When the Heavens Fall (18 page)

It was proving all too easy to stir the boy up and get him talking. “Explains how Mayot was able to get his hands on it.”

Chamery glared at him.

“What happens now this thing's in the open? If it's as powerful as you say, won't others be drawn to it?”

“Why do you think
I
am here? The emperor needs the Black Tower's help to recover the Book.”

“And you're just going to hand it over to him when you get it?”

Chamery smiled.

Jenna's nudge alerted Luker to Merin Gray's approach. The tyrin weaved through the crowd, acknowledging a look from a hidden watcher. The table of Bratbaks had fallen silent. Merin came to stand beside Chamery but made no move to sit. He glanced at Jenna, then shook his head as she pushed the bottle of juripa spirits across the table toward him.

“Trouble?” Luker said.

“Word's come in that survivors from the Seventh are still trickling into High Fort from across the Shield. Last arrivals were less than a week ago.”

“Coordinated withdrawal?”

“No, scattered groups only.”

“Meaning the Kalanese now control the Gollothir Plains.”

“Meaning the majority of the survivors have retreated to Helin.”

“Even so, I reckon a change of plan—”

“The plan stands,” Merin cut in. “We leave at dawn, back of the Royal Stables.” With a final look at the common room, he spun on his heel and headed for the stairs.

Luker watched him go. In his mind's eye he saw again the Remnerol woman who had interrupted them at the stables. Somehow he doubted she had come to tell Merin about troop movements across the Shield. He scratched his scar. Merin was holding his cards close to his chest, but there was no reason to think they had anything to do with Luker.

Then again, there was no reason not to think that. Like Jenna, the Guardian would be glad when Arkarbour was behind them.

Moments later Chamery drained his wineglass and followed the tyrin upstairs.

Luker leaned back against the wall. Sensing Jenna did not want to talk, he cupped his hands round his goblet and listened to the ebb and flow of voices in the common room. After a while music struck up, and he squinted through the haze of smoke to see a woman seated beside the bar, her face turned away from him. She was tuning a lyre cradled in her left arm. A hush settled on the room. She began to sing the “Song of the Exile,” tentatively at first, then with increasing assurance. Her voice was soothing, and Luker's eyelids started to feel heavy.

Before the performance ended, Jenna excused herself and made for the stairs, the half-full bottle of spirits in one hand.

Luker hesitated, then set off after her.

He caught up to her as she opened the door to her room. “A word with you,” he said.

Jenna raised an eyebrow, but nodded her assent.

Her room was chill and bare. The noise from the common room was a hum below, barely audible above the rain pattering against the large, solitary window. Jenna slipped out of her cloak and slung it over a chair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she removed her hairband and shook out her hair. “Interesting company you keep.”

Luker reversed a second chair and straddled it. “Not out of choice.”

“Who is this Merin Gray?”

“Emperor's man. Breaker probably.”

The lines around Jenna's eyes tightened. “He doesn't trust me, nor does the mage—I have seen their looks. But they trust you even less.”

“There's something to be said for keeping your enemies close.”

Jenna uncorked the bottle of spirits and took a swallow. “We'll just have to disagree on that.”

“You think your admirers will come after you when we leave Arkarbour?”

“If they know where I've gone.”

Luker took the bottle from her. “Won't be the first time we've had friends of yours on our trail. That time in Mercerie—”

“I was wondering when you'd get round to that,” Jenna cut in.

“I warned you Peledin Kan wouldn't play by the rules when it came to tracking you down.”

“I didn't need your help.”

“'Course you didn't.” Luker took a swig from the bottle. “Hadn't realized the whole thing still bugged you so much.”

“No more than it bugs you that
I
was the one who brought Keebar Lana down.”

“I could've made that shot.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“Maybe I was happy for you to take the blame for it. Maybe I wanted you to be the one hunted.”

Jenna snatched the bottle back from him. “And happier still to take the credit for my kill, no doubt. You still owe me for that.”

“I thought me stepping in against those demons made us even.”

