Only she was too late to change his mind this time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Something poked her in the ribs, its full strength muffled by the thick blankets. Just a little longer. The prodding moved to a shake of her shoulder. Groaning, Clara rolled onto her back. Through the crack between her lids, she caught the dark shape of a person leaning over her.
Lying completely still, she carefully inched her hand under the pillow. Her fingers wriggled beneath her head in search for the carving knife she'd hidden there before going to sleep. Nothing? It couldn't be gone. She stretched a little further, worked her fingertips along the handle until she could close her hand on it.
She lunged for the figure, the knife blade extended before her.
The knife was wrenched from her hand. It hit the floor with a tinny clang. The man pushed her back onto the mattress. His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries.
Clara fought the surprisingly strong grip. The man had a leg on either side of her, pinning her beneath him with the blankets. Out the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of candlelight running down the sharp edge of a sword, held at the ready in his other hand.
"Hush," Lucias breathed into her ear. "It's just me."
She stilled her thrashing, although her heart continued to pound wildly. As her vision adjusted, she made out more of his face. What was he doing sneaking into her chambers? But I locked the door. How had he gotten in?
She rolled her eyes to peer at the dark curtains still ringing much of the bed. How long had she been asleep?
Lucias released her and stepped off the mattress. "Get up." The blankets flew off to one side at a flick of his hand, letting the cool air dig into her skin. "You have to leave."
Rubbing at her arms, she inched her way to the side of the bed. From where she sat, the dressing table's mirror showed the black expanse of curtain shielding the windows on other side of the room. Dawn would be some time in coming. "Now?"
"Yes." Lucias strode to the open door. Pressing his back to the wall beside the doorway, he stared into the darkness beyond as if expecting to be struck down where he stood. "Get dressed and make for the stables." He glanced over his shoulder, his lips twisting with impatience. "Now!"
Clambering out bed, she gathered her clothes. Forsaking the heavy gown, she pulled the thick shift over her nightdress. "What's happening?" Clara asked as she tugged her dressing gown over the bulk and crossed to the door. Her heart near stopped as he faced her.
She could see the answer in his eyes. The haunting fear.
They're here. His mother and the barbarian who was meant to slay Lucias. If the pair where not yet at the gates, then they were awfully close. "But we're safe, aren't we?" The Citadel had never fallen since its creation. In all the centuries of fighting, the kingdom had never been conquered. But this... this was striking at the heart, where no army had ever reached.
"For now." Lucias grabbed her wrist. He dragged her down the stairs, the patter of her bare feet on the stone echoing above the tap of his boots. "They haven't yet gotten in, but it can't be much longer." They entered the hallway. It stood empty. "I've sent Tommy ahead to the stables. Gettie should meet up with you there. Come." Gesturing with his sword, he set off down the hall.
Clara jogged beside him. Tommy and Gettie were accounted for. No doubt the rest of the Citadel's inhabitants would be left to their own devices, guarding for now and... Whatever they wished afterwards. When Lucias is dead.
What if he wasn't here when they arrived? No one said the Great Lord had to reside in one place. He could flee the Citadel and live another day. "What will you do?"
He slowed. "Me?" The lump in his neck bobbed as he swallowed. "I plan to use myself as a distraction. Lead them away from the gate and..." He gave the walls the best inspection they'd had in years. "...live long enough."
She grabbed his arm, halting them. "You don't have to die here."
Those dark eyes, heavy with grief, stared at the hand upon his upper arm, then at her. He smiled. "It's better this way. The kingdom will recover, eventually. Although her people will be under Ne'ermore rule by then. They'll adapt. Common people are surprisingly good at it."
Clara shook her head. By the time peace reigned again, much of the kingdom and her people would have suffered. Anything would be better than letting him die. Why had she not seen it sooner? Perhaps... "I could help." The barbarian was only a man. Men died every day. A well-placed crossbow bolt and so would he.
A boom ran through the floor. Lucias stared at her, his eyes widening. He'd heard it too. Time's up. They were at the gates. Nothing left now but to flee or die.
