Imperial Traitor (35 page)

Vaulting the gate, she landed with catlike silence in an attack crouch. The inner door was shut. With painstaking care not to make even the slightest of sounds, she turned the handle, cracked
open the door and slipped shadow-like into the corridor beyond.

Serrius gave a mental ‘tut’ as he gestured to Derryn to follow him. ‘Bloody magic users!’ he thought as he ran lightly across the chamber to the alcove
displaying the sea snake symbol. ‘One look at him and I knew he wasn’t cut out for this. Femke should have left the Guild to the fighters. Now we have to waste good people protecting
him. What was she thinking of?’

It seemed likely that the Guild would have secured Lady Kempten in the same holding room in which they had held Femke. Serrius blocked out his negative thoughts and focused his concentration on
the task at hand. They needed to get Lady Kempten out of the fray before it turned really ugly. The trick would be to get her out quickly and cleanly. It was the most delicate part of the operation
and, despite his respect for the abilities of his fellow gladiators, he fully understood Femke’s assignment of this element to him. With unspoken coordination, Derryn and Serrius entered the
alcove, each covering for the other as they negotiated first the gate and then the door. The corridor beyond was empty, but there were voices in conversation not far ahead.

Whilst he thought little of the old magician, he had to concede respect to Derryn. The entertainer was far from young, but he appeared in good physical shape. He moved easily, and his breathing
remained quiet despite the speed at which they raced down the passageway. ‘If I move half as well at his age, I’ll consider myself very fortunate,’ he thought as he approached the
entrance to the assassin’s chambers. The door was wide open, so they did not quite achieve the element of surprise they had hoped for. The guards in the room saw them coming in time to
scramble for weapons.

Serrius leaped through the doorway with the grace of a dancer, his second sword appearing from its scabbard with a chilling ring. There were three men in brown robes in the centre of the room
and a fourth figure robed in black beyond them. A single ring of steel on steel and Serrius had run the first man through with the blade in his right hand. He twisted to meet the blade of the man
in black with his left, as both the other brown robes fell with knives protruding from their chests. The figure in black flowed forward, his movements fluid and fast. Serrius parried and blocked
three times with the blade in his left hand before managing to draw his other blade free. This was no novice, he realised. The man in black was a dangerous opponent, possessing both poise and
speed.

Balance restored, and both weapons available, Serrius whipped into the offensive, only to see the man stagger back with a knife buried to the hilt in the middle of his chest.

‘He was mine!’ Serrius growled, whirling to face his partner with an angry scowl.

Derryn raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Sorry,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm. ‘I didn’t realise you were possessive of your enemies. Don’t worry. I’m sure
there are plenty more to play with. I’ll try to let you have more fun next time.’

Serrius let go of his momentary irritation and gave the knife-thrower a lopsided grin as he realised how foolish he must seem. ‘Good!’ he said gruffly. ‘See that you
do.’

A resounding
BONG
echoed along the corridor and filled the room with its after tones. Seconds later another followed. ‘Quick! The keys.’ They searched the four guards for
keys to the inner room, but there was no sign of them. Whatever that noise signalled, the rest of the Guild would be unlikely to ignore it sounding with this frequency. Time was running out.

‘The table,’ suggested Derryn. Serrius nodded. They picked it up and turned it on its side. ‘If you can hear me, Lady Kempten, get away from the door,’ Derryn warned,
projecting his voice without shouting. The table was heavy enough to make an efficient battering ram. Serrius took the weight at the mid point with Derryn lending momentum at the back. Together
they charged the door. The first impact had little effect. They tried again. On the second strike they were rewarded with the sound of splintering wood. ‘Once more should do it.’ They
charged a third time. The door gave way, unable to resist another blow of such force. It split squarely down the middle and the doorframe ripped off the leading two legs of the table.

Serrius and Derryn threw the broken table aside and forced their way through the remains of the door. Lady Kempten was huddled in the far corner of the room. She looked dishevelled and
frightened.

