Ferran's Map (49 page)

He placed his hand on the black iron gate to
open it, and immediately felt a tingle of energy through his
fingers. Magic? The smell of burning hair reached his nose. He
recognized its particular stench from years of exploring ancient
tombs; some sort of ward or concealment spell protected this house.
He wondered how many people noticed the building on a day-to-day
basis—probably not many.

With a quick command to his Cat’s Eye, he
deactivated the spell and entered the yard, though now he was on
alert and looked around cautiously. Only the races could work
magic

“Looks like a storm a'brewin,’ Milord,” the
driver called from his seat on the carriage. “Will this be a long
visit?”

Ferran glanced distractedly over his
shoulder at the sky. The clouds appeared coarse as wool and low
enough to snow. Yes, snow would fall soon, and it looked like a
heavy storm was coming. “Not long. Wait for me.”

“Aye, Milord,” the driver replied.

He walked confidently to the front door and
immediately tried the knob without bothering to knock. It was
locked, and he sensed a second ward. Now thoroughly suspicious, he
disabled it with his Cat's Eye and used his lock picks to spring
open the door. Then he hesitated. Caprion's prisoner said the
Shade's leader lived in The Regency. Could this possibly be their
base of operations? It seemed improbable in such a quaint
neighborhood, but what if he ran headlong into a nest of
assassins?

He listened, but heard no sounds from
inside. The house appeared silent and abandoned, protected by a few
weak wards and human locks.

He entered the front door. A short hallway
led into a wide-open dining room, then branched off from there. The
furniture appeared untouched. Ferran couldn't hear even a murmur of
a voice.

He moved carefully from room to room. The
dining hall was immaculate, as was the drawing room and the servant
quarters. A staircase led to the upper levels, but he didn't hear
any noise from the floor above. Ferran began to wonder if he was in
the right house. He took a quick look at the small backyard—nothing
unusual. He scanned the map again, puzzled.

On his way out, he paused in the hallway
near the front door and turned to his left. He had not noticed a
small sitting room at the very front of the house, with a large bay
window overlooking the garden. Now it caught his attention, because
there was a low fire simmering in the hearth. That unnerved him; a
fire wouldn't be left burning unattended. A plate of fresh fruit
rested on a solid oak table. The house must not be abandoned after
all—perhaps the owners were upstairs. If he had a lick of sense, he
would leave immediately before he was discovered.

But Ferran was not a man of sense. As his
eyes scanned the far wall, he found himself staring at a large
bookshelf. His curiosity stirred, and his hands itched to touch the
covers. One particular shelf of books stood out from the rest. The
leather tomes looked old and well-used. He pulled a few out to
examine them.
Origins of the City of Crowns, The First King,
and
Legends of the Six Gods.

Ferran frowned. He thumbed through the books
quickly and paused when he glanced at the back page—each one
carried the seal of the royal library. These books belonged in the
King’s palace. Why were they in this house?

His hand hesitated over the final binding:
A History of the Wind Temples.
A strange tingle of energy
shot up his fingers, causing his Cat's Eye to glow red. He squinted
at the book's title and grabbed it from the shelf. The moment he
touched the leather, he smelled the stench of burning hair again
and the journal-like book shimmered before his eyes. A concealment
spell. Cold energy soaked through his fingers. He caught his
breath.

He recognized the small, unassuming book
from Silas' library:
The Book of the Named
.

Ferran could hardly believe it. He almost
released a whoop of excitement, but managed to control himself. The
Shade must be confident indeed to hide such a priceless artifact in
plain sight. Then again, they probably didn't expect a treasure
hunter to track it down. He smirked.. Sometimes, it was good to
fear one's enemies.

Then he heard an odd thump from somewhere
deep in the house.

Ferran shoved the book in his pocket just as
a maid entered carrying a feather duster and a basket of cleaning
supplies. She paused when she saw him, but didn’t seem alarmed. Her
eyes narrowed. Ferran felt a tingling at his wrist, and the sudden
spice of magic clogged his nose, heating his nostrils. With a swift
command to his Cat’s Eye, his vision blurred and cleared, and he
found himself looking into the green eyes and at the black hair of
someone of the Sixth Race. Another concealment spell?

