“It is empty,” he said slowly.
“Jormund!” said Loren. “Guards outside!”
Jormund ran to her, and several Mystics followed. They put their shoulders against the door, leaning into the force of the soldiers beyond, who had begun to batter it.
“The bar!” said Jormund. His outthrust finger pointed at a bar for the door. Two of the Mystics heaved it up and placed it in its iron fittings, and then the rest of them fell back. The pounding and shouting from outside redoubled.
Yond eyed the door, his face grim. “That will not hold long,” he said.
“When it falls, we fight,” said Jormund. Loren could scarcely believe it, but a smile split his lips. “I do not think they will expect a mindmage.”
“Jormund, there are far too many of them,” said Loren. “And where is Wojin?”
“They knew,” said Gem quietly. “They guessed.”
“Yes,” said Jormund. His smile did not falter as he looked down at Loren. “Yes, we have been thoroughly outwitted. Even if we could guess where Wojin has been moved to, we could never reach him, and certainly we could not surprise him.”
Loren frowned up at him. “Then we must escape.”
A huge blow crashed against the door. It rocked on its hinges. Jormund shook his head. “A few more strikes like that, and they will be inside. We will never have enough time to get out. But you will. Take your friends and go.”
“This is not the time for some foolish last stand,” said Loren. “Your death will not help the war with Dorsea. There are windows, we could—”
Jormund only laughed. “I told you, there is not enough time. You made your vow, Nightblade. You promised Kal you would obey me. Take Gem and Keridwen and get out.” He looked down at her suddenly, and his smile went from fierce to wistful. “I may not have been in Yewamba, but this is not such a bad trade. I hope you will make sure they talk about me and my soldiers here, in whatever stories they might tell about all this.”
Another blow crashed against the door. A large crack appeared in the bar holding it shut. Loren bit her cheek until she could taste blood, fighting the stinging in her eyes. “Darkness take you, Jormund. Of course I will.”
“Then get out, you little twit. See to your friends.”
Stooping, he lifted a chair that must have weighed at least as much as Loren, but which he hefted like a toy. He threw it through one of the chamber’s wide windows. The explosion of splintering glass would have been deafening, if Loren had been able to focus on anything but the pounding at the door.
Jormund reached out and ruffled Gem’s hair, and then he took Loren’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push towards the window. She ran to them, pulling Kerri along behind her.
“They … they will die,” said Kerri, sounding half-senseless.
“Many have,” said Loren. “Many more will.”
The Elves told you, came a whisper in her mind. A memory of her dream. They told you. They called you Nightblade. The one who walks with death.
Pieces. Pieces of the puzzle, and always assembling themselves too late.
There was no balcony outside the window, but there was a rooftop just a pace or two down. Loren kicked out some of the glass at the bottom so that they would not cut themselves, and then she looked at Gem and Kerri. Each of them nodded in turn.
She took one last look back. Jormund and his Mystics had their shoulders against the door now, and Yond looked to be bracing them with mindmagic. Jormund looked back at Loren, still wearing his mad grin.
A berserker’s grin, she thought. Like Niya. Is that why I saw her here in my dreams?
Loren turned and leaped.
She came down hard on the tiles, Gem landing beside her a moment later. They both turned as Kerri made the leap, and Loren did her best to catch the girl and soften her landing. Kerri was crying, but she did not hesitate as Loren turned and led her running off down the rooftop.
Behind them, they heard a great crash of splintering timber, and then a chorus of battle cries rang out. Almost at once, Loren heard the sound of steel piercing flesh, like a butcher’s cleaver sinking into a side of beef. Above it all she heard Jormund’s mighty shout, laughing as he cut down his foes. But the laughter faltered. One last cry he gave, and then fell silent a final time.
They darted around the corner of the keep, and Loren stuck her head back around it. No one had followed them out.
