Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5)

by Garrett Robinson

  Loren spun, dragging Damaris with her as the merchant cried out in protest. She looked both directions down the hallway, and then ran to the next intersection to look down both side passages. Chet was nowhere in sight.

  She did not know what to do. She had been willing to leave Niya behind, at least for a moment, while the woman was in her bloodlust. If worst came to worst, Niya could find the shaft and escape on her own. But Chet … how could she go on without him?

  You cannot, came the answer in her mind.

  Damaris took advantage of her distraction and opened her mouth suddenly, only to bite down on Loren’s forefinger. But Loren felt the motion at the last moment and dragged her hand away, so that the merchant’s teeth only cut into her skin, but not the flesh. She seized the back of Damaris’ hair and slammed the merchant’s whole body into the wall, screaming with rage.

  “Still yourself, you noxious witch!” she cried. With another great heave, she crushed the merchant into the stone again. “I swear by both the moons that I will end you.”

  Damaris only laughed. “We both know that that is a lie, Nightblade. Tales of you fly all across the land, of the mercy of your hand. And I know you still better than those stories.”

  “Gem, find rope,” said Loren. “Or cord, or anything to bind her with—the more painful the better.” The boy ran off to obey her. Loren shoved Damaris into the room with the hatch that led to the shaft, and then drew her dagger. She hacked a long strip from the back of Damaris’ dress, heedless of the large hole it made there. Her knife slipped for moment and drew a thin line of blood from Damaris’ shoulder blade, and the woman hissed with pain. “My apologies, my lady,” said Loren. “Mayhap if you struggled less, that would not have happened.” She shoved a ball of the cloth into Damaris’ mouth, and tied it in place with the rest. She was not gentle with the knot. Gem returned in a moment with a thin rope that looked as though it had once belonged to fine drapes, though Loren could not imagine why there would be window drapes in this place, so far from the sunlight.

  “Loren!”

  She turned at the sound of the voice at once. Chet stood there in the doorway. His clothes were so scorched that she hardly recognized them, and he was covered in soot, but his skin was unmarked by blade or burn. She could not help her eyes from filling with tears.

  “Chet,” she said. “Thank the sky. I thought you were lost. I meant to go and find you, I—”

  “That is all right. I am here.” He went to her and put a hand on her arm. “You have her. I can scarcely believe it.”

  “It worked,” said Loren. “Now come, quickly, and help me get her into the shaft.” Gem already had the thing open, and was dragging on the rope to lower the wooden platform so that they could put Damaris onto it.

  “Of course, of course,” mumbled Chet. “Only forgive me … the smoke …” His eyes wandered, taking her in, and then looking to the door of the room. It was as though he were dazed, or half senseless.

  She looked at him with concern. “Are you all right? What is wrong? Are you hurt?”

  But before he could answer her, Loren heard footsteps from the hall. They all froze, even Damaris, and Loren watched the doorway with wide and fearful eyes. The footsteps stopped just out of sight. Then, with two great staggering steps, Niya appeared in the door.

  Loren’s first instinct was to loose a sigh of relief, but then she tensed again. The Mystic had taken a wound in the fighting, what looked to be a stab wound from a knife, but it was high on her shoulder and did not look deadly. That was not what gave Loren pause. It was the look in Niya’s eye—still furious, still filled with a lust for blood and death. Loren felt that she must do something, but she did not know what.

  “Niya,” said Chet. “You are here, too. What a relief.” It did not seem that he saw any sign of the woman’s dangerous mood.

  “You …” growled Niya. She staggered into the room, and Loren saw that the stab wound was not her only injury. Her left arm was badly burned near the shoulder. “You.”

  The sword fell from her hand, and relief washed through Loren. But then Niya strode into the room and seized Chet by the front of his shirt. Before anyone could react, the Mystic drew her dagger and slit Chet’s throat.

  thirty-nine

  “No!”

