Demonbane (Book 4)

by Ben Cassidy

  The Seteru spoke in a soft, echoing whisper. “Do not fret, faithful servant. You have done well, and you will be rewarded. But there is still much work to be done.” She stared up at the dark, clouded sky above. “The women of Zanthora used to worship me, used to pray to me, used to revere me. They have abandoned me. They have shed my protection and love.” She lowered her head, her eyes blazing intently. “They must be punished for their wickedness.”

  Dannon spread his hands. “What do you command, O great one?”

  Bronwyn flashed the baker a nasty look. She found herself hating the man more with each passing second.

  “Bring them here to me,” Indigoru said. Her voice was sweet, even soft, but the tone of it sent goosebumps down Bronwyn’s spine. “The women. All of them. Little girls, old widows…even the babes.” She glanced down at the groveling troopers. “Send a detachment to hold the bridge to the west, and another to hold this area. The rest of your men will go into the streets and collect the women of Vorten. Bring them back here, to this place.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence. No one spoke.

  “And what shall we…do with them then?” Bronwyn ventured. Out of the corner of her eye she could still see Hamlin’s broken body lying on the cobblestones.

  “Kill them,” Indigoru said.

  Chapter 16

  “There’s another one,” Maklavir said. He pointed up ahead to a grate set high up in the slimy, half-frozen sewer tunnel just ahead of them.

  “Good,” chattered Kara. The blanket was pulled as closely around her as possible. “Hopefully this one will be open. It’s freezing down here.”

  “You’re telling me,” Maklavir responded. He looked down at the bare stockings on his feet. They were soaked and streaked green. “My feet are absolutely numb.”

  Kara pulled down Maklavir’s hat further on her head, her body shaking from the cold. “Is that some kind of passive aggressive way of asking for your boots back? You offered them to me, remember?”

  “Yes,” said Maklavir miserably. “It’s just…these stockings are from Santaren. I don’t think you realize just how hard it will be to replace them.”

  Kara put a hand on Maklavir’s arm. “Tell you what, Maklavir, if it makes you feel any better I promise I’ll steal you some new ones if you can find us a way out of here.”

  The diplomat brightened. “Thank you, Kara, that’s very kind of you.”

  She hunched even further under her blanket. “Well it’s the least I can do, considering that you saved me from death at the hands of a pagan cult.” She glanced up at the grate in the ceiling. “Then stripped me naked, wrapped me in a blanket, and brought me back down in the sewers of Vorten so I could freeze to death all over again. Really I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Ha-ha,” Maklavir said drolly. “I told you, the opera house was on fire.”

  “I could use a good fire right now,” Kara shivered.

  Maklavir looked up at the grate. “Hmm. Looks frozen.”

  Kara stood next to him, examining the metal in the semi-darkness of the tunnel. “You mean because of all the ice on it? I think you’re right.”

  “Great Eru,” Maklavir said as he drew his sword, “you can be as nasty as Kendril when you want to be, can’t you?”

  “You mean when I’m naked and freezing to death?” Kara clenched her teeth. “Yes, I suppose I can.”

  “Alright, stand back,” said Maklavir. He pushed Kara gently back a foot or two, then swung his sword at the grate.

  It chinked against the metal. Bits of ice cascaded down.

  “Hmm,” Maklavir said. He straightened his shoulders, and prepared for another blow.

  Kara waited, her eyes on the grate and her body shaking uncontrollably underneath the blanket.

  Maklavir struck at the grate again.

  There was a clanging sound. More ice dislodged from the metal.

  “Ow,” the diplomat cried. He massaged his shoulder. “I think I wrenched something that time—”

  “Oh for Eru’s sake. Give me that.” Kara snatched the sword from Maklavir’s hand. “You stand back.”

  Sheepishly, Maklavir took a step back, still rubbing his shoulder furiously. “It’s the cold, I think. It makes my muscles stiffer than usual—”

  “I wouldn’t think that anything affecting your muscles would cause you much of a problem,” Kara said between clattering teeth. She grabbed the front of her blanket with one hand, then raised the sword with the other. “I am done with these Void-cursed sewers.”

