The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books)

by Matthew Sprange

  Lucius closed the distance between them and then dropped, skidding under the mercenary’s guard along the wet floor. Once past the mercenary, Lucius scrambled to his feet and vaulted for the chair in front of the open bay window.

  Looking down at the courtyard and gardens below, Lucius snorted in frustration. There was no convenient pond or thicket for him to leap into and a drop from this height would leave him with a broken ankle or worse. Glancing upwards, he thought he would have a chance at scaling the bay and getting from there onto the roof, but he was distracted by a roar from back inside the corridor.

  He twisted to one side, desperately hanging onto the window frame as a spear was thrust at him. Realising just how precarious his position was, Lucius grabbed the shaft of the spear with his one free hand and pulled. Perhaps thinking Lucius was trying to pull him out of the window, the mercenary relaxed his grip on the spear. That was what Lucius had been waiting for.

  Thrusting the spear back into the window, Lucius felt the butt connect with the mercenary’s chest, sending him stumbling back. Lucius then leapt upwards to catch the roof of the bay and hauled himself onto the roof.

  He saw Swinherd fighting a guard, the thrusts and swings from the mercenary forcing the thief back with every step. Glancing back across to the garden, Lucius saw Grayling sliding down the rope across the wall, followed by Ambrose, mercenaries racing below in a vain attempt to stop them. Gathering what remained of his strength, Lucius pounded up the tiles towards where Swinherd was fighting.

  A vicious swipe from the guard caused Swinherd to back up, and the thief lost his footing, slipping down to one knee as he tried to keep balance on the ridge of the roof. However, the guard paid him scant attention, instead hacking down on the escape rope with his sword, the blade passing through it easily. Lucius was sure Grayling had reached safety, but he saw Ambrose fall, disappearing into the hedges. Guards were cleaving their way through the vegetation within seconds.

  The mercenary on the roof turned back to Swinherd. Roaring to distract the man, Lucius ploughed into him. The mercenary slid down the incline of the roof, frantically scrabbling to arrest his descent. With a forlorn scream, he disappeared.

  Not waiting to hear the crash of the armoured guard hitting the ground, Lucius grabbed Swinherd.

  “There will be more of them up here at any moment,” he said.

  “They’ve already discovered the ladder and kicked it down,” Swinherd said. “I’ve found something else though. Come on!”

  Behind them, the mercenaries had apparently erected their own ladder, for two appeared on the roof at the far end of the mansion. Heading in the opposite direction, Swinherd guided Lucius along the roofline, and then threw himself down its incline, sliding to the rear of de Lille’s home. Controlling their descent, they steadied themselves as they reached the edge. Looking down, Lucius saw that an outbuilding butted onto the back of the mansion, its own sloped roof reaching up perhaps half the height of the main building.

  “It’s a longer drop than I thought,” Swinherd admitted.

  Lucius looked over his shoulder to see mercenaries rapidly approaching, with more close behind. He groaned in expectation of the coming pain.

  “We have little choice,” he said.

  Grabbing the stone gutters, he swung his legs over and dangled for a few seconds before letting go.

  Lucius seemed to fall for an age. Then, with a jarring thud, he slammed into the roof tiles of the outbuilding, shattering dozens of them with the impact. Immediately, he began to slide down, causing a cascade of broken tiles to tumble before him. He was barely aware of rolling off the roof until he hit the grass with a blow that forced all the air out of his body.

  Another thud in the ground right next to him marked Swinherd’s impact. The thief moaned in pain as Lucius forced himself to stand.

  “You alright?” Lucius asked as he reached down to help Swinherd.

  “Just twisted me ankle,” Swinherd said, though Lucius saw the pain he was in, and wondered if the fall had not broken it.

  Quickly looking about him, Lucius searched for an escape route. Swinherd would slow him down, but he couldn’t leave him.

