by Ben Cassidy
“Do I look like I care?” Kendril stepped out into the hall. He looked back at Dutraad.
The baron was cowering against the wall by the desk.
“Do whatever you have to do to make him talk, Tomas,” Kendril said.
He started off again down the hall.
Maklavir stepped into the muggy warmth of the kitchen. It was a welcome change from the frigid temperature outside.
Wanara nodded to where Joseph was huddled against one of the cabinets, then lifted her crossbow and hurried off towards the stairs leading out of the kitchen.
Callen closed his herb bag and stood.
Maklavir came over to his side. He looked down at Joseph with concern. “Is he--?”
“He should be fine.” Callen pulled the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “He only got a very light dose of the poison, just a scratch on his arm. Any more and the mithridatum might not have helped.” The Ghostwalker put a hand on Maklavir’s shoulder. “No guarantees, but I think he’ll make it.”
A gunshot echoed from upstairs. There was another scream.
“I need to go,” Callen said with a glance at the stairs.
Maklavir nodded. “I’ll stay with Joseph until he recovers.”
Callen nodded, then sprinted up the stairs.
Maklavir sat down next to his friend.
Joseph’s face seemed a healthier color. His breathing was slower and more even now as well. As Maklavir watched, the scout’s eyes flickered open.
“Uhhh…where—?”
The diplomat smiled. “The kitchen of Dutraad’s manor. You were poisoned, old boy. Lucky we had Callen here when we did. He seems to think you’ll pull through well enough now.”
Joseph tried to rise, but collapsed back against the cabinets with a groan.
“Whoa!” Maklavir put his hand on Joseph’s arm. “Now’s hardly the time for any heroics. You were almost dead, for Eru’s sake.”
Joseph tried to say something, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth and swallowed hard.
Maklavir leaned in. “What is it?”
“Kara,” Joseph managed to croak out. “Where’s…Kara?”
The room was empty.
Kendril went in with his pistol out and ready anyway.
He stepped carefully across the wooden floor, his eyes watching carefully as he walked. Nadine was still unaccounted for, and she had disappeared a little too abruptly for Kendril’s taste.
He stopped in front of an open strongbox. Papers were scattered over the floor, along with a spilled coin purse. Pieces of a shattered vase lay on the ground.
Kendril knelt down. He picked up one of the ceramic pieces and stared at it a moment.
Kara.
There was movement behind him.
Kendril whipped his pistol up in one smooth motion.
Olan appeared in the doorway of the room, sword in hand.
Reluctantly, Kendril lowered his firearm. “It’s a miracle I haven’t shot one of you by now,” he muttered.
“If I had a pistol, I’d shoot you,” Olan returned. “You disobeyed orders.”
Kendril stood. “You mean when you were yelling at me downstairs? I didn’t realize that was an official order.”
Olan came into the room. His eyes fell on the strongbox. “The Soulbinder?”
Kendril shook his head.
“Vesuna’s blood.” Olan snapped his head towards the other Ghostwalker. “The witch? Kara?”
“Gone.” Kendril tossed the piece of vase to the floor. “Unless they’re both hiding in a closet somewhere here.”
“There’s bloody panic downstairs.” Olan stepped closer, and moved a pile of papers out of the way. He scowled. “A panic that we caused, I might add. The city gendarmes will be here in minutes, if they’re not already.”
Kendril glared menacingly at the man. “You want to say it? Then say it.”
Olan straightened. His eyes flashed. “You destroyed our one chance to get the Soulbinder, Kendril. This plan was idiotic from the start. I said so.”
Kendril didn’t lower his gaze. “You did.”
“Tomorrow’s the new moon. You know what that means.”
Kendril nodded. He looked back towards the strongbox. “It means we’re out of time.”
“You’re through, Kendril.” Olan stepped towards him. “I don’t care if you are Madris’ little darling. I know what you really are, and your little games here in Vorten are done. From now on we do things my way.” Olan turned back towards the room’s door.
