I jump in his way but he barrels past me. My dagger—not poisoned—barely grazes his thigh, and then he’s out of reach and I’m crashing headlong into a bookshelf.
I can hear the pounding feet on stairs and calls for help. Magnus, Cobalt, Father Hugues, and the door-watch are all giving chase as I sort myself out of a pile of books.
My attic has been rattled, that’s for sure. Some of the echoes in my head aren’t being heard by anyone else.
Father Jeremiah watches as I pick myself up. “That was quite brave of you,” he says approvingly, seemingly unruffled by this turn of events.
“Quite ineffectual,” I snort. “Still, it seems pretty obvious who . . .”
“It does, and I would appreciate a full accounting in the morning, Cadet Steeps, but I have a great deal of work to do, on this night in particular.”
“I’m not a cadet.”
“Indeed,” he says dryly, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a bit on the small side.”
“What about Magnus and Cobalt?” I ask, ignoring the comment about my size.
“They won’t catch him.”
“Why not?”
The Altus Mitre puts his pen down. “Because John Hawkwood lived at the abbey of Southreach for nearly fourteen years. He won every running contest Southreach ever had. And because he appears to also be a Nightshade. He’s going to give them the slip. It’s a shame you didn’t go scampering after them. Would have given us a pair of eyes up high. In any case, we’re going to need an alternate plan, and it won’t hurt to wait until morning.”
I slip out. I disagree heartily with the Mitre, and I’m not a cadet, so nobody around here gets to tell me what to do. Hell, I know what Magnus is going to do. He’s going to head to the cliff-house immediately if he loses the trail, and he’s going to forget everything I’ve told him and take Cobalt with him.
Pan’s bearded mother.
EIGHT
I set out at my best distance-jog, headed for the cliff gate and the fastest way over the walls. From there I’ll head to Stonesbrook and Whitecloud and turn left at Soloman’s Inn. It’s a good seven-mile trot, but I’m not about to let Magnus raid a Nightshade lair without back up.
I’m still contemplating whether or not I can steal a coach or hire one on credit when I hear the clatter of hooves behind me. Lucinda’s strong alto voice cuts through the dark. “Where in Pan’s name are you going, Teacup?”
“Ahh. You have a horse. Good.” I slow down to catch my breath, realizing that I’ve been running, not jogging, on the edge of panic. Funny how a guy like Magnus can become so important in such a short time. “Magnus,” I say, breathing hard. “Magnus is going into a Nightshade nest with Cobalt as back up.”
“Get up,” she says. Lucinda needs no urging. She kicks her horse into a gallop as my stomach lurches and I fumble around the horse’s neck to hold on.
The ride seems to take an eternity, and only Lucinda’s steady hand on my collar keeps me from falling off. I can smell nothing but horse, but Lucinda’s steady breathing calms me down. At least I have back up I trust.
We’re almost to the cliffs, cantering along the last stretch of sandy beach when I see them—dark shapes moving on the cliff face. The pounding of surf on sand muffles our approach.
“There!” I point for Lucinda, but she can’t see anything in the shadows, with her eyes adjusted to the moonlight.
“How can you see anything?” She complains against the gallop of hooves on sand.
“Tom’s Ring,” I say.
I remember the rope-man just as Magnus falls. His cry of alarm cuts through the night, and I fancy I can hear the rope snapping. We’re too late. But there is no thump, no falling body. Instead, in the flash of moonlight, I can see Cobalt holding Magnus wrist-to-wrist and jerking him to safety.
There’s no good way up the cliff after them. In daytime, at a leisurely pace, one might be able to find a road, trail, or ladder, but we came this way because these were the only instructions Hugues had mentioned.
Instead, I go up on the free-climb. Compared to cityscape and fortification, the natural terrain is a cinch, only mildly complicated by the limited light. At the top I find half of the worthless rope, and a much stronger ladder, which I kick over for Lucinda once I confirm that one side of it is anchored to the cliff top.
