Shadow's master s-3

by Jon Sprunk

  While Dray and Malig uncoiled ropes from their satchels, Caim tied one end to the back of his belt. Then he found his first handholds and started up. The curtain wall was too high for a grapnel, but the gaps between the massive stones were wide enough to provide good purchase. He wedged his fingers into these seams and hoisted himself up, foot by foot. His arms and shoulders began to burn from the exertion, but then he settled into a comfortable rhythm. Scaling the bartizan at the summit was the hardest part. Caim had to dangle by his arms as he searched for the holds around and over the stone projection. He crawled through a crenel and dropped into a crouch on the other side of the battlements. The allure running along the top of the wall was clear in either direction. Caim untied the rope from his belt, secured it around a pointed merlon, and gave a firm tug.

  While he waited, Caim studied the citadel from his perch. Erebus was built in three tiers stacked atop each other. The lowest tier-and the broadest-featured long buildings with few windows. The middle ward was divided into neat estates behind low walls. Lofty towers stretched above the walls, straight and smooth, capped with sharp points. All the buildings were built from the same black granite as the slaver town but polished so that every surface gleamed with a silky shine. But he saw no people, no lights in any of the windows, and heard no noise. From his vantage, Caim could have been the only living thing in the citadel.

  Wide stairways led to the highest tier. Caim's gaze climbed the smooth, slanting walls of the pyramid that dominated the citadel, and the vision he'd seen in Sybelle's sanctum rushed back to him.

  The vantage slowed as it approached a massive structure at the center of the cyclopean city, a pyramidal building of the same black stone. A window yawned in the side of the structure, and Caim's perspective halted before a narrow balcony. A man wrapped in a loose cloak stood looking over the city. Shadows cloaked his face, but his eyes shone with the dark majesty of a new moon. Caim forced himself to meet those haunted eyes without flinching. There was something about him…

  Now he was here, gazing upon this place that he had half hoped would turn out to be a figment of a warped imagination. Thoughts rolled through his head, of his father and mother, and the old anger resurfaced.

  Caim turned as Dray's head appeared over the battlements. The black-haired Eregoth pulled himself over the top with a sigh, Aemon's spear lashed to his back.

  “Fuck me,” Dray said, looking down at the citadel.

  When Malig was up, Caim dropped the rope over the inside of the wall and ushered them along. Once they were several fathoms down, Caim started his descent. By the time he reached the ground, Dray and Malig had hidden themselves in the shadow of a building across from the wall. Caim joined them, rolling his shoulders to ease their ache.

  “It's damned eerie in here,” Malig grumbled. “Feels like we're in a barrow field.”

  “Fucking dark, too,” Dray said.

  “We can't risk a light,” Caim said. “So stay close.”

  The streets were paved in long bricks of black stone like finely polished onyx, fitted together so closely the seams were almost invisible. It was like walking on a river of glass. There was no refuse in the alleys, no night soil or manure piled in the doorways. Instead of the usual sounds of a city, there was only the mournful howl of the wind through empty streets. Yet as they made their way through the benighted avenues, something lurked on the periphery of Caim's senses. After a few minutes of listening, he heard them. Shadows. Lots of them. But they stayed away.

  Caim and his crew crossed a boulevard lined with statues of tall men and women in long robes. Each sculpture pointed up to the pyramid at the top of the city. They found a stairway to the second tier between two wrought-iron gates. From there they made their way through a forest of towers. Caim could tell Dray and Malig were trying to be quiet, but every sound they made echoed off the stone walls and made him wince.

  They were moving parallel to the boulevard, searching for a way up to the top tier, when Malig hissed under his breath. Caim stopped and listened. The tromp of boots echoed from behind them. Caim beckoned the Eregoths over a short iron fence into a side street and pushed them against a wall. The sounds grew louder until a troop of soldiers-Northmen in black armor-marched past. The brands lighting their way were painfully bright in the darkness. Caim held his breath until they tromped out of sight.

