She lowered the torch to cast the light on the flagstones at their feet.
“That’s blood,” Bastion said.
They stared at each other for a moment. The implications, while unspoken, hung in the air, interrupted only by the trickle of a nearby fountain, the distant shouts of other search parties and their laboured, misting breath.
Their attention immediately drifted to the garden around them. Faith lifted the torch and it became obvious there had been a struggle here. Several of the plants in the rose bed on the left were broken and bent and one of the many stone statues that graced this garden had been knocked over.
“She was here. I know it,” Faith said, working to catch her breath.
James felt it too, a knowing that belied understanding, and the same look was in Bastion’s face. They should have been relieved, but the violence that had taken place here was too much to ignore.
The dull gleam of steel in a small decorative brook just ahead caught James’ eye. He rushed up the darkened path to where a small stone walk bridge crossed the stream and crouched down at the water’s edge. Faith and Bastion were right behind him. They all saw it; a sword shimmered beneath the rippling water. The same variety used by the palace guard.
Faith put a hand on Bastion’s shoulder and pushed by. Her attention was on the gravel path ahead. “She tried to escape. They’re also carrying her or someone; look at the boot prints in the gravel.”
As James understood it, the gardeners raked these paths every evening, and it should have been smooth at this hour. Instead it was pocked with boot impressions as Faith had pointed out, one pair much deeper than the rest. A trail of fresh drops of blood led away into the darkness in the direction of the Gate of the Saints.
Without a word, James took the torch and began to run again. He had to move or panic would lay waste to what small hope he still had that they’d get Danielle back alive.
“If they are carrying her, their head start may not be so large,” Faith said, running beside him. “Even if it’s otherwise, Dee will be struggling every inch of the way and someone will have noticed their passing. The city wardens are out. Palace guards patrol the main thoroughfares during the week the assembly meet.”
Faith’s words were stilted as they ran. They were meant to offer hope but James knew that they were grasping at straws. If Danielle’s abductors were sufficiently resourced to seize her inside the palace grounds then it was fair to expect they would have thought through their escape in minute detail, including contingency plans if things went wrong as they evidently had.
They could now plainly see the tower that loomed above the Gate of the Saints over the treetops, its dark outline silhouetted against the starry sky beyond. Something was wrong. The parapets should have been lit with torchlight.
James burst out of the flower garden and sprinted across a lawn. A line of willow trees, new in leaf, and a small decorative hedgerow bordered the carriageway ahead. In no time at all they had leapt over it and their boots were drumming on cobble as they approached the gate and its towering battlements.
Working by torchlight, soldiers were carrying bodies out of the main door to the gate tower and loading them onto the back of a cart.
“Halt!” The call came down from the top of the wall and drew the attention of men at the gate. Crossbows swung from shoulders and swords were pulled from scabbards.
James drew up puffing and threw up his hands. He sensed the anger here. Bastion and Faith caught up with him just as a sergeant approached with four men, two of them carrying torches. There was blood on their uniforms. The blood of friends and colleagues, perhaps even brothers.
The sergeant recognised Faith and returned his sword to its scabbard. “Madam General, sirs, you shouldn’t be here.”
“They entered through here, didn’t they?” James said, bending, his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. He suspected they’d left the same way. It was a bitter blow.
“They? You know what has happened?” the sergeant was evidently at a loss.
“We’ve just come from the river. You may not know it, but the Lady de Brie was in the carriage that crashed into the water. We fear she has been abducted. We think they returned this way. There’s evidence of a scuffle in the rose garden and blood leading towards this gate,” Faith said.
“You’re likely right on one account, Milady. They certainly entered here. Killed everyone on duty, most in their sleep. The place was as silent as a grave when we arrived. But I’m sorry to say that Arkaelyon’s ambassador was not with those that returned this way.”
James frowned.
“How do you know this?” Faith demanded.
“A passer-by saw five riders attired in our uniform, gallop from the gate and head north, just before we arrived. Word has been sent to the captain at the river. They took the horses from the gate stables. Our captain and ten men are in pursuit as we speak. Lady de Brie was not among the riders.”
“She was brought this way. There must be a mistake,” James said. “She was here.” That James was sure of. The rest of her captors had flown from the palace grounds that he was also certain of. Not that he was going to tell this sergeant any such thing.
“Perhaps they put her in a soldier’s uniform and the witnesses mistook her for a palace guard,” Bastion suggested. “Her riding ability is second to none. No one would have seen the difference.”
Faith was shaking her head, her gaze taking in the scene and seemingly envisaging a great deal more. “Something’s wrong. They were carrying someone, and at least one of them were injured.”
James could see an idea crystallising there, but what exactly he could not tell. Though he shared her puzzlement.
“Sergeant, did the witness say anything about the riders being wounded?” Faith asked.
“No, Milady. The only one wounded was the poor man’s daughter. Apparently their wagon got in the way as the bandits emerged from the gate and one of the brigands swung the flat of his sword at the girl. Gave her a nasty cut above the left eye.”
James saw where this was going, and quietly cursed. “This woman, was she Surlemian by any chance?”