  More shouts from mercenaries alerted him to hurry, as those on the roof began directing the efforts of those in the gardens. The shortest route out of de Lille’s grounds was the tall wall that surrounded them on all sides, but Swinherd was in no shape to scale anything, and he could hardly throw the man over it.

  If not over, then through.

  Though he was mentally exhausted and in pain, Lucius raised a hand and the threads of magic came to his mind’s eye. He reached out for what he knew to be the most destructive of them, a source of magical energy that he had only before used in small measure. Now, he grasped the thread in its entirety.

  The magic bending under his control, he gasped at the effort it took to fashion it into shape. It felt like hammering steel with his bare hands, and he cried out with the raw effort as he felt the energy begin to burn into his flesh. Sweat erupted all over his body, and he clenched his fist as he felt the magic begin to build up to its critical point, fingers digging deep into his palm until it began to bleed.

  With a roar, Lucius released the magic.

  The force of the arcane blast drove Lucius a step back. An invisible fist drove through the air with the speed of a cracking whip and impacted against the wall.

  Bricks and mortar flew high into the evening sky as the wall folded under the attack with a thunderous crash, debris raining down to bounce off the roof of de Lille’s neighbour.

  Swinherd looked up at Lucius, stunned.

  “I had no idea...” he began.

  “There’s no time for that,” Lucius said, hauling Swinherd to his feet and ignoring the man’s sharp cry of pain as he placed weight on his injured foot. Slinging Swinherd’s arm across his shoulders, Lucius half-ran and half-staggered through the gap in the wall. Behind them, he heard mercenaries running for the gap as well, and this drove him to move faster, becoming oblivious to Swinherd’s agony and his own exhaustion. Once in the dark of the alleys, he knew they would be safe.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STRETCHING HIS FULL length, Lucius groaned in contentment as he languished under the soft cotton sheets, and then yelped as the movement twisted the wound in his side, the lance of pain causing him to grab his side, trying to ameliorate the agony.

  Elaine laid her head on his bare chest. “That will teach you to move quicker when an angry merchant comes at you with his sword.”

  He grunted in reply, not rising to the bait. Casting a glance around Elaine’s tiny room, he saw how much the guildmistress had changed it since the old master’s time. The desk was still there, but it had been shunted to one side along the wall, and papers were neatly stacked along one edge, rather than scattered in loosely organised piles. It was not that Elaine ran a tighter ship than Magnus, Lucius knew, just that she brought only the most sensitive documents into this, the guildmaster’s office. The majority of her work was conducted elsewhere in the guildhouse.

  The rest of the room was strewn with her belongings. Books – lots and lots of books – sat on shelves or were otherwise stacked in tall towers. Two chests contained Elaine’s clothes, another her personal weaponry and tools of the thief’s trade. It was amazing that she had managed to fit the wide bed into the room at all, and Lucius had never worked out how she had managed to get it up the narrow stairs.

  A cloud shifted, and sunlight streamed through both the skylight and the tiny round window set opposite the door, its rays picking out the motes of dust that floated in the air. Movement from Elaine caught his attention, and Lucius stared in half-amazement as she reached under the sheets and produced the Torc of Vocator Majoris. Holding it up, she stared at it, turning it slowly.

  “Shouldn’t that have gone into the vault?” he asked.

  Elaine shrugged. “Perk of being guildmistress. Do you think it really works?”

  “Protection from assassins? I d
on’t see how.”

  She continued to look at it intently, and Lucius supposed she viewed the Pontaine artefact as some sort of challenge. After all, before adopting the mantle of guildmistress, she had been Magnus’ master of assassins, and that was an area of guild business she still took a deep interest in. That had been Lucius’ greatest source of unease, reconciling the teasing, reflective and indefatigable woman he slept with, to the stone-cold killer he knew her to be.

  “Do you have a buyer lined up?” he asked, after she had remained silent for a few moments.

  “We’ll keep it for a while,” Elaine said as she carelessly tossed the torc onto the floor. “Maybe get some of our men to look at it, determine its true potential. There’s no hurry.”

