“No.” Shiv was as relaxed as if he lay by his own fireside.
“We’d have heard something, if they’d been taken.” I was starting to tire of hearing my own doubts.
“Screaming, at very least.” A smile quirked at the corner of Shiv’s mouth. ’Gren’s spoiling for a fight.”
“The trick is making sure he takes on the one you want.” I frowned. “Is that them?”
Shiv raised himself on his elbows. “I think so.” Tense, we watched the brothers dart between the spiny green bushes. It was a long run to our hidden hollow from the rise they’d just scrambled over.
“I could cloak them with invisibility,” muttered Shiv, less a suggestion than a comment on the powers we dare not let him use.
I tried to work out if the brothers could see the boat sheds along the shore where the dunes gave way to a stream and hillocks beyond it. If they could, they could be seen in turn.
“Here they come.” Shiv stiffened like a cat undecided whether to pounce or to run. Sorgrad and ’Gren ran across the hostile expanse, scattering the brown birds. I cringed at the thought that someone might hear the squawks of indignation. Sorgrad and ’Gren ran on, barely slowing even in the softer sands of the dunes, throwing themselves past us into hiding.
I spat sand out of my mouth. “Were you seen?”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
’Gren had his hand on his sword hilt, eager face turned towards the unseen boat sheds.
Sorgrad tossed me a few damp and grubby roots. “There’s something to chew on if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks,” I said without enthusiasm.
Ryshad turned to see what Sorgrad had brought. “Burdock?”
He nodded. “Some sedge as well.”
Between them, Ryshad and Sorgrad had kept our bellies full on the journey through the inhospitable island. With each showing increasing appreciation of the other’s foraging skills, I kept my own counsel when faced with food only the truly starving could fully appreciate. I just hoped we got home to some real meals before I wore my teeth down to the gums.
Sorgrad was already lying next to Ryshad. “Any sign of our friend?”
“Nothing so far,” Ryshad said in a low tone.
’Gren blinked and I shivered involuntarily. He looked curiously at me. ”Maewelin’s touch got you?”
“It’s your eyes.” I shivered again, icy fingers still stroking my neck. “Aiten’s eyes turned to black pits when Ilkehan’s Artifice enslaved him.” That was why I’d had to kill Aiten, Ryshad’s long-time friend. Drianon save me from having to make that choice for any of these four.
“Let’s not go borrowing trouble.” Sorgrad looked severely at us both. “Concentrate on the task in hand and worry about other things when they happen.”
“If they happen,” added Ryshad with emphasis. “Did you find the hargeard?”
Sorgrad nodded. “It’s a fair hike, over beyond that second rise with all the berry bushes.”
“It’s enormous,” chuckled ’Gren.
“Folk seeing we’re destroying it won’t be a problem,” frowned Sorgrad. “Getting away will be the difficult trick. There’s—”
Ryshad tensed. “The sentries are changing.”
“That’s the way in?” Sorgrad brushed sand from his breeches, nodding at a lesser gate cut in the wall.
“What’s on the other side?”
’Gren slid his sword a little way out of its sheath, face eager. A wise woman once told him he was born to be hanged, so he always reckoned to come unscathed through any situation not actively involving rope.
“A garden. We’ll be going in to the actual keep through a drain.” I swallowed hard on a sudden worry that the cover might be hidden, that I might not be able to find it again, that we might end up trapped like rats in Ilkehan’s sewer.
“There’s our friend,” Ryshad said slowly. “That’s right, pal, find your nice warm nook.” Keeping ceaseless watch, he’d identified this particular sentry as a lazy bastard who always sheltered from the incessant wind behind the tall crenellations at the corner of the keep. “Come on!” He shoved the spyglass into his jerkin and slid down the open face of the dune.
“Where’s Ilkehan?” ’Gren chewed his lip eagerly as we hurried across the open ground. We had the time it took for six verses of the song Ryshad’s mother used to measure the set of her jam before a more dutiful sentry on his rounds would reach this side of the keep.
