He reached the double doors, glancing back at the battle around the entrance. His eyes flicked up, but it was too dark to see the little figure in the window. Stetch raised a foot and booted the doors open, charging in to find four guards ready for him. He’d already stuck half a foot of steel into the nearest man before they had realised what was happening, but the survivors reacted quickly, closing in and using rapid, economical strikes to hammer at Stetch’s guard. He fell back a pace, twin swords moving in the old, familiar patterns learned at Stonepoint. Another pace back then another and he was out onto the porch. Only two could fit through, so he took down the first. The third man fell a moment later, unable to defend against two swords simultaneously.
The last man looked on with an expression of surprise Stetch saw all too often. He showed him what real surprise was by jamming two feet of steel through the man’s gut and leaving him bleeding out on his knees as Stetch made his way to the stairs, ignoring the pair of guards racing along the hall towards him.
Eleven.
He heard the first hum of an arrow as his foot brushed the bottom step. A moment later the sound was duplicated. Stetch didn’t look back, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced upwards. It seemed like an eternity but he figured no more than a minute had passed since the alarm was raised. How close is Calderon? Has he found her already? Stetch ignored the first floor, racing up towards the top floor. That’s where she’ll be, he knew. Dead or alive, Calderon was going to suffer.
*
Salazar poked his head over the lip of the wall, dropping back down half a second later. He signalled to Riedel and Stennis. Two men patrolling this way, two others on their way back round.
The pair nodded, each readying their bows. Riedel, Salazar noticed, looked far too pale. If it was anyone else up there, I’d leave him here, Salazar thought, counting off the seconds as the guards circled round the house. If it was anyone else inside, he would probably listen. The Sworn were, he had noticed, fiercely protective of Katarina – almost as if she was one of them. She always could wrap men around her little finger. Even, it seemed, the Sworn – men not known for their friendly natures or tolerance of anyone not belonging to their elite brotherhood.
He counted down the last few seconds; any moment now Stetch would be strolling up to the gates. Salazar had never spent much time with the man, but occasionally he heard things from his Sworn brothers. They spoke of him rarely, and then only in the same kind of hushed whispers he had heard Kenzin Morrow mentioned before his desertion from the order. A hard man, even by Sworn standards, and with all the flexibility of a wall; that was what Salazar had heard. A man with a lot of names on his account. They said that, too.
Three…two…
Salazar nodded and Riedel leaned his bow against the wall, his hands forming a step that Salazar bounced off, adding a push from his palms on the wall’s top to vault over silently. He dropped to the grass, eyes flicking between the departing guards and the space about to be filled by two more. He caught the bow as it sailed over with barely a glance and edged away from the wall. Salazar planted an arrow in the ground and put another to the nock as Stennis mounted the wall, sitting astride it as he hauled Riedel up and over.
Too slow, Salazar thought as Riedel hit the ground with a muted oomph. Stennis followed a second later as the guards came into view. Salazar loosed his first arrow, the second in his hand before the bowstring stilled. The second followed a moment later, puncturing the target’s chest just as his mouth opened. Salazar glanced at his companions, and saw a grim expression on Riedel’s face, his arrow barely out of the quiver. He mouthed sorry and Salazar nodded, shouldering his bow and running towards the house at a low crouch, sparing a silent curse for the Gurdal who had shaved a second off Riedel’s reaction times.
The three reached the back wall, ducking low to stay below the windows and following in the wake of the guards’ clockwise patrol. Any moment now, Salazar thought as he rounded the corner, the patrolling pair ahead nearing the front of the grounds. Salazar moved silently, passing another window and reaching the servants’ door just as the first screams drifted through the night air. Stetch is here. He drew a long knife, one hand on the door. There’s no more time. Salazar twisted the handle and pushed the door open, following in its wake as the alarm was raised.
He emerged in a kitchen, dark and empty except for a single guard seated at the table, slicing an apple with his dagger. His head was already rising as Salazar slipped in, hand pulling back to throw his dagger. Salazar stepped to his left, hearing the snap of a bowstring just as the guard reached his feet. The guard stood there for a moment, staring at the arrow in his chest with a look of surprise before dropping back to his chair.
