Lord of Stormweather

by David Gross

  Chaney recognized him at once as Escevar, Tamlin Uskevren’s constant companion. His presence there could only mean one thing.

  “You don’t want this job,” said Chaney. “This could be your last chance to kill these schemers and save your family.”

  Drakkar beckoned to Radu. “Come,” he said. “Allow me to introduce you to my master and another of our associates.”

  The wizard smiled knowingly, and Chaney felt vindicated in his earlier warning. He wished only that he could convince Radu of the danger and persuade him to turn on the wizards, but he knew the assassin resented any influence—especially since they both knew Chaney would say anything to deflect the assassin from Talbot Uskevren’s family.

  “Recent events have required an acceleration of our previous schedule,” explained Drakkar. “Now that we have proof that Thamalon Uskevren was the principal conspirator against the lawful government of Selgaunt, his lands and holdings are forfeit to the Hulorn. Unfortunately, his heir has proven more difficult than we had anticipated. In the interest of putting this ugly chapter in our fair city’s history behind us, it would be well if he were eliminated. To that end—”

  “No!” protested Escevar. “That was never the deal. You promised to support—”

  “You came to us,” said the Hulorn. “We promised you nothing.”

  “I only wished to—”

  Drakkar snapped his fingers, and a red thorn flashed from his hand to Escevar’s cheek.

  “Silence, you mollusk,” the wizard said. “If you held any sway with us, it vanished when you destroyed the painting.”

  “Yes,” drawled Andeth, turning to Escevar as if in sudden memory of a past slight. “That was ill done. I should have liked to have hung Thamalon Uskevren’s grave in my collection.”

  Escevar clawed at the tiny wound on his face. The thorn burrowed beneath his flesh, wriggling its way up toward his ear. He grimaced in an effort to keep his tongue still.

  “That’s what you get, you bloody beggar,” said Chaney.

  He felt a surge of heat fill his immaterial body, and he kicked angrily at the traitor’s leg.

  Escevar cried out, falling to one knee.

  “I said silence!” screeched Drakkar, raising his hand for another spell.

  The Hulorn put a hand on his arm and shook his head.

  “We still have need of him,” the lord mayor cautioned.

  “Oh, most excellent!” shouted Chaney. He could hardly believe what had just happened. The ghost raised his foot and stamped hard on Escevar’s thigh. “Take that, you rat!”

  With a grunt, Escevar fell to the floor, clutching his leg.

  “The razor,” Andeth chided Drakkar. “Not the club. How many times must I tell you?”

  “It was only a cantrip …” murmured Drakkar, seemingly mystified by the potency of his own spell.

  Chaney could tell by the angle of Radu’s head that he suspected the ghost was responsible for Escevar’s discomfort. If nothing else, he must have wondered at Chaney’s exclamation, but he dared not speak to him in front of the others. Instead, he remained silent, as usual—and, as usual, his silence began to make the other men fidget uncomfortably until they returned to the matter at hand.

  “This man will lead you to Stormweather Towers and let you in,” said Drakkar. “There, find Tamlin Uskevren and put an end to him.”

  “The Uskevren are exceptional targets,” said Radu.

  “You’d better believe it, Malveen,” said Chaney. “You go in there, and I promise you won’t be coming back out.”

  Drakkar looked to Andeth, who frowned but bobbed his head.

  The Hulorn said, “Perhaps a fifty percent increase in your usual fee?”

  “Triple it,” said Radu, “and pay me now.”

  “Surely you jest,” said Andeth. “For that sum, I could hire a small army.”

  Radu shrugged and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” said Andeth. “Double it is, then. Half now, half on compl—wait!”

  Radu had one hand on the balcony rail.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” said the Hulorn. “Triple it is. Drakkar, fetch my butler.”

  Drakkar gaped at his master’s offhanded dismissal, but he obeyed.

