by Karen Kincy
“All the doors will be locked,” he muttered.
She nodded. “Obviously.”
“But he will be our key.”
Wendel pointed to a man patrolling the fortress perimeter. The guard’s gray cloak fell away to reveal the scimitar at his belt.
“Stay here,” Wendel said.
Ardis nodded and dropped behind a boulder as the shadows faded from her skin.
Wendel ran ahead, all but invisible, and she lost sight of him. The guard staggered, then straightened and continued his circuit around the tower. She squinted in the moonlight. Blood darkened the back of his cloak.
Ardis couldn’t help but grimly admire the necromancer’s finesse.
The dead man lingered at the foot of the fortress. He stopped by an arched door and rapped against the wood. Straining to hear, Ardis caught some muttered Turkish on the breeze. It might have been the dead man.
A thin beam of light sliced the darkness as the door opened.
The dead man sidestepped. A shadow whisked past him. A strangled gasp, then silence. Ardis froze behind the boulder, her heartbeat hammering, and fingered the hilt of Chun Yi. Footsteps crunched the gravel.
She whirled into a crouch, her sword already half-drawn.
“Ardis.” It was Wendel. “Give me your hand.”
Grimacing, she sheathed Chun Yi and held out her hand. His fingers gripped hers and smeared the slick heat of blood. Amarant’s shadows clouded her vision, nearly suffocating, and she struggled to breathe steadily.
“The door is clear,” he said.
“I can’t stay in the shadows forever,” she said. “I need my sword.”
“Wait.”
He loped to the door, his breath quick, and she followed in his footsteps. They ducked into a small, bare room carved from stone. Kerosene lamplight flickered in the empty eyes of the two dead men waiting for them there.
Wendel clenched her hand so hard, she almost didn’t realize he was shaking. Badly.
“Let go,” she whispered. “You’re cutting off the circulation.”
He glanced into her eyes. “Sorry.”
When he dropped her hand, she drew her sword. Flames blazed down Chun Yi.
“Where are we?” she said.
“The western wing of the fortress.” He jerked his chin toward a door on their right. “We head through that door, go down a corridor, and hit the bottom of the tower itself. Six flights of stairs to the top. Are you ready?”
“How many assassins?” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Great.” She blew out her breath. “Let’s find out.”
Ardis stepped forward, but he stopped her with a hand across her chest.
“Ladies last,” he said, “in these circumstances.”
The necromancer snapped his fingers, and his dead men flanked the door.
“Locked?” Wendel said.
“Yes,” a dead man said, and Ardis startled at the sound of his hollow voice.
Wendel curled his lip. “Do you have the key?”
“Yes.”
“Then unlock it. Kill anyone you find.” He glanced at Ardis. “Keep her safe.”
Undead bodyguards? She wasn’t sure she liked this idea.
The talkative dead man fumbled with a key. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about rigor mortis for another three or four hours. The thought crawled from a dark corner of Ardis’s brain, and she blinked it away.
The dead man unlocked the door and marched through. His comrade followed.
“Ardis,” Wendel said calmly, almost conversationally, “I will likely need to kill several dozen assassins. I need you to help me.”
She nodded. “Of course. But let’s not jump out of the frying pan.”
He stared at her.
“Into the fire?” she said. “Never mind. I want a plan, I mean.”
He held out his hands as if weighing their options.
“We kill anyone who tries to stop us,” he said. “Does that work?”
“Damn you, Wendel,” she growled.
He flinched, his eyes distant for a second. “My minions have company.”
“How…?”
“I can feel it. Better help them out before they get beheaded.”
Wendel disappeared into the shadows.
Ardis stepped through the doorway and into a fight. An assassin hacked at the neck of a dead man, his teeth bared, while the other dead man lunged with a clumsy sword blow. The assassin blocked him with his shield, whirled, and found himself face-to-face with Ardis. He bashed aside the minion and attacked.
She sidestepped his scimitar and thrust Chun Yi into his chest.
