Shadow’s Lure s-2

by Jon Sprunk

  “What news?” she demanded before he’d even stopped three paces before her.

  His metal visor looked down at her. “The locations were searched and their occupants seized, as ordered. There was insignificant resistance.”

  “Did you get them all?”

  The face mask moved side to side. “Some escaped capture in the southern ward. Patrols have been sent out to sweep the burgs.”

  “You lost them in the forest, and now they elude you again! Soloroth, I swear by-”

  “All the insurrectionists at my site were captured.” He held out a blood-spattered gauntlet. “Or eliminated. Blame your other captains.”

  She slapped his hand away. It wasn’t his fault. The outlaws had become devilishly clever of late, but if this persisted, her situation would continue to deteriorate. Her father’s patience would not last forever.

  “Find the officer in charge of that raid and execute him,” she said. “Do it yourself.”

  Waiting for an acknowledgment that never came, she had an urge to freeze his insolent eyes in their sockets, but she could not afford to be without him. Not yet.

  “Is there something else?” she asked.

  “The scion is here.”

  Sybelle bit the inside of her cheek. Pinpricks raced across her skin. This explained everything-the disturbing portents, the feelings of unease that had settled in her belly like a clutch of serpents.

  “You know this for sure? You tracked him?”

  “No. As before, the shadows will not cooperate.”

  Her nails bit into the tender skin of her palms as she clenched her hands into fists. She expected no better-Soloroth had his uses, but subtlety was not one of them. Still, it rankled. She knew what her master would command if he knew-destroy the last heir of Shadow, of course, and be done with it. But she had other ideas. To take him, to absorb his essence and bind it to her own, that could mean everything, including an end to her filial bondage. The thought made her heart pound.

  “Empty the barracks. Send every soldier out into the streets. Your Northmen, too. Scour the city until he is found.”

  When Soloroth started to turn away, she stopped him. “I want him alive. Understand?”

  His helmet tipped forward. “It will be done.”

  She watched him march away down the corridor. The chain on his belt creaked like the shackles of the damned. When he was gone, she strode in the opposite direction. She wanted to discuss this new development with Caedman and find out how much the outlaw leader knew. If he had been withholding information about the scion, the punishments she would inflict on his body and soul would fling him screaming into the outer darkness. But first she needed some nourishment to recharge her energies.

  With a sensual tingle, Sybelle went back to the cell holding the new prisoners.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Set on the bank of a sluggish creek outside the city, the abandoned house might have once been a respectable homestead, but time had taken its toll. The wooden porch wrapped around the front of the domicile was warped and sagging, and the yard behind the slumped wrought-iron fence was more dirt than grass. Several holes, some as large as wagon wheels, gaped in the dilapidated roof.

  Caim trailed behind Keegan and Liana, who walked with their father around to the back of the house. Although she stole glances at him during the trek from the city, Liana said nothing more, and Caim was content to travel in silence. He was tired, and he hurt everywhere. On the way out they stopped long enough for him to wrap up his sliced ribs, but his leg and forearm had gone stiff. He just wanted someplace he could sleep for a couple years. But he couldn’t get what had happened in the alley out of his head. He’d never felt such bloodlust before, so out of control. The sword rested across his back, quiet now, but what would happen the next time he drew it?

  Keegan took them to a door at the rear and rapped on the wooden panels. After a minute, it was opened by a young man about Keegan’s age. Caim didn’t recognize him, but the others apparently did. Keegan shook the lad’s hand as he went inside. Liana gave the boy a wave, and Hagan slapped him on the arm. When Caim approached, the young man hurried to get out of his way. I must look almost as bad as I feel.

  The door led into a large country-style kitchen. A gray-haired woman in a faded blue housecoat and a handkerchief minded a pot on the stove. Broken steps led up to the next floor, but the outlaws bypassed the stairs in favor of a long hallway entering deeper into the house. Caim followed them to a large room. The walls were paneled in dark wood, now pitted and cracked. There was a sizable organ against the south wall, its dusty pipes extending to the high ceiling, and a massive marble fireplace. The meager fire that burned in the hearth looked pitiful within its regal confines.

