Demonbane (Book 4)

by Ben Cassidy

  Maklavir stepped up to him with a shrug. “No gunpowder in that one,” he explained apologetically.

  He slammed the hilt of the sword into the guard’s face.

  Kendril needed a weapon, and he needed one fast. He reached for the closest thing to him, the nearest thing to a lethal object he could find.

  Immediately to his left was a stand of billiard sticks.

  He snatched one off the rack and snapped it in two on his knee.

  Nadine was already on top of him. Her knives came at him in rapid stabs like serpent strikes.

  Kendril blocked the blows, one after the other, fighting with a broken piece of the billiard stick in each hand.

  The assassin gritted her teeth in rage. She whirled around the billiards table and tried to press Kendril against the wall.

  Kendril grinned from the sheer heat of the combat, relishing in the sudden outburst of violence. He swung the pieces of wood as if they had been the finest steel blades in the world.

  He couldn’t kill the assassin with the billiard stick pieces, or even seriously injure her. The best he could hope to do was to bruise her, maybe knock her unconscious if he could get a head hit in.

  Not that he stood much chance of that with the masterful job she was doing.

  She leapt, parried, struck and slashed with all the skill of a dozen swordsmen.

  Joseph was still on the floor, rolling around but not yet back on his feet.

  Kendril felt a flash of irritation through the exhilaration of the combat. Why didn’t the scout get back up? A cut on the arm was nothing serious.

  The assassin leapt under Kendril’s attack, then kicked him hard in the stomach.

  Kendril hit the billiards table and rolled back across its surface. He tumbled onto the floor on the other side. He clambered to his feet, out of breath.

  It was then that he noticed that Joseph was still on the floor.

  The scout was retching, rolling in agony and holding his bleeding arm.

  Something was wrong. A simple slash on the arm shouldn’t—

  And then the terrible truth hit Kendril.

  Nadine’s knives.

  They were poisoned.

  Chapter 4

  The guard doubled over and dropped his weapon. He didn’t even manage to mouth a curse.

  Kara snatched the falling musket, then cracked the stock into the man’s face.

  He crashed back to the ground, unconscious.

  The second guard readied his halberd with a cry. He started towards Kara, the blade on the shaft held high to strike.

  Kara didn’t have time to think or react. The guard’s intention was clear. It was him or her.

  She only had one choice.

  Kara swung down the musket and fired.

  Maklavir brushed himself off as he hurried away from the scene of his altercation. Things were rapidly spinning out of control. And those guards…it almost seemed as if they knew why he was here.

  The same uneasy feeling he had felt when he first spotted Bronwyn returned with a vengeance. Something was wrong. He had to warn the others. Where was Kara? Still upstairs? Perhaps he could bluff his way past the guards, find some way to—

  A loud bang sounded from somewhere upstairs.

  Maklavir stopped short.

  He had been around Kendril and those blasted firearms of his too long not to know the sound of gunfire when he heard it.

  Maklavir started again, moving so fast he was almost running.

  Everything was falling apart.

  Why didn’t it surprise him?

  “Joseph!” Kendril glanced over at his fallen friend in concern.

  The scout made no response.

  Nadine stuck one of her long knives back into her belt, then reached for several throwing blades that were attached to her vest.

  The table was between them. If Kendril had had one of his pistols, it would have been an easy enough shot. But he didn’t, and for all he knew the assassin’s throwing blades were poisoned too.

  Nadine brought back her hand to throw the three blades she held between her fingers.

  Kendril threw himself forward and smashed into the billiards table with all his weight.

  The whole table lurched towards Nadine.

  The female assassin leapt up on top of the table. She balanced herself perfectly.

  Kendril lashed out at her exposed leg with one of the broken billiard sticks.

  Nadine blocked it with the long knife in her hand.

  Just as Kendril had expected.

  He dropped the sticks he was holding, then grabbed the table with both hands and tilted it up.

