Shadow’s Lure (28 page)

He didn’t know, and that bothered him. Only twenty-two outlaws had volunteered for the mission. A score of men—some of them untrained, others too old to be useful if it came to blows—to assault a fortress that looked like it could hold off an army. The prospects weren’t encouraging.

Caim flexed his injured forearm. The pain was getting worse. He checked his knives, keeping his hand well clear of the hilt jutting over his shoulder. The sword had been quiet since the battle in the alley, and he was content for it to remain dormant. The shadows, as always, were nearby, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He opened the bulging pouch at his waist and dipped the fingers of a gloved hand inside. Pulling out a handful of black ash, he dabbed it on the buckles of his clothing, the pommels of his knives, and over his face. He felt Keegan presence beside him. He could see the youth without looking over, lanky hair that hung past his shoulders, his narrow mouth, the sharp jut of his chin.

“What’s with the makeup?”

Caim held up the pouch. “Put some on your face, and the backs of your hands if you don’t have gloves. Cover anything that could reflect light.”

Keegan did as he was told, until he resembled a raccoon with sooty paws.

“Better,” Caim said. “When we go in, I want you to stay with me. I mean right on my heels. When I turn, you turn. Got it?”

“I don’t need a nursemaid. Father’s already enough of a pain in my prick.”

Caim snatched the boy’s collar and pulled him in close. “Listen up. A lot of your friends are going to get themselves killed tonight. If you want to see the sunrise, you’ll do what I say.”

“If you know something—”

“I know stupid when I see it. I can’t save anyone who won’t listen, and Ramon isn’t about to take orders from me. But I can save you.”

Keegan’s mouth settled in a firm line. There was something in the youth’s eyes, like he wanted someone to hit him. Caim let him go, and the youth nodded.

“All right. What did you bring in case we run into a fight?”

Keegan touched his belt. “I’ve only got my hunting knife. My sword broke back in the …” He swallowed and his eyes tightened. “After we left Uncle Corgan’s store.”

Caim reached under his cloak and drew the sword he had taken off the dead soldier in the alleyway. It was a falcata, a curved single-edged blade a little shorter and heavier than a cavalry saber. The steel shone bright in the dim light as Keegan took the weapon with both hands.

“This will serve you better than that bit of tin you were carrying before. Keep it ready, but don’t go stabbing everything you see. Things might get confusing in there—”

“Let’s go!” Ramon said from the front of the group.

Caim pulled Keegan to his feet as the outlaws filed out of the plaza. “Just stay close.”

As they joined the tail of the procession, slipping through the dark streets, getting closer to the massive structure, Caim felt a tugging in his chest. He slowed down. It was the same sensation he’d felt at the clearing, right before the armored giant arrived, but stronger. He placed a hand on his chest and took a deep breath as he hurried to catch up with the others. If Keegan noticed the lapse, he didn’t say anything. For the next couple minutes, Caim concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. Gradually the sensation lessened, until it was only a faint throb behind his breastbone. Irritating, but nothing he couldn’t work around. While he wondered what had triggered it, for now he could only push it out of his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. If the Beast was here …

Caim reached back to loosen his knives in their sheaths.

The thudding of the outlaws’ boots on the snow-packed street was loud enough to wake the neighborhood, but the shutters on the buildings remained closed as they passed, the windows unlit. Caim imagined the people huddled inside, afraid to look out of their own homes.

When they reached the next intersection, the prison’s outline loomed before them, six stories tall with a twelve-foot-high stone wall surrounding its grounds. Square towers studded the corners of the outer wall; lights burned within their arched windows. The entire compound was surrounded by a hundred yards of wide-open space without buildings or cover of any kind—a killing ground. Had there been a moon out tonight, it would have been suicide for them to even attempt to enter, but black clouds continued to obscure the sky. Their luck was holding.

