by Jon Sprunk
Taking her own sweet time getting over being mad at me just when I need her the most.
Caim shook his head as he slipped through the cemetery gate, and wondered how he had acquired so many responsibilities.
A wild wind whipped through his hair as he navigated the cemetery. With Mathias dead, there was only one person who knew he'd be at the earl's mansion that night.
The streets bordering the boneyard were quiet, but only a block away the clamor of fighting resounded. Though muted by the fog from the river, it sounded like a full-scale war. He turned onto Acacia Avenue and found the way blocked by a pair of overturned wagons. Beyond the barrier, soldiers clashed with angry citizens. Bodies clogged the street. The ululation of rage long denied, now suddenly unleashed, filled the humid air.
An explosion lit up the night as a firebomb landed amid a cluster of soldiers. Orange flames engulfed them. Their screams made an inchoate chorus to the cheers of their attackers. The citizens pressed harder, eager to get at the men who had previously protected their homes and property. Sparks swirled in the air and were caught by the wind until the bombers were forced to scramble to avoid getting singed by their own handiwork.
Caim stayed in the shadows and bypassed the brawl. After several minutes of skulking, he arrived in the merchants’ district. The fighting hadn't reached this part of the city yet, but it was only a matter of time; the fires of Low Town would spread quickly.
On Silk Street, the Golden Wheel stood between a chirash den and a brothel to form a triumvirate of earthly pleasures. The confirmation linking Ral to the plot behind the earl's assassination stared Caim in the face: a squad of Sacred Brothers slouched on the stoop of the front entrance like they were paying rent on the place.
Caim avoided the street's tall lampposts as he slipped around to the back. A narrow wooden gate gave entrance to an alley behind the gaming house. Dim light reflected in the windows overhead. Three located on the top floor were secured with stout shutters. Those would be Ral's rooms.
Caim started his ascent with slow movements, conscious of the wound in his side as he pulled himself up. The amulet dangling from his wrist was an unfamiliar hindrance, but he didn't remove it. He focused on the task one hold at a time until he reached the center window. There, he clung onto the narrow ledge and listened. No sounds issued from inside. He boosted himself higher to peek over the sill. The room on the other side of the rose-colored pane was spacious and well appointed. Light shined from a tiny lamp above the bed. A large four-poster bed of varnished oak rested in the near corner to his right, a tall wardrobe against the opposite wall, one of its doors partway open. Upon a sideboard next to the wardrobe sat a row of wooden boxes. Boots, capes, shirts, and other articles of clothing were strewn across the floor and draped over furniture.
Caim counted thirty heartbeats, until his hands and toes began to cramp. Nothing moved inside.
He yanked open the shutter and pulled. A jolt of pain seared his side as he heaved himself over the ledge. He fell forward, onto a thick piled carpet. In the scramble to sit upright, his elbow collided with a wooden stand. The hollow scrape of sliding metal triggered his reflexes. He caught a heavy object wrapped in silk before it hit the floor. As he let out a long breath, he regarded the item in his hands, a brass icon of St. Jules, patron of the chaste and good-hearted, wrapped in a lady's undergarment.
Caim set the statuette back on the stand and stood up. There were two exits: an archway to another room to his left and a narrow door on the other side of the bed, which was probably a closet. Except for the wooden boxes lined up on the sideboard, there was nothing unusual. He was about to check the boxes when footsteps approached from the archway. Caim flattened against the wall and drew his suete knives.
Ral stepped into the room. Steel glittered between the fingers of his left hand. The arm was whipping back to throw when Caim stepped into the light.
Ral lowered his arm. “Caim. I wondered when you might turn up.”
Caim adopted a relaxed pose, but his muscles were as tight as iron cables under his clothes. He held his knives by his sides to keep his hands from trembling. He needed answers, not more deaths.
“Why is that, Ral? Didn't you expect your pet tinmen to finish the job?”
Ral walked over to the sideboard and set down the stiletto to pour himself a drink from a tall decanter. “Not really. Brandy? It's imported.”
