The Midnight Spy

by Kiki Hamilton

  Without warning a bolt of lightning split the night sky, the brilliant flash illuminating the area as if it were day. The stranger’s horse reared with a wild cry and turned an anxious circle. In that instant Nica’s gaze met that of the rider. She recognized Jonn Shanks as though she looked at him from across a well-lit room. Then the lightning abated and the night went black again.

  Nica sat frozen as he approached.

  His voice was harsh. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I…”

  “Whose horse is that?” Shanks tipped his head toward Toppen’s mount. “Why didn’t you wait?” His face was as angry as the thunderstorm that surrounded them. He was soaked through, his hair plastered to his head. She could see a bloody cut along his jaw.

  Nica’s stomach churned. Would Shanks try to return her to her father?

  “What’s going on here?” Toppen called in a low voice as he emerged from the forest.

  Shanks looked him up and down with a murderous glare. “Who are you?”

  Nica clutched her reins tighter.

  “Who’s asking?” Toppen stopped and returned his glare, his hands clenched at his side.

  “Stop it,” Nica snapped. She stared at Shanks. “What are you doing out here?”

  The young soldier didn’t hesitate. “I need your help.”

  “Sorry, mate, but you’re on your own,” Toppen said.

  Nica pointed to the body behind Shanks. “Who have you got there?” The limp way his passenger rode suggested he was either injured or unconscious. The heavy shrouding told her that his identity was important. Only one prisoner of any value was being held within her father’s dungeon.

  Shanks’ gaze held hers. “I think you already know.”

  Nica shivered. She didn’t want to know what Shanks involved in. Nor did she want to be part of it.

  “I’m being followed,” he said. “I need to lay a false trail or we’ll be caught.”

  “But why?” She asked. “Why would you risk your life for this?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.” Shanks slid from his horse and grabbed Nica’s hand. “All you have to do is take him across the sliver.” He spoke in a low tone. “Others are waiting for him there.” He grabbed the finger of his leather glove with his teeth and pulled his hand free. He slid a crested ring from his little finger and handed it up to Nica. “Take this.” He closed her fingers around the ring, the metal still warm from his skin. “Ask for Sebande. Tell him I sent you. If there are any questions show him the ring. That should guarantee you safe passage.”

  “What exactly is going on here?” Toppen demanded.

  Nica bit her lip, uncertain.

  Shanks ignored Toppen. He moved so fast, Nica was caught unaware. He cupped her face with his hands and held her with gentle strength. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he looked into her eyes with a fierce intensity. “Nica, trust me, you are doing the right thing. Never question that.”

  “Stop that,” Toppen roared, and jumped forward to pull at Shanks’ arm.

  Shanks moved with blinding speed. In one smooth flick of his wrist he had the point of his blade at Toppen’s throat.

  “Don’t ever tell me what to do,” Shanks growled in a low voice. “Now get on your horse.” Toppen scrambled to obey.

  Sheathing his sabre, Shanks reached up and untied the cloaked figure from the saddle. With a muffled groan the man slid limply off the horse into his arms. Shanks carried him to Toppen’s horse and heaved the dead weight up behind the winemaker’s apprentice.

  “What are you doing?” Toppen cried, trying to move his horse away.

  Shanks grunted against the weight sagging down on him and swore.

  “Toppen, don’t!” Nica pulled hard on the horse’s reins she still held in her hand.

  Toppen gaped at Nica. “What?”

  “We have to help him.”

  “Who is he?” Toppen asked. “And who is this?” he asked, trying to lean away from the limp form settling against his back. “What is going on? We can’t be delayed by this Nica!”

  Shanks flicked a rope around Toppen with a snap, causing another stream of protests, while he tied the dark figure to the younger man. Satisfied the silent passenger was safely secured Shanks turned back to Nica. “Hide by the clock tower in LaBricé. Watch for me there. Remain unseen until I arrive.” A play of emotions crossed his face that Nica couldn’t identify. “Trust me, Nica,” he finished in a harsh whisper.