Without the time for a full casing, Caim scanned the compound and tried to guess the best point of entry. The side facing them was bisected by a small gatehouse; probably the best-defended part of the prison. The western side didn’t look much better, but the east bordered the river. There was still a wall on that side, but the sentries might have trained themselves over time to ignore that sector. Caim scanned the walls for signs of sentries, and was both relieved and daunted to find none. Against his better judgment, he reached up to lay a finger on the hilt of the black sword. At once, the night erupted into a vivid palette of colors. Still, the walls appeared clear even to his ensorcelled eyes. The hilt quivered.

Caim slid his hand off the weapon and found Keegan watching him. With a shake of his head, he shouldered his way into the ring of outlaws.

“Listen close,” Ramon whispered, loud enough for all to hear. “We’re almost to the wall. We’ll try to take the gate without making too much—”

“The east wall.”

Caim had to fight the urge to reach for his knives as everyone’s eyes turned toward him. He wasn’t used to operating like this. There were too many of them. If he could take only one or two inside, that would be different. To hell with strength in numbers. Except for Ramon, he doubted any of these men had ever killed before. If they ran into trouble, how would they react? Like they had at the clearing?

“What about it?” Ramon asked.

“That’s our best way in.”

Ramon’s face was a pale thumbprint in the darkness, his eyes black pits of nothing. “How do you know that?”

“Call it a hunch. But whatever we do, it needs to be quick. We could lose cloud cover at any time.”

Ramon was quiet for a moment, and then said, “All right. You’re the professional. You can be the first one over.”

“Fine. Does anyone know where your chief is being kept?”

One man—tall, with a full red beard and sharp eyes set deep under bushy eyebrows—raised a hand. He had been at the clearing.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “My cousin used to work inside.”

A few ribald comments floated in the air, louder than Caim would have liked.

The tall man grunted. “Yeah. He was a right bastard. Hardly good for anything, but he told me a few things about this place. He said they kept the biggest fish on the top floor. I suppose Caedman fits the bill.”

“That he does,” Dray said. “The duke’s had a hard-on for Caedman since even before Aldercairn.”

“Why’s that?” Caim asked.

A grin split Aemon’s snarled yellow beard. “When Eviskine took the city, he offered amnesty to any clan or noble family who chose to join him. Caedman convinced his mother’s clan, the Indrigs, to refuse the offer. Even worse, he called for the other clans to ride against Liovard in a show of resistance.”

Caim showed his teeth. “I’m starting to like this man. So let me guess, the other chiefs didn’t show up for Caedman’s demonstration.”

“A few did,” Keegan said, softly.

“Not near enough.” Dray grumbled. “And the fucking witch sent those that did running like a pack of whipped dogs. Then the duke seized their lands for the insult and stripped their families of all wealth and title.”

“So Caedman turned outlaw,” Caim said.

“The duke never forgot who inspired the revolution, and forgiveness ain’t in his nature.”

“All right.” Caim rubbed his hands together. “When we get over the wall, we head for the front gate. Don’t try anything brave. Just stick close to me, stay quiet, and don’t get lost.”

Heads nodded, their eyes hooded in the gloom. With a deep breath, Caim checked his knives before he started across the long stretch of ground toward the gray walls. Some of his anxiety dropped away once he was out in front. It almost felt like old times: a moonless night, him stalking through the dark streets of the city alone. The only thing missing was Kit’s nonstop rambling while he tried to work.
Dammit. What’s got into her?

She’d been gone for days now. What if something had happened to her? He scoffed at the idea; nothing could harm Kit. Still, he worried. But what could he do? Nothing, except hope she decided to return soon.

They reached the outer wall without raising an alarm. Caim went over first, and was surprised when the outlaws followed without a hitch. Climbing they understood. Being silent, however, was a different matter. Fortunately, a quick jaunt through the interior grounds revealed no sentries, and the towers were spaced far enough apart that Caim was able to lead the outlaws to the prison house without discovery. He peered around the corner of the building.

