The thieves winced collectively as a dull, wet snap reached their ears, and Luber grunted from the pain. Incredulously, Lucius stared as Luber simply drew his hand back through the manacles. Gingerly, he took the lockpick from his mouth and began prodding at the restraint around his left hand.
Waiting with bated breath, the thieves watched as Luber, with obvious pain and difficulty, probed the locking mechanism of the manacles, the action made harder tenfold with the broken joint of his thumb. He twisted the pick, and they all strained to hear the click of the mechanism unlocking, but instead heard Luber grunt again in pain as his hand spasmed slightly, and the pick fell from the lock, dangling only by a fraction of an inch of its hooked end. Lucius saw the woman jerk against her chains involuntarily, perhaps thinking she could catch the pick from across the cell, but Luber’s reactions were up to the task. Giving a pained but wry smile at his audience, he scooped the pick up, and re-seated it back in the lock.
“God’s teeth, Luber,” someone muttered. “Could do this quicker myself.”
“And could you break your own wrist first?” the woman asked caustically, only to be met with silence.
Moving slower and more deliberately this time, Luber continued his probing, then gave another grunt.
“Got it,” he whispered, and hushed words of encouragement swept around the cell as they all heard a tiny click. With a shrugging motion, Luber discarded the open manacles and set to work on those chaining his feet.
Eyes began to flicker towards the cell door, as the thieves collectively prayed that the guard would not return before Luber’s work was done, but luck remained on their side. He quickly disposed of the restraints tying his feet and then, shakily, stood, grinning in his new-found freedom. A quiet cough brought him back to the job in hand, and he set to work on another man Lucius recognised as his partner. Once another set of manacles lay useless on the floor, the newly freed thief produced his own lockpick from inside a boot, and together he and Luber shuffled around the cell, releasing their comrades.
Even before the last thief was released, Lucius was by the cell door, inspecting its lock. He was joined by the woman.
“No craftsmanship here,” she said. Noting Lucius’ quizzical gaze, she gestured at the lock. “Why build a cell whose door gives access to the lock on the inside? Especially one designed to hold thieves. All that money from Vos to build the Citadel, but no finesse in its application.”
“Lucky for us,” he said. “I’m Lucius.”
She took his extended hand. “Grayling. I’ve seen you around. Rumour has it you can fight.” In response, he shrugged. “There’ll be plenty of fighting soon,” she continued. “Let’s hope you are as good as your reputation. Luber, you finished there? We need this door open.”
It was Luber’s partner who answered her summons and, as he went to work, Grayling ordered the thieves into pairs, and Lucius was faintly surprised at the ease qith which they accepted her leadership.
“When you leave, take your chances to go left or right down the corridor – either is as good as the other, and it will mean we are not all cooped up in one place if the guard see us. Find weapons if you can, but don’t take risks. The goal is to get out of this cursed place. Go for the roof or the ground floor, as you like. Find a route out of this tower and then past the walls – that will be the difficult bit. Better to go over than through, but if some of us are found, it may cause enough distraction for the others. Once out...” Here she paused, as the enormity of what they were attempting struck home. “Split up and make your way back to the guildhouse. Standard procedures. Make sure you are not followed, and make wide detours. Understood?”
She was answered by nods and grunts.
“Lucius, you come with me,” she said, barely looking him in the eye.
A loud click froze the thieves as the lock of the cell door was forced by Luber’s partner. He looked back at Grayling who nodded. Pulling Lucius to one side, she opened the door open a crack and, seeing no movement, swung it open fully. She darted her head outside, looking up and down the open corridor.
“You two,” she said, gesturing at a pair of thieves. “Go!”
The two men sprang up and, with just a second’s hesitation, darted left. The next pair called by Grayling went right. As the thieves funnelled out, Lucius began to fidget, feeling that the guards could return any moment, trapping him in the cell while the other thieves made their bid for freedom. As the last pair left, Grayling looked up at him.
“Ready?”
Without waiting for a reply, she peered out of the corridor once more, then trotted left, her soft boots making no noise on the flagstones. They passed other cells, and Lucius briefly entertained the idea of releasing all the prisoners held in this tower, but realised that such a mob would as likely get themselves killed as escape, and that the odds were stacked against the thieves as it was.
At the first junction, Grayling cocked her head, then pointed right, and as they made their way down shadowy, torch-lit passages, they caught the occasional snatch of raised voices and the unmistakable clash of metal on metal. Some of the thieves had already been found, and were now fighting for their lives.
An alcove revealed a spiral stone staircase leading both up and down, and Grayling began to vault upwards, aiming for the pinnacle of the tower. However, the stairs stopped at least one level short, forcing them back into twisting corridors. Always one pace behind her, Lucius stopped short when Grayling held up a hand.
“Guard coming,” she whispered. “Get him looking at you.”
With no other words, she skipped to the left, nestling herself within the shadows of a support buttress that stood proud of the passageway’s walls. An instant later, Lucius heard booted feet and the clink of mail from ahead, and realised Grayling’s hearing was far more acute than his own. A second later, an armoured guard rounded a corner a few yards down the corridor, coming to a dead halt when he saw Lucius standing in his path.
