Reluctantly, Corran conceded. “Yeah,” he said. “But while we’re arguing, Ravenwood burns. We don’t have time to come up with a perfect plan, so ‘good enough’ is going to have to do.”
“Agreed.” Calfon’s reply surprised Corran. “But can we go for something more in the order of ‘insane’ rather than ‘suicidal’?”
“I think I could go for that,” Corran replied, smiling. Trent rolled his eyes.
“The thing is, I can’t come up with a plan to get an armed group of hunters into the Lord Mayor’s palace so that three rogue witches can take out a blood mage that isn’t well beyond ‘insane,’” Corran admitted, running a hand through his hair.
The table the men sat at was littered with maps and scrolls. A tray held the scraps of dinner and a nearly empty flagon of wine. They had been at this for more than a day, ever since word came from Above that Ravenwood was in chaos.
“Now that you put it that way, I see your point,” Calfon replied.
“Rigan and Aiden are certain they know how to fight the blood witch,” Trent said. “We just have to get them inside.”
“Doing this won’t make the monsters disappear,” Calfon said. “It just means that no one is controlling them. That should make them easier to fight, and maybe less of a threat. Of course, assuming we live through this plan, we’ll have to run for our lives, so we won’t be around to see what happens next.”
“I’ll take anything that feels like a win right about now,” Corran admitted. “And that sounds like a big one.”
“And we kill the Lord Mayor, since he’s the son of a bitch who’s been giving the blood witch his orders,” Trent said. “But once we’re done with all the killing, how do we get back out of the Mayor’s palace? I’m fine with the killing, but not so much with the dying.”
Corran looked to the wall where they had pinned the floorplan for the palace. They had pieced the map together from some of the old books Rigan and Aiden had found. Corran knew better than to assume the floorplan was completely accurate, but it was a damn sight better than wandering in with nothing.
He doubted they were the first assassins to try to breach the Lord Mayor’s defenses. But the chaos overtaking the city provided a unique diversion, and a few strategically set fires near the palace might draw away the overtaxed guards long enough for the hunters to get past the outer defenses. After that, two stairways and a long corridor were all that separated them from their quarry, and all they would need to cover to make good their escape.
Corran suspected it would not turn out to be that simple. Calfon was right: the plan held too many assumptions and uncertainties.
“We’ve put out some feelers to our families, the ones who didn’t disown us,” Trent said, grimacing. For those of you who still have families, Corran thought, and pushed down the pain that rose in his chest.
“We can’t completely trust the Guilds. In the past, they’ve disavowed hunters who were caught, washed their hands of us,” Rigan warned. “They’d turn us over to Machison in a heartbeat.”
“True enough, but the members don’t often think like the Guild Masters, and enough people are angry about the spread of the monsters to take up arms, clearing the way for us, creating a diversion,” Trent continued. “I’m pretty sure that if we can fight monsters, we can kill the Lord Mayor. But what about his witch? Do you think Rigan and Aiden and Elinor can take on a blood witch and win?”
“They think they can,” Corran replied. “I’m not the one to ask. I know precious little about magic, if it doesn’t involve banishing a spirit or sending a soul on to its reward. But from what they’ve said, it sounds possible. And we’ve got an advantage, because while we have some idea what a blood witch can do, he doesn’t know what our team can do.”
“Don’t forget—Damian betrayed the witches that helped train Rigan,” Calfon cautioned. “And if Damian was working for the blood witch, then he might have a very good idea of our strengths and weaknesses.”
“It’s possible,” Corran admitted. “But Damian and Alton are dead. Rigan, Aiden, and Elinor have been working hard on their magic since they trained back at the witch house,” Corran said. “I’m sure they’ll give the Lord Mayor’s witch a run for his money.”
Or we all might be walking into a trap, rushing to our deaths.