The woman pulled a knife from her blouse,
threw the basket of cleaning supplies at him and lunged, swinging
the knife with expert ease.

Ferran jumped back a few paces and grabbed a
poker from the fireplace. He swung, connected with her knife, and
sent the blade spinning over her head. She grabbed the iron rod in
an attempt to twist it from his hands, but he used it to slam her
against the bookshelf. The impact knocked loose a heavy tome from
the top shelf, which fell directly onto her head with a heavy thud.
The assassin instantly went limp and fell on the ground. He shook
his head, wondering at his luck.

He turned, ready to flee, but heard more
distant thumping that didn't sound like footsteps. He hesitated,
but his curiosity got the best of him so he followed the sound to a
door across the hall. The pounding intensified. He tried the knob
but it was locked, so he sprung it open and peered inside. A short
staircase led down into an underground room.

His eyes widened in excitement. A basement!
The sewer access tunnel must be under the house after all. The
metal clanging continued. With a frown, he started cautiously down
the staircase. He didn't know what he might find, but at least he
could take a quick peek.

The short staircase let him to an empty room
with a metal grate in the center of the floor, from which the
rhythmic pounding issued, sounding like someone was trapped on the
other side of the grate.

He opened the grate, and a massive set of
shoulders came into view. He barely recognized the man’s smudged
face and blood-matted hair, but the pointed ears were unmistakable.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Burn!”

The Wolfy blinked and gazed at Ferran with
obvious exhaustion. Slow recognition registered on his face as
Ferran grabbed his forearm and hauled him out of the tunnel. Burn
collapsed wearily on the floor.

“You’re alive, you lucky bastard!” Ferran
uttered under his breath. “How did you escape? Are you being
followed?”

The Wolfy could only shake his head. “No,”
he grumbled. “I think not.”

“Come with me,” Ferran murmured, and helped
him to his feet. “A carriage awaits us outside. You’ll be off your
feet soon….”

That seemed to motivate him. Burn stood a
bit straighter and walked determinedly toward the staircase. His
eyes appeared to be glazed over with pain.

Ferran followed Burn's slow progress up the
staircase, then escorted him through the silent house. He was more
than relieved to exit the front door, though disturbed to see the
female assassin was gone from the front room. It wouldn’t be long
before the Shade discovered
The Book of the Named
was
missing.

“Where are we?” Burn muttered as Ferran led
him back to the Ebonaire coach, thankfully without incident.

“The Regency in The City of Crowns,” he
replied. “Don’t worry, old boy. We’re headed to safety.”

CHAPTER 29

Krait’s head spun. She felt delirious from
dehydration, but wouldn’t touch the food or water laid out before
her. Normally she could fast for quite some time, but her head
pounded and her muscles quivered in her weakened state. She still
hadn’t recovered from the Harpy’s use of the sunstone several days
ago.

She hadn’t seen the Harpy in hours and
didn’t think he was aboard the ship any longer. There was a vague
hubbub from the upper deck, a shout of laughter, then a door
slamming. She listened intently. The energy on the ship felt
different this evening, less frantic, more subdued. She didn’t hear
the crew’s usual commotion and wondered if her Grandmaster was
moving forward with his plans, or if he had forgotten all about
her. Would he leave her to rot here indefinitely? She hardened
herself to the idea. If she was to die here, she would do so
willingly. At least she had served the Dark God’s will to her last
breath.

She let her head roll down to her chest,
closed her eyes and muttered a prayer:
Dark Redeemer, come for
me,
she thought.
Return me to Your shadow. Engulf me in Your
flames.
She imagined a wave of black fire consuming her body
until, with a billow of ash and smoke, she was released into the
realms of the underworld.

When she next opened her eyes, she found the
ship’s hold darker than before. She quickly scanned the room; a
pool of shadows condensed at the opposite end of the hold. A
familiar shiver of fear moved down her back.
My Master
comes.

The shadows pooled like ink on the wooden
hull of the ship. The timbers creaked as a long body materialized
from the very wood. Her Grandmaster’s aura was immediately
recognizable. She knew no one except Cerastes and Cobra who could
open such a portal, and Cobra’s magic was not so gracefully
executed as her Master’s work. Krait bowed her head in
reverence.