Faith was backing up towards the gate, urgency growing in her step and obviously thinking the same thing.
The sergeant looked surprised by the question and somewhat bewildered by the anger in the General’s countenance and the fact that she and her two male companions had pushed past him and were moving towards the gate. “Yes. Or Lunwraithian, but certainly fair.”
“Was she conscious?” Faith demanded.
“Barely. Her father had a blanket around her.
“So you could not see if her uniform was wet or not?” James asked.
“Uniform?”
“Did you check the wagon? Or why they might be out at this hour,” Faith demanded.
The sergeant looked ever more confused as he followed them out under the arch of the Gate of the Saints.
“They were late returned from Pelorus where they had collected straw and wheat for their animals? I’m sure you know how busy the ferrymen are when the assembly meets.” His voice echoed in the space below the high stone arch and was accompanied by their rapid footfalls.
“And you checked the goods?” James asked. His attention went to the dark empty street beyond the gate. This was Amthenium’s commercial district. He didn’t know it particularly well, but it was clear from the dark windows, empty streets and quiet that few would have seen the wagon’s passage.
“There didn’t seem to be reason, sir.”
“Where was the wagon?” Faith asked.
“There by the curb.”
Faith snatched the torch from the sergeant’s hand and hurried over. She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear as she crouched. James and Bastion followed. There was a scattering of straw on the cobble and blood.
James’ chest tightened as he saw that the glistening drops of blood led back towards the gate. “Did the girl leave the wagon?” He already knew their
greatest fear had been realised. This idiot of a man had let Danielle slip through his fingers like a fist full of water.
“No, sir.
“So how do you explain this?”
“We didn’t see it, sir.”
“Which way did they go?”
“South. Towards the Downs.”
The area was a warren of narrow streets and alleys all lined with brick or stone tenements. The main thoroughfare cut through the heart of the district on its way to the city’s South Gate and the wharves beyond the city walls.
“They were heading in the opposite direction to your captain, no doubt,” Faith said acidly.
“We’ll be requiring three of your horses and what men you can spare,” James said, backing up towards the gate. He’d seen horses tethered to a rail on the inside of the gate.
“Of course, sir.” The sergeant barked orders to his men and followed James and the others back into the palace grounds. “You truly think they have her?” he asked.
Faith was swinging up onto the saddle of a borrowed horse, her gown causing her to mutter an oath. “I know they have her. And the gods help us all if they get out through the South Gate and down to the wharves. Now send word to Lord Leefton that we are certain that the Lady de Brie has been abducted and is being taken to the Downs and likely to the South Gate and down to the lower wharves. Ask him to send as many guardsmen as he can spare to cordon off every bridge and gate to the quarter. Also send a bird to the South Gate. They are to close the portcullis and bar all from leaving the city. Also instruct them on my order to double the guard and be vigilant. As for you, take what men you can and ride through the streets of the Downs. Stop everyone you see. I want to know if anyone saw a wagon pass-by bearing those who resemble your so-called witnesses. Detain any who noticed it passing and bring them to us at the South Gate at once. By force if necessary.”
At that Faith gee’d her horse forward and led James and Bastion out into the night at a headlong gallop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Despite the emotionless expression on his face, Lord Mason was fuming as he drew the cart up to the rented house in the back streets of the Downs. As one of his men stepped down from the rear of the wagon to open the gates that gave access to the courtyard behind the tenement, Mason glanced over his shoulder, taking one last look back up the dark street to be sure no one followed. A dog began barking somewhere as two drunken men staggered from an alleyway singing a bawdy tavern song and wandered down the footpath across the street. In the distance he could still hear the palace bells tolling across the city. The sound grated on his nerves, reminding him just how close the abduction had come to failure. They should have been aboard ship by now and the palace none the wiser that Arkaelyon’s ambassador was missing. Instead they had been forced to switch to the second escape route and by far the least desirable. To make matters worse three of their numbers were dead and Lea and he lucky to be alive.
Lord Henry’s niece was sitting beside him, wrapped in a blanket, holding a cloth to a nasty wound to her head. Mason could feel the anger and hatred radiating through her aura.
He shared the sentiment. Though, Keira rather than the Lady de Brie was the source of his annoyance.
The men swung the gates open. Mason gee’d the horse forward. He felt the wards protecting the house tingle down his spine as he drove the wagon under a weathered, stone archway covered in ivy and down the narrow alley between the old brick buildings. They brought him some comfort since the wards that had been conjured to conceal the wagon and its precious cargo from searching eyes were fast wearing off.
As quietly as he could, he drew the vehicle to a halt in the small overgrown stable and readying yard at the rear. The only light in the yard came from the lantern hanging above the back door of their rented house. The five men who had rejoined them as planned a few streets back, moved like silent shadows to unhitch the horse and get their prisoner and dead out from under the straw in the back of the wagon and into the house.
Mason watched the darkened windows overlooking the yard for a while, then help Lea down from the driver’s seat of the wagon. Sure no one had noticed their arrival, and with the last two men returning from the stables, he and Lea were last to enter the house. Before stepping across the threshold, he took down the lantern and looked out into the dark yard one last time. With the door closed and locked he handed the injured Lea into the capable hands of his wife, who offered him a relieved if drawn smile and kissed his cheek. “Things not go well then?”