I drew a deep breath and summoned up the memory of that hated face, dark, pitiless eyes, dead white hair and skin pale and creased with age. “Tedri nafaralir, asmen ek layeran.” The ancient words might be meaningless in a Forest ballad about Uriol’s endless quest for the stag with the silver antlers but here, quick as a blink, Artifice showed me Ilkehan poring over a book taken from packed shelves around him. I’d sneaked around in that keep before and knew for a certainty where he was. ”Still in his study.”
Ryshad picked up the pace. “We go in, we hit him hard, we leave.”
“Simple,” said ’Gren with happy satisfaction.
Aetheric charms ran through my mind; one to hide us, one just to keep people disinterested, one to make someone worry they’d left an empty pot over a fire. Guinalle had identified a handful of ways for me to distract people but I didn’t dare use them so close to Ilkehan. The last thing we needed was Artifice so close alerting him.
We reached the wall and the others flattened themselves on either side of the sally gate as I probed the lock with that fine balance between speed and accuracy that I’d learned over the years. “Shiv.”
The mage laid a hand on the metal and I pushed the final tumbler over. Since we lacked the Shernasekke women’s secrets, we had to risk his magic to supplement my housebreaking skills. There was a faint murmur as the bolts on the far side slid out of their sockets. This was the point of no return. No, I thought furiously, we would be going back. It was Ilkehan who’d be going nowhere once we’d done with him. He owed us and we were here to collect the debt and leave.
Swords drawn, Sorgrad and ’Gren were through in an instant. I followed, Ryshad next, Shiv at his shoulder. A woman screamed, dropping the basket of beans she’d been picking. Sorgrad hissed at her with archaic venom. “Is it thou hast profaned the unseen world?”
“Will the Mother hide thee from our vengeance or the Maker defend thee?” ’Gren took a pace forward, black haired, blue skinned, eyes piercing.
The woman stumbled backwards, crushing plants heedless underfoot. She screamed as ’Gren menaced her with his sword, tripping, scrambling to her feet and running for a door on the far side of the garden.
“Forget the drains,” ordered Ryshad.
Sorgrad didn’t needed telling. He was right behind the hysterical woman fumbling with the latch. She slid through the narrowest of gaps, catching her sleeve and tearing it free in her panic. Sorgrad shoved a boot in the door to stop her slamming it, whatever he was saying sending her fleeing too fast to wonder why an Eldritch man couldn’t just walk through any wall he pleased.
’Gren went through the door like a winter storm off the mountains. I followed to find a corridor, the brothers each covering one approach.
Ryshad slammed the door behind Shiv. “Which way?”
“Up there.” I’d taken the back stairs when I’d crept up and down this keep before but in my new guise of Eldritch Kin, I felt entitled to the main stairs. We ran as if we had vengeful shades at our heels ourselves. Shiv saw the rest of us making ready to drop our bags for a fight and did the same.
“As soon as he’s dead, cut off the stairs,” Ryshad told Shiv. We ignored the floor we knew belonged to whatever family Ilkehan had left. As we raced up the next flight, consternation from the kitchen levels floated up after us. A door opened somewhere below and a puzzled voice called out.
This was the floor where Ilkehan had his apartments. Every detail of this place was burned into my memory like the anguish we’d suffered in the stark white dungeons below. Ilkehan knew no such privation
, with his polished chests of dark wood lining the corridor, choice pieces of ceramic and bronze displayed on shelves.
“Which door?” ’Gren dropped his pack.
I pointed. “That one.”
Sorgrad charged through it, veering to one side. ’Gren was a breath behind him, taking the other hand. Ryshad followed, straight as an arrow.
Ilkehan was behind a broad desk, already reaching for a dagger. ’Gren and Sorgrad came at him from either side. Magelight flashed all around, striking reflections from our blades as startling blue as anything the Eldritch Kin might favour. The knives of radiance stabbed the enchanter, piercing him clean through to emerge and careen off the walls, magic dripping like condensation down the pale plaster. The bastard opened his mouth but no sound emerged. Rage twisted his face and his hands clawed towards me and Shiv.
