An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “What do we do now?” she asked, her voice a whisper in the dark.

  “How should I know?”

  “This was your plan.”

  “My plan only involved our getting onto the castle grounds. The rest…well…we will just have to improvise.”

  “Suggestions?”

  He considered the original plan to make their move at night. It was still the best idea he had to offer. “It will be nightfall soon. Whatever we do, it will be easier to move about without notice when it’s dark. Besides, I need time to recover. I suspect we’ll need magic to pull this off.”

  “Fine. We’ll wait, then.” She nudged him in the stomach. “Was that so difficult?”

  “You know, you can be awfully frustrating sometimes.”

  “I’m a female.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I am supposed to be mysterious and bewildering to boys like you.”

  He snorted. “Well, you are doing a stellar job of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  She elbowed him again, this time driving the air from his lungs and ending the conversation.

  From the barn interior, Brandt peeked around the doorframe and found it dark outside. Glowlamps mounted atop the exterior wall shone in the night and offered enough light to navigate the castle grounds. The courtyard appeared empty save for a cluster of guards near the gate, deep in conversation. Movement upon the wall drew Brandt’s attention as a patrolling guard eclipsed one of the glowlamps. If there were one guard up there, he expected there were others.

  “Is it clear?” Quinn whispered from behind him.

  “Yeah.” He gave her hand a tug. “Let’s go.”

  He slipped around the corner and hurried along the wall, feeling very much exposed. At the first corner, he turned and melted into the shadows with Quinn a step behind. A path between the stables and the castle led to an open stairwell. Brandt crept up it with Quinn following, both crouching low during the ascent and slowing as they reached the top. A brief peek over the wall revealed a rooftop patio with a fire pit at the center. Chairs surrounded the pit, and all were empty as was the patio. A waist-high wall with crumbling sections surrounded the patio.

  He climbed the last few steps and padded toward a pair of glass-paned doors. The curtains inside were open, the room dark.

  Brandt tested the door. “Locked. Give me your knife, and I’ll break the window.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  He turned toward her. “What else do you suggest?”

  Step aside,” Quinn slid past and knelt before the lock.

  He watched in curiosity as she produced a pair of needles and inserted the first into the lock. Her focus was intense, her movements careful and slight until a faint click came from the lock. She slid another needle into the lock while holding the first in place. Again, she focused, shifted a fraction, and produced a click. She hefted her dagger, the tip sliding into the slot and turning the lock a half rotation. With the dagger and needles returned to the sheath strapped to her leg, Quinn turned the handle.

  “Who knew you were such a rogue?” he said.

  Quinn smiled, her teeth tinted blue in the light of the distant glowlamps, her voice a whisper. “There is much you have yet to learn about me, my Prince.” She then opened the door and slid inside.

  Brandt gently closed the door and surveyed the dark, quiet room. Praying they had not stumbled into an occupied bedroom, he dug out his chunk of glowstone, the pale light giving shape to their surroundings.

  It was a spacious chamber, expansive enough for royalty. Six tables occupied the room, each covered in sheets of paper. Upon closer inspection, Brandt found drawings of various contraptions on the nearest tables. Each drawing contained notations, many with numbers and calculations that made his head hurt when he tried to follow them.

  Deciding he wouldn’t learn anything from the diagrams, he looked up and found Quinn with her ear to the door. As he crossed the room, she cracked it open. A sliver of blue light streamed through the opening, growing brighter as she eased the door wider. She peeked out briefly before closing it and turning toward him.

  “The corridor is empty. Let’s go.”

  Brandt trailed her through the door into a narrow corridor. A glowlamp on the opposite wall lit the center while the corners where the hallway turned remained dark. The smell of burnt metal hung in the air, reminding him of the Forge back in the Arcane Ward. He pocketed the glowstone and considered their next step.

  “Which way?” she whispered.

  He gestured to his left. “That way goes deeper into the castle.”

  Quinn crept down the hallway, put her back against the wall, and peeked around the corner. She then slipped around it with Brandt following close behind.

  This corridor was far longer than the first, with evenly spaced doors lining one wall. The other wall ended after a few strides before it became a waist-high railing. Quinn moved to the railing and ducked to peer between the balusters. When Brandt joined her, he discovered where the scent of burnt metal originated.

  Before him was an expansive courtyard, open to the night sky. A hundred feet across from him, two levels of open corridors mirrored the one where they crouched. The wood along both terraces appeared newly replaced, far newer than the castle itself.

  The courtyard was filled with metal workings in various states. In the center of the room were a pair of massive forges, their coals glowing orange and heating the area despite the chilly evening air. A pile of rectangular iron ingots and bins of black coal stood along the wall beyond the forges. Casting blocks of various sizes were stacked beside the coal bins. Four massive anvils stood beside the forges, surrounded by worktables – all filled with metalworking tools. Three flash cannons, each in a different state of assembly, rested atop carts positioned beside the workstations.

  A dozen men worked below, busily securing narrow metal tubes to odd wooden handle assemblies, forming a weapon Brandt had never before seen. They all wore leather aprons over stained, blue tunics. Black soot and burn scars marked the men’s arms and faces.