“You thought wrong. Like I said, I didn't need your help.”

Luker caught her gaze and held it. “It'll catch up with you one day, you know. Too many powerful enemies.”

“I know.”

“So why go on? Not for the coin, surely.”

Jenna looked away. “It's not what I do. It's who I am.”

The musician's performance must have finished at that moment, for there was an eruption of applause and foot-stamping from the common room below. As the noise died away Luker said, “We're not so different, you know. Kanon always believed in what the Guardians did. He had a cause. Not me, though. Makes me just another killer.”

“Then why did you come back? To Arkarbour, I mean.”

“For Kanon.”

“You didn't know he was in trouble until you got here.” She paused, then went on. “Perhaps, like me, you have nothing else.”

Frowning, Luker gestured at the bottle in Jenna's hand, but she shook her head and raised it to her lips. The blackweed and spirits were starting to take effect, for her eyes were glazed. Luker regarded her thoughtfully. “Wasn't always like this,” he said. “When I traveled with Kanon, he had belief enough for both of us. I fought for him, not for the Guardians, not for the emperor. But when we went our separate ways, that's when the doubts came. The Will's a fickle thing. My power was beginning to fail near the end—no conviction in what I did. On its own, the will to survive can keep you going for only so long, and when that too starts to fade…”

“At least you still have Kanon.”

“Aye, there is that, I guess. But it's only half the truth. Because like it or not, when I walked out on the Guardians, I walked out on Kanon too.”

Into the silence that followed came another burst of applause from below.

Then the window exploded inward.

Two black-clad men holding ropes swung into the room, and the storm came howling in behind them. As they touched down they released their ropes and drew throwing knives from the baldrics across their chests.

Jenna reacted first, flinging her bottle of spirits at one of the newcomers. It glanced off his chin, and his head snapped round. Luker made to rise, only for his feet to tangle in the legs of his chair. He toppled backward.
Shit, shit, shit.
A throwing knife sped toward him, and he seized the fallen chair by its back and raised it as a shield.

The dagger thudded into the bottom of the seat.

The man who'd been struck by the bottle drew a knife and sprang to engage Jenna.

Still holding the chair, Luker surged upright and charged the second stranger. The man drew a sword and swung it wildly. The blade shattered one of the legs, but Luker used the other three to pin his foe and drive him back. The stranger tried to set his feet, but Luker's rush had caught him off balance, and a shove from the Guardian sent him screaming through the window. The chair followed.

Luker spun round.

Jenna had drawn a knife and now fought the first stranger. Luker considered going to her aid, but it quickly became clear his help wasn't needed. Jenna's thrown bottle had left a gash on her opponent's chin, and with each passing heartbeat more cuts blossomed across his shoulders and chest as Jenna picked holes in his defenses. Luker had expected the juripa spirits to slow her reactions, but her movements were precise and unhurried. In desperation her opponent lunged with his knife.

Jenna turned her body to evade the attack, then continued the motion, stepping round to take her behind her enemy. Luker didn't see her land the killing blow, but suddenly her assailant was clutching his throat. Blood bubbled out between his fingers, and he dropped his blade and pitched forward.

Luker exchanged a look with Jenna. No way that was all of them.

Over the growl of the storm he heard footsteps in the corridor outside.

He drew his swords just as the door burst open and a man threw himself through the doorway. Rolling expertly, the newcomer came up on one knee. In each hand he carried a small crossbow. Twin bolts of darkness flashed toward Luker.

He batted them aside with his blades.

A second figure entered the room: a Remnerol woman with olive skin and shoulder-length, flame-red hair.
The one from the stables.
She stood no taller than the Guardian's shoulder, yet still managed to adopt a manner of looking down on him. Her hands came up, and streaks of fire flew from her fingers.

Not interested in small talk, it seemed.

Luker used his Will to fashion a shield and grunted as the sorcery struck it. The air about him ignited, the bed and chairs bursting into flames. Behind him, Jenna cried out, and there was a thud as she hit the floor. For a dozen heartbeats the magic continued to rage, lapping round the edges of Luker's Will-shield. He grimaced at the touch of fire against his skin.

