by Jon Sprunk
As Caim continued down the chute, he came to a junction of four shafts. He hesitated a moment, comparing his position to his mental layout of the palace. Straight ahead should take him to the central hall. So decided, he continued. A current of warm air buffeted him as he crawled around a slight bend. He stopped at the edge of a pit.
Specks of burning cinders floated up from the opening, which glowed with the light of a roaring fire below. He peered over the edge and had to squint against the scorching heat. The crackle of blazing pinewood logs echoed off the chimney walls a dozen paces below. The shaft continued on the other side. Five paces. On his feet, he could have made the jump without a second thought, but it was a long way to leap on his hands and knees.
Kit chose that moment to appear from the ceiling. “You're almost there. Just a few more paces and a short dip.”
“Dip?”
“Just hurry, will you?”
Caim fought the urge to say something she would make him regret later. Instead, he gathered his legs under him as best he could and braced his hands against the walls. He took a deep breath of the heated air, let it fill his lungs, and he leapt. The fire's heat bathed his torso as he sailed across the distance. Caim stretched his body to its fullest extension. For one long instant, time slowed to a trickle. Then, his fingertips caught the ledge. Muscles rigid, he held himself aloft. The two bundles dangled beneath him. Smoke stung his eyes. For several seconds he dangled over the chasm like a hog on a spit. When his heart stilled its maddening pace, Caim kicked with both legs. His hands grasped at the smooth stone of the shaft, and he pulled himself the rest of the way up in scrambling wriggles. Once he was across, he flipped onto his back and took several long breaths.
Kit poked her head through the ceiling. “You all right?”
“You might have mentioned the fireplace.”
“And deprive you of a little fun? You know, you're getting boring in your old age. I might have to go looking for a younger guy, someone with a sense of adventure.”
“I could be so lucky.” Caim rolled over onto his stomach and resumed his crawl.
“What?”
“Nothing, dear.”
The shaft extended a dozen paces farther before it sloped downward at a sharp angle. Faint light filtered through a gap at the bottom of the drop-off. Caim took a few moments to figure out how to best tackle this obstacle. He tried to twist around to put his feet forward, but the shaft was too narrow. He finally decided to drop headfirst. With luck, he wouldn't come down too hard.
As he was bracing himself for the descent, Caim was surrounded by a sudden chill in the air. It cut through his thin clothing and bit deeper, down into his bones. For a moment, he felt as if his heart were going to stop. Then, it was gone.
With a shiver, he said, “I don't like this, Kit. Keep an eye out, eh?”
She didn't reply.
“Kit?”
He looked around as much as the shaft allowed, but there was no sign of her. She could be scouting ahead without being told, although that sounded too good to be true. Wonderful goddamn time to wander off. But he didn't have time to ponder her sudden absence. He had to keep moving. Josey needed him.
Caim wedged his hands against opposite walls and let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Caim bit down on his tongue as the bottom of the chute rushed up faster than he anticipated. He shoved both hands hard against the walls. The blackened stone gouged his palms, but he kept up the pressure until he hit the bottom. Somehow he managed to land without bashing his skull open. He started to relax when clanks from above announced the falling bundles. They landed beside him with a loud crash.
Caim cursed and disengaged himself from the tether. He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips and winced. At least it's still attached.
He was in the fireplace of a large chamber. The slight illumination he had detected before came from an open doorway on the other side leading to a corridor that glowed with soft candlelight. The plain coverlets draped over the plush, oversized bed, along with the lack of personal effects, led him to believe this was a guest room, presently unused. But why was the door open? It was rather late for a dusting by the chambermaid.
Suspicious, Caim gathered up the bundles and padded across the pale sea green rug. Outside in the hallway, colorful arrays lined the walls in both directions. Candles flickered in brass holders, the wax dripping into reservoirs.