The men, Magnus and Cobalt, are moving across the top of the plateau, circling a single cottage, but at a respectable distance. Magnus heads for the front door, but Cobalt stops him, motioning for him to come back. A shadow on the rooftop is actually a head peeking over the center eaves, watching them. I flatten on my stomach behind a small scrub bush. I put my hand over the edge to stop Lucinda before she bursts over, forgetting she can’t see as well as I can in the dark. She misses the signal and bursts over the top.
It doesn’t matter. The sentry has fixated on Magnus and Cobalt, even though Lucinda is wheezing like a horse. She puts her knee over the top just as Cobalt and Magnus take their shields from their backs and make their move on the house. Shoulder to shoulder, the two men nod at each other and launch themselves toward the expensive paned windows. The sentry’s tension projectile fires too late, shanking off Cobalt’s shield.
Moonlight paints a waterfall of glass, and then the house explodes in sound. They’ve avoided the doors completely, and done something no one in their right mind would do. That’s one way to surprise an enemy.
There is sudden light in the house as oil lamps are uncovered in one blinding flash.
Lucinda doesn’t wait for me. She pulls herself over the lip in a great burst of energy and heads toward the house at a dead run.
So much for subtlety.
“Lookout!” I yell, and she dives sideways as another projectile from the roof whistles past.
We go through the back window like Cobalt and Magnus, minus the shattering glass. Already Nightshades are everywhere, rolling up maps, drawing weapons. I shudder in horror, realizing that Magnus and Cobalt have burst in on a war council waiting for its last report to give a signal. Cobalt could easily finish Magnus off in this mess, and nobody would be the wiser.
Or perhaps this is a rival faction and Cobalt’s using Magnus as fodder?
The odds speak against this, too. They smell more like suicide, or desperation.
There is chaos in the room, tipping chairs, flying paper, and sliding steel. Time slows to a crawl as I get my bearings. Hawkwood is nowhere to be seen, but there are plenty of high-ranking Nightshades here, and they’re all surprised to see Lucinda and me, but not abundantly worried. We’re going to change that, even if we are out of our depth.
Cobalt takes a sword for Magnus. He goes down on one knee, but his light armor seems to have taken the worst of it. He traps the blade against his chest and slams it to the ground, ripping it from the owner’s grasp. In the sudden light of the beacon house, he spits blue, and I realize he’s been chewing Aenese pre-emptively. Because it’s in his stomach and not his muscles yet, it will deaden pain without slowing his reactions too much. They’re going to have to cut his head off if they want to stop him, at least for the next few minutes.
Oddly, this is all the encouragement I need. The friend of my friend is a friend, right? I dance through the room, throwing one of my two knives at the distinguished-looking gentleman hacking away at Cobalt as he tries to regain his footing. The man dodges, but Cobalt shoulder-rolls under his guard and catches the man’s knee with his heel. The crunch of tearing cartilage is audible—to me—in the mayhem.
I don’t even slow as I reach the wall on the other side. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from brawls in the Black Cat, it is the foolishness of being stationary. My momentum carries me into it and I jump and turn, running for a few steps sideways along it before gravity overrides my previous trajectory. There’s a line of trefoil stars in the plaster behind me. I duck as Magnus cuts through a chair thrown by one of the Nightshades, and woodchips explode across the room. I dive under the table as another sword crashes down on me,
satisfied as I hear it thunk into the wood. They might not have expected the back-window entry, but they are certainly ready for us.
Luckily, a Nightshade isn’t in his element in a full-frontal brawl. Space, silence, and quick and quiet murders are Nightshade mainstays, and Cobalt, Lucinda, and I have been weaned on brawls. Magnus is a quick study. Everything in the room becomes our tool for chaos: chairs plates, and even loaves of bread from the table.
For a moment, the entire fight seems to turn around Cobalt, who is spinning to keep them off his back, his enormous black greatsword carving impressive patterns in the air, using its own momentum and the natural pivot on the pommel to pirouette and spin with his assailants. I can almost see him writing his name with its tip, reversing it in a quick arc to take one of his three attackers by surprise and drive him back. His timing is perfect, but still, it’s a losing bet. Cobalt’s bleeding in at least twelve places already, and that Aenese dosing is going to catch up with him sooner than later. I dart forward and put a dagger in one man’s calf, losing the knife and receiving a kick for my troubles. Suddenly, I’m sprawled under the table, back aching.
