“It is open,” she whispered down.
“Very well,” said Niya. Without a glance at Gem, she jumped up and caught the wooden beam. Loren slipped into the room, and Niya was not a moment behind her.
Loren leaned back out the window. “Wait here for us,” said Gem. “If you hear sounds of alarm from within, ready yourself to run. If you think for a moment that you are in danger, flee, and do not look back.”
“I will not leave you here,” he said.
She glared at him. “You will. You have pledged yourself to me, and this is the most solemn order I have ever given you. Do you understand?”
He matched her scowl with one of his own, but in the end he nodded.
“Good. We will return as quickly as we may.”
Loren drew back into the room. Niya stood there, facing her, a curious expression on her face. They stood still for a moment, and then the moment lasted a bit too long, and Loren looked away, out the window. From this vantage point the city was laid out before them like a blanket of stars, mirroring those in the sky, except that its light was orange to match the silver-blue from above.
“A fine sight,” said Niya in a careful tone.
“I suppose so,” said Loren. But in truth the city only filled her mind with dread, for she could not see it without seeing her dream.
Niya inclined her head, inserting herself into Loren’s field of view. “I meant to say … earlier, during the fight in the jungle. You saw my wound.”
Loren blinked at her for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she remembered the scar at Niya’s throat. “Yes.”
The Mystic studied her for a moment, as though searching her eyes. But then she shrugged with a humorless smile. “I hide it behind this collar. I think it is hideous to look at, and some others have agreed.”
“Few of us go through life without wounds, and many of them scar. I am only amazed that you survived such a one. It looks as though your throat was cut.” Niya’s face turned a deep, angry red, and Loren balked. “I am sorry. I did not mean to bring forth a grievous memory.”
“Grievous indeed,” said Niya, though she sounded more angry than mournful. “And impossible to forget.”
“You should not let it trouble you,” said Loren. “You cannot help the scar, and anyone who remarks upon it is not worth worrying about.”
“That is more easily said than believed.”
Loren frowned and turned her gaze out the window again. She wished she were anywhere but in this city. Her anxiety seemed to grow with every passing moment, and as much as she longed to find Damaris lurking within this place, at the same time the thought of it filled her with fear.
“Niya, there is something dangerous here.” Loren paused. She had not meant to speak at all, but had blurted the words out regardless. But as Niya looked at her, she pressed on, heedless now. “I think Damaris is here. I am almost certain of it. And worse, there is a man, her bodyguard—a man named Gregor. He is dangerous, mayhap more dangerous than anyone I have faced in my travels, and—”
Without warning, Niya seized her shoulders and kissed her. The second their lips met, Loren’s thoughts vanished into sparks of bliss. Her own hands rose to Niya’s waist, though she had not meant to move them. More than a month of desire was now finally real, and she only wanted all the city to fade away, and all the world beyond it as well—
And then she remembered Chet, waiting for her in a tavern not far away. She pulled back, pushing Niya gently away.
“No,” she said quietly. “Cleary I have not spoken plainly enough. I love Chet.”
“And I have told you I do not care,” said Niya, wearing a self-satisfied smile. “And just then, you seemed far less convinced than the words you say now. You deserved a kiss, and likely needed one as well.”
I did, thought Loren. But she shook her head. “You could hardly have chosen a worse time.”
Niya sighed and rolled her eyes, though her smile did not leave her. “Very well. Until another time, then. In the meanwhile, let us go and find a merchant.”
twenty-six
THEY LISTENED AT THE ROOM’S door for a long moment, but could hear no sound in the hallway beyond. Loren opened it cautiously and poked her head outside. There was no one in sight. She slipped out of the room, and Niya followed. At the end of the hall they found a stairway and took it up to the next level. Loren waved Niya back and peeked down the hallway, but it was as empty as the first, and the rooms looked all the same.
“Not here,” she said. “Let us go up another floor.”
“Why?” said Niya. “What are you looking for?”