Mason blew out the lantern flame and hung it on the hook by the door. “Well enough. We have to take the catacombs. The ship is out of the question. The palace knows she is missing and we must leave as soon as possible.”
His wife nodded. She stole a glance at the unconscious and bound prisoner that one of the men had carried inside and dumped on the floor and then carefully stepped around her as she might a sleeping lioness, before crossing the room to where Lea had closeted herself on a chair by the fire in the hearth and was scowling at the fire as she warmed her hands.
Mason’s words had been as much for Mr Bale’s benefit, a friend and fellow elder on the Council of the Northern Covens, who was quietly instructing the men to take the dead into a side room. His friend’s grave express made it clear he had already guessed they were in trouble. And the idea that they might have to us the catacombs had never thrilled any of them. Amthenium’s ancient tunnels were a place with a long history of betrayal and it had been very seldom across the centuries that a child of Maig dared set foot down there.
Mason pulled off his gloves. His brow furrowed as he noticed the silver ceremonial bowl and knife sitting on a tray on the table. Why these sacred items had been brought here from the ship he couldn’t tell. The ritual of eternal shadows was to be performed in the woods on the southern shore of the lake. The plan had been in place for weeks and servants of the council would already be preparing the alter stone and conjuring the wards to conceal it. These sacred objects should have been there. That’s when he felt Keira and Allius presence.
He turned to Bale who was pouring a hot mug of tea from a blackened iron pot hanging over the fire in the hearth.
“What’s going on? Why are Allius and Keira here?
“She’ll explain, I’m sure.”
“Where is she? And why are these here?” Mason asked, pointing at the sacred objects on the table.
“They’re in the cellar. You should probably change out of those damp clothes,” Bale said, handing him the mug of steaming tea.
Mason took a few sips to ward off the cold. “The long walk ahead will warm me.” His attention was fixed on the door to the cellar. “We were lucky Maig was watching over us or damp clothes would have been the least of our concerns.”
The princess began to stir. Mason put his mug aside and knelt down to check the ropes around her wrists and ankles were secure. If he had learned anything in the last half hour it was that you could not give this feisty young woman an inch without it costing you in blood.
“You’re going to have to cut her loose. Keira needs a little of her blood,” Bale said.
“Why?”
Bale glanced at the door to the cellar then said reluctantly. “She needs to conjure a mist to conceal the escape of our brethren aboard ship.”
Something else was wrong; Mason could see it in his friend’s face. “What happened to the wards? They served us well enough.” He read Bale’s mind and got a flash of dozens of their brethren being ripped apart—many of them good friends, all of them men of the Northern Coven. “Mercy abide us, what happened?”
Bale drew his dagger and knelt, his craggy features softening with understanding. His blade made short work of the woman’s bonds. “There’s been more trouble than you can know, brother. Seems the men who helped with the abduction and left your company to cross the lake as planned were set upon by the White Ones as they flew out across the lake. Only three survived the massacre.”
Mason was stunned.
“That’s not possible, the concealment spell—They didn’t know Cargius was missing …”
“It didn’t work as well as we had hoped. It seems they can see us when we move beyond the walls of the city or transform. Keira is sure the White Ones don’t know where we are right now but they know we have their Lord Cargius.”
Mason felt his anger get the better of his grief. “I said it before, this plan was insane. We should have waited and taken them both on the festival night. The streets would have been alive with celebration and our passing confused because of it. I bloody said so.”
“I know. But what is done is done. Keira is going to conjure a mist to offer some protection to our brethren aboard the Ra’tane and those scattered around the city who can not open a portal into the catacombs.”
Fuming, Mason nodded because there was nothing else to do. He should have argued harder against this change in plan. He had never liked the idea of exposing the Seer’s bones to lure Cargius, and he had always thought by taking the Druid Lord earlier than the woman, they opened themselves up to more risk. But Keira would not be told. She could never bloody well be told.
“I take it Cargius is still safe?”
“They’re taking him through the catacombs to the altar as we speak.”
Mason shook his head, annoyed by all this, but at least relieved by that.
Bale said sympathetically, “Allius and Keira are in the cellar making the preparations for this mist. She needs a little of the lady’s blood and quickly.”
Mason knew what that meant and drew his knife and turned back to the prisoner who was lying on the floor. “And we have time for this? I’m surprised she is bothering. I mean, what’s northern blood to her?”
“I know. But this isn’t the time or place …”
“We should have stuck with the original plan,” Mason insisted. “And at the very least, Fren should have been informed of the changes.”
The door to the cellar opened and Keira emerged catching him mid-sentence. Allius was behind her. Both were in their white ceremonial robes of coarse spun wool embroidered with silver thread and at the very least seemed worried. Mason made no effort to conceal the anger from his face or his thoughts as Keira and he locked eyes. Neither spoke. There was an old acrimony between the southern and northern covens, and, Bale was right, it was not appropriate for the present setting. They had more pressing matters to deal with. Like surviving this bloody night!
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