Shadow’s Lure

by Jon Sprunk

  Mormaer placed a foot on the bottom step of the dais. Shouting for his men, he looked to Josey. “Majesty, you must be away now. My men and I will hold this chamber.”

  “But—”

  “Majesty!” Captain Drathan shouted. “He’s right. It isn’t safe here.”

  With a frown at Mormaer, Josey hurried down the steps. Major Volek strode up behind them as Ozmond, the captain, and a pair of guardsmen surrounded her.

  “With your permission, Majesty,” the major said. “I would accompany you to safety.”

  “Of course,” she replied as they hurried her away.

  Her last view of the throne room was of Duke Mormaer drawing a huge sword from an ornate scabbard while his soldiers fanned out with weapons readied. Josey’s silk shoes made a soft patter on the floor as she jogged to keep up with her escorts. Their flight reminded her of the night she had been whisked through these corridors by Ral and Markus during their insane bid for the throne. That feeling was reinforced as they turned a corner and passed through the wide chamber that had once been a trophy room. Even though the room had been converted into a sewing nook with cushioned chairs and placid arrays, she breathed easier when they were well past it.

  Captain Drathan took a lamp from the sewing room and led them into the east wing of the palace. Scaffolds and tarps covered the walls, and crates were stacked in the available niches—all part of Hubert’s pet project to turn this wing into new apartments for the palace’s many servants. As they came to another intersection, Ozmond and Captain Drathan turned down opposite corridors.

  “This way,” the captain said. “There is a postern leading to the north bailey.”

  Ozmond gestured down the other hallway. “We should get the empress back upstairs to the imperial suite. There are stairs this way.”

  Captain Drathan shook his head. “Upstairs is no good. For all we know, the upper levels are in the hands of the assassins.”

  “There is only one assassin,” Ozmond said, “and he is occupied in the throne room with Duke Mormaer. The empress would be safer—”

  “Gentlemen.” Josey cut them both off. “I’m right here.” When they quieted, she said, “Ozmond, I appreciate your concerns, but this is the captain’s area of expertise. Captain Drathan, if you would—”

  “Pardon,” Major Volek said. “But if I may interrupt.”

  Josey looked past the tall officer. The corridor they had just come down was pitch black and silent. Gooseflesh prickled her forearms. “Yes, Major?”

  Major Volek pointed down the opposite hallway. “If we proceed straight, I believe we will arrive at the east guard tower, where more reinforcements may be found.”

  Captain Drathan nodded. “He’s right.”

  “Let’s go, then,” she said.

  Captain Drathan sent the two guardsmen ahead while he and Ozmond flanked Josey, with Major Volek bringing up the rear. They navigated the corridor around several turns, and then stopped before a blank wall. Blocks of chiseled granite lay beside buckets and trowels, and other masonry tools. The bitter odor of lime hung in the air.

  “I don’t—” Captain Drathan began, only to have his words cut off by a grunt.

  Josey turned. The lamp clattered on the floor, somehow staying alight as the captain fell to his knees. He turned away as he collapsed, revealing the back of his uniform, drenched with blood. Major Volek’s helmet bounced off into the darkness as he crumpled beside the captain. The two guardsmen pushed past Josey to take up positions between her and the unseen source of the attacks. Something flashed in the lamp’s feeble light, too fast for her to see. One soldier collapsed where he stood; the other was jerked into the darkness as if he were a puppet. Horrible screams filled the corridor, and then died away.

  Josey stepped back from the corpses. The fallen guardsman had rolled over onto his back; ribbons of bloody sinew trailed from the gap where his throat had been. She put both hands on her stomach. Terror coursed through her as she considered the fate of her child. No! I will not allow this to happen. Caim, why aren’t you here when we need you?

  Fingernails biting into her palms, Josey held her breath. She almost sobbed as Ozmond drew the rondel at his hip and stepped in front of her. When he made to approach the darkness, Josey grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t!” she whispered.

  “Majesty, we cannot remain here.”

