Master of Shadows

by Lynn Viehl

  He found Robin on the phone, talking to the contessa. “Nottingham will be landing in Italy in a few hours. He is beyond my reach now. I cannot retrieve the manuscript for you.”

  Will went to pick up the broken crockery from the tray. As he cleaned up the mess, he listened to his master argue with Salvatora.

  “She will be a hindrance to me,” Robin said at last, and looked at Will. “I shall leave her here with my seneschal. He will keep her sequestered until my return.”

  When Will saw him look at the screen on the phone, he came over and saw that the contessa had sent a video of a black mortal being brutally beaten. Will recognized him as one of the federal agents working at the gallery—the one Dennis had called “Hutch.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Robin said. “Stop before you kill him.”

  The image of the contessa’s satisfied face appeared on the screen. “I shall see you and your human lover, in Rome, in two days. Be sure you have the manuscript, my lord. If you do not, her partner dies, and you will revisit every one of the happy memories you have of the jardin war trials.”

  The phone’s screen turned blank.

  “She would not do this thing unless she felt sure she could get away with it,” Will said as he realized what she meant to do. “Once she has the manuscript, she will kill you and Agent Renshaw. Then she can blame your deaths on Nottingham, or make up any story she likes.”

  Robin went over to the cabinet where he stored his personal weapons and removed his bow case. “Contact Jayr and Lucan, and tell them only that I am in Europe, and in my absence refugee Kyn have captured my stronghold. Ask them to send as many warriors as they can spare. Surround the keep, but do nothing for two days. If I do not call you by the end of the second, you must lead them in and save as many as you can.”

  “While you die alone in Rome.” Will would have none of that.

  “I have lived seven lifetimes, old friend, and I am certain that death is ready for me. My task is to do whatever I must to protect Chris.” Robin came to him and braced a hand against his shoulder. “You helped me build the stronghold; no one knows it as well as you. That gives you an advantage over the contessa’s men. Use it. Remember how we routed the king’s men in Sherwood. I know you will prevail.”

  As much as he disliked it, Will knew what his duty was. Robin could not fight a battle on two fronts. “I shall earn you faith in me, but that bitch will not get away with this. As soon as our people are secure, I shall call the high lord and make him aware of her treachery. Then I shall hunt her down and take her head.”

  “You will be too busy for that.” Robin opened his case and adjusted the packing around his bow. “If I am slain, you are to take my place as suzerain.”

  Will uttered a sour chuckle. “That is as likely as my assuming the throne of England.”

  “I have already advised Cyprien.” His master shut the lid of the case and secured it. “He agreed with my choice. There will be no opposition.”

  “You are not jesting.” Will gaped him before he shoved aside his astonishment. “My lord, if you have forgotten, my father was a smith, and my mother a laundress. The only noble blood in my veins came from the mortal gentry I fed on whenever I could lure one of them into the woods. If not for you, I should have ended dangling from a rope at a crossroads. Pledging myself to you, taking vows, fighting in the Holy Land, surviving death, being made Kyn—it surely saved me, but it did not make me another man. I was an outlaw. A thief.”

  “So was I.” Robin offered the bow case to him. “I am not dead yet, Will. There is still hope.” The sound of a knob twisting made him glance toward his bedchamber. “It seems my special agent has awoken. Call the airport and have a plane standing by.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rebecca went to the open window of her bedchamber, where the warm April night beckoned to her. She did not miss the old days, when the hunger had compelled Sylas to go out and hunt as soon as the sun set and the mortal world prepared to sleep. Her satisfaction dimmed a little as the stars brightened, making tiny rainbows dance before her eyes. At the same time, her skin began to shed the scent of sweet clover.

  Something had stirred her talent. “Sylas.”

  “I am here, lass.” Sylas came to stand behind her and folded his arms around hers. “I will help you fight it.”

  The memories were returning. Rebecca heard bitter weeping and terrible laughter. “I do not think you can this time.”

  He turned her to face him and spoke. Although she could no longer hear him, he knew she could see and read his lips. “You must resist it.”

  The strange voices filling her ears fell abruptly silent, and she drooped, clutching him for a moment as she regained her balance. “I cannot leave you.”

  “You cannot stay.” He rubbed a hand over her back. “You are stronger than you think, wife. Have faith.”

  She shook her head. She was not strong; she had never been strong. Not since that terrible night, the first night she had woken in Sylas’s arms.

  “I know you, my lady.”

  She was his lady. Rebecca held on to that promise. She would do as he wished. She would resist. She would not harm anyone. She was his lady.

  My lady.

  “My lady.” Hands were touching her, shaking her. “My lady, please wake up.”

  Rebecca opened her eyes to see Lettice standing over her. “No,” she muttered. “’Twas not enough.”

  “My lady,” the seamstress pleaded, “you must rouse yourself. We dare not wait any longer.”

  Horrified that she had fallen asleep, she jerked. “Have they found us?”

  “No, my lady, but they are searching for us. Come.” She bent to put an arm around her.

  Rebecca gripped Lettice’s hand, gritting her teeth as the movement strained the wound in her side. She was not healing, and that was always the first sign. The next would be the constant shedding of her scent.