  Malig sighed. “I'm getting too old for this shit.”

  Caim tapped his crew on their chests and went back into the street. They followed the soldiers at a slower pace. While they crept along, Caim racked his brain to formulate a plan. His goal had been simply to reach the pyramid where the vision hinted his mother might be kept, but the closer they got, the less confident he became. He needed an edge. Normally he could rely on his skills and the shadows, but he didn't think they would be enough this time. Then he recalled the woman in the palanquin. Like pouring grain whiskey on a fire, the energy flared up inside him, and a new pulling took hold of him. It pointed upward to the heights of the city, but a few points west of the pyramid.

  He stopped in the street and considered this new development. He had already followed his powers to one ambush, and lost a good man in the bargain. Did he dare trust it again? What other choice do I have?

  “You all right?” Malig asked.

  Caim nodded and started off in the direction of the new pull. They climbed two long staircases, past a row of impressive manors-all apparently vacant and unused-and over a small bridge spanning an empty channel. With every street they passed, the pull grew more precise, leading Caim like a mariner's compass, until it brought him to a small palace. There was no other way to describe it. The main structure was three stories tall with broad, angular windows. Two round towers protruded above the roof. Stone arches covered a breezeway leading to the back. The pull was dragging Caim straight to it.

  They found a side alley about a hundred paces down the avenue from the palace. Once Dray and Malig were situated inside, Caim asked if they had everything they needed.

  “Sure. We know the plan.” Malig took the bottles from his pack and set them in a row against one wall of the alleyway. Each bottle had a length of cloth wadding extending from its corked mouth. “How long are we going to have to wait?”

  Caim looked to the sky. It was past evening and well into true night. “Not long. When I give the all-clear signal-”

  Malig waved him away. “We know, we know.”

  Caim spared a last glance at Dray, who stood with his spear, looking out over the forlorn city. “You all set, Dray?”

  The Eregoth nodded, but maintained his vigil. He's wound too tight. He'll snap if the pressure gets any greater. But Caim didn't have any other choice, except to terminate the mission. No, it's now or never.

  He left them and slipped down the avenue toward the manor. There was no sign of activity inside the palace, but as Caim approached he began to feel a dull ache in his chest, the same feeling he got whenever a shadow warrior was near. Checking his knives, he stole across the avenue, leapt, and pulled himself over the high wall.

  He made no noise crossing the lawn of crushed black-and-white stone. When he reached the corner of the main building, he searched for the best way up. He planned to scale the palace and start a search from the top-his usual routine. Keeping tight control over the energy inside him, and hoping that was enough to cloak his presence from anyone nearby, Caim scaled the breezeway and jumped to catch the sill of a window on the top floor beneath the sloped roof. There was no hinge or slide; the window was sealed shut by design. Cursing through his teeth, Caim glanced around at the other windows on this side of the house. They were all the same. That makes things more difficult.

  Faced with the options of either abandoning the plan or trying something unconventional, he listened for several heartbeats. He hadn't seen any sentry patrols on this tier, but noise carried in this citadel. When he didn't hear anything except the sound of his own breathing, Caim took a deep breath and kicked the window dead center wit
h the heel of his boot. The glass shattered, and Caim had to resist the impulse to jerk his foot back. He drew a knife and knocked out the remaining shards, and then slipped inside.

  He landed in a hallway with one closed door on the left side; the corridor turned to the right about fourteen paces from the window. Caim's boots crunched on broken glass as he went to the closed door. He turned the handle and looked into a modest-sized bedroom. There was a plain bed, low to the floor, next to a narrow wall cabinet, a basin on a wooden table, and a porcelain chamber pot. The pulling beckoned him deeper into the palace. He approached the end of the hall with quick steps, then continued around the corner for another six paces before turning to the left; two more closed doors entered into the hall. Caim checked them and found a bedchamber, also vacant, and a storage closet with shelves of linens and a waste bin. He went around the next corner, feeling the sands of time fall quickly through the hourglass in his head. Ahead were double doors of fine hardwood. If they were locked or-gods forbid-barred from the other side, he would have a hard time getting through.

