing.”

Lillette looked up at the Ghostwalker anxiously. “What about you?”

“I,” said Kendril as he pulled out a large kitchen knife, “am going to prepare for company.”

It was stupid. She should stop, run for the window while she still could. Every second she delayed was one second more for the guards to find her.

But she was close, very close. And Kara had a feeling.

She couldn’t quite explain how she knew, or why. It wasn’t quite woman’s intuition. Perhaps more of a thief’s intuition.

This strongbox.
This
was the one.

So she pressed on, far beyond the point of sanity or safety. The lockpicking tools scraped and snicked in the inside of the lock. She worked quickly, by touch and feel in the near blackness of the room.