His soft-soled boots made no sound as he stalked down the corridor. He chose the right-hand branch, followed it to a T-section, and turned left until he came to another intersection. Caim was considering his next choice when a faint sound reached his ears. Voices. Judging by the reverberation, the speakers were in a large room. Like the Grand Hall.
Caim stole toward the noise. Every time he passed a candle, he reached up to snuff its wick. The passage behind him filled with darkness.
The corridor opened into a wide gallery. A carved marble balustrade overlooked the massive chamber below. Sacred Brothers were stationed at regular intervals around the balcony, four in all.
Caim left the bundles in the dark of the hallway and drew his knives. Two Brothers died without realizing their lives were in danger. He allowed the third to utter a muffled croak, which drew the last sentry into the shadows. Only when the gallery was clear did Caim take a moment to peer over the railing. His throat constricted as he spotted Josey, still alive—thank the gods—standing at the foot of a broad dais in a white gown. She didn't appear to have suffered any harm. In fact, she looked better than when he had left her at the cabin. A weight he hadn't fully realized he was carrying lifted from his chest. He hadn't failed her yet.
A large crowd filled the chamber below, surrounded by a platoon of Sacred Brothers. Despite their bedraggled appearance, the captives seemed to be aristocrats, many of them in their senior years. Expressions of fear and indignation played across their pinched faces.
Josey wasn't the only one Caim recognized. Ral, in a fancy black suit, sat in a gaudy throne atop the dais. One at a time, the captives were brought before him and made to kneel.
While Caim watched, the Brothers escorted an elderly lord in a night jacket to the steps of the dais. When they released him, the nobleman stood up as tall as his stooped back allowed.
“I will bow to no usurper!” he shouted in a powerful voice that belied his age. “I would rather die.”
Ral made a shooing gesture with one hand. “And I shall gladly grant your wish, my lord.”
The old lord sputtered and coughed as the Brothers dragged him from the hall.
Mystified, Caim went to retrieve the bundles. When he grasped the sword's worn hilt, a voice whispered in his head. He knew it well. He'd heard it in his dreams a thousand times. The voice of his father's ghost.
“Justice…”
Caim's hand shook. He wanted to throw away the blade, but a powerful force held him back. He shook his head, as much to deny the unease churning inside him as to clear it, and slung the sword onto his back. He carried the second bundle to the balcony, cut the strings binding its oilskin covering, and unlimbered his other gift from Hubert: the curved bronzewood shaft of a bow to replace the one he'd lost in the fire.
Caim strung the weapon with quick, sure motions. As he stood up, he placed an arrow across the rest and drew the string to full tension. The confusing maelstrom of emotions roiling in his chest—for Josey, for his father, for Kit's disappearance—they all vanished as he sighted on the throne. He was back in his element. This was business, pure and uncomplicated.
Caim took in a deep breath, and let it out slow and steady. In the space between one breath and the next, he fired.
The bowstring thrummed against his forearm as the arrow flew. He followed its path across the hall. A perfect shot. In his mind's eye, Ral slumped dead on the throne, his eyes turned misty with the fog of death. The image was so real he almost believed it had already happened, until the torchlight surrounding the dais flickered and the arrow dipped to
the side, not much, just a hand's breadth, but enough to miss its mark. Instead of taking Ral through the throat, it sliced a furrow across the sleeve of his jacket.
The hairs on the back of Caim's neck tingled as he remembered another night, in Ostergoth's castle, and another perfect shot ruined at the last moment. Sorcery. His hands tightened around the stave of the bow.
Levictus.
Everyone in the hall looked up. Josey's eyes blossomed wide. The lordlings lurched to their feet and retreated from the dais. Their mutterings swirled up to Caim. Some of the Brothers drew weapons, but none moved to protect their liege. As for Ral, he hardly moved except to grimace and press his left hand against his chest.
Caim snatched another arrow from the bundle at his feet. Sweat drenched his shirt. Tremors chased each other through his stomach like a pack of angry dogs. But his hands were steady.
“Let her go, Ral!” he shouted. “Or the next one goes through your heart.”