She ducked out of sight again and looked about. The roof of the palace had many peaks and slopes that they could use to hide from sight. They stood in a sort of valley between two of the peaks, and a third was between them and the walls, blocking them from view. But they could not remain here forever. Their first goal had to be finding a way out. There must be other walls, barricades like the one they had used to enter the palace in the first place, but Loren could not see any from where they stood.
“Kerri, do you have any idea where to go from here?” said Loren.
The girl stood against the wall, her gaze distant. When she did not answer, Loren put a hand on her shoulder. Kerri shook herself, then seemed to think for a moment, as though she was listening again to Loren’s words in her mind.
“No,” she said at last. “I … I know the palace, but not the rooftops.”
“Gem?” Loren turned to the boy.
“I will search about,” said Gem.
He crouched and crept forwards, making for the slope closest to the outer wall. Loren sat with Kerri, watching, heart in her throat. Gem poked his head up only far enough to peek with one eye, paused for a moment, and then slid back down towards them.
“Nothing easy that way,” he said. “And more bad news: the walls are now well guarded. I see many soldiers with bows.”
Loren shook her head. There had been few guards when they infiltrated the palace. Wojin—or Damaris—must have commanded the guards to hide themselves until the Mystics were inside. Then they would emerge, leaving Loren and her friends trapped.
“Damaris outwitted us again,” she said.
“No one is that clever,” said Kerri, voice trembling.
“You do not know her very well,” said Loren. “But then, you do not know me very well, either. We will escape this place alive. I swear it.”
Kerri nodded, and despite her fear, Loren could see that the girl wanted to believe her. She vowed to herself that she would not let her down—or Gem, either. Even if it cost her everything.
Everything.
Loren froze where she sat. Realization came crashing down on her like a wave, robbing her of breath. For a moment it sapped her will, and she felt as if rising to her feet would be an impossible task. But she shook her head, clearing the feeling away.
She knew what she must do.
“Kerri,” she said, her voice wooden. “Where is the treasury from where we are?”
Kerri opened her mouth to answer, but Gem spoke first. “I think I saw it just over that slope. It lies between us and the outer wall. We can reach its rooftop, but that ends a good ten paces before the outer wall. We cannot use it to escape.”
“Not the roof,” said Loren. “Follow me.”
She crept up the slope and saw what Gem had described. From the peak, the roof ran down a short ways before ending. There was a small gap, easy to leap, and then the roof of the treasury. High in the treasury wall were windows—somewhat small, but large enough to slip through. A pale light shone from within. Lanterns or torches were lit inside, but not many. Mayhap even just one. That meant that if there were any guards below, they would be few.
“Follow me,” said Loren. “Do not stop for anything.”
Loren slid down the rooftop towards its lip. She kept a wary eye on the wall far beyond, but the guards there had no hope of seeing them in the darkness. They carried torches, yes, but the light could never reach this far, and would only keep the guards blind to the shadows.
At the rooftop’s edge, she did not stop herself. Instead she jumped as hard as she could, curling and striking the window
with her shoulder. The glass shattered easily under her weight, and she thrust out an arm to catch herself. It caught on the lip. She felt glass bite into her skin, but not deep. Most of it fell tinkling to the floor below.
She hung there, breath hissing through her teeth against the pain in her hand. There below them was the treasury: seemingly endless piles of gold and silver, both coin and otherwise. The riches stretched from one wall to the other. But there were no guards to watch them.
Only one figure waited for them down below.
Even in the grip of the dreamsight, Loren’s heart quailed. The figure was tied to a chair, its head hanging down. Like Duris had been.
But it was not Duris.
She forced her thoughts back to the present and reached up, using the hilt of a dagger to knock away the rest of the glass from the bottom of the windowsill. Gem and Kerri would follow at any moment, and she did not want them to injure themselves. Then she fell, aiming for a shelf just below her. It rocked under her weight, but it did not fall. From there she clambered down. Above her, Gem reached the window, and then Kerri. Each of them began to climb down the same way Loren had.
Loren ignored them. She walked slowly across the floor to the figure in the chair. Blood soaked his clothing, running down the chair to pool on the floor. But his throat was not cut. He still lived—and at the sound of her approaching footsteps, he turned his face up to her.