They stared at one another for a brief instant, the guard surprised at the sight of an intruder, Lucius’ mind fumbling for something to say.
He held up both hands. “I surrender.”
Frowning now, the guard jogged down the corridor, arm outstretched to seize Lucius, but his motion was arrested by Grayling’s foot. Catching the guard off balance, she snaked from the shadows, tripping him with an easy movement, then following his body down with her own. Throwing his helmet aside, one blow to the back of his neck rendered the guard unconscious.
Moving quickly, Grayling tugged at the guard’s belt, freeing his weapons. The sword she passed to Lucius, while she grabbed a dagger for herself.
“Sure you don’t want the sword?” Lucius asked, surprised she had taken the smaller weapon. She gave him a disparaging look.
“You men are always so worried about size.”
Her smile might have been meant purely in jest, but it retained such a look of viciousness that Lucius found himself swallowing involuntarily. Grayling glanced over her shoulder, looking down the corridor.
“Grab that and pull it into the shadows,” she said, indicating the motionless guard. “I’ll scout ahead.”
As quietly as he could, Lucius dragged the guard next to the buttress Grayling had used to ambush him, deeply aware of the grating sound the man’s mail made on the stone floor. He tried lifting and shuffling the man as best he could, but it was a dead weight, and he kept flicking glances up and down the passageway, expecting to see half the Vos army bearing down upon him.
By the time he had finished, Grayling had returned, and he noted a triumphant look in her eyes.
“I know how we are getting out of here,” she said. “But there is a problem. Come.”
Pacing down the corridor behind her, Lucius followed Grayling past two junctions in the mazelike arrangement of the tower. They came to a half-open door, from which he heard the voices of several men. Following her gesture, he looked inside.
Lucius saw the problem immediately. Four more gu
ards were inside, in various states of unreadiness. Two were reclined on cots, propped up against the far wall as they spoke with their colleagues, while the other pair were seated at a table, evidently finishing off their evening meal. Only one was fully armoured, his helmet lying discarded on the table, while another wore only his mail coat. The two on the cots wore only leather under-tunics, their mail hung from crosspieces on one side of the room. Quickly scanning the room for weapons, Lucius saw a wooden rack against the far wall in which rested a variety of swords, maces and daggers.
Grayling nudged him in the side, and he followed her eyes to a corner of the barracks. A ladder rose from the floor to a large trapdoor in the ceiling.
“To the roof,” she mouthed.
Lucius frowned at her and jerked his head to the guards. Despite having the advantage of surprise, he was not sure they could defeat all of the men inside before they could launch a highly effective counterattack. If it were just him, with both armour and magic as his allies, he would be confident. However, he had nothing but the sword Grayling had managed to recover for him, and he did not fancy her chances at all, fighting well-trained soldiers with only a dagger.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down the corridor. When they were a safe distance away, she whispered her idea to him.
“I go in first. You move as soon as they spot me, got it?”
He nodded, but she took hold of his arm again, squeezing it to underline her point. “As soon as they see me, understand? If I am caught alone in there, I’m dead. I’m relying on you – can I do that?”
Lucius took a breath, still not liking their odds, but he nodded. “You can count on me.”
“Good,” she said, smiling. “I had heard that.”
He frowned at that, but Grayling had already left his side, pacing stealthily back towards the door, dagger held low. Watching as she reached the door, Lucius saw her drop into a crouch and then, slowly, silently, she passed the threshold and entered the room.
Using the half-open door to shield his presence, Lucius watched in amazement as Grayling padded towards the men in the cots. She moved with exceptional grace, each footstep slow and deliberate. He had heard tales in the common room of some thieves with the ability to blend into their environments to such a degree that they practically became invisible, but he had not really believed it up to now. Keeping her back to the wall, Grayling moved with a slow but irresistible motion. Never completely still, yet never drawing attention to herself. One foot was placed in front of the other in total silence. Lucius marvelled at her ability, but felt her luck could not last.
It didn’t. A casual glance from one of the men at the table became a double take as he focussed on the creeping woman who, battered and bruised with a naked dagger, must have looked for all the world like some evil spirit come to exact vengeance.
“Assassin!” the man cried out, stunning his comrades into inaction as he whirled around for the weapons rack.
Lucius was already moving, sprinting for the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grayling uncoil from her crouch, turning her stealthy pose into a killing strike in an instant. The man in the first cot was dead a second later, blood gushing down his tunic.
The last man at the table reeled back from Lucius’ charge, falling from his chair and upending the table as he hit the floor. Kicking the table to one side, Lucius hacked the man down before he could cry out. The blade dug easily into the side of the guard’s skull, and blood flowed across the floor as he yanked it free.
A hiss from Grayling caused Lucius to look up, and it was by reflex alone that he managed to raise the blade of his sword in time to catch the downward swing of the other guard’s mace. The guard snarled at Lucius – spittle flying from his lips – before he reversed the direction of his weapon, and swung the mace again.