  Loren fell to her knees beside Chet as he slumped to the ground. She seized his throat, trying hopelessly to staunch the blood. She saw in her mind the way Gretchen had died the same way—but, too, she saw her dreams, and the way that Chet always died, always the same way, just as he was dying now.

  Chet gave a scream and launched himself at Niya, but the Mystic struck him a heavy backhand blow, and he landed hard on the floor. Damaris struggled against her bonds, trying to fight to her feet, but Niya kicked her back down, and she lay still. Then Niya seized Loren by the back of her cloak and hauled her up.

  “Stop your fretting, Nightblade,” she growled. “Look.”

  Loren struggled against her, fighting to reach for Chet again. She knew she could not save him, but darkness take her if she would not be with him as his life slipped away, if she could not give him at least that comfort.

  Then she froze.

  From Chet’s eyes poured a glow she knew well: magelight. And as she watched, his form began to change. His skin darkened, and his sandy brown hair turned black. When the glow faded from his eyes, he was Chet no longer, but Hewal. He raised a hand, reaching for her, but she could not know whether it was in anger or in fear, for the blood that bubbled up around his teeth was all she could see.

  Life fled him at last, and his hand fell to the stone floor.

  Niya let go, and Loren jerked away from her. “You … how did you …”

  “How did I know?” said Niya. “Sky above, girl. Look at him. He wears different clothes. Chet wore boots into the stronghold, but Hewal has shoes on.”

  She spoke the truth. His clothes were burned and torn, but they were clearly different. So great had been her relief at seeing Chet again after Gem told her he had vanished, that she had missed the differences.

  “I … I thought …”

  “I know what you thought,” said Niya. “But we are out of time for pleasant conversation. All of Yewamba will soon be mustered against us, and we must escape before that happens.”

  “But Chet—the real Chet, I mean, where is—”

  “Loren!” Chet’s voice rang out from the hallway. A moment later he appeared there in the doorway, gripping its edges with his hands. Loren ran to him with a cry, but she stopped a pace away, hesitant.

  “Sky above, listen, girl,” said Niya. “Look at his boots.”

  Loren did, and they were Chet’s, and she leaped forward to embrace him. He started, surprised, but then his arms folded around her.

  “What is it?” he said. “What is wrong? Gem and I became separated, and—”

  Over her shoulder, he spotted Hewal’s body. Loren followed his gaze.

  “He took your likeness, and when I saw him I thought you …” And then she recalled her dream. Chet in the depths of Yewamba, before Damaris, his throat cut. Even Auntie’s appearance, over and over again, every night. Weremage, she thought. All at once she understood, and she began to laugh. It rang from her clear and loud, mayhap the first time she had laughed since that final night with Xain upon the Seat. She laughed until her knees were weak, and she had to hold Chet to remain standing.

  “Loren, I do not understand what has happened,” said Chet.

  “You will,” she said, touching his cheek. “Everything, I promise you. I will tell you all. But after we have escaped.”

  “That may be a problem,” said Gem. He had thrust his head into the shaft with the wooden platform, and now he withdrew it. “The way is shut.”

  “What do you mean?” said Loren. She went to him and looked for herself. Far above, she could see a large metal grate. It had been placed to block the way up, with only a tiny gap in its middle so that the rope could run through it.

  “It
looks to block the top five levels, if I guess the distance correctly,” said Gem. “A measure to prevent escape by the very route we had planned to take.”

  Loren turned to Damaris, who sat against the wall now. Though the merchant’s mouth was covered, Loren could see the smile in her eyes. She knelt and pulled off the gag.

  “How can we escape?” she said.

  “You cannot,” said Damaris. Her voice was calm, measured, and utterly in control. “You will die here, slain by my soldiers. Your only possible consolation will be taking my own life before that happens—and I call that a small price, for your end is assured.”

  Loren saw no doubt whatsoever in the woman’s face, and it sent a chill through her. But Niya seized the front of Damaris’ dress and dragged her to her feet, slamming her back into the wall.

  “Do not toy with us, wretch,” said Niya. “There is a way out. A way that you would use to escape, if Yewamba were besieged beyond hope of victory. Tell us where to find it.”