He staggered, his eyes wide with shock, and she wrenched her sword free. She flicked her wrist, and blood splattered the wall. The assassin collapsed on the stones. Blood pooled beneath his body as he gurgled a sigh.
Ardis’s fingers tightened around Chun Yi. Flames whispered about the blade’s thirst.
“This feels too easy,” she said.
Wendel stepped from the shadows. “I know.”
He crouched by the assassin, touched his forehead, and raised him from the dead.
“You think this is a trap?” she said.
“I don’t care,” he said.
They ran down the corridor and reached the bottom of a spiral staircase. Footsteps thundered on the stones behind them.
“Reinforcements,” she said.
“Stop them,” Wendel told his minions.
The undead men raised their scimitars and shambled down the corridor.
Wendel didn’t wait for the fight. He hit the stairs running. Ardis lowered her head and lunged after him. The clash of steel on steel echoed off the stone behind them. Hopefully Wendel’s minions would buy them time.
Six flights to the top. Six stories of winding around and around until she was disoriented.
Footsteps chased them upstairs. Breathing hard, Ardis stopped and whirled around. Assassins. Two of them, armed with scimitars and shields. She balled her hands into fists. She had no room to draw her sword.
“Wendel!” she shouted. “Watch out!”
An assassin advanced, his shield raised. She kicked him square in the chest.
The assassin staggered backward. She pressed her advantage and kicked him in the face. Her heel hit his nose. His head snapped back as he flew down the stairs. The assassin standing below tumbled down with him.
They fell at awkward angles, though they didn’t look dead. Not good enough for Wendel.
He squeezed past Ardis and swooped on the fallen assassins. He sliced open their throats with his dagger and waited for them to bleed out. Hands splattered with red, the necromancer touched a cheek, then a wrist.
The undead men staggered upright, swaying, and waited for his command.
“Nobody gets past you alive,” Wendel said. “And try not to lose your heads.”
Ardis shuddered at the icy disdain in his voice. Outside, beyond the windows, the wind carried the wingbeats and cawing of crows.
Wendel met her gaze. His pale eyes blazed with conviction and certainty of the end.
“Close,” he said. “So close.”
He started running again. She chased him higher and higher. At the top of the tower, they stopped outside a door and shared a glance.
“After you,” Wendel whispered.
Ardis nodded. Shadows crawled over Wendel’s skin as he disappeared into darkness.
She grabbed the iron handle and tugged open the door. Candles flickered in lanterns. Plush Turkish rugs yielded beneath her boots. Across the room, a magnificent mahogany desk dominated the space beneath the windows.
He sat there.
Thorsten Magnusson. The Grandmaster.
Thorsten lifted his head at her arrival. His eyes glinted behind the hard mask of his face.
“Ardis,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I want you to let Wendel go,” she said.
Thorsten’s soft laugh raised goosebum
ps on her skin.
“What makes you think I should?” he said. “He slaughtered so many of my good men. Such a waste. I didn’t even bother with assassins tonight. I hired some mercenaries as fodder to keep up appearances. No offense, Ardis.”
Her stomach soured. Those men they had killed didn’t deserve to die.
“Fodder?” she said. “You disgust me.”
The Grandmaster lowered his gaze. His pen scratched across the paper in front of him.
“Thorsten,” Ardis said. “I’m only asking you this one thing. This is all I want from you. Then I’ll be out of your life.”
He frowned at the paper and continued writing.
“Out of my life?” he said.
Ardis swallowed hard. She knew Wendel was listening.
“This ends now,” she said. “Let him go.”
Thorsten dotted a sentence with a period, then glanced into her eyes.
“A rogue necromancer is a liability,” he said.
“Please,” she said.
“Please? Pathetic.” He tapped the paper. “I need to get back to business.”
“What could possibly be more important than this?”
“This letter is of a time sensitive nature.”
She challenged Thorsten with her stare. “A letter to who?”
“Whom.”
Ardis ground her teeth. He enjoyed toying with her, didn’t he?
Wendel spoke from the shadows. “The Russians.”
