The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows

by Crilley, Paul

  Wren glanced over his shoulder to make sure Cutter couldn’t overhear. “I don’t know. I didn’t want him running out there killing everyone he laid eyes on.”

  “Yes, he is rather … enthusiastic, isn’t he?”

  Wren couldn’t hear anything through the door, so he opened it a crack. The guard room looked deserted. He pushed the door wider.

  There.

  Ravi was seated behind one of the desks, her back to him. He looked around, then froze.

  Salka was lying on the floor at the shifter’s feet.

  Wren’s mind went blank. He yanked open the door and plunged into the room, crossing the distance to the shifter before the others were even aware he was moving. He grabbed his dagger and pulled back on the chair. It tipped over backward and hit the floor. Ravi didn’t react.

  An instant later, he saw why. She was dead, a single knife wound through the neck.

  Wren lowered his dagger in confusion. How …?

  “Wren, down!” shouted Bex.

  Wren ducked and spun just in time to see Jana’s sword embed itself halfway to the hilt in Salka’s chest, thrown there by Cutter. Salka dropped the sword she had been swinging at Wren, a look of disbelief on her face. She stared into Wren’s eyes, beseeching.

  “No!” Wren shouted. He leaped up and grabbed hold of Salka, lowering her into almost the exact same position she had been in when pretending to be dead. He turned to Cutter, glaring at him through hate-blurred eyes. “What did you do?” he shouted. “What did you do?”

  “Wren …” said a weak voice. Salka.

  Wren looked down at her.

  “Wren, it’s fine. It’s good. He saved … save you. I’m so sorry.”

  “Shh,” he said, rocking the woman in his arms. “Don’t talk.”

  “Had … had to. Had—had no choice, Wren.”

  “Stop talking, Salka.” Wren turned to find Bex standing behind him. He tried to hold her up to the druid, but the blood pooling beneath them made her slip in his arms. “Bex! Save her. Fix her.”

  “I can’t, Wren,” whispered Bex. “She’s too far gone.”

  Wren shook his head and turned to Salka. He tried to smile at her. “Don’t listen to him, Salk. We’ll get you fixed up. It doesn’t matter what you did. It’ll be like it never happened.”

  Salka coughed. Blood welled from her mouth. The next moment, she grabbed hold of his arm, her nails digging into his flesh. She stared deep into his eyes and spoke in a fierce whisper. “Don’t judge me on this, Wren. Please. Judge me on wha—what came before.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed and she went limp in his arms. It was as if a weight lifted from her body. She just … emptied.

  He laid her gently down. Bex put a hand on his shoulder. “Wren, we have to go.”

  Wren shook his head and stood up. “Why? Why would she betray us like that? After all this time?”

  Bex shrugged. “She was … different, Wren. Said she was having problems of some kind.”

  “I know,” said Wren softly. “I didn’t even ask her what they were.”

  “Things have been moving a bit fast today, Wren. No one’s had a chance to catch up.”

  Wren grabbed hold of Bex’s arm. “No one hears of this, Bex. No one has to know what happened. She died in a fight with the guards. That’s it.”

  Bex nodded. “I understand.”

  Cutter had taken the keys from one of the unconscious guards and was opening a wall safe.

  “What are you doing?” snapped Wren. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with Cutter. He’d saved his life, after all. But … he killed Salka. Wren had known the woman for twenty years! And now she was dead.

  Cutter ignored him while he rummaged around inside the safe. A moment later, he withdrew two curved knives—the weapons Wren had seen him with earlier. He thrust them into his belt and turned to Wren.

  “How do we get out?”

  “We have a skycoach waiting on the roof.”

  Cutter nodded and headed for the door. Bex followed. Wren paused, took one last look at Salka, then pushed his grief away, bundled it into a tiny box that was kept hidden away at the back of his mind.

  It was an exercise that had served him well in the past.