Caim didn't reply, but he watched every move.
Ral shrugged and lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips. “It wasn't personal. You didn't need to get involved. You should have left the girl to my men.”
“You're the one who got me involved. You set me up with that job from the start. Thought you'd bag a nobleman and pin it on me.”
“No harm in a little gamesmanship between friends, eh? I thought you'd make your escape and leave town, hopefully for good. Either way, I get what I want and you're out of the picture.”
“Who's behind the murder of Josey's father? Who are you working for?”
Ral put a hand on the sideboard. “Josey is it, eh? I'm disappointed, Caim. I always figured you for a smart guy. I'm done with serving others. I've taken matters into my own hands.”
“And you killed Mathias because he knew too much.”
“Actually, that wasn't me, although I'll admit I didn't shed any tears. But it makes no difference. There's no one to stop me now.”
“There's me.”
“Don't be an imbecile, Caim. Think of this as an opportunity. Yes, I wanted you out of the way, but now I see a better way. We can work together. We can both be free to live how we want with no one to tell us otherwise.”
Caim had trouble keeping his knives from leaping into Ral's chest as anger flared in his belly. “You think you can buy me off?”
“Think of the team we would make.”
“I'd rather think of you lying in your own blood.”
Ral set down his glass and faced Caim. “That's not going to happen. Even if you could kill me, you're still a wanted man sought by the entire nation. You've been implicated in the murders of several government officials, including a retired exarch and half the Elector Council.”
“All lies—”
Ral flashed a humorless smile. “Articles of a personal nature were found at the scenes, all of them leading back to you.”
Caim suspected the fire that burned down his apartment building had been no accident, and now he knew. “You stole those things from my place before you torched it.”
“You're out of control, Caim. A blood thirsty animal. The Sacred Brotherhood has orders to kill you on sight.”
“Then maybe I'll just kill you. One more murder attached to my name wouldn't make any more difference.”
“I just want the girl.”
“You'll never set eyes on her. I'll make sure of that.”
Ral laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Caim, did you really think she'd be safe in that little cabin in the woods?”
Josey laughed as Kas filled her cup with another round of his homemade wine. Crickets chirped outside the window while they ate and drank and talked. Kas kept a modest home, but he was an enthusiastic host. They dined on wild pig with squash and tomatoes from his garden.
“Enough!” she said as the cup threatened to overflow.
Kas chuckled. He had a friendly laugh, warm and deep. It made her think of her father. Poor father. She brushed melancholy aside before it could spoil her mood. She focused on Kas's hands. Large and strong despite the passage of years, they were covered with thick ropy veins. A tracery of white scars climbed the thick, hairy planks of his arms. When he smiled, his jaw slid sideways as if it were about to fall off his face. Their eyes met and Josey glanced down at the tabletop.
“I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to stare.”
He ran a hand down his cheek, under his bushy chin, and up the other side. “No offense taken. It's been a long time since this ugly mug felt the eyes of a pretty lady.”
Josey looked around for so
mething to change the subject, and her gaze wandered to the fireplace. “Why do you have a stick hanging on your wall?”
Kas turned to look at the weapon mounted over the hearth. Dust covered its shaft and metal head. “Ah. That, darling, is an old friend of mine.”
“A friend?”
“Aye. I was first spear of the emperor's Fourth Legion. That old pike and I tramped across more earth than I care to remember. She got me through the Border Wars and back from the Long March.”
“My father—” Josey's voice caught in her throat for a moment. She pressed onward. “He told me about the crusade into the Northern Wastes. He said hardly anyone came back.”
Kas carved another slice of ham for himself. “That's so. Only one company in ten returned to Nimea. That was my last campaign. After watching so many friends die, I just wanted a little plot of land for myself and as much peace as any man deserves. Even an old warhorse like me.”
Josey lifted the cup to her lips. “So tell me about Caim.”
“I was under the impression you knew him better than I, young miss.”