‘Don’t worry, my Lady. We’re not going to hurt you,’ Serrius said gently. ‘Derryn here is going to take you to safety as fast as he can. Lord Kempten will be most
glad to see you alive and well. He’s been most worried about you. Come.’

Derryn stepped forwards and offered Lady Kempten his arm. With as much dignity as she could muster, she took his arm, got to her feet and brushed down her filthy clothing.

Frightened she might be, but Serrius could see the unbroken spirit in her eyes. This was a strong woman, he thought.

‘I’ll cover you back to the staircase,’ Serrius said to Derryn. ‘From there, you’ll be on your own. Be careful.’

Derryn nodded. He had recovered his knives when searching for the keys. He drew one of them again. Lady Kempten noticed the fresh blood on the blade and pointedly switched her focus elsewhere.
It was not that she was squeamish, but she did not want to reinforce in her mind that she was arm in arm with a killer, no matter how noble his intentions.

They moved quickly past the dead bodies in the outer room and into the corridor beyond. Serrius stalked ahead with both blades drawn again. They moved swiftly with no fuss and little noise. When
they reached the central chamber, a quick glance around revealed three figures in black emerging from different alcoves. Nadrek and Bartok still held their positions, but the assassins had clearly
become aware of them. There was no sign of Jabal, or Femke.

‘Go! Go!’ Serrius urged. ‘I’ll cover you. Just run.’

There was one assassin to their right emerging two gates along from where Nadrek and Bartok held guard. The other two were to their left. Serrius moved swiftly to place himself between the two
assassins on his left and the fleeing figures of Derryn and Lady Kempten. Holding his relative position, he angled out to meet them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nadrek and Bartok move to
engage the third.

‘Rats in a sewer – it’s funny, but that’s always been how I’ve thought of the Guild of Assassins. Didn’t expect it to be quite this true, though,’
Serrius taunted in a loud voice. The two figures in black moved towards him. Both drew blades. Neither man spoke, nor looked at one another. Both moved forwards with caution, showing no signs of
anger at his insult.

Another figure emerged from an alcove in front of Serrius. Derryn and Lady Kempten reached the staircase. The assassins did not appear concerned. Serrius was the centre of their focus. From
Reynik’s briefing, the gladiator knew that the assassins thought the only way out of the Guild complex was by using a magical icon. They had no knowledge of the conventional exit into the
Palace, so they would view any efforts to run and hide as futile. Derryn disappeared down the dark stairwell behind Lady Kempten. Serrius relaxed.

He hoped some of his fellow gladiators would reappear soon. He had once triumphed over five opponents simultaneously in the arena, but they had been novices and he had been at the peak of his
fitness and ability. He was under no illusions that to engage multiple Guild members alone would invite a swift death. ‘But what a glorious death,’ he thought, allowing a cold smile to
grow. ‘No rheumatism and old age, but a swirling dance of blood and steel. I can think of no better end.’

This was no time for fancy footwork or dramatic gestures. He needed to kill the men in black swiftly and with the minimum of effort. As the two men closed on him, the man to Serrius’s left
drew a knife and threw. Instinct born of numerous fights in the arena gave Serrius speed he did not realise he still possessed. With a flashing twist of his sword he deflected the thrown dagger, in
a move that brought the thrower to a disbelieving halt. Once his blade was in motion, Serrius followed through with the momentum and took the fight to his opponent.

The assassin’s shock at his target’s apparent superhuman reactions caused him to freeze for just an instant too long. Although he managed to parry a couple of strokes, he was off
balance and simply unprepared for the icy fury of his opponent. Serrius all but beheaded him with a vicious cross cut and then spun out of reach of the other assassin, who had moved rapidly into
position to attack the gladiator from behind.

The second assassin also paused his forward motion as he found Serrius suddenly facing him with perfect balance, poised with one blade in a classic defensive position and the other held ready
for another attack. Another reverberating gonglike sound echoed around the chamber, followed shortly afterwards by another and then a third. Serrius could sense the third assassin was moving
closer.

