“I cannot see,” said Kerri.
“You do not need to,” said Loren. “There is only one way out.”
Only one way out.
She crawled forwards, following the passageway as it turned left and right, warning her friends each time. Soon it sloped up, and she knew they were near the end. At last it came. She reached up, finding the chink in the stone and pulling the lever. The wall swung out soundlessly. Loren crawled into the open.
They were in the palace. The hallway was wide and tall, and there were many doors in it. To their left, Loren thought she saw the hallway reach the main front hall, while to the right it ended in a door. But in the middle there was a side hallway leading deeper into the palace.
“I know where we are. The front doors are that way.” Kerri pointed to the left. “If the Mystics still hold the front gate—”
“They do not,” said Loren. “They will have left, or they are already dead. This way.” She started off for the side hallway.
“How do you know?” said Kerri. But she followed along, Gem by her side.
“It is enough that I do.” How could she begin to explain?
Loren led them on the course she had been shown. They walked down hallways that felt familiar to Loren by now, though she had never seen them in the waking world. The dreamsight still had its hold on her, but it was not like before. Now, seeing the places from her dreams did not disorient her or send her mind spinning. Now it was like she was following a route marked on a map.
She turned the final corner, and there it was, as she had known it would be. Ahead, an open door leading to a dining hall, and beyond that, freedom. To the left, a small wooden door led to a serving room. Loren came to a halt.
“There!” said Kerri. “That gate is open! We can escape!”
“Take Gem with you,” said Loren. “I must go another way.”
They both stopped short. Kerri looked over her shoulder, towards the hallway that ran to the front of the palace. Voices drifted from that direction, far away but coming closer. “What do you mean?” she said. “What other way?”
“Loren—” Gem began.
“Shush,” said Loren. “You and Kerri must go into the dining hall. Wait at the other end for a short while. Then run for the city. You will be able to escape. I swear it.”
Gem set his jaw. “I will not leave. Not without you. Not after Chet.”
That way is for others, but not for you.
“You are not leaving me,” said Loren. “But there is one thing I must do first before I follow you.”
He paused. “What thing?”
Loren gave him a sad smile and gently pushed his shoulder. “Never you worry, master urchin. But I swear this now: I will find you back at Kal’s hideout. I would not leave you and Annis to fend for yourselves.”
Gem looked up into her eyes, studying them. Poor Gem, thought Loren. You cannot recognize a lie in my eyes. In Damaris and Auntie, I met two of the most cunning minds in the nine kingdoms, and they could not tell if I spoke the truth. What hope do you have?
“Very well,” said Gem slowly. “I believe you.”
“Of course you do,” she said. “Now go. Look after Kerri.”
His chest puffed up a bit at that. Over his head, Loren caught Kerri’s eye and winked. The girl gave a smile—little more than a small twist of the lips. Kerri had one advantage over Gem: she had not known Loren long enough to think she knew when Loren was telling the truth. Gem led the way into the dining hall, but Kerri paused for just a moment.
“You had better not have lied to that boy,” she said quietly. “I will expect you back at the hideout.”
Loren nodded solemnly. Then she turned and ducked into the serving room, pausing for just a moment to ensure that Kerri went to follow Gem.
Inside, she found the room laid out just as she had known it would be. Against the back wall was the shelf of dishes. Loren threw it away from the wall, not caring about the clatter it made. She was past that now. The passageway beyond led to the ladder, and that led to the passageway above. That ended in the tapestry, and Loren pulled it aside.
She stepped into Gregor’s room.
He stood at the other end, framed by the open doorway. In his hands was a massive longbow of yew, longer than Loren was tall. He faced away from her, scanning the courtyard below. The room was modest by Damaris’ standards, but still held finery beyond anything Loren had ever seen growing up. The tapestry through which she had emerged was matched by one on the other side of the room, and all the furniture was carved of solid oak, inlaid with finely wrought gold. There were many lanterns around the room, but only three were lit, leaving the whole place dim. They were the only illumination, for outside the night was still misty and clouded. The moons and stars cast no glow upon the room, nor even upon Gregor himself.
Loren turned and closed the door to the passageway, making no effort to mask the sound.
Gregor’s head snapped up, and he turned to her. For a long moment he stood there, studying her. Then, inexorable as a rockslide, he stepped into the room. One hand drifted behind him, closing the glass balcony door. He pulled a sash holding back a curtain, and it fell across the door, sealing the room against the last rays of torchlight from beyond.
This is the only way, thought Loren. All roads lead to Gregor.
“Hello, Nightblade,” said Gregor. His voice rolled through the room like thunder. “Damaris promised me this. That together, we would make you suffer. And then, at last, I would get to kill you.”
“I THOUGHT I MIGHT FIND you here,” said Loren lightly.
Gregor snorted. “Did you?” But he paused, and his eyes hardened to steel. “Ah. The boy told us things. Your dreams. Did they lead you here to die? Hardly a useful tool.”
Loren shrugged, letting her gaze drift around the room. Across the room was the only other door. It led to the rest of the palace. To escape.
She turned away from it.
