Loren and Gem both nodded. Jordel opened the door a crack and put his head through. Once satisfied that no one was about, he stepped out with Albern. Loren slipped into the night behind them, Gem at her side.
The door came out in the middle of the northern wall. To their left was the horse corral, where one guard stood watch, while to their right lay a trio of small buildings — guardrooms, most likely. Great pools of shadow lay where those buildings met the castle wall, and Loren made for them at once. She and Gem lost themselves in the inky darkness, awaiting an opening.
Between the black night and the pounding rain, they could not make out the Yerrin guards surrounding the caravan. They were visible only by their torchlight, floating in the downpour. Those torches would keep the guards’ eyes almost useless in the darkness, while letting Loren and Gem easily spot them. But the line of guards was too thick, and she did not see a gap to slip through.
Jordel and Albern stepped up to one of the guards, obscuring his torchlight and speaking in voices she could not hope to hear. As they continued their conversation, other nearby torches drifted toward them. Soon an entire side of the caravan lay nearly empty of Yerrin men.
Loren and Gem ran forward. As they drew closer, she ducked her head in case the guards caught the flash of her pale skin, and walked before Gem so that her black cloak served to shield him. Then they were in and amongst the wagons, hidden from view. They paused to catch their bearings.
“We should set our blazes in the middle of the group,” whispered Loren, pressing her mouth to Gem’s ear so he could hear her above the rain.
He nodded, and they crept forward in the darkness. As they reached the wagon’s edge, Loren risked a peek. Jordel and Albern still stood speaking with the Yerrin guards, and now she could clearly see their faces. She recognized a massive man, standing at least a head and a half above even Jordel, with a chest like a rain barrel. Gregor, Damaris’ bodyguard. Loren could hear his angry voice booming through the storm. He gestured sharply with his hands, pointing away. Evidently Albern and Jordel were not welcome.
“We must hurry,” she said. “Come.”
They ran on, and soon Loren judged that they were somewhere near the middle of the pack. She pointed to one, and Gem ran for it, reaching for the flint he had tucked in his belt. Loren swung herself into the back of another wagon, sighing as the rain stopped pounding on her head.
The wagon was filled with bolts of cloth, much the same as the one she had hidden in the first time she had encountered the caravan. Loren knew where to go; in the floorboards in the center of the wagon, she found a small hole through which her finger could slip. Loren lifted the panel. It was almost too dark to see, but she would have known the shapes even in pitch blackness: small packets, wrapped in brown cloth, each holding several magestones, and every one worth a fortune.
Loren paused, flint and steel in hand. A sudden thought. Quickly she looked back over her shoulder. There was no one about, and the torches danced a good distance away. She was alone.
Loren seized one of the magestone packets and slipped it into her cloak pocket. After a moment, she took another and slipped it into a pocket on the other side. Jordel would be furious if he saw her. He thought of the magestones as evil, and after what they had done to Xain, Loren could not argue. Yet they were also beyond value — and she was the Nightblade, after all. If the Mystic could murder guardsmen against her wishes, it seemed only fair that she could steal and traffic in magestones against his.
She had wasted precious time. Gem had likely already struck his flames and would be coming for her soon. She flicked the flint against her hunting knife. Sparks cast the wagon’s interior in a ruddy glow. Jordel had assured her that the magestones would easily burn, and he was right. Sparks lit upon the brown cloth, and quickly smoldered. Soon a small black flame was licking the wood.
Loren suppressed a shudder and backed away. She had only seen darkfire twice used, both times by Xain. He had burned ships upon the Dragon’s Tail, and even the river’s waters could not douse the flames. Then again upon the road east of Wellmont, he had cast Vivien and six other Mystics to smolder. Still she remembered the way their bodies had bubbled.
Loren slipped out of the wagon, eager to put distance between herself and the fires. But the moment her boots struck the courtyard stones, the air exploded in a clamor of bells — the same as they had heard upon their arrival, when Damaris and her caravan had reached the stronghold.