Unable to parry such a close blow, Lucius backed away and nearly tangled himself in the body at his feet. Seeing the guard advance and ready another swing, he reached down and grabbed the fallen chair, raising it just as the mace came towards his head.
The chair shattered into a dozen wooden splinters while the force of the attack caused him to stumble. As he went down on one knee, Lucius swung his sword in a backhanded blow intended to disembowel the guard, but the tip of his weapon just skittered off mail. Pressing home the advantage, the guard raised the mace above his head and brought it rushing down, perhaps hoping to blast Lucius straight through the floor and back into the cells.
Caught off balance, Lucius rolled back toward the door, hoping to gain a little ground. The guard followed immediately, seeing a helpless enemy before him. Kicking out, Lucius stalled the advance with a blow to the guard’s shin, but his foot just glanced off the metal greaves. Another swing forced him to dive to his left, and his sword clattered on the floor as it fell from his grasp. On his rump and completely defenceless now, Lucius desperately kicked at the floor, trying to drive himself back, away from the guard, whose face was now triumphant with victory.
He felt the wall at his back, and knew there was nowhere else to run. Raising his arms in a futile effort to ward away the guard’s finishing blow, he looked up to see the man staring down at him. The guard’s fury had disappeared and his expression was almost serene. Lucius frowned in puzzlement, then opened his mouth in shock as the man sank to his knees and collapsed at his feet. Behind the guard stood Grayling, her dagger dripping with blood.
“Can I help you up?” she said.
Grayling was the first to the ladder and after reaching the top, she heaved with her shoulder to force the trapdoor open. Lucius looked past her slight form to see the blue sphere of Kerberos leering down at him, and he felt a rush of relief as he breathed in fresh air.
Vaulting up the ladder, he found himself at the top of the tower beside Grayling, looking down from the parapets. The roof was dominated by a huge trebuchet – its timbers harvested from Vos forests – the massive stones it threw piled next to it, mined from quarries close to the city. A single pole rose higher even than the mighty war machine, but no flag flew from it this evening, that honour having currently been taken by one of the other towers of the Citadel.
The view of Turnitia from this height was spectacular. He could see the entire expanse of the city, from the ocean cliffs guarding it, up the slope to the townhouses on its far side. To the east and north, rows of blank-roofed warehouses held the wealth of the city, while the Five Markets lay empty below.
Closer, the construction of the Citadel was equally impressive. The four other towers stood silent and imposing, acting as sentinels for the entire city, while the main keep – invisible to the rest of the world behind vast stone walls – nestled between them. Those walls ringed the entire complex, high above the level of most buildings in Turnitia, and were lined with troops. More soldiers were scattered in the courtyards directly below, and Lucius saw the frantic movements of an ongoing battle. Some of the thieves had escaped from the tower at ground level, only to find themselves cut off and surrounded.
“We cannot help them,” Grayling said, perhaps wanting to forestall any foolish heroics Lucius might be tempted to perform.
“Agreed,” he said after a moment, nodding. “So, what now?”
“Still thinking,” Grayling said as she looked left and right for a solution to present itself.
“I thought you said you had a plan?”
“Got us this far, haven’t I?” she retorted, though there was no venom in her voice. Slowly, Lucius began to realise that she was actually enjoying the moment, their brush with danger and the bid for freedom. He could not decide whether that was a good thing.
“We’ve got this,” Grayling said, scooping up a coil of rope that lay next to the Vos banners that were draped down the sheer sides of the towers on special days marked by the Empire. “But we can’t just drop it down into the courtyard.”
Staring out at the city, an idea came to Lucius. “If we could stretch it to the walls, they would be the last obstacle.”
Walking to the edge of the battlements lining the tower, Lucius stared at the wall, trying to gauge the distance. As a horizontal throw, it would be impossible, but from their vantage point, they had height on their side. If they had just a little help.
“Find something,” he said. “Anything that can act as a grappling hook. We need something that can dig into stone.”
Grayling disappeared back down the trapdoor while Lucius scouted the roof of the tower. He had hoped to find something useful among the tools and supplies surrounding the war machine, but he was unsuccessful. When Grayling reappeared, he could tell from her expression that she had been no luckier.
She looked up at the trebuchet. “You know, there are stories of thieves making their escape by using catapults.”
“Any thief telling that story is either a liar or a good deal shorter than he once was.”
Grayling sighed. “We might have to go back down into the tower.”
Closing his eyes, Lucius cursed. He knew what he had to do, but it would very likely mean an end to his place among the Hands.
“Grayling,” he began. “You counted on me before. I need to count on you now.”
“Of course,” she said without hesitation.
“I mean it.”
Something in his voice checked her, and she frowned at him. “What are you planning to do?”
It was his turn to sigh. “Stand back until I say. And you’ll need a strip of cloth or short length of rope.”
Still clearly puzzled, Grayling nevertheless followed his instructions, and dug around the trebuchet’s supplies until she found something suitable.
The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) Page 19