Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  As he hopped into his boots, Soria dragged Tomas to the window and pointed down. He peered out, then abruptly withdrew his head back into the room, shaking it violently. Soria pointed to him, then down once more. Tomas pointed to the dagger, then to the door, punctuating his alternate suggestion with a slashing motion across his throat. Soria shook her head. She pointed down.

  Tomas looked out once more, more cautiously this time. He did not pull away, but looked helplessly up at Soria. He took hold of one of his arms, grasping it about the bicep. He shook his head again, slumping down against the wall.

  I could just throw him out, say he fell ...

  Soria breathed through gritted teeth, and began pulling up the rope. She tied it about Tomas's waist, perhaps a bit tighter than it needed to be, and leaned in again to whisper in his ear.

  "Last chance. I lower you down, but I can't hold your whole weight. You're going to walk down the outside wall, holding onto the rope. Otherwise, we're leaving you both here," she whispered. Soria hoped that the girl's safety was incentive enough to motivate him.

  Tomas nodded, perhaps longer than he needed to for his agreement to be known. He eased himself up onto the ledge and turned around. Soria saw that his eyes were closed. She also saw that every muscle in his body was rigid—as rigid as a scrawny, flimsy puff of a man as Tomas could get. Soria took up her end of the rope and tried not to envision the disaster that seemed likely to follow.

  After Tomas's first steps, Soria lost sight of him. She leaned back, foot braced against the wall, aware of Tomas solely by the enormous dead weight straining on the rope. Rakashi should be doing this. He could have made that climb. She played out another arm’s length of rope. Brannis could have just carried him down. She paused to catch her breath, knowing that holding it was just making the pain in her arms worse. Why did I have to be the one up here?

  * * * * * * * *

  Brannis watched Soria until he lost sight of her around a corner of the keep. Twice on the way to the wall he had tripped and had to pick himself up. Rakashi kept on running ahead of him, though it did the Takalish warrior little good to arrive early. They headed not for the front entrance, nor for the rear—both of which were likely being reinforced as they approached—but instead headed for the side of the keep, guarded by nothing more than flower beds and some evergreen shrubs trimmed to look like animals.

  Brannis reached the wall, batting his way past a verdant unicorn, to find Rakashi pressed against the side of the keep, waiting for him. There were no windows on that side of the keep below the third floor.

  "Stand aside," Brannis said, keeping his voice low. Rakashi stepped back two paces. "More than that." Rakashi scrambled away several more.

  Avalanche slid from its sheath. Brannis thrust it through the keep wall as if it was made of paper and not granite blocks as thick as barrels. He swept the blade back and forth, carving a rough doorway. The keep shook as it settled, a bit less stable than it had been a moment before. Brannis remembered to sweep aside the rubble to the point where he and Rakashi did not need to climb over anything.

  They had entered a store room, just where Soria's map said it should be. It appeared well stocked, but it had recently been devastated by flying debris from a shattered exterior wall. The door out to the halls beyond was shut, and may or may not have been locked. One swipe of Avalanche took the door from its hinges, along with much of the wall those hinges had attached to.

  "Remember," Brannis called back. "Keep behind me. I don't think fancy blade work will stop a musket."

  "You just mind that your armor's protection does not last forever," Rakashi replied.

  They advanced, their steps echoing on bare stone floors, blades ready, into the halls of the keep. Ensconced torches lit their way. "Around the next corner," Rakashi warned. His aether-vision made him invaluable in the twisting corridors they were invading.

  Brannis hesitated a moment, discordant with the knowledge that his armor ought to protect him against anything short of cannon fire in Tellurak. He peeked around the corner and saw six men armed with muskets—three standing behind three down on one knee, all aimed down toward their end of the corridor. Brannis was spotted, and reflex pulled his head back behind cover. One of the Kheshis shouted something in their own language.

  Brannis looked over his shoulder. "Nothing to concern yourself with," Rakashi told him in lieu of translation. "Shall we?"

  "Tell them to surrender," Brannis said. "We give them a chance first. They can't possibly know what they are facing."

  Rakashi shrugged then shouted back, a long string of foreign noises that Brannis could not even dissect into distinct words. So much for learning that new word. The Kheshis hollered back a reply.

