Imperial Traitor (22 page)

‘You’re not . . .’

It took a second for Reynik to realise what had caused her shock. The glamour had created a disguise beyond any that Femke could see through.

‘Femke it
is
me, Reynik,’ he whispered insistently, ‘and this is Calvyn. He’s an acolyte magician. He altered our appearances using magic. What you can see is
just a glamour – a type of illusion. There’s no time to explain details. We’ve got to get out of here . . .’ He paused. Time had run out. There were voices in the corridor.
Someone was coming.

‘Looks like we have trouble already!’ Femke muttered. She was wary. It sounded like Reynik and this was just the sort of madcap rescue he would try. The opportunity to leave her cell
was not one to be missed, so she decided to run with it and ask questions later. ‘Quick, get this off him. We need to buy some time. You’ll have to bluff. Remember what Devarusso taught
you.’

Together, the three raced to strip the servant of his brown robe. The loose-fitting nature of the garment worked in their favour and in just a few seconds, Reynik was throwing it over his head,
whilst Calvyn and Femke lugged the dead body into the cell.

Femke was about to close the door behind her when she witnessed an unfortunate side effect of the glamour that Calvyn had cast. As Reynik was settling the garment around him, it was melting into
the illusion, leaving him looking exactly as he had before, with no sign of the brown robe.

‘Magician! Quick! The illusion,’ she hissed, catching Calvyn by the arm and dragging him into a position to see Reynik.

Calvyn’s brows drew together in a frown of concentration and he began muttering a spell. It seemed to go on and on, but there was no sign of any change in Reynik’s appearance.
Silently, Femke gestured at the door and without pausing in his strange muttering, Calvyn nodded for her to close it.

Reynik sat down slowly in the chair. He took a knife in each hand and crossed his arms. By touch he inserted each hand and knife up the sleeve of the opposing arm. With his arms positioned over
his chest in an effort to cover up the bloodstains he knew to be there, he waited. He could feel the hood over his head, but his clothes remained unchanged and the knives in his hands were all too
visible.

The voices had stopped talking, but the sound of a single set of booted feet was approaching. Reynik knew he would have to be fast if it was one of the assassins. The invisible restriction of
having his hands inside the sleeves of the servant’s robe would not help. It was very tempting to pull them loose, but he resisted the urge, leaving it as late as he dared before committing
to a fight. As the handle of the door turned, the air around Reynik shimmered. His proportions shrank back to normal size and the brown robe became visible. The glamour had been dispelled without a
second to spare. He got to his feet and bowed low in the fashion of the servants as the Guildmaster entered.

‘Is everything all right?’ Ferdand asked him. ‘Have you seen anything unusual here in the last few minutes?’

‘Everything is fine, Guildmaster. Why? I heard the alarm. The loss of a Brother always makes for a bad day.’ Reynik spoke deliberately, lowering the pitch of his voice slightly to
add to his disguise.

‘It appears Brother Wolf Spider has returned to the Guild complex. He managed to kill Brother Firedrake on his way in. I’ll get more people down here to help you protect the prisoner
as soon as I can. In the meantime, stay alert and keep a weapon to hand.’

‘Yes, Guildmaster. I’ll do my best.’

The figure in black turned to leave, but then paused and looked at Reynik again as if to say something else. Under the brown robes, Reynik could feel the pricking of the wolf spider talisman on
his chest. He tensed further, preparing to leap into action, but to his relief the Guildmaster shook his head slightly and went out through the door.

Reynik listened to the retreating footsteps for a few moments to make sure the Guildmaster was really going. Satisfied, he got up and silently opened the door behind him. Femke came out as if
catapulted. She gave him a brief hug.

‘I heard,’ she said simply. ‘We don’t have long. Your magician friend . . .’

‘Calvyn.’

‘Calvyn,’ she repeated, nodding. ‘Glamour or no glamour – he doesn’t look well. Something here is affecting him. I think he’s likely to be more of a hindrance
than help in getting out of here.’

