Shadow’s Lure (51 page)

Not waiting for the outlaws, Caim stole up to the door on the left and nudged it open. Inside was a dark corridor, likely leading to the servants’ wing which might have its own staircase to the higher floors. But something drew him to the door at the end of the chamber. He crossed the room, mindful of the arrow loops above, but stopped short of touching the door. A presence loomed on the other side.
All right, Kit. Anytime now
.

Keegan entered the chamber, his falcata held high as if expecting an attack at any moment. “What happened here? Why’d they kill each other?”

“I’m not sure,” Caim answered. “Something’s not right—”

Kit popped into view in front of him. “Caim, they’re coming!”

“Who?” The question spilled from his mouth before he remembered he wasn’t alone.

Keegan frowned. “Who what?”

Caim grimaced as the presence returned, much stronger, coming from behind him. He jumped in front of Keegan and the brothers as the right-hand door swung open and a dark shape exited. The intruder wore a suit of exotic armor, black metal plates sliding soundlessly over ebon mail. Caim recognized the design at once as a slimmer version of the Beast’s protective shell. The figure raised a long curved sword with a night-black blade as it advanced.

The shadow warrior was fast. Damned fast. Before he took a full step into the room, two blurs shot from his off-hand, and two outlaws in the middle of the chamber crumpled. Caim leapt forward and made a lunging parry in front of Keegan, but before he could launch a counterattack, the shadow warrior spun out of the engagement. Another outlaw, Siman, went down missing half his face. Caim rushed at the shadow warrior from the side and swung his sword in a wide swipe that didn’t come close, but it caught his opponent’s attention. The shadow warrior ignored the outlaws as he turned to Caim with a vicious series of attacks. As he circled away, Caim remembered fighting Levictus, and the speed of the sorcerer’s movements. The shadow warrior’s quickness forced him to fight by intuition. He tried to stay in close where he could use his knife, but the shadow warrior kept him at bay. Every time Caim thought he spotted an opening, the black scimitar was there to cut him off.

Keegan slammed shut the door behind the shadow warrior, placing himself in the path of the enemy’s retreat.
Brave boy
.
I hope it doesn’t get you killed
.

Caim hissed as the point of the ebon scimitar twisted past one of his parries and sliced across the top of his left wrist. He hopped back a pair of steps and clenched both fists tighter around his hilts. The cut burned like red-hot iron across the skin. The shadow warrior followed him, curved sword moving in constantly changing patterns. Beads of sweat trickled under Caim’s shirt as he blocked a double thrust. The tension in his chest, rather than alleviating, was growing stronger. Then he realized he could feel a second presence, coming from …

Caim turned as the other side door opened and another shadow warrior appeared. The outlaws were too busy watching the duel to notice, and two of them fell to a black staff before they even realized they were in danger. Caim jumped clear of the sword wielder and, with a snap of his wrist, sent his knife hurtling across the room. It sailed straight, but the second shadow warrior batted it aside with his staff and moved to engage the others. Caim was there an instant before he could enter the room.

Caim heard shouts from behind him, but he put all his focus on this second warrior. His opponent’s staff had sharp blades at both ends. They were everywhere, spinning, slicing, darting back and forth. It was all Caim could do to keep from getting spitted on the agile weapon. The sword’s hilt warmed in his palm. He made a desperate thrust, aiming for the upper thigh. Just before it connected, the shadow warrior stepped back and vanished into a pocket of darkness.

Growling in frustration, Caim snatched up his knife. The other shadow warrior was surrounded by Keegan and the brothers, Dray and Aemon, and a short outlaw with a hood over his features. For a moment, Caim thought it was Liana. Then he remembered helping Keegan scatter her ashes in the hills above the castle, and his thoughts turned dark.

The shadow warrior slipped past Aemon’s spear and cut his legs out from under him. As the brother fell, the enemy launched himself at Caim. Their swords met with a screeching clang, sprang apart, and rushed at each other again. Keegan ducked in low from a flank and tried to score a hit, but with a deft move the warrior whirled out of the path of the attack. Caim lunged and caught on the flat of his blade the blow that would have disemboweled the youth.

The others retreated as Caim pressed the shadow warrior. The enemy’s attacks, which had seemed so quick only moments ago, had slowed to a more manageable speed. Or maybe he was catching up. The black sword seemed lighter in his hand, like he was wielding a reed cane instead of a blade. Caim blocked a stroke aimed at his side and tied up the scimitar long enough to dip inside the warrior’s guard. The
suete
knife flashed. Once, twice, and found flesh in the armpit joint on the third punch. The shadow warrior hissed and backed away. A moment later, he was gone in an eddy of dark shadows.

Caim let his arms fall to his sides as he fought to catch his breath. Kit came up through the floor.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He stepped back from the outlaws where they huddled around their fallen comrades.

“Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know.” She reached out to touch a tear he hadn’t noticed across the breast of his jacket. A couple inches deeper and … “But they aren’t alone. There are a bunch of creepy things crawling through this place.”

As he considered that, Caim called out to Keegan. “Gather up everyone to move. Take out some of the torches we brought and get them lit. We don’t have much time. More will be coming.”

“What about the wounded?”

The outlaws stood over the fallen men with dour expressions on their sooty faces. Caim looked down at Aemon, sitting against the wall with a pained expression as Dray tied a tourniquet around his leg.
They’re useless to me
,
all of them
. He bit his tongue to still the bloody thoughts colliding inside his skull.

“Leave them.”

“No fucking way,” Dray said. “I’m staying with him.”

Caim squeezed the hilts of his weapons. The presence had returned. Four presences, actually. The strongest was behind the door at the far end.

“When is this going to end?” he whispered.