Chet.
CHET GASPED AT THE SIGHT of her. Loren fell on her knees beside his chair, slashing at his bonds with her dagger. His arms came free, but he could not support his own weight. He slumped forwards, falling hard out of the chair to hit the stone floor.
He had been cut. Tortured. Loren had seen a great deal of cruelty since leaving the Birchwood, but this was among the worst of it.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Damaris here, a sharp knife in her hand. No dreamsight, but only a product of her own imagination—her knowledge. Damaris with Chet, kneeling beside him, behind him. Damaris, plying his skin, slicing the flesh beneath. Damaris, avoiding the veins so that he did not bleed to death too soon. Damaris, taking her time, making it last. Damaris, smiling all the while.
“Chet,” said Loren. She rolled him over. “Chet, Chet.” She threw off her cloak, balling it up and putting it beneath his head. Suddenly she realized she was touching him, her hands on his shoulder, his neck, his head. But he was almost senseless, and he could hardly withdraw from her even if he wanted to.
“No,” gasped Gem. Loren looked up. The boy stood a pace away, looking down at Chet, his face a mask of horror.
But Kerri pushed past him, kneeling at Chet’s side across from Loren. Without hesitation she tore Chet’s shirt open to inspect his wounds. Where before the girl had been shaking with fear at their plight, now her hands were steady as she probed the cuts. Chet groaned at each touch of her fingers. But she only inspected him for a short moment before she looked up at Loren.
She shook her head.
Loren’s mouth worked, looking for words. She found none, and looked back down at him.
“Loren,” he gasped. His eyes opened, and they were clear. Loren withdrew her hands from him at once.
“I am here,” she said. “I am here, Chet. I came.”
“How did you …” He coughed. Blood bubbled from between his lips. His face was bruised. She thought his nose must be broken. His red-matted hair stuck out in all directions. “How did you know where I was?”
“I did not,” said Loren. “We were … we were running … I knew I had to come here.”
It seemed as if he tried to nod, but the movement only made him grimace in pain. “The dreams.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Chet began to weep. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, mingling with the blood, and silent sobs made his chest jerk. “It … it hurts … yet at the same time it is like I cannot feel it. Once … once she started, she would not stop. No matter what I said.”
Loren did not have to ask who he meant. Damaris. “How did she find you?”
“I did not make it beyond sight of the city,” said Chet. “They caught me. Gregor. Some others. The moment they appeared … I froze. Limp. Like a fawn when a wolf seizes its throat. And I … it was like I knew that it would happen. That it was inevitable. The Elves. They told you. I thought about it all the way back to the city … trussed up on Gregor’s saddle.”
Kerri looked at Loren in shock. Loren ignored her.
The Elves’ words rang in her mind. The one who walks with death.
A wave of pain struck him, and he cried out. His hand gripped his shirt. Loren squeezed her fingers together until she thought they would break, keeping herself from taking his hand, holding him, touching his face. Not now. She would leave him alone for now, at least. Until … until after. She forced herself to be calm, forced away the despair that clawed at her mind, her soul. She must be strong. For him, not for herself.
“It hurts,” he whispered again.
Loren’s hand went to the hilt of her dagger. Not one of her throwing daggers. The dagger on the back of her belt. Finely crafted, with black designs made of magestone. The dagger Chet had used to kill Auntie.
“I could help,” she whispered. “I can … I can end it. The pain would stop.”
And deep within her heart, she knew she would. If he asked her to, she would. It would be the first life she had ever taken on purpose. But she would do it, to keep him from more pain.
“No,” he gasped. “It is … I can feel that it is almost over. If … if I only have a few moments left … I would rather spend them with you.”
Fresh tears sprang from his eyes. But they were different. His face contorted in grief, not pain.
“Do not worry,” said Loren. “I will not leave.”
“No, I …” He gasped against a fresh wave of pain before he could go on. “I told her. Damaris. I told her … I told her everything. Your dreams. The Elves. Your dagger … what it means to the Mystics.”