Loren froze, listening. She heard no voices, shouting, or clash of steel upon steel. It was not Jordel and Albern who had raised the alarm. That could mean only one thing: someone in the stronghold had found the soldier’s body, the one they had slain and left in the guardroom.
Gem entered Loren’s view, with wide and worried eyes. “Loren, what is that? Have we been spotted?”
“They must have found the body. We must flee, now.”
They made their way back to where they had last seen Jordel and Albern. They found them still standing with the Yerrin guards, all staring up at the keep, where the bell had ceased its clamor. They arrived a moment before Gregor and his guards sprang into action.
“Spread out! Keep watch over the wagons. Let no one approach. And as for you—” Gregor thrust a finger at Jordel and Albern “—withdraw, or I shall slay you myself.”
“As you say, friend.” Jordel raised his hands, but did not back away, not wanting to leave while Loren and Gem were still amongst the wagons.
“Come on,” said Loren, snatching Gem’s sleeve. They withdrew to the caravan’s other side, but the guards had pressed close together again. They ran to the eastern end, but there was no opening. They were surrounded, unable to break free.
A sudden voice sent chills whispering down Loren’s spine.
“Gregor,” said Damaris, bursting into the courtyard and marching forward without giving any attention to the rain. “A body has been found. The spies are inside the walls.”
“We are vigilant, my lady,” said Gregor, giving Jordel and Albern a sour look. “They will not approach the wagons.”
“You must take every precaution. Send your men in amongst the—”
Damaris was interrupted by a roar of flames blasting into the sky. The wagon Loren had set afire had finally caught, and now darkfire blazed, a deeper black against the night sky.
“They are here!” cried Damaris, her voice a clarion call of rage. “You fools, they are here already! Find them! And save the caravan!”
Yerrin guards rushed in amongst the wagons, and Loren barely ducked out of sight in time to dive between the wooden wheels. She gave a sharp grunt as her bruised ribs struck the ground, then covered her own mouth. Gregor led his men in, and Damaris herself walked beside him, their eyes searching the darkness.
“Find them!” cried Damaris, her voice a shrill scream. “Do not let them escape!”
At first Loren thought Damaris would pass them by like all the rest. But the merchant’s fine boots paused by the wagon where she and Gem lay. Then in a flash, she knelt and thrust her head under the wagon. Her eyes found Loren’s, and in the woman’s gaze she saw a bitter, bone-deep fury, hotter than darkfire itself.
“You.”
Loren tried to scramble away, but Gregor was there in an instant. He seized Loren’s ankle, dragged her out from under the wagon, and held her suspended, upside down, cloak billowing to the ground.
Though it clearly threw Damaris to see Loren, she maintained her composure. “Loren of the family Nelda. How is it that you are here? What have you done with … ” Her eyes widened. “Annis is here. She is within the stronghold. Gregor, kill her at once, then send your men to search for my daughter. Tear the walls down stone by stone if you must!”
Gregor was already holding his sword. He drew it back and swung — but then Jordel was there, his blade flashing in to halt Gregor’s. Damaris cried out and backed away, drawing a knife from her belt, but Jordel had no interest in her. His other hand raised in a fist to strike Gregor
beneath his armpit. The bodyguard grunted and dropped Loren, who collapsed to the cobblestones in a heap. He reached for her again, but Jordel swung his sword, and Gregor had to withdraw.
Strong hands seized the back of Loren’s collar and hauled her to standing. Without thinking she reached for her dagger, drew it, then thrust it in front of her. She recognized Albern and stayed her hand. The bowyer’s eyes fell upon the dagger, then he was dragging her away from Gregor, while Jordel held his ground and gave them a chance to escape.
“Gem!” cried Loren. “Gem, run! Jordel, run!”
“Ignore him,” said Damaris. “Get the girl!”
Gregor tried to press past Jordel, but was blocked on either side by the caravans. The Mystic’s sword swerved through the air like a serpent upon the ground. Loren had lost Gem when Gregor snatched her from under the wagon.