My darts ready, I snapped them off quick as thought. The first bit into Ilkehan’s cheek and he recoiled, shoving his chair backwards, dagger now raised. That wasn’t about to save him. Ryshad braced a sturdily booted foot against the desk, all his height and strength tipping it up and over to crash down on the enchanter’s legs. Ilkehan was trapped, falling as Ryshad sprang over the toppled desk. He brought his sword down into the angle of the enchanter’s neck and shoulder, the stroke so hard his blade bit into the boards as Ilkehan hit the floor. As Ryshad wrenched his sword free, I saw the white of shattered bone in the massive wound.
“That’s for Aiten.” He had no words foul enough to convey his hatred.
It wasn’t a fatal blow, not immediately, the awkward angle had seen to that, but ’Gren and Sorgrad dropped their pennyweight in Raeponin’s scales. A sideways slash from ’Gren all but eviscerated the enchanter, entrails spilling out of a bloody gash ripped through his fine woollen tunic and soft shirt. Ilkehan clutched at his stomach, frantic hands already coated with the dark blood pooling around him, oozing beneath the desk that held him down. A man with such a wound should be screaming like a pig at slaughter but even without Shiv’s magic to mute him, Ilkehan had no breath for his cries. Scarlet bubbles clustered around his mouth, blood rising in his throat to choke him, more gushing from ribs splintered and broken by Sorgrad’s merciless thrust. The man was dead or he would be inside a few moments. I had made certain of that, even without the others’ contributions.
“That’s silk.” Sorgrad fingered Ilkehan’s shirt as he kicked the enchanter’s dagger out of reach.
“Nice to see he got something out of the Aldabreshin. Where do you suppose he got this?” ’Gren snatched up the ivory-hilted blade before stepping back with an exclamation of annoyance.
Ilkehan was convulsing, fresh torrents of blood spurting as the uncontrollable spasms tore apart the wounds inside him. His head whipped from side to side, teeth bared in a snarl like a feral beast’s, his hands writhing on the floor, smearing blood ever wider. A faint keening escaped his clenched teeth, blood-flecked foam around his taut lips.
Sorgrad watched the enchanter’s final torments with a judicious eye. “I’ll grant you poison’s effective but there’s always the chance you’ll get stabbed while you’re waiting for it to take effect.”
“Not if you stay out of stabbing distance.” I coughed and moved away as the stench of voided bowels and bladder joined the acrid reek of blood.
“Shat himself just like that poor little dog,” remarked ’Gren with satisfaction. “So, what now?”
Shiv was still watching Ilkehan, shaking his head as the enchanter’s struggles died away. “That was quicker than I imagined.”
I saw Ryshad looking down on the body, stony faced. “Is that recompense for Aiten?” I slipped my arm around his waist.
“No.” He hugged me close. “Nothing would be. That’s the problem with revenge.” Hard satisfaction warmed his expression. “Which is why I’ll settle for justice.”
“Justice, vengeance.” I met his gaze on level terms. “The important thing is he’s dead.”
“How long have we got to dishonour this body?” Sorgrad held out a hand to ’Gren. “Let’s use his own knife.”
“However long it takes that kitchen maid to convince someone she saw Eldritch Kin in the garden?” I hazarded.
Ryshad shook his head. “You don’t have to believe someone to go and see what they’re scared of.”
“Then we leave.” I’d have preferred to see Ilkehan suffer longer, just to balance the scales for the torments he’d inflicted on Geris but, vengeance or justice, I was finally ahead of the game. The man whose malice had haunted my nightmares and blighted my hopes with fear was dead at our feet and I was still alive. I intended to keep it that way. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What about all these books?” Shiv was looking at the closely packed ranks of shelves. “This is a priceless archive. There must be the answers to all Planir’s questions and ten times more.”
“Knowledge is power.” I stared round the room. “Power we don’t want to leave for whoever ends up top dog around here.”
Squatting next to Ilkehan’s corpse, ’Gren looked up. “Books burn.”
“I can do that.” Sorgrad snapped his fingers and flame played between them.
“Fire’s always a nice distraction for anyone thinking of chasing you.” It wouldn’t be the first time the three of us had fled under the cover of a hearty blaze. I opened a coffer beside the desk that proved to be full of parchments.“Talmia megrala eldrin fres.” Flames sprang up to dance across the written surfaces, blurring the words. Maybe I would learn a little more Artifice now that Ilkehan was too dead to come picking through my brain.