  The assassin hurled the blades.

  Kendril felt one pass just over his head. The table blocked the other two as it came crashing up and over onto its side.

  Nadine gave out a surprised cry as she toppled backwards.

  Right out through the room’s window.

  The second guard was dead before he hit the floor, his chest shattered by the musket shot.

  Kara dropped the weapon, her eyes stinging from the black cloud of smoke. She turned and dashed to the broken door of the room.

  She could already hear voices out in the hallway. Shouts, orders, heavy footfalls.

  More guards. And they were coming her way.

  Kara ran out into the hallway. Like the rest of the house, it was lit only by the flickering glow of crystal-sleeved candles.

  There was a barked shout from further down the hall. A shadow loomed at the corner.

  Kara grabbed for the handle of the nearest door on the other side of the hallway, then threw it open and entered the room. She closed the door quickly but softly behind her.

  She pushed herself up against the door. The room she was in appeared to be a spare bedroom. It was unlit, the furniture looming up in the darkness like half-seen monsters.

  Her ear pressed to the door, she heard the sounds of running out in the passageway beyond, intermixed with angry voices.

  It was only a matter of time before they started searching room-to-room for her. And considering that she was just across the hall, they wouldn’t have to go far to find her.

  Kara took a breath. She looked around the room she was in, her vision slowly adjusting to the darkness.

  She had no weapons, so she couldn’t fight her way out. The stairs down were certainly blocked, so she couldn’t go that way either. Joseph and Kendril would come to her aid as soon as they could, but they were unarmed as well.

  Basically, she was on her own.

  A door slammed open somewhere. Or maybe shut. Kara couldn’t rightfully tell.

  All she knew was that she had to move. Fast.

  There. Across the shadows of the room, she could just make out a door in the left-hand wall. It probably connected to an adjacent room.

  She raced towards the door.

  Perhaps, she thought, she might just make it out of this alive after all.

  Freezing air whipped into the room through the shattered window. The billiards table tottered, then lay still where leaned on its side against the wall.

  Kendril leapt to the window. He looked outside onto the snow-covered lawn.

  The ground sloped away from the mansion here, at the back of the house, so there was a good drop of ten or eleven feet.

  Amazingly, there was no sign of Nadine. Again, it was as if she had vanished into thin air like a ghost.

  Kendril didn’t know if she was gone or not.

  At the moment, he didn’t really care.

  He rushed back over to his wounded friend and knelt over him. “Joseph?”

  Kendril turned the injured man over onto his back.

  Joseph’s face was a sickly green. He was shaking, and had already vomited twice.

  “Poi—poi—” he stammered.

  A shout sounded from the corridor outside the room. Dutraad’s guards.

  “I know,” said Kendril quickly. He grabbed Joseph’s handkerchief out of his pocket, and tied it tight around the top
of his arm, just above the cut. He looked around the destroyed room. “Sorry, Joseph, but we have to move.”

  He grabbed his friend, then lifted the groaning man to his feet.

  Maklavir reached the end of the hall. If the gunshot had been noticed in the main hall, apparently it was just being ignored. There was no real sign that anyone was trying to flee. If it had been noticed at all, apparently it had been brushed off as harmless.

  Sadly, Maklavir knew better.

  He knew what he had to do. Tomas was supposed to be in the yard. If Maklavir could make it to him, then he could warn the Ghostwalker what was going on. They would need a way out of here, and the carriage was their best bet. But it would take time to hitch up the horses, and also to—

  Maklavir turned a corner.

  Kendril was staggering down the corridor. Joseph hung off him, his feet trailing and barely walking. He looked half-dead.

  Maklavir stopped short, the sword still in his hand. “Great Eru!” he exclaimed. He glanced down at Joseph’s bleeding arm. “What happened?”

  “Don’t stand there gawking, you buffoon,” Kendril roared. “Grab his other arm. Help me!”

