Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  The war mage saluted and ran off.

  San-Kullen and his squad returned later with thirty-seven horses.

  As the army neared the palace, Janto dropped the shroud; its defects would now be obvious. The Kjallans would now see the full size of his invading force. He turned to his mounted war band, thirty enlisted men plus six zo and himself, and signaled them to follow. He rode to the head of the column where he found Captain Arvel, commander of the Sardossians, and Captain Kel-Charan, commander of the Mosari.

  “We’re going around now,” he told the commanders. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  “Yes, sire.” Kel-Charan saluted, looking uneasy. They’d gone over their plan the night before. Kel-Charan had wanted Janto’s shroud for the frontal assault, but Janto knew the fighting would go well enough for the Mosari and Sardossians without it. He had other important things to take care of.

  “Remember: no looting, no rape. No unnecessary killing. Avoid harm to the emperor; his children, Lucien and Celeste; and his niece, Rhianne, at all costs.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Janto wheeled the chestnut gelding and galloped with his band for the far side of the palace.

  Kill? asked Sashi from within his shirt.

  Soon, promised Janto.

  The main assault would take place through the two south entrances and the servants’ entrance. That left three unguarded entrances through which Kjallans might try to escape. The heavy oaken gate at the east entrance, when he reached it, was shut and barred, probably with defenders behind it.

  He selected twelve men. “Keep watch on this gate and all the surrounding area, including windows,” he ordered. “As long as the gate stays shut, leave it be. If it opens and someone slips out, or someone breaks a window and leaves that way, stop him. When possible, aim to wound, not to kill. And be careful; you won’t be shrouded.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “If a war band comes out the gate and they’re more than you can handle, don’t engage,” he added. “Send up a signal and retreat. Reinforcements will be on the way.”

  He rode on to the northeast gate, where he left another dozen, and then to the northwest. It was closed like the others, which disappointed him. He’d hoped one of the gates would be open.

  “I need to get inside,” he told his remaining men.

  One of the war mages stepped up—Janto couldn’t recall his name—and said, “Yes, sire. Through the gate?”

  “No. A window.”

  Leaving the others behind to watch the gate, Janto and the war mage rode around the palace wall until they found a suitable pane of glass, which they broke with the pommels of their swords. When no enemies appeared, Janto handed the reins of his horse to the war mage and climbed inside. “Go back to the others,” he ordered as he dropped down onto the parquet floor.

  He was back in the Imperial Palace. He had to get to Rhianne before his men did.

  * * *

  “Go. Just go!” Rhianne pushed Tamienne out of her sitting room, toward the doorway. Shouts and gunfire echoed in the distance.

  Tamienne hesitated. She looked at the doorway, then back at Rhianne. “My duty is to protect you—”

  “And you’ll do it best by fighting with the others! It’s ridiculous you should stick by my side at a time like this. If the invaders overrun the palace, how can you possibly protect me?”

  Tamienne looked torn. “First I’ll take you somewhere safe—”

  “There is nowhere safe. Go,” insisted Rhianne. “There’s no time for this conversation.” She waved the Legaciattus toward the door, and Tamienne went, breaking into a run. Lesser soldiers might have avoided the battle out of cowardice, but Tamienne held back only out of duty. Decades of training had prepared her for this, a short span of heart-pounding action after years of uneventfully escorting her charge around the palace. Rhianne knew she wanted to go.

  She ran to her bedroom window and squinted into the darkness. All she could see were distant balls of magelight and the occasional flash of a pistol firing. It didn’t look like much, not yet, but the enemies were out there.

  She should not stay here alone, but to join the battle herself would be idiotic. She was not trained for combat. Her mind magic was defensive and required close contact. Someone would shoot her before she could get near enough to use it.

  She would go to Lucien. He was crippled, but still a war mage. Between the two of them, they could defend themselves if a party of soldiers broke through the defenders.

  She ran for the door to her suite but stopped short when a shadow loomed within it.

  “Going somewhere?” Augustan leaned into the doorway. Fingers of red and blue lightning crackled, running along the door frame.