“Here.” Sorgrad had ripped down a tapestry and tucked it around the coffer. As soon as the wood caught, the tapestry would carry the fire to the carpet.
“Can’t we take a few books?” pleaded Shiv.
“Which ones?” I demanded.
“Better hurry”
’Gren was ripping the binding from a slender tome as we spoke, piling the leaves around the coffer where the parchments now blazed nicely. Sorgrad was breaking open another chest to find three silver gorgets and a golden one along with a considerable spill of coin. He scooped it up, heedless of Ilkehan’s blood on the floor.
“We’ll share it out later,” ’Gren assured me before belatedly including Ryshad and Shiv in his glance.
Not that my score with the Elietimm could be settled with gold. I added a handful of reed pens to my little fire and ’Gren pocketed the silver cup they’d stood in.
“If Kellarin’s to restore the study of Artifice, we need to know so much.” Shiv was looking desperately round the book-lined walls.
“Knowledge can’t ever truly be destroyed, Shiv,” Ryshad said impatiently. “Just lost. Someone, sometime will rediscover it.” He stopped abruptly. “What we must find are any artefacts Ilkehan’s holding.”
“The sleepers in Kellarin!” Saedrin forgive me but I’d clean forgotten. “Come on Shiv, people are more important than aetheric abstractions.” I left ’Gren happily tending the burning coffer.
“Help me here.” Sorgrad was already trying to lift the toppled desk. Ryshad helped him, both of them levering open the drawers with daggers.
“Let’s have anything that’ll burn.” ’Gren held out a hand.
A door slamming below us struck us all silent for a moment. The sound of running feet and cries of distress fading into the distance.
“I think there’s blood coming through their ceiling,” Sorgrad said thoughtfully.
“Let me bespeak Planir,” begged Shiv. “If he can raise a nexus, they might save some of the books before they burn.”
Ryshad coughed. The air was thickening. “We don’t want Ilkehan roasted if we’re aiming to shock people with Eldritch vengeance on his body. Get him into the corridor and do your worst while we look for any artefacts.”
’Gren and Sorgrad immediately took an arm each and dragged the bloody corpse out of the room.
“Shiv, the plan was your illusions would keep Ilkehan’s men scared a
s we fight our way out.” Ryshad hesitated. “All right, try reaching Planir as you keep watch but don’t get us all killed for a few worm-eaten books.”
“I want my hide whole as much as anyone else,” Shiv assured him. The wizard snatched up a polished silver salver and went into the corridor, green magelight swirling around him.
Ryshad coughed again. “If there are artefacts here, we need to find them quickly.” The coffer was blazing like a watchman’s brazier, scorch marks darkening the plaster above our heads.
Closing my eyes, I pictured the vast irregular cavern of Edisgesset, empty but for those few still bound beneath ancient enchantment. I heard the soft steps of those that kept vigil in the hollow silence. A single shaft of light would be coming down the steps, soft breeze fragrant with the summer’s growth outside. I remembered the subtle chill as I passed between that dissolving sunlight and the all-encompassing darkness.
“Thervir emanet vis alad egadir.”
It wasn’t much of a charm, just a jaunty snatch from a ridiculous tale about a lackwit called Nigadin. He went looking for his knife and, finding it, recalled he’d left his belt somewhere. Finding that reminded him he’d mislaid his boots. Tracking them down, he realised he was without his breeches and so it went on. But I’d used the charm when young Tedin has lost himself and it had led me to the lad. I held those whose bodies rested in that cave in my mind. The old man Gense, sallow face sunk away from his beak of a nose, wisps of hair still surprisingly dark across his bald pate. A boy whose name escaped me, skin pale as milk, tousled hair touched with red that hinted at Forest blood, his head looking too big for the frail body beneath it. Velawe, long a friend of Zigrida’s, work-roughed hands with swollen knuckles clasped beneath her sagging breasts, even this enchantment unable to smooth the lines of worry and toil graven between her brows. Porsa, her daughter, beside her, silly, pretty face swathed in a frivolous lace wrap, the curls in her hair still as crisp as the day the tongs had made them.
“Thervir emanet vis alad egadir.” Belligerent shouts from the stairs opened my eyes.
“Well?” Ryshad watched me intently.
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