“The unrest Above won’t last forever,” Trent pointed out. “If the Lord Mayor can’t put things in order, the Merchant Princes will, or the Crown Prince will march an army into Ravenwood. So if we’re going to seize the chance to do this while most of the guards are distracted, it needs to be soon.”
“That’s why it has to be tomorrow night,” Calfon said.
“Do you think we’re ready?” Corran met Calfon’s gaze.
“The witches say they’re ready. We have all the weapons we need. And we’ll get some support from the Guilds—at least, from our friends. I think it’s now or never.”
“I agree,” Trent said. “It’s the best opportunity we’re going to get.”
“Then let’s make it happen,” Corran said, letting out a long breath.
RIGAN WAS WAITING when Corran returned to their room. “Is everything set?” he asked.
Corran nodded, sure the tight feeling in his gut would not ease until they had finished what they set out to do—assuming they survived. “Yeah. How about with you?”
“We’re as ready as we’re going to be.”
“If you’ve had second thoughts, now is the time to mention it.” “You?”
Corran thought, then shook his head. “About needing to do this?
No. About why the universe would pick a couple of undertakers and some tradesmen when there are plenty of trained soldiers available? Yeah.”
“Do you think we can do it?”
“Gods, I hope so,” Corran said. “I plan on living through this, Rigan. On both of us living through this. And on as many of our friends coming out alive as we can manage.”
“I don’t think I’ll be sorry to leave Ravenwood behind, afterwards,” Rigan replied. “There’s nothing here for us now anyway.”
Corran’s dreams had been dark lately, filled with memories of their parents’ deaths, of Jora’s bloody body, of Kell’s savaged corpse. He was certain his brother had heard him tossing in his sleep and knew what troubled him. Corran sat down on the edge of his cot, facing his brother. “I imagine with the unrest, they could use a couple of good undertakers out there.”
Rigan snorted. “And by the time we’re done, there’ll be even more work for someone. But not us. At least, not the way it used to be. Whatever happens, I’m not expecting Eshtamon to save our asses.”
Corran smiled. “The odds aren’t exactly in our favor.”
“Do you think the guards will come after us, once we’re past the wall?” Rigan asked. The rest of his question, assuming we get that far, remained unspoken.
“It depends on whether or not anyone puts a bounty on our heads.” Corran grimaced. “Or a higher one than we already have. Once you get out into the farms and forests, the Lord Mayor’s guards are stretched pretty thin. That’s where we head; we can’t go home, and gods know we can’t just sit here. And we seem to be the only ones who might have a shot of doing what needs to be done. So... no second thoughts. I’m in.”
Rigan managed a sad smile. “Kell would be impressed.”
“He’d have insisted on coming with us.”
“Are you kidding? He’d have been the first one over the fence.”
We haven’t forgotten you, Kell , Corran thought. We found out who’s responsible, and we’re going to kill the sons of bitches that did this to you. Maybe that will let you rest in peace. He looked up and saw that his brother was watching him with concern.
“I miss him, too,” Rigan said softly.
Corran swallowed hard and looked away. After a moment, he found his voice. “Yeah. Still can’t really believe he’s gone.”
Rigan laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What we’re going to do
, it won’t bring him back, but he’ll be avenged. That’s something important, something good.”
“No argument from me on that,” Corran replied.
Supper that evening was unusually quiet. Polly and Elinor served the last of what they had in the kitchen. “It’s just going to waste if you don’t eat it, since we won’t be back,” Polly told them, hands on hips, a spoon in one hand as if to smack anyone who dared disagree. I understand why Kell liked her. They would have made a damn good team, Corran thought.
“You have a plan for stealing that wagon tomorrow night?” Trent asked.
She huffed as if insulted. “I already stole the damn wagon. Which is why you’re all going to haul your sorry asses and your gear up to it tonight, because I can’t do it for you tomorrow when there are more important things going on.”