  “I know. Just a moment …”

  She let her words drift away as a shape moved at the lamplight’s edge. At first she thought it was Duke Mormaer, but even a brief glance revealed that the figure was far too large. Its shoulders spanned the width of the corridor. Yellow flames danced in its bulging eyes. It was coming for her.

  Josey didn’t have time to be frightened. One moment Ozmond stood before her. Then talons flashed, and he was slumped against the wall, blood pouring from a row of parallel slashes ripped down the front of his coat. His mouth moved, but no sounds came forth. She read the words formed by his lips.

  Forgive me.

  Tears filled her eyes. This was her fault. She had no right to put these brave men in danger. She was nothing, no one.… I am the Empress of Nimea. The words rose from the depths of her soul. She wanted to cast them aside and reject them, but she couldn’t. Not even in the face of death. Josey met the assassin’s glowing eyes as she reached under her gown. Her fingers closed around the handle of the knife strapped to her thigh. I am descended from kings and warriors, queens and protectors of the people. If you desire my death, come seek it.

  She drew the knife, and almost dropped it as a brilliant glow banished the darkness. The blade shined like a white-hot iron. Josey lifted the knife as the creature shambled toward her, and it paused. She was shocked. She had expected it to knock aside her tiny weapon and take off her head. Yet it held back. As if troubled by the knife …

  She advanced a step. The monstrosity held its ground, but did she see a hesitation in its manner? She didn’t know why her knife was glowing, but she wasn’t going to give up any advantage she could find. If the creature was bothered by the strange light, then she would use it. Josey took another step. The assassin swiped at her with its curved claws. She lunged behind the point of her blazing stiletto, but a gust of hot air buffeted her to the floor an instant before a crackling burst of blue-white light filled the hallway.

  Huddled against the newly constructed wall, Josey smelled powdered stone and quicklime. Two dark shapes loomed over her. She didn’t cry out, not even to spit in the face of her enemies. Two shapes?

  Her vision cleared over a span of several heartbeats to reveal Hubert and Hirsch standing over her, the adept leaning on her lord chancellor. Beyond them, Captain Drathan and the major sat against a wall. There was no sign of the assassin. Josey placed a hand over her abdomen. Was the baby hurt? She wished she could know. Please be all right, little one. Everything is fine now. But was it? She felt like this nightmare was never going to end.

  “Where is it?”

  “Gone,” Hirsch answered. His voice was wan, and he looked terrible.

  Josey’s palms stung a little where the skin was scraped, but otherwise she felt fine. Then she saw Ozmond. Both hands pressed to his bloody chest, he looked over at her and smiled. Before she could make the order, Major Volek stood up, shook himself off, and volunteered to find a physician. Once he was gone and Ozmond had been made as comfortable as possible, Josey looked over as Master Hirsch picked up her knife from the floor. The blade shimmered in his hands.

  “My knife …”

  “I enspelled it,” Hirsch said, “using the skin samples we obtained by the river. I wasn’t sure if it would be effective against the creature. Evidently, it is.”

  She had trouble focusing on what was being said. “What?”

  “Majesty,” Hubert said. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m all … fine. Where did the monster go?”

  Hirsch shook his head. “It got away. I gave him a blast in the hindquarters he’ll not forget, but the thing has more
lives than a Hestrian moorcat.”

  “You,” Josey said, “should be abed yourself, Master Hirsch. Your wounds are serious.”

  “My impending demise was exaggerated,” he answered with a wink. “Did you happen to strike the creature, lass? Did you draw blood?”

  Thinking she would have to have a long talk with the adept about keeping secrets from his empress, Josey found the knife on the floor. The glow remained, but the point was clean.

  “Powers be damned,” Hirsch muttered.

  Josey opened her mouth to chide his blasphemy, but she didn’t have the energy.

  “You need blood?”

  Steel scraped across the floor as Captain Drathan lifted his sword. An oily fluid stained the end of the blade.

  With Hubert’s assistance, Hirsch hobbled over to the captain and reached for the weapon. He held it up to the light. “It’s arterial blood.”

  “What does that mean?” Josey asked.