It’s enough, though. Lucinda takes the opening I made and takes the man’s arm off as he turns back toward Cobalt. Then she puts her sword through his middle.
A body crashes onto the table, and I realize it’s Magnus. He’s lost his sword and shield and he’s getting thrown around the room by a man the size of a stone bear. His grey mane and furry arms heighten the image, and his only weapons are a pair of blunt iron-knuckles and his towering physique.
Magnus grunts and moves just in time, rolling off the table as Stone-Bear’s fist punches through it and bathes me in matchwood. Face on the floor, Magnus sees me cowering, clutching my back.
“Help,” he gasps as Stone Bear’s boot catches him in the ribs and flips him over.
I’m trying.
Out of knives and aching, I do the only thing I can. I grab a wooden shard the length of my forearm from the spray and drive it between the man’s calf and his furry Byzantian taiga boot. The wood slices my hands, but it gouges him too, and now he has a sharp stick in his boot. Ha!
Immediately I feel a surge of strength, like I could rip a door from its hinges or beat Magnus in an arm wrestling match. I inhale ferociously and—
Stone-Bear’s repartee sends me flying.
#
Tom looks up from a book he’s reading by a cozy fire: Evocation Isn’t The Only Way!
“Again?” he says to me, sneering.
#
When I wake up, half buried in the lathe and plaster interior, things are worse. True, Lucinda and Cobalt are both down to one Nightshade each, Stone-Bear is bleeding, and Magnus has his sword back. But now things are exploding. Plaster dust clouds the air and makes it hard to breathe and I can feel the hum of magic on the opposite side of the room. I limp over and retrieve my dagger and watch as a ball of lighting strikes Lucinda in the chest. Her opponent, eager for an advantage dives in too early and catches the tail end. For a moment, both fall to the floor shaking. Cobalt is being pummeled by bricks from the fireplace, while Magnus can’t get past Stone-Bear, even with his sword.
That leaves me to handle the Magii. I struggle free of the wall that’s holding me and stumble forward, stooping to pick up a short sword that some has dropped during the mayhem.
I feel the male Magii’s eyes on me, and a heart-beat-like pulse between us even before I meet his gaze, iron beneath flattened hair. This time, diving to the side doesn’t save me. A jet of water clips me, knocking me down and a second kicks me head-over-heels. In a moment, I’m completely encased in water, flipping and spinning in my own personal whirlpool. The taste of salt forces its way past my lips, and I clamp my mouth tighter. The cuts in my hand burn, buried in the ocean that the Magii have called up for me.
I catch blurred glimpses of them all as I spin and spin. Cobalt’s man is standing back, sword ready to finish the job as brick after brick crashes into Cobalt. He’s covering his head, curled into a ball, waiting for the end.
The water twists me around again, tearing at my limbs, spinning me upside down.
Flip.
Flip.
Magnus is getting thrown around again.
Flip.
Flip.
I don’t struggle, holding on to consciousness for as long as I can, drifting near that uneasy sleep that always brings me visions of Tom.
Only Lucinda maintains her feet. She harries her man on both sides, inching closer to the Magii, careful to keep her opponent in between.
The Magii don’t spare her much attention, except to burn away half of her golden locks up to chin-level. A corner of their flame bar hits my floating prison and the temperature rises. Stars float across my vision.
Flip.
Lucinda batters her man with a chair and when he parries it, she plants a foot in his stomach and sends him into the path of an onrushing brick. As he crumples, Lucinda lurches sideways, stretching out to cut through the woman Magii, a desperate ploy to bring me and Cobalt back to the fight.
The male Magii sees this, too. Before Lucinda’s blade can touch, there’s a steel stiletto in his hand. I try to scream, but it isn’t meant for any of us. The dagger enters his partner’s back, already arched, and emerges through her front, gleaming red in the torchlight.
The world stops.
Magnus hangs in the air, upside down. Lucinda’s sword hovers inches from its target, and my whirlpool freezes in motion. There’s a sucking sound—Hell’s Gate, they call it—and the woman turns gray like tomb-dust. Only the color red remains, playing across her chest. Her eyes open, white and blue. They flit to the dagger point, to the blood, and over to her lover. They fade to gray as well.
