by Jon Sprunk
Only one thing concerned her. If she found the proof, where could she take it? She glanced back over her shoulder at the spire of the royal palace. To the king? She scoffed at the idea, but then reconsidered. Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Drawing her cloak tight around her, she hurried through the benighted city.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Horace stood in the middle of the intersection at the edge of the government district. He looked down each of the four streets in turn. They were all quiet, but that didn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut.
Behind him, Jirom was meeting with his sergeants, planning their route to the next target. The battle with the undead had sidetracked them somewhat. Fortunately, their casualties had been few, and so Jirom had decided the attack would go on as planned. Horace held some misgivings about that, but he kept them to himself.
Jirom came over holding the map of the city. “I think we have it figured out. We’re close to the north market. We’ll head there and then turn—”
Hurried footsteps approached from the south as one of Seng’s scouts came into view. Horace forgot his name. He was taller than Jirom but as thin as a blade. A jagged scar ran across his shaved scalp.
“Sir,” the scout said. His voice was naturally hoarse, as if he had gargled with gravel as a child. “We’ve encountered a platoon of local militia. They occupy the market square. By the look of things, they don’t intend to leave it anytime soon.”
“What do you mean, Urlik?” Jirom asked.
“They look like hell, Commander,” the scout answered. “They can hardly stand up straight.”
“More of the undead?” Horace asked.
The tall scout shook his head. “No, sir. They’re alive, but maybe not for long. I figure maybe they ate some of the sergeant’s brew.”
“Can we slip past without them noticing?” Jirom asked.
Again, Urlik shook his head. “I don’t think so. They look ready to fall over, but they’re alert. The sergeant says we can go around them, but it means adding a few more blocks to our route.”
“How long will that take?”
“An extra half hour. Maybe longer if there’s more militia in the area.”
Jirom cursed. “We don’t have time for this. Tell Seng to prepare for an attack. We’ll clear the market and keep going.”
Horace turned to Jirom as the scout hurried off. “What if we tried to talk to them?”
“You mean parley?”
“Why not? If they’re ill, they might welcome the chance to avoid a fight.”
Jirom frowned as he looked down the street. “It means giving away our advantage of surprise. And that could mean extra losses. Losses we can’t afford.”
Glancing at the sergeants gathered nearby, Horace lowered his voice. “Jirom, there are undead inside the city. The Akeshians aren’t our primary concern anymore.”
“I know, Horace. But the plan remains the same. We take the city, and then we worry about the undead.”
“All right, but if we can get by without fighting these soldiers, we save some time.”
Jirom called over to his squad leaders. “Assemble for a fight, but wait for my command.” As the rebel fighters got into formation, he turned back to Horace. “Okay. Let’s go see if these sons of bitches want to talk.”
Hiding a smile, Horace went with him down the avenue. They passed the palatial homes of merchant lords and master tradesmen at the upper end of the artisans’ quarter. Seng met them two blocks down the street. The short scout leader blended in so well with the shadows that Horace didn’t spot him until he was almost next to them. Jirom didn’t flinch.
“Any new activity?”
Seng shook his head. “Not so much. They are hunkered down at the center of the market. They are quite vigilant. It will not be possible to enter the square without them noticing.”
“Keep your men hidden,” Jirom instructed. “We’re going to try parleying.”
Seng’s thin eyebrows rose slightly. “Sir?”
Jirom sighed. “Just keep out a sharp eye. The other squads are moving up.”
“As you say, Commander.”
Jirom waved for Horace to follow. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
The street ended in a broad courtyard at the end of the next block. The dark bulks of the surrounding buildings loomed in the darkness. The only light came from a bonfire at the center of the square. There, amid a jumble of empty stalls, was a posted group of militiamen. Most stood, leaning on their spears, but more than a few were sitting around the fire. Someone called out a warning as Horace and Jirom approached, and the alert members of the platoon stirred themselves to form a quick wall.