  Not if I use the shadows. He toyed with the idea, but using his powers might advertise his presence. Caim put a hand on the latch of the left-side door and pushed.

  He entered into what had to be the master bedchamber due to its massive four-poster bed in lustrous hardwood with matching armoire and a lady's vanity. His gaze was drawn to the bed, where a woman with long, black hair reclined on the coverlet. In three long steps he was across the room and beside the bed. The woman wore a modest ivory gown that contrasted with her dusky complexion. Her eyes were closed.

  Caim pricked the hollow of her neck with his seax knife. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she started to roll over until he increased the pressure. “Don't move,” he whispered.

  The woman stiffened, but made no move to escape. Caim took that as a good sign as he considered how to proceed. He was reasonably sure this was the same woman he had seen in the palanquin. That indicated she was someone important. A noble, perhaps. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  The woman nodded, firmly, but just once. Her hands shook a little, though. Caim didn't feel any other presences. “Sit up.” When she complied, he asked, “How many more people? Where are they?”

  The woman held up one finger with a long, tapered nail and pointed down at the floor.

  “A guard?”

  She shook her head and made a rubbing motion as if she was wiping a flat surface, maybe cleaning something. When he guessed a servant, she nodded.

  Caim nodded to himself. That made things a little easier, if she was telling the truth. He missed Kit in the worst way. He could really use her talents right now. “All right. I'm going to remove my knife. If you scream or call out-”

  The woman shook her head. A flowery perfume lingered in the air. Caim pulled the seax back. “Who are you?”

  She touched the spot where he had pricked her. “My name is Dorcas. I live here.”

  “Alone? I mean, with just your servant?”

  She started to nod, but then shook her head. “My husband lives here as well, but he is away.”

  Caim jerked his head toward the pyramid above them. “What is that big building above us? A temple?”

  “No, not…exactly.” Her thin eyebrows almost-but not quite-touched over the bridge of her delicate nose. Everything about her was delicate. Refined. “You are not from the wastes.”

  Caim extended his knife to within an inch of her throat. “Just answer my questions. Is that where the Lords of Shadow reside?”

  “There is only one Shadow Lord, our liege and master. I do not know who you are, but you have placed yourself in great danger by coming here. Nothing happens in Erebus without the Master's knowledge. If you are a spy from the south-”

  Caim pressed his knife back against her neck to shut her up. “How many warriors does this Shadow Lord keep with him? Not Northmen, I mean people like you.”

  “People like…? Oh.” The woman leaned forward, heedless of the knife, which forced Caim to pull it back. “You are the one talked about. The scion.”

  “Who was talking about me? Your husband? And what-?” He tried to hold back, but the question burst out. “What is this scion talk? Who do they think I am?”

  “You are the one they have been waiting for.”

  Caim was so intent on her answer he almost didn't register the sharp sensation tingling behind his breastbone. A shadow presence, but it wasn't the woman. It came from-

  Black holes opened around the room. Without stopping to think, Caim ripped open a portal of his own and jumped through it.

  He gasped as he landed in the street. His insides were on fire. He stumbled into the wall of a round tower and reached out to hold himself up. He was a few streets over from the woman's palace. Caim pushed off from the tower and ran down the avenue as fast as he could manage.

