Ghostwalker (Book 1)

by Ben Cassidy

  Kendril sighed heavily. “Maklavir, it’s mostly grass. Hardly any mud at all. Now would you please get going?”

  The diplomat moved to the door, giving Kendril a cold glance. “This is a silk shirt I’m wearing. If any of my clothes get damaged, I’m holding you responsible.”

  “Maklavir…”

  Smoothing his shirt, Maklavir nodded. “All right, all right, I’m going.” He slipped out the door, falling onto his hands and knees after inspecting the wet grass carefully.

  Kendril glanced back at the common room. He bit his lip, his mind quickly running through different options.

  “All right,” he said after a moment. “I want you to follow Maklavir. Out the back and to the stable.”

  Jade gave the Ghostwalker a surprised look. “What about you?”

  Kendril moved quickly to the door leading back into the common room. “I’m going to stay here. If they make another move on the inn, I’ll try to hold them off.” He shrugged. “Hopefully they’ll think we’re all still in here.”

  Jade nodded. “I see. Here, you’ll need this,” she said, holding out the pistol Kendril had given her earlier.

  The Ghostwalker shook his head. “Keep it for now. We’re not out of the woods yet.” He paused for a moment. “Or into the woods, as the case may be.”

  She shoved the pistol carefully back into her trouser belt. “So you just want me to wait in the stable?”

  Kendril tried to see if he could spot Maklavir’s shape from where he stood, but it was too dark to see. “Yes. Assuming this crazy plan actually works, run for the wall as soon as it blows. Get out as fast as you can, and don’t look back. And get Simon, too. He might need to be calmed a bit. Loud noises tend to scare him.”

  Jade took a deep breath. “All right. And we’ll meet you outside the wall?”

  Kendril gave her a stern glance. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll find you. Just keep going.”

  She looked at the man she had only known for less than two days, and felt a sudden pang of fear. “Promise me you will,” she said quickly, without even thinking.

  Kendril was silent for a moment, as if taken by surprise.

  “Just…just promise me you’ll come, okay?” she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

  “Jade,” said Kendril in a low voice, “I’ll come. You have my word.” He smiled. “Besides, I want my mule back.”

  “Everyone still in place?”

  “Aye.” Regvar moved to the window, staring out between the wooden panes. “Derik and Calham are still at their posts.”

  Montrose nodded. “Good. Now let’s get moving. Queltin, soak those rags, and be quick about it. Regvar, find some flints. Make sure they spark.”

  “Right boss.” The second henchman began rummaging through the supplies on the shelf. “Got some.”

  There were four liquor bottles all together, taken off the shelf behind the store counter. Queltin and Regvar had lined them up carefully on the ground.

  Montrose took a step back, watching Queltin carefully as he soaked four white rags in the alcohol, then stuffed one into the top of each bottle.

  “All right,” he said quietly. “You both know the drill. Any questions?”

  Both henchmen were silent.

  “Good,” the one-eyed bounty hunter grunted. “Let’s get to it, then.”

  The horse was right where Maklavir had left him, chomping quietly on some hay. Maklavir had won the animal in a game of chance about a year before, and the steed had served him faithfully ever since.

  “How are you doing, Veritas?” he whispered, walking carefully across the straw-covered ground towards the beast. The horse whinnied quietly in response. He quickly checked the saddlebag, and removed several small pouches, all tied tightly with string. Smiling, he turned.

  There was a man standing there, pistol in hand.

  Maklavir dropped the pouches in surprise and reached frantically for his sword. He tripped backwards onto the ground, losing his grip on the hilt of his weapon.

  There was a soft giggle. “It’s me, Maklavir,” came the voice.

  The diplomat gave a sigh of relief. “Ah, Jade. Talin’s ashes, you nearly scared the life out of me. Where’s Kendril?”

  She knelt down next to him, brushing some of the straw off his shoulders. “Back in the inn. He told me to come out here with you.” She picked up one of the pouches of gunpowder, eyeing it uncertainly. “Do you really think this will work?”

  Maklavir rose to his feet, picking pieces of straw off his clothes. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  The four men splashed through the muddy street, trying to move as quickly and quietly as they could. Regvar and Queltin were in front, both clutching a bottle in each hand, a rag sticking out the top. Behind them Montrose and Uther followed close behind, their crossbows trained at the front door of the inn.

  Without a word Regvar and Queltin both broke off to the right, skirting the front of the inn and ducking out of sight of the door and the windows. Queltin stopped at the corner of the inn, while Regvar continued running along the side towards the back. Montrose and Uther remained in the middle of the street, each watching the tavern in front of them for any signs of life.

  Setting one bottle down in the mud, Queltin pulled out his flint, and began striking it, his back turned to the cold breeze. After a few moments he lifted a bottle in one hand, the rag beginning to burn brightly.

  Montrose smiled to himself. This time they wouldn’t fail.

  Kendril leaned against the entryway between the kitchen and the common room, trying to watch both the front and the back doors at the same time. If the men outside had seen either Jade or Maklavir move to the stable, they had certainly not done anything about it yet.