  They retraced their steps to the balcony overlooking the interior of Warden Towers. Wren took a quick look over the side and saw many more guards than there had been earlier. They seemed to be milling around in confusion. That probably meant Dalen’s illusions had been discovered for what they were.

  They ran to the staircase that spiraled up to the top floor. No sooner had Wren placed a foot on the first step than he heard a shout from up above. Then the sounds of jingling metal, the sound one usually heard when armored guards were running. He looked at Bex.

  “Think they’ve discovered the grooms?”

  “I think it more than likely. Come.”

  They sprinted back to the balcony.

  “What’s going on?” asked Cutter. “I thought you had a way out.”

  “We did.”

  “The operative word being ‘did,’” said Bex.

  “So we fight,” said Cutter, pulling out his knives.

  Wren looked at the hunger for death he saw shining in Cutter’s eyes. If they let him get started, it wouldn’t end until they were all dead.

  “No. Cutter, if you want revenge for Rowen’s death, this isn’t the way to go about it. You can’t take on the whole of the Watch.”

  “He’s certainly willing to try,” said Bex.

  “What do you suggest?” asked Cutter.

  “We walk out,” Wren declared.

  “What?” the two men unisoned.

  “Bex and I are dressed like everyone else. You’re our prisoner. With all the confusion down there, no one will notice a thing.”

  “I don’t know, Wren,” said Bex doubtfully. “Why don’t we get Ravi’s shiftweave?”

  “No time. Those guards will be here any moment now.” He turned to Cutter. “If you want your revenge, this is the only way. Do you understand me?”

  Cutter hesitated, then nodded curtly, hiding his knives beneath his shirt. The trio ran around the balcony to the lift. Wren passed his hand over the sigil that summoned the lift and peered over the edge. He cursed beneath his breath. It was still on the bottom floor. He watched as the black disc shuddered in response to the sigil and slowly started to rise.

  “How long?” asked Bex.

  “Not sure.”

  “It better be quick because someone’s trying to get our attention.”

  Wren looked up and saw that three hippogriff riders were signaling them. Wren waved back. “Did anyone check the stables to see if all the hippogriffs are there?”

  “Afraid not. We heard noises and just assumed. Perhaps we should have made sure.”

  “Perhaps,” said Wren.

  The lift was halfway up now, but the riders were hurrying around the balcony toward them.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Wren told Cutter.

  Cutter obeyed, and Wren placed his hand on the big man’s wrists, so it looked like he was keeping a tight grip on his prisoner.

  The lift rose higher, but they weren’t going to make it before the riders reached the group.

  Bex stepped away from the balcony.

  “What are you doing?” asked Wren.

  “Stalling them. One of us needs to go this way to get the skycoach, anyway. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Before Wren could stop him, Bex hurried forward to meet the riders. He caught up with them and they stopped to talk. The riders gestured over their shoulders at the corridor that led to the stables. Bex said something and gestured to the hallway that led to the prisons. The riders frowned at whatever he said and looked toward the hallway.

  “Lift’s here,” said Cutter.

  Wren hesitated a moment before leading Cutter onto the round platform. He passed his hand over the sigil for the bottom floor. The lift lurched, then started to descend. Wren watched Bex until t
he balcony cut him from sight. Then he turned his attention to Cutter.

  “Hunch down a bit,” he said critically. “Look cowed.”

  Cutter stared at him from beneath lowered brows. “I don’t do cowed.”

  “Well, you’d better try. We’ll slip along the wall, but if anyone stops us, please don’t pull out those blades of yours and start hacking away at anything that moves. Let me talk to them first.”

  “Why? Are you going to bore them to sleep?”

  “Very funny.”

  Wren watched the activity below as the lift dropped to the ground. The air was filled with nervousness and barely contained energy, the kind of feeling one gets after a battle. Even though the enemy wasn’t real, adrenaline was still pumping through the guardsmen and they were looking for an outlet. It made them more alert, a potential problem.