But his defenses held.

The Remnerol's sorcery died away, and she lowered her hands. The flames eating at the furniture fizzled out as rain blew into the room through the smashed window. Luker hawked and spat. The sorceress looked surprised he was still standing, but as yet her mask of arrogance wasn't showing any cracks. When she spoke, she had to raise her voice to make herself heard above the wind. “This is not your fight, Guardian. Step aside and you may live.”

Luker did not respond. Not taking his gaze from the two strangers, he crouched and felt behind him for Jenna's motionless form. Her head was partway under the bed. His fingers probed her neck for a pulse.

The Remnerol spoke again. “Last chance. Step aside.”

Luker took a breath to quell the rage swelling inside him, for anger would only weaken his grip on the Will. He swayed as he pushed himself upright. Maybe he had drunk more spirits than he should have, but he was still too much for these Shroud-cursed fools to handle. Odds were they'd been expecting to find Jenna alone and were now regretting the timing of their attack, but it was too late to back out.

The sorceress's hands came up. “You leave me no choice.”

Spears of fire battered Luker's defenses, casting a wild glare all about and spraying flames like sparks off a grindstone. Sweat sprung to the Guardian's brow. An overturned chair flickered to light again, and he kicked it across the room toward the sorceress. For the first time, a flicker of doubt showed in her eyes. Already Luker could feel the force of her assault waning. The bitch was a fire-mage. Without the sun's energy to draw on, her power would soon fade.

My turn.

Gathering his strength, Luker pushed back with his pent-up Will. His counterattack carved through the sorceress's waves of fire and slammed into the woman herself, making her stagger back against the wall. Before she could recover, Luker pulled back his right arm and flung one of his swords at her end-over-end. It took her in the neck, the point driving through flesh to clank against stone behind. She gave a gurgled choke and slid down the wall, leaving a smear of red.

Luker swung to face her companion. The man was clean-shaven and bald, and his left eye was half-closed in a permanent squint. For an instant he stared slack-jawed at the body of the dead Remnerol. Then his expression hardened as he turned on Luker. In one hand he held a scimitar, in the other a serrated dagger. The metal of both blades was blackened, and their tips wove an intricate pattern as he whirled them through the air.

Luker extended his right arm and reached out with the Will. The sword skewering the sorceress's neck worked itself free and flew back to his hand.

His opponent advanced. “Let's see what you've got.”

Luker attacked.

Their blades clashed. The stranger was fast, his weapons a blur, his footwork sure.

Luker had faced much better.

When the intruder's scimitar next darted out, the Guardian caught it and allowed it to slide along his left blade, drawing his assailant closer. It was the opening Luker had been waiting for, but before he could take advantage, his foe made a clumsy attempt with the Will to drive him back. For the blink of an eye the Guardian was caught off guard, yet there was no more force in the attack than a breath of wind, and he pushed through it to launch a series of lightning strokes that had the stranger parrying frantically. Luker feinted with his left sword. As his opponent moved to block a strike that never came, the Guardian's right blade flicked out and stabbed him through the heart.

Or where his heart would have been had the man not stumbled in attempting to evade the thrust. Instead of delivering a fatal blow, Luker's sword took him below the left shoulder, and he staggered backward, his dagger slipping from twitching fingers even as his legs buckled. Luker let him fall, then kicked the scimitar from his hand.

“Wait!” the man said. “I have information.”

The Guardian slashed open his throat. “Nothing I don't already know.”

Returning his swords to their scabbards, he crouched beside Jenna again. The sight of the assassin brought his breath hissing out. The skin of her face had been split by the sorceress's magic, masking her features in blood. Curls of black smoke rose from her scorched clothing.

But her chest still lifted and fell, her heartbeat an irregular flutter.

Luker breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Matron, then turned at a creak and saw Chamery in the doorway. The mage's look was guarded. “I sensed sorcery—”