  “Give me a moment.” She gasped the words as she found her feet. The shadows in the tunnel seemed to lengthen and draw close around her, and she nearly wept with relief. “Tish, move away from me.” She looked at the others. “Stay beneath the lights.”

  Lettice drew back, moving away quickly to stand with the other women under the dim glow of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  A voice came from the shadows, whispering in the cold, damp stillness. “Rebecca.”

  Thank God, he knew her. “I am here, my lord.”

  “Take word,” the ghostly voice said. “The one in charge has silver in his hair and a sword scar across his face. The men call him Saetta. He has fortified the barriers and posted guards everywhere.”

  She tried to see a face in the pool of darkness; sometimes he could come that far. “How many weapons?”

  “They each carry a dart gun and extra cartridges. They also wield swords, daggers, the lot.” Something blue glittered in the shadows. “They have not found our cache yet. They look for you.”

  “We will be gone.” Rebecca thought frantically. “Even if you could free the men and arm them, you are outnumbered three to one. What about our stores?”

  “They were the first thing I destroyed.” His voice grew more distant. “They are coming for me now. Find Will, Rebecca, and tell him everything.” A hand formed from the darkness and reached out to her. “I love you.”

  “No.” She tried to touch him, but her hand passed through the shadowy fingers and touched only the rough, damp stone. “Sylas.”

  Rebecca fell forward, caught by the arms of one of her ladies. She held on to the other female until her legs felt steadier.

  “You are right, Lettice. They do search for us. We must move quickly.” The face of the woman holding her came into focus. “Reese. I did not realize it was you. Forgive me.” Rebecca tried to clear her thoughts. “You were not in the main hall when we fled the fighting. How did you find us?”

  “Alain sent me down here to use the escape tunnel.” The mortal female put an arm around her back. “Who w
ere those men upstairs? Why did they take over Rosethorn?”

  “I will explain later.” She stumbled forward, gesturing to the other ladies. “Come. We must take the caravan into the city before daybreak. Reese, have you a mobile phone with you?”

  “No, I…dropped it.”

  None of the other women carried phones, Rebecca knew. “We will stop to make use of a pay phone somewhere along the way. Quickly now.”

  After Will took Robin and Chris to the airport, he returned to his master’s city home and summoned the three men he had left.

  “Our lord is sending us to Rosethorn,” he told them. “I am to call upon Suzeraina Jayr and Suzerain Lucan. For them and their men, we will need everything from the storerooms and whatever you can borrow from our mortal friends.”

  “How many at the stronghold?” Fazio asked.

  “Seventy-three.”

  Mason gave him an incredulous look. “Seneschal, even seventy-three Mongols could not take Rosethorn from our garrison.”

  “They used deceit and drugs,” Will told him. “Now they hold our Kyn hostage. Our lord has gone to Rome to placate their mistress. In two days’ time, if he has not, we attack.”

  “Can we be prepared for that in but two days?” Sullivan wanted to know.

  “We must, or the lives of our brothers and sisters will be forfeit.” Will held out his hand. “Unto the last man, we fight.”

  The other three clapped their hands atop his. “Unto the last man.”

  Will went to the communications room, which still held maps and plans used during the search for Valentin Jaus. There he placed the calls to his master’s allies and told them of the summons to arms.

  “We will be there before nightfall,” Suzeraina Jayr of the Realm promised, her voice grim. “How many do I bring?”

  Too many warriors would strain their resources, and too few would prove ineffective. The old rule had been four to one, but that had allowed for a quarter to starve or be killed by defender fire. “One hundred of your best, if you please, my lady.”

  The second call to Suzerain Lucan proved even easier.

  “A siege? How delightful.” The high lord’s former chief assassin yawned. “My men are yours. Where and when?”

  Will also requested that Lucan bring one hundred of his most experienced warriors. “We are most grateful, my lord.”

  “I’m sure you are, but I daresay it choked Robin of Locksley to ask for my aid.” He chuckled. “Never fear, seneschal. My garrison is filled with Spaniards, and they have never forgiven the Italians for claiming they discovered this country. We will be most happy to dispatch them from it.”

  Will then placed a call to the sanctuary house in Marietta, to alert them about Rebecca and the other women traveling there.

  “We will prepare for them immediately, seneschal,” the woman in charge of the house said. “Do you know how many escaped?”

  “No, but they may have mortals with them, so be ready for wounded.” Will prayed Rebecca had taken Reese out of the stronghold. “Contact me as soon as they reach you.”

  The airless, dark escape tunnel extended almost two miles beneath Rosethorn’s outlying lands, and by the time they emerged from the other end into a heavily wooded but otherwise vacant lot by the highway, Reese wanted to do nothing more than throw herself down and rub her face in the grass.

  “The caravan is over here, beneath this brush.” Rebecca waded through the overgrown weeds and pulled a mat of dead pine branches away from the front end of a large truck.

  Reese went to help her, and as soon as they uncovered the cab she looked inside. “No keys.”

  “They are here.” Rebecca reached under the front wheel well and groped until she produced a small magnetic box, which she handed to Reese. “I do not wish to impose on you, but we cannot operate the vehicle.”