Corran chuckled. Polly might be fourteen and a slip of a girl, but she managed to cow all of the hunters and three witches with a tone that brooked no disobedience. He had absolute confidence that she would have the wagon and a brace of horses ready for the getaway, even with the gods and Dark Ones arrayed against them. He shot a glance at Rigan, and saw the same amusement in his brother’s expression.
What a houseful we would have been. Me with Jora, Rigan and Elinor. Kell and Polly. Corran looked back to his food, sobered at the loss of what might have been. Rigan, sensing the shift in his mood, elbowed him gently.
“We ought to have a destination in mind, for when we leave Ravenwood,” Mir said. For days, they had talked battle tactics, weapons, magic, and spells. Aside from the need for horses and a wagon to put as much distance between themselves and the city, discussion of ‘afterwards’ had been vague.
“Fortunately for you, I’m amazing.” Polly actually did smack Mir with the spoon then, lightly, but he still winced. “While the rest of you have either been shooting things or hocusing things, I’ve put some thought into escaping, since winning and then not getting away would be a pretty poor show.” She gave a triumphant grin.
“Aiden gave me the maps he and Rigan used to locate the monasteries. There are a lot more monasteries, and since they were all abandoned back when the League seized their lands, I suspect they’re prime for squatting. Narrowed it down to a couple to start with, because I figure we’ll have to move around. The first one is a day’s hard ride out, but it will be better than sleeping in the woods. The others are farther, but there’s nothing to gain by staying close to the city. The more road we put between us and the wall, the better off we’ll be.”
Rigan laughed at the dumbstruck looks on the faces of the other hunters. Elinor stifled a smile, and Corran grinned broadly. “It’s a great plan,” he said, kicking Trent under the table, jarring him out of his thoughts and giving him a warning glare.
“Thank you, Polly,” Trent said, clearing his throat. “Great work.”
Polly rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. There’s more to me than just my cooking.” With that, Polly turned with a flounce and retreated to the kitchen.
After supper, Rigan, Elinor, and Aiden filled their rucksacks with scrolls. Corran packed weapons, clothes, and the essential tools of the undertaker’s trade. Polly and Elinor squabbled over which of the battered pots and utensils to keep. Everyone else saw to their packing quietly, feeling the calm before the storm.
Corran slipped outside not long after the bells tolled eleven.
He leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes, missing the night sky and a chill evening breeze more than ever. Tomorrow night, there would be stars... and blood. He shivered.
Voices carried from one of the open windows. Rigan and Elinor. Let them take a little comfort while they can, he thought. He swallowed hard. Jora was never far from his thoughts, but her loss hit him so keenly at times that it felt as if no time at all had passed since her death. Maybe the sharp grief would fade with time, though he doubted it. He knew the hole in his heart where Kell had been would never heal, for him or for Rigan.
He took a sip from his flask, trying to quiet his thoughts. It was too early to sleep, too late to keep going over plans they had already memorized, and he was far too jumpy for cards or conversation. Despite the danger, the desperation of their plan, Corran found himself looking forward to the smell of fresh air, the feel of the wind, the sounds of a city that never slept.
If Eshtamon and Doharmu granted them favor and allowed them to survive the battle, Corran wanted nothing more than to put the past and its pain behind him and Rigan, to make a fresh start. It was the only thing that had kept him going through these past frantic days. Nothing grand or glorious, no dreams of becoming heroes or legends. Just a cold, quiet desire for vengeance for one brother, and a desperate hope of survival for the other, and perhaps for himself. It would have to be enough.
“IT’S TIME.” CALFON looked at the men and women before him, awaiting the order to move out.
Polly had gone on ahead, to secure the horses. Trent and Calfon led the way, while Corran and Rigan followed, with Elinor and Aiden close behind. Mir and the rest of the hunters brought up the rear. All of them had weapons at the ready.
Already, Corran’s pulse quickened in anticipation. A light sheen of sweat coated his forehead and his mouth was dry.
Sooner than he expected, they came to the alley door. He and Mir had scouted the route, which brought them out near the Lord Mayor’s palace in a dark ginnel where no one was likely to see them emerge. There the teams would split up, the hunters going one direction while the witches made their own way.