  He’d set off her enemy ward. Why? She took a step back.

  Augustan shifted so his body blocked the entire doorway. “Aren’t you happy to see your beloved fiancé?”

  Her fear only increased his power over her, yet she couldn’t still her trembling. She took a deep breath. “I knew there would be some soldiers too cowardly to fight at the front gates, but I didn’t expect you to be one of them.”

  His expression darkened. Then he smiled and sauntered into the room, dragging the heavy door closed behind him. “Do you wish me dead, Princess? Have no fear. Your wish will be granted. I will fight and die with the rest of our forces, once I finish here.”

  Finish what? She backed away, taking one step for each he took toward her. “What do you mean, fight and die? Will our soldiers not prevail?”

  Augustan laughed. “Prevail? When we’re outnumbered two to one, both in regular troops and mages, and the palace is indefensible?”

  “The invaders are going to take the palace?” Horror washed over her so thickly that she forgot her fear of Augustan. How could this happen? She’d always felt safe in the palace. Her uncle was the Kjallan emperor. He controlled the largest and best-disciplined army in the known world. Her enemies had always been political rivals; the people around her, other Kjallans. Never had she imagined that she and her family would fall into the hands of foreign enemies.

  What would they do to her? To Lucien, to Florian, to little Celeste? To all the people she loved?

  Augustan grabbed her arm, and she cried out in surprise. Reflexively, she flung a confusion spell at him, but it flittered away, useless. War mages were immune to her magic.

  “Yes,” he said. “They will take the palace.”

  “But we have reinforcements on the way! Didn’t we send word from the signal towers?” She tugged at her arm. It was firmly held.

  “The fleet’s three days out. Ground troops are even farther.”

  “What can the invaders accomplish by holding the palace for only three days?”

  “Bloodshed, looting, and murder. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He dragged her, stumbling, into the bedroom.

  “Of course not!” What did he mean, what she wanted? And why was he hauling her in here? Surely he wasn’t after sex. No. More likely he meant to kill her. She could see it in his eyes.

  “You engineered it, traitor.”

  “What?”

  He shoved her against the bedroom window, pinioning her arms and mashing her nose into the glass. “Look,” he growled. “Look what you’ve wrought.”

  It was all blackness out the window. “I can’t see a gods-cursed thing.”

  He yanked her away. “Jan-Torres the shroud mage is at the head of that army. The Mosari king along with a horde of Sardossians.”

  “The Mosari king is a shroud mage? Aren’t the Mosari kings usually war mages?”

  “Usually,” said Augustan. “This one’s an anomaly. That’s not the point.”

  Jan-Torres the shroud mage. Could it be? Surely not. “So the Mosari convinced the Sardossians to join with them in attacking us. What does that have to do with me?”

  “We sent an attack fleet up the Neruna Strait to Sarpol just days ago. The Sardossian fleet could not possibly have known about the attack by now, unl
ess your Mosari spy told them. The one you set free. Traitor.”

  “No! That is not possible.” She tried to pry his fingers off her arm, without success. “He could not have known! We used a forgetting spell on him and exiled him to Dori. There was no danger of—no, it could not have happened.”

  “It did happen. In all likelihood, your pet spy is in the midst of that army right now.”

  Rhianne looked out the window again. Was Janto somewhere in that blackness? Was it wrong of her if she hoped he was? Better that than dead or stranded on gods-cursed Dori. But she was not a traitor. Lucien had taken precautions.

  “Perhaps he’ll spare your life,” Augustan sneered. “Perhaps he’ll make you his mistress when all is said and done. Think he’ll keep you to himself or share you with the rest of the army?”

  She stared at him, shocked. He didn’t know Janto at all.

  “Fear not, Princess,” said Augustan. “I won’t let it happen.” He hauled her to the bed and shoved her down onto it. She struggled furiously, but he climbed atop her, pinning her arms.

  She looked up at him with a sinking feeling. “What are you doing?”

  “Administering a little justice,” he said grimly.