  A short, portly man with a balding head of dark hair strolled in. He wore a stained white smock with an Order rune on his left breast. The man in white stopped and spoke to the workers, his voice only just audible.

  “…enough for the day. Get yourself some food, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  A few of the men nodded, set their half-assembled weapons down, and strolled out of view. The others continued working for another minute, finishing their assemblies before following the first group out the door. The portly man in white remained, inspecting completed weapons and jotting down notations on a tablet he carried. He set the tablet on the table and collected a handful of small metallic objects from a workbench before turning toward the door. When he faded from view, Quinn leaned close to Brandt.

  “How do we destroy all of this?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I see a LOT of metal. It will take something impressive…and a lot of heat.”

  “Well, let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  She looked at him, her eyes as hard as steel. “Down there.”

  He wanted to ask her if she was crazy, if there was some other plan they might try, but he saw her determination and knew there was no talking her out of it. Restraining his sigh, he nodded.

  Quinn scurried over to the brick column that supported the ceiling above them. She climbed over the rail and began lowering herself down the column to the terrace below. He looked down with a grimace. This would be easier if the Reduce Gravity augmentation was still in effect. However, I might need my magic for something else soon…something more desperate.

  Having no other option, he climbed over the rail, lowered himself until he was hanging by his hands, and wrapped his legs around the column before shimmying down. By the time he was on the second floor, she was already dropping to the court
yard below. Likewise, he lowered himself until he was hanging by his hands, and he let go.

  Despite his attempt to land lightly, the thud of his boots striking the stones of the courtyard floor made him wince. She held her finger to her lips, and he shrugged in response. He spotted a wooden barrel in the corner that had been hidden from view when they were on the terrace above. The barrel lid was painted bright red. Beside it were shelves lined with unfamiliar metal and wood weapons.

  In the direction where the Imperial workers had headed was an open door, painted green. Shelves stood beside the door, most of which were filled with bronze-capped glass jars arranged in padded wicker baskets. The only other visible doors stood at the opposite end of the courtyard, both painted red.

  Quinn moved beside a table, peering closely at the items that lay upon it. Four glass jars and cast bronze components rested there. Some of the bronze parts were smaller than one of her lock picks. Others matched the diameter of the jars. A basket with eight woven pockets, each the right size to hold a jar, rested on a cart beside the workbench.

  A noise came from beyond the open door, and they both ducked, hiding behind the nearest workbench. From his position near the floor, Brandt watched a pair of feet bustle across the room, straight toward them. The man paused just to the other side of the bench.

  “Oh, there it is,” the man mumbled.

  Circling the bench, he picked up the tablet and his eyes widened – beady eyes behind rounded spectacles. Those eyes locked with Brandt’s. The man and Brandt both froze.

  In a flash, Quinn lunged past Brandt, her fist striking the man in the throat. He dropped the tablet and staggered backward with his hands around his neck, choking. A roundhouse kick followed. The heel of her boot struck the man’s head and sent his spectacles spinning to the floor, broken glass shards scattering. The force of her kick spun him around a full circle. He staggered, collapsed, and splayed out on the floor. There, he remained, unmoving.

  “Run!” she said.

  Panicked, they bolted past the forges and toward the red doors at the far end of the room. Reaching one, Quinn eased the door open to reveal a dark room beyond. From that narrow opening came an unsavory smell that reminded Brandt of rotten eggs. She opened the door further, the orange light from the forges illuminating the room to reveal more barrels, both large and small. Beside the barrels were two wagons, both containing broken chunks of rock.

  Curious, Brandt moved closer to the wagons. Something in the rocks sparkled, reflecting light as if filled with bits of metal. His eyes narrowed in thought as he turned toward the barrels, the lids painted red.

  “This is it,” Brandt said, nodding.

  “This is what?”

  Brandt pointed at the wagon before him. “The sparkling rock. It’s what they use to make flash powder.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We found their supply. I bet the barrels are filled with it as well.”

  Quinn’s gaze swept the room. “There is no way out of here. We either have to climb up and leave the way we came in, or we need to go out the green doors.”

  Brandt’s mind raced as he considered their options. They needed to destroy this place, but he didn’t wish to die in the process. More importantly, he wanted to keep Quinn safe. His gaze landed upon the barrels and a plan coalesced.

  “I have an idea. It’s risky, but it might buy us enough time to escape.” He held his open hand toward her. “Give me your knife.”

  Quinn drew the knife and set it in his palm. He moved close to one of the smaller barrels, lifted the knife high and thrust it down, the tip burying in the lid with a thud. Three more times, he struck the lid, each strike stinging his wrist. The result created splintered slots in a narrow area.

  “What are you doing?” Quinn demanded in a hushed voice.

  “Breaking this barrel open.”

  Again, he jammed the knife into the lid, cracking it. Another strike sent splinters and a thin puff of dark powder into the air. With the knife wedged in the hole, he rocked it back and forth, opening the hole wider before returning it. He then shifted behind the barrel and put his boot heel against it. A shove rocked the barrel. Another shove, timed properly, tipped it over. Dark powder spilled out on the floor as the barrel rocked and settled.