Corran glanced at Rigan. He clasped his brother’s forearm, and felt Rigan’s hand tighten on his own. No words were necessary. A moment later, the battle began.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
ARSON CAME EASY. Learning to kindle flames quickly was part of hunting monsters. Few creatures could survive fire. Tonight, it would provide the distraction they needed to get inside the Lord Mayor’s palace. Six guards paced the length of the building. Too many for Corran’s taste.
Smoke drifted up from the wharf front, where Corran saw buildings burning; the hunters had nothing to do with them, but the conflagration—and subsequent riots—worked in their favor. The Lord Mayor’s guards were scattered throughout the city, breaking up fights and hunting down other hunters. It presented a singular opportunity for setting things right.
Corran, Ross, Trent, and Mir slipped around to the back of the building, near the servants’ entrance. Illir and Ellis headed toward the street on the far side, while Tomor and Calfon set out for a spot near the front gates.
Wait for it. Corran did not have to speak to see the warning in his companions’ eyes. Shouts and screams rang from the west, as one of the Guild halls exploded in flame. The sight made Corran smile. Calfon and his team had set that one, to draw the guards away.
Nice job, he thought. Must have taken most of the oil to go up like that.
Fire erupted from every window and broke through the roof. The Lord Mayor’s guards might not care about saving the Guild hall, but in a city as tightly packed as Ravenwood, they could not permit the blazes to spread.
A few minutes later, flames fountained into the night sky with a sound like thunder. This time, it came from the main street, the government building housing the exchequer; a fire set by Trent and Ross.
Soft footsteps close by made Corran raise his head, searching the shadows until he saw Illir and Ellis. Tomor and Calfon joined them a moment later, and they waited as more guards rushed to fight the new fires. Four of the guards ran toward the side of the palace, leaving only two at their post to watch the entrance.
Mir and Trent aimed their bows. Their arrows struck almost simultaneously, dropping the guards in silence. Corran and the others rushed to drag the bodies out of view.
At this late hour, the rear hallways were quiet and empty. Candles guttered in sconces in the walls, as the Lord Mayor’s servants came and went out of sight of their master. Entering through the back avoid
ed one set of hazards, and presented another—the threat of accidentally rousing one of the dozens of servants who kept the palace running.
They moved quietly, staying to the shadowed side of the hallway, slipping forward in pairs. Corran reached the end of the passageway first; an unlocked door yielded to his touch, and he signalled the others to follow. The narrow, winding steps were dark, and Mir lit a single candle to light their way, shielding the flickering light with his hand to hide their position.
Footsteps sounded nearby. The hunters drew back into the darkness, flattened against the wall. In the narrow confines of the hallway, anyone with a lantern would be sure to see them immediately. Corran watched as a thin, stooped man carrying a tray rounded the corner.
Mir grabbed the man from behind, putting a hand over his mouth and a knife to his throat. Trent dove forward to catch the tray and its contents before they could fall.
“Make a sound louder than a whisper and I cut your throat,” Mir growled with his mouth beside the man’s ear. “Do you understand?”
The servant nodded. He was a sharp-faced man past his middle years, stoop-shouldered and balding. He looked terrified, staring at the hunters with wide eyes, rigid with fear.
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Mir said. “You’ll answer in a whisper. Nothing else. Understood?” For emphasis, he pressed the flat of the blade against the man’s throat. The servant blanched.
“How many servants are in the palace?”
“Thirty-two,” the man stuttered. “But they’re nearly all asleep now.”
“Where are their quarters?”
“To the left,” the servant replied. Corran glanced in the direction the man indicated and saw another darkened hallway stretching off into the distance.
“How many are awake?”
“Just me. The Lord Mayor rang for me to bring him some tea. I took it to him, and brought back his dinner tray.”
“Is the Mayor alone?”
“Yes.”
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