Jirom held up his hands, and Horace did likewise. But before they could say anything, a command rang out from the militia. “Fire!”
Bowstrings hummed as a swarm of arrows fired from the second rank of the spear wall. Jirom grabbed Horace’s shoulder and pulled him down to the ground. Horace had enough presence of mind to erect a barrier of solid air around them. Arrow shafts snapped as they slammed into the shield.
With sword in hand, Jirom shouted, “Now!”
Rebel fighters rushed the militia position from several directions at once. The fighting was fierce and brief. The Thuumians hardly put up any resistance as they were overrun. Many of them fell where they stood, or sat.
As they got back on their feet, Horace said, “They didn’t even give us a chance to speak.”
“They were too afraid to take a chance,” Jirom said. “Or too sick.”
“Are we taking prisoners?”
Jirom shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Horace turned away from the massacre, trying to keep his mind on the goal. Jirom was right. They couldn’t afford sensibilities. They either took the city tonight or they died trying. There was no middle ground.
As the rebels were finishing the last of the butchery, a familiar face entered the plaza. Horace waved to get Jin’s attention. The bodyguard came over, his eyes watching the scene of slaughter. “Sir,” he said. “Lady Alyra sent me to find you and Commander Jirom.”
“What’s happened?” Horace asked.
At the same time, Jirom asked, “Trouble at the palace?”
Jin shook his head. “No, the palace is quiet. But Lady Alyra has changed her plans.”
As Jin explained that Alyra had left to investigate the Dark King’s envoy, Horace’s stomach sank. What was she thinking? She doesn’t know about the undead in the city.
Horace grabbed him by the arm. “Tell me where this manor is.”
“In the noble district, about three blocks east of the palace.”
“You’ll take me there,” Horace said. He looked to Jirom, expecting an argument, but the big man was busy overseeing his fighters. “Jirom, I have to go.”
Jirom nodded. “I heard.”
“I’m sorry, but if she’s in danger . . .”
“I said I heard. Go, but be careful. This city is going to erupt before tonight is through. There’s no telling what you’ll run into out there. I would send some men with you, but—”
“No. You can’t spare them. Finish the battle, Jirom. I’ll find Alyra and return as soon as I can.”
Mezim appeared beside them. He appeared unhurt, but some blood was splashed on his left wrist. “Sir, I would like to come with you.”
“No, Mezim. Stay with Jirom.”
Mezim looked downcast by the order, but Jirom winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of your secretary.”
With a parting nod, Horace followed Jin out of the plaza.
Hiding behind a hedge of bushes, Alyra studied every detail of the lofty mansion down the street. It was nestled among a neighborhood of grand estates, locked behind multiple gates and guard posts. Behind a high wall, the house itself consisted of several wings stacked about and on top of each other. Torches illuminated tall arches piercing the outer walls, throwing shadows across the elaborate bas relief carving b
ordering the windows and doorways.
Normally, she would spend days, perhaps even weeks, studying this kind of mission before she went in. But she didn’t have weeks or days, or even hours. Lord Pumash could be back anytime.
This manor was where the envoy had been residing during his stay in Thuum. It was owned by House Lamipetra, a wealthy noble family that had several palaces in and around Thuum. Alyra presumed Pumash was currying favor with influential families, and the Lamipetras were his latest conquest.
As she watched the torches outside the gate flicker, Alyra wondered again if this was the right move. The rebel attack was underway, but she truly felt she could do more here. If the Manalish got control of Thuum, he would control the northern empire. From there it would only be a matter of time before he launched an attack on the capital. As much as she hated the empire, she didn’t want to see its resources fall into the hands of a single tyrant. She had the feeling it wouldn’t be long before his ambitions sought out new lands to conquer. If she could find some definitive proof of the Manalish’s intentions, maybe she could broker an agreement with the king.
“Well,” Gurita said. “Are we going to do this or not?”