The prison had only one visible entrance, a large reinforced door set in the southern wall atop a short flight of steps. The six sentries guarding the door didn’t appear especially vigilant for trouble, laughing and trading jibes as they leaned on their spears, but they were awake and alert. If they fought like the other soldiers he’d encountered in the duke’s employ, Caim was confident they could be taken down quickly, even if the outlaws gave him only scant support, but there was the matter of noise. On a quiet night like this, any hue or cry would be heard throughout the complex, and the outlaws couldn’t win a pitched battle. Stealth was the key.

Caim gazed up at the prison walls. Rows of dark windows dotted the smooth stone facing. Little larger than the arrow loops found in castle walls, they were too narrow to allow access, and they probably led into locked cells in any case. Then Fortune smiled down from the heavens. Two of the door sentries walked off toward the gatehouse. They might have been making their rounds or rotating to another post or had just gone to use the latrine. In any case, Caim figured they had at least two minutes before the guards or their replacements came back this way.

“Wolmacks,” Keegan whispered behind him.

Caim kept his voice low. “What?”

The youth pointed at the remaining sentries. “They’re Wolmacks, the only clan to side with the duke. They come from some backwoods out east.”

“You don’t sound impressed with them.”

“Nah. They can’t fight for shit, so Eviskine gives them the worst jobs.”

“Like guarding his prison.”

Keegan nodded, and Caim went back to his surveying. He thought back to the backwoods boys he had known growing up. One thing they had in common was that they liked to tear it up whenever and wherever they got the chance. He needed to get moving. Those sentries could return at any time. Motioning for the others to stay back, he slipped around the corner.

Caim drew his knives as he sprinted toward the enemy position. The shadows flocked to him, concealing him under layers of darkness. He thought for a moment about how it must look to those behind him, but he didn’t have time to be subtle as he closed in on his targets. He only hoped the shadows did as he told them.

The nearest soldier stood with his back to Caim, which was convenient, but the others were more or less facing his direction. He bypassed the easy kill in exchange for added surprise. As he snaked around the first sentry, Caim clubbed him in the temple with the butt of a knife. While the other soldiers took a moment to register his presence, Caim weaved among them. His knives cut silver ribbons in the night. One of the sentries lifted his spear as if to throw it. Caim concentrated for a moment, and a chill ran down his back as the soldier’s shadow reached around to seize his neck. The man fell, clawing at the shadowy hands that strangled him. Caim kept moving. He had fought against his baser nature up to this point, but now there was no time for mercy. The clubbed soldier was the only one to make a sound before dying, a grunting croak that had barely begun before the edge of a knife silenced him forever.

Caim dropped to the ground with the fall of the last body and listened for the whistle of arrow fire. All was quiet. He dropped the shroud of shadows and waved for the outlaws to come. He was feeling a little lightheaded, and the pressure in his chest had returned.

Ramon was the first to arrive.

“By Ell,” he breathed. “I never saw anything like—”

“Check the door,” Caim said, waving the rest onward.

They had no time for chitchat. Every passing heartbeat increased the chances they would be discovered. And once that happened, things were going to get messy.

A few of the men cast curious glances at Caim as they crowded around the entrance. As he’d seen from the corner, the prison door would take a battering ram to bring down if it was barred from the inside. He was tempted to drop to his knees and say a word of thanks to whatever god was watching over them this night as Ramon pushed it open with his shoulder.

“Inside!” Caim hissed.

His forearm was killing him. He pressed it against his side as he waited for Keegan to catch up. The boy looked at the corpses on the ground. With a gesture, Caim steered him inside.

Beyond the door was a plain antechamber. Torches on the walls illuminated a wide corridor that extended through the center of the building; doors were set into both sides all the way down to an archway at the far end. One of the doors was open, and soft noises issued from it as Caim crossed the foyer. He heard men talking, at least two of them. Not waiting for the others, he slid up beside the door just as one man—a soldier with a brown hood settled loose around his neck—exited. The soldier’s head was turned as he spoke. Caim let him pass. The man behind him was older, well into his forties, and stockier around the middle. His uniform jacket, with a dozen carmine strips down the sleeve, hung open as he walked behind the soldier. When the officer stepped across the threshold, Caim attacked.