  Damaris cocked her brows. “I do not know you, woman.”

  “You will know me before the end,” hissed Niya. “Tell us how to get out.”

  “Never,” said Damaris. “Not in a lifetime could you understand the depths of my loathing for this girl, with her simpering eyes and stolen cloak.”

  “I have stolen many things, but not this,” said Loren, smiling fiercely at the merchant. “The cloak you gave me freely. And, too, you drove your daughter away from you and into my company, so you may blame yourself for that as well.”

  Damaris jerked without warning in Niya’s arms, breaking free and flinging herself at Loren. But with her hands bound behind her it was a feeble lunge, and Loren caught her by the shoulders. Damaris thrashed and struggled, screaming in Loren’s face.

  “Never speak of her before me, you simpering bitch! You will beg for death before the end. I have spent a lifetime plumbing the depths of pain, and I will plunge you into them again and again until you have forgotten your own name, until you have forgotten everything but agony!”

  Loren pushed her slightly away. She drew back her hand and gave Damaris a calm, measured slap across the face. “No. You will not,” she said.

  Chet put a hand on her shoulder. “We have remained here overlong,” he said. “If we cannot use the shaft to escape, we should find a better place to hide.”

  Niya seized Damaris once again and spun her around before driving a knee into her gut. The merchant gave a thin grunt, wheezing as she tried to suck air into her lungs. “Tell us,” said Niya. “Tell us before I end you.” Damaris only laughed. Niya squeezed her by the throat, cutting off the laugh and pressing her windpipe until her eyes bugged out. “I give you one final chance. Speak. I have killed many here today, and I will kill more before the end. Speak, or you are next.” She drew her knife and pressed the point against Damaris’ jugular.

  “Stop it,” said Loren. She seized Niya’s wrist and pulled it away. “That is not the mission.”

  “The mission?” snarled Niya. “The mission now becomes escape—and if we cannot capture Damaris, better to kill her.”

  “Our situation is not hopeless. We saw on the way in how sparsely populated this place is. We may still make our way to the top.” Her hand tightened on Niya’s wrist. “And we may need Damaris as a bargaining chip. Without her, our chances dwindle.”

  Rage still burned in the Mystic’s eyes, plain for all to see. But a spark of cunning flashed within them, and Loren felt the tension in her arm fade away. “Very well,” she said in a low voice. “Because we need her.”

  Loren nodded, and then turned to Damaris. “That is twice now when I could have killed you and did not. That is in repayment, for you have done the same to me, twice.”

  “And never a greater mistake,” hissed Damaris. “But you have never had power over me, girl. You have only ever called off the trained dogs who march by your side—the wizard who became a Dean, and now this Mystic cow.”

  “You are a fine one to talk,” said Loren, arching an eyebrow. “When have you ever held a blade yourself, rather than commanding the one in Gregor’s hand? Gag her.”

  She turned away as Chet obeyed. But then a thought struck her, spurred by her own words. Gregor.

  “Hold a moment,” she said, and turned to Damaris. “I did not see Gregor with you below. Is he here in Yewamba?”

  The merchant froze. Above the gag, she studied Loren with narrow eyes.

  “You seem fairly obsessed with this Gregor fellow,” said Niya scornfully. “Is he another lover, perhaps, whose affections you scorned?”

  “He is her guard. And he is loyal to her beyond measure or reason. Her other guards obey her to the letter, for their duty is to their family. If Damaris ordered them to kill us at all costs, even her own life, they would obey.” Loren smiled at Damaris. “But not Gregor. If we offered her life in exchange for our escape, Gregor would accept in a heartbeat.”

  Niya’s hand tightened on Damaris’ shoulder. “We will not surrender her.”

  “Of course not,” said Loren, her smile broadening. “But Gregor will believe that we will. He knows I am … an honorable thief.”

  Damaris screamed into her gag and lunged for Loren again, but Niya dragged her back. Loren looked over to Chet and Gem, who wore hopeful smiles for the first time since they had all entered this room.