  The pain had lessened by the time he reached the alley where he'd left Dray and Malig, but he felt the pulses of multiple shadow presences. As he came up to the mouth of the alley, an object about the size and shape of a wine bottle flew out, trailing a wisp of bright flame. Caim ducked and covered his head as the explosion assaulted his ears. Shards of light pierced his eyelids, and glass tinkled on the pavestones. Dray or Malig had thrown one of their oil flasks. That meant-

  Caim rushed around the corner into the alley and came face-to-face with a man a little taller than him, encased in dull black leather, with a black visored helm. Caim bent backward to avoid the dagger point racing toward his left eye and parried the thrust of a second dagger by pure instinct. Caim started to counterattack with a high riposte, but drew back as another barrage of agony seized his chest. The shadow warrior shifted from side to side as he advanced, his black armor absorbing the light of the flaming oil. Over his opponent's shoulder, Caim saw Dray was holding off another shadow warrior while Malig worked at lighting the taper of another flask. A portal opened at the rear of the alley, and a third shadow warrior emerged holding a polearm with a black, curved blade.

  Caim's wrists stung as he deflected another pair of dagger attacks. He didn't know if he could hold off three shadow warriors. He backpedaled to create more room to maneuver and couldn't suppress a grunt as another sudden pain pierced his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the arrival of a fourth shadow warrior. Caim's blood cooled when he recognized the newcomer's sword. This was the one he'd fought at the ruins, the one who had nearly killed him. Caim ignored the agony that ripped through him and reached out to the shadows. They were all around the alleyway, on the rooftops of the towers above, creeping along the pavement, and he needed them if he was going to have any chance to win.

  But they did not answer.

  Caim tensed as a cold sweat formed on his face. The swordsman drew his blade with a whisper-quiet slither of metal dragged over wood. The dagger fighter spun into a lightning-quick rhythm of alternating high and low attacks. Caim sucked in a deep breath and focused his powers. The alleyway shifted, and he arrived at a spot behind the swordsman. Caim lunged, and he was forced to duck as a flaming flask whipped past his head to explode in a fireball on the other side of the street, but the swordsman was gone.

  Caim braced himself to meet both attackers, but the dagger fighter backed away and took a defensive posture. The shadow warriors in the alley fell back as well, leaving Malig fumbling with another flask. Dray gulped for air as he hunched over his spear. Caim glanced about. This was just like Liovard all over again, only worse. This is going to end messy, probably with us lying in pools of blood.

  But the prospect of death didn't bother him so much as knowing he had come so close to his goal only to fall.

  The swordsman appeared half a dozen paces away. He spoke in stilted Nimean. “Put down your weapons.”

  Caim measured the distance between himself and the dagger fighter. With a turn of luck, he might take that warrior out so he could focus on the swordsman. He looked for the shadows, but they still held back. What do you want
from me?

  He thought he was strong enough to perform another shadow-jump. Escape wasn't an option. Caim prepared himself to leap beside the dagger fighter for a surprise attack. He'd only get one chance.

  Just as Caim was about to make his move, a slender shape appeared in front of him. He almost slashed her across the throat and belly before he recognized it was Kit. He had just enough time to register that she was completely naked before she fell into his arms. Caim's mouth hung open as he caught her, but no words emerged. A storm of emotions rocked his brain at the sight and the feel of her. Gods below, she's human!

  She looked up at him from under droopy eyelids and smiled. “Caim.”

  He froze, looking around. The dagger fighter shifted. Malig looked over and did a double-take.

  Caim stepped back, cradling Kit. Her hair smelled of wildflowers and sunshine. Her body fit perfectly against him, making him keenly aware of her nudity. How was this possible? And why in the name of all that was holy did she choose now to display this talent? But whatever the answers, her arrival changed everything. He had to get her out of here. Shutting away the shame of leaving his crew, Caim focused on creating a portal to a spot far away to the south. I'll return if I can. If not, die well, my friends.

  Caim staggered backward as his balance twisted upside down. He grabbed Kit tighter to keep from dropping her. The portal never formed, but a piercing pain cut across his temples. The seax made a dull chime as it bounced on the hard pavestones, followed by his suete knife.

  The shadow warriors darted at them, ripping Kit from his grasp and knocking him to the ground. The dagger fighter bound his wrists together with a thin cord while the spearman did the same to Kit, but she appeared to be only semiconscious. It was then that Caim spotted the blood on her chest and the two small puncture marks over her heart.