“And what exactly is your way?” Kendril asked calmly.
Olan half-turned his head. “We only have one lead. Dutraad. We’re taking him with us. Tomas will have to get the information we need out of him.”
“So now we’re kidnapping a baron?”
“That’s right.”
Kendril shook his head and smirked.
Olan turned fully around. “What’s so funny?”
“Bronwyn. She was right about me. I am stupid. It was in front of my face the whole time, and I didn’t see it.”
“Didn’t see what?” Olan barked impatiently.
“Kidnapping Baron Dutraad won’t help us. I already talked with him, and he doesn’t know anything. He’s a dupe.”
“A dupe? And you figured this out after talking to him for thirty seconds?”
“I did.”
Olan narrowed his eyes. “Are you insane? Dutraad was behind the whole thing. You said so yourself. It was his carriage that had the assassin, the witch was here at his estate. His house guards were obviously in on the whole thing.”
Kendril gave a slow nod. “Right on all counts.”
“Then Dutraad must have been the one behind this whole conspiracy.”
The Ghostwalker gave a bitter smile. “Right again.”
Olan ground his teeth in frustration. “Then what’s the problem?”
Kendril turned his head towards Olan. “The problem,” he said quietly, “is that we have the wrong Dutraad.”
Chapter 7
The carriage pitched and weaved as it rattled down the icy street. A rider came up next to the window, his horse keeping pace with the vehicle.
“No sign of Captain Mayer or the others, my lady,” he said through the scarf that covered the lower half of his face. His greatcoat and hat were covered were covered with snow. “There’s a commotion back at the house.”
“Not our concern,” said Bronwyn carelessly. She shifted on her seat and pulled her shawl up against the cold wind blowing in through the open carriage window. “We’re not going back there again.”
The rider ducked his head as he passed under a hanging wooden sign. “But my lady, Captain May—”
“Martyrs for our cause, Lieutenant Veringer,” Bronwyn replied smoothly. She pressed the seal onto a final envelope, then shoved the letter she had been holding into a stack of others, all tied together by string. She lifted the bundle and handed them through the windows to the rider. “These must go out tonight. Deliver them by hand, Captain.”
The man swallowed, then took the letters and spun his horse around.
Nadine smiled from where she sat beside Bronwyn. “The goddess rises.”
Bronwyn glanced over at the assassin. “No thanks to you. I gave you a simple little assignment. Kill Kendril and his friend. Now really, was that so hard?”
Nadine’s smile disappeared. The white mask that covered half her face looked ghostly and strange in the darkness of the carriage. “The Ghostwalker proved…resourceful, my lady.”
Bronwyn closed the window, shivering against the cold. “Oh, well. I suppose I should be angrier, but I admit half of me would be sorry to see dear old Kendril dead. He really is too much fun.” She glanced over at Nadine. “If he shows up before tomorrow night, however, you really must kill him. We can’t allow any more slip-ups.” She looked over at the seat directly across from her. “Why Mina, you’re trembling! Do you need another blanket?”
Lady Dutraad tore her gaze from the wi
ndow and looked over at Bronywn. “N-n-no my lady. I just…B-b-baron Dutraad, my husband, I d-d-don’t know if—”
Bronwyn leaned forward and took both of Mina’s hands in her own. “Take a deep breath, my dear. We’ve talked about this before. I know it’s hard, believe me I do. I wish there was some other way, but there isn’t.”
Mina turned her head towards the window again. Her face was pale. “B-b-but—”
“Shhhh,” Bronwyn whispered. “You want to be beautiful, don’t you?”
Mina closed her eyes. “Yes.”
Bronwyn smiled. “Trust the goddess. She will make you beautiful beyond your wildest dreams. The most beautiful woman in all of Zanthora.” She sat back in the seat, and glanced over at the bound, unconscious form of Kara leaning against the opposite side of the carriage. “You will see, Mina. Only one more day, and Indigoru will rise again.”