  “Business is getting back to normal,” he said, referring to the reformation of the guild from the ashes of the thieves’ war.

  She turned back to him, tapping her fingers rhythmically on his chest as she thought.

  “There is still a long way to go,” she said. “The pickpockets are back in operation in the Five Markets and, gradually, the merchants are being brought back into line with their payments – your work with de Lille will help a great deal there.”

  “Happy to be of service,” he said, running a hand down her back.

  “We’ll have to start from scratch with the longer term projects. I want to get that prostitution ring going – the kids running the pickpocket franchises do well under our care, and I know we can do the same for these women.”

  “As well as draw in revenue from them,” Lucius said.

  Elaine raised her eyebrows. “That is the reason we are all here. But I mean what I say – we can provide protection for the girls, set standard rates, invest their shares of the franchise, and give them a chance for a decent future, the same as any of our current members. Overall, they will be better off.”

  With a fluid motion, Elaine whipped the sheets away from herself, and leapt from the bed. She crossed the small room and went to her desk. Lucius watched her leaf through the pages, taking the opportunity to admire her naked body. Her dark hair fell loose down past her shoulders, and she moved with the easy grace common to all good thieves. Exceptionally well-toned for a woman of her age, her skin was nonetheless criss-crossed with a multitude of scars, a testament to the bloody work she had carried out in the past. Those flaws had never bothered him on a physical level, though they always served as a reminder of what she was capable of; perhaps that was part of the attraction.

  They had been sleeping together for several months now, the relationship starting a little after the guild had been put back together. Lucius had still not really worked out why she had chosen him as a partner or, for that matter, why he had accepted.

  At least ten years his senior, Elaine was not known for sleeping with other thieves. He might have thought he provided her with mere physical relief, but over the past few weeks they had started talking more in bed after making love, though the conversation tended to revolve around guild activities rather than anything truly personal.

  They should have been rivals, of course, for both were aware that Lucius could have easily taken the leadership of the guild after the thieves’ war. As it was, Lucius was keen to advance to a position of responsibility, but he had no desire for complete authority. Elaine most certainly did, and what Elaine wanted she tended to get, one way or another.

  Still, he had to admit, he liked her. After all, she was an utterly capable warrior, a cold killer, an energetic lover and a superlative guildmistress. He was surprised more thieves had not fallen for her. Then again, perhaps they had and were just intimidated by her manner. There were times when he could well understand that.

  “We done?” Lucius asked when he saw Elaine’s attention was sinking deeper into her papers.

  “We’re done,” she said, a little distracted, before remembering herself and looking over her shoulder briefly. “Work never stops.”

  “Too true.” Lucius watched Elaine work for several minutes more, rummaging through her paperwork to find the information she sought.

  He saw her frown as she looked up from her papers, then cross over to the window. Grasping the latch, she threw it open and looked down at the street below.

  “What the hell is going on?” he heard her mutter.

  Vaulting from the bed, he joined her, standing behind as his arms encircled her waist. Briefly, he enjoyed the feel of her body up against his, but then he saw what had caught her attention.

  The street outside was thronged with a crowd, people streaming past toward the centre of the city. Beggars, merchants, storekeepers, labourers, all pushed past and tripped over one another as they hastened along the street, chatting eagerly with their neighbours.

  Turning to glance back at Lucius, Elaine looked at him for answers, but he just shook his head in puzzlement.

  THE CROWD THRONGED in the Square of True Believers, people jostling for position even as more filed in from the surrounding streets. Children were held close by their parents, lest they become utterly lost in the sea of bodies, while more adventurous onlookers scaled discarded crates, wagons, and statues for a better viewpoint. At the furthest edges of the crowd, where the press of people was lighter, the pickpockets worked, the occasional cry of “thief!” accompanied by quick footsteps and scattering children.