  The lift touched the floor and Wren pushed Cutter ahead of him, past desks and closed offices. They reached the middle of the room, where the huge main desk was situated, a vast circle of darkwood perched on a high rostrum. About fifteen guards stood behind this desk, taking down details from prisoners and dealing with complaints.

  Wren heard the guards talking about Dalen’s illusion. They seemed to be of the opinion that it was some kind of Daask prank or initiation rite.

  They crossed the floor and walked through the door into the outer lobby. Wren closed it firmly behind him, then headed for the entrance to the tower.

  “Hold.”

  Wren turned and felt his heart sink. It was the same elf who had been on duty when Jana confronted him yesterday, and Wren had forgotten to put the shiftweave hood up. Didn’t the idiot ever have a day off? He lowered his head behind Cutter’s back. “Yes?”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “Transfer. Bit of a mix-up. He wasn’t supposed to be brought here. Daggerwatch wants him.”

  “Well, you have to sign him out.”

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry. Forgot about that.”

  He dragged Cutter to the elf’s desk and turned around, keeping his head lowered. How many people did the elf see every day? Enough that he wouldn’t recognize him? Wren hoped so.

  The elf pulled a book out from under his desk. Wren quickly slid the book around and signed a fake name. “Is that it?”

  The elf glanced at the name. “Yes, that’s fine.” He held out his hands.

  Wren frowned at them. “What?”

  “Transfer papers.”

  “Trans—but I just signed for him.”

  “So? You know the procedure. No moving prisoners without papers.”

  Wren made a show of patting down his uniform. He heard a sigh at his side and Cutter leaned forward, took hold of the elf’s head, and slammed it into the desk. The elf did not get up.

  “Can we go now?” said Cutter.

  “Uh, yes. Yes, of course. Well done.”

  He turned and marched Cutter to the doors leading outside. He pulled them open and stood face to face with a guard—a corporal, judging from his uniform. The corporal looked at Wren, then glanced over his shoulder at Cutter. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something but Cutter yanked Wren to the side and shoved the guard hard in the chest. The man stumbled, slipping on the steps and falling backward. Cutter pulled the door shut and turned to Wren.

  “We need another way out.”

  Wren didn’t say anything. What was the point? Instead, he grabbed hold of Cutter’s wrists and they hurried back into the main offices of Warden Towers. He pushed Cutter to the first door they came to. It led into a short hallway with glass windows looking into offices. Wren pulled the door closed and checked the next one. The doors behind him slammed open and the watchman Cutter had pushed down the stairs ran through.

  “Stop!”

  Wren and Cutter ducked through the door and pulled it closed. A staircase wound up through the levels. “Did he see us?” asked Wren, running past the big man and taking the stairs two at a time.

  The door slammed against the wall behind them.

  “Stop!”

  “That answer your question?” Cutter grunted.

  They ran as fast as they could, the sounds of pursuit growing as more guards joined the chase.

  “Out here.” Wren pulled open a door after they had climbed a few floors. It led out onto the balcony that ran around the central shaft. Wren tried to get his bearings as they ran. He realized they were on the prison level once again. They sprinted around to the branching corridor that took them to the corner staircase. Just before they took the passage, Wren glanced around and saw the lift stopping on their level. Five guards disembarked and pointed at them.

  “Khyber’s ghost,” muttered Wren under his breath. “Why is nothing ever easy?”

  The watchmen who had followed them up the stairs appeared on the balcony behind them, shouting for reinforcements. Wren turned and followed Cutter, who was already at the spiral staircase that climbed to the roof.

  They sped upwards and through the rooms, past the unconscious guards. Into the open air. Host, he hoped Bex was there. Wren took the lead and they ran across the rooftop. Wren leaned over the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  The skycoach was gone.

  He searched frantically in the night and saw it dropping away below them.

  “Bex!” he yelled. “Bex! Up here. Bex—”

  Cutter grabbed Wren by the arm and yanked him behind a brick hut. Wren heard the stable yard gate bang and peered around the corner. The watchmen fanned out into a line, weapons drawn as they swept across the rooftop.

