by J. V. Jones
A dull wave of disappointment washed over her. She was very high up, higher than she had thought, and there was no possible way to escape. She could jump, of course, but even now, with Baralis’ fatal promises still ringing in her ears, suicide was not an option. Maybor’s daughter had more courage than that.
She had hoped for a little luck, though—just a smidgen of her father’s famous luck. It wasn’t to be. Melli took one final look at the drop and then stepped down from the chest. Maybe it was a good thing; if her father was still alive, freezing up on a mountain, then he needed to keep all the luck for himself. She couldn’t begrudge him that.
Melli didn’t bother hauling the chest back to its usual place. That sort of thing didn’t matter anymore. Tomorrow Kylock would come for her and nothing would ever matter again.
The darkness underneath the palace was alive with noises. Water dripped, rats scuttled, wood creaked, and drafts whistled around corners and along the walls. With the lamps out it was impossible to see anything except the occasional glint of wetness and the whites of each others’ eyes.
Time was difficult to judge and distance impossible. All Jack knew was that he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone. His heart was racing fast despite the fact that he had stopped running what seemed like a very long time ago, and his stomach had contracted into a tight ball.
“Mind the wood brace straight ahead,” hissed Nabber. He was leading now, and Jack could only wonder how he managed to find his way in the dark. After they’d all dodged around the wood brace and taken a few steps up out of knee-deep water, Nabber called a halt. “Not much further now,” he said. “Once we go through the passage to the left, we’ll be in the part of the cellar they use for storing foodstuffs and the like. There’s not much chance of anyone being around at this time o’ night, but you can never tell.”
“Hervo, ready with your bow,” said Crayne. “First sign of light and we move against the walls.”
“How do we get to the nobles’ quarters from here?” Tawl asked, his voice low and urgent.
“I’m going to show you,” replied Nabber.
“No. You go no further than here. I want you back waiting for Andris.”
“But—”
“No buts, Nabber. Not this time. And when you’ve brought Andris this far, you turn back again and get the hell out of here. I expect to find you waiting for me at the hideout when I return. Is that clear?”
A small disgruntled noise emanated from the dark shadow that was Nabber.
“Now give me the directions.”
A long pause followed and then Nabber reluctantly reeled off the directions. Jack didn’t bother to listen to them: he was too keyed up to remember anything. All he could think about was Kylock. He could feel him now—he was sure of it. Kylock’s presence pulled at his blood, forcing it to the surface in a hot, dizzying blush. His heart told him that Baralis didn’t matter: his blood ran only for Kylock.
Jack didn’t even notice when Nabber stopped speaking. A hand on his arm made him jump.
“Jack? Are you all right?” It was Tawl. “Come on, we’ve got to get going.”
“Nabber—”
“Bye, Jack. Good luck and all that. See you back at the hideout.” Nabber’s voice faded into the distance.
Jack wanted to say something—to thank him, to warn him to be careful—but his mind couldn’t find the words.
“Weapons out now, everyone,” said Crayne as soon as Nabber was out of hearing range. “Hervo, you come forward and lead. Jack, fall in line right behind him.”
Jack slid his sword from its sheath. He was grateful that Hervo was leading the way; he didn’t want the others knowing he hadn’t listened to a word Nabber said.
A dim glint of light shone down the passage, brightening the farther they went. Gradually a world began to emerge from the darkness: stone barreled ceilings, storage barrels stacked high, elaborately carved doorways leading back into darkness, and stairs leading up to the light.
A soft noise sounded to the left. A shadow that had been static started to move across the wall. Hervo brought arrow to bow and shot into the dark corner. A startled intake of breath was followed by a dull thud. Hervo already had a second arrow nocked. He aimed but didn’t shoot.
Tawl sprang ahead, sword out before him. After a moment his voice came from the shadows. “He’s dead. Looks like a servant.”
Crayne glanced at Hervo. “It must be two hours past midnight now.”
Hervo nodded. “If he was a servant, then he must have been a crooked one. No decent man’s up at this hour.”