  A band of men stood around the fire. Some were from the store cellar, and others he recognized from the woods, including the big man. Ramon’s clothes were ragged, his hair matted with dirt and sweat, and his left hand was wrapped in a crude bandage crusted with dried blood. His nose was flattened as if it had been broken and reset, maybe more than once.

  Grendt was speaking when they entered. Caim caught the wary look in the man’s eyes. He’s a cold one. No surprise he survived that massacre. If this whole house came tumbling down, he’d be the only one to crawl out alive.

  Ramon saw Hagan and called out his name. A few of the others rushed over to surround the old man, asking where he’d been and how he got here.

  Hagan gestured to Keegan and Liana. “I came to see if my brother had heard from these two.”

  “Where’s Corgan?” one of the outlaws asked. “He didn’t go back to his shop, did he? The south ward is crawling with soldiers.”

  “He’s dead,” Hagan said.

  A couple of the men glanced at Caim as Liana leaned against her father’s shoulder.

  “But,” Keegan said, “Uncle Corgan died on his feet.”

  Ramon nodded. “Like a true son of Eregoth, subject to no overlord, beholden to no king.”

  “And no southerlander empress neither!” Grendt croaked from the back of the group with a hard look at Caim.

  Keegan broke the uncomfortable silence. “Where have you been, Ramon? We thought you would meet us at my uncle’s shop.”

  Ramon shook his head. “At the clearing I fought for as long as I had breath in my body, but they were too many. So I broke away and made for the low camp. It took me two days, crawling through the bracken like an animal, to get clear of the woods. I stopped at the Malgar steading. Some of you know my cousin Joram. He wanted to join us against Eviskine.”

  Ramon pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a tall, rawboned man in a wool vest who stood near the hearth. A large blacksmith’s hammer leaned against the wall by his feet.

  Grendt leveled a finger at Caim. “What about him? He’s the one who brought the duke’s soldiers down upon us!”

  Other voices grumbled in agreement.

  Liana looked around with a frown. “It’s thanks to Caim that we’re even alive. He saved us! Tell them, Keegan.”

  Keegan turned away as Liana shook his arm.

  She turned to their father. “Papa, tell them.”

  Everyone quieted as Hagan gazed down at his daughter. “I saw him, standing over the bodies of a dozen men. Covered in blood. As it covers him now and always will. He is the hand of death, and wherever he goes, death follows.”

  Caim could feel the tension in the room. His palms itched. Some men nodded at those words; others shifted from foot to foot and could not meet his gaze. Keegan was one of them. The youth was clearly divided between his loyalty to his cause and his gratefulness to Caim. Or is it something else? Does he resent the help I’ve offered, even though it saved his life? What was it that Kas used to say? Never overestimate the depth of a man’s gratitude, or the length of his memory.

  He’d learned to heed those words in Othir, and now it appeared he would have to observe them again. Yet despite their disdain for him, he hoped he didn’t have to hurt these people. Caim kept
his hands by his sides.

  “I’ll go, if that is what you want,” he said. “But so should you. Someone told the soldiers where to find you, and more could be on their way here right now.”

  “It was you!” Grendt said. “We all know it.”

  “He’s no spy.” Keegan stood in the firelight. “I wasn’t sure at first, but he helped me and my sister. He could have left us in the woods, but he didn’t. Risked his own life, and I don’t think a spy would stick around to see his own goose cooked. That’s all I have to say.”

  Ramon clapped a hand on the youth’s shoulder, making him wince. “Keegan sees the truth. Besides, the southerner fights too good to be a spy.”

  “But he’s-” Grendt started to say.

  “What do we do now?” someone asked.

  Ramon gave Keegan a little shove, pushing him back toward his father. “We’ve been mauled by the duke’s men, many of us burned out of our homes and separated from our families. I wouldn’t cast doubt on any man who wished to leave now and try to find some way to live in peace.”