  "They are biding time, and I just saw why," Rakashi said. "We have another group coming from the other side. We will be caught between them in a moment. I think our time is now."

  Brannis nodded. He took a breath to steel himself, and put an arm up to shield his face. He knew not how well the demonic helm of Liead's armor would protect the exposed skin there, if it would at all. He shouted, "Charge!" and rounded the corner, Avalanche at the ready.

  Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!

  Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!

  The muskets' reports were deafening in closed quarters, but the worst pain they delivered was to the ears. Brannis felt impacts like dirt clods, not lead balls. He dropped his arm to see a cloud of smoke around the musketeers. Shock registered on their faces as they saw that their volley had not stopped Brannis, nor even slowed him. The ones who had stood were already turning to run, the ones who had knelt were scrambling to join them. Brannis caught up with two of the latter and dispatched them with a single swipe of Avalanche. He took off after the rest.

  Brannis spared a glance over his shoulder, but saw no sign of Rakashi. Over the shouts and screaming that had overwhelmed the ambient sounds of the keep, he could hear blades ringing back the way he had come.

  Brannis turned and retraced his charge. He barreled around the corner at a run, nearly colliding with Rakashi, coming the opposite way. On the ground lay four men in sleeveless leather armor, the same style Soria wore. All had carried sword and buckler. One was cut nearing in half across the belly; another was missing his head. The camaraderie that Brannis had felt in the heady rush of combat sank for a moment, lodging itself in his bowels, before bobbing back to rest once more in his heart. There was no time for reminiscence or mourning.

  "Not Tezuan," Rakashi said by way of explanation. "Lead on."

  Brannis nodded, saving his breath for running.

  "We should find the kitchen, or the larder," Rakashi reminded Brannis. "We may be days in our flight before we reach a safe city."

  The passed the slaughtered musketeers, and headed off in search of the rest of the keep's defenders. The corridors were empty. There were no other pockets of resistance to be found. Brannis looked to Rakashi, who shrugged.

  Brannis opened a pair of double doors, reducing them to splinters with a long back-and-forth sweep of Avalanche. He strode through and into the main room of the keep, with vaulted ceilings that rose the entire four stories of the fortress' height. He saw nothing save a room set with long dining tables and a raised terrace with a single, lonely table atop it. The table was set for dinner, with two chairs; one was occupied.

  "Sir Brannis, please enter," the chair's occupant called out. She was fair-skinned, clearly southern Kheshi, with an accent to her Acardian to match. Brannis held a hand out behind him, warning Rakashi to stay back.

  * * * * * * * *

  Soria's arms burned. Every muscle, stoically silent during Tomas's descent, now found time to voice a protest over working conditions of late. Her hands had worked themselves into claws, still trying to hold tight to the rope that was no longer within their grasp. She shook them out, wondering how she was going to manage to finish her assignment. You best not have been spending your captivity stuffing yourself with sweets, peasant girl.

  Sori
a looked out the window. She watched as Tomas fumbled with the knot at his waist. He looked unable to get it loosened enough to untie. Soria reached for the second of her daggers, aimed with care, resisted the temptation, then aimed again away from Tomas, and stuck the dagger in the ground near his feet.

  Startled though he was, Tomas had sense enough to take it up and cut himself free of the rope. Soria hauled the rest of the rope up as quickly as she could, then pulled her dagger free from the stonework—or tried. Even telekinesis was not enough to yank it free. She leafed through a mental catalogue of spells: she tried one for melting stone into mud, but nothing happened; she tried to turn the dagger insubstantial, but to no avail. She shook her head, regretting the loss of the weapon she had runed herself; she did not have time to fool with it any longer.

  She took up the cut end of the rope and climbed out the window. It certainly looked a long way down to where Tomas stood below, gawking up at her, hand pressed over his mouth. She stood on the window ledge and hopped up, catching hold of the roof and hauling herself up. Her arms protested but thanked her for only having to support her own familiar weight.

  Soria made her way around the top of the tower to the side where Abbiley's window ought to have been. She hung her head over the edge and adjusted her aim, then climbed back down over the edge. She dropped the last foot, landing on the ledge and quickly hooking an arm around inside before her tenuous balance failed her.