  Maklavir jumped to his friend’s side. He supported Joseph’s half-unconscious form. “Where’s Kara?”

  “Eru knows,” the Ghostwalker grunted. “Hopefully she’s doing better than us.” He nodded down the corridor. “The kitchen. Let’s go.”

  Kara rushed through the second room. She swore violently as she banged her shin on a jutting piece of furniture. With the curtains closed, it was hard to see.

  .She pushed herself up against the door at the end of the room, and listened carefully.

  There were more yells from out in the corridor. Two more doors banged open. Boots tromped loudly as men ran back and forth.

  She had to move. If she stayed in one place, she was as good as dead. There had to be another way to get downstairs. A servants’ stairway, a back passage…ashes, at this point she was even considering going out the window.

  Kara twisted the handle on the door and slipped out into the hall.

  With the glow-globes turned off, the corridor was lit only by the golden light of candles. It was a small blessing, but at least it made things darker.

  Considering that Kara was weaponless and wearing a torn white dress, she had to take her advantages where she could.

  Of course, shadows didn’t help when there was a guard standing just ten feet away in the middle of the corridor.

  Kara froze like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights.

  The man half turned. He stared at her in astonishment.

  “There!” Kara cried. She pointed back into the room she had just exited. “I saw him, he was running, and had a—a—sword—” She fell back against the hallway wall, as if ready to faint.

  The man brandished his weapon, then ran into the darkened room.

  Kara breathed again. She could add confusion to darkness on her short list of allies.

  She turned and pattered down the hall. More shouts echoed from behind her. The guards were closing in.

  There was a door at the end corridor. Kara ran up to it and tried the handle.

  It was locked.

  “Your men are making enough noise to wake all of Vorten, Captain Mayer,” Bronwyn said sharply. She crossed to the foot of the staircase, and looked over at the armed mercenary that stood across from her. “Where’s Dutraad?”

  The bearded captain raised his sword. “My men found him upstairs, my lady. He was bound and unconscious. We’re searching for his assailant now.”

  Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “He had a woman with him, did he not? A red-haired lass? That’s who you should be looking for.”

  Mayer shifted on his feet. “Your pardon, my lady, but I doubt—”

  “Believe me,” said Bronwyn, “she’s the one you’re after, along with her friends.” She looked back down the corridor.

  The music and sounds of the party continued merrily from the main hall, unconcerned with the commotion occurring in the rest of the house.

  “I want nothing to impede the festival,” Bronwyn said. “At least for as long as possible. Get the carriage prepared. And be quick about it. We haven’t much time. It’s time for us to abandon the Dutraad estate altogether. All we need is one more day.”

  “What about the Ghostwalker and his friends?” Mayer asked quickly.

  Bronwyn shrugged. “If any of them are still alive, then kill them. They can hardly stop us at this point anyway.”

  Captain Mayer saluted. “The goddess rises, my lady!”

  Bronwyn smiled. “She does indeed, Captain. And you will be rewarded for your loyalty when she appears.” She looked back down at the closed doors that led into the main hall. “Let the nobles of Vorten dance their cares away, for one more night anyway. Despair is coming on them and their precious city soon enough.”

  Maklavir and Kendril staggered down the stairs into the stuffy kitchen. Joseph hang limply between them.

  Someone screamed.

  A serving girl stood staring at them wide-eyed, a hand over her open mouth. Every head in the kitchen turned toward them.

  Lillette, the pretty brunette in charge of the kitchen, rushed over to them. “What in Zanthora? Great Eru, what’s going on here?”

  “Our friend is wounded,” Kendril explained. He dragged Joseph over near the firepit, and set him down with his back against a cupboard.

  Some of the servants turned and fled the kitchen, shouting and yelling.

  Lillette kneeled down next to Joseph. She put one hand quickly on his sweat-covered forehead. “This is more than an injury. He’s burning up with fever.” She started to rise. “I need to summon—”

  Kendril grabbed her arm. “No. You can’t summon anyone. Dutraad’s guards are looking for us.”