  “Now what?” Quinn asked.

  “Now, you help me roll this across the room out there.”

  Shrugging she shifted behind the barrel, the two of them rolling it out the door. It rumbled as it rolled, making more noise than Brandt intended, but he had no better ideas. As they rolled it past the iron ingots and bins of coal, dark powder continued to leak from the hole in the lid, leaving a trail to the storage room behind them. They steered clear of the forges, keeping the barrel and the trail of flash powder as far from the fire as possible. Brandt imagined a spark from a popping coal falling into the flash powder, the blast taking them and everything else with it. That thought was running through his mind when Quinn abruptly stopped the barrel.

  “Where is he?” Quinn’s voice was thick with panic.

  “What? Who?”

  “What do you mean, who?”

  Before he could reply, a staccato of hurried footsteps came from beyond the open door ahead.

  Three soldiers ran into the courtyard with swords brandished. They raced past the workbenches as Quinn drew her swords, the ring of her weapons like an answer to a challenge. She leaped over the barrel to meet them, spinning to knock the lead sword aside with one blade, her trailing blade slicing the bicep of the man holding it. He cried out, dropped his sword, and stumbled backward while the other two attacked.

  Brandt circled to the side and kicked at a sword arm, redirecting a strike intended for Quinn’s blindside. The soldier launched a backhand swing, and Brandt leaped backward to avoid it. Another swing forced him further back, and he scrambled around the barrel to get clear.

  Brandt’s attacker turned toward Quinn, who was fighting with the third soldier. Her swords flashed in a flurry as she blocked her opponent’s strikes. Ducking and spinning, she sliced across her opponent’s thigh, drawing a cry of pain. The other soldier thrust his sword toward her, which she narrowly dodged. With Quinn outnumbered, Brandt rushed back in to help.

  He leaped, kicking the back of one man’s head before the soldier could strike again. The man staggered, and Quinn’s blade flashed, taking the guard’s sword hand off. He stumbled backward, holding the bloody stump with horror etched on his face. Brandt spun with a high kick, striking the side of the wounded man’s head and sending him stumbling to the floor. When Brandt turned around, the third soldier was lying in a pool of blood, his thighs bleeding, his throat slit. The guard with the missing hand lay beside him, either unconscious or dead. The third man, the one with the sliced arm, was nowhere in sight.

  “Back to the barrel.” Brandt’s voice squeaked with an edge of panic. “We don’t have much time.”

  He and Quinn shifted behind it, ready to push it further, but they were interrupted when more soldiers ran into the room – many more soldiers, fanning out with weapons drawn. Some held those odd metal tubes with wooden handles, the weapons pointed toward Brandt and Quinn. A boom and a flash of green blasted from one of the tubes, and something struck the metal band of the barrel, narrowly missing Brandt’s hand. The impact created a spark as the projectile sailed past and hit the stack of iron ingots with a deep clang.

  “Stop!” The portly man in white reappeared, emerging between the line of guards. The side of his face was bloody and swollen from Quinn’s roundhouse kick. “Don’t fire the muskets! That barrel is filled with flash powder. You’ll kill us all if it ignites!”

  The guards, more than twenty in all, began to advance. With her short swords still drawn, Quinn put her boot against the barrel and gave it a hard shove, the barrel rolling toward the guards. She then knelt with her swords pointed toward the stone floor, the tips touching the trail of metallic powder.

  “Come any closer and I’ll create a spark. It will be the last thing you
ever do.”

  The guards stopped dead in their tracks. The barrel slowed, its path curving until it came to rest against the furthest workbench, a few short strides in front of the guards.

  “Jarlish!” A male guard with stripes on his tabard looked toward the man in the white smock – the same man Quinn had knocked out. “What do you suggest?”

  Jarlish scowled at Quinn. “Don’t attack. She’s right.”

  The portly man shuffled beyond the line of guards and spread his hands out. “Surely, you don’t want to die, young lady,” he crooned. “Tell us what you want, and I’m sure we can come to an accommodation.”

  Quinn’s steely gray eyes narrowed and she sneered. “I don’t…”

  Brandt’s hand on her shoulder stopped her mid-sentence. She looked up at him as he shifted in front of her with his back turned to the enemy soldiers. Moving discreetly, he drew his coal out and traced a rune on the palm of his hand with her watching.

  “What are you doing?” Anger was apparent in her voice, despite the hushed volume. “We must destroy this place, even if we go with it.” She frowned, staring at his hand. “I don’t know that rune.”

  “It’s new. I’m going to try something…something dangerous. If it works, we may get out alive. If not…you know what to do.” He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that you have stolen my heart. More importantly, I don’t want it back.”

  He stared into her eyes and saw the steel of her spirit, a strength that inspired him. His pulse hammered in his ears, his breathing ragged as he allowed the tension of the moment to overcome him. With closed eyes, he sought Chaos, and it welcomed him with a heated embrace. The raw tumult of energy filled him, his veins on fire, his eyes bulging as he opened them and looked upon the Speed rune. As the energy poured from him, into the rune, exhaustion filled the vacuum. The rune pulsed, faded, and thunder struck.