Feathery tickles ran down his arm as Kit laid a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful what you ask for, love.”

With a grunt, he called Keegan over. The left-side door, heading west, felt like the direction of least resistance. “Take everyone through there. Look for a way around to the main hall.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m aiming to be there before you. If not, you know what to do.”

Keegan frowned, but he began ushering his people to the doorway. Caim watched the outlaws exit. When they were gone, he turned to the north. The black sword thrummed in his hand. It was hungry.

“What’s through there?”

Dray looked over, but then turned his attention back to his injured brother. The men had their weapons arrayed on the floor close at hand. Spears, knives, a bow and a brace of arrows.

Kit hovered close. “I don’t know. It’s one of the places I can’t see. I’m sorry, Caim. I can try again. It’s just …”

“No. We’ll go together.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Oh
,
but it is
,
Kit
.
It’s been too late for a long time
.

With a grim smile, he kicked open the door.

T
hey rode through the foggy streets while chunks of hail shattered on the cobblestones. Huddled under the hood of her cloak, Josey shivered and kept her eyes on the street. Between the freezing rain and the howling wind, speech was next to impossible. Not that she had much to say to the men surrounding her.

Somewhere out in the storm, the assassin was headed for a safe place to lick its wounds. And they followed.

By the light of her soldiers’ lanterns, she could see Hirsch, astride his steed in an intersection of three streets. The adept leaned over in the saddle, his face nearly touching the soaked ivory mane of his little steed. Every few breaths he would look down at a glass case in his hand while the rest of their party—pitiful as it was—waited a respectful distance away. Josey sat between Captain Drathan and Hubert. The captain had wanted to bring more men, but Hirsch had insisted on fewer. As they argued the merits of strength versus stealth, Josey sided with the adept. Enough of her men had died already.

The Crimson Tigers, Volek and Merts, made up the rest of the small company. The two sat on their fierce-looking horses a few paces from the group, no doubt conversing about stratagems. After the assassin’s attack, Major Volek had refused medical care despite the nasty bruise on his forehead. Josey supposed he was ashamed for some perceived failure, but she didn’t see what he could have done differently. They had been caught ill prepared and paid the price.

Likewise, the sergeant, insisting that his injuries were negligible, had also asked to accompany them. When he stripped the sling from his arm and flexed it to prove his readiness, Josey didn’t have the heart to deny him.

After what felt like a short lifetime, Hirsch turned his steed northward and took off down a narrow street at a canter. Josey choked up on the slick reins as she headed after him, her protectors keeping pace on either side. She couldn’t help thinking about what they would do when they finally cornered the assassin. Under their oilskin ponchos, each guardsman carried a crossbow with steel-headed bolts designed to penetrate heavy armor, but so far mundane weapons hadn’t proved effective against the assassin, and Master Hirsch didn’t have the resources to enspell them. For the thousandth time in the last couple days, Josey wished Caim was here.

A strong smell cut through the rain. It took only a moment’s concentration to identify the combination of distinct odors—mud, fish, and garbage—that was the river. She clenched her thighs together, which made Lightning toss up his head in irritation. Patting his neck, Josey forced herself to relax. She trusted in the adept. She had to.

The street climbed to the top of a steep embankment. The river, swollen with rainwater, rushed past on the other side. Josey steered her steed away from the edge and tried not to think about what might happen if she were to fall into those turbulent waters.

They passed a row of houses on the bank’s landward side. The storm and the dark made getting her bearings difficult, but Josey guessed they must be getting close to the Processional, which meant they were approaching the city cemetery. Josey had too many memories of that place to suppress them all. The most recent, and the hardest to dismiss, was the day she had “buried” Caim. The mere thought of it produced a twinge in her breast.
Damn you, Caim. Will I ever see you again?

Josey reined up. The adept had halted before a decrepit brick building.

“Is this it?” Captain Drathan asked over the clamor of the storm.

Hirsch nodded weakly, and Josey was seized by a pang of regret. Master Hirsch had spoken to her alone before they left the palace.

“I forged the letter, lass,” he’d said to her with pain in his eyes, not all of it physical. “My order didn’t send me. Truth be told, they banned me from coming.”

When she confessed she didn’t understand, the adept bowed his head. “But I had to come. Too much rests on your success. Earl Frenig was a great man. A great friend. I should have done more …”

In that moment, an image popped into Josey’s head, of a small ivory plaque bearing a face. Hirsch’s face. He’d been one of her foster father’s coconspirators.

“Master Hirsch—”

“He loved you, lass. I couldn’t live with myself if I let you be torn down by the same bastards who took his life.”

Brushing raindrops from her eyes, Josey dismounted. The building the adept had indicated looked like an apartment home. The brick was worn, showing traces of a distant whitewashing. The windows were empty holes, their canvas panes torn or nonexistent. Sleet rattled on helmets and armored plates as the guardsmen threw back their ponchos and checked their weapons.

Captain Drathan, sword in hand, peered at the building through his visor. “Majesty, this situation gives every advantage to our enemy.” He pointed to the gaps on either side of the building, at the windows and roof. “They can come at us from any direction, and it would take an entire company to secure all the ways in and out.”

Josey helped Hirsch climb down from the saddle. “Forget about securing it, Captain. We’re going inside.”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to argue.

“All of us. Make it happen.”

As Captain Drathan turned away to instruct his men, Josey studied Hirsch. The adept’s condition was deteriorating. His face was as pale as a fish belly, and he shook as he leaned against her.

Hirsch gave her a wan smile. “Not as bad off as I look, no doubt.” His voice was barely audible over the storm. “Anyway, it’s got to be done and there ain’t no one else to do it.”