The Black Star (Book 3)

by Edward W. Robertson

  All the while, Dante watched through the eyes of the rats. This kept him busy: the building had two main exits as well as two side doors, and Dante had to let his attention drift above any one set of eyes, homing in on a specific rat only when it detected motion. This happened scores of times throughout the day and was thoroughly exhausting to follow.

  By nightfall, there had been no sign of Julen. Dante had had a few beers over the course of the day and he began to nod off. He got up to take a walk around the chilly night and clear his head. He had barely stepped into the square when the building's side door opened and Julen emerged.

  Dante veered the opposite direction, turned a corner, and sat down to pretend to fiddle with the laces of his boots. He opened his loon. "Nak? Tell Somburr he's on the move. Heading north on Cleftridge Lane."

  Nak had been asleep and Dante had to repeat his instructions twice before Nak was cogent enough to relay them. A moment later, he let Dante know that Somburr was on his way to see Kasee.

  Julen's footsteps had already faded down the street. Dante sent two rats to follow at a distance, then hoofed it back to the pub and told the others the bear had finally emerged from hibernation.

  Using Nak as a middleman, Somburr told Dante that Kasee's people were running flat-out through the Echoes to catch up to Julen, who was roughly a third of a mile north of them aboveground. Somburr planned to stay put and keep an eye on Kasee's. In the pub, Dante passed this to the others.

  "Sounds like there's about to be a brawl." Cee tipped her mug to examine its contents. "Should we wander over that way?"

  There were plenty of reasons to stay at a distance, but Dante wanted a better idea of who they were dealing with in Kasee Gage. Anyway, in the last week, he'd done little but sit around this pub and the inn. They headed out as a group, walking north.

  Julen dropped off Cleftridge and cut through a dizzying maze of side streets. The rats followed, advancing in a leapfrog pattern, one following half a block behind Julen while the other lingered. Dante gained ground on him, but lagged blocks behind. Ten minutes after Kasee had left her building, the rearguard rat spied a group of eight people moving swiftly down the alleys. They wore dark clothes, scarves wrapped tight around their brows and mouths. The whites of their eyes shined in the weak light. All eight were armed. Disguised though they were, Dante identified Kasee and Horace.

  A couple blocks ahead of their group, Julen hung a sudden left. As he disappeared, a dozen men rounded the corner he'd dodged behind and headed the opposite way. They jogged past Dante's rat. In the street, Kasee saw them and froze.

  Still several blocks from the confrontation, Dante stumbled on a loose stone. "It's an ambush."

  Cee stared down the street. "Kasee's got them?"

  "I think they might have her."

  "The Minister's people? Should we help her?"

  He waved his hand for silence and delved into the rat's vision, scrambling for a plan. In the end, it didn't matter. He'd no sooner gotten a look at the groups facing off in the moonlight than the strangers charged.

  Kasee's people ran to meet them. Blades flashed. A man screamed. Speechless, Dante broke into a dead run. The others fell in behind him. It wasn't easy to run through the dark in a strange city and keep his sight inside the rats', and all he caught were glimpses: the two lines smashing into each other. A man in a scarf thudding to the pavement. Kasee shouting, two short blades whirling in her hands.

  The two sides separated, leaving three bodies on the ground. The next time Dante looked, they were fighting again. He could hear the clang of steel with his own ears. Kasee's voice chopped through the night. Dante slowed enough to cut his arm, then sprinted the rest of the way. As their force hit the street, the Minister's men disengaged and ran to the north.

  Rather than engaging, Kasee whirled to face the new threat. Seeing Dante, she strode forward, blades in hand. "You fed us straight into the lion's mouth!"

  "We're here to help!" Dante said.

  "Help walk us into a trap? How would the Minister's men know to expect us unless you told them?"

  "It could have been one of your men."

  Her blades twitched. One was dark with blood. "My men are bricks in an unbroken wall!"

  "Well, someone had to tip them off!" Dante's jaw dropped. "The hair."

  "Thuhare? Who the hell is that?"

  "A few nights back, Julen had a hair laid across his letters. I thought nothing of it. That it had landed there on its own. When I didn't put it back in place, he knew we were reading his correspondence."