  She swung the sword with all her strength.

  The snow that covered the city square was churned into a mass of slush by hundreds of feet and hooves. In places it was stained red by the blood of the dead and wounded that Indigoru had left in her wake.

  Kendril maneuvered around the shattered remains of a carriage. “Where is she?”

  Olan looked up at him in surprise. He folded up a map that he had been examining, and nodded towards the dark shape of a brewery on the square’s edge. “In there. They’ve moved many of the wounded inside. Kendril—”

  Kendril ignored the other Ghostwalker, and turned quickly towards the building. He moved around the carcass of a dead horse, then brushed past a gendarme and into the brewery.

  Inside the smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air. Barrels and chairs had been stacked hastily against one wall, and rows of injured people lay out on blankets along the floor. A roaring fire crackled in a central hearth, barely chasing away the chill in the room. A constant background of groans and sobs from the wounded filled the area, sounding like a ghostly choir.

  Joseph caught a glimpse of him, and stood up from where he had been kneeling by a victim. “Kendril,” he said, rubbing his tired face. “Any sign of Kara or Maklavir?”

  Kendril shook his head quickly. “No. Not yet.”

  Joseph’s face fell.

  “Madris?” the Ghostwalker asked. His gaze swept the rows of wounded people. “Where is she?”

  The scout composed himself, then pointed down one long row of blood-stained blankets. “There. Near the end. Kendril—” He paused, considering his words carefully before speaking. “She’s in a bad way. Callen found her almost completely across the square from the steps of the opera house. A lot of her bones are broken, and it looks like she’s bleeding internally. I gave her something for the pain, but—”

  “But what?”

  Joseph sighed. “She’s dying, Kendril. I doubt she’ll last the night.”

  Kendril stared hard at his friend for a moment. He turned and stepped past the prone forms of the injured.

  He stopped towards the end, his eyes riveted on a frail, broken form lying near a pile of old rugs. “Madris?” he said quietly.

  The old woman’s eyes flickered open. A brief smile crossed her face. “Kendril. You’re alive.” She closed her eyes again, her chest rattling as she breathed. “I was afraid…you were dead.”

  Kendril knelt down beside her. “It takes more than a pagan goddess to kill me.”

  “I wish I could…say the same.” Madris opened her eyes again. She looked up at Kendril. “You were right…Kendril. About the Soulbinder. About everything.”

  “Not that it did us much good.” Kendril glanced to one side as a nearby man coughed. “I lost the Soulbinder, I didn’t stop the ritual to summon the Seteru—”

  “What’s done is done, Kendril.” Madris took a deep, painful breath. “Now we must play the part…that Eru has given to each of us.”

  “Eru?” Kendril couldn’t keep the tone of disdain out of his voice. “I don’t see Eru here, Madris. A pagan goddess has come back to life and is tearing Vorten to pieces. If Eru really cares, why doesn’t He do anything?” He looked back towards the door of the brewery, his face torn with frustration. “Maybe the Seteru is right. Maybe Eru really is dead. Maybe He never existed in the first place.”

  A surprisingly strong hand clutched Kendril’s arm.

  The Ghostwalker looked down in surpr
ise.

  Madris stared directly into his eyes. “The Guardian,” she rasped. “What did she say…to you?”

  Kendril avoided her gaze. “That was just a dream…”

  “What did she say?”

  Kendril was silent for a moment. “She told me to hold fast, not to falter. She told me…she told me that I was not alone.”

  Madris gave a satisfied sigh. “Then you are not.”

  There was the sound of clattering hooves from outside in the square. A band of horsemen passed by the windows of the brewery.

  Kendril lifted his head, watching as the riders flitted by. “Madris, I don’t know if…” he paused for a moment, uncertain whether he should continue the thought. “I don’t know if we can stop this demon.” He glanced back down at her. “You saw what she did at the opera house. Bullets couldn’t even touch her. She’s just so…powerful. I—” He swallowed, his voice almost inaudible. “I don’t know if she can be destroyed.”