“I—?” She understood the connotation and managed to blush. “No, sir. Caim and I are only companions by happenstance. We're just friends.”
“Well, what would you like to know?”
She leaned her elbows on the table. “Was he always…the way he is now?”
“You mean the dark clothes and hard eyes?”
“Exactly!”
“No, not always. He was a pleasant lad when he was smaller, before his father was killed right in front of him and his mother taken away to parts unknown.”
His words sobered Josey faster than a shot of his bitter cha and reminded her that she wasn't the only one who had lost her parents. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for a small boy, alone, suddenly thrust into the world.
“It must have been hard for him.”
Kas nodded over his plate. “Aye. It broke his little heart, and perhaps his mind, too. He didn't hardly speak at all after I took him out of the city and brought him down here. I thought I could raise him up proper, take care of him, but there was always something different about Caim after the attack.”
“Different how?”
“Well, it wasn't so much what he said, or didn't, as how he acted. He spent most of his time alone. He had no interest in playing children's games anymore. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with me at all unless it had to do with weapon play. I tried to put him off, but I could see early on that he wouldn't be long for this little cottage. So I figured I'd best make sure he knew how to take care of himself.”
“So you're the one who taught him how to fight.”
Kas shook his head. “I can't take much credit for that. Oh, I taught him how to handle a blade without sticking himself, but not much more than the basics. You see, soldiering is all I know, but Caim wasn't satisfied with the simple drills I could teach him. He always pushed himself harder. No, he learned more in those woods, stalking the forest creatures and whatnot, than from me. I'll never forget the day he came home with a fine young buck slung over his shoulder. The thing weighed damned near as much as he did. He didn't have no bow or arrows neither. Not even a spear.”
“How did he kill it, then?”
Kas chewed on a piece of ham for a moment. “When I asked him that, he took out the hunting knife I'd given him and laid it on the table just as bold as brass. I nearly cuffed him for lying, but I could see it in his eyes.”
“He wasn't lying.”
“Nope. Near as I can tell, he ain't never lied to me.”
Josey let that tumble around in her head as she thought about how to phrase her next question. She couldn't let go of the things she had seen in the cellar of her father's house. Caim had done something, or become something. She wasn't sure which, but it wasn't natural.
“Kas, did Caim ever do anything…strange?”
The big man put another hunk of piglet in his mouth and nodded. “All the time. You've seen it. He's a strange bird, but loyal to the bone. Was always like that. He'd wrangle like a snake to get out of a chore he didn't like, but if he gave you his word, he was as true as steel.”
“No, I mean did you ever see him do anything odd? Something you couldn't explain.”
Kas met her gaze, his sea blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “You mean his powers.”
Josey understood what he meant by the way he said it. She nodded.
Kas sat back in his chair and reached for his cup. After a long drink, he sighed. “Aye, I've seen it. It started not long after his father was killed. Caim went from a bright, happy lad to moody as the Sea of Torments in winter. But that wasn't all. He started doing things—things I couldn't explain. He always had light feet, but I swear he could pop out on you in an empty room. And trying to find him when he didn't want to be found? Forget it. He was like a ghost.”
“Yes, what is it?” She hesitated, but then plunged headlong into her next thought. “Is he a…I don't know what you'd call it. A magician? A warlock?”
Kas shook his shaggy head. “Nay, lady. I've known that boy all his life. I watched him grow up from a tiny babe, and I tell you on my life he didn't never go for that sort of mummery. No, it's all on account of his mother's blood. I'd heard the rumors. Every man who served under Caim's father had at one point or another. They said she'd come from the Other Side.”
“The Other Side?” The phrase pricked at something in her memory—something she hadn't thought about in a very long time, a tale she'd been told as a child on stormy nights when her nursemaid would bundle her up in blankets and tell her scary stories. “Do you mean the fey lands? Like elf mounds and unicorns?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It's a northern legend. Way up beyond the marches and the wastes is said to be another world, a place of eternal twilight. The Other Side we called it. Most folk pass it off as drivel, but you've seen Caim. His father was a young knight when he returned from beyond the marches with a new bride, and their child. The woman was a rare beauty, with skin like mormorion crystal polished to a high luster, and the deepest, darkest eyes you've ever seen. It didn't take long for the stories to start around, but rumors are like mice. Try to stomp them out, but there's always a few scurrying under the floorboards.”