  Kasee's jaw worked. "And so he fed us bad intel? Tricked us into walking into a setup?"

  "None of my people have any reason to betray you," Dante said. "If it wasn't one of your own, this is the only thing that makes sense."

  She lowered her swords, then narrowed her eyes. "Your fault either way, isn't it?"

  Cee laughed. "You have no idea how careful we've been. If it was the hair, this would have happened to anyone."

  "But it didn't. It happened to you."

  Dante bit down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The nether rushed to meet him. Kasee and her men watched him with unwavering stares. He shaped the nether into a killing point.

  Behind them, one of the downed men groaned, leg kicking spasmodically. Two of Kasee's people ran to help, pulling the scarves from his face. It was Horace.

  "Let me see to him," Dante said. "I'm a healer."

  "A thief and a healer?" Kasee said. "There anything you can't do? Oh, I got it: tell the truth."

  Dante shrugged. "Let him die if you prefer."

  A muscle in her jaw twitched. She spat and stood aside. Dante got down beside Horace. His hard leather breastplate had been punctured. Lung, probably. Dante sent the nether inside him and confirmed it. He sent the shadows to work. Horace responded with a gasp, but his eyes stayed shut.

  "Check their pockets," Kasee said. Her men moved to the two fallen enemy and searched their clothes.

  Dante moved the nether up Horace's lung in a black line, sealing it together. The man wheezed, then breathed steadily. Dante turned to the two-inch puncture between his ribs. In a moment, it was gone.

  He pulled back Horace's shirt and wiped away the blood, revealing smooth skin. "He'll be fine."

  Kasee had gone still. "What are you? What have you been hiding from me?"

  "Nothing." Dante stood. "I've done everything you've asked."

  "Bullshit. If I'd known you could sling the darkness around, I would have asked for a whole lot more than letters." She rolled her lips together. "You and me, we're done."

  "Fine. Good luck with your war."

  Kasee turned and stalked a couple steps away, breathing hard. Dante began to move back to the others, but someone grabbed his arm.

  "Wait," Horace said, throat catching. "You brought me back."

  "You weren't gone yet." Dante knelt back down. "How do you feel?"

  "Like I've just finished a long run." The man's eyes darted to Kasee. He lowered his voice to a murmur. "She hasn't told you everything. I don't have time to explain. If you want the truth, you'll find it in Morrive."

  "Morrive? This is a city?"

  "Once. Bring the Speech of the Lost. Anything that can translate the stones."

  "Translate the—?"

  "Enough standing around," Kasee said, audibly calmer. "Let's flap our soles before the watch gets here. Last thing we need is to take the blame for sparking hostilities." She met Dante's eyes. "You and yours? I see you again, and I'll bury you in the Echoes."

  Dante was much too interested in prying tidbits from Horace to bother exchanging threats with her, but her troops were already helping Horace to his feet. They led him away, glancing over their shoulders at Dante.

  "Do we have any reason to stay here?" Cee said. "Then I suggest we take a hint from our former allies and move it."

  Dante saw no reason to stick around the streets, either. He turned and headed for the inn, thoughts racing.

  "What
just happened?" Lew said. "What did Horace say to you?"

  "That it's time to leave town. Have you heard of a place called Morrive?"

  "No, but I have the feeling I'm about to be tasked with becoming its expert."

  "Nak?" Dante said into the loon. "Tell Somburr to get out of the Echoes and get back to the inn. If he sees Kasee, avoid her at all costs."

  "It sounds like you're about to have Olivander pacing a rut in the floor," Nak said. "Just a second." He was quiet for a bit. "Somburr says that won't be a problem. What's going on over there?"

  "For once, it's not worth worrying about. I'll catch you up as soon as I can."

  Nak did some grumbling, then shut down his loon. They got to the inn without further problems. Dante sat in the common room, watching the door for Somburr. Just as he was ready to get ahold of Nak and ask, Somburr slipped inside, eyes roving across the minimal crowd.

  Upstairs, Dante told him everything that had happened, including Horace's advice to travel to Morrive.

