by Jon Sprunk
Hubert's people had finally reached the palace gates. The young nobleman was a tiny figure striding at their head, his sword flashing in the torchlight. His assault got a reaction. Like a kicked anthill, masses of soldiers rushed to defend the walls. Arrows filled the air and men spilled their lives into the overflowing gutters.
Caim descended from the tower. He had seen enough. Hubert was buying him the window of opportunity he needed. Kit floated beside him as he dropped to the cathedral's marshy grounds and started up the winding boulevards to Celestial Hill. Within minutes they reached the outer wall of the palace at a spot well away from the fighting. Caim had already scouted his entry point. The stone of this section of wall was riddled with cracks and creeping vegetation that created convenient handholds. He took his time and made sure each hold was firm before trusting his weight to it. At the top, he crawled over the smooth apex and dropped down the other side.
Caim paused at the foot of the wall. A manicured lawn extended toward his next obstacle, the forty-foot interior wall of the palace. Beautiful gardens filled the space between, adorned with delicate flower trees and swollen streams. The sweet fragrances of lilac and oleander lingered in the damp air. Caim passed through the luxurious grounds without a second glance.
Kit spotted the first sentry under the branches of a redbud tree. Caim squatted behind a hedge of flowery bushes and watched. The soldier was looking toward the palace gatehouse, possibly waiting for his relief. Every few moments he blew into his hands and rubbed them together, his spear propped against the tree trunk.
While he watched, Caim thought about Kas, lying dead in his cabin, blood seeping from gouges in his torso. The old man hadn't asked for trouble, but it had come to his door nonetheless, garbed in the Church's flimsy excuse for the law. Caim imagined Josey as she was stripped naked and dragged away, cursing him for leaving her alone. An image of a corpse-strewn courtyard formed in his mind.
Moments dripped by like the falling rain, and all the while Calm's anger burned hotter, a smoldering coal in the pit of his stomach fueled by recrimination. He had been fooling himself. He'd only ever been good at one thing his entire life. It was time he went back to it and forgot about being the hero.
With images of Josey gnawing at his mind, he got up and started toward the tree. He kept low and worked his way around behind the sentry. He could pass by, unseen, but tonight wasn't a time for taking chances.
As he moved into position, Caim found not a knife in his hands, but the leather cord from Josey's necklace, wrapped around his palms with a foot of length stretched between. He clenched the key amulet in his fist as he stole up behind the sentry. His heart beat harder. He had never strangled anyone before; some stray dogs, years ago when he had been living on the streets and it had been kill or starve to death, but never a man. He supposed it was all the same.
Then, the moment was upon him. Caim slipped the cord around the guard's neck and pulled tight. His arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets as the man lurched forward. The guard kicked and grunted like a wild animal. Caim slammed a knee into his back and hung on. If not for the key, which Caim gripped like a garrote handle, the cord would have been ripped from him. As it was, the loops of leather sawed into his left hand until he started to fear he might lose the fingers.
The sentry stumbled to the wet grass and Caim kept up his hold, and it was a lucky thing because his victim fought for a good long time. Minutes passed before the guard was still. Caim stood up, a little shaky. His hands and wrists ached like he'd been wrestling a bear. As he unwound the cord from his stiff fingers, a flicker of lightning lit up the gardens and he got a glimpse of his victim's face. It was a sight he could have done without. The man's features had turned an ugly shade of purple. His tongue lolled from his mouth like a swollen red worm, his eyes open wide. Worse, he was a kid, maybe seventeen at most.
Calm's gaze fell to the crimson surcoat covering the youth's armor. Not a kid. A soldier. An enemy. Older than I was when I chose my path. He wrapped the cord around his wrist again.
After hiding the body in a clump of tall fronds, Caim continued onward. Another fifty paces brought him to the foot of the inner wall. No sign of additional sentries. He ran a hand across the granite facing, too smooth to climb and too hard for pitons. From around his waist he uncoiled ten fathoms of braided silk cord, a gift from one of Hubert's contacts.