  “She can. You must.” Madris tightened her grip on his arm. “Promise me, Kendril. Despair must not triumph.”

  He avoided her pleading eyes. “I’m not in charge here, Madris. Olan is, and he doesn’t—”

  “The Guardian did not appear to Olan,” Madris rasped. “She came to you. And you must find a way to defeat this demon, no matter the cost.”

  Kendril stared down at the floor. “I—”

  “No matter the cost,” Madris repeated. “Promise me that, Kendril…and I will die in peace.”

  Kendril looked up sharply at the old woman.

  Madris gave a pained chuckle which ended in a vicious cough. She took another deep breath. “I’m no fool, Kendril,” she said. “I know my time is short. Now promise me.”

  Kendril gave a brief nod. “I promise.”

  Madris released his arm and closed her eyes. “Then I can finally rest.”

  Kendril looked around. “I can’t leave you here alone. There must be—”

  “You can leave me, and you will.” Madris rested her head back on the thin blanket. “I’m old, Kendril. My life means nothing.”

  Kendril put his gloved hand on top of hers. “May you find the Halls of Pelos.”

  “Do your job, Ghostwalker,” Madris said softly.

  Kendril got up. He looked down at the old woman one last time.

  Then he turned for the brewery’s doors.

  “Hurry up.” Kara leaned against the wall of the basement. “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

  “I don’t even know where here is.” Maklavir grunted as he pulled on his sword. The blade was wedged firmly between the crack of the door and the wall. “How far do you think we came?”

  Kara glanced back at the open sewer cover in the floor of the grimy cellar. “Considering that I was unconscious for the first part, it’s a little hard for me to judge, Maklavir.”

  The diplomat smiled sheepishly. “Right, of course. Sorry.” He tugged hard on the hilt of his sword again. The blade bowed under the pressure. “I say,” he said between his teeth, “wouldn’t it be easier for you to just pick the lock, instead of forcing it like this?”

  “It would,” Kara agreed, “if I had any lockpicks to work with.” She lifted her head suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

  Maklavir gritted his teeth harder as he struggled against the stuck door. “Hear what?”

  The redhead put up a hand. “Listen.”

  Maklavir stopped for a moment.

  There were several odd, scattered pops and bangs coming from somewhere outside.

  Maklavir frowned. “Fireworks?”

  “No. Gunfire.” Kara paused for another moment. “And…screaming.” She looked over at the diplomat. “What on Zanthora is happening out there?”

  “Whatever it is,” Maklavir said as he pulled on the sword blade again, “we can judge better once we’re out of here.”

  There was a sharp crack, and the door swung open.

  The night sky glowed orange now in almost every direction. Over the rooftops to the north, east, and southeast the fires lit the night sky. Columns of black smoke drifted up in patches into the air until they formed one massive dark blotch high above Vorten.

  Kendril paused on the snow-covered cobblestones, his gaze attracted by the sight. Gunshots pattered off every few seconds, coming singly or in groups of staccato beats. Once he heard the distinctive boom of a distant cannon.

  Vorten was falling apart.

  “Ashes, there you are.” Olan looked over at Kendril irritably. “We’ve no time to mourn the dead. Vorten needs us right now.”

  Kendril clenched his jaw, seething silently at the remark. “Madris isn’t dead yet, Olan.”

  “She soon will be.” Olan nodded over to Hamis, who was loading a horse’s saddlebags. He turned his head back to Kendril. “Reports are that Indigoru’s moving north, towards the Docks. She has a band of rebels with her. They’re attacking everything in sight.”

  Kendril narrowed his eyes. “North? Why? There’s nothing up there.” He looked down the street towards the east. “There’s been no attack on the bridge? The one just down there?”

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Kendril murmured. His face was shadowed in thought. “Why wouldn’t they come straight at us? Town hall is here, and the Vines. You would think Indigoru would focus on destroying any armed resistance here before moving towards the north side of town.”

  Olan shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. We have to destroy that Seteru. If she’s going north, then so will we. The Despair will only spread from here, if we let it. That demon has to fall.”