Cerastes stepped from the portal. He wore
black and purple robes. Ice poured from his presence. His skin
looked paler than before and thin as parchment, as though he could
tear off his own face with his hands to reveal some monstrous sight
hidden beneath.

Their eyes met. He crossed silently to her
side, cut her bonds with a knife and inspected her bleeding
wrists.

“Master,” she murmured, her voice raspy.
“They used a sunstone…I tried not to speak….”

“Hush,” Cerastes intoned. “Where are
they?”

She frowned. Did he mean the entire crew, or
just the ones who had captured her? “Not on board. I haven’t seen
anyone all day.”

“Hmmm. Pity.” Her Grandmaster headed for the
ladder to the galley.

“Master….” She began, then paused. Cerastes
looked tense, as though angered. She decided not to interrupt, and
fell into step behind him. He didn’t seem interested in her
presence. She doubted he came only to rescue her.

“I expected you to make your way back to us
sooner,” he told her, opening the hatch and entering the galley
above. “Well? What kept you?”

Krait hesitated before walking through the
ship’s kitchen, but was surprised when she found the upper cabins
deserted. Where were her guards? Or the crew, for that matter?

“The Harpy kept me confined,” she
explained.

“He questioned you?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?”

She felt guilty, though she wasn’t sure why,
and did her best to resist the Harpy’s interrogation. “I couldn’t
answer…but you know this, Master. I have no knowledge of your
secrets.”

“Did you tell them of our presence in The
Regency?”

Krait’s throat tightened. She felt
immediately apprehensive. “Yes…but I thought it of little
consequence. You rarely go there….”

A livid expression briefly crossed her
master’s face, then vanished like smoke. His cold facade returned.
“I always knew you were weak,” he said bluntly. “Your betrayal will
not go unpunished. I have half a mind to leave you on this ship. I
may still.”

Krait’s eyes widened. She didn’t know how to
reply. The Harpy and his companions must have used that information
somehow. “Master, I didn’t mean…I will do anything to redeem myself
in the eyes of our God….”

“Enough simpering,” Cerastes snapped. He
gave her a disgusted look, then turned away.

“Grandmaster,” she tried again. Near-panic
welled up in her throat. “I wouldn’t betray you. I am loyal to the
Dark God….”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “And a dog is loyal
to the one who feeds it…but it is still a dog.”

His harsh words made her sick. If she lost
his instruction and her place in the Shade, she would have nothing.
Did her Grandmaster not see her devotion? Could he not forgive a
simple mistake, while she was helpless in the thrall of a Harpy’s
voice?
Perhaps not,
she reasoned. He was stronger than the
teachers she knew in The Hive, which made him much more
ruthless.

She followed him through the silent mess
hall and into the snow-spattered daylight. They exited to the aft
of the ship. Four Dracians stood at the railing, casting lures into
The Bath. They wore heavy cloaks and hats against the blustery
weather.

Two of the sailors turned when Cerastes
appeared on deck. Their eyes widened. One dropped his pole in
surprise.

“Aye!” he yelled. He half-pulled a saber
from its sheath, but his cloak got in the way. “Stop there! Who are
you?”

Krait stepped forward, but Cerastes held out
his hand in a silent command to stay. “Ignorant Dracians,” he said
softly. Then, in a louder voice, he called, “What is the name of
this fine vessel?”

By now, all four Dracians faced Cerastes in
confusion. Krait watched them with open malice.

“The
Dawn Seeker
,” one said, and
shared a bewildered glance with his fellow.

Cerastes seemed amused. “Then we shall light
it up…like the dawn….” A soft laugh escaped his lips. He raised his
hands and a long stream of words began under his breath. The back
of Krait’s neck tingled as she felt Cerastes’ aura intensify, until
it seemed to cloud the air like smoke. She felt decidedly warm,
despite the snowy weather, glanced at the deck and saw the ice
begin to melt around his feet. She rarely witnessed her Master at
work. His magic was far greater than a simple heat-spell. Summoning
his demon’s fire must feel like a mere parlor trick.