"Are you sure you can manage this?" Kit asked.
"I'll meet you on the other side. You remember the plan?"
She gave him a withering look. "I'll be there. Just don't take too long." Then she was gone.
He attached his grapnel to the line and measured out seven times his own height. Fortune favored him. The sharp prongs caught on the first try. Caim pulled the line taut and listened for signs of movement above. After sixty heartbeats of silence, he began his ascent. Foot by foot he climbed. It was difficult to find purchase on the slick stone. Several times his feet slipped and nearly wrenched the cord from his grip, but he held on. At the top he grabbed hold and hoisted himself onto the curved capstone.
He lay there, heart pounding against the stone as he peeked over the side. Several large buildings crowded the inner bailey, which was floored with rectangular blocks of pale gray stone. The old imperial residence, where the Elector Council now held its sessions, dominated the center. Flying buttresses radiated out from the main structure like the legs of a colossal insect. Lofty towers surrounded the great central dome, painted in gold leaf.
Lesser buildings abutted along the inside of the wall: a barracks and stables for the Palace Guard on the bailey's east end; on the west side, the Thurim House. The Thurim had been the body of state elders responsible for advising the emperors of old. Of course, as one of its first acts after gaining power the Church abolished the assembly. For many Nimeans, it remained the singular most heinous misuse of power and was the spark for rebellious elements like the Azure Hawks. A few cloaked sentries patrolled the courtyard in pairs, but the majority, it seemed, had taken Hubert's bait and rushed to the outer walls. Caim prayed they would remain there. He didn't fancy the idea of running into a patrol of angry soldiers as he wandered the citadel.
Kit appeared on the wall beside him, her legs dangling over the side. Not a drop of rain touched her. "Is this as far as you've gotten? You need to get moving or we'll be here till midsummer."
He stifled an acrid reply. "I count eight down below."
"And four in a guard shack."
"No one up top?"
She shook her head, sending her silver tresses swinging. "I guess they're afraid of a little rain."
"That's good for us."
Caim unhooked the grapnel and let the line fall to the ground. Pulling with his arms and pushing with his toes, he slithered along the top of the wall while the rain beat a tattoo on his back, until he reached the near corner of the Thurim House.
Caim got to his feet. While Kit levitated beside him, he tried to dry his hands on his sodden tunic. The Thurim House was an older style of building, with tall lancet windows, deep ledges, and elaborate fluting; ideal for climbing, but the edifice rose more than a hundred feet above the bailey. One slip would mean a quick end to his career.
"Get on with it, will you?" Kit said. "Before daybreak."
Caim shot her a nasty glare as he found his first handholds and started up. He put his mind on other matters while he climbed. His next problem was how to find Josey within the confines of the palace. He was counting on the belief that Ral wouldn't harm her until the last of the riots were put down and he had firm control of the city. A cold shiver of dread that had nothing to do with the rain passed through Calm's body as he considered the idea she might be dead already. In that case, Ral would pay.
Chilled by his thoughts, Caim didn't realize he had climbed so far until he reached the ornamental cornice jutting from the edge of the roof. Teetering on a narrow shelf, he leaned out to grasp the overhang. Then, with a deep breath and a prayer, he let go with his feet. Th
e palace grounds spun beneath Caim as he swung out over empty space. The guards' torches were tiny sparks far below. His side burned like a hot coal shoved under his skin. With a grunt, he pulled himself over the lip.
He rested on the rooftop to catch his breath. The rain felt good on his skin.
"Come on, Caim," Kit called.
He groaned and rolled to his feet. With the wind whipping past his head, Caim crossed the slippery roof. Scaling down the building's eastern facade was easier. Halfway down the wall, he stopped and inched along a narrow ledge. A tapered buttress arched out like a slender bridge from a corbel set in the side of the building to support the towering walls of the imperial residence. Caim didn't stop to think. He just stepped onto the slick stone blocks and walked, arms held out to either side like a tightrope acrobat. He only tottered once. Halfway across a gust of wind swirled from below to disrupt his balance. He froze as his feet began to slip out from under him, but he clenched his toes and forced himself to stand rigid until the gust died down. With a racing pulse, he continued on and reached the other side without further delay.