  “Find us some Yerrin guards, my friends. It is time we got out of this place.”

  Damaris struggled all the while they dragged her down the hallways. Niya held her arm across the woman’s throat, holding her in front as they sought for guards to bargain with. They had to find a staircase down to the next level, for the one they were on was still abandoned. Eventually they neared the mess hall they had snuck through earlier. Around the corner from it they stopped, and Niya looked to Loren. With a nod, Loren ushered her around the corner.

  “Guards of Yerrin!” she cried.

  The room went utterly silent, and everyone within froze. The guards had mustered in groups around the tables on either side of the room. It seemed that two captains had gathered their men around to inform them of what had happened and to issue orders. Loren saw that many of the men had burns on their bodies or their clothing, and wondered how long they had been fighting the flames, trying to find their lady among the smoke and the blaze. Now they edged away from the tables and towards the center of the room, hands going to the hilts of their swords.

  “That is enough of that,” said Niya, tightening her grip on Damaris’ neck. “Stay your hands, or see her body broken.”

  They froze, looking at each other uneasily. Then one of them stepped forwards, a dour man with a thick beard flecked with grey. “Unhand our lady, or things will not go well for the lot of you.”

  “We will not,” said Loren. “Not until we have spoken to Gregor.”

  At that the man paused. He glanced at Damaris. From beneath her gag she shouted, and with her eyes wide she shook her head back and forth. But her words could not be understood, and the guard captain frowned.

  “Run and fetch Gregor,” he said to one of the men. He lifted three fingers and waved the guard out, who ran out the room’s other exit at once. “What do the lot of you want?”

  “Assurance of escape,” said Loren. “Once we are safely on our way out of Yewamba, your lady will be freed.”

  “I cannot allow that,” he said at once.

  Loren smiled. “We will see, once Gregor arrives. Where is he?”

  “Not far,” said the captain. “He searches for Damaris even now.”

  “Good, then,” said Loren. “If it is all the same to you, we will be in the hallway with your lady, to ensure that none of your men think to try their luck with an attack, until Gregor arrives.”

  The captain took a quick step forwards, though he paused when Niya jerked Damaris up straighter, until the merchant was forced to stand upon her toes. “Do not take her out of our sight,” he said.

  Loren and Niya looked at each other. “Very well. She an
d my friend will stand in the doorway where you may see her,” said Loren.

  They backed away slowly, with Loren and Chet and Gem taking up position just to the left of the door. Niya stood in sight of the guards, holding Damaris before them. The merchant continued to struggle and fight, flinging her hands back and forth where they were bound before her.

  “Be still,” said Niya. She drove a fist into Damaris’ side, causing her to groan and sag to the side.

  “Niya!” said Loren. “Enough. If you harm her too badly, they will not help us at all.”

  “I will do more than harm her if she does not stop her squirming,” said Niya.

  Chet looked up and down the hallway. “What is taking the guard so long?” he said. “I thought Gregor was nearby.”

  “If I know him, he searches high and low for Damaris,” said Loren. “He might have gone farther than the captain knew.” But she understood his anxiety—she, too, felt more ill at ease the longer they remained here.

  “Still yourself, witch!” said Niya. Her arm constricted on Damaris’ throat just a bit more.

  “I think you squeeze her too tight,” said Gem, frowning. “She is twitching.”

  Loren glanced over. Though they were still bound before her, Damaris’ arms were indeed spasming back and forth—or rather, her hands were, in jerky little motions. Then Loren’s eyes shot wide. The merchant was not struggling against her bonds—she was signaling to the guard captain.

  “Niya, run!” she cried, but too late. A door down the hall burst open, and men in chain shirts and green cloaks came storming into view with battle cries. Niya froze in shock, and Damaris jerked away from the woman’s grasp, then ran stumbling into the mess hall before she could be reclaimed. Loren leaped forward to help, but only in time to see Damaris turn beside the captain and rip the gag away from her mouth with a feral grin.