  "You trust this?" Somburr said.

  "I'd just saved his life," Dante said. "He seemed sincere."

  Cee looked around the low table they were seated at. "Do we have anything left here? Stealing letters is out. Kasee wants to pick her teeth with our bones. Dante hasn't turned anything up at the temples. Sounds like there's nothing to lose by going to Morrive."

  "Except our lives," Somburr said.

  But even he didn't seem to believe it. In the morning, they all went to work. Dante headed straight to the Stoll of the Winds to ask for the Speech of the Lost. Mikkel had a copy, but there was a snag: he only had one, and transcribing it would take days. He knew a collector, however, and sent Dante with a letter of introduction. The collector wound up parting with the book, but it cost Dante everything he had. He hoped it was a wise purchase.

  He got back around sunset. Cee had put together provisions. Lew and Ast had procured maps and information. Morrive lay in a desert to the southeast. No one had lived there for as long as anyone could remember.

  That did zero to dissuade Dante. The others scraped together the last of their coins to pay the stable fees, then plodded out with the mules at dusk. With the city fading behind them, the wind carried the smell of the grass.

  With the worst of the winter behind them, and their purses as dry and flat as their destination, they camped the nights in the open prairie, burning shrubs for warmth and roasting pigeons and rabbits Dante brought down with the nether. A small mountain range lay between them and Morrive and it looked as if they'd have to detour to a pass, but accounting for that, he thought they'd reach the ruins within a week.

  As they traveled, he read through the Speech of the Lost. It was a Weslean guide to translating the written language of the Morrives. His Weslean had become quite good, but the book's dialect was older. He and Ast muddled through it.

  Somburr continued to work on cracking the letters. Dante supposed they might yet turn up something useful about Cellen, but he suspected Somburr felt compelled by the challenge.

  He was right about the former and dead wrong about the latter. Three days out of Ellan, with the grass going brown and patchy, Somburr stopped in his tracks, letter in hand.

  "This could be unfortunate," he said.

  "What is it?" Dante said. "Did you finally crack the code?"

  "Days ago. I've been working through them ever since we left the city." Somburr bit his lip, uncertain how to proceed. That in itself was troubling; Somburr trusted no one, but he always believed in himself. He blurted, "The Minister's not planning to attack Ellan. He's going to invade Narashtovik."

  24

  "That's where Tallivand's been staying," Blays said. "It has to be the place."

  Minn shook her head. "It doesn't feel right."

  Dennie shifted behind the cover of the shrubs. "We're going to need a little more than that."

  "Wait." Blays tapped his forehead. "It doesn't feel right up here?"

  "Exactly," Minn said. "But I think he's close."

  "Can you tell where?"

  She turned away from the home in a slow circle, eyes squeezed shut. When her back was to the house, she pointed across the path toward a dark manor surrounded by trees and lawns.

  "You're sure?" Blays said.

  "That's where the pressure's strongest."

  Dennie glanced downhill toward the first house. "But if she's not holding Cal here, why is it patrolled?"

  "Heck if I know," Blays said. "Maybe they've had problems with her, too. Whatever the case, blood doesn't lie. Let's move."

  A trail branched from the ridge down to the second house. They followed it into a thin field of trees. These stopped a hundred yards from the house. Nothing but open grass stood between them and it.

  "Well," Blays said. "Ready to do your thing?"

  "I'm about to disappear," Minn said. When no one batted an eyelash, she laughed. "I mean literally. Try not to scream."

  She gave them a moment to brace themselves, then wrapped herself in shadows and blinked away. Several of Dennie's bodyguards flinched, but to their credit, no one cried out. Blays tried to find her among the shadows, but could detect no trace.

  With this phase of operations dependent on her, there was little to do but sit in the trees and wait. The men shifted about, checking their weapons. At times Blays thought he heard feet rustling the grass, but it might have been nothing more than the irregular breeze blowing down from the hills.

  "Where did she learn to do that?" Dennie said.

  "I'm not sure I'm allowed to say," Blays said.

  "Is it a safe place, at least?"

  He laughed. "Probably the safest place on earth."

  "That's good to hear. I haven't seen her in years."