More Yerrin guards erupted from amidst the wagons, and swiftly moved to encircle Jordel. He glanced over his shoulder to see his blocked retreat, and turned with his back was to the wagon. Gregor pressed forward, mouth set in a grim line.
“Jordel! Albern, help him!” Loren tried to aid him, but Albern’s grip was firm, and he pulled her back.
“We cannot, Loren. They would only catch us, too.”
He pulled her further away. She fought, but Albern was too strong. Then her heart broke, for Gem emerged from nowhere and charged into the fray, hoping to free Jordel. He thrust his knife at one of the men standing between Jordel and escape. It struck the man in his arm, and he cried out, then the blade stuck in his chain shirt and was ripped from Gem’s grasp. The Yerrin guard’s mailed fist struck the boy in his face, and Gem fell to the ground.
Jordel went for him, but Gregor forced the Mystic back. Another blade came from nowhere to strike him in the side. His mail held, but he twisted with pain, then Gregor struck him with his fist. Jordel fell, and they could not see him behind his foes.
Guards were coming for them. Albern pulled Loren through the door and into the stronghold, footsteps echoing as they raced down the hallway.
thirty-one
LOREN WANTED TO GO BACK, but Albern forced her forward. Once they were in the hallways, she ran straight for the jail and their possible escape, but Albern pulled her back.
“Our foes are too close on our heels. We must draw them away, or risk leading them to Annis and Xain. If we must die, let us not be their doom as well.”
Guards erupted from the hallway ahead and lent strength to Albern’s words. He pushed her ahead and they fled, running until they reached the thick wooden door leading into the northeast watchtower. Two guards waited, swords drawn, eyes wide with alarm. They tensed toward Loren, but paused at the sight of Albern in his guardsman’s uniform and gave him the moment he needed.
One guard fell, his chest opened by a heavy strike. The other guard traded blows, but Albern was strengthened by wrath. He plunged the blade deep into the guard’s belly, then withdrew it before the guard hit the ground.
Loren winced as each body fell. So many dead, and despite Jordel’s words, she still saw men and women following orders. But Loren held her tongue, for she could hardly think of a worse time to chastise Albern when ever again he saved her life.
“At last,” he said.
Loren followed Albern’s gaze to a bow in the corner, and a quiver of arrows resting beside it. Quickly he sheathed his sword and snatched the bow. Boots pounded down the hallway. Up the stairs they ran, Loren in the lead, until they reached the middle door leading to the battlements.
Again they emerged into rain, but this time the night was bright with many torches set into stands along the wall. Another guard stood just beyond the doorway. Albern did not pause, but merely planted his shoulder in the woman’s chest. She pitched backward, slipping across the wet stones and falling into the courtyard below with a yelp.
Looking down, Loren saw that most of the caravans were now black with darkfire. Yerrin guards ran amongst them, trying to separate the caravans that might still be saved, but none would venture too close to the flames, making their work more difficult. She could not see Jordel or Gem — they must have been taken away already, into the cells. A glimmer of hope lit her thoughts; mayhap they would be taken to the cells next to the secret passage, where Annis and Xain were hiding.
But first they had to make good their escape. As they ran forward, Loren heard a shout, then the hiss of a flying arrow. She ducked on instinct then glanced down. They had been spotted. Yerrin guards and stronghold soldiers stood together, a half-dozen, bows out and aiming. Albern fired three shots in quick succession, felling two and forcing the rest to scatter. Hidden amongst the caravans that had yet to catch flame, they held their barrage.
“They are trying to slow us until their friends arrive,” said Albern. “Come!”
The door behind them flew open and two guards ran into the rain. Ahead, at the other end of the wall, another pair emerged. Loren and Albern skidded to a halt. Albern dropped his bow — only two arrows remained in the quiver — and drew his blade at the charging Shades.
Loren drew her hunting knife, then ducked as a blade swept toward her face. She leapt forward with a feint, not to draw blood but to drive the soldier back, then swung her fist hard into his nose. It crunched under her knuckles, and he seized his face, cursing.
