Without thought, I pushed myself out of the manse, up above the city, and rushed back to the throne room. I had a moment to notice that Eryn had left, that only Avrell and Keven remained, and that someone had brought in a tray of food, and then I settled back into my body and pushed myself up off of the throne.
Both Avrell and Keven gave a start at the sudden movement, Keven reaching for his sword before settling back down. Avrell lurched up from his seat on the stone steps of the dais.
“What did you find? Do you know who’s taken the food?”
I caught both his and Keven’s gaze.
“It’s Yvan,” I said, and the contempt in my voice made Avrell step back a pace.
* * *
It took Baill almost a full day to organize enough men for the raid on Yvan’s estates. When I’d told him, he’d seemed surprised, but then his face had gone blank, the same expressionless facade he’d worn when I’d first seen him as Borund’s bodyguard and he had barred our entrance into the palace.
Except he still seemed exhausted.
Noticing the dark smudges around his eyes, I’d said, “You should get some rest. I can have Captain Catrell plan the raid.”
“No!” he’d barked, his eyes glinting. As I raised my eyebrows at the harshness of his tone, he scrubbed at his face with both hands, then placed them flat on the desk before him. “I mean, no, Mistress. Captain Catrell is currently busy elsewhere. I’ll have the men ready by this evening.”
Now Avrell, Baill, myself, Keven, and an entourage of twenty palace guardsmen hid in an alley in the outer ward where most of the merchants lived. At the entrance to the alley, Baill peered around the corner, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, searching the darkness. The sky overhead was cloudless, the night lit by an almost full moon. Baill no longer acted exhausted, although the dark smudges remained.
I watched him quietly, already beneath the river, the currents surging around me. All of the men were tense, their emotions wild and erratic. Armor clinked and clothing rustled as they shifted nervously. We’d been waiting for over an hour as the rest of the guardsmen moved into place on the remaining sides of the wall that surrounded Yvan’s manse. We already knew he was in residence; he’d been driven through the main gates in his carriage a few moments after we’d entered the alley, and the rest of the group broke off for their own positions.
Baill nodded at a signal from someone I couldn’t see, then pulled back from the alley’s entrance. The rest of the guardsmen edged closer to listen in.
“Everyone is in position,” he said. “They’ve closed and locked the main gates, so we’ll have to batter those down.”
“Leave the gates to me,” I said, voice hard. Without conscious thought, I’d slipped back into my role as a Seeker, a bodyguard.
Baill frowned and glanced down to where I idly swung my dagger through various moves with one hand. I hadn’t even realized I’d drawn it. “Mistress?”
I caught and held his gaze. “I’ll handle the gate,” I repeated. “It won’t be a problem as long as you put me in the lead.”
He suddenly realized that I meant to be part of the party entering the walls, that I didn’t intend to wait in the alley until everything was over. He shifted uncomfortably, seemed about to protest but sucked in a breath instead, trapped between my intense gaze and the fact that I was the Mistress, someone he should be protecting at all costs. He shot a hopeful glance at Keven, expecting him to intercede as my personal bodyguard, but Keven only shrugged.
Finally, Baill grunted in disgust and nodded toward Avrell. “And you?”
Avrell shook his head. “I’ll come in after everything has settled down.”
“Very well. I don’t expect much resistance.”
“He might have a few bodyguards,” I said. “Most of the merchants had them by the time we ended Alendor’s consortium. But that’s all. They shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Very well,” Baill said again, looking over the rest of the guardsmen, catching their eyes, making certain they were ready. He didn’t glance at Keven or Avrell, his gaze ending on me. “After you.”
I nodded in acknowledgment, then stepped out from the alley.
Yvan’s manse stood at the end of the street, the main gates opening directly onto the cobblestone road. Stone walls ran parallel to the cross street in both directions from the large arch of the wooden doors of the entranceway. As I came out of the alley, dagger clutched in one hand, I paused, did a quick scan of the area using the river, but sensed no one other than the guardsmen in Baill’s force. Satisfied, I started walking to the gate.
As I moved, I pulled the waters of the river tight before me, gathered it into a solid wall of power. I felt Keven immediately behind me to my right, his sword drawn. He smelled of earth and dew. Baill moved to the left, radiating calm intent. The rest of the guardsmen came up behind.
When we were ten paces from the closed wooden gates, I paused. Jaw clenching, all of the fury I felt toward Yvan pounding in my blood, I punched the gathered power of the river forward.
The gates exploded inward with a rending shriek of twisted metal and splintering wood. A sharp crack followed as the stone surrounding the hinges shattered, debris pattering to the cobbles of the street, the gates crashing to the ground in the garden beyond the wall. All of the guardsmen jumped—one cried out—but neither Keven nor Baill faltered.
Then we were through the gate, into the outer garden, picking our way over the broken debris, a loose stone path running from the street up to the front door of the manse. Candlelight burned in most of the downstairs windows. As soon as we entered the garden, Baill’s men scattered to the left and right, streaking toward the other entrances, where the rest of the group were waiting for the doors to be unlatched. Only seven guardsmen remained with Baill, Keven, and me.