  “Such a sum should do much to improve Laskar’s circumstances,” said Andeth. Chaney saw Radu stiffen, but only because he was watching for a reaction. So was the Hulorn, apparently. “Who knows how far the Malveen star could rise with your continued service to the city.”

  As the trio approached Stormweather Towers, Chaney continued to test his newfound power. It failed more often than it succeeded, but he learned that he could inflict at least an annoying injury on the frightened Escevar if he struck while angry.

  The problem was that he was more fearful than angry. He knew Tal had little love for his older brother, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t take pleasure in Tamlin’s death.

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” said Radu, “lest I act beyond the purview of my employ.”

  Escevar bobbed his head in tepid agreement, but Chaney suspected the words were actually meant for him.

  Chaney feared that Radu relished the thought of facing Tal. No other swordsman had come so close to Radu’s skill, and Tal had done so largely by dint of his supernatural strength and resilience. Radu’s new, unholy powers more than made up for the advantages of a werewolf.

  Werewolf.…

  The thought gave Chaney an idea. Just as Tal’s affliction had been both a curse and a blessing, being a ghost provided certain advantages. Chaney had devoted himself to tormenting his killer with nothing but words, but he had at least one other weapon at his disposal, providing he could learn how to use it in time.

  Yet Chaney wondered what else he could do. If the stories were true, then perhaps he could do more than smite a living man with his rage.

  Chaney reached into Radu’s body. He clutched for his heart and squeezed.

  Radu didn’t even break his stride.

  Dark, thought Chaney.

  He tried again with both hands, to no better effect.

  Despite the failure to hurt Radu, Chaney did feel something. It was like the physical sensation of slipping on a pair of gloves.

  Hopeful, Chaney thrust his arms into Radu—one down each of the assassin’s own arms—and he stepped into the living man’s body.

  Chaney felt like a child struggling with a shirt his nanny was trying to force over his head. He felt the weight of limbs and torso begin to form over his own ethereal body. Cold surged from the place his heart had been and ran through a network of veins he no longer had.

  Radu stopped walking. He shook his head violently then he turned around to look behind him.

  Ahead of him, Escevar stopped and looked back, puzzled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Chaney felt Radu’s body shiver and his muscles grow taut.

  “Stop it!” hissed the assassin.

  Chaney could no longer stifle his laughter.

  “Why didn’t I try this months ago?”

  He kept shrugging his arms and legs into Radu’s body, trying for a comfortable fit. The cold he felt did not subside. Instead, it grew sharper.

  Radu clenched his fists, and Chaney felt the unutterable pain as the hardened sinews of his right hand ground and popped. He felt the molten agony of the bone shards still embedded in his face, even as the rest of his skull felt as cold as ice.

  “What?” repeated Escevar, his voice a whisper, as he backed away from Radu.

  “Relax,” said Chaney.

  He heard the trembling in his voice, even as he tried to sound nonchalant. Stinging hot tears welled in his eyes, but the cold in the rest of his body continued to intensify. He wanted to laugh, to mock Radu, to shout out in triumph, but the words were frozen in his mouth. The pain continued to grow until at last all Chaney wanted to do was scream, but he couldn’t even breathe.

  Get out!

  Chaney fell to the ground in a thousand shards o
f shattered ice. Above him, Radu Malveen staggered briefly, then he stepped briskly away from the spot where he’d been momentarily rooted.

  “Try that again,” said Radu, “and I will kill every living thing within those walls.”

  “But I did—”

  “Silence,” Radu cut off Escevar. “I was not talking to you.”

  Escevar led the rest of the way in silence. Radu followed from a safe distance, keeping to the shadows. Chaney limped along behind him, still shuddering from the pain of being ejected forcibly from his first attempt at possession. It felt like a combination of a severe beating, a heroic hangover, and an infernal case of frostbite.

  “What in the Nine Hells is inside of him?” Chaney asked himself, then he realized he’d probably answered his own question.

  At the gate to Stormweather Towers, Escevar balked at the sight of a doubled guard. They saluted when he came into the torchlight and they recognized the master’s butler.

