The knife sank into her belly, fire spreading from the wound.
She gasped, unable to utter any other sound.
Her hand grabbed her own knife, and reflexes born of many a dockside brawl took over. Fighting the pain and nausea of her own wound, she plunged her dagger into Jamshir’s thigh.
He let out a high-pitched scream and pulled back, his knife sliding out of her, doing more damage on the way. Blood ran down her front, hot and sticky.
Jocasta tasted something foul, like iron, and knew that she was hurt badly.
Jamshir was moving away, limping backward and grasping at his right leg, his screams shrill.
“Shut him up!” Darius said. “He’ll bring the whole House down on us!”
Jocasta drew her other dagger, fighting to stay upright. Jamshir stared at her with the wide eyes of a child who’d been unfairly punished. With a snap of her wrist, she sent the dagger flying, turning end over end.
Her aim was good. It took Jamshir in the throat, cutting off his screams. He grabbed at it, the blood spurting between his fingers, a harsh rasp coming from his open mouth. He turned to run, staggered on his wounded leg and crashed into the wall.
Sliding down it, he turned his head to stare at Jocasta, tears running down his cheeks.
Time seemed to slow, and it took forever for him to die, his breath rasping in and out, becoming shallower by the moment, until finally, mercifully, it stopped, and Jamshir was no more.
Chapter 80
It all happened so fast that Darius barely had time to move. Jamshir appeared, stabbed Jocasta, screamed and died within moments. He vaguely recalled telling her to stop him from screaming, but he didn’t mean to…to…
He was shaken from his stupor by Willow rushing past him to help Jocasta. He ran also, catching her as she started to crumple to the floor.
“Stay calm,” Willow said, her voice measured.
“I’m always calm,” Jocasta said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Good. That’s good.” Willow was already moving, ripping open Jocasta’s shirt to get at her wound.
It didn’t look good, at least not to Darius’s untrained eyes. Her belly was slick with blood and it was hard to tell where in the mess it was coming from. But considering the way it was running down her sides and pooling beneath her, it was obviously still bleeding badly.
“He got me,” Jocasta whispered. “Can’t believe I let him do that.”
“Yeah, well, you got him back,” Darius said and tried to smile at her. He was afraid that he managed nothing more than a rictus grin.
“Huh. Yeah…too bad…”
He was about to ask her what she meant when Willow hushed him.
“I need to concentrate,” she said. “You need to keep watch. And see if you spot the others coming.”
She was sending him away so that she could work in peace. Darius could respect that. He was always able to work better magic when he could focus on it as well. He was pretty sure that everyone could. After all, it wasn’t unusual that…
Even to himself, he was babbling.
He was actually trying to distract himself from what lay ahead. They were counting on Jocasta being their secret weapon, their momentary decoy that would allow the others to get to Malachi without getting cut to shreds.
If she wasn’t with them, then what? Call the whole thing off? Send in Solomon and hope that he was quick enough to get Malachi before he made a portal and escaped?
And even if Jocasta could continue, was this nothing more than a fool’s errand? She’d let herself be gutted by a decrepit madman. How could she possibly stand up to Malachi, even for a moment?
“Calm yourself,” he thought.
He tried to put it in Willow’s voice. You’re panicking over nothing. Willow will heal Jocasta and, unlike with Jamshir, she’ll be on her guard against Malachi. All we need is a few seconds. Keep him occupied and let Thaddeus fry him, or Jocasta stab him, or Melanie break his mind again. Or Solomon….do whatever it was that Solomon did.
He controlled his breathing. Nothing stirred in the hallway. He moved a short distance away, going to the stairs leading to the second above-ground floor. Nothing there, either.
Walking back to where he left the other two he heard Willow suddenly gasp, and broke into a run, opening his mind to the magic.
He was no Thaddeus, but he knew a few spells that would cause someone to think again. He ducked his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small, sharp piece of metal. A few quick words and it would fly through the air like an arrow, enough to put out an eye if need be.
There was no sign of any attacker.
Jocasta was still lying in her own blood, her skin ashen. Willow knelt next to her, eyes closed, murmuring softly under her breath.
Darius wanted to ask her if she was okay but didn’t dare interrupt what she was doing. He held onto his piece of metal and resumed watching in every direction at once as best he could.
Minutes passed, and still Willow continued to chant quietly. With every passing second, Darius became more and more certain that someone was going to come upon them. Someone that he couldn’t handle on his own, maybe even Malachi himself.
No one did.
Finally, after an eternity, Willow opened her eyes and sat back. Darius rushed to her and put his arm around her shoulders, supporting her and helping her to sit with her back against the wall.
“I’m all right,” the healer said. “And she will be, too.”
Jocasta was looking better. Her eyes were still closed, but her chest was moving up and down steadily. The blood was drying on her skin and no more seemed to be flowing from her stomach.
“Nicely done,” Darius said, sitting next to Willow. “How soon can she move?”
“Normally, I’d say not for a couple of days. The wound was deep. He did a lot of damage.”
“We don’t have a couple of days.”