Lucias ran down the hall. She raced after him with her skirts held high. He suddenly veered off through a door. She followed him beyond the wooden panel and found herself standing at the top of a narrow stairway she never would've guessed had been there. Secret ways. Clara knew there would be. Was there a hidden way out after all?
She trotted down the steps, staggering and halting just shy of bumping into Lucias in the dark. He grasped her hand, leading her ever downwards and out into the hallway beyond.
Keeping his sword raised before them, Lucias led the way along the corridor, their creeping footsteps muffled by the carpet.
He stopped at another door. Like the first unexpected stairway, this door appeared to be no different to the countless others pock-marking the walls. She thought if secret passages were anywhere, then they ought to be accessed by pressing a loose brick or some other canny mechanism, not via a simple door. How many secret ways through this fortress had she walked by without even suspecting they were there?
A mournful, groaning rumble echoed through the halls.
Clara froze. It had to be to be the gate falling. The shell had been breached, leaving the heart bare for the final blow. What sort of man could bring down the front gates of a fortress?
She glanced down at the hand still holding hers. It trembled. She squeezed his fingers. Rough, strong and terribly afraid.
"This way leads to the main stairway." Lucias took a deep, shuddering breath and, with the sharp tug of her hand, spun her before him. "But first..."
The sword clanged onto the ground. He grasped her head, his fingers sinking into her hair, forcing her to look up at his face. A dot of silvery-blue light began to glow in his pupil, spreading outwards until it encompassed even the whites of his eyes.
Clara jerked back, struggling to free herself from his hold. His fingers dug into her scalp.
Words spilled from his mouth, harsh and alien. They poured into her ears, their exotic lilt neatly ensnaring her. Although she couldn't understand a word of it, an unbidden thought surfaced in her mind. You shall not be bound by your fear.
She blinked as the words settled back into the depths. What had she to fear? If his plan worked, she'd be on her way to Endlight and his mother would never know Clara existed.
His hands slid down to cup her jaw. Lucias stared at her, those dark eyes rich with regret. Then he sighed and released her to pick up his fallen sword. "They'll most likely begin looking in the courtyard." Taking a candle from the nearby sconce, he shoved the door open with his shoulder. Lucias trotted down the stairs, Clara following close behind. "When we get to the main stairs, I want you to hide at the top and wait until I've drawn them out of your path."
She misjudged a step and stumbled down the next few. "I could help you," she said, picking up where she'd stopped and he...
He'd done something to her. He compelled me. Just like the guard. But to do what? Fight for him? She was already willing to do anything to keep him alive. "Give me a crossbow and I—"
"And you could do what?" Lucias growled. "Think! The walls were covered in guards, all skilled in archery, yet he made it through the gates. He's in the Citadel! Do you think one little girl is going to stop him now? You probably couldn't even fire straight." They reached the bottom. Firmly grasping the door handle, he stopped to glare at her over his shoulder. "I will not have you r
isk your life in such a foolhardy attempt."
Screams came from the other side of the door. The sound of death. Clara felt her skin prickling with fear and the shudder-inducing tingle running along her spine, yet it seemed to have no effect when it came to her thoughts.
She glared at the back of Lucias' head as he glanced down the corridor. Was this his doing? Had he wiped her mind of emotion? No, it was still there. But whilst her body tried to freeze her where she stood, her mind was having none of it.
"It sounds like they're almost across the courtyard." Lucias stepped into hall, motioning her to follow. "Hurry! We must reach the main stairs before they enter, or they may end up trapping both of us."
Carrying the bulk of her skirts in one arm, she trotted alongside him as they ran through the hallways. The clang of metal and the screams of dying men grew louder. She stumbled, despite the flogging from her mind, her legs still fought to obey the terror she could not feel.
Beside her came the swift, sawing gasps of Lucias' heavy breath. How she wished she could take the fear from him as easily as he'd done for her.
They reached the last platform of the stairway as the doors below opened. They swung gracefully on their hinges, hitting the walls with a booming shudder.