“What about you? Did you believe the stories?”
“I believed Caim's father was a decent man and an honest lord, which is as rare a thing as an honest wage these days, and a good friend. As for the rest, it wasn't none of my concern.”
“Does Caim know?”
“Hard to say. He was too young to understand such things when his parents were alive. Later on, I tried to spare him as much pain as I could, little as it was.”
As she listened, Josey felt something stir in her chest. Emotions swirled beneath her calm surface, and she realized she had been holding Caim at a distance all this time. He had risked his life for her, and never deceived her or tried to take advantage. Take away the fact of his profession and he was the finest man she'd ever known.
She took a sip of wine.
“Another snoot?” Kas held up the wine bottle.
Josey was extending her cup when a noise creaked outside, like bony fingers scraping against the side of the cabin. She jumped in her seat. The crickets had fallen silent.
Kas clucked. “Don't fret. It's just the trees blowing. Nothing to worry—”
The door shivered in its frame as a heavy thud crashed against the oaken panels. Kas leapt out of his chair. Another blow flexed the stout planks. A splintered chunk of wood fell from the door. Josey clutched the table as a scream climbed up her throat.
Through the hole, Markus grinned at her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A chill slid up Caim's backbone and lodged in the base of his skull. How could Ral know? They must have been followed. He had to get back to the cabin. But first he'd finish his business here.
He approached Ral with measured steps, balanced on the balls of his feet. His kni
ves came up like steel extensions of his hands, ready to carve out the life of this man who had turned his existence inside out. Ral stood calmly, hand resting on the sideboard. Caim didn't care. The bastard had to die.
As Caim gathered himself for a rush, a tingle ran across his body. Ral didn't move a muscle, but the room grew darker. For a moment, Caim thought his powers had emerged, unbidden again, but something was different. He didn't feel the pressure behind his breastbone. And yet, a prickling tingle danced along his skin like a march of ten thousand ants. The lamp wick flickered.
Caim half turned, keeping Ral in view, as a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows of the other room and stopped under the archway. Sweat broke out under Caim's arms. He hadn't heard a sound. Shadows played across the man's ruined, colorless features. The eyes staring back at him, cold and black, catapulted Caim into a maelstrom of dark memories.
He had seen those eyes in his dreams, night after night, but never thought to see them again in the flesh. He was sure of it, as sure as he knew his own name. Once again he stood behind the fence on his father's estate. Bodies littered the bloodied courtyard. His father knelt before a man in black robes. White hands held his father's sword as if examining its balance. Then, the blade struck with stunning swiftness and Caim's father crumbled. A tiny voice screamed in the night, but Caim pushed past the cacophony to focus on the mysterious figure. The cowl was pulled back to reveal pale, ruined features like melted tallow, features without remorse or pity. And those eyes, sunken within their hollow sockets. Just as he saw them now.
Caim shifted to face his father's killer.
The stranger didn't move. Wrapped in his voluminous cloak, he watched Caim in the manner of someone observing the movements of an insect. Caim eyeballed the span between them. Six paces. A long lunge, but he could cover that distance in a heartbeat. He ignored his jangling nerves as his fingers tightened around the hilts of his knives.
Pasty hands emerged from the cloaked man's sleeves. Each held a short dagger, no longer than an eating knife, but their blades were as black as the stranger's cloak. Black as his father's sword. A greasy finger slid down Caim's spine, but he shook it off. He wouldn't be put off by odd weaponry or eerie stares. He was beginning his leap when a flash to his right triggered long-honed instincts. He stopped and ducked as Ral's stiletto traced a path over his head.