Salazar continued through the kitchen, sheathing his knife and drawing his sword. A quick look back to check the others were still with him, then Salazar opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Find the servant’s stairs, he told himself as the sounds of battle percolated through from the front. He turned right onto the corridor, moving at a quick walk. A space opened up on his right, and Salazar just had time to raise his sword as a figure charged down the stairs, their blades interlocking as momentum carried them into the wall. The guard tried to force his sword through Salazar’s neck, his own badly positioned to deflect it. An inch closer, the steel almost brushing his throat, then the guard slumped, falling away as Stennis withdrew his sword.
Salazar took a deep breath then started up the stairs to the next floor. He kept low, giving Riedel a clear view of anyone ahead. A few seconds later they emerged on the first floor as the sounds of violence reached the front of the house. There’s no more time, Salazar thought as he reached the top, two hulking shapes hurtling towards him from the right as more shapes barrelled down the corridor from the other direction. He spun to face the two on his right as a bowstring twanged, the pair slashing at him in unison. Salazar parried again and again as the seconds ticked by, thoughts of his sister in the back of his mind as the guards tried to wear him down.
Have to end this quickly, he thought as he felt Stennis and Riedel close behind him, the trio pinned in place by the guards. They’re damned good, he thought as a thrust narrowly missed his ear. Again and again they pressed him, their speed wearing him down. Salazar feinted one way, then jinked left, his sword slapping aside the left guard’s blade as he overextended himself. Salazar’s sword swept back, a quick strike severing his throat. He brought his sword back down just in time to block the remaining guard’s wrong-footed slash, nicking the man’s side then striking again and again, a flurry of rapid strikes that opened enough wounds to distract the hired hand just long enough for Salazar to slip the tip of his sword through his heart. He yanked the sword free, pivoting back to his companions as Riedel killed the last man with a grunt.
Salazar looked down and saw Stennis slumped against the wall, a dark stain spreading across his tunic and a thin trickle of blood working its way down his chin.
‘Go,’ Riedel told him, bending down over his fallen comrade.
Salazar looked down at his friend. Stennis offered him a weak smile. ‘Good times,’ he coughed.
A high-pitched scream ripped through the house and Salazar’s head snapped up. That came from upstairs. It sounded like…
‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said to Stennis. Salazar turned and raced up the stairs. I’m too late. The single thought kept bouncing through his skull as he took the stairs two at a time. I’m too late, I’m too late – with every thump of his feet that single terrifying thought shot through him. I’m too late.
18.
‘Are you sure this will work?’
Kartane shrugged. ‘That’s why you’re going first.’
‘Great,’ Tol muttered. If this didn’t work, he probably wouldn’t get the chance to tell Kartane how stupid his idea was.
‘He’s coming,’ Kal whispered.
‘You know where to aim?’ Tol asked. ‘We’ll only get the one chance at this.’
‘I can do this,’ Kal said. ‘You should worry more about what’s waiting for you.’
Tol muttered an apology to his cousin as he peeked out over the window sill. It’s a long way down. Behind him he could hear Kartane looping rope over the tower’s crossbeam. Tol glanced up; the roof didn’t look that strong. This was a bad idea.
‘Cheer up,’ Kartane whispered breezily, ‘this is going to be fun.’
Tol ignored him, watching over the lip of the window as Stetch staggered up to the front entrance. Any moment now. A second passed, then another, and suddenly the first guard fell, then the next as Stetch danced among them.
‘Now,’ Tol whispered.
Kal rose, took a deep breath and sighted along the arrow.
Come on, Tol silently urged. The moment seemed to draw out forever as Kal pulled back his arm, loosing the arrow as he exhaled softly.
Tol watched as the arrow sailed across the street over the heads of the guards. It flew straight and true, burying itself in the wooden frame above a window on the top floor.
‘Kartane!’
Tol looked over his shoulder, but Kartane was already tightening the line, quickly knotting the rope and pulling it taut. Kartane nodded as he twanged the rope.