  "Why did she leave?"

  "I'm not sure I'm allowed to say," Dennie said.

  "Well, given that she doesn't want anything to do with him, I'm guessing it's something her dad did."

  "I don't know whether this is the time for this." He looked at Blays, frown deepening. "How well do you know her?"

  "As a student. She's teaching me her disappearing act. Trying to, anyway."

  "I can see how that might be a handy thing to learn."

  The conversation died off, as it probably should have. They crouched beneath the trees among the smell of dew on grass and the fresh water of the lake. Minn was gone for a long time, but neither light nor sound troubled the house.

  And then she was standing in front of them. This time, two of the men shrieked.

  "Quiet!" she hissed. "Can anyone here pick a lock?"

  "Sure," Blays said.

  "I should have guessed. I haven't found Cal, but I think I came close. There's a door in the way."

  Blays had little in the way of tools, but a quick survey of Dennie's men turned up an array of needles, pipecleaners, and beard-clips.

  "What's the situation in there?" he said.

  "It's quiet," Minn said. "I saw two watchmen on the ground floor. I think Cal is downstairs."

  "You expect me to sneak past them?"

  "Use your shadows. And if those fail you, are those swords for decoration?"

  He stared at the house. He had to think for a moment before he remembered the last time he'd killed someone: the bandits south of Setteven. Three, four months ago. He'd certainly gone longer between deaths, but it was one of the better stretches he'd encountered since beginning his adult life as a hired armsman in Bressel. He'd hoped that, in the seclusion of Pocket Cove, it would have lasted much longer. That he wouldn't always be a tool drawn from the sheath whenever others needed their enemies dispatched to Arawn.

  But perhaps that was what he was. There was no denying he was good at it. Nor could he deny that, when Minn had first told him that her cousin was missing, some part of him had known it would come to this.

  "We can get to him no problem," he said. "But he may be hurt. Sick. It'll be much tougher to get him out."

  "Once you're inside, I'll give you ten minutes," Denn
ie said. "Then I'll move my people up to the house. If you need us, we'll be right there."

  Jinsen nodded. "We don't need to fight them all. We just need to keep them off you long enough to get Cal outside."

  Blays thought this sounded a little thin. He was used to that, but in these situations, he was also used to traveling in the partnership of quite possibly the generation's most powerful nethermancer—and a man who was almost as adept at grabbing disaster by the horns as he was at wielding the shadows. Then again, Blays had survived three years without his potent sidekick. And who wanted to live forever, anyway?

  "Sounds good," he said. "If they spot us, we can pretend to be drunk lovers who wandered into the wrong house."

  "Armed with swords?" Minn said.

  "We'll say we stole them from someone even drunker."

  Minn rolled her eyes, then faded until he could only make out hints of her fingernails, hair, and the buttons on her clothes. Just enough for him to follow. They crawled through the grass toward the house. Dew soaked Blays' doublet and trousers. A lone candle burned upstairs. Minn led him around the side of the house to a wooden door in the stone wall. It opened to a dark room, slices of moonlight cutting through the shutters. A sun room, perhaps. Minn grew more opaquely visible, beckoned him down, then faded again. They crawled on hands and knees across a strip of rug down a hallway. This brought them to an expansive room with a snapping fireplace, a dual staircase, a plenitude of chairs, and a silent guard seated on the landing. It smelled like wood smoke and people.

  The fire threw stark, elongated shadows across the room. His own movements would be much too regular. Blays had left his kellevurt back at Dennie's home, but he reached for the nether anyway, suddenly certain that he could expand it into whipping, spastic expansions exactly like the shadows created by a fire.

  To his surprise and delight, they did just that. One of Minn's buttons gleamed, moving behind the wide stone column containing the fireplace. Blays followed, disguised by flickering nether. They moved to the darkness of the far side of the column. Minn rematerialized and gently opened the door set in its back.

  Blays could only see the top step of the staircase leading down, but he could feel the tickle of cold air arising from the depths. Minn tugged on his sleeve. She stepped down and the tread of the step creaked. She stopped and looked up. Blays heard nothing more but the pop of burning wood.