“I serve you now, Dreadlord,” she says sadly.
Then time starts again.
When Lucinda’s sword strikes the woman, she explodes like a clay pot thrown against a castle wall. Immediately, the water around me falls away, and I land on my feet like a soaked cat escaping a cistern, picking up the shortsword again. Cobalt struggles to his feet, catching both his opponent’s wrists and throwing the man to the ground.
I dash towards the newborn Dreadlord, trying to strike him with my scavenged weapon. He catches it easily with his hand and wrenches it away, stabbing his finger at me in the same instant.
I know better than to take a poke in the chest from a Dreadlord, but he’s faster than I expect. His finger gashes my vest and shirt as I twist sideways.
Fortunately, Lucinda steps in, giving me time to scuttle away. Her sword rains down on him. He parries her easily with his bare arms. The only thing that keeps her safe from his claws is her long reach and the length of her sword. She seems confused by his lack of weapon, but compensates by battering him from every angle she can, her sword a flurry of motion. She turns every rebounding stroke into another attack, desperate to keep him on the defensive.
I stumble to my feet, looking for a weapon, but the Dreadlord mutters something, barely sparing me a glance, and I’m thrown senseless back against the wall.
Well, almost senseless. I see Cobalt take a knife to the shoulder and Magnus pushed to one knee as he catches lighting on his shield. Stone-Bear is nowhere to be seen.
I blink, trying to clear my head, trying to get my legs back, but it’s no use. I tumble sideways, with no help at all from the Dreadlord. I can’t make my feet stay under me.
Now blood is running down the new Dreadlord’s arms, but Lucinda’s attacks are coming slower and slower. She realizes she’s failing. Pursing her lips, she retreats two quick steps and stops suddenly, extending her sword directly in front of her. Sensing weakness, the Dreadlord pounces, launching himself straight into the tip of her sword.
The blade takes him in the eye. He wraps his hand around it and yanks it out, jerking it away from Lucinda at the same time. He throws it aside, breathing heavily. I try to get up again, and find myself pinned to the wall. The man tosses Magnus and Cobalt back
as well, and cocks his head to stare at Lucinda with his remaining eye.
“So brave,” he says to her bitterly. “So much wasted talent and beauty.”
His chest heaves and the blood continues to drip from the ruined socket. Lucinda is frozen in place, arms pinned against her sides as well. “You killed her!” she says vehemently, her voice full of shock.
“Normally, Dreadlords are only made in Byzantus,” he says woodenly, glancing around as if suddenly aware for the first time. “They say the experience can break the candidate if not carefully controlled. But it was the only way,” he says justifying himself. “She would have done the same.”
“No!” Lucinda shouts. “She loved you!”
A wave of emotion hits him. His shoulders sag and his jaw trembles. I feel the weight coming off of me even before Lucinda’s dagger takes him in the gut. He backhands her, but then Magnus is there. His first strike drives the man to his knee. His second removes the Dreadlord’s head. His third cleaves it in two.
The remaining man tries to flee up the stairs.
“They can’t leave this room,” Cobalt gasps slumping to the floor, unable to pursue.
Lucinda scoops her sword up on the run, dashing up the stairs, and Magnus follows her, leaving me with Cobalt and the corpses.
Upstairs I can hear Lucinda crash through a flimsy door, and then a groan—not hers.
A few moments later, both emerge from the stairwell, Lucinda limping.
Magnus rights one of the remaining chairs and offers it to Lucinda. When she refuses, he sags into it, flexing one hand and staring around in disbelief. “This was very stupid,” he says.
“We probably shouldn’t touch anything,” I say. “Maybe just rest a bit and then get going.” My eyes roam about, but I’m still woozy from the banging I’ve taken.
Cobalt doesn’t bother to get off the floor. He rolls onto his back and into a full-out sprawl. There are purple welts and bruises on his face and forearms and his leather armor is broken and shredded in many places. The Aenese seems to be catching up with him. He’s gasping for breath now, and even if he didn’t over do it, he’s going to be sluggish for the next few hours.
SWORDS (The Paladin's Thief Book 3) Page 16