Loren thought back to Damaris’ room at the Wyrmwing Inn in Cabrus. It had fairly glowed in its opulence, a wide and spacious place with drapes and fine furniture. “We seek Damaris, or someone of similar stature who would know where she is. These floors are filled with small drawing rooms and apartments, doubtless for the servants, or perhaps only for storage. If I know the family Yerrin, the higher we go, the more important will be the people who dwell there.
So they ascended, and at each landing, Loren inspected the hall. Her guess was right—upon each level, the doors lessened in number, and soon they were worked with fine designs and gold trim. But they had not risen much farther before they heard the tramp of heavy boots coming down the stairs towards them.
“Into the hall!” whispered Loren. They ducked around the corner of the stairwell door just as the footsteps reached them. Just after the steps had passed them, Loren and Niya poked their heads back out. It was four Yerrin guards, and they soon vanished down around the next curve in the stairs.
“We should expect to see more of them from this point on, I think,” said Loren.
But Niya smiled at her. “Did you not see them? Within the manor, they have closed helmets.”
Loren matched her grin with one of her own.
The next hallway up was not empty. They saw a pair of guards within it, walking together away from the stairwell. They had little time to lose, for the guards would soon turn the first bend in the hallway and be out of sight. They nodded to each other, and then ran silently up behind. Acting as one, they each threw an arm around one of the guards’ necks. Niya quickly bore her opponent to the ground, and squeezed until they fell unconscious. But Loren’s almost got away from her, reaching for a dagger at his belt. Loren caught his wrist, struggling to twist his arm behind him. Niya leapt to her feet and drove a fist into the guard’s stomach, and he doubled over. Snatching his helmet away, Niya brought it crashing down on the back of his head, and he collapsed.
“Easy enough,” said Loren, panting. Niya snorted.
They found an empty room and left the guards trussed up within, tied with some drapes that had formerly hung on the windows. Loren used her hunting knife to cut two strips of the cloth into gags. They had already stripped the guards of their uniforms, and put them on over their own clothes, including their helmets. The guards had gloves, too, so that no bit of their skin was exposed.
“Your outfit is a better fit than mine,” said Niya as she tried to squeeze her hands into one of the gloves.
“I cannot help my lithe figure,” said Loren with a smirk.
Niya eyed her. “Nor should you.”
That turned Loren’s cheeks a deep red. She must try to control her thoughts, and her tongue. Clearly Niya needed no further encouragement on that front.
Her black cloak she folded and shoved underneath her chain mail and leather shirt, so that no one could see it. Niya abandoned her own brown cloak in favor of the guard’s green one. They made their way back to the stairwell with more confidence. They climbed two more levels without seeing anyone else, but then on the third they ran into another pair of guards escorting a merchant. At first Loren thought to walk straight past them, pretending to be about their own business, but then she saw Niya draw aside. She did the same at the last moment, and they stood at attention as the merchant passed them by. The other guards gave them a brief glance, but the merchant did n
ot even appear to notice they were there, and soon he was out of sight around the corner.
“Remember that we are guards, and therefore servants,” said Niya.
“I will not forget again. You have some skill in subterfuge.”
Though she could not see it inside the helmet, Loren heard a fierce smile in Niya’s voice. “I prefer a knife, but deception will serve in a pinch. Should we pursue the ones we just passed? He was a merchant. Perhaps he would know something.”
Loren considered it for a moment, but then shook her head. “We would have to fight the guards, and would be too exposed while we did so. We should look for one in the hallways, not the stairwell, and follow them to a room where they may be subdued without witnesses.”
They began to inspect the halls more carefully. They walked the entirety of each floor, striding with impunity as though they were on an errand. Their surroundings began to grow more elaborate. Now even the side tables in the halls were well-carved, and the sconces for the torches were wrought with many fine designs. No one else, guard or merchant, spared them so much as a glance. It reminded Loren of when she and Jordel had done the same thing in the Greatrocks. For a painful moment, she wished he was here with her now. Though Niya was a competent enough woman, she could never replace him.