  He chewed on his lower lip, tapping his fingers repetitively on the door jam. He hated waiting like this. The men across the street would strike again, he knew. It was only a matter of time. He just hoped—

  A sudden movement caught his attention, centering his vision on the front door. A light bobbed up the stone steps outside, then turned in the air, almost like someone was holding a candle or lantern of some kind--

  Kendril hurled himself to one side as a flaming bottle tumbled in through the front door. It crashed and exploded against a table, splashing burning liquid onto the chairs and floor nearby.

  The door to the pantry flung open as Kendril leapt over the bar, ducking low behind a table. The innkeeper stared out in dismay, his eyes wide with horror.

  “My inn!” he cried, his hands covering his face. “They’re burning my inn!”

  The fire had already begun to burn up one of the sidewalls, and smoke was quickly filling the common room.

  Kendril gritted his teeth. He couldn’t put this out. It was too intense. He waved his pistol towards the front door. “Get out!” he yelled over the crackling of the flames.

  The innkeeper stepped into the room, staring at the fire as though in shock. “My inn, my inn!” he kept repeating over and over.

  The tavern maid came out of the pantry, and quickly caught the man by his arm. “Jorath!” she shouted, tugging him towards the door. “Jorath, please! We have to go!”

  Kendril turned to the kitchen door, but just as he did so he caught sight of a man at the inn’s back door. He lifted his pistol, but was already too late.

  Another burning bottle flew into the kitchen and shattered on the counter that Maklavir had been hiding behind before. Burning liquid spewed everywhere.

  Kendril ducked back into the common room and watched as the tavern maid finally managed to pull the innkeeper out the front door. The fire was blazing out of control now, and smoke was already starting to sting his eyes. Coughing, Kendril began moving around the bar just as another bottle came crashing through a window into the common room, adding to the inferno.

  Kendril took an uncertain step back. The flames were blocking the front door. He turned to the kitchen, but stopped cold at the entrance. Fire was already dancing madly across the k
itchen cabinets.

  He was trapped.

  “I got him,” called Uther as he tracked the second of two people who had just emerged from the inn. A moment later he fired crossbow. The shot pegged the man squarely in the throat and knocked him back against the stone steps of the inn.

  The woman screamed, falling onto the dying man’s body.

  “Get her,” snarled Montrose.

  Queltin appeared out of the shadows, his sword in hand. He grabbed the woman by her hair, yanking her roughly out into the street.

  Montrose strode over. Uther hurriedly reloaded the crossbow behind him.

  The woman could only scream shrilly as Montrose jerked her head around, then spat onto the ground.

  “It’s not her,” he said, pushing the tavern maid back to the ground. He turned back to the henchman behind him. “Uther, get around and help Regvar cover the back. I don’t want anyone getting out.”

  Still fumbling with his crossbow, Uther dashed for the rear of the inn. Fire was blazing brightly through the front window, and smoke was pouring out the open front door.

  Queltin pulled the woman up by her hair, swinging back his sword to strike at her neck. The woman gave out a shrill scream, pulling at the arm that held her hair.

  Montrose glanced over.“Queltin!” he snarled. “Let her go.”

  Almost reluctantly, the henchman let go of her hair and lowered his sword.

  The woman fell down into the mud, then tottered to her feet. She ran off down the street.

  Lifting his crossbow again, Montrose turned back to the inn.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jade looked out through the stable door, which was open just a crack. She gasped. “The inn’s on fire!”

  “Wonderful,” said Maklavir sarcastically as he tied a matchcord to one of the powder bags. “It’s absolutely absurd to expect me to work under these kind of conditions.”

  “There’s a man, too. He has his back to us. It looks like he’s watching the inn.” Jade turned, looking anxiously at the diplomat behind her. “Kendril’s still in there! We need to help him, Maklavir.”

  He snorted, flicking one last piece of straw off his shirtsleeve. “Somehow I doubt that Kendril is in any need of help from either of us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wall to blow up.”

  The fire, he had to admit, was a pretty good idea. Why storm a building when you can just get everyone inside to come out to you? If they didn’t, of course, they’d all burn to death, but that saved the trouble of killing them. And Kendril had no doubt that both exits of the inn were covered. Even if he risked the flames to get out, he would no doubt be shot down as soon as he made it outside.

  Which left him, all things considered, in a pretty rough spot.

  Kendril turned from the kitchen, coughing from the smoke that was filling the common room. Flames danced crazily over the wooden floor, and fire was crawling rapidly up the walls. The chairs and tables were a raging furnace. As soon as the support beams caught fire, the whole second story of the inn would come crashing down. It was just a matter of time.

  The Ghostwalker frantically swept his eyes over the roaring inferno, trying desperately to think of a way out. His eyes caught sight of the staircase. The railing was starting to burn, but otherwise it looked intact.

  His decision made in the space of a heartbeat, Kendril leapt over the bar.

  For the second time that evening Maklavir found himself crawling across the ground, and he found it no more pleasant than his first experience. He had left his cape with Jade, along with the animals. Not that it particularly mattered. He would no doubt be dead in the space of two minutes. Then again, he was a gambling man at heart. Say three.