He turned slowly, concentration at a maximum as he strove to keep both assassins within his field of vision. He heard the clash on the far side of the chamber, but ignored it. His dance was with
these two for the time being. Everything else was irrelevant. A feint to his left drew the response he desired. With a stunning turn of speed he spun and leaped, closing down the distance on the
second man. He was still mid-leap when it happened. One second he was engaged in a full on attack, the next he was sent flying through the air and darkness swallowed him with an angry, deafening
roar.

The moment Jabal stepped up into the chamber, his head began to spin with the chaotic magical energy that tugged and twisted at his senses. The first thing that struck him was
that Calvyn had somehow managed to enter this place and get out again. For anyone open to magical influence, the cavern offered a huge danger. It would be easy to lose one-self here – to lose
control and never be able to find reality again. Whatever Darkweaver had done to this chamber was specifically designed to keep magicians from interfering with his work. However, despite the
apparent stagnation in the mindset of magicians over the last few centuries, some progress in magical arts had been made.

It took a few moments to create a shield that would protect his mind from the effects of the chaos. The vaulted chamber was impressive and imposing by design. It was hard to imagine that even
folk blind to the forces at work here would not feel something of the magic in the air, but one look at the faces of his two companions and he could see they were oblivious. With his mind shield in
place he was able to regain his focus.

He looked around. Aside from his two guards, the others had all disappeared to complete their various missions.

‘Are you all right, master Jabal?’ Bartok asked, his body tense and his dark eyes scanning the chamber for signs of danger.

‘Yes, thank you, Bartok. I’m fine now. Come. Let’s see if I can open the hidden entrance.’

The magician strode across to the wall where Reynik had reported the secret passage to begin. His two guardians loitered in his wake – alert and poised for action. He studied the stone
carefully for a moment. The fact that Darkweaver had placed one trap for magicians here made him wary that there could be more. His caution served him well. It took a few moments, but he cast a
complex spell of revelation that unveiled a particularly nasty trap. Any magician who blindly tried an opening spell would trigger a chain reaction. The reaction was designed to concentrate a large
amount of the chaotic power of the chamber and unleash it in a single magical blast at the person casting the spell.

A bead of sweat began to trickle down his forehead as Jabal sought the key to opening the inner sanctum of the Guild. There was more magical energy flowing around the chamber than he cared to
think about. One wrong move and no shield he could create would be strong enough to protect him from the consequences. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that the solution could not
be a magical one. This entire complex had been set up to repel magic users. The Guildmaster would therefore not use magic to unlock the barrier. It had to be something basic – a password or a
particular sequence of gestures. The problem was there was no magical way of discerning such a key.

‘Damn you, Derrigan Darkweaver!’ he muttered, irritated at being made to look the fool. The realisation that he was no better placed to force an entry than his two bodyguards made a
mockery of his presence.

To Jabal’s complete amazement, as soon as he uttered the long dead magician’s name, a doorway appeared in the wall directly in front of him. For a moment all he could do was stare in
disbelief. Was it another trap? Was there a metaphorical spider waiting to pounce on him the moment he entered? Why had the door opened? It took a moment for it to sink in that it was
Darkweaver’s name that had opened the way.

‘Of all the egotistical . . .’ He stopped, lost for words. He had read once that Darkweaver had been a man intent on making his mark in history. Discovering he would make his own
name an unchangeable password for such a place made Jabal realise just how desperate the magician must have been to ensure that memory of his name did not die.

‘What is it? Can we go in?’ Nadrek and Bartok were both fascinated by the appearance of the passageway through what had appeared to be solid rock. They peered in from either side,
but Jabal stopped them from going any further.

‘No! Do not step across the threshold. There were traps set on the door for the unwary. I imagine there’ll be more inside. If you inadvertently triggered one of them, you would die
without knowing what had hit you. I must proceed alone. Please, wait here until I return. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.’

The two men nodded. Nadrek looked more than content to wait at the doorway, but Bartok’s nod was more reluctant. The faint green glow emanating from somewhere along the dark passageway had
clearly piqued his curiosity, but he did as he was told and remained with the gladiator as Jabal unhooked a burning torch from the wall nearby and stepped cautiously inside.