‘We can’t leave him,’ Reynik said firmly. ‘I’d never have found you without his aid.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that we should. It’ll just make a difficult situation worse, I meant. We’ll have to help him along if we’re to move at any speed, though what
we’ll do if we’re attacked, I don’t know.’

‘You’ll let me fend for myself,’ Calvyn interrupted, appearing in the doorway with his sword already drawn. He leaned against the doorframe, his brutish face pale, but his eyes
glittering with defiance. ‘Let’s go. Unless you know another way out of here, then we’d better get back to the transfer stone before they put a wall of assassins in our path. I
won’t use magic again except as a last resort. The magician who protected this place did a work of powerful magic that I don’t understand. The effects are disorienting and draining. The
longer I’m here, the worse it’ll get. I must get out of here quickly.’

‘You’ll get no arguments on that score,’ Femke said. She moved to Calvyn’s left to offer her shoulder as a support, whilst Reynik moved to support Calvyn on his right.
Reynik passed Femke one of his knives, replaced the second in his underarm holster and drew his sword. As quickly as they could, they crossed the room, exited the door and hobbled along the
corridor. Intertwined as they were, they were neither speedy nor silent, but the distance to the central chamber was not great.

Femke took a moment to check the main chamber before opening the door fully. It appeared empty, but she knew it would not remain so for long. They stumbled in a tangled gaggle through the
alcove, out of the gate and into the central area of the chamber. All thoughts of stealth had been abandoned now. Speed was the key. Once out in the unrestricted space of the main chamber, they
picked up the pace.

‘It’s him! And he has the girl! STOP HIM!’

Digging into his deepest reserves, Calvyn somehow found more strength. He shook off the arms of the other two, gasping, ‘Go! Go!’ and ran headlong for the wolf spider alcove. All
three reached it together, scrambling over the gate in a jumble of arms and legs. Femke fell, cursing as she went down. A knife glanced off the wall, showering sparks above where she had fallen.
Reynik grabbed her wrist and hauled Femke to her feet even as Calvyn opened the door into the passageway beyond.

They slammed the door shut behind them and Calvyn stared at it for a moment, muttering something under his breath. He staggered as he stopped speaking. Sweat poured down his forehead.

Reynik gave him a quizzical look. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to do any more magic.’

‘It was only a simple spell,’ Calvyn replied, pain lining his illusory features. ‘It’ll delay any pursuit for a few seconds.’

Something banged against the shut door, but it did not open. Reynik had no idea what Calvyn had done, for there was no lock on the door, but whatever spell he had cast appeared to be working.
The new door at the other end of the corridor was shut. They gathered outside, breathing hard. On Reynik’s signal they threw it open and charged.

Femke was first into the room. Shantella had a knife in the air almost before the door had swung fully open. As fast as Femke was, she was not fast enough to avoid the thrown blade. It slammed
into her shoulder and she recoiled, crying out with pain and colliding with Reynik, who was right behind her.

Shantella threw a second blade, but Reynik anticipated her throw and avoided the blade with ease. Seeing she was outnumbered by three to one, Shantella darted through the back door into the
bedroom area and slammed the door shut behind her. Reynik was content to let her hide. All he wanted was to get Femke and Calvyn out of the complex.

‘Quickly!’ he urged. He dragged Femke, still reeling with shock at the knife buried in her shoulder, across to the transfer stone. He drew out the wolf spider icon. ‘Come on,
come on!’ They transferred, all three touching the icon. It was only as he touched the icon to the transfer stone that Reynik thought to wonder if there was a limit to the number of people
that the icon would transfer at any one time. As the universe stopped spinning and the sparkling stars receded, he was pleased to see that all three of them had made it.

‘Holy Shand alive! Where did you lot spring from?’