  He didn’t wait for her reply but vaulted on to his horse and wheeled around. “I’ve got to keep moving. Those that follow me won’t give up easily. Go now,” he barked, then disappeared into the darkness.

  “What the….” Toppen watched Shanks’ departure then swiveled around to glare at Nica.

  “Follow me.” She yanked her hood back over her head and put her heels hard into her horse’s side. As they neared the edge of the chasm, Nica’s horse balked at walking out onto the thin, jagged strip of land. Though it was difficult to see through the darkness Nica could sense the precipitous drop of the canyon on each side of the crooked sliver of rock. She was beginning to wonder if she needed to dismount and lead the animal across when the horse began a tentative crossing.

  The trail was a nerve-wracking thread of rocky path that wound through open air to the other side of the Great Divide. Even in the cold wind and rain of the storm, Nica could feel her palms sweating within her leather gloves. She gripped the saddle so hard with her knees that the muscles in her legs ached as the wind buffeted her, whistling its way down the canyon toward the sea. What had Shanks gotten them into? For whatever they were involved in was, at best, surely treason.

  Nica let out a sigh of relief as they reached the end of the narrow sliver. She glanced back over her shoulder to find Toppen on her heels.

  “Now what?” He asked.

  “This way, I think.” Nica tried to speak with confidence but even to her ears her words sounded weak and unsure. She didn’t want to say she had no idea. It had been at her insistence that they’d helped Shanks. The weight of his ring was heavy on her middle finger where she had slid the band. She steered her horse to the right, heading north toward LaBricé, trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing.

  “Halt!”

  Nica jerked to a stop as she searched the darkness. Men on horses surrounded them.

  “Who goes there?” The words were spoken in guttural Jarisan.

  Chills ran up her arms like live spiders.

  “I must speak to Sebande.” Without thinking Nica spoke in Sartish. She heard the deep grumble of voices in the darkness around her and realized her mistake. She quickly repeated herself in Jarisan, “Eso wa’se’ ena Sebande.” For the first time she was truly grateful for her knowledge of the Jarisan language. She heard Toppen swear under his breath behind her.

  A Jarisan soldier on horseback approached them, his dark skin providing additional camouflage in the night. He drew close enough that Nica could see his sword pointed unwaveringly at her heart. “I am Sebande.”

  Over his shoulder other soldiers emerged from behind the dark trees. Several had razor sharp arrows mounted and cocked on small crossbows, aimed in their direction.

  “Era’a shi’na ma. Le shom’baaun poa bi la’ Shanks.” Nica spoke in Jarisan, hoping they understood that the King was the package she spoke of delivering. The soldier’s weapons never wavered.

  “Shanks?” The soldier who had identified himself as Sebande tilted his head, trying to see Nica’s face hidden within the hood of her cloak.

  “Yes.” Nica nodded.

  “What package?’ His eyes were suspicious as they flicked to Toppen and back.

  “There.” Nica pointed at the shadowy lump behind Toppen. She could see the alarm on Toppen’s pale face. She turned back to the soldier who didn’t look much older than Shanks. “We must not be delayed. It’s a matter of life or death.”

  The Jarisan soldier motioned to another soldier to watch N
ica then moved his horse forward and slid his sword against Toppen’s chest. The man called a command over his shoulder to the waiting soldiers.

  “Toppen, don’t move or they’ll shoot.” Nica warned.

  Eyeing Toppen carefully, the young man reached up with the tip of his blade and yanked the hood from the passenger’s face. The soldier swore when the face of the Jarisan king was revealed. A loud murmur went through the waiting soldiers as they recognized him.

  As the passenger’s face was revealed, Toppen jerked his head around to look at Nica, his alarmed eyes wide with questions and fear. The soldier jumped forward to cut the older, injured man down.

  “Watch his arm!” Nica called out. “And his leg is wounded also.” Sebande gave her a suspicious look but slowed his movements to accommodate any injuries. He yelled at two of his comrades to assist in lifting the king down.

  “He needs medical attention. You’ll find a doctor?” Nica asked.