  A shriek fit to shatter crystal greeted her arrival.

  Swearing mentally, Soria pulled herself into the room, stealth cast aside in favor of urgency, barely remembering to keep hold to the rope. She saw Abbiley sitting up in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, mouth agape, emitting that inhuman sound.

  Soria leapt onto the bed and smothered Abbiley with her hand.

  "Quiet!" Soria whispered in the girl's ear, somehow surprised to have found her no more stalwart than her lover. "It's me, Lady Soria. I've no time to explain, but we've got to leave. Now!"

  "Lady Abbiley," a voice called from outside the door, in accented Acardian. "What is wrong?"

  Gut me! "Tell them you saw a mouse," Soria whispered. She let go Abbiley's mouth.

  "I ... I thought I saw a mouse," Abbiley said. Good little parrot. Soria used her free hand to begin reeling in the length of rope.

  "I will come in and see to it," the voice replied.

  "No!" Soria shouted. Her eyes went wide; she had not meant to say that aloud.

  Thinking fast, she pointed to her outfit, then to Abbiley. She mouthed the words "not dressed." Abbiley gave her a puzzled, frightened look. There was a sound of a key working at a lock. Soria halved the distance between them and whispered it, "you're not dressed."

  "I'm not dressed!" Abbiley called out. "Give me a moment." The sound of the lock stopped.

  "Of course, my lady," the voice assured them. "Please let me know when I might enter."

  Soria did not leave the dressing task to chance, as she had with Tomas. She tore through Abbiley's wardrobe for something road-worthy, settling on leather riding trousers and a green bodice. She was relieved to find the girl had riding boots, as well.

  Soria was no expert at fashion, but she was at least knowledgeable about the fittings and lacings of women's clothing. She helped Abbiley into the outfit she had picked for her. She noted as she did so that she still wore the little jade dragon pendant that Kyrus had given her, and wondered what that boded for Tomas.

  "Lady Abbiley?" the voice called from outside again. "Are you quite well? What is the delay?"

  Soria's eyes searched the room. It was furnished just like Tomas's had been. She found a wardrobe that looked near enough and put a shoulder to it. It was massive, and merely rocked a bit before settling back down with a thud.

  "I am coming in. Cover yourself, Lady Abbiley."

  Soria waved frantically for Abbiley to come aid her. The peasant girl weighed little more than she did, and was hardly fit for brute labor, but their combined heft was enough to topple the wardrobe sidelong in front of the door.

  "Let's go!" Soria said to Abbiley, all pretense of deception and stealth abandoned. "Tomas is waiting below."

  Abbiley looked to the window, the rope, and to Soria. The fear in her eyes told of a grand epiphany about their method of escape. Abbiley shook her head with fervor. "I can't."

  "I didn't think you could. I'm taking us both," Soria said, hoping that her confidence would find full support from her weary arms. "One arm over my shoulder, the other under my left arm, lock your wrists, like this." Soria demonstrated. "Don't put both around my neck, or I'll choke and we both fall. Got it?" Abbiley nodded.

  Soria pulled up all the slack in the rope and climbed onto the ledge, offering Abbiley her back. Merciful Tansha, don't let me drop us. The peasant girl followed Soria's instructions, attempting to crush her collarbone, but thankfully lacking the strength to do so. Soria wrapped the rope around a wrist and gripped it tight. She turned and worked Abbiley out through the opening, and over empty air. She heard the sharp intake of air from just behind her, and soft whimpering.

  The door to Abbiley's room opened a crack, but stopped fast when it hit the wardrobe. "Lady Abbiley, what is going on?" the voice from outside shouted. The door closed a bit then slammed open again. Soria took that as ample cue to leave.

  The rope was still anchored in Tomas's room, running from his window and around the corner. Pulled taut it stretched horizontally. "Hold tight," Soria warned. "The first part will be the hardest."

  Soria stepped off the window ledge, and the two women swung like a pendulum, Soria scrambling for her feet to keep up. She managed to stop herself at the corner, and was nearly pulled around the corner by Abbiley's weight yanking her by the neck. Abbiley shrieked again.