Shouts began to filter through the night, coming from the back of the manse, where the carriage house and stables would be.
“He’ll try to make a break for it as soon as he realizes what’s going on,” Keven said.
I nodded. I didn’t intend to give him the chance.
We reached the stone steps that led to the double doors of the manse. Someone—a servant—opened the front door and peered out into the darkness, lantern raised high. His eyes widened as he saw me, and he jerked back.
Before he could react, Baill’s guardsmen leaped up the steps, shoved through the half-open door and dragged him out onto the porch. He cried out, dropped the lantern, which shattered on the ground and went out, and then one of the guardsmen thumped the struggling man over the head with the pommel of his sword.
Guardsmen held the doors open as Baill, Keven, and I entered, both escorting guardsmen on edge, swords drawn. The foyer opened onto two flights of stairs leading upward, and two doors to the left and right. A layout similar to Borund’s manse, but larger. And filled with ostentatious and elegant furniture, rugs and tapestries and urns.
I frowned at the extravagant display of wealth.
“Where is he?” Baill asked.
I stood in the middle of the foyer, glanced up, to the left. With the power of the throne and the river, I could sense the fear of the servants as the guardsmen worked their way through the manse. The men in the stable and carriage house had already been taken, were being held outside behind the manse. The servants in the kitchen had been cornered as well. A few others were scattered throughout the house, mainly on the second floor, some still asleep.
But there was a small group of people off to the left.
“There are a few servants still left upstairs,” I said. Three guardsmen broke off and headed up the stairs. “Yvan is down here.”
I led the way, Keven and Baill a step behind. When we reached the closed door, I halted, let the guardsmen shift into position on either side, swords drawn.
The scent of sweat and fear lay thick on the r
iver. I caught Baill’s eye, then nodded.
He stepped back, kicked the door in with a grunt. It burst open with a sharp crack, the doorframe splintering. Inside, someone gasped, and something shattered. Someone swore, followed by a flurry of activity and the sound of swords being drawn.
Then everything went quiet.
Baill, Keven, and the remaining guardsmen slid into the room, stepping to either side of the open door.
Then I entered.
It was a dining room, the table almost fifteen feet in length, running from the door to the far side of the long room. It was lined with empty chairs and platter upon platter of food. Candles stood in candelabra on all sides and down the center of the table. At the far end of the room, Yvan sat at the head of the table, a cloth napkin tucked into the front of his shirt, stained with grease and sauce. He held the greasy leg of a chicken in his hands, staring down the table at Baill and the guardsmen in horrified shock. Two bodyguards, swords drawn, bodies tense, stood to either side of him, protecting his flanks. A servant trembled to one side, the remains of a broken platter of what looked like sauced strips of pork staining the rug at his feet.
Yvan recovered quickly. Tossing the chicken leg down on the heaping plate before him, he shifted forward, his face suffused with anger, grunting with effort as he tried to stand. The servant leaped forward to help, staggering under Yvan’s weight.
Gasping, breath short, Yvan bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?”
I glared at him in disgust, felt my anger triple as I breathed in the heady scent of all of the food—more food than had been served in the palace in the last three days, more food than most of the people of Amenkor would see in a week. I felt myself trembling with rage.
“Take him,” I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded.
Baill’s guardsmen moved down the length of the table. For a moment, Yvan’s bodyguards hesitated, swords raised, and the river thickened with resistance. But the bodyguards knew me, knew Baill. Glowering, they relaxed, sheathed their swords and stepped aside, allowing the guardsmen to surround Yvan. His servant moved swiftly out of the way.
When the guardsmen attempted to grab Yvan’s arms, he jerked out of their grip.
“How dare you touch me!” he shrieked.
“How dare you pretend you’ve done nothing when you’re gorging yourself on enough food to feed half the barracks!” I barked, my restraint finally broken. I felt Avrell enter the room behind me, heard him gasp at the sight of the food on the table.
In a much deadlier tone, I asked, “Where did you get all of this?”
“It comes from my personal estate—”
“You stole it from the warehouses!” I shouted, cutting him off, taking a step forward, my hand slamming down on the table. “You stole it from Amenkor!”
Yvan spluttered, face shocked. “I did no such thing!”
I snorted in disgust and motioned to Baill, who stood to one side, his eye on the bodyguards. “Bring him with me.”
I led the group down the hall into the kitchen, where even more food was being prepared. Behind, Baill and the guardsmen herded Yvan along as fast as his bulk would allow. Avrell and Keven kept up with me.
We descended into the cellars, Yvan’s servants scurrying to find lanterns at Keven’s direction.
“I don’t see anything out of place here,” Avrell said cautiously.
Keven sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Freshly dug earth,” I said. I headed straight for the barrels that covered the entrance to the second room.
With Keven’s help, I shoved aside the barrels covering the tunnel.
One of the servants gasped. Keven ducked down into the tunnel, emerged a second later, his face grim.
Avrell frowned, then ducked into the tunnel as well.
Baill, Yvan being forced down the stair ahead of him at sword point, appeared in the cellar.
I glared at Yvan. “Now tell me you haven’t robbed Amenkor blind,” I growled.