  All eyes were on the wooden dais and pulpit that had been constructed in front of the Cathedral. A sudden influx of funds from Vos had driven the completion of the Cathedral, so that its towers now loomed over the square. Rumours abounded that the Cathedral’s quick construction had as much to do with a cut in the height of the two towers flanking the massive wooden doors to the nave as it had with more money being made available. The priests of the Final Faith had originally intended the Cathedral to be the tallest structure in the entire city, presiding over even the five towers of the Citadel. However, the lawmakers within Vos had stood their ground, and the message was clear; even the religion of the Final Faith could not be allowed to overshadow the rule of Vos.

  A hush fell over the crowd nearest the Cathedral, and it quickly spread over the entire square as the tall metal-bound doors of the massive edifice opened. Only subdued murmurs rippled through multitude as the first figures strode proudly, in two lines, from the innards of the Cathedral.

  Resplendent in white tabards bearing the red crossed circle of their Order, the Swords of Dawn put the garrisoned soldiers stationed to police the population of Turnitia to shame. Their armour was of the latest fashion, sporting plates over the normal mail to protect the shoulders, forearms and thighs. Their helmets remained open-faced but were far more intricately crafted, with state-sanctioned prayers inscribed in gold on their tall, flat surfaces, topped by short red plumes. What arrested the attention of most, however, were their wicked-looking weapons, slab-sided halberds, great pole axes that looked as though they could cleave a full grown man in two with a solid blow. These were new weapons in the Vos arsenal and, though untested in open warfare, they had already garnered a fearsome reputation among the citizens of the Empire.

  The Swords filed out of the entrance of the Cathedral and down its steps, marching in perfect harmony, the clanking of their armour echoing across the square. Fanning out, the soldiers assembled themselves in two lines either side of the dais, staring implacably out at the crowd, as if daring anyone to make a foolish move.

  No one dared. As one, the Swords raised their halberds a few inches above the paved stones and then brought them down in unison, the sound commanding instant silence from the gathered citizens. None stirred as their attention focussed on the open doors of the Cathedral and its dark interior.

  A young priest, flanked by two neophytes, walked solemnly from the Cathedral, swinging a censer in time with his steps. They were all clothed in the white robes favoured by clergy of the Final Faith, though the priest’s clothing was draped in a green stole that denoted his rank. With aching slowness, he paced down the steps and, reaching the dais, h
anded the censer to one of the neophytes before climbing the pulpit.

  Sure he had the attention of everyone, the priest raised his arms, and breathed in deeply before speaking.

  “Blessed are you, you who attend the consecration of this great city’s cathedral, dedicated to the one, true Final Faith. Your devotion is noted by the Anointed Lord herself, for she has sent her humble representative to us today. Pray silence for the Preacher Divine, Alhmanic.”

  After stepping down from the pulpit, the priest turned to face the Cathedral and waited, his head bowed.

  A minute passed with no movement from within the cavernous interior. The people simply stood, almost entranced as they awaited the most powerful member of the Final Faith to ever visit their city.

  There was a collective intake of breath as the Preacher Divine seemed to materialise out of the Cathedral. One moment there was nothing, and then there he stood, staring imperiously across the square.

  The Preacher Divine was old, with thinning white hair above a majestic beard. However, as he started down the steps, it was clear he moved with the quick and easy grace of a man both young and physically fit. Those closest saw that while his skin was hard and weathered, it was barely touched by age. His eyes were clear and roved constantly over the crowd, as if able to pick out infidels with the merest glance.

  He walked with a tall gilded staff that he clearly did not need, its metal butt hammering the ground with each step. A large blue stone was mounted at the staff’s tip, grasped by silver claws. Dressed in white robes similar to the clergy on the dais, the Preacher Divine also wore a dark red cloak that trailed behind him as he walked, along with metal bracers on his arms and a thick leather tunic of exquisite craftsmanship. He gave the impression that he had fought a battle every step of the way to Turnitia but had not tired in doing the work of the Final Faith.