On the next floor, they passed by someone alone—a wizened merchant in a fine green dress. As soon as she saw the woman coming, Loren started, and only just managed to keep herself from coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. Once they were alone again, Niya stopped and turned to her.
“What is wrong? Who was that?”
“Her face … I remember it from somewhere.” And then it came to her. “Her name is Gretchen. She kept Damaris’ books. I saw her when I first met the merchant, and Annis as well.”
“We will not find a better target than that,” said Niya. “And we have spent too long in this place already. Who knows but that the guards we subdued have awoken, and are struggling free from their bonds even now.”
They turned and went hastily back the way they had come, and soon they could see Gretchen just ahead of them. The woman reached the stairwell and went up to the next floor, with Niya and Loren close behind. In the hallway, Gretchen entered the second door on her left, closing it behind her with a soft click. Loren and Niya stopped just outside it and looked at each other.
“There might be guards inside,” said Loren.
“There might not,” said Niya. “And we are out of time.”
She opened the door before Loren could answer, and strode confidently inside. With little other choice, Loren followed—but inside, they both froze. It was a sitting room, with a small table surrounded by plush chairs, upon one of which Gretchen now sat. There were no guards in the room, but there was one other—a young man with dark hair, and a scar that split his chin. Hewal.
Gretchen and Hewal looked up the moment the door opened, and when Loren and Niya stood there for a moment, Gretchen frowned. “What is it?” she said, her voice a shrill bark. “Are you lost?”
Loren could not think of what to say, but thankfully Niya’s wits were quicker. “No, my lady,” she said, deepening her voice to disguise it. Behind her back, she pushed the door shut, and took a step into the room, with Loren close behind. “Only we have been sent with orders—it appears the two of you may be in grave danger.”
The old woman’s brows flew skywards. “Us? This is the Golden Manor, you twit. What possible danger could there—”
But Loren saw Hewal’s eyes go wide, and he shot to his feet. Niya was quicker, lunging forwards and tackling the man to the ground. Loren went for Gretchen, clapping a hand over her mouth and seizing her arm as she tried to rise. Niya and Hewal wrestled for a moment, but she was stronger, and had drawn her knife before he quite knew what was going on. She held the point of it under his chin.
“Be still, weremage,” she said. “If I see the slightest glow in your eyes, I will plunge this into your brain. I know you cannot heal that wound away.”
Keeping her one hand over Gretchen’s mouth, Loren reached up to remove her helmet. As soon as it came off, Gretchen’s eyes narrowed, and then in a moment she shot wide. She screamed something, but the words were muffled under Loren’s hand.
“Yes, Gretchen,” said Loren, giving her a grim smile. “It has been a long time. We have questions for you, and you would do well to answer them.”
Above the point of Niya’s dagger, Hewal was nearly spitting with rage. “How?” he said. “How did you find me here?”
“You can never escape the Nightblade, weremage,” said Loren. “Remember that well.” He does not need to know that we had no idea he would be here, she thought to herself, and would have laughed out loud if the situation had been less serious.
Hewal snorted. “I suppose the spies of that old fool Kal are not so incompetent as I had believed.”
Struck by a thought, Loren raised her brows at him. “Oh, do you think you deceived Kal? You are mistaken. He has known of your deception for a long time, and played you for a fool.”
Joy coursed through her as she saw his face grow pale—but then his eyes narrowed, and he snorted. “You lie. Kal knew nothing, or he would have been more careful with his secrets. If you could hear only half the things I know about that old fool, and his precious order …”
Despite herself, Loren felt dread seize her at his words. But Niya pressed her dagger harder against his skin, and he went quiet. “Be silent, wizard,” said Niya. “We seek Damaris. If you wish to live, you will tell us where she may be found. In fact, I offer the two of you this chance: whichever one of you tells us where Damaris is hiding may live. I will take great pleasure in bleeding the other dry, all over this fine rug.”