Loren quailed. She had thought that nothing could overwhelm her grief, but now terror came flooding in to replace it. It was the secret she had held ever since Wellmont, when Jordel had first told her all the secrets of the dagger. That knowledge in the hands of Damaris …
But she forced such thoughts away. There would be time to deal with that. There would be no more time to spend with Chet. “It is all right,” she said, determined not to let him see her fear. “You could have done nothing more.”
“I did not tell her where Kal was,” he whispered. “It was the only thing I could hold on to. And I had told her so much already … when I lied at last, she believed me.”
“That was brave,” she said. “That was brave, Chet. You saved many lives.” She forced away thoughts of Jormund, of all the Mystics who had died in the palace just moments ago. Chet knew nothing of them. He did not need to.
“I am glad they will live,” he whispered. “Glad I could do that much, at least.”
“You have done so much more,” said Loren.
A ragged gasp wracked his body. Suddenly his hand shot out to clutch hers. Loren looked down at her hand in shock. His fingers laced through hers. His blood still ran from wounds on his fingers, and it mixed with the blood of her sliced palm. She held him back, squeezing, giving him an anchor.
“It … it hurts …” he gasped. “I … you deserve better, but … please …”
“What, Chet?” she said. “I have water, I—”
“No,” he whispered. “Please. Hold me?”
She lifted him up at once, lifted him to sitting, ignoring the grunt of pain. Kerri opened her mouth as if to speak, but she held herself back. Doubtless this would worsen the wound. But what did it matter? It would be over soon anyway.
It would all be over.
Chet’s arms snaked around her back, but slowly, and she stroked his hair. He buried his face in her shoulder, and she squeezed, letting him feel her, letting him feel her arms around him. He turned his head, and she pulled back, thin
king she was smothering him. But he kissed her, softly, briefly. She returned it. No passion, no lust. No time for that now. But she poured all of her love into it, into that brief moment of the meeting of her lips. And then they held each other again.
Chet shuddered. And then she felt it. Like a felled animal in the woods. The woods where Chet had taught her to hunt in the first place. She felt the life slip from him.
He was gone. Gone, to where she could not follow him anymore.
THE TREASURY FELL TO SILENCE. The only sounds were the muted voices of guards in the courtyard and on the walls outside, still no doubt searching for Loren and her friends, and the quiet, wracking sobs of Gem. But after a short while had passed, Kerri reached over and put her hand on Loren’s shoulder.
“I am sorry,” she said. “But we are still in danger.”
“I know,” said Loren. “I know.”
Gently she laid Chet down, then took her cloak and stood to don it. She refused to look at him. They had to leave him here. Loren hated it, but she knew she must. She went to Gem’s side and put an arm around his shoulders. He turned to her and threw his arms around her, weeping, his tears soaking into her fine new shirt.
“The front door will be guarded,” said Kerri quietly. “But … we might fight our way out. It is the only thing I can think of.”
“There is no need,” said Loren. She gingerly unwrapped Gem’s arms from around her waist, and then she went to the corner of the room.
A tapestry hung there. Loren remembered it. The man in black had shown it to her. She pushed it aside, and there was only a blank stone wall. Kneeling, Loren felt for the chink in the stone. After a moment she found it, and her fingers pulled on the lever. Two stones swung open, revealing the passageway.
Kerri gawked at her. “How did—”
“I am the Nightblade,” said Loren. Then she remembered what the man in black had said in her dream. “It is my job to know the secret ways no one else knows.”
She led the way, crawling into the passage. Gem came behind her, still sniffling, and Kerri brought up the rear. Soon the passageway was completely black. Loren reached into her cloak and pulled out a magestone, breaking off a piece and eating it. Then she reached to the back of her belt and drew her dagger, holding it in one hand as she proceeded. With the magestone in her blood, and her hand on the dagger, the passageway was suddenly bright as day.
Yerrin: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 6) Page 26
