Demonbane (Book 4)

by Ben Cassidy

  Maklavir shook his head in amazement. “You’re still holding to that silly vow of yours even when Joseph is on the brink of death?”

  “I am. And you’re right, he’s dying,” Kendril responded venomously. “And he’s not getting any better while you stand there prattling. Now go.”

  Maklavir gave an exasperated sigh, then dashed for the kitchen’s side door.

  “So what’s your plan, now, Kendril?” Tomas asked sarcastically. He came down the steps into the kitchen.

  “Get Madris,” Kendril replied as he leaned over Joseph again. “And Olan. All the others. Tell them to storm this place now.”

  Tomas lifted an eyebrow. “That bad?”

  “Bad doesn’t begin to describe it.” Kendril looked up at his fellow Ghostwalker. “Can you get out of the estate?”

  “Yes. Dutraad seems to have more men here than usual. Probably added security for the festivities. But I should be able to get out undetected.” He lowered his voice a notch. “You need to come with me, Kendril. The guards will find you in here.”

  Lillette sank down to the floor, her legs too weak to support her. She stared at the two men in front of her, dressed in simple servants’ clothes. “You’re—you’re Ghostwalkers?”

  “Yes,” said Kendril with a side glance at her. “I don’t have time to explain, Lillette.” He turned back to Tomas. “I can’t leave Joseph. Dutraad’s men will kill him if they find him here.”

  “He knew the risks coming in,” Tomas said quietly.

  “He’s my friend,” Kendril returned. “I’m not leaving him. Or Maklavir and Kara, for that matter.”

  Tomas stood, the knife still in his hand. “Alright. Your funeral. You know you don’t even have any weapons, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be silly, Tomas.” Kendril glanced around the room. “We’re in a kitchen. We’re surrounded by weapons.”

  Kara got the door shut just in time. She felt around blindly for the lock, then clicked it shut.

  She was locked into the dark room. After the candle-lit corridor, her eyes needed another moment or two to adjust to the dim light.

  The thief tried to take a deep breath, forcing herself to think as calmly as she could. She was trapped. It was only a matter of time before they searched the room she was in.

  The window. It was snowing outside, and bitterly cold, and she was wearing nothing but a tattered white dress and bare feet. Bare feet? Had she kicked off her shoes? In all the excitement she couldn’t even remember doing it.

  Going out the window was dangerous. It was freezing outside. The ledge, if there even was one, would be covered with ice and snow. She would have to climb or drop down to the ground below, at least twenty feet, maybe more. Possible, yes, but if she broke a leg or even twisted an ankle she was done for.

  At the moment, however, she was running out of better alternative plans. The hallway outside the room was packed with men all looking for her.

  The window was her only option.

  She breathed a silent prayer to Eru, one she had learned as a girl. She hadn’t prayed much over the course of her life, but there was nothing like mortal danger to bring out one’s religious side. Joseph would have been pleased, no doubt.

  Joseph….

  Kara shook her head, driving the image of the scout’s face out of her mind. She didn’t have time for this. No distractions. Her life was being measured in seconds.

  She crossed the room, feeling her way in the darkness. Ahead of her were the curtained windows, almost ten feet in height. Getting them open might be her first challenge, especially if—

  She stopped mid-step.

  There, to her left, was a large strongbox set against the wall. It was even bigger than the one she had opened in Dutraad’s room.

  She paused for a long moment. The Soulbinder. They still had to find it. Kendril seemed sure it would be somewhere in the house. It wasn’t on Dutraad, nor was it in his room. Kara was reasonably sure of that.

  But this strongbox…?

  Dutraad’s men were closing in on her. She had to escape now or she never would. For all she knew the Soulbinder was on Bronwyn. Kendril probably had it right now.

  It was the basic rule of thieving, the first and most important one, the rule that all good thieves learned by heart and lived every day of their lives.

  A dead thief makes no profit.