The assassin's dry chuckle ascended to the gallery. “We've been expecting you, Caim, but you're a bit late. Release my betrothed? No, I don't believe I will. The city is mine, and these good nobles were just swearing their loyalty to me. It would go better if you laid down your weapons and surrendered. Perhaps I'll grant you an imperial pardon.”
“I don't think so. There are five thousand angry citizens outside the gates. Your pet soldiers won't be able to hold them off forever.”
Ral stood with his hands at his sides, seemingly at rest, but Caim knew how fast the man could move. He kept the arrow centered on Ral's chest.
“Not forever. Just until reinforcements arrive from the outer garrisons. Then your little rebellion will be crushed in time for my coronation and subsequent wedding to this fine lady.”
Caim's gaze flickered to Josey, and fingers of dread closed around his heart. In concentrating on Ral, he hadn't noticed Markus's arrival. Bandages peeked over the collar of the man's uniform, which was now white instead of red. Waxy scars dimpled his face as he stood behind Josey, one arm around her waist and the other holding a dirk to her slender throat.
“You should have joined me,” Ral said. “You could have been my viceroy, a man of wealth and power, but you have proved too untrustworthy. I'm afraid you'll have to die.”
He nodded to Markus. “Or perhaps you'd prefer to watch her bleed to death before your eyes first?”
Caim pulled the bowstring back another inch, making the bronzewood creak. “You won't kill her. You need her too much.”
“Are you certain about that?”
Ral lifted a finger. Josey gasped as a line of blood trickled down her neck. Markus's burn-scarred lips curved upward in a grin.
Caim cursed under his breath. His plan was falling apart. Rather than rescuing Josey, he had placed her in even greater danger. Retreat wasn't an option. Come morning, Ral's hold over the city might be impregnable. He could shoot, but Markus might kill Josey out of hand. They were at an impasse, and he was out of options. The string strained against his fingers.
The clack of boots on the marble flagstones stole everyone's attention. All heads turned as a soldier in militia livery dashed into the audience hall. An angry clamor followed in his wake. Ral took the opportunity to descend a couple of steps. Caim's aim didn't waver.
“The outer gates have fallen!” the militiaman shouted.
Ral swore a vile oath. “What of the bailey?”
“We hold it yet, but it may not stand for long.”
Caim smiled. “Looks like your plot is unraveling around you, Ral. Maybe you should give up now and save everyone the trouble.”
As Ral opened his mouth to speak, a metallic twang pricked at Caim's ears. He threw himself aside as the baluster before him shattered in a shower of marble shrapnel. Caim reaimed and let fly. The arrow sped like a diving falcon, but Ral ducked behind a powdered dowager. The missile passed over their shoulders to thud into the leg of the vacated throne.
Caim reached for another arrow, but Ral was already darting across the crowded hall. He threw down the bow and vaulted over the broken balustrade. His knives cleared their sheaths before he hit the floor. Heels stinging from the impact, he raced after his adversary.
“Caim!” Josey screamed as Ral and Markus hustled her through a side exit and slammed the door behind them. Three Brothers took up positions in front of the exit with weapons bared.
Caim smiled as a familiar feeling spread through him, a tingling that started in the tips of his fingers and vibrated up his arms until it coursed through his entire being. Sparks of light glimmered on weapon points and flashed from rings of mail, igniting his blood. An insistent pressure throbbed behind his breastbone as his powers awakened, but this time he welcomed it like a long-lost brother. It was time to put aside the veneer of civilization and revel in pure barbarity.
With a snarl, he launched himself at the soldiers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Josey's breath rushed from her lungs in a gasp as she thrust out her hands to cushion the impact with the wall.
Ral didn't give her time to recuperate before he dragged her along the candlelit hallway, raving as he devoured the passage in long strides. “This doesn't change anything! One madman can't change the course of history.”