  When scattered cries against the idea filled the room, Ramon raised a hand. “Then we must return to the castle and save our strength. Come back in the spring when the snows have thawed.”

  “We can’t leave,” Keegan said. “Caedman is still in the duke’s hands. What will happen to him if we flee?”

  “Aye,” a stout man with a gimpy leg said. “That don’t sit right with me neither.”

  One of the brothers, Dray, shook his head. “You’re bat-shit crazy. You’ll never get close to him.”

  Another came forward. The blond-haired spearman. “I’ll go.”

  His brother snorted. “You’ll make a fine fucking candle, Aemon. Tied to a stake and set alight by the duke’s executioners.”

  As the others leapt into the discussion, Ramon shook his head.

  “I know what you would do,” he said when they quieted. “But it’s too dangerous. We’ve lost many of our brothers. Would you have us all killed? Or trussed up for the sport of Eviskine’s witch? We cannot defeat soldiers in armor, nor strive against sorcery and demons with any hope of winning.”

  No one spoke. Caim watched as each man struggled with his conscience. Beaten and disheartened, it wouldn’t take more than a stiff wind to knock them over. Like Ramon said, they had no chance against soldiers. And against sorcery? It was beyond ridiculous. Liana looked at him with a hopeful expression, like he was the answer to all their ills.

  You don’t know me. I’m not the solution.

  “I’ll help you,” he said, not believing the words as they came out of his mouth.

  This time when eyes turned to him, he didn’t feel the same animosity. Grendt sneered, of course, and muttered under his breath. And Ramon watched with an unreadable expression beneath his dirt-caked beard, but the rest had the look of convicted men who had just been given a reprieve from the hangman’s noose.

  “But it has to be tonight.”

  That evoked a chorus of grumbles and forced laughter.

  Ramon quieted them down. “We need time. To plan, to gather more men. Everyone here is about ready to fall down where they stand.”

  “It has to be now. The anthill is already knocked over. We can take advantage of the confusion before they restore order.”

  Keegan nodded. “If they’re looking for us in the outer districts of the city, there’ll be fewer to stop us at the prison.”

  Ramon looked around. Many of the men were nodding to themselves.

  “All right. If that is the decision of the clans, then me and my fighters will abide by it.”

  Then he left the room with Grendt and a few others trailing after him. Caim could find no reason to be relieved. He had just agreed to a suicide mission in the name of people he hardly knew, and he wasn’t even getting paid for it. What was I thinking?

  Liana whispered with her father off to the side of the room. She shook her head several times, more and more emphatically, but the old man’s frown only deepened. Finally, he gestured toward the door, but she walked past Caim to her brother.

  She grasped Keegan’s hand. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Sure, Li. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Caim is with us. Nothing can go wrong.”

  Caim wanted to vanish into a crack in the wall when Liana swung her gaze to him.

  “Look out for him,” she said.

  “I will.”

  Hugging herself, she ran out of the room, followed by the slower steps of her father.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A cold wind blew down the alley on the east side of the city where Caim crouched. Its icy fingers found ways inside his cloak and jacket. Snow fell in thick, wet flakes that lent a placid air to the occasion. He was worried about more than snow at the moment. Specifically, Ramon’s plan, or lack of one.

  The outline of their destination towered above the skyline. The prison house was a colossal block of stone on the banks of the river that flowed around the eastern flank of the city. Ramon’s plan was a full-on charge, or close enough that Caim considered leaving them to their own devices, no matter what he’d said before. But every time he glanced at Keegan, who squatted behind Ramon and the others, pangs of responsibility returned. So what’s stopping you from leaving?

  He didn’t know, and that bothered him. Only twenty-two outlaws had volunteered for the mission. A score of men-some of them untrained, others too old to be useful if it came to blows-to assault a fortress that looked like it could hold off an army. The prospects weren’t encouraging.