  But this Soulbinder was beyond just being loot. Joseph had spoken of the Fourth Despair, Kendril had mentioned the summoning of demons. Everything they had done tonight had been to get that Soulbinder back and prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

  Kara looked at the window one last time.

  She swore to herself.

  Then she turned to the strongbox.

  Joseph was unconscious. His breath was ragged, coming in short gasps. His face was a greenish color, covered in cold sweat.

  Kendril figured the man had minutes left. At most.

  The door had barely banged shut behind Tomas when Lillette started to rise, her face almost white with terror.

  “I need your help,” Kendril said bluntly. “He’ll die if you don’t.”

  Lillette stared down at Joseph, then back at Kendril. She looked over at the dead body at the bottom of the stairs. “Your friend, he…he killed him—”

  Kendril stood. “My name is Kendril. I’m a Ghostwalker. Your master Dutraad is in league with the dark powers. He’s trying to summon a demon, a Seteru. I know what I’m saying sounds crazy, but it’s true.” He took the girl by the arms, and turned her to face him. “Look at me, Lillette. You know I’m not lying.”

  She wilted back. “I don’t know that. I can’t! How could I—?”

  Kendril made his gamble. “Because you know what kind of master the Baron is. You’ve seen what he does in secret, what books he reads, what company he keeps. There must be rumors, gossip, anything.” He stepped back. “Either you believe me, or you don’t. But I’m willing to bet that you know in your heart that what I’m saying to you right now is true.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence.

  A very long heartbeat.

  Lillette looked at him. The color had returned to her face. “I believe you,” she said at last. “What do you want me to do?”

  Kendril looked down at Joseph. “He’s been poisoned. I need you to keep him alive.”

  Lillette bent down over the unconscious scout. “How?”

  Kendril turned towards the fire. “However you can. Keep his fever down. Bleed the arm, get as much of the poison out as you can.” He grabbed a long fire poker and tossed it into the glowing coals of the pit. “Do whatever you can to keep him breathing.”

  Lillette looked up at the Ghostwalker anxiously. “What about you?”

  “I,” said Kendril as he pulled out a large kitchen knife, “am going to prepare for company.”

  It was stupid. She should stop, run for the window while she still could. Every second she delayed was one second more for the guards to find her.

  But she was close, very close. And Kara had a feeling.

  She couldn’t quite explain how she knew, or why. It wasn’t quite woman’s intuition. Perhaps more of a thief’s intuition.

  This strongbox. This was the one.

  So she pressed on, far beyond the point of sanity or safety. The lockpicking tools scraped and snicked in the inside of the lock. She worked quickly, by touch and feel in the near blackness of the room.

  She could hear Torin’s chiding voice in her head. The first rule of thieves. Life before money. There was always another mark, always another house to burgle, another pocket to pick. A dead thief made no profit. Or a jailed thief, for that matter.

  But she also knew in her gut that this was different. The Soulbinder wasn’t just another piece of jewelry. The way Kendril and Joseph spoke about it, the glances of fear she had seen in the eyes of the Ghostwalkers whenever it was mentioned…

  This time was different.

  That was her woman’s intuition spea
king.

  She bit her lip hard in the dark, fiddling with the lock until she thought her fingers would go numb.

  The doorknob to the room she was in rattled.

  Locked. Thank Eru she had remembered to do that when she had slipped inside. Hopefully the guards would assume no one was in here.

  The lock on the strongbox clicked open.

  Kara held her breath, then opened the strongbox door.

  Her heart fell.

  There was another pile of papers, some scattered jewelry, and a coin purse.

  No Soulbinder.

  The doorknob rattled again, more insistent this time.

  Kara had to go. She was out of time.

  She reached both hands into the safe, and rummaged around amongst the papers.

  Something glinted and caught her eye.

  She moved a stack of paper.

  There it was, cold and red and black yet glowing at the same time, almost in a sickening way.

  She reached in and took hold of the Soulbinder with a trembling hand, then lifted the pendant out by its long golden chain.