“No. I know. Let me rest for a moment or two, then we’ll wake her.”
She put her head on his shoulder and as nice as that feeling was, he was fighting impatience. They couldn’t stay here in the middle of the hall, with Jocasta unconscious and Jamshir dead a few paces further on. They needed to move, to at least find a better place to hide.
“Let me look around,” he said.
Willow nodded and moved her head off his shoulder, leaning it back against the wall. She opened her eyes and looked at Jocasta.
“I don’t think she knows,” she said.
“Knows what?” Darius climbed to his feet. There was still no sign of anyone else in the whole place.
“Who she is,” Willow said.
“Mm? Who is she?”
He didn’t really care. They needed to move, but Willow needed a moment more, apparently.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she pushed herself away from the wall and crawled to Jocasta. She held her hands over the woman’s head and chanted again, slightly louder this time, causing Darius to wince at the noise.
Jocasta’s eyes fluttered open. She stared up at the ceiling then over at Willow.
“Why are you looming over me?”
Willow laughed.
Jocasta groaned and gingerly turned over, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. She stopped there for a moment, then slowly rose upright.
“You’re worth your reputation, healer,” she said, her hands running over her stomach.
“Thank you. And you, yours.”
“Can we have this mutual admiration party some other time?” Darius said. “We need to move.”
“Of course,” Willow said, taking his hand. “You have to be careful, though,” she said to Jocasta. “I’ve healed the wound, but it’s still going to hurt for a while.”
They started toward the stairs, but when Darius glanced back, he saw that Jocasta hadn’t moved. She was standing where they left her, staring at Jamshir’s body.
“Are you coming?” he asked, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”
Jocasta turned away from the body and walked toward them.
“Good. Finally.”
He was being unreasonable but didn’t care. He just wanted this over with.
“Malachi is two flights up,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
They did. They saw no one as they climbed the stairs, moving slowly to accommodate Jocasta.
The top floor consisted of a long hallway, lined with windows on one side. In the past, Darius had loved coming up here when he was allowed. The view of the mountains was breathtaking.
Now, he hardly noticed it. At the end of the hallway was an ornate door, carved from one solid piece of wood. No one lived or worked on this floor other than Malachi.
There was no sign of Solomon and the others.
“What now?” Willow whispered.
Darius shrugged, unsure of what to do.
The door at the end of the hall opened.
“Come in,” Malachi said. “I insist.”
Chapter 81
“Why here?” Thaddeus asked.
The portal Melanie opened deposited them in a stone chamber, with open manacles hanging from the ceiling and blood stains on the floor.
“I didn’t want to come in too close to Malachi,” she said.
“Where are the others?” Solomon asked.
Thaddeus felt his cheeks redden. Melanie’s were doing the same.
Solomon laughed softly. “Best laid plans. You always forget some small detail. It’s going to work out. They’re smart enough to head for Malachi, we’ll do the same.”
It was still annoying that they hadn’t even thought to ask each other where they were going. Now, they needed to get through the whole of House Subtle Hemlock on their own.
“You could have put us somewhere further up,” Thaddeus muttered.
“And have someone see us? And then warn him?”
She was right, of course. Thaddeus just wasn’t looking forward to having to work their way all the way up.
They walked to the open door of the cell and peered out. No one was in the corridor outside. Walking quietly, they made their way past several other cell doors, glancing through the bars. All were unoccupied.
No one was on guard at the entrance to the dungeon, or in the hall outside of it.
“Stairs are down there,” Thaddeus said, indicating the far end.
“Charming place,” Solomon said.
“It’s nicer upstairs.”
“And is it always this quiet?”
“No,” Melanie replied. “And that’s strange. I don’t really know how often the dungeon is used, but these rooms along here are for training and practice. There should be someone…”
Silence reigned in the hallway when she trailed off.
“Come on,” Thaddeus said.
A horrific odor assaulted them as soon as they left the stairwell, coming to another long corridor with doors spaced along it. Unlike the dungeon below, these doors were solid, with no windows allowing a view to the inside.
“What is that?” Melanie put her nose into the crook of her arm.
“It’s death,” Solomon said quietly.
“Whose?” Thaddeus said.
He didn’t want to head down that hallway. But the stairs that continued upward, the way to Malachi, were at the other end. He didn’t know if that was by design or due to some restriction in how the place was constructed. Regardless, to get out of here, they needed to go that way.
“Let’s hurry,” Melanie said.
“No,” Solomon replied. “We need to see what this is. As distasteful as it may be, we can’t go on not knowing what we’re leaving behind us.”
“Let’s get it over with, then,” Thaddeus said.
The stench grew as they walked down the hallway. Halfway down, on the left side, one of the doors was open. Solomon strode forward, hand on the hilt of his sword and looked inside. He grimaced and stepped away.
“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.
“Someone in a black robe, dead on a thin cot.” Solomon’s voice was flat.
Thaddeus forced himself forward, fighting down the urge to retch. It was exactly as Solomon described. A young man, dressed in the black robes of House Subtle Hemlock, was sprawled on his cot, his throat gaping wide open. Dried blood had pooled beneath him.