  Hirsch laughed. “It means we’ve got the beastie right where we want it.”

  “We do?” Hubert asked.

  Hirsch held out the blade. “With this, I can follow the blasted thing anywhere.”

  Josey’s heart beat faster. “Master Hirsch, are you certain?”

  “Aye. But we must track it down right away.”

  “First we have to get these men to the hospice, and you are in no condition to—”

  “I am able to continue,” Captain Drathan said, standing up as if to prove it.

  “Captain, you are in no condi—”

  “We must finish this,” Hirsch said with a rasp that turned into a cough.

  Josey was getting tired of everyone interrupting her. “You need to rest, Master Hirsch, and my guardsmen …”

  She looked down at the soldiers on the floor, their blood mingling with the thick dust. Two more deaths at my feet.

  The adept’s frame trembled, but his gaze was steady. “We must do it tonight, before the creature has a chance to recover. Before it can harm anyone else.”

  Josey heard the wisdom in the adept’s words, but she hesitated. It would mean ordering more soldiers into harm’s way, and she was already holding so much misery inside. Any more and she felt she would collapse.

  “All right,” she said. “But I’m going with you.”

  Hubert opened his mouth to protest, and Captain Drathan sputtered. The adept’s lips turned down into a sour frown, but Josey put on her “empress” face and he said no more. She was terrified, especially for the life growing inside her, but she had to be strong.

  “Lord Chancellor, conduct a search of the entire palace, including the outer grounds. I am guessing the assassin has fled, but we need to be sure.”

  Hubert nodded and made way as Josey walked past him. Holding up the glowing knife, she led them down the darkened corridor, back to the inhabited portion of the palace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Caim blew into his cupped hands to warm them. He stood with his fighters in a dark alleyway off Trepmire Avenue, a corridor of furrier stores and taxidermists in the city’s upper west end. The street had one shining feature: it gave a clear view to the citadel at the heart of the city. He was following his instincts at this point. They had gotten him this far.

  Kit huffed. “It’s a mark past midnight already. What are we waiting for?”

  In defiance of the cold, or perhaps just to tweak his nose, she wore a slinky white dress. Past midnight. Caim counted days in his head. Gods above. Today is Yuletide.

  Hoping the holy day wasn’t a bad omen, Caim leaned out of the alley. The contrast with Othir couldn’t have been starker. In the south, Josey’s city would be festooned with lights and holly wreaths. People were still out this late, visiting with family and friends. But here, the frozen streets were empty. No people, no lights. But there were plenty of bodies to be seen as they infiltrated the city. It looked like a war had been fought inside the walls, and he couldn’t tell who had won. They’d heard the roar of battling mobs in distant streets and seen the glow of fires erupting all across Liovard, but with Kit’s help he’d been able to steer his men around the trouble spots. It reminded him of the riots in Othir, but these people seemed almost crazed, some half naked as they attacked everything and everyone around them.

  Once inside the old city, Ramon and Angus had taken their men and split off on a different track, something to which they were well suited and prepared. Waiting for their signal, he hoped they knew what they were doing.

  Keegan came up to stand beside him. The youth was wrapped in his cloak. His hands were gloved, his face blackened with soot. Caim told him before they embarked not to hold back. Tonight, they hunted in earnest. By the look in his eyes, the boy had taken that to heart.

  “Well. What are we waiting for?”

  Caim looked from Kit to Keegan, then ignored them both.

  “Caim,” Kit whispered.

  He felt it, too. A bizarre undercurrent in the city, stronger than before, setting his nerves on edge. Then distant bells began to ring, and a new glow lightened the east side of the city. That was the signal. Caim took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. It was time for the next phase of his plan. The idea was simple. He’d done it before without trying, but never on such a scale. True, he had been fighting for his life in those moments, but if he did it by accident, he could do it deliberately. So why are my hands shaking? Stop stalling.