Hewal glared at her, but Gretchen’s eyes went wide with terror. “Do you wish to volunteer?” said Loren. She took her hand away from Gretchen’s mouth, but dropped it to her throat. “Speak. But if you try to scream, I will throttle you.”
“I have nothing to say to you, ungrateful wretch.” Gretchen tried to spit at her, but the phlegm only splashed out on her own chin. “I told Damaris she should have killed you.”
“Mayhap she should have,” said Loren. “But now she never shall, for I mean to bring her before the King’s justice. Tell me where she is, and I will see that that justice is lenient upon you.”
“She is far away from you!” hissed Gretchen.
Loren frowned. “She … she is not in Dahab, then?”
Gretchen snapped her mouth shut at once, but Loren could see the fear in her eyes and knew it for the truth. What, then, had her dream shown her? She had seen Damaris here—here, in this very city. If that was a lie, then why had she seen Hewal here—why had she been allowed to see that he was a weremage, or that he would be in this city at all?
Her thoughts were drifting, and she forced herself back to the present. She would have to worry about these things later. Now Niya put her face closer to Hewal’s, sneering at him. “The old woman has been the most helpful so far,” she said. “You had best contribute something to the conversation, lest I grow bored of you.”
Hewal only glared at her. Niya shrugged and turned back to Gretchen. “Very well. He does not seem very forthcoming. Say on, old woman, and my friend and I will leave you be.”
Loren saw Gretchen hesitate, her throat working. “Do not scream,” warned Loren.
“She is far away,” said Gretchen. “Far from here.”
“You have said as much already,” said Niya. “More details.”
“A fortress. Far to the west. Too strong for you fools to break into,” said Niya.
Niya seized Hewal’s throat and turned the dagger on Niya, holding it just under the woman’s eye. “What is it called? Where may it be found?”
Gretchen squirmed under Loren’s hands, trying to edge away from the knife. “Yewamba! It is Yewamba, it—”
Loren saw the flash of light in Hewal’s eyes a moment too late, and her cry did not warn Niya in ti
me. The weremage slapped Niya’s hand away and sprang, and as he moved, great claws of bone shot from his hands. But he did not attack Niya, nor Loren. He plunged his knife-like claws into Gretchen’s throat and chest. One of them sliced open the back of Loren’s hand, and she recoiled in pain. Hewal did not press his attack, but leapt back and away from them both. Niya flipped her knife around, but Hewal flung a chair at her just as she threw it, and the blade flew wide. Gretchen collapsed on the couch, blood spurting from her throat to cover Loren’s chain mail.
“The window!” cried Loren.
But she was not fast enough. Hewal turned and leapt, curling his body into a ball. The glass of the window burst with a great crash, and from behind, Loren saw the glow of his eyes grow brighter. In a heartbeat, Hewal was gone, and a crow flew away into the night, cawing madly. Loren seized Gretchen’s shoulders, trying to sit her up so that she did not drown in her own blood.
“Leave her,” said Niya. “She is dead already.”
It was true. The woman still had a spark of life in her eye, and she looked up at Loren in terror, but already she was fading. Loren gritted her teeth and stood back, pressing her sliced hand hard into her sleeve to staunch the flow of blood. Niya went to the window and looked down.
“Guards heard the window breaking,” she said. “It is time we were leaving.”
“But we do not know where this Yewamba is,” said Loren.
“We can discover that later, I hope.”
“I am covered in blood. I cannot walk out of here like this, for they will know that something is amiss.”
Niya’s eyes grew narrow, and she studied Loren. For a long, curious moment, Loren felt that she was being judged, as though Niya weighed many grim options against one another. Then the Mystic’s face relaxed. “Well, I hope you do not expect me to leave you here. We have a mission to find Damaris, you and I, and I will not let you abandon it so easily.”
Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5) Page 17