‘See you on the other side,’ he grinned. ‘Or in heaven.’
‘There’s…’ no heaven, Tol was about to say as he stepped up to the window and slung the leather cord over the rope. ‘…No way you’d get into heaven,’ he said instead. He tightened his grip on the thin leather cord. He took a deep breath and clambered over the windowsill. This had better work, Tol thought as he let the rope take his weight. For a moment nothing happened, he just dangled from the rope, holding the thin strip of leather from which he dangled. The rope held, and Tol felt himself gathering speed, faster and faster as he held the leather strap in a death-grip. Faster still, flying over the gate, and the wall of the house was rushing to meet him.
Too fast, Tol thought as the wind whipped his hair. He just had time to lift his legs, feet pointing forward, and the window loomed huge in front of him. Almost… Tol let go of the strap at the last second before impact, his momentum carrying him through the glass window and into the room beyond. He hit hard, bouncing on the floor and stumbling forwards, momentum sending him stumbling into the far wall. Tol bounced off it, dazed, drawing his sword and looking around him. Empty. He had a second’s warning – a shadow moving in his periphery – and dived out of the way as Kartane followed him through the window.
Kartane picked himself up, wild-eyed and grinning madly. He looked how Tol felt, heart hammering in his throat. As Kartane dusted himself off, Tol strode to the door. I have to find Katarina. He opened the door and slipped into the hall with Illis’Andiev at the ready.
It was empty, no signs of movement. ‘Split up,’ he whispered.
Tol crept along and put his hand to the first door on the left while Kartane took the opposite side of the corridor. She has to be here. He couldn’t let himself believe Katarina was dead. She has to be alive. Tol flung the first door open wide and bounded in, sword at the ready.
Empty. He came out into the hall at the same time as Kartane. The knight shook his head and they moved to the next door. They’ll be coming to kill her, Tol knew. I have to get there first. He kicked the next door in and stormed through, but found the room empty as the first. Kartane was waiting outside, still half-grinning from their daring entry. His eyes flicked to the front staircase as he heard the pounding of feet. ‘Keep searching,’ Kartane told him, ‘I’ll deal with these.’
Tol nodded his thanks, and moved on to the next room. Let it be this one, he told himself. He took a breath and booted the door open.
He stood there for a moment, his chest tight as he saw her, tied to a chair in the middle of the room, her head bowed, chin against her chest. She has to be a—
Three feet of steel swung through the doorway at Tol’s chest. He brought up Illis’Andiev, but knew he was slow, too slow. The discordant ring of steel grinding on steel reached his ears just as something brushed Tol’s ribs. He roared in anger as the pain hit, reacting without thought as he saw the guard stepping out from his hiding place by the wall. Tol threw a shoulder into him, forcing the guard back a pace. He brought his forehead down hard as they separated and felt the man’s nose shatter. The guard staggered back, and Tol brought Illis’Andiev up in a rough, inelegant arc across his torso. The guard fell away, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Tol ignored the damp feeling in his left side, eyes riveted to the chair as Katarina’s head slowly came up.
‘Steven?’ She sounded surprised, almost like she’d been expecting someone else. ‘You came for me.’
Tol nodded and stepped towards her. ‘Always,’ he breathed softly. She was battered, bruises spotted across her tawny skin, but those eyes were as defiant as ever. Her clothes were tattered and covered in grime, sand and blood. Every bit as beautiful and dangerous as I remember.
‘About time,’ Katarina muttered. Her expression changed and Tol saw the fear. He twisted round but something slammed into his right shoulderblade. Someone screamed with him as the impact made him stumble, Illis’Andiev falling from suddenly-numb fingers.
He was there in the doorway, twirling another dagger as he leered at Katarina. ‘Told you I’d come back for you,’ Calderon’s manservant drawled. ‘First, you can watch your dumb northman die, then I’ll take my time with you.’
Tol reached down, his arm moving a few inches before the pain had him hissing through his teeth. The dagger was buried deep and any movement made the pain flare bright as a star.