“The city gendarmes are outside,” said Hamis. He nodded down the central hall to the house’s front doors. “What’s the plan, Olan?”
The Ghostwalker commander reached the bottom of the flight of stairs. He looked around the mansion’s central hall. Behind him came Tomas, dragging a pale-faced Dutraad with a dagger to the baron’s throat.
Kendril came behind the three of them. His face was calm, but his eyes sparked with fire.
“We may have to fight our way out.” Olan glanced back at the huddle of house servants. The workers were huddled fearfully against one wall. They were watching the armed Ghostwalkers fearfully.
Kendril looked over at Olan. “Fight the city gendarmes? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“Funny,” said Maklavir from where he leaned against a side table, “usually I’m asking you that question.”
“How many gendarmes?” Olan asked Hamis, ignoring Kendril entirely.
The bald, bearded Ghostwalker shrugged. “Only got a glimpse. I’d say at least a dozen. Maybe more. They’re massing to enter the house.”
“Yes,” said Kendril, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and I seem to remember when the guard count for the mansion was only at a dozen, too. I counted more than that here tonight.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Tomas said quickly. “Dutraad obviously hired more guards—”
“Save it,” snapped Olan. “We need to stay focused. What about a back way out?”
Hamis shook his head. “Gendarmes have the mansion surrounded. There’s no way we’re sneaking out of here.”
Maklavir stepped closer to Kendril as the Ghostwalkers continued to debate. “Kara?” he whispered.
Kendril shook his head glumly. “No sign. I think Bronwyn…took her.”
Maklavir lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Great Eru, why?”
“I don’t know. But there was no body, and no other sign of her.” He looked over in the direction of the kitchen. “Joseph?”
“He’s recovering. Still can’t stand.” Maklavir crossed his arms. “Worried about Kara, of course. First thing he asked about. I think I’ll let you break the news to him that she’s gone. old chap.”
Kendril scowled. “Great.”
Olan turned back to them. “It’s decided. We’re fighting our way out, and bringing Dutraad with us.”
Kendril sighed. “Brilliant, Olan. Sounds like a good way to get us all killed.”
Maklavir made a face. “Actually, I was just thinking it sounded an awful lot like one of your plans, Kendril.”
Olan stared hard at the Ghostwalker. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to follow such a stupid order,” Kendril shot back.
Olan put one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
Kendril rolled his eyes and put his hand on the handle of one of his pistols. “I have guns, Olan.”
“I’m confused,” said Maklavir drolly. “Are the two of you going to kill each other before or after we break out of here?”
Olan opened his mouth to answer.
The handles on the front doors of the mansion turned.
Olan and Hamis instantly dropped into battle positions. Callen ducked back behind a marble statue set against one wall. Kendril whipped out both pistols and aimed them down the hallway.
Maklavir looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Here we go again.”
The doors swung open.
Everyone tensed, weapons at the ready.
Madris limped in, leaning heavily on her cane as she walked. Beside her came a gendarme captain in full uniform. He deftly removed his tall bearskin hat as he entered.
Olan’s eyes widened. He lowered his sword. “Madris? What—?”
“Stand down,” the elderly Ghostwalker announced. “I have worked things out with Captain Potemkin here. We are surrendering.”
“Surrendering?” Kendril and Olan blurted at the same time.
They looked at each other.
“Surrendering,” Madris repeated. “Throwing down our weapons, giving ourselves over into the custody of the gendarmes, and making sure no one dies in the process.”
“Madris,” said Maklavir with a boyish grin, “I could kiss you right now.”
“You’ve all caused quite a bit of chaos here,” Potemkin said curtly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to do as asked, or I’ll have to order my men outside to come in and use force to disarm you.” He gave the frightened figure of Dutraad a measured glance. “We will consider any charges or accusations that any party may wish to file against you at that point.”