  “Yes.” Another man grunted an answer as they transported the wounded man. The king groaned as they moved him but did not regain consciousness. Relinquishing his hold on the sovereign, Sebande stepped toward Nica.

  “Who did you say sent you?” Once again he peered curiously into the folds of her hooded cloak.

  Nica took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. “Jonn Shanks.” She rubbed the ring on her finger through her glove, hoping it would be enough to keep them alive.

  The young man’s look turned to one of confused surprise. “Can we provide you with an escort?”

  Nica shook her head, pulling her hood a little closer. “Thank you, but no. We have other business we must attend to yet this night.” She pulled her reins to the left and urged her horse back onto the trail. The faster they could get out of here, the better.

  “Appen’ dichi,” Sebande said with authority. Like a wall moving, the soldiers shifted their horses to each side, creating a passageway for them.

  Nica urged her mount forward, relief bubbling inside like water from a well.

  “No! Stop them! Don’t let them go!”

  Shanks’ voice was easily recognizable. His Jarisan words slashed through the night with the sharpness of a knife. Prickly fingers of fear clawed at her stomach as a wave of suspicion washed over her. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t be part of this.

  Nica kicked her horse hard but before she could break past the wall of men, the soldiers shifted again and blocked her path. Sebande urged his horse directly at hers, his arms stretched out to grab her reins. Frightened by the aggressive approach of the other horses, Nica’s mount gave a wild snort and reared. Nica squeezed hard with her knees and clawed at the saddle horn to retain her seat but the horse was too spooked to control.

  Nica lost her grip and fell backwards. She heard Toppen’s shout of alarm before her head hit the ground with a sickening crack and everything went black.

  ica’s eyes fluttered open. Strong arms stretched past on each side and gripped the reins in front of her. She looked down to see her hands were bound at the wrists. Her head ached and she was disoriented. It took a moment to remember what had happened.

  “Don’t speak.” The voice was low and deadly serious. “Especially Sartish.”

  The events of the night rushed back to her and an image of Shanks’ face swam before her eyes. Traitor.

  “We’ve been ordered to take you to LaBricé. If you value your life, become invisible.”

  Nica didn’t reply. Shanks had betrayed her. After she had betrayed her own father to help him. She fought the tears that unexpectedly welled in her eyes. And what had become of Toppen? Nica jerked around, immediately regretting her movement as pain sliced through her head. She searched the shadows for the other soldiers to see if Toppen was among them, but instead of the troop of men she expected, there were only two others, one on each side, slightly behind them. Each cradled armed crossbows as they rode.

  “Your friend is taking a different route.”

  Suddenly his name came to her. Sebande. That was who Shanks had told her to ask for. He was the one who had captured her. Nica faced forward, glad for the oversized hood that covered her face. She gripped the hard leather of the saddle to hold herself upright. She didn’t want to touch her captor.

  The storm that had raged in Sartis was just working its way to the Jarisan side of the Great Divide. The cold wind pierced her damp clothes and Nica shivered. She clenched her teeth—as much to stop their chattering as to stop the fear that bubbled in her stomach from exploding through her mouth. She could not be returned to face the cruelty of Mosaba. She needed to find a way to escape.

  THE FAINT GLOW of dawn was on the horizon when they reached LaBricé. As they neared what had to be Jacoby’s palace Nica could see great stone walls lined with torches to light the night. Rather than approach directly Sebande followed a path through the forest that led around the perimeter of the huge structure.

  “Declare yourself!” A voice rang out.

  “Sebande Vatier—on business for the king.” Sebande spoke with authority.

  The guard must have recognized the soldier for there was a scrambling at the gate and one of two great doors swung open for them to enter.

  “Keep your head down and your mouth shut,” he growled low in her ear. “Do not speak or show your face under any circumstances.” Nica bowed her head in assent, making sure the hood of her cloak shadowed her features.

  “Ho, Sebande, what have you caught in the forest tonight?” A jovial voice boomed towards them. “Only the forest sprites would be out on a night like this. Is it a wood wench?”