  “What has happened?” said Escevar.

  “My lord requests you attend him at once,” said the guard.

  As two of the guard’s comrades flanked him, Escevar realized his peril. He said nothing, however, as the guards removed his sword and took him by the arms.

  The moment they entered the herald’s door, Radu struck.

  To Chaney it appeared that Radu’s blade had merely caressed the first guard’s neck before thrusting forward to stab up into the second man’s jaw. They fell forward simultaneously, as if stumbling over the same unseen obstacle.

  One of the men holding Escevar released his captive and reached down to catch one of his companions. He saw the dark shape of Radu’s coat flap toward him, but before he could open his mouth to shout an alarm, his eyes became the mouths of twin streams flowing down his cheeks.

  The fourth guard had time to draw his blade, but he made the mistake of using Escevar as his shield.

  Radu lunged forward, transfixing both men through the heart.

  For a moment, all five bodies remained intact. Radu ran past them as steam rose from their open wounds into the chill night air, then, each within a second of the previous, the bodies crumbled to white ash and flowed after their killer.

  The assassin was already running toward the house, so the pale essence of the dead men swirled behind him like the foamy wake of a black ship.

  Guards shouted from the grand entrance to Stormweather Towers, “Who’s there? Stand and unfold yourself!”

  Radu veered away from the main entrance and ran through the garden. The wisps of his victims continued to trail behind him like smoke from a burning man.

  Chaney saw a pair of guards at the kitchen door. They arched their necks to peer west through the shadows of the garden, but they didn’t see Radu sprinting through the shadows. Chaney knew what their fate would be when the killer reached them. If he had a voice to warn them, he would …

  Before he could reconsider his sudden inspiration, Chaney flew toward one of the guards—astonishingly, even faster than Radu. His ghostly form entered one of the guards. After an instant of quickly smothered confusion, Chaney felt the night air on his face, warm woolen clothes upon his body, and most amazingly—the body that housed his spirit.

  “Over here!” yelled Chaney, pointing toward Radu. “Over here!”

  The other guard drew his sword and peered where Chaney pointed, but he saw nothing.

  “Run!” advised Chaney. “You can’t stop him!”

  The guard turned to question his companion just as Radu emerged from the darkness.

  “Sorry,” said Chaney.

  He stepped out of the possessed guard’s body just as the man’s partner felt Radu’s blade sever his spine.

  The guard Chaney had inhabited shook his head and blinked at the sight of his fallen companion. He raised his sword to defend himself, but Radu beat it aside effortlessly. The assassin’s blade dipped neatly into the man’s throat.

  Chaney knew he’d given the guard no time to escape, even if he could apprehend his peril in the second before his death. Still, the ghost didn’t want to find out what would happen to him if he was in the man’s body at the moment of death. Perhaps nothing, since he was already dead and bound to Radu. He wanted time to give the matter more thought before he dared to experiment.

  Chaney consoled himself in the knowledge that his shout had started an alarm all around the house. First a chain of voices, and a rapid, resounding bell alerted all within Stormweather Towers to the danger.

  “Now you’re well and truly buggered,” said Chaney. “No point in going on, now that the entire house is alerted. Maybe you could take a nice holiday along the southern Moonsea. You could use some sun.”

  Radu ignored both Chaney’s jibes and the disintegrating bodies of the guards and pulled on the kitchen door. It remained firmly shut.

  “I’m guessing about now you’re wishing you’d taken his keys before killing your guide,” said Chaney. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The vapors of his victims finally caught up to Radu. They rushed over his body, then into his face, through the holes in his mask, and finally—Chaney imagined—into his mouth and nostrils.

  Radu gasped at the massive influx of power. It wracked his body and threw the sword from his hand.

  “Oh, dark and empty,” gulped Chaney.

  An instant later, the magical feedback reached him, too. It blasted the very memory of substance from his mind, unraveled all his reason, and scrubbed the vision from his eyes. For an eternity or a second, all he knew was a universe of white screams.