  Caim flexed his injured forearm. The pain was getting worse. He checked his knives, keeping his hand well clear of the hilt jutting over his shoulder. The sword had been quiet since the battle in the alley, and he was content for it to remain dormant. The shadows, as always, were nearby, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He opened the bulging pouch at his waist and dipped the fingers of a gloved hand inside. Pulling out a handful of black ash, he dabbed it on the buckles of his clothing, the pommels of his knives, and over his face. He felt Keegan presence beside him. He could see the youth without looking over, lanky hair that hung past his shoulders, his narrow mouth, the sharp jut of his chin.

  “What’s with the makeup?”

  Caim held up the pouch. “Put some on your face, and the backs of your hands if you don’t have gloves. Cover anything that could reflect light.”

  Keegan did as he was told, until he resembled a raccoon with sooty paws.

  “Better,” Caim said. “When we go in, I want you to stay with me. I mean right on my heels. When I turn, you turn. Got it?”

  “I don’t need a nursemaid. Father’s already enough of a pain in my prick.”

  Caim snatched the boy’s collar and pulled him in close. “Listen up. A lot of your friends are going to get themselves killed tonight. If you want to see the sunrise, you’ll do what I say.”

  “If you know something-”

  “I know stupid when I see it. I can’t save anyone who won’t listen, and Ramon isn’t about to take orders from me. But I can save you.”

  Keegan’s mouth settled in a firm line. There was something in the youth’s eyes, like he wanted someone to hit him. Caim let him go, and the youth nodded.

  “All right. What did you bring in case we run into a fight?”

  Keegan touched his belt. “I’ve only got my hunting knife. My sword broke back in the…” He swallowed and his eyes tightened. “After we left Uncle Corgan’s store.”

  Caim reached under his cloak and drew the sword he had taken off the dead soldier in the alleyway. It was a falcata, a curved single-edged blade a little shorter and heavier than a cavalry saber. The steel shone bright in the dim light as Keegan took the weapon with both hands.

  “This will serve you better than that bit of tin you were carrying before. Keep it ready, but don’t go stabbing everything you see. Things might get confusing in there-”

  “Let’s go!” Ramon said from the front of the group.
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  Caim pulled Keegan to his feet as the outlaws filed out of the plaza. “Just stay close.”

  As they joined the tail of the procession, slipping through the dark streets, getting closer to the massive structure, Caim felt a tugging in his chest. He slowed down. It was the same sensation he’d felt at the clearing, right before the armored giant arrived, but stronger. He placed a hand on his chest and took a deep breath as he hurried to catch up with the others. If Keegan noticed the lapse, he didn’t say anything. For the next couple minutes, Caim concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. Gradually the sensation lessened, until it was only a faint throb behind his breastbone. Irritating, but nothing he couldn’t work around. While he wondered what had triggered it, for now he could only push it out of his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. If the Beast was here…

  Caim reached back to loosen his knives in their sheaths.

  The thudding of the outlaws’ boots on the snow-packed street was loud enough to wake the neighborhood, but the shutters on the buildings remained closed as they passed, the windows unlit. Caim imagined the people huddled inside, afraid to look out of their own homes.

  When they reached the next intersection, the prison’s outline loomed before them, six stories tall with a twelve-foot-high stone wall surrounding its grounds. Square towers studded the corners of the outer wall; lights burned within their arched windows. The entire compound was surrounded by a hundred yards of wide-open space without buildings or cover of any kind-a killing ground. Had there been a moon out tonight, it would have been suicide for them to even attempt to enter, but black clouds continued to obscure the sky. Their luck was holding.

  Without the time for a full casing, Caim scanned the compound and tried to guess the best point of entry. The side facing them was bisected by a small gatehouse; probably the best-defended part of the prison. The western side didn’t look much better, but the east bordered the river. There was still a wall on that side, but the sentries might have trained themselves over time to ignore that sector. Caim scanned the walls for signs of sentries, and was both relieved and daunted to find none. Against his better judgment, he reached up to lay a finger on the hilt of the black sword. At once, the night erupted into a vivid palette of colors. Still, the walls appeared clear even to his ensorcelled eyes. The hilt quivered.