  "Ow! Stop that. You're right in my ear," Soria scolded.

  "Abbiley!" Tomas cried out from below.

  "Oh, Tomas!" she called back to him.

  Soria felt Abbiley's legs squirming against her own, trying to hook around them.

  "Stop that, too. I need those to get us down!" Soria yelled. She took a step around the corner, as much to free herself from Abbiley's panicked grasping as to advance their descent. She put both feet to the side with Tomas's window and swung again, more gently that time. After that, it was all Soria could do to release the rope to slide them down a step at a time. Her arms were nearly spent. They would happily lock in place for her, but they protested every motion.

  Soria felt Abbiley sliding.

  "Just hold on," Soria encouraged her. She tried to lend a hand to help Abbiley refresh her grip, but knew as soon as she tried to loosen her hold on the rope that they would both fall—one arm was not nearly enough.

  Slick with sweat born from fear, Abbiley's wrists slipped apart. Soria turned and tried to grab her with a silent telekinetic spell. Abbiley's Source—happy, healthy, stupid thing that it was—shrugged her off like it was greased, instead of allowing the magic to save her.

  Soria turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Twin screams of terror rose from the throats of Tomas and Abbiley, but only Tomas's persisted. Soria turned to look, and saw Abbiley sprawled motionless in the grass.

  * * * * * * * *

  "Who are you?" Brannis replied, shouting across the dining hall. "What have you done with Tomas Harwick and Abbiley Tillman?"

  "My name is Lady Lurna Skaal, and I imagine you have puzzled out the rest. I had not expected you to storm my keep with such effective force, I admit. Your ploy got me to send my best men out to ride you down. However ..." Lady Skaal snapped her fingers.

  From the balconies on the upper floors, musketeers appeared in numbers Soria had underestimated. There had to have been at least thirty of them.

  "... I still have quite a number left here," Lady Skaal finished.

  "What then? You laid this trap out for me, and invited me to fall into it. What sort of fool do you think I am?" Brannis asked.

  "You are here, are you not?" said Lady Skaal. "Even if ha
lf my men miss their mark, you will be slaughtered. You are in the trap even now. Your friends ... I care not. They may flee if they like. You are the only one that matters."

  "What is the bargain? There has to be a bargain to be had here," Brannis insisted. "I'm no value to you in this world, we both know that."

  "This is not a conversation to be shouted across a room." Lady Skaal said. "Come, leave your sword and join me for dinner." She waved a hand to the seat across from her. "The hour is late, but I can have the kitchen staff roused."

  "Not a chance," Brannis replied. "If you want to talk, then talk. But there's no way I leave myself unarmed. You made a mistake in thinking you can take the upper hand so easily."

  "You pretend you are the great Kyrus Hinterdale, fearsome sorcerer. I know better. There is no shielding spell that will save you from those muskets that point at you, no fiery conflagration to consume us. You are just an ordinary Kadrin knight, a long way from home, Sir Brannis," said Lady Skaal. She laced her fingers together and held them beneath her chin. Brannis watched her smile slide wide, never revealing teeth.

  "Who else are you?" Brannis demanded. He asked in Kadrin, not quite ready to trust his words in front of even doomed men, and he was not sure just how many of the men above fit that description.

  "I am Princess Shiann, heir to the throne of Ghelk. I will have your aid in ending the war, in return for your life," Lady Skaal said. "You may accomplish such a thing however you like, but you will be remaining in Khesh under my ... protection, to ensure the peace continues."

  "I see. Princes Shiann ... you are already dead," Brannis countered. "Rashan Solaran killed a Ghelkan princess, and I believe there was only one. You bargain from a position of ignorance. I could promise you anything, and you would have to find someone else to tell you truth or lie. The war might be over or Ghelk a scorched ruin, for all you know. However it is neither, at the moment. Your friend Captain Zayne has set you on this course to stop Rashan through me, but he has taken matters in hand himself in Veydrus. You think to bargain with me while your own ally slaughters cities. I could not buy my own life at the cost of allowing Jinzan Fehr a free hand to finish what Loramar could not. You think to use me but I am a sword with a blade for a hilt. You invite your doom."