“I wonder what he did?” he said.
“Malachi?” Solomon asked.
Thaddeus shrugged. “I would assume so. Although for a punishment like that, it must have been something pretty bad.”
“Hey.” Melanie’s voice came from a few doors back. “There’s more.”
She had opened a door and now stood back from the opening, her eyes wide.
Inside were two more bodies, a man and woman, interrupted in an intimate moment. A hole was bored through his back, straight through her, and judging by the dried pool of blood on the floor below, through the cot beneath them as well.
It was the same in every room. Bodies in black robes, men and women, young and old, all killed in some gruesome fashion.
Thaddeus recognized a few of the faces.
“What was this place?” Solomon asked.
“Where we lived,” Thaddeus answered. “Unless you were one of Malachi’s favorites, you had a room here. There’s another section, with even smaller chambers that you have to live in when you first come here. For all his talking about the unfairness of the Greenweald, Malachi was doing the same thing.”
“These are all members of your House?”
Melanie nodded, her face pale.
“Then whatever happened here could have killed Malachi, also,” Solomon said.
“Or he did it,” Thaddeus replied. “Maybe he finally snapped.”
He could see it happening. The man was on the brink of madness and paranoia the entire time that Thaddeus had been in Subtle Hemlock. Maybe he finally broke all the way.
A cold dread settled over him as he thought about the meaning of all this, and his throat went dry.
“Mel,” he said. “If Malachi killed all of them, and no one could stop him, how are we…?”
“He took them by surprise,” she answered. “He must have. Not even Malachi is that strong.”
“I hope you’re right,” Thaddeus said.
“All right,” Solomon said. “We’re not going to get the answers standing here. Let’s get out of this stench and do what we came for.”
“You’re awful callous about this,” Melanie said, heading for the stairs.
Solomon shrugged. “I’ve seen death a lot. Too much. Besides, this is the House that caused all the problems. That killed Florian and Jediah. Do you really expect much sympathy from me?”
It was cold, and startling coming from Solomon, but Thaddeus found that he couldn’t disagree with him.
♦ ♦ ♦
They came across Jamshir’s body on one of the upper floors, still warm, the blood sluggishly flowing around the dagger in his throat.
“Jocasta,” Solomon said, squatting down and touching the hilt. “This is hers.”
He reached out and grabbed the knife.
“What are you doing?” Thaddeus asked.
“She might need it,” he replied and pulled it free.
Disturbed by the motion, Jamshir’s body slid sideways to slump onto the floor. Solomon reached out and closed his eyes.
“He wasn’t always like this, you know.” His eyes were sad. “At one time, he had the promise to be great.”
“Florian spoke highly of him for a long time,” Thaddeus said. “After that, he simply never spoke of him at all.”
“Great. Well, he’s dead now,” Melanie said. “Can we go? If he’s still warm, the others must be just ahead.”
Solomon stood, closed his eye and stood over Jamshir’s body for a few seconds before moving away.
“Two floors up from here,” Thaddeus said. “That’s where Malachi’s office is. We should find him there, hopefully.”
They made
their way up the stairs, coming out on the top floor.
In front of them stood Darius, Willow and Jocasta, all staring at the ornate wooden door at the other end of the hall.
A door that was swinging open.
“Come in,” came Malachi’s voice. “I insist.”
Chapter 82
Jocasta glanced over her shoulder at the slight noise she’d heard. The others were coming out of the stairwell. Solomon nodded to her once, then his attention was on the open doorway at the end of the hall.
He started to move forward, but Thaddeus grabbed his arm and leaned in close, whispering something in his ear. Solomon grimaced, but nodded and stepped to the side allowing the other two to pass.
“You go on.” Thaddeus whispered to Darius so quietly that Jocasta could barely hear him. “I don’t think he knows we’re here. Get him distracted, then I’ll roast him and Mel can try to scramble his brains.”
Darius nodded, not answering out loud, then turned toward the door.
“Malachi,” he called, his voice sounding fake to Jocasta’s ears. “I brought you a surprise. Two, actually.”
Malachi didn’t answer. The door gaped open, revealing a well-lit room beyond.
“All right,” Darius said. “Let’s go, you two.”
Before they moved, Solomon wordlessly handed Jocasta her second dagger. The one she left in Jamshir’s throat took it with a nod and stuck it in her belt.
She stepped forward to join Willow and they took the lead, Darius trailing behind them as if he were escorting them by force.
The office they entered wasn’t what Jocasta was expecting. Huge windows overlooking stunning mountain vistas occupied one whole wall. In front of that was a large wooden desk, neatly arranged, with a grand padded chair behind it. Two other chairs were set in front of it, small in comparison to the desk. Shelves lined one wall, holding books, vials, scrolls and other items that she didn’t have time to examine.
And Malachi himself sat behind that desk, watching them from hooded eyes. White hair, worn long and tied in a simple tail at the back, pale skin and eyes so dark they were almost black.
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