“They have proven more useful than you might realize. After all, they have told me where to find your mistress.”
The bodyguard froze. Loren widened her eyes.
“Oh, did you not imagine I would know that? That I had not planned all this? While you waste your time here with me, Mystics are even now descending on Damaris’ location and—”
Gregor charged.
Loren had expected it, but the giant’s speed never failed to surprise her. She leaped away from the tapestry, making for the room’s door. But Gregor anticipated the move, and his hand swiped out. Loren dropped and rolled—but her foot overextended, kicking a side table. One of the lamps fell to the floor, shattering its glass. The light went out, and the room grew dimmer still.
Quickly Loren scrambled for her feet. But Gregor was almost upon her, and she had to roll away from the door. He paused there, shoulders hunched, arms to his side. Loren thanked the sky that he did not have his sword on him.
“You did not plan this night,” he growled. “If you had, you would never have left Chet for us to kill.”
“You have no right to speak his name,” hissed Loren. But she thought, Even now, Gem and Kerri will be making their way across the courtyard. Almost there. Almost free.
She circled, keeping her eyes fixed on Gregor. It almost made her forget his longbow, which he had dropped. Her foot hit it, and she nearly tripped. Gregor tensed, but when she righted herself, he subsided. In one fluid motion, Loren crouched and picked up the bow. It felt like a spear in her hands. If only she were Uzo.
“Do you think that will save you, girl?” said Gregor. “That little stick?”
“Cruel words,” said Loren. “After all, it is your little stick.”
Gregor growled and charged again. Loren leaped to the side, swinging the longbow at him. He raised an arm to block it, and it cracked over his forearm. Grunting in pain, he swung his other fist at her. Loren could not quite dodge it. It smashed into her shoulder, flinging her across the room. She rolled with the landing, fighting to her feet at onc
e. In one hand she still held half of the longbow. The broken end was jagged and splintered. She thrust it at Gregor, forcing him back.
“I think I am at a disadvantage,” she said. “If only I had learned to fight. I tried to get you to teach me, once. Do you remember? I begged you for swordplay lessons. But then, as now, you could not quite catch me. Will you not give me a sword again? It is the only way this fight will be fair.”
“Who wants a fair fight?” said Gregor. “I have only one goal here tonight: to end your life, and to take as long as I can in doing so.”
They had spun around each other again, and now the balcony door was behind Loren. She reversed her grip on the longbow, throwing it at him like a spear. He batted it aside, but she had not truly meant to hit him. Loren turned, dashing for the balcony. She threw aside the curtain, her hand coming down on the latch—
It did not turn. Locked.
A fist bigger than her head closed on the hood of her cloak.
This is it.
Gregor flung her away from the door. She flew all the way across the room, crushing another lamp. Loren felt a sharp pain—broken glass, or a cracking rib?—and gasped.
Then she smiled.
Rolling over, she saw Gregor stalking towards her. He wanted to get his hands on her, pin her down, but he was moving slowly. He did not want to give her another chance to escape.
Loren’s hand fell to her belt, closing around a knife. She drew it and threw.
Gregor halted, raising one mailed arm to stop the blade. But it flew straight past him—to strike the third and final lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.
The room went utterly black.
Loren drew the dagger from the back of her belt. In her vision, the room grew bright as daylight.
But Gregor was blind. And he would not know she could see.
Chet would not have told him, for Loren had never told Chet. She had not wanted him to know about the magestones.
Gregor took a cautious step back. His leg struck a footstool, and he stumbled, barely keeping his feet. Experimenting, Loren scuffed a foot on the floor. Gregor’s head jerked towards the sound, but too far, so that he was looking to her left.
Loren’s smile widened.
“You misunderstand the dreams,” said Loren. He jerked again, following her voice. She let him hear where she was. “They tell me some things, but not everything. They did not tell me I would find Damaris alone in Yewamba. That you had abandoned her. And no, they did not tell me you would take Chet tonight. But if you think they did not tell me about you, here, now, you are wrong.”
Gregor made his cautious way forwards, reaching for where he could hear her voice.
“I came here, Gregor, because I wanted to.”
Softening her footfalls, she began to stalk around him. On the soft rugs of the room, she made less noise than the wind. Gregor swiped his arms through where she had been standing a moment before.
“This is pointless,” he growled. “Do you think the darkness is your friend? It will not help when I get my hands on you.”
From behind, Loren leaped. She plunged the dagger into his calf.
The blade parted cloth and flesh with equal ease. It felt …
Loren shuddered.
It felt so good. So right.
Had she really never used the dagger on another living person before? She knew, now. That had always been the dagger’s purpose. It was never meant for anything else.
She leaped back, even as Gregor groaned and stumbled to one knee. He reached behind himself, but she was already gone.
Loren darted in again. Her blade impaled his groping forearm.
Gregor gave a brief shout, quickly cut off. He tried to rise, but he had to favor his injured leg. It was useless, unable to support his weight. He swung a wild, angry blow that Loren ducked with ease. She struck again, plunging the dagger into the pit of his good arm. It fell useless to his side.