  It seemed somehow more monstrous and evil than the last time she had seen it, back in the pagan temple outside of Stefgarten.

  “Got you,” she whispered.

  Kara started to rise.

  Something hard cracked into the back of her head.

  Kara saw a flash of white and a swirl of purple before everything went black.

  Chapter 5

  Maklavir ran.

  His booted feet slipped and tore through the deep drifts of snow that covered the ground between the mansion and the stables. Snow pelted him relentlessly in the face, driving down hard from the overcast night sky.

  Everything was going to the Void. It always did. It really was beyond exasperating. For once, just once, he’d like to see a situation resolved without people dying right and left.

  But Maklavir had seen Kendril in action too many times to believe the dying was anywhere close to being finished for the evening.

  Funny, he actually seemed to remember enjoying Candle Ice when he was younger.

  Maklavir made it to the stable doors. He took a second to catch his breath. He shivered in the cold air. The frigid wind cut right through his stylish yet impractical clothes.

  Curse his good fashion sense. He should have known the evening would end with pistols and sword thrusts. A suit of armor would have been more appropriate attire.

  Maklavir reached for the handle to the door. Joseph’s life was in his hands. Whatever vile poison he had in his system, the antidote was undoubtedly in that herb bag of his.

  He opened the door.

  A panel of wood exploded almost in his face, torn to pieces by a musket ball. Splinters of wood showered out from the door.

  Maklavir reacted instantly with the reflexes that he had honed throughout his life as a diplomat.

  He yelped and leapt back from the door.

  There was a shout from his right.

  Maklavir swung his head around.

  There were two guards running towards him. One held a smoking musket in his hands.

  Maklavir suddenly wished he had the sword. The one he had taken off the guard back in the house, the one he had given to Kendril in the kitchen.

  The sword Kendril had refused to use.

  Why on Zanthora hadn’t he grabbed it again?

  Maklavir didn’t take time to answer his own question. He leapt into the stable, then pulled the shattered door shut behind him.

  “We found her, my lady.” The guard saluted, then nodded back down the hallway. “Down there, the master bedroom.”

  There were several guards in the hallway, searching every last room, corridor, and closet on the second floor.

  Bronwyn had to admire their efficiency.

  She turned to the man who had spoken to her. “Has Baron Dutraad regained consciousness?”

  The man shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Bronwyn nodded as she walked quickly down the hall. Captain Mayer and the other guards were downstairs, rounding up the rest of the Ghostwalker’s friends, or at least whomever Nadine hadn’t already cut into ribbons.

  It was so nice to have a fanatical, cult-trained assassin at one’s disposal. Bronwyn didn’t know how she had ever got on without one.

  She stepped into the master bedroom.

  The steam-powered glow-globes had been turned back on, illuminating the room in their harsh white light. Candles were more traditional for the festivities of the evening, but then at this point the gathering downstairs was largely a farce. Bronwyn wasn’t even sure if it was still going on or not. She didn’t really care.

  She stepped up towards the strongbox, and looked down at the beautiful redhead who was sprawled unconscious on the floor. Pieces of a shattered vase were scattered on the floor around her head.

  “I-I-I th-thought she was a r-r-robber.” Dutraad’s wife Mina, in nothing but a dressing gown with a shawl thrown over her shoulders, sat huddled on the edge of the bed. “I did-didn’t—”

  “Shhh, my lady,” said Bronwyn soothingly. She came near and put a hand on Mina’s shaking shoulder. “You did the right thing. I’ll have the men take it from here.” She looked up at one of the guards. “Take Lady Dutraad out of here, please.”

  The man nodded, then led the sobbing woman out of the room.

  Bronwyn looked at one of the other guards who stood nearby, halberd in hand. “Is she dead?”

  He shook his head. “No, my lady. Just knocked out.”

  Bronwyn drew a thin dagger out from underneath her dress, then bent down over the unconscious thief. She rolled the woman over onto her back.