  Wincing at the prospect of what his clothes must look like at this point, Maklavir flipped over onto his back, lifting one of the pouches filled with gunpowder and inserting it carefully into the crack between two logs in the stockade wall. He pushed it firmly but carefully with his fingers, making sure it was wedged in place, then made sure that the matchcord was properly attached. He pushed himself further down the length of the wall, risking a look back to see what was going on.

  There were two men now, both no more than fifteen yards away. Thankfully they both had their backs to him, and hadn’t seemed to have spotted him yet. That was a small miracle. Their attention seemed to be riveted on the inn. Of course, if either of them turned around they would no doubt see him, and probably the one with the crossbow would shoot him dead.

  Hard to miss at fifteen yards.

  Maklavir stopped again, pressing yet another powder pouch into the stockade wall. Well, this was certainly going better than he had expected. Perhaps he really would get out of this alive after all. Someday, no doubt years from now, he would look back on this moment and laugh. Well, perhaps not laugh, but—

  One of the two men turned their head in Maklavir’s direction. The diplomat froze instantly, the blood running cold in his veins.

  Had it been two minutes, then, or three?

  The second floor hallway was filled with smoke, but it hardly mattered. Kendril always made it a point to check out his surroundings, and he had been upstairs before. The room he had rented—had it been just earlier that afternoon? It seemed so much longer ago now. In any event, the room he had rented was the third door on the left, the one at the end of the hall. And at the very end of the hall, looking out the east side of the inn, was a window.

  And that window was going to save Kendril’s life. Or be the death of him. Either way, he thought as he ran down the hall, it certainly beat burning to death.

  He struck the window with his left shoulder, and felt the glass shatter out into the night.

  “Hey,” said Uther suddenly, tapping Regvar on the shoulder. “What’s that, back behind us?”

  “What’s what?” asked Regvar, turning to look.

  A sudden shattering noise from the side of the inn caused them both to turn. For a second, they stood there in stupefied silence, then Regvar swore loudly.

  “They’re getting out the windows. Come on!”

  The question wasn’t really whether the fall would hurt. Any drop from the second floor of a building was going to hurt. The real question was how badly it would hurt, and whether any bones would be broken.

  Kendril hit the ground with a roll, trying to absorb as much of the shock as possible. Shards of glass littered the grass around him as he slid to a stop down a slight slope, rolling three times before he came to rest. He stood quickly, one hand reaching for the pistol he had holstered.

  Remarkably, it didn’t feel like any of his bones had snapped. Even more remarkably, he couldn’t feel the sharp burn of any cuts yet, either. In front of him was the large shape of the inn. He was looking straight up at its east side, smoke and flames pouring out of every possible opening. .

  A sharp cry spun his attention to the right. A man came running around the back of the inn, a basket-hilt sword in his hand. As soon as he saw Kendril, his face twisted into a snarl, and he launched himself forward.

  With his other hand reaching for his second pistol, Kendril brought the first up to fire.

  He only hoped that Maklavir could actually blow a hole in the wall.

  Otherwise, they were all as good as dead…

  Montrose heard the shattering of glass, even over the flames and cracking timbers of the inn. It sounded as if it had come from over to the right. He took a few quick sidesteps in that direction, while still keeping one eye on the front door of the inn.

  Queltin gave him a questioning look.

  Montrose saw someone getting to their feet by the side of the inn. By the light of the flames he could see the figure wore a black cloak.

  “It’s him!” he called to Queltin. He swung his crossbow around, bringing it up to his cheek.

  For reasons that Maklavir was still having problems fathoming, he was very much still alive.

  Not that he was complaining, mind. He had always preferred the prospect of living to that of
a painful death. The two men who he thought would be his executors had been distracted by something along the eastern side of the inn, and both had vanished out of sight.

  It was the chance Maklavir had needed. Fortune had apparently dealt him the cards he needed, and he wasn’t about to toss them away.

  He got to his feet and shoved another powder bag into the crack between the logs, about a foot above his head. Only two or three more and then there was nothing left but to light the fuse.

  And hope the gunpowder wasn’t too damp from the rain, of course—

  Jade tugged the two bridles she held in her left hand, bringing Kendril’s mule and Maklavir’s horse close to the stable door. In her other hand she held the pistol, which she was beginning to hope and pray she wouldn’t have to use.

  It was almost impossible to see what was happening outside through the open crack of the door. She had lost sight of Maklavir, and she couldn’t see Kendril, either.

  Veritas whinnied nervously, pulling back on his bridle.

  Jade stuck the pistol in her belt, rubbing the horse soothingly on the neck to calm him. The smell of smoke was starting to panic the animal.

  Truth be told, it was starting to panic her, too.

  Kendril’s pistol thundered, but his shot was too hurried to be accurate. The bullet went wild and punched into the side of the inn.

  Regvar bared his teeth, bringing his heavy blade down at the Ghostwalker.

  Kendril twisted to one side and dropped his spent pistol to the ground. He reached for one of his short swords with his free hand.

  Regvar slashed through empty air, losing his balance slightly, then made another sweeping strike.

  Kendril blundered backwards. His other hand came up with his second pistol, but not in time.

  The sword was going to cleave his head in two, and if he stepped back, it would just be worse.