Alyra steeled herself. Time was getting short. Now was her opportunity. “Stay here. Once I’m inside, there won’t be anything you can do to help me. So just watch. If something goes wrong, report back to Horace.”
Gurita looked at her sideways, but he nodded.
Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Alyra left their hiding spot. During previous visits to this manor she had mapped out three possible points of entry. The first was the side entrance mainly used for deliveries and the manor’s many servants. It was guarded by one sentry at all hours, but he often fell asleep at night. The difficulty there was that the gate was old and rusty. It would squeal when opened. The second route was to hop the wall. There were a couple of spots where that was possible, but it didn’t get her inside the main house. Then a third option had revealed itself. She and Natefi had quickly fashioned an outfit that would fit the part. Checking to make sure her makeshift disguise was properly in place, including the transparent veil covering the lower half of her face, Alyra walked directly to the main gate.
The sentries on duty became alert as she appeared outside the lattice of bars. “Hello, lovely,” one of them called out as he came over.
The guards were dressed in simple tunics girded with broad leather belts. Torchlight danced on the points of their tall pikes.
“Mistress Annuka sent me,” Alyra replied, drawing on her years of experience as a handmaiden to play the part of a demure lady of the evening. She had decided on this tactic after discovering the lord of this manor had prostitutes delivered several times a week for his private use.
The guardsman opened the gate and greeted her with a smile. “Another delivery for his lordship, eh? He’s a randy old goat, isn’t he?”
While the other guards jested, Alyra pretended to be too shy to reply, using her eyes to draw them in. The guard who had admitted her reached out to touch her face, and she backed away. “I’m only for His Lordship,” she said, putting fear into her voice.
While she spoke, her right hand stole down to her thigh where her knife was strapped.
“Yep. Better not, Urib,” another guard said. “His Mightiness don’t like the goods soiled before he has a chance to play with them.”
The lead guard let his hand fall, but he continued to leer at her. “That’s all right, lovely. I’m sure we’ll have our fun before you leave us.”
She cowered appropriately as they waved her through, but then one of their number—the guard who had warned Urib—fell in beside her on the walk to the manor proper. Alyra remained quiet. They reached the door, which the guard opened for her. She thought he might come inside, but he remained outside the threshold.
“Do you know where to go?” He pointed to the grand staircase at the end of the foyer. “Just up those steps and to the left.”
Nodding her thanks, Alyra slipped inside. She looked around, taking in every detail as she ascended the marble stairs. The doorways in the foyer would branch off into common areas for eating, relaxing, and recreating, with the kitchens likely in the back of the house. What she needed would be upstairs.
Alyra followed the guard’s directions, turning down a long hallway that ran through the western wing of the manor. She listened carefully, but the upper floor was quiet except for faint strains of music coming from the end of the hallway. Yellow light spilled out of an open doorway. Alyra itched to check the closed doors on either side, but she first had to play her part. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the lit doorway.
It opened into a lavish bedchamber, with walls painted in vivid frescoes of erotic scenes. The bed sitting in the center of the room was more of a round divan piled with silk pillows and a fur coverlet, all of them in purest white that reminded Alyra of Queen Byleth’s chambers back in Erugash. The music emanated from a silver orb that floated above the bed, playing a languid song with dual harps.
Nimuur, the lord of the manor, stood at a sideboard with a glass of brown liquor in hand. He was an older man and wore a somber suit of red and black. Alyra didn’t expect to see his wife sitting on the divan in a low-cut gown. They both smiled as she entered.
“Oh, Nimuur,” the lady of House Lamipetra purred. “This one is exceptional. Just look at those gorgeous blue eyes!”
The lord came over and held out a second glass to Alyra. “I had no idea she was coming tonight, Javinka. What a lovely surprise.”
“We’ll have to send Mistress Annuka something to show our appreciation.”