Planted firmly in the middle of the doorway was a man.
Clara sank to her knees and peered through the railing. She'd never seen a barbarian. There were plenty of tales, but she never believed them or the blatant exaggerations about these people from a distant land. Watching the man as he strode through the Citadel's main entrance, she wondered if the storytellers had not done enough embellishing.
He was massive, easily nine feet tall if not more. His upper body was bare, leaving to all the view of his war-hardened form. Muscles bugled from places she wasn't even aware muscles could bulge. In one hand, he bore a sword not unlike the one Lucias wielded. In the other hand, sat an immense battleaxe. Both dripped blood.
Movement on the edge of her vision pulled her attention from the hulk of a man. Lucias was already halfway down the stairs, his sword dangling in his hand. She expected him to speak, or at least shout. The sight of him silently marching towards what he believed to be his death churned her stomach.
The barbarian watched his descent. "You face your death with honour, Dark One," he said, his accent thick and rolling. "Not snivelling like your father." He flexed his shoulders and hefted each weapon in turn. "May your gods look upon this favourably." Hoisting his axe aloft, he rushed at the lord.
The metal haft hit Lucias' blade with a dreadful clang. Lucias staggered backwards, and then, as the barbarian's sword came up, leapt to one side. The axe fell again, and for a second time Lucias blocked it, although how Clara couldn't quite grasp. His sword should not be holding up to such blows.
Apart from the grunts issued upon each strike, they moved in silence with Lucias slowly giving ground to the barbarian. She'd watched Lucias sparring in the training grounds a number of times, more than she would want to admit to anyone, and he always attacked the guards first. But here, although neither sword nor axe appeared to be clashing heavily with his blade, Lucias flinched at each blow. He didn't try to engage the man, even when she thought he'd the chance. All he did was evade and defend.
Clara frowned as the axe struck his sword, the half-moon blade grinding along the sword's length. Lucias winced as he had at every blow. It almost seemed as if his head was hurting the most.
His magic. Did he use it to hold the barbarian back? All that power. Enough to lift a carriage, to close and open the Citadel's massive doors with a mere thought, and he still lost ground to the barbarian. I have to help him. Lucias had no hope of defeating the man alone.
Their fighting drew them away from the entrance. The path down the stairs stood clear.
Keeping a wary eye on the duelling pair, Clara crept down the steps. Beyond the doors lay the bodies of several men. She halted in the doorway and fought to swallow the acidic fluid rising in her throat. Not a one of the men were whole.
Stepping around the blood splashed on the stone, Clara steeled herself and bent over the bodies. There was bound to be a weapon amongst them. She searched through the remains, trying not to focus on what she was seeing whilst hunting for a blade or bow. Something she could use. Any weapon would suffice.
A shadow, wavering in the torchlight, fell over the bodies. "Just where do you think you're going?" A woman stood in the doorway. The wind behind her toyed with the dark fabric of the once fine travelling gown, separating the torn sections of her skirts. "You don't think I wouldn't be prepared for when his little mistress tries to escape?"
Clara had seen Lenora's face before in the paintings the upper halls, although the real thing was a decade or so older than the image; grey peppered the hair that once shared the same colour as the bird her ancestors named themselves after. Yet the elegance Lenora of the Raven Household carried had only matured with the years. "I cannot allow you to leave." Lenora raised the curved dagger she clutched in her hand and lunged.
Clara leapt towards the woman. She grabbed Lenora's wrist, pulling them back into the Citadel. Lenora staggered forward, tripped and fell onto the carpet. Clara spun, aiming for the exit. A warhorse stood in the middle of the courtyard. Such a massive beast had to belong to the barbarian. She'd flee on foot first before attempting to mount the creature.
She pitched forward, dropping to her knees with Lenora's arms wrapped firmly about one of Clara's legs.
Clara lashed out with her free leg, kicking blindly in the hopes of regaining her freedom. Her bare foot landed on flesh, her toes curling around what had to be a face. Something metallic clattered off to her left. The dagger.