Yvan straightened where he stood, his mouth clamped shut. But his eyes blazed raw hatred.
I shifted my gaze to Baill. “Take him back to the palace and hold him. I’ll deal with him later.”
Baill jerked Yvan back, and for the first time a flicker of fear appeared in Yvan’s eyes. But before he could protest, Baill shoved him up the stairs.
I heaved a sigh of relief, felt pent-up anger and tension release from my shoulders in a wave. I let the river go.
Avrell reappeared, a worried frown creasing his forehead.
Before he could speak, I said, “Seize everything. And search the rest of his estate as well. I want to know everything that he’s taken.”
Avrell nodded, but the concern remained.
I caught Keven’s gaze, exhaustion settling onto my shoulders like a blanket. I’d sustained myself by sheer rage for the last two hours. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed. “Let’s head back to the palace.”
Keven gathered a few of the other guardsmen as an escort, and we began to wind our way through the outer ward. The streets were quiet, only a few windows still lit with the faint glow of lanterns or candles. Most of the buildings were dark, hidden behind their own low walls, everyone asleep.
I moved slowly, too weary from the day’s activities to pick up the pace. As we reached the gate to the middle ward and began the trudge up the hill toward the gates of the palace, I turned to stare at the inner walls, at the parts of the palace that could be seen beyond them.
The walls of the palace seemed to glow in the moonlight, the white stone almost silver. Large bowls of flaming oil were lit at intervals, and at various spots on the palace—along the promenade, on the tower—the fire flapped fitfully in the breeze coming off of the harbor.
A sudden sense of the surreal stole over me and I paused, the guardsmen drawing to a halt. Keven moved to my side, face creased with concern. “Mistress?”
I shook my head, gave him a withered smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“We could send for a horse, perhaps a carriage.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m fine.”
I took one last look at the palace, then continued on.
We passed through the inner gates into the courtyard, proceeded up the steps of the promenade and into the palace. Here there were more people, servants preparing for the coming day’s activities, guardsmen on the walls, page boys and Servants moving about at odd tasks. We passed through the heavy set of double doors guarded by a phalanx of silent guardsmen into the Mistress’ inner sanctum—doors that had once been the outer gates of the original gray stone palace—and turned toward my personal chambers.
As we passed by the throne room, I paused again, then bowed my head.
“What is it?” Keven asked.
“I haven’t checked in on Erick since yesterday morning.”
I hesitated, weariness dragging my shoulders down, but eventually I sighed.
“Just a quick look, to make sure he’s safe,” I said.
The guardsmen drew back the double doors and I made my way down the aisle, past the stone columns, then up the steps to the throne where it twisted and warped itself on the dais. As I settled into it, I almost changed my mind, almost decided I was too tired. But then the throne settled down into the familiar curved shape, my hands coming to rest on the front of the arms, and I felt the power rush through me, the voices surrounding me, the sound now almost soothing.
I drew strength from them, then lifted myself up, searched out the White Fires far, far to the south, and leaped.
I skimmed over water, the waves undulating beneath me, almost totally black in the night, the moon like a cold silver coin on the darkness. I focused in on the two White Fires ahead of me—one scented with oranges, the other like lilies—both rushing toward me as I Reached, and then I saw a streaking flash o
f fire, real fire, saw the fleeting outline of three other ships . . . no four! . . . in the fiery afterglow of an explosion, felt a moment of confusion, of disorientation—
And then I dove into the orange-scented Fire.
I heard a scream, a bellow of rage, heard swords clash and then suddenly a man’s body fell backward before me, blood flying up to spatter my face. I shoved the dead guardsman—one of Baill’s men—aside with a grunt, raised my own sword, felt the descending blow shudder through my arm as I caught it and thrust it back with a heave, sending the attacker stumbling over another body, and then suddenly I was in the clear.
I gasped, wiped my face free of the blinding blood, and spun.
The entire ship was being overtaken. One of the attacking ships had come up alongside, had tethered itself to The Maiden, men pouring over the side.
But not ordinary men.
Within the Fire, I lurched back in shock, withdrew even further as I realized I was too entwined with Erick, with his emotions. Then I turned my attention back to the attack, fear shuddering through my body.
Someone stumbled into Erick from the side, grabbed his arm to steady himself. Erick jerked back, startled, raised his sword, then halted.
“In the Mistress’ name,” Mathew swore, voice thick with horror, “who are they?”
And deep inside, I heard one of the voices—one of the Seven, I thought, perhaps Cerrin—gasp, Gods, not them.
Erick drew in a deep breath, tried to steady the dread and adrenaline that coursed through him. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“They’re sea-demons,” one of the crew gasped behind them, blood running down his face from a cut in his scalp. His eyes were wide with terror. “Sea-demons, from the tales!”
Erick watched as more of them poured off the sleek ship tethered to The Maiden. They were short, dressed in loose clothing, almost like silk, in a riot of colors, with armor underneath. They screamed as they struck—high, piercing ululations, black hair flying as they jumped from one ship to the other, strangely curved swords glinting in the fires all along the deck. Most were covered with tattoos, along their arms, on their faces. A few wore necklaces of shells.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 57