  He pictured a place. He’d never been there, but he had a rough description. That would have to be enough. An image formed in his mind, an empty courtyard paved in broad stone blocks surrounded by gray walls. He added battlements and defensive towers. When the picture was as real as he could make it, Caim reached out with his mind. Whispers chattered at his back as an empty hole appeared in the air at the mouth of the alley. It remained steady for a pair of heartbeats, but then the edges began to ripple. The strain of holding the gateway open was more than he had anticipated.

  Caim beckoned the men standing behind him. “Move! Quick!”

  Keegan was the first in line. With only a brief glance at Caim, he ducked his head and jumped through the portal. For a moment, Caim thought the rest might balk, but one by one they entered. By the time the last of his team had crossed over, his entire body was shaking, and the edges of the portal wavered. Hoping Keegan remembered his instructions, Caim dove through.

  Darkness closed over his eyes, and the air froze in his lungs as he passed through the void. A tearing sensation pulled at his flesh. It might have lasted for one heartbeat or a dozen, but then the night sky reappeared before his feet struck hard-packed earth. It took him a moment to gain his bearings. As his sight cleared, Caim made out the battlements atop a massive barbican, stone walls studded with square towers, and the keep squatting within their embrace. He had expected some kind of reception—a few sentries on the walls, at least—but there was no one here. That bothered him more than a little. It didn’t seem possible Ramon’s diversion had attracted every soldier in the citadel.

  A soft glow surrounded him as Kit appeared. Instead of a quip and a grin, she greeted him with a frown.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Me neither,” he said under his breath.

  “This place has a bad aura. Like a lot of people died here recently.”

  “Just get inside and poke around. We need to find the duke.”

  “Be careful.” She leveled a stern glance at him as she vanished.

  The outlaws hunkered against the base of the nearest wall. Caim found Keegan standing over one of the men, who was writhing on the flagstones and clutching his knee.

  “What happened?”

  Keegan looked up. “Iain slipped coming out of that circle thing and broke his leg.”

  “I just twisted it,” the outlaw said.

  Caim could see the knee joint was dislocated. This fighter was no longer of use to them. He told the others.

  “I can make it,” Iain argued.

  Caim shook his head. “You’ll slow us
down.” To Keegan he said, “Put him someplace out of sight. Make sure he stays quiet.”

  He didn’t say they would come back for him. Everyone understood the risks and accepted them. While a pair of men carried Iain to a dark corner of the courtyard, Caim beckoned to Keegan, and they both went over to the gate that separated them from the keep. Like the sallyport across the bailey, the inner gate was open and unmanned. There was a guard station on the other side, but it was dark. Caim listened for a dozen heartbeats, but heard nothing. The post was abandoned.

  He stepped closer to Keegan and kept his voice down. “Once we get inside, keep everyone close on my heels. If we get separated, remember what I taught you. If someone falls—”

  “We won’t let you down.”

  Aye, but what if I can’t hold up my end of the bargain?

  Caim swallowed his anxiety while Keegan gathered the outlaws. When everyone was ready, Caim drew his blades. The black sword shook in his hand. Blood pounded in his temples. The faces of the men around him appeared leaner and grimmer. With a deep breath, Caim dipped inside the doorway and sprinted across the pavestones.

  The inner keep was a vast square with angled walls to provide for enfilading fire. Caim stared down fifty arrow loops as he ran across the courtyard. There could be a company of archers behind them, waiting to feather him. He didn’t slacken his pace until he reached the door. Finding it ajar, he swung it open with the knife. No guards here, either. The worry that had begun as a tickle at the nape of his neck was now stomping up and down his spine.

  No sentries. Unguarded gates. An unlocked door leading into the central keep. Why do I feel like an undertaker digging his own grave?

  Caim waited ten breaths for the others to get across the bailey. Then he eased inside the doorway. Two armored figures waited inside. He started to attack the one to his left, but checked the sword’s arc before it landed. These men were dead. Both slumped against the walls; one with a broken sword blade jutting from his chest, the other missing the top half of his head. As Caim’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw more bodies farther in, all slain in a vicious brawl within the past couple candlemarks, judging by the wetness of the blood on the floor and walls, and sprayed across the ceiling.