The Grandmaster didn’t flinch. “Been reading over my shoulder, Wendel?”
“No.”
Wendel stepped into the light, shadows crawling from his skin, and uncloaked himself. He held a crumpled piece of paper.
“You really should burn your earlier drafts,” he said.
Thorsten shrugged and wrote another line. “I didn’t think you would waste Amarant’s magic to rummage through my trash.” He tilted his head and looked sideways at him, his eyes sharp. “What do you want?”
Wendel spoke through clenched teeth. “You know what I want.”
“Careful,” Thorsten said. “Your temper makes you sloppy. I expect an attempt at stealth, and some amount of pride in your work.”
The necromancer’s eyes blazed with barely caged emotion.
“Ardis.” Wendel turned to her. “This letter—Thorsten is betraying the archmages. Telling the Russians about Project Lazarus.”
“Why?” Ardis said.
Thorsten lay down his pen with deliberation. “Because they paid me.”
Her mouth went bone dry. “This is just another job to you?”
“You should understand.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wendel retreat into the darkness. She prayed he wouldn’t do anything reckless. He crept from shadow to shadow, trapped by the pools of candlelight. She decided to stall for time.
“If Russia knows,” she said, “what Austria-Hungary has been hiding…”
“Honestly?” Thorsten steepled his fingers. “War is good for business.”
She stared at him. “I won’t let you do this.”
“How?” he said calmly.
“I can turn you in to the archmages.”
Thorsten’s eyes narrowed to slits, and then he smiled.
“Ardis,” he said. “I know you’re angry. But that’s no reason to behave irrationally.”
Ardis marched to the desk and snatched the paper. Thorsten caught her by the wrist and clenched her bones in an iron grip.
“Stop,” he said, his words deadly quiet. “Ruin this one, and I will have to start again.”
Shadows flickered behind the Grandmaster.
“Don’t touch her,” Wendel said.
Thorsten tightened his grip on Ardis’s wrist. She winced at the pain.
“Or what?” Thorsten said. “You’re going to kill me? Isn’t that threat getting old?”
Ardis spotted a silver paper knife. She pretended to lean against the desk, and inched her left hand across the mahogany.
Wendel stepped into the light. “Let her go.”
Thorsten glanced away. Ardis grabbed the paper knife and stabbed Thorsten’s forearm. He jerked back. She wrenched free from his grip and retreated several paces, not stupid enough to stay within his reach.
Thorsten yanked the paper knife from his arm and wiped the blood on his sleeve.
“That was a mistake,” he said.
Ardis drew Chun Yi and steeled her nerves.
Thorsten flipped the paper knife, then stabbed at Ardis. She dodged, and he stabbed again. The paper knife scraped down the length of her blade. He shoved her sword out of his way. But Ardis knew this disarming move. When he reached for her sword’s pommel with his free hand, she caught his wrist and twisted it aside.
She didn’t counterattack, too wary of his skill, and retreated instead.
Wendel circled them like a wraith in the shadows. He edged nearer to the Grandmaster. The black dagger glinted in the candlelight. Thorsten whirled and slashed at Wendel, forcing him back, then returned his attention to Ardis.
Her ribs heaved as she breathed hard and fought her fears.
She could do this. She could fight the Grandmaster and win.
Ardis raised Chun Yi in a defensive stance. Thorsten lowered himself into a crouch, and she waited for his attack. He lunged. She sidestepped and swung at his ribs. He was fast, but not fast enough. Chun Yi raked his ribs and blazed at the taste of blood. Little more than a scratch, but enough to giddy her with hope.
Thorsten touched his wound and stared at his red fingers.
“Good,” he said. “You show promise.”
His attempt at fathering did nothing but infuriate Ardis.
“Go to hell,” she said.
“Ardis,” Wendel said, “allow me to help you send him there.”
Thorsten waited for the necromancer to stab at his neck. He blocked barehanded by hitting Wendel’s wrist, then swung his fist at his jaw. Wendel dodged, barely, and Thorsten followed with a brutal elbow to the face.