  Kendril nodded. “Agreed.” He pulled out one of his pistols and checked the flint. “Do we still hold the northern bridge? The…Wobble?”

  Olan stepped forward and laid a hand on Kendril’s shoulder. “You’re not coming with us, Kendril.”

  Kendril’s face froze. “Vesuna’s blood, Olan, don’t tell me you’re that stupid. You need me.”

  Olan kept his hand on Kendril’s shoulder. “I need you here. Baron Dutraad is in charge of the forces rallying against the Despair.” He lowered his voice. “We can’t trust him, Kendril. He may yet turn on us.”

  Kendril shook Olan’s hand from his shoulder. “Believe me, I don’t trust Dutraad either. But the Lord Mayor—”

  Tomas gave a mocking smile from where he leaned against a glow-globe post, his face darkened by his raised hood. “Our beloved Lord Mayor has apparently abandoned the city.” He flicked the tip of a dagger towards the street behind him. “His carriage was last seen racing out the western gate.”

  Kendril’s face hardened. “The coward.”

  “Now, now, Kendril,” Tomas said with a bitter smirk, “I’m sure he has some excellent strategy in place that the rest of us are simply unable to grasp yet.”

  “So you see,” Olan interrupted, “Baron Dutraad has been left in command.” He glanced back towards the fish store at the edge of the square. “I don’t need to tell you how problematic that is.”

  “All the more reason to take out Indigoru now.” Kendril rubbed his face, red from the cold. “If we strike fast we can end this Despair before it gets off the ground—”

  “That’s our plan. But we can’t leave Dutraad unattended. I want you and Hamis to remain here.”

  The bearded Ghostwalker pushed himself up to his feet from where he had been sitting on a nearby carriage wheel. “Me? Not bloody likely. I won’t be left behind while—”

  “You’re still injured, Hamis,” Olan said curtly. “And if Dutraad gets out of hand, Kendril will need help.”

  “This is not just ridiculous, it’s idiotic.” Kendril pushed the hood back away from his head. “You’re dividing your forces. You’ll have…what? Callen and Tomas? You can’t take Indigoru with that.”

  “You’re the one being idiotic,” Olan shot back. “Soldiers still loyal to Vorten are showing up in groups here by the minute. By the time we leave we’ll have at least a couple hundred arm
ed militia working with us. Dutraad has given the Ghostwalkers command authority in the Trained Bands—”

  Kendril raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t trust Dutraad?”

  “Do you really think you’re that important, Kendril? That only you can kill this demon? Perhaps we should wait for another Guardian to appear and appoint you as our savior, eh?”

  “I told you before, Olan,” Kendril warned in a low voice, “I won’t follow your orders.”

  Tomas and Hamis straightened, and exchanged glances.

  Olan smiled. “You don’t have to, and frankly I don’t expect you to. This is where you can prove to everyone just who you really are, a man who only thinks of himself, and who even in the midst of a Despair is so self-absorbed and obsessed with glory that he puts himself ahead of an entire city.” Olan turned contemptuously. “So go ahead, Kendril, come along. Show everyone that I’m right.”

  Kendril bit his lip hard, his face pale with rage. For a long moment he stared at Olan’s retreating figure, as if his penetrating gaze could cut into the man’s back like a rapier.

  Then he turned and slumped down against the broken carriage near the wagon wheel Hamis was sitting on.

  “Looks like it’s you and me,” the bald Ghostwalker rumbled.

  Kendril watched as Olan mounted his horse. “For now.”

  The glow-globe posts around the square suddenly began flickering. A murmuring cry went up among the assembled crowd.

  Kendril raised his head, and watched the nearest glow-globe keenly.

  “What on Zanthora—?” Hamis thundered.

  The lights glowed dimmer, then faded out. The square went dark.

  Kendril looked up at the tops of the nearby buildings.

  The lights were going out all down the streets in either direction.

  “They must have sabotaged one of the central steam stations,” Kendril pondered aloud. “The glow-globes are losing power.”

  “We’ll be fighting in the dark,” Hamis growled.

  Kendril nodded. “I think that was the intention.”