  He pulled back. “Any ideas?” he asked Cutter. “Because if you do, now’s a good time to get them out. Don’t be shy.”

  But Cutter wasn’t listening. He nodded his head, indicating Wren should look over his shoulder.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked.

  Wren whirled around and saw Bex steering the skycoach toward them. He was level with the roof, but still some distance away. Relief flooded through him.

  “Over here!” shouted a voice.

  Wren looked and saw a watchman leveling a crossbow at them. He grabbed Cutter by the shirt. “Run.”

  “What?”

  “Run!”

  Without waiting to see if he was following, Wren ran for the edge of the roof, putting everything he had into building up speed. Bex stood up at the controls when he saw him coming. The half-orc’s eyes widened in shock when he realized what Wren was planning. He steered the skycoach down slightly so it was below roof level.

  But it was still too far away.

  Oh well, thought Wren, and hit the edge of the roof, pushing off as hard as possible with his feet. Air whipped at his face and hair, soared in his ears. He saw the skycoach below him, Bex trying to guide it closer.

  And then he landed on the front of the vehicle. It dipped alarmingly. He scrabbled up and grabbed hold of Bex’s arm as the half-orc lunged forward to grab him. Cutter landed behind Bex, smashing into the seats and breaking their backs. Wren heard him swearing furiously.

  Bex dragged Wren inside and pushed the controls forward, sending the skycoach plummeting into the mist—away from the watchmen who were leaning over the edge, staring at them with looks of amazement, annoyance, and hatred.

  “That’s some good timing you’ve got there, Bex.”

  “No problem,” called the half-orc. “Where to?”

  “Back to Callian’s,” said Wren.

  “Consider it done,” said Bex.

  Wren smiled and gingerly prodded his limbs to make sure they were all still there.

  Then he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh of relief.

  The third day of long Shadows

  Sar, the 28th day of Vult, 998

  The half-orc settled the skycoach down in the vicinity of Stone Trees. Cutter sat in the back, watching as Bex and the half-elf disembarked and stood whispering together. When they finished talking, they clasped hands and the half-orc disappeared into the night while the half-
elf climbed back onboard and turned to face him.

  “Let’s get everything clear and out in the open,” he said. “My name’s Wren. I’m an Inquisitive. I was called in to investigate the death of the professor. And seeing as you were spotted standing over his body with your blades in your hands, covered in blood, you were our main suspect.” He paused, then said wryly, “You can see why we made that assumption.”

  Cutter didn’t answer.

  “Do you have anything to add?” asked Wren.

  “Like what?”

  “Well … anything. Who was the warforged that killed the professor? Why is this package so important? We thought it was dreamlily at first, but it seems like a lot of trouble to go through for some drugs.”

  “Sounds like you know as much as I do. The only thing I wanted to do was find Rowen. I couldn’t care less about who killed who.”

  Wren looked disappointed. “I was hoping you’d have more information.”

  “You said you knew where Rowen is.”

  Wren hesitated. “I do. But first …” Wren fished around in his pockets. He pulled out a piece of paper and leaned over the ruined seats to hand it to him.

  “Rowen asked a friend of hers to deliver this to you.”

  Cutter stared at the folded piece of paper. His stomach dropped. This must have been the last thing she ever wrote to him. His hands shook as he reached forward and took it.

  He thought he could smell her perfume as he opened it, but that was probably just his imagination. He fought back tears when he saw her neat, elegant handwriting.

  Got dreamlily. Hidden it at the family crypt. Will meet later.

  “Do you know what it means?” asked Wren. “Is it a graveyard or something?”

  “I know what it means.” Cutter folded the note and slipped it inside his shirt. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands over his face. He knew what he had to do. He wouldn’t be able to rest until everyone involved in her death had been made to suffer. But he had to take care of something first.

  “Take me to her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea … she’s …”

  “I don’t care,” Cutter snapped. “She died alone, half-elf. I won’t leave her there any longer. Understand?”