He placed her at last, and his fingers closed on the front of her shirt. But she had already stabbed that arm through. Now she sliced it again. She did not know where to cut, exactly, but the dagger seemed to. It parted muscle and tendon, and his grip slackened. His balance wavered, and he crashed to the floor on his back. Desperately he tried to push away from her with his one good leg.
Loren took one of the throwing daggers from her belt and flung it into his ankle. It flew hard enough to pin the limb to the floor beneath.
“And here I thought—” Gregor’s words cut off in a groan of pain. “Here I thought you had no spine.”
The words were defiant, his tone more so. But Loren could see it plain as day on his face, clear as if a lantern were right in his eyes. Fear.
Gregor feared her.
His chest heaved with every breath, and sweat ran from him in rivulets. She wondered how long it had been since the giant had been beaten in a fight—beaten so soundly that even his limbs were useless. If it had ever happened at all.
“You thought me weak for refusing to kill,” said Loren. “You still do not recognize the truth. Murder is the coward’s way out.”
He grunted a laugh. “What do you call this, then?”
A fierce smile crossed Loren’s lips. “I suppose I do not feel particularly brave at the moment.”
That forced a laugh from him. “Then I go to my death with one consolation. This pain is nothing compared to the boy’s. To Chet’s.” He gave an evil grin into what was, to him, empty darkness. “I made sure he suffered. I relished every twist of pain on his face as I cut him up, one piece at a time. If I must go to the darkness below, I do so happy, knowing that nothing will ever bring back the boy you loved. The boy I took from you.”
Loren crossed to kneel by his head. She leaned in close.
“I know you are lying.”
He started at the sound of her voice so close. Only one arm could still move, and he swung it at her, even though it could not grip.
She caught his hand on the blade of her knife
Gregor cried out—a scream of pain that she was ashamed of herself for enjoying.
“I know you are lying,” she said again, easily, as though nothing had happened. “I saw Chet. He died slowly, yes. But not by your hand. When Annis and I first met, she told me. She told me how Damaris would torture information from her prisoners, taking her time with the pain, enjoying every cut. It was Damaris who killed him. And I promise you this. I will hunt her down. I will never stop until I find her. And when I do, I will not bring her before the King’s justice. I am the King’s justice. I will find Damaris and end her, just as I have ended you here, tonight.”
It dawned on Gregor. Recognition. Loren watched it spread across his face like a tide creeping up a shore. He knew she spoke the truth, that she meant what she said. It was only a matter of time before Damaris was dead.
And just as that realization came upon him, Loren drew the dagger across his throat.
He sagged back to the floor, his lifeblood bubbling up. He coughed, choking, trying desperately to breathe. Blood spurted across his face and ran down the sides of his neck to pool, soaking into the carpet below, staining it. Like Duris.
Like Chet.
LOREN SANK BACK ON HER heels, staring. The magestones and her dagger let her see every detail of Gregor’s corpse. It sat there, silent, still. Confronting her. A sick, twisting feeling ripped through her gut.
She ignored it. Kal had given her a mission, and she was still in the palace.
First she went to the balcony and opened the door. The courtyard beyond was still empty, but guards stood on the wall beyond it. They did not notice her.
But they soon would.
Loren ducked back into the room and went to Gregor. She lifted his arm and pulled, but she could not move him. Clenching her jaw, she heaved. His body barely moved.
She went to the rug upon which he lay and seized the edge of it. Again she pulled. This time it worked. The rug slid on the wooden floor. It still seemed to her that he should be too heavy, bu
t something—the thrill of the fight, some gift of the dagger—let her move him.
On the balcony, she lifted his head up until it hung over the railing. Then, straining and groaning, she managed to fling him over the balcony to land in the courtyard far below.
The body struck the smooth white stones with a sick thud.
That drew the attention of the guards on the wall. They cried out, and soon other guards came running from all directions. Soon there was a small crowd of them in the courtyard below, staring at Gregor’s corpse. As one, they joined the guards on the wall in looking up at her.
Loren threw her shoulders back. Her black cloak and her new clothes were all stained in blood. She hoped they could see it.
“Gregor is dead!” she proclaimed. “Damaris of the family Yerrin is soon to follow. And the usurper, Wojin, will never escape the King’s justice. Abandon him, or you, too, will face me before the end.”
Then she vanished back inside the apartment.
She left by the front entrance, not the secret one. Soon there was a staircase leading down, and she emerged into another hallway full of rooms. One of them had an open door, and she stole through it to the balcony beyond. This led her to the rooftops she had traveled with Gem and Kerri not long ago. She stalked around the palace’s perimeter, stopping to look and listen at every window. Then, at last, she found the one she was looking for.
A balcony just above her head led to a wide glass door. Pulling herself up slightly, Loren saw Wojin. The false king was in urgent conference with an advisor, and Loren saw two guards inside the room as well. A single lamp lit the room. But none of them were looking at her, and in any case, the lamp inside the room would keep them from seeing outside.
She clambered up onto the balcony, sidling up to the doorway to listen. Wojin raised his head to speak to the guards.
Yerrin: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 6) Page 27