Josey was too jubilant to care what Ral said. Ever since her assault at the cabin, she had been terrified to discover what Ral and Markus would do next. But when she'd seen Caim in the Grand Hall, her heart had jumped. He had come for her! She looked around for some means to get away from her captors, but there wasn't much hope of that. Ral was much stronger than he looked, and Markus followed them with a squad of Sacred Brothers.
She was racking her brain for a plan when the corridor opened into a wide anteroom. Display stands and trophy cases crowded the floor. A menagerie of stuffed animal heads on the walls seemed to watch as Ral hustled her through.
“We'll go north,” he said. “Assurances have been given. Whatever else they take, I'm to have the capital. I've done my part. Then, after the city's been tamed, I will return to begin my reign. He'll see who's the better man!”
“You sound frightened.” Josey couldn't help herself from taunting him, trying to hurt him as she had been hurt. She didn't know whom he meant by “they,” but she hardly cared anymore. She was tired of being yanked back and forth between hands like some tawdry carnival prize. “You should be. Caim's not going to show you any mercy.”
“He had his chance two nights ago and fled like the coward he is.”
Despite his bluster, Josey didn't believe a word of it. Caim was like a force of nature, as unstoppable as the tide. However, if Ral could get outside the city, he might be able to take her beyond Caim's reach.
Ral stopped on the other side of the trophy room and pointed to one of the sergeants. “You come with me. The rest of you wait here.” Then to Markus, “Do whatever it takes, but stop him. When I return, you'll have everything I promised, lands and title.”
Markus glanced at Josey, his scarred face rigid with tight lines. Clearly, he wanted to object, but he merely nodded. “He won't get past us. Phebus speed your journey and hasten your return. My liege.”
With the barest nod, Ral dragged Josey along. He thrust her down another corridor. She looked around for something, anything, to slow their progress. She dragged her heels, only to have Ral tighten his grip to a painful, viselike clamp and pull her all the faster. She scratched his hand and received a slap across the face.
When they passed a steep flight of stairs, Josey bit down hard on Ral's knuckles. Blood filled her mouth as the skin split beneath her teeth. An unholy screech erupted from Ral. He shoved her away. Josey kicked off her slippers and dashed up the steps. The hard stamp of boots pounded close behind.
The staircase turned back on itself twice before letting out in a narrow passageway of bare stone. Josey hiked up her skirt and ran. She passed a bas-relief carving on the wall depicting a regal griffon in the same style as the design on the cellar floor at the earl's manor
. The floor was caked with thick dust. Cobwebs drooped from the ceiling. She needed someplace to hide. She turned a corner and ran past several closed doors. She grabbed at their handles, but they were all locked. Her breath burned in the back of her throat as she came to another flight of steps. Josey rushed up them without a pause.
The stairs rose on and on above her in a dizzying tunnel of steps and railings. As she rounded a heavy stone newel post, a sinewy hand grasped her ankle and wrenched her to a standstill. She kicked and clawed. They had molested and abused her, killed her foster father and oppressed her people. She would not give in! But the grip wouldn't let go. Ral pulled himself up her body, crawling over her in a disturbing imitation of a lover's ardor. She didn't see his other hand until it smashed into her cheek. The buffet knocked her against a wall and scattered her senses. She slumped, hardly aware as he draped her over his shoulder.
Josey struggled to keep her eyes open even as a gray blankness threatened to overtake her. She was swung around several times, then carried down some stairs and through a winding passageway. Ral's shoulder ground against her stomach, making her want to throw up. It was over. She had lost. Now Caim would never find them.
Then, a gust of freezing wind blew up her dress. Raindrops splattered on her back. Josey shivered despite her fogginess. When she lifted her head, she saw not the pavers of the outer courtyard she expected, but sloping gray tiles. They were on the roof, of a side wing by the look of it. The bailey wall loomed in the darkness like the spiked back of a slumbering monster. Torch fires blazed beyond the rampart, where a great mass of people swarmed. Flashes of steel and iron. No sounds reached her between gusts of wind, but she imagined the cries of pain and death.