‘Can’t use your sword hand?’ Calderon’s man laughed. ‘Ah, well.’ He smiled at Katarina, the sheer hatred in the look setting Tol’s teeth on edge. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ Calderon’s servant said. He cocked his throwing arm and Tol’s heart skipped a beat.
No, he thought as the venomous smile broadened.
‘Kill him for me, Steven,’ Katarina said quietly, and Tol knew she understood that look too.
‘Here’s something to think about while you wait,’ the manservant said, his arm snapping forward as Tol moved, leaning to his right, left leg snapping out to kick Katarina square in the shoulder as the dagger left its owner’s hand.
She tumbled over with a cry, the chair toppling with her as the thrown dagger hissed harmlessly by to clatter against the wall. Tol bent down and picked up Illis’Andiev with his left hand as the manservant drew his own sword.
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he leered at Katarina as Tol moved to put himself between the two. Where’s Kartane when I need him?
Calderon’s manservant sauntered towards him, sword held loosely in front of him. I should have seen this, Tol thought as their eyes met. The man wasn’t a servant turned killer, but a killer masquerading as a servant. How did I not see the killer behind the eyes?
Steel flicked lazily towards him, and Tol parried clumsily. I have to beat him, he thought, I can’t lose her. Another playful strike swung at him, and Tol barely knocked it aside. I have to win.
His fingers tingled, and a sibilant voice whispered in his head, You know this dance. Tol started in surprise, the manservant interpreting it as fear. ‘Know you’re outclassed, eh?’ he chuckled. ‘I only wish we had more time.’ He lunged forward, and Tol fell back a pace, the voice filling his head again. Trust yourself, it told him, your body knows this dance. Relax and follow the rhythm. Another strike, this one grazing Tol’s cheek. Your left arm remembers the movements, the voice of Illis’Andiev told him, it can dance alone.
Tol frowned, awkwardly fending off another blow. This is bloody stupid, he told himself. Calderon’s man lunged again, this time nicking Tol’s left arm.
Trust me, the voice told him. Relax and let the rhythm take you.
Another playful lunge forced Tol back a pace. He could sense Katarina right behind him, no more than a pace away. He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to relax as the servant came at him again faster. Tol parried
it, and the next. He struck back, Illis’Andiev light as a feather in his hand. He fell into the rhythm, flowing through the first form and into the second while his right arm hung uselessly at his side. Calderon’s man fell back a pace, a deep frown urging Tol on. His mind fell away, sword moving in alternating patterns as he pushed forward a pace, then another. He saw the fury appear on his opponent’s face, saw the discipline break and the twitch of a muscle indicate the coming move. He flowed forward, blade spearing through the crook of the rising arm and into the servant’s heart, momentum shearing through the thin layer of muscle almost to the elbow’s bone. His mouth opened in the beginning of a soundless scream, eyes wide in astonishment. He toppled backwards and hit the floor with a resounding thud.
It worked, Tol thought. He stood there staring at the corpse, recalling the near-perfection of his attack, the technique easily the equal of anything he could achieve with both hands. It worked.
‘Well, are you going to leave me here all night?’
The high screech brought Tol back to his senses and he turned round, never so happy to see such a furious face. He grinned, unable to help himself.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ Her voice dropped. ‘And you can wipe that smile off your face!’
‘It’s good to see you,’ Tol said as reached down with Illis’Andiev and cut the ropes.
‘Next time try and say hello without your feet,’ Katarina muttered, climbing unsteadily to her feet. She frowned at him, their eyes meeting in a moment Tol didn’t want to end.
‘Where’s Stetch?’
Tol sagged. ‘He’s here.’ He turned his back to her so she wouldn’t see how hurt he was. ‘Can you get that bloody dagger out?’
Katarina wrenched it out without warning as footsteps echoed outside. ‘I didn’t know you were left-handed.’
‘I’m not,’ Tol replied, readying his sword.
Kartane stepped into view, his clothes covered in a thick layer of blood. ‘You sure you want to rescue her?’ he grinned. A hand shoved him out of the way and Stetch appeared in the doorway. ‘You’re alive,’ he grunted, just as sour as ever.
Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3) Page 13