  “None of you can drive?” Reese watched the other women shaking their heads. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve driven a lorry, but I’ll give it a go.”

  “What is a lorry?” Lettice asked.

  “What they call a truck in England.” Reese forced a smile. “One of my tresoran mentors was English. I guess I picked up some of his slang.”

  Once they had cleared off the camouflaging branches, Reese unlocked the back of the truck and helped the women inside. Rebecca, however, refused to climb in.

  “I shall ride up front with you.” When Reese began to protest, she said, “I am the only one who knows the way to the sanctuary house in Marietta.”

  Reese hadn’t considered that the women would want to go anywhere else but Atlanta. “I think we should drive to the city instead. Lord Locksley is there, and we’ll be safe with him.”

  “We cannot,” Rebecca said. “Our lord’s city home may also have been seized by the Italians. If we are ever forced to leave the estate, our instructions are to go to the sanctuary house and wait there for our men.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “I understand.” She’d have to stop at a pay phone along the way and call her father from there. “Let’s get rolling.”

  Reese took a moment to familiarize herself with the truck’s instruments before she started the engine and slowly eased the vehicle out across the lot and onto the road. She drove slowly at first—the truck had not been used in some time, and the engine had a tendency to sputter—but soon she increased her speed to just under the road’s limit.

  “I imagine this is the last thing you thought you would be doing when you came to Rosethorn tonight,” Rebecca said as she took a pouch from the glove compartment and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

  Reese nodded. “This definitely tops the list.” She saw the lines of strain around the other woman’s mouth. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I have not left the estate since we came to America,” she said slowly.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Two hundred years and better.” The chatelaine sighed. “I thought about it from time to time, but when Sherman came and burned the city during that very uncivil mortal war, I decided living at Rosethorn was adventure enough for me.” She glanced at Reese. “You must think me a simpleton.”

  “There is nothing wrong with being happy at home,” Reese corrected. “I envy you in some ways.”

  Rebecca stared out the side window. “You never should.”

  She must have reminded the woman of something unhappy. Reese knew she was missing her husband—anyone who saw them together could see that they were soul mates—but she wondered how a lovely woman like the chatelaine had fallen in love with a big, dark brute like Sylas. “How did you meet your husband?”

  “Whenever he was in England, Sylas came to the convent where I lived to visit his youngest sister,” Rebecca said. “She was one of my charges.”

  Reese’s brows arched. “That would make you a nun.”

  “I was, and Sylas a soldier of fortune.” She smiled. “I have shocked you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve met Buddhist advertising executives, vegetarian meatpackers, and one time I sat next to a girl on a plane who swore she was the secret love child of Princess Di and the lead singer of Duran Duran.” Reese shifted on the hard vinyl seat. “Getting caught in the siege of a castle during the twenty-first century, that pretty much tops everything, even a nun married to a mercenary.”

  “We never actually married,” Rebecca admitted. “When the sickness began to spread through the county around the convent, Sylas came to take his sister away. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, she was already sick and too ill to be moved. Everyone fled but me and a few of the older sisters. And Sylas. He would not leave his sister’s side.”

  More bad memories. “I shouldn’t have asked—”

  “No, my dear, I do not mind speaking of it. We worked together to care for the sick.” She closed her eyes. “I came to know him during those long hours in the infirmary. The night his sister died, Sylas and I both began coughing. I knew that it was likely that I would go before him, so I asked m
y friend, Sister Marian, to bury us together. She honored my last request, bless her soul. Three days later I woke up in the ground. In his arms.”

  “That’s very romantic.” Reese frowned. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “I was so frightened, but Sylas…he took care of me. He was such a formidable man to look upon, you understand, but I had witnessed myself how gentle he could be. I trusted him.” She looked down at her hands, which she held tightly folded in her lap. “Even in the grave we shared.”

  Reese grimaced. “I hope he got you out of there in a hurry.”

  “At first I thought perhaps they had buried us alive,” Rebecca said. “It happened all too frequently in our time. But Sylas said that no, we had died, for he had held me until my last breath. He thought that somehow God had been persuaded to give us another chance.”

  The chatelaine told her how her husband had broken through the lid of the coffin they had shared, and pushed away the soil above it.

  “We were both so weak by the time we were free, and yet he carried me into the forest and kept me safe with him. Over the next days we discovered the bizarre changes made to us—we could heal from any wound, but we could no longer eat food or drink anything—and tried to make sense of it.” Rebecca shook her head. “I do not know what would have happened to us had not the dark Kyn found us and taken us away with them. They told us what we were, and how we could live.”

  Reese’s eyes felt heavy. “Then you fell in love with him.”

  “Oh, no. I did that when I was a mortal.” Rebecca turned her head and sat up suddenly. “Reese, open the window.”

  “Why?” The air was sweet and warm, and made her feel as if she were breathing in pure honey.

  “I am shedding too much scent.” Rebecca reached across her to wind down the window, and then did the same on her own side of the cab. “’Twill be all right. The effect wears off quickly.”

  “Thank you.” Reese’s head cleared. “How could that have happened? L’attrait has no…it usually has no effect on me.”