  She gave her pinned arm a wrench and tried to twist away from him, but he was bigger and stronger. She couldn’t break his grip.

  “It must be done,” said Augustan, running his eyes over her. “You’re a traitor, and none of us are getting out of this alive—least of all you. Consider this the first and last of my husbandly duties.” He brought a hand to her throat. “Wish I could make it last, pretty one, but I’m needed back at the front.”

  “Augus—!” His hand began to squeeze, and she could not finish the word. Or breathe.

  Augustan’s face became very intent.

  Her chest heaved in short, unfinished gasps that brought little air. She writhed and struggled, clawing at him with her free hand. Before long, her lungs burned. As she weakened, Augustan moved his other hand from her arm to her throat, adding to the pressure. Her vision blackened around the edges.

  It was only after the blackness was complete that she heard the pistol fire.

  32

  When Augustan’s sword scraped from its sheath, Janto knew he’d missed. He dropped the spent pistol and drew his own blade, then glanced at Rhianne, who lay coughing and gasping on the bed.

  Augustan pointed his sword at Janto and walked toward him through the tendrils of smoke. “Can’t see you. But I know you’re there.”

  He could escape Augustan if he wanted to. The man couldn’t see through his shroud; he could only, through his war magic, sense impending danger. As long as Janto was a threat to him, Augustan would know his location. If Janto ceased to be a threat, Augustan would cease to know.

  Then, of course, he would finish killing Rhianne.

  Janto shook with rage. Augustan hadn’t just put his hands on Rhianne; he’d been trying to strangle her. And he’d nearly succeeded. Somehow Janto had to keep Augustan engaged long enough to allow her to escape, and at the moment she looked too weak to stand.

  He backed away slowly, holding his sword at the ready, and glanced behind him at the archway. In the sitting room, there would be more room to maneuver.

  Augustan followed, leering. “Janto, is it? Our Mosari spy, who returned with an army at his back? I’m glad you came. Now we can settle this in person.”

  Janto slipped through the archway into the sitting room. Jump clear and hide, he ordered Sashi. The ferret leapt from his shoulder and scampered beneath a settee. Looking around, Janto constructed a mental map of the place—where the furniture was, and anything else he might trip over—and made a tentative lunge at Augustan.

  Augustan parried the blade with a laugh. “Slow. Terribly slow.”

  Janto circled around to the side and tried again.

  Augustan, turning to orient on him, batted away the invisible blade as easily as swatting a gnat.

  The opening sallies had told Janto enough. War mages nearly always outclassed him; he’d sparred with enough of them to know. Besides always knowing where the blows were coming from, they possessed preternatural strength and speed. Still, some war mages harnessed the magic better than others, and some were lazy in training. Janto could occasionally defeat a weak, inexperienced war mage, but never one at his peak. He had an idea now which category Augustan was in.

  Augustan came at him so fast he was a blur. Janto whipped up his sword to intercept. Steel clashed inches from his neck, although Janto knew Augustan couldn’t see how close he’d come to cutting him. He sucked in a breath of air, and Augustan’s blade came at him again. He leapt back and parried, only to see steel lashing toward his chest. He swung his sword as fast as he could, beating off the attacks. He lost ground with every exchange. He unshrouded and shrouded himself, flashing in and out of visibility. It was the only technique he’d ever found that worked against a war mage, just because it was so disorienting to them.

  Augustan hesitated, his timing thrown off by the flashing. Janto slipped in his blade and grazed Augustan’s wrist, leaving behind a thin line of blood.

  “Gods curse you,” growled Augustan. He leapt forward.

  The attacks came so fast Janto could barely see the flying blade; he backed away rapidly, stepping over a table, stumbling over the back of a settee, flashing visible and invisible. Augustan was adapting to the flashing. Janto knew beyond a doubt he could not win this fight. He lowered his weapon, removing the threat so Augustan could no longer sense him, and fled, invisible, to the other side of the room.

  Augustan looked around, perplexed. “Have I beaten you so quickly? Did you run away? Or have I struck you down?” He turned to the still-closed suite doors. “You’re still here, somewhere. You take a breather, then. I’ll finish killing the traitor.” He strode toward the bedroom.