As he touched down on the roof of the residence, Caim took a moment to gain his bearings. Battlements studded the top of the building like rows of teeth. Minarets rose at each of the four corners. Once, fires had burned atop each slender tower, a symbol of imperial rule, but those braziers had lain cold these past seventeen years.
Caim leaned over an embrasure between two stone merlons. The soldiers below marched in the same pattern as before. No one had seen him. Satisfied, he jogged over to where Kit hovered above a massive chimney stack. He jumped to catch the top and pulled himself up. Balanced over the black abyss of the flue, he unlimbered the bundles from his back and tied them to his belt.
"I hate this part."
Kit twirled a piece of her hair. "I'm sure it won't be so bad. Just think happy thoughts."
With a sigh he lowered himself into the chimney. The space was not as tight as he'd feared. With his back braced against one side, he could use his knees and hands to control his descent. Fifteen feet down he came to the first branch shaft. The top floor. He levered himself inside the chute and crawled down its dark, narrow passage, dragging the bundles behind him. He encountered a low-hanging projection with his head and, after rubbing his bruised brow with a sooty hand, he dropped to his belly to wriggle underneath. A wave of claustrophobia hit him midway through the process. The walls suddenly seemed to press in on him, crushing him from all directions. He paused for a moment to catch his breath. Then, he pulled himself through the aperture.
As Caim continued down the chute, he came to a junction of four shafts. He hesitated a moment, comparing his position to his mental layout of the palace. Straight ahead should take him to the central hall. So decided, he continued. A current of warm air buffeted him as he crawled around a slight bend. He stopped at the edge of a pit.
Specks of burning cinders floated up from the opening, which glowed with the light of a roaring fire below. He peered over the edge and had to squint against the scorching heat. The crackle of blazing pinewood logs echoed off the chimney walls a dozen paces below. The shaft continued on the other side. Five paces. On his feet, he could have made the jump without a second thought, but it was a long way to leap on his hands and knees.
Kit chose that moment to appear from the ceiling. "You're almost there. Just a few more paces and a short dip."
"Dip?"
"Just hurry, will you?"
Caim fought the urge to say something she would make him regret later. Instead, he gathered his legs under him as best he could and braced his hands against the walls. He took a deep breath of the heated air, let it fill his lungs, and he leapt. The fire's heat bathed his torso as he sailed across the distance. Caim stretched his body to its fullest extension. For one long instant, time slowed to a trickle. Then, his fingertips caught the ledge. Muscles rigid, he held himself aloft. The two bundles dangled beneath him. Smoke stung his eyes. For several seconds he dangled over the chasm like a hog on a spit. When his heart stilled its maddening pace, Caim kicked with both legs. His hands grasped at the smooth stone of the shaft, and he pulled himself the rest of the way up in scrambling wriggles. Once he was across, he flipped onto his back and took several long breaths.
Kit poked her head through the ceiling. "You all right?"
"You might have mentioned the fireplace."
"And deprive you of a little fun? You know, you're getting boring in your old age. I might have to go looking for a younger guy, someone with a sense of adventure."
"I could be so lucky." Caim rolled over onto his stomach and resumed his crawl.
"What?"
"Nothing, dear."
The shaft extended a dozen paces farther before it sloped downward at a sharp angle. Faint light filtered through a gap at the bottom of the drop-off. Caim took a few moments to figure out how to best tackle this obstacle. He tried to twist around to put his feet forward, but the shaft was too narrow. He finally decided to drop headfirst. With luck, he wouldn't come down too hard.
As he was bracing himself for the descent, Caim was surrounded by a sudden chill in the air. It cut through his thin clothing and bit deeper, down into his bones. For a moment, he felt as if his heart were going to stop. Then, it was gone.
With a shiver, he said, "I don't like this, Kit. Keep an eye out, eh?"
She didn't reply.
"Kit?"