Olan ignored the captain and looked over at Madris. “This doesn’t help us, Madris. We have Dutraad—”
“But you don’t have the Soulbinder, do you?” Madris looked around at each of the Ghostwalkers. “Or the witch that Kendril recognized.” She sighed and leaned heavily on her cane. “This situation is out of our control. At this point the threat is too big for us to continue this covertly. All of Vorten is at risk, as I’ve explained to Captain Potemkin here.”
“But—” Olan sputtered.
“We have one day to find the Soubinder,” Madris said sharply. “One day. We will need the assistance of the gendarmes before this is over, and possibly even the city’s Trained Bands.” She looked directly at Olan. “You know what is at stake here Olan. We can’t afford to let our pride get in the way. Night hangs over all of Zanthora.”
The Ghostwalker commander’s face changed colors. His hand wound tight around the hilt of his sword. He closed his eyes, then lowered his weapon. “Ghostwalkers, stand down.” He paused a brief second. “Tomas, release Baron Dutraad.”
There was a clunk of dropped objects behind him as the others set their weapons on the ground.
Dutraad staggered away, rubbing his neck and coughing.
Olan looked at Madris. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Madris.”
“So do I,” Madris said softly. She turned her head to the gendarme beside her. “You can call in your men, captain. We will not resist you.”
Kendril shook his head as he deposited his pistols on the floor. “And I just got these back,” he muttered to Maklavir.
“Actually,” the diplomat said with a smirk, “I’m surprised that you’re not trying to shoot your way out of here right now.”
“What?” said Kendril as he tossed his sword on the ground. “And miss Olan getting humiliated in front of everyone? Believe me, that’s worth surrendering for.”
The glow-globes in the great hall had been turned back on, the candles all snuffed out. The glaring white light seemed strange after the soft orange glow of the fluttering flames that had lit the Candle Ice festivities just an hour before.
The hall itself was now a strangely empty place. Instruments lay abandoned where the orchestra had been playing. The punch bowl on the far table had been tipped over in the confusion of the nobles’ exodus. Shattered glass and a large red puddle still covered the floor, ignored by the terrified servants of the manor.
The Ghostwalkers were gathered around the hearth at the far end of the room. The untended fi
re was slowly dying out, nothing but glowing embers.
Armed gendarmes stood about the room, their faces as cold and unyielding as the Valmingaard winter.
Joseph sat slumped in a chair, his face a grimace. Maklavir and Kendril both hovered nearby.
“We have to find her,” Joseph said.
“We can’t search the whole city, old bean,” Maklavir responded quietly. He glanced over to where Madris, Olan, and Captain Potemkin were deep in muted conversation. “Even if they do let us go.”
Joseph closed his eyes. The poison was almost worked out of his system, but he was still extraordinarily weak. Kendril and Maklavir had had to practically carry him here to the manor’s great hall. “You promised you would keep her safe,” he said to Kendril.
The Ghostwalker didn’t look at his friend. “She was on her own with Dutraad. I couldn’t reach her.”
Joseph looked up at his friend, a pained expression in his eyes. “I trusted you, Kendril.”
Maklavir looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet nervously.
Kendril turned his head to Joseph. “You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t a promise I could keep.”
“Then we find her,” Joseph said. He gave a great cough. “You got Kara into this.”
Kendril turned his head away irritably. “She got herself into this. She knew—”
“Don’t give me that,” Joseph responded fiercely. He pushed himself forward in the chair. “You owe her. You owe me. Don’t stop until you find her. Promise me.”
Kendril didn’t look back at his friend. “I promise,” he said at last.
Joseph collapsed back in the chair, exhausted by the simple effort. He closed his eyes. “Is she even still alive?”
Kendril stared at the windows of the great hall. The snow flaked steadily against the glass. “They didn’t kill her. I don’t know why.” He looked back at Joseph. “She’s alive, Joseph. We’ll find her. You’ll find her.”
The scout gave strangled chuckle. “I can barely move, Kendril.”
“It’s just the poison. Callen said that it’s already working itself out. Just rest, and you’ll be on your feet again in no time.”