  No! Janto flung a shroud over Rhianne, who still lay gasping on her bed. But the shroud wouldn’t stop Augustan—not for long. He would find her. And she was in no condition to run.

  “Stop!” he cried, unshrouding himself. “I’ll fight you.”

  Augustan turned back, grinning. He raised his sword and lunged at Janto.

  Janto parried the furious attacks, again flashing in and out of visibility. His arm burned with fatigue. Augustan’s sword strokes were not only fast but powerful. It took all of Janto’s strength to block them, yet Augustan did not seem to be expending much effort.

  Then Augustan’s left arm drew back and flung something. A glass bowl struck Janto, shattering on impact. He drew in a sharp breath, choked, and coughed violently. The air was full of smoke. No—face powder.

  “Now you can’t hide!” Augustan’s furious sword swings backed Janto into a corner. The war mage smiled. He knew he’d won. Janto glanced at the bedroom door. Maybe Rhianne was too far gone. Maybe she would not recover.

  Kill!

  Augustan shouted in pain and twisted away from Janto. Sashi clung to his leg, hanging on by his teeth.

  Janto leapt out of his corner and lunged, powder flying off him in clouds. When it wore off, his shroud would be effective again. Augustan knocked his blade aside distractedly, then grabbed the invisible ferret, yanked its teeth out of his flesh, and flung the creature against the wall. Sashi screamed.

  Janto checked the link. The ferret was injured but alive. Seeing a gap in Augustan’s defenses, he swung his blade. Augustan blocked him and counterattacked furiously, stabbing at Janto’s heart. Janto flung himself to one side.

  The blade caught him in the shoulder. He cried out, nearly dropping his sword. Blood welled from the wound. Distracted by the pain, he lost his shroud, and Rhianne’s.

  Augustan advanced. “Shall I kill you slowly or quickly? Or perhaps I should finish Rhianne first.” He began to smile. Then his eyes widened in alarm, and he flung himself to the side. A pistol cracked.

  Rhianne stood in the bedroom doorway, holding the weapon in both hands. Janto recognized it as the one he’d dropped—she m
ust have reloaded it. Smoke rose from the barrel.

  Augustan chuckled as he rose to his feet, unharmed.

  “Rhianne!” Janto cried. “Run! You can’t save me. Just go!”

  She hesitated.

  Damn her. What was the sense in both of them dying? He tried another tack. “Go to the Mosari army—give them the name Jan-Torres, and they will not harm you. Have them send help!”

  She glanced at the door but didn’t move. He couldn’t fool her; she knew any help would arrive too late.

  “Go!” he cried in desperation.

  Her eyes lit as if with a sudden realization, and she disappeared into the bedroom again.

  Augustan swung his sword lazily, toying with Janto as he backed him into a corner. “That’s the trouble with women,” he drawled. “Too foolish to take orders, even when it’s for their own good.” He pointed his blade at Janto’s heart.

  Janto raised his own sword. His arm shook with fatigue. He didn’t have the strength to resist the death blow. His eyes went to the bedroom door. Why wouldn’t she run? She couldn’t save him, but he could have saved her.

  He heard the clank and grate of an iron door opening, and a furious snarling that made his hair stand on end.

  Whiskers?

  A brown and black streak flew out the bedroom door and tore across the room. Augustan hesitated, half turning to face the new threat. Janto used the last of his strength to fling a shroud over himself, leaving only Augustan visible. He thrust his blade at Augustan, forcing the man to engage his war magic and dodge the blow.

  Whiskers slammed into Augustan, knocking him to the floor. Augustan screamed, and the brindlecat tore out his throat.

  * * *

  Janto hurried through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, clutching Rhianne’s hand, cocking his head to listen for shouts and gunshots. The battle was getting closer. He heard a voice he thought he recognized and turned into a side hallway.

  The hallways were as deserted as the city streets had been before. Nearly all the doors were shut. Probably locked too, as those not equipped to fight hid themselves as best they could.