  When reality returned, it was a sensation of motion. Radu dragged Chaney by his invisible leash through the splintered kitchen door. The staff had long since gone to bed, except for Brilla, the chief cook. She clutched a trembling knife in one hand as she pressed her plump body against the far wall. Chaney remembered the woman fondly, for she’d always been kind to him even as the other servants avoided young master Talbot’s scurrilous friend. He was glad to see Radu had wasted no time for killing her before he sought his target.

  He felt the tug and got his feet beneath him. He ran to catch up to Radu, but something blocked his way.

  Chaney realized he could still hear the screams from the recent influx of life. Barely visible, even to his sight, the ghostly images of Radu’s victims huddled all around him. They clutched at Chaney’s clothes and hair like palsied beggars craving a coin. One of them grasped his knees in the ancient gesture of petition. Chaney looked down at the demented face of the man he’d possessed. Confusion and betrayal swelled in his eyes.

  Those damnable eyes. They would not stop looking at him.

  “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll think of something.”

  The phantoms released him, and Chaney ran out of the kitchen.

  He found Radu in the long passage between the feast hall and the kitchens. Radu stood near the center of the corridor, crouched in a swordsman’s guard. A white halo blazed around his head as the surplus of unholy energy burned from his saturated body.

  Radu put his back to the huge oaken feast hall door. To either side and across from him, ranks of mounted armor lined the walls, each beneath the personal insignia of its former owner. House guards stood before either end of the corridor. They held their target shields before them, edges overlapping to form a wall over which they thrust the points of their swords. With the help of the empty armor, they surrounded the intruder. Slowly they marched toward the center of the hall, hedging him in where he had no escape.

  Radu spun around and kicked the feast hall door. His foot shot through the thick wood, creating a hole just large enough to reveal the ranks of house guards already waiting behind it.

  Chaney allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction at seeing his nemesis cornered, then he sank into the body of one of the house guards, careful not to take one from the front ranks. Merging with the man’s body felt like forcing himself into a pool of cool mud. It was more difficult than possessing the guard at the kitchen d
oor but far easier than forcing his way into Radu Malveen.

  “He means to kill Tamlin!” shouted Chaney. “Be careful, he’s inhumanly strong and deadly with that blade. Take him down with spears!”

  A man wearing a sergeant’s braid looked incredulously at Chaney’s host and said, “How do you—?”

  “Oops,” said Chaney.

  He stepped out of the guard’s body into the sergeant’s, earning an instant promotion.

  “Do it!” said Chaney with his new authority. “Summon reinforcements with spears.”

  One look at the cornered assassin told him that Radu had heard his command and understood its true source. He glanced up to see the higher reaches of the grand stairway.

  “Look out!” shouted Chaney. “He’s—”

  Radu had already leaped fifteen feet up to the second floor. He ran toward the east wing—

  Toward Tamlin’s bedchamber.

  “That’s a stroke of luck,” said one of the guards near Chaney.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The master is still down in the cellars, overseeing the—”

  “Oh, dark,” said Chaney.

  The ghost had long feared that he and Radu each heard what the other did, as demonstrated by his own recent “eavesdropping” on the message Drakkar sent the assassin. Before he could say anything else to the guards, Chaney felt himself pulled from the sergeant, toward Radu.

  On the lower floor.

  Even amid the shouts and alarms throughout the house, Chaney heard the constant moaning of his spectral choir. They floated all around him, no longer content to lurk in the shadows. Something had stirred them. Chaney wondered whether there was a limit to the number of souls Radu could contain. Or perhaps the ghosts sensed something Chaney himself could not, some dread oracle of disaster.

  Chaney willed himself along the tether that bound him to Radu. The motion carried him through the marble tiles, past the stone foundation, and into the rocky soil beneath. At last he emerged in a stairway of unadorned stone. There, Radu fought a hulking figure in Uskevren livery.