  Kara gave a soft sigh, but otherwise didn’t stir.

  Bronwyn smirked. She pressed the edge of the dagger against the helpless woman’s throat. “We appear to have a caught a pretty little magpie.” She reached down and picked up the Soulbinder from where it lay on the floor. “I think I should hold onto this. We wouldn’t want to lose it.”

  The guard looked down at Kara with a sneer. “Should I…dispatch her, my lady?”

  Bronwyn thought for a moment, then smiled. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a better use for her.” She rose, the dagger still in her hand. “Bind and gag her, then bring her to the carriage.”

  The guard saluted. “Yes, my lady.”

  Kendril threw a pot of water on the fire, then grabbed another iron poker and tossed it into the coals. Even as he did, his eyes roamed the kitchen, his mind appraising everything he saw.

  He needed time. Olan and the other Ghostwalkers would come blazing in. Frankly, he thought Olan had been jumping at the opportunity. He just had to hold out here until Maklavir could get back, then get the poison to Joseph—

  Kendril grabbed a bottle of spice, popped the cork and put it on the counter. He had no way of knowing what kind of poison Nadine had had on her blades, or how quickly it would work.

  He had no way of knowing how long Joseph had until he died.

  Ironically, the only person who might know was Joseph himself, with all his knowledge of herbs and healing. Of all the people to get poisoned, why did it have to be him? Why not…Maklavir?

  Kendril whipped out a kitchen knife, and tested the weight of it in his hand. “How’s he doing?” he called back over his shoulder to Lillette.

  Silence. A rustle of clothing. Then two rapid footsteps.

  Kendril hadn’t stayed alive as long as he had by ignoring the little things. It was the little things that kept a man breathing. That, and listening to the still small voice that always seemed to warn him when there was danger.

  The still small voice was screaming at him now.

  Kendril leapt to one side.

  There was a flash of metal. Lillette came at him, a drawn dagger raised high to strike.

  Kendril caught her wrist, forced it away, then smashed the girl forwards into the cabinets.

  She cried out in pain, twisting in his iron grip and spitting
like a viper.

  Kendril slammed her hand against the wooden cabinets twice.

  Lillette dropped the dagger. The weapon fell to the thrush-covered floor.

  Kendril grabbed the struggling woman, and pinned her arm painfully behind her back. He smashed her up against the cabinet.

  “You’re dead, Ghostwalker,” she gasped.

  “Sir!” One of the mercenaries ran up to Captain Mayer. “We found them. The kitchen.”

  Mayer gave a curt nod, then motioned to four other guards clustered near him. “Alright, let’s go. You heard Lady Brionne. No prisoners. We kill them all.” He motioned to the musket that one of the guards held. “No guns, either. There’s been enough shooting already. The Baron’s party guests are starting to get jittery, and we wouldn’t to ruin Candle Ice for them, would we?”

  The men snickered.

  Mayer put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “We do this with steel. Remember, at least one of this lot’s a Ghostwalker. Don’t underestimate him, but don’t be afraid, either. He bleeds just like the rest of us.” Mayer drew his weapon. The steel made a soft hiss as it left the scabbard. “We are on the eve of a great moment of history in Zanthora, my brothers. Have faith. The goddess rises.”

  “She rises,” they repeated in unison.

  Mayer looked down the hall behind them.

  The music, laughter, and conversation from the great hall continued merrily along. Neither the gunshots nor the disturbances in other parts of the house had yet rattled anyone’s nerves.

  Mayer shook his head. “Fools. Their time has come, and they don’t even realize it.”

  He turned back to his men. “Let’s go.”

  The snow pattered against the sides of the stable. There was a single lantern inside, hanging by one of the stalls. Its watery light cast deep shadows across the length of the room.

  Maklavir stumbled through the interior of the stables past stall after stall in a blind panic.

  He could hear the muffled crunch of the guards’ boots as they stepped through the snow outside.

  Maklavir dove into a stall, and backed himself up against the wall.