Lord Nimuur smiled. “Indeed we shall. Dear, would you mind letting us see more of you?” He leaned closer. “My wife enjoys it more if you take it slow.”
Alyra nodded shyly and reached for the clasps of her dress. She unfastened one and let the fabric fall to reveal her left breast. Lady Lamipetra leaned back into the pillows. “So lovely,” she whispered.
While her husband sat in a chair by the sideboard, Lady Lamipetra beckoned to Alyra. “Come here, little dove.”
Alyra made a show of taking off her slippers one at a time, never taking her gaze off the woman. Lady Lamipetra’s smile grew as she writhed on the divan. As she walked closer, Alyra toyed with her right shoulder clasp, playing the tease. She bent down over the lady. Instead of a kiss, she blew a gentle stream of air while sprinkling fine dust from her right hand into the woman’s open mouth. Lady Lamipetra gasped, her eyes opening wide for a moment. Alyra embraced her, pretending at lust as she placed one hand over her mouth to keep her from shouting. Lady Lamipetra struggled for a moment before she went limp, her eyes drooping halfway shut. Alyra stood back up.
“I must say, my dear.” Lord Lamipetra looked over at his wife sprawled on the divan. He was clearly aroused by the sight. “You must have a magic touch. I’ve never seen her overcome so swiftly.”
Alyra sauntered over to him. The rest of her dress fell away, drawing his eyes. “Mistress Annuka schooled me in the arts of love herself, my lord.”
“Oh? She did?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared at her chest. “How interesting.”
Alyra bent down until their faces were almost touching and lifted her right hand. She pursed her lips and blew, and the dust puffed into his face. Lord Nimuur jerked back with a gasp. “What was th—?”
He slouched back in his chair before he could finish his question. Alyra checked his eyes to be sure he was under, and then got to work. After fastening up her dress, she wiped the last of the dust from her hands. The blue lotus pollen worked fast. Lord and Lady Lamipetra would enjoy a long sleep filled with wondrous dreams, giving her time to accomplish what she’d come to do.
Taking an oil lamp, Alyra left the bedroom. The hallway outside was still clear. Moving quickly but quietly, she checked the other doors. The first two were locked, and she didn’t want to take the time to pick them just yet. The third room was another bedr
oom with masculine décor. The fourth was a spa. Alyra finally found success on her fifth try.
The door opened into a combination library and study. Low tables of expensive hardwood stood on the purple-and-gold carpet. The spines of hundreds of books gleamed in the lamplight beside racks of scrolls. On a podium against the far wall sat a pair of old stone tablets inscribed with hieroglyphic lettering. She scanned the tables, but they were bare. There was no desk or strongbox to search.
Starting with the books nearest the door, Alyra moved around the room. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for, but she felt there must be something important here. The tomes were mostly mundane with a heavy slant toward romantic fictions and quite a few erotic folios. Definitely not what she was seeking. She needed some kind of proof linking this noble house to the Manalish. Incriminating letters would do nicely, but she felt her luck running out as she scanned title after title. Perhaps the lord had a hidden safe somewhere on this level? The problem was that she only had a finite amount of time. Sooner or later, someone would find the lord and lady of the house as she had left them.
Alyra swept past a row of books bound in dark red leather and then went back as the curious runes etched on the spines pricked her curiosity. She didn’t recognize the lettering, but it was done in a fine hand in gold leaf. She took one down. The book was very old. The leather binding was supple and worn, the gilded edges of the pages darkened with age. She opened to a vivid drawing of a diabolical figure on the first page. It was a combination of a woman and a lioness. The look in her wide eyes was almost feral in its hunger. Large talons raked the body of a man tied down spread-eagle before the creature. Alyra found herself both horrified and fascinated as she paged through the book. There were more drawings, each more frightening than the last, and chapters of demonological text. The entire shelf was taken up by the red-leather books, and there were more on the next shelf, including a large cyclopedia of spells supposedly for the conjuring of demons.