“Jack, come and give me a hand with the body,” called Tawl.
Jack’s eyes were finally growing accustomed to the dim light. He found Tawl in the corner crouching down next to a man with an arrow in his gut. Together they dragged the body behind a row of beer barrels. A line of blood dripped down the man’s britches and onto the floor, but there was nothing they could do about that.
As they shifted the barrels to better conceal the body, Jack felt Tawl’s hand brush against his cheek. “I thought so,” he whispered. “You’re burning up. What’s the matter?”
Jack shook his head. How could he tell Tawl that Kylock’s presence was sucking his blood to the surface? “It’s all right, I’m not sick,” he said. “Just on edge.”
Tawl grabbed his shoulders and studied his face for a minute. Finally he said, “Be careful.”
“You two, hurry up,” hissed Crayne. Jack was grateful for the distraction: Tawl looked worried, and that made him worried, too.
It took them a while to find the concealed door leading up into the palace’s secret passageways. It was at the back of a shadowed recess and looked more like a wood panel than a door. The entrance was extremely narrow—not more than the length of a man’s forearm—and Jack had to turn side-on to squeeze through. Once inside, the passage grew only slightly wider. Crayne passed along a lit lantern. In the confined space, the oil smoke was noxious and Jack had to hold the lamp out at arm’s length to stop himself from coughing.
“These passages were built to be undetectable from outside,” said Crayne, glancing around. “They’re so narrow that anyone looking would just think they’re a thick wall, nothing more.” He waited until Tawl had closed the door behind him. “Right. Let’s get a move on.”
Jack saw a rat scuttle across his path. The shock nearly made him drop the lantern.
“Easy, lad,” said Crayne.
Jack shunted along the wall, taking turns when Crayne indicated. His fingertips trailed over soft mosses, cobwebs, and cold trickles of water. The air in the passage was thin and it had to be taken in quick breaths to satisfy the lungs. They came upon a flight of steep steps and Jack’s heart thumped hard as he took them. As always these days, the rhythm was straight from Larn. What had started two months ago as something frightening now became a comfort to him. It was almost as if it were beating to keep him safe.
“Sharp right at the top,” warned Crayne. Somewhere along the line, the leader of the party had figured out that Jack didn’t know the way.
Jack took the right, then flew up another flight of stairs that ended in a wooden panel. A gentle press on the panel sent it swinging forward. A heavy brocade curtain flapped against Jack’s face. On the other side of the panel was a thin brick facing that had been cut to mimic the exact lines of the wall.
Pushing through the curtain, Jack came face-to-face with a guard. Not pausing to think, he swung the oil lamp straight for the man’s eyes. The man brought up his hands to stop himself from being burnt, and Jack sent a clean slice to his gut. Wrenching his sword free of the guard’s stomach, Jack stepped to the side as the man fell forward. Blood pumped from the gash.
Crayne pushed past Jack, swinging around to take in both sides of the corridor. “Guards always come in pairs,” he said. “Hervo, cover us while we put the body in the passage.”
Jack bent down and wiped his blade against the guard’s shoulder. As he stood up to make way for Tawl, he felt a q
uick thrill of dizziness pass over his body: Kylock was very close now.
Tawl and Crayne hauled the guard into the passage while Hervo checked the corridor ahead. No second guard appeared. Jack caught a tense glance passing between Hervo and Crayne.
As soon as the body was out of sight, they headed eastward down the corridor. On the long stretches, Hervo would take the lead—his bow could bring a man down at any distance—but as soon as they neared a turning, Hervo dropped back and Tawl and Crayne came forward. An armed man waiting around a corner could cut down a marksman in an instant.
Along the way they killed two more guards and one doddering nobleman in his nightshirt. Hervo took the guards with his bow, and Crayne used metal wire to silence then kill the old man, who had surprised everyone by emerging into the corridor just behind Tawl. They were in the heart of the nobles’ quarters now, and Jack could feel the blood swelling across his cheeks. They passed one corridor that was well-lit with torches and well-insulated with carpets, and Jack knew, he just knew, that down there lay Kylock’s chambers. His blood expanded like mercury in a glass, making his head feel ready to burst.