He looked around as much as the shaft allowed, but there was no sign of her. She could be scouting ahead without being told, although that sounded too good to be true. Wonderful goddamn time to wander off. But he didn't have time to ponder her sudden absence. He had to keep moving. Josey needed him.
Caim wedged his hands against opposite walls and let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
aim bit down on his tongue as the bottom of the chute rushed up faster than he anticipated. He shoved both hands hard against the walls. The blackened stone gouged his palms, but he kept up the pressure until he hit the bottom. Somehow he managed to land without bashing his skull open. He started to relax when clanks from above announced the falling bundles. They landed beside him with a loud crash.
Caim cursed and disengaged himself from the tether. He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips and winced. At least it's still attached.
He was in the fireplace of a large chamber. The slight illumination he had detected before came from an open doorway on the other side leading to a corridor that glowed with soft candlelight. The plain coverlets draped over the plush, oversized bed, along with the lack of personal effects, led him to believe this was a guest room, presently unused. But why was the door open? It was rather late for a dusting by the chambermaid.
Suspicious, Caim gathered up the bundles and padded across the pale sea green rug. Outside in the hallway, colorful arrays lined the walls in both directions. Candles flickered in brass holders, the wax dripping into reservoirs.
His soft-soled boots made no sound as he stalked down the corridor. He chose the right-hand branch, followed it to a T-section, and turned left until he came to another intersection. Caim was considering his next choice when a faint sound reached his ears. Voices. Judging by the reverberation, the speakers were in a large room. Like the Grand Hall.
Caim stole toward the noise. Every time he passed a candle, he reached up to snuff its wick. The passage behind him filled with darkness.
The corridor opened into a wide gallery. A carved marble balustrade overlooked the massive chamber below. Sacred Brothers were stationed at regular intervals around the balcony, four in all.
Caim left the bundles in the dark of the hallway and drew his knives. Two Brothers died without realizing their lives were in danger. He allowed the third to utter a muffled croak, which drew the last sentry into the shadows. Only when the gallery was clear did Caim take a moment to peer over the railing. His throat constricted as he spotted Josey, still alive-thank the gods-standing at the foot of a broad dais in a white
gown. She didn't appear to have suffered any harm. In fact, she looked better than when he had left her at the cabin. A weight he hadn't fully realized he was carrying lifted from his chest. He hadn't failed her yet.
A large crowd filled the chamber below, surrounded by a platoon of Sacred Brothers. Despite their bedraggled appearance, the captives seemed to be aristocrats, many of them in their senior years. Expressions of fear and indignation played across their pinched faces.
Josey wasn't the only one Caim recognized. Ral, in a fancy black suit, sat in a gaudy throne atop the dais. One at a time, the captives were brought before him and made to kneel.
While Caim watched, the Brothers escorted an elderly lord in a night jacket to the steps of the dais. When they released him, the nobleman stood up as tall as his stooped back allowed.
"I will bow to no usurper!" he shouted in a powerful voice that belied his age. "I would rather die."
Ral made a shooing gesture with one hand. "And I shall gladly grant your wish, my lord."
The old lord sputtered and coughed as the Brothers dragged him from the hall.
Mystified, Caim went to retrieve the bundles. When he grasped the sword's worn hilt, a voice whispered in his head. He knew it well. He'd heard it in his dreams a thousand times. The voice of his father's ghost.
"Justice… "
Calm's hand shook. He wanted to throw away the blade, but a powerful force held him back. He shook his head, as much to deny the unease churning inside him as to clear it, and slung the sword onto his back. He carried the second bundle to the balcony, cut the strings binding its oil skin covering, and unlimbered his other gift from Hubert: the curved bronzewood shaft of a bow to replace the one he'd lost in the fire.
Caim strung the weapon with quick, sure motions. As he stood up, he placed an arrow across the rest and drew the string to full tension. The confusing maelstrom of emotions roiling in his chest-for Josey, for his father, for Kit's disappearance-they all vanished as he sighted on the throne. He was back in his element. This was business, pure and uncomplicated.