  Lillette’s eyes widened. The first look of fear passed over her face.

  “Kendril,” said Maklavir. “We’ve got to get him to the stables.”

  “No,” said Kendril. “If we move him any more he’ll die.” He leaned down towards Joseph. “Can you hear me? Joseph? I need your help. You’re the healer. We’re in a kitchen. What do we need?”

  Joseph blinked his eyes open. He coughed, his whole body trembling uncontrollably. “Mith—mithridatum—” he gasped.

  Kendril whipped his head around to Lillette. “Do you have that here?”

  “No,” the young woman said. “I’ve never even heard of it before. Your friend needs help. We need to—”

  “No,” said Kendril firmly. “I told you, no guards.” He turned to Maklavir. “Get out to the stable. Joseph left his herb bag there, by one of the stalls. Go.”

  Maklavir stood.

  Lillette rose as well. “I’ll get some hot water for him and bandages for the wound.”

  Kendril nodded absently. He looked up.

  Maklavir stood rooted to the spot.

  “Maklavir—” Kendril started. He looked up, and stopped mid-sentence.

  One of the house guards stood at the top of the stairs. He saw Kendril, and grinned evilly.

  Lillette fell back with a cry.

  Maklavir threw up his hands.

  Kendril leapt to his feet.

  In one smooth motion, the guard brought his musket up to his shoulder.

  Kara had been picking locks ever since she was a little girl in New Marlin. Her brother Torin had always said she had a natural talent for it, the feel for a lock. It was her delicate fingers, he always used to say. Too delicate for the life on the street they were living. He used to tease her about it, even after they moved to the Howling Woods as bandits, where there were no locks for miles.

  She missed him terribly.

  But he was right. She was a good lockpick.

  And right now, exposed in an open hallway with guards breathing down her neck, she needed to be the best lockpick in all Zanthora.

  She knelt down and whipped out her thin metal lockpicks.

  The locked door in front of
her might normally take her two to four minutes to pick.

  Kara figured she had about twenty seconds.

  The lock wasn’t a difficult one, but it always took a certain amount of time to find the sweet spot on the lock itself.

  Her brother Torin had always had some jokes for that, too.

  She slid the tools into the door lock, and maneuvered them around.

  Behind her she could hear another door slam open.

  The guards were getting closer. One would come around the corner any moment.

  Kara took a deep breath, in and out. She forced her fingers to be still, her mind to be clear. She felt the tools in her hand as if they were an extension of herself, the rhythm of the metal, the scrape of the lock—

  A voice shouted. It sounded as if it was directly behind her.

  She closed her eyes, and twisted the lockpicks again.

  Kara felt the lock, sensed where it was, how it was formed—

  The lock clicked.

  The guard’s head suddenly jerked to the side, a hand over his mouth.

  The musket sparked and roared fire and smoke. The bullet punched into the wall by the spice rack.

  The kitchen filled with shouts and screams as the kitchen staff and various servants began to run.

  The guard jerked back, his voice muffled. He grabbed for the hand over his mouth.

  Tomas’ face loomed out of the darkness behind him. There was the gleam of a knife, and then Tomas jerked the blade across the man’s throat in one swift motion.

  Lillette screamed.

  The lifeless guard fell heavily to the floor, then tumbled down the kitchen steps.

  “There’s more of them coming,” Tomas said. He wiped the knife off on his trouser legs, then glanced behind him. “All over the house. They’re stirred up like bees in a hive.”

  “Maklavir,” Kendril ordered. “Get out to the stables and get that bag. Now.”

  The diplomat gave a dazed nod, his eyes still on the guard’s body. He tossed the sword he held down at the floor by Kendril’s feet. “Here,” he said. “I’m sure it will do you far more good than me.”

  Kendril gave it a contemptuous glance. “A gentleman’s blade. I can’t use it.”