Later, he told himself, later. Melli had to come first.
Finally they reached the point where Nabber’s instructions ran out. A stone gallery led to the left of them, curtained stairs straight ahead, and to the right ran an unlit passage. Everyone was tense; the slightest noise brought up blades and the merest flicker of a shadow nocked Hervo’s bow.
Tawl made a brief sally into all three areas. No one said a word while he was gone. Back-to-back they formed a triangle and waited for him to return. Seconds took on the feel of minutes, and minutes themselves became hours.
“I think it’s up here,” hissed Tawl, emerging from behind the curtain. “The masonry’s less ornate, and the color of the stone flags changes at the base of the first step—it looks like the stairs were built later.”
Crayne nodded. “Then there’s a good chance it leads to the annex.” He swung around to face Jack. “You go with Tawl. Hervo and I will stay here and keep the retreat clear.”
Jack hadn’t expected this. He thought they’d all go up together.
His surprise must have shown on his face, for Crayne quickly added, “Look, if there’s anything up there you can’t handle, just shout out and I’ll be up those stairs before you know it.”
Jack took a quick breath before he said, “It wasn’t me I was thinking about.”
Crayne gave him a sharp look. “It goes the other way, too, Jack. I’m counting on you and Tawl to get back here as quickly as possible.” His voice was level, but as he spoke his gaze scanned all four passages. “Besides, someone’s got to stay here to keep an eye out for Andris. Otherwise there’d be no way of telling which way we’d gone.”
Tawl came to stand by Jack’s side. He looked first at Crayne and then Hervo, clasping each man’s hand in turn. “Keep yourselves safe. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Until later, my brother,” said Crayne. It was the first time Jack had heard him use the knight’s formal address to Tawl.
Tawl looked at Crayne for a moment, his expression showing many things, but most of all respect. Crayne nodded almost imperceptibly and Tawl turned and walked away.
Jack reached forward and clasped hands with both knights. He had already made the mistake of letting Nabber out of his sight without a word of thanks, and he was determined it wouldn’t happen again. “I want to thank you—”
Crayne cut him short with a wave of his sword. “Wait until we’re safe, Jack, and thank us then.”
“Aye, lad,” echoed Hervo in his soft, lilting voice. “Until we’re all safe.”
The stairs wound upward, broke for a small landing, and then continued on. Occasionally there were passages and doors leading off, but thick layers of dust spoke of no one’s passing, and they hurried by them without a word. The stairs themselves were clean. Tawl took every step carefully now, and Jack followed his lead. Leather soles padding softly against the stone were the only noise they made.
The farther away from the nobles’ quarters they traveled, the cooler Jack’s face became. His blood was not pushing for the surface anymore, but his heart still raced and his stomach felt like a spiked lead ball.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!”
The sound of laughter made the spikes dig deep. Jack glanced at Tawl. He had heard it, too. They rounded a few more steps and then the laughter came again. Nearer this time. Tawl raised his sword, beckoning Jack to his side, and they took the next few steps in unison.
The light grew brighter, the noises became louder, and abruptly the stairs ended in a rectangular hall. Two guards were sitting on the floor, between them lay plates full of food, several lit candles, and a set of gaming pieces. For a fraction of a second the two men looked up, startled expressions frozen on their faces, and then they whipped out their swords.
Wooden chips scattered as they rose to their feet. Tawl lunged forward and sliced the smaller of the two in the thigh. His companion made a broad defensive sweep with his sword and Tawl was forced back. Jack slid into the space that opened up at the side and attacked the injured guard’s flank. Feeling a sharp jab in his side, Jack stumbled back, winded. Tawl locked swords with the big man, metal screaming to a halt. Somehow, Tawl had managed to draw his short-knife with his left hand, and he used it now—slashing at his opponent’s sword arm—to break the deadlock. As a reflex action to the attack, the guard withdrew his sword. Tawl allowed him no space and jumped forward as he stepped back, spearing the man’s chest with his blade.