She heard another moving up behind her, and turned. Loren’s new foe swung overhead, which let her easily sidestep, yet that set her back to the ramparts with no room for retreat. Loren rolled across the stones, a sidelong swipe passing above her, close enough to feel its wind.
She found her feet and held the knife forward again — but then a stray arrow struck the soldier’s face. Her eyes went dead, and her head chased the arrow’s momentum, pitching the soldier’s body over the wall and onto the rocks below. Loren watched in horror; the woman’s limbs flopped about like a doll’s. She bounced on the ground, then pitched over the cliff and plunged into the valley’s unending darkness.
A hand seized Loren’s elbow, and Albern dragged her forward, stepping over the bodies of three slain guards. They ran on, Loren feeling ever more nauseous with each passing moment.
Then she saw a figure appear in the outer doorway leading to the great hall, across the courtyard. Even from the corner of Loren’s eye, the massive form caught her attention, and she turned to look. Her heart quailed: Trisken.
The stronghold commander stood illuminated in torchlight, shorn of his armor but still wearing his thick leather vest. He looked at them through the rain, his face an impassive mask. No fury marked his gaze, nor confusion. Only a heightened interest and a dark intent, like a wolf eyeing a wounded elk. He stepped into the courtyard, walking around the edge of the caravan toward them, his eyes never leaving Loren’s face.
“Albern,” she cried in warning.
He turned and saw Trisken. His look darkened. He had recovered his bow, and drew an arrow. The shaft sped true, planting itself in the commander’s heart. Trisken fell back with a grunt, then sank to his knee. A second shaft sped forward, striking the commander in the neck. It almost toppled him backward, but he put out a hand to steady himself, and now Albern’s quiver was empty.
Slowly Trisken found his feet. First he grabbed the arrow, tugging it out of his neck as though pulling a knife through a hunk of roast meat. He took the arrow in his chest, and to Loren’s horror, pushed it deeper in, further and further until the head pushed out his back. He snapped the shaft in two, throwing the fletching away, before reaching back with his other hand and pulling the arrowhead forth. With blood spilling down his chest, the commander continued his advance.
“What manner of creature is he?” cried Loren.
“The kind you cannot fight,” said Albern.
They ran, making the northwest tower a few moments before Trisken could reach the bottom. They found the middle floor empty and made ready to run onto the next part of the wall.
A door crashed open below them, followed by the sound of iron-shod boots slamming
into stone.
“Come, children.” Trisken’s voice echoed up the stairs, like thunder off the stone walls. “We have two of you already, but I want the rest. Come to me, and end your useless flight.”
Albern made to pull her on, but Loren stopped him. She spied a rope in the corner, and got an idea. She ran to the rope, picked it up, then nodded to Albern and ran — up the stairs, rather than back out to the wall.
“What are you—” Recognition flashed in his eyes, and Albern came without question.
He followed her up, until they found a hatch and burst out into the tower’s top. Her fingers struggled to tie the rope in a knot, her mangled palms making every motion difficult.
“Here, let me.” Albern took the rope and finished her knot.
He threw it around the battlement and let the end trail into the darkness below. Loren waved her hand. “You first. My injured hands will slow me.”
“All the more reason I should follow behind, to protect you in case we are discovered.” Loren tried to argue, but Albern nearly threw her from the tower. “I shall brook no argument, Loren. Go! Now!”
His stubbornness might have seen them both killed, but she had little choice. Loren seized the rope and swung out into emptiness, lowering herself an arm’s length at a time as quickly as she could, boots planted on the wall. Her torn hands, only recently healed, ripped back open. She gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. Rain mingled with blood to make her grip slippery, and she barely made the bottom. Once her feet struck the mountain, Loren kept her hands on the line and tried to steady it, for Albern was coming much faster.
He let himself fall the final ten feet and landed at a run. Together they fled along the north wall toward the secret entrance. Loren’s bloody fingers scrabbled along the lines between stone and mortar. At first she could not find the catch, and in a panic thought she had forgotten where it was. Then her fingers vanished into the wall. She felt the latch and pulled it. The door opened, and together they disappeared inside.
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 21