Blood trickled from Wendel’s nose and stained his teeth red when he laughed.
“Make it quick,” Wendel said. “I expect some amount of pride in your work.”
Ardis clenched her sword and circled Thorsten. Chun Yi blazed white with blood magic. Sharper. Stronger. Faster.
She would pay for her victory with blood.
Ardis swung at Thorsten. He retreated, and she swung again to keep him on the defensive. She cut across his collarbone. Chun Yi burned even brighter, and she heard its thirst like a deafening heartbeat in her ears.
Thorsten narrowed his eyes. He rushed Ardis, blocked her sword with his knife, and hooked his foot behind hers. She staggered back, unbalanced, and clung to Chun Yi as she fell. Thorsten kicked her savagely in the ribs. Winded, Ardis curled on the floor and sucked in air. Her eyes watered from the pain.
Thorsten wrenched Chun Yi from her hand. She screamed in frustration.
Wendel hurled a chair at a window. Shattered glass sprayed into the night, and wind whirled inside the tower. Candles sputtered out in all the lanterns. Darkness flooded the room, brightened only by Chun Yi’s burning.
Thorsten stood in the center of the room. He held the sword like a firebrand.
“Why didn’t you think of that sooner?” Thorsten said. “Losing your touch?”
Wendel laughed from the shadows. “Losing yours?”
Ardis crawled to her feet and clutched her aching ribs. Through the broken window, the sound of crows swelled. She saw them against the moonlit clouds. Black birds swirled around the tower like ink circling a drain.
“I want my dagger back,” Thorsten said.
Wisely, Wendel kept quiet.
The Grandmaster slid his foot forward. “It isn’t worth as much to me as you, Wendel, but it will have to be my consolation prize.”
Movement. Black on black.
Wendel stabbed Thorsten in the back—or he tried to, but the Grandmaster dodged and took the dagger in his right sho
ulder.
Wendel wrenched out the dagger and retreated.
Thorsten retaliated swiftly and brutally. With his right shoulder wounded, he switched Chun Yi to his left hand and launched into a devastating swing. Wendel blocked with his dagger, but the force of the blow knocked him stumbling back. The necromancer bared his teeth and pivoted away to vanish in the darkness.
Bleeding from his shoulder, his arm, and his chest, Thorsten still looked calm.
“I don’t want to kill you,” he said.
Wendel’s whisper was barely audible. “Liar.”
“A necessary evil. You always were.”
Ardis backed into a lantern. She grabbed it by the handle and felt its heft. Brass.
Thorsten was so intent on Wendel that he didn’t see her swing the lantern through the air. She hit Thorsten in the head with the sickening gong of metal against skull. He staggered forward and drove the sword into the carpet to keep himself from falling. She hit him again, harder, and he sprawled on the floor.
Ardis threw aside the lantern and took back her sword.
Shakily, Thorsten climbed to his knees. She held him with the point of her sword threatening the hollow of his throat. He lifted his chin and met her eyes with stunned admiration. Like he had never been defeated.
“Ardis,” Thorsten said.
“Don’t say my name,” Ardis said. “You have no right to say my name.”
Chun Yi nicked his throat. A drop of blood rolled down the blade and sizzled into steam. Only a flick of her wrist. All it would take for her to cut open his throat and let him bleed out. Her sword burned blue with feverish thirst.
Let him bleed out. Let him die.
Wendel walked from the shadows and stared at the Grandmaster. When Ardis saw the twisted longing in his eyes, she felt an answering echo in her sword. She wondered if mercy and victory were mutually incompatible.
Wendel tilted his black dagger. Ardis caught his arm.
“We already won,” she said.
His knuckles whitened. “Not until he’s dead.”
“No,” she said, making her choice. “We bring him to the archmages alive.”
The muscles in Wendel’s arm tightened under her hand, but Ardis held him tighter with the strength of desperation. If she let go now, it would already be too late. There would never be a hope of saving the necromancer.