Jack was fending off an attack from the injured guard when Tawl came from behind and stabbed the man in the back. The man cried out and fell hard onto the stone floor, bones cracking as he landed. Tawl ran his sword through both men again, aiming for the heart each time. Sweat was pouring off his brow and his breath came short and ragged.
“Are you all right?” he asked, wiping a blood smear from below his eye.
Jack nodded. “The chain mail stopped the edge from getting through. I think I’ll end up with a few bruised ribs—that’s all.” Jack was in a lot of pain, but now wasn’t the time to mention it.
“Who’s there?” came a small, muffled voice.
Jack and Tawl glanced at each other.
Tawl rushed over to the door that lay opposite the stairs. “Melli, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me!”
Hearing those words, Tawl closed his eyes. A look close to hunger crossed over his face, and his lips mouthed something that Jack could only guess was thanks. He pushed hard against the door. It didn’t give. “Stand back!” he cried. Taking a brief run-up, he slammed his shoulder into the door. The lock gave way and the door swung open.
Jack felt a faint shearing sensation ripple through his body. It was as if something passed through him like a ghost. But then Melli was there standing on the threshold, and the sight of her was enough to make Jack forget the feeling the moment it passed.
She was so thin—like a child—her blue eyes huge in a face smaller and paler than he remembered.
Tawl swept forward and grabbed her. He took her in his arms and held her tight against his chest. Jack was reminded of how injured men press their fists against a wound to make the bleeding stop. Tawl was like that—an injured man. His shoulders were shaking and his hands jerked up and down, stroking Melli’s hair, her back, her cheeks, her neck. He couldn’t stop touching her. When she pulled away to greet Jack, he didn’t want to let her go. He clasped at the fabric of her dress as if that alone would hold her.
Gently, Melli disengaged herself from his grip and turned to face Jack.
Seeing her full-on for the first time, Jack knew that Melli was no longer pregnant. “What happened?” he said.
Melli looked at him through eyes as dull as etched glass. “Baralis murdered my baby.”
Baralis’ eyes opened the moment the sigil danced. A wave of tiny prickles jigged their way across his brain. The door was open. The sigil
had been broken.
Day or night, Baralis always knew what time it was, and he knew now that it was far too late for the guards or Mistress Greal to be paying Melliandra a visit. He got out of bed and dressed, pausing a second to strike a flame. He had no need for light, but he felt naked without a shadow trailing after him. Crossing the room, he called for Crope, but impatience placed his hand upon the door, and he made his way through the palace on his own.
Tawl refused to go until he had bound Melli’s splint properly to her arm. “I don’t want to risk it breaking during the escape,” he said. With great tenderness, he unwound the bandage and lifted off the wooden brace.
Jack took a sharp intake of breath. Melli’s forearm was badly disfigured; the bones met at a slight angle and a lump had formed at the join.
“Who did this to you?” asked Tawl.
Melli looked down. “Kylock. The night I had my baby. It came early—two weeks before its time.” Melli’s voice was so low Jack had to strain to hear the words. “It was a boy. Baralis said it was a boy.”
For an instant a look of raw anguish flitted across Tawl’s face. Just as quickly the expression was gone, leaving only hard lines in its wake.
Jack leant forward and kissed Melli’s hand: there was nothing he could say to her to make up for the loss of a child. As he straightened himself up, a sharp spasm ripped through his stomach. Pressure in his temples blinded him for an instant. It’s just the effects of the sword wound, he told himself, trying hard to mask the pain.
“Right,” said Tawl, tying the ends of Melli’s bandages together. “That should do it until we get to the hideout. Borlin can see to it then.” He forced his face into a grim smile. “He’s a genius with broken bones—he’s caused enough of them in his time.”
Melli returned the smile—probably just for Tawl’s sake.
“Are you all right to walk?” asked Jack. His own pain had gone now, but a soft buzzing still sounded in his head.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Let’s go, then.” Jack’s mind was already moving ahead. He would go as far as the passage entrance with Tawl and Melli, then strike off on his own. Kylock was his priority now.