Reynik groaned. The patrol that had followed him and Calvyn into the alley was still there. Of the three of them, he was the only one in any state to run. They were out of options. They would
just have to surrender to the Legionnaires and live with the consequences.

‘File leader! Over here – there’s three of them.’ The Legionnaire backed away slowly until more of the soldiers came running at his call. Reynik sheathed his sword,
motioning for Calvyn to do the same. Femke had sunk to her knees with her right hand clasped to where the knife was sticking out of her left shoulder. Reynik knelt down beside her and turned her
face gently to look at him. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He did not know what to say. The knife had driven deep into her flesh. He did not dare to remove it without a medic on hand to clean
and dress the wound properly.

‘Everything’s going to be all right, Femke,’ he whispered softly. ‘We’ll be fine now. Trust me. I’ll get us out of this.’ He had no idea how he was
going to fulfil his promise, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

‘Drop your weapons and walk out of the alleyway – slowly,’ the File Leader ordered. He was holding a torch in one hand and a short sword in the other. ‘Don’t make
any sudden moves. I don’t want any unnecessary nastiness.’

Reynik did as he was told, unclasping his sword belt and dropping it carefully in front of him. One by one he removed his remaining knives and dropped them next to the sword.

Calvyn dropped his belt knife, but instead of dropping his sword he placed the sheathed blade across his open palms in a non-threatening fashion and slowly took a pace forward. ‘My sword
is valuable,’ he said calmly. ‘I’d rather not drop it. Would one of your men look after it for me? I’m sure you’ll return it to me when you feel it
appropriate.’

‘Valuable, is it?’ the File Leader replied suspiciously. ‘Very well. Tam, take his sword.’

One of the Legionnaires stepped forward, his stance cautious and his eyes darting back and forth between the three strangers. He took the sword from Calvyn, who remained totally still whilst he
did so. A curious expression crossed the soldier’s face as he lifted the sword from the magician’s hands. Calvyn stepped back, saying nothing.

‘And the girl?’ the File Leader asked. ‘Does she have any weapons?’

‘Only the one stuck in her shoulder,’ Reynik answered. ‘You have nothing to fear from her. Listen, File Leader, I know I’m in no position to ask favours, but my friend
here is badly in need of a medic. An assassin threw this blade. It may be poisoned. We need to get away from here fast. The Guild of Assassins is pursuing us. If we linger, they’ll catch us.
Neither you nor I want that.’

‘The Guild?’ The File Leader’s face flickered between disbelief and fear. ‘What would the Guild want with you?’

‘A good question – but not one that I’m willing to answer here. Help us get away – preferably to somewhere that my friend can get medical attention – and I’ll
answer such questions.’

Reynik got back to his feet and gently helped Femke back upright. Calvyn helped support her on the other side. He was looking better by the second. Clearly being out of the influence of whatever
magic had been worked in the Guild chambers was already having a restoring effect. Slowly stepping forwards, the three walked as directed out of the alleyway and onto the street. Inside,
Reynik’s heart was pumping fast. How long did they have before the place was swarming with assassins? Not long. If they were caught here, being surrounded by soldiers would not offer them
much protection.

The File Leader did not look convinced, but he was wise enough not to take chances. Marshalling his men into a protective guard formation, he led them off at a fast pace towards the nearest
command post.

‘The votes have been counted and the results confirmed. My Lords, I am pleased to announce that we have a new Emperor Designate. By a clear margin, the Imperial Court has
decided that the next bearer of the Mantle of Shandar will be . . . Emperor Tremarle.’

Tremarle’s knees nearly gave way as the full impact of the statement struck home. It seemed all but impossible that just a few short weeks ago he had thought the House of Tremarle to be
dying. Now his name was to be elevated to the highest tier of all and he had his newly-adopted son to thank for that honour. He would never have believed his popularity amongst the other Lords was
great enough for him to succeed in this race, yet the cheering, clapping throng before him should be enough to quash any final doubts.