  Nica dared a peek out from under the edge of her hood. A large pot-bellied man with a leather belt straining around his overflowing stomach was closing the tall door with one hand, a crossbow held easily in his other meaty hand. He wore a white shirt covered by a red vest. His legs, in brown breeches, bowed as though bending under the great weight of his stomach.

  “Tis not mine,” Sebande replied. “It’s a sickly boy Shanks chanced upon. Promised the dying mother he’d give him to Becknah for a cure.”

  “Shanks is here?” The big man’s tone turned hopeful.

  “Not yet. He handed me the boy and said he’d be back.”

  “Sickly, you say?” The guard’s voice turned cautious. “How sickly? Will it spread?”

  “Can’t say for sure. Wouldn’t touch him though. I’m going to keep him wrapped up until Becknah has a look.” Sebande urged his horse past the guard. “Keep it quiet for now. I don’t want a panic.”

  Nica heard the man grumble some response but she couldn’t understand him. Her head throbbed with pain, making it hard not only to think straight but to understand their Jarisan words. The horse stopped. What now? She didn’t have to wonder long. Sebande dismounted then reached up and put his large hands around her waist.

  “Not a word,” he said in a low voice. Before she could protest he pulled her from the saddle and threw her over his shoulder like a piece of meat. Even though she couldn’t be seen, her face burned with embarrassment. She debated about kicking him to escape but there was no one here who would help her. She gritted her teeth as his shoulder dug into her stomach. Sebande would pay for this humiliation—as would Shanks. One way or the other, she would get even.

  Nica could hear Sebande’s boots tapping on stone steps as he lugged her down a flight of stairs. The night became darker as they moved into some sort of passageway. She heard the creak of a door swinging open and saw the man kick the wooden planks closed with his booted foot.

  With a grunt, he swung her back over his shoulder and set her on her feet. The rush of blood to her head made Nica dizzy and she swayed. Sebande reached out a hand to steady her but Nica pulled away and took a few shaky steps toward the stone wall, where she put out a hand to support herself.

  She looked from under her hood at the small room where they now stood. Light from the torches out in the hallway cast a weak ray of illumination through the bars in the upper part of the doorwa
y. The room looked like a prison cell. Alarmed, she turned to the young man who stood before her.

  For the first time since her capture she could see him clearly. He was as tall as her father, his skin the warm color of cinnamon. The bulge of his shoulders could be seen through the soft leather of his jacket and his eyes were as black as the long hair tied behind his head. He did not look happy. Sebande held up his hand to stop her from speaking and took a step toward her.

  Nica backed closer to the wall.

  “I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t care,” he said in a low voice. “I told Shanks I would guard your door—” he peered at her through the shadows of her cloak— “and that’s what I’m going to do.” Without another word, Sebande exited and pulled the door closed. Nica heard an iron rod slide into place on the other side.

  She was locked in.

  itting alone at the huge head table within the Great Hall, Jaaniyah eyed her father’s empty chair. She ached with worry. What were they doing to him? Mosaba was rumored to be especially vicious. Was her father still alive? Footsteps echoed on the stone floor behind her as someone approached.

  “M’lady. Remain calm.” Becknah’s voice was low in her ear. “We have word that your father has somehow escaped from Sartis but is gravely wounded.”

  Jaaniyah swiveled around and gripped the older man’s arm. She started to speak but he held his hand up to stop her.

  “He is with our men. He is back in Jarisa. They’ve secured him in a small abandoned cottage, just this side of the southernmost sliver. He’s too sick to be moved. I’ve sent Thistlewaite to tend to him.”

  Joy coursed through Jaaniyah. Her father lived! She started to open her mouth but Becknah stopped her.

  “We cannot speak of this, M’lady. Your father’s very life depends on our ability to keep his location secret until he is well enough to be brought back to HighGarden.” His words held a clear warning. “Mosaba will be livid with rage at the king’s escape. We must be prepared for any kind of attack. You will need to be especially careful.”