Scrabbling across the carpet on her hands and knees, Clara dove for the weapon. Her hand landed on the hilt at the same time as Lenora's. She tugged the dagger towards her and the woman yanked it back with a might Clara hadn't expected.
Clawing and shoving, they hauled the weapon back and forth. Lenora, for all her years, was too much of a match to defeat this way. Where could the woman possibly be drawing such strength from?
Clara kicked out, struggling to find an edge. She yelped as her bare toes slammed against an armoured shin. There had to be a way to take the woman down. Clara had to get the dagger off Lenora if she'd any hope of freedom.
Balling her hand the way Lucias had taught her, she aimed for the woman's face and swung.
Lenora jerked back, releasing the dagger, and Clara's fist connected with the stone floor. Sharp, crackling pain lanced through her fingers. She screamed, cradling her bleeding hand to her chest.
The dagger skittered across the stone. She lunged for it, pawing weakly with her free hand. Her fingers touched the hilt, a little more effort had them curling about the leather. She dragged the dagger towards her, the blade scraping along the stone.
The toe of Lenora's boot planted itself squarely in her gut. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Clara rolled onto her back. Tears streamed down her face as she frantically fought to regain her breath.
Lenora stood over her, those sharp blue eyes surveying her handiwork. "Why, you're just some chit of a girl. How typical." The woman wrested the weapon from Clara's unresponsive fingers. "Forgive me, child." She lifted the dagger high.
Clara stared up at the blade. The dagger shook, metal glinting in the torchlight.
"No!" Lucias roared.
Lenora's eyes widened. Clara could make out the wave of magic distorting the air as it wrapped around the woman and flung her across the room. She hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor.
Lucias cried out.
Clara rolled over, her stomach clenching with the terrible suspicion she knew exactly what she'd find.
A foot of steel poked out Lucias' back, glistening with his blood. He swayed, held upright by the blade. Lucias grasped the sword hilt. His head lifted, his gaze locking with hers. His mouth moved silently, his lips forming what she could've sworn was an order. One word.
Run.
The barbarian pulled the sword free with no apparent effort. Lucias screamed anew and, clutching at his stomach, fell to the floor.
Clara rose to her feet, cradling her broken hand against her aching stomach. Run. Any moment now, the once amiable servants would regain their souls. Run. They'd begin taking their revenge on the land that had sent them to this living nightmare. Run.
Hunched, she hobbled towards the door. The carriage. It could take her far from here. If she could but reach it. And Tommy. Where was he? Had he fled or fallen?
A hand, thick and strong, clapped onto her shoulder. Then a voice, harsh and heavy, demanded, "What do you want me to do with the girl?"
Chapter Twenty-two
Groaning, Lenora clambered to her feet. Clara shrank back against the muscled bulk behind her as the woman leant on the wall and glared first at Clara, then at Lucias.
Pushing off the brickwork with a grunt, Lenora staggered across the room to her son's inert form. She bent over him as if to check whether or not he still lived. Giving a most unladylike snort, she kicked him with such force it snapped back his head. "You filthy little worm." Lenora dealt him another blow, putting her boot into his gut.
Crying out, Lucias curled into a ball.
Clara lurched forward, held back by the barbarian's grip. She couldn't believe he still lived. For now. Not for much longer, surely.
Tears streamed down his face in an endless torrent. He raised a bloody hand in supplication towards his mother, only to have her kick it aside. "Please," he whispered.
"What's this? Does the mighty and great lord beg?" Once again, Lenora slammed her foot into his stomach. Blood coated her boot. "Speak, you wretched cur. Speak your last words!"
"Don't hurt her." He stared at Clara, his blood-stained teeth gritted and his face a mask of agony. "Please. Take her with you."
"Her?" The woman swung around to eye Clara. Her lips curved beneath the wicked hook of a nose, she looked for all the world like a nasty little falcon searching for an excuse to bite her handler. "Of course, your sweet heir. Protect the girl, protect the child." She bent low over her son. "You think I'm going to let another you walk this earth?"
Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
