Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  And then, as Nyssa dashed forward and sliced a man’s head from his shoulders, the moment ended and the battle resumed. It did not, however, maintain its earlier momentum. Nyssa carved a path of destruction more befitting a force of nature. Her twin swords cleaved through flesh and armor with unmitigated ease, splattering both foes and the ground with sprays of hot, arterial blood.

  Leo followed in her wake, rallying the startled elves as best he could. Though he harbored no illusions of helping Nyssa with her butchering, he nevertheless fought with all the ferocity he could muster. His blade flashed as he stepped into the gap left by Nyssa’s passing. Here, a spear emerged from the crowd. He turned it aside with a hasty deflection then moved onward without glancing back. There, one of Grey’s men battered against an elf’s shield with a hectic flurry of blows. Leo lunged and slashed the man across the neck. A splash of blood stung his eyes, and he blinked furiously, momentarily blinded. By the time he could see again, the man he’d struck had vanished, replaced by an entirely new set of combatants.

  He lost himself to the carnage and slaughter. His world shrank. He forgot about everything—Cirilla, Ansiri, the Isles—until only the bodies around him remained. There was no time for conscious thought, only action and reaction. A sword swung for his head, and he ducked the blow. His own blade lanced out, penetrated, and a man fell. His arm and shoulder ached, his lungs burned, and the mingled sweat and blow on his brow dripped down until not even blinking diminished the sting.

  And then, somehow, he found himself at Nyssa’s side again. The trow looked surprised to see him but didn’t question his appearance. Instead, she lifted a sword to block a thrust Leo had accidentally parried her direction. Seizing the opportunity, he leaned and gave a thrust of his own, piercing the man’s gorget and buying them a few precious seconds as he fell.

  Nyssa didn’t waste them. Knocking aside a cautious spear thrust by one of the dying man’s comrades, she grabbed Leo by the arm and tugged him back.

  “What are—?” Leo began. He quickly fell silent at the realization that they’d strayed dangerously far from their own lines. The elven advance had halted, unwilling to bulge outward beyond the mouth of the plaza-adjoining street.

  “We need reinforcements,” Nyssa growled. She tried wiping the blood from her face as they retreated to safety but her sleeve was so thoroughly drenched that she succeeded only in smearing the mess. It gave her dark skin a rich, coppery hue in the rapidly fading umber of twilight. “Go find Lucius, anyone, and tell them to join us.”

  Leo shook his head. He tried to speak but was surprised to discover he was panting. It took him a moment to heave out the words between breaths.

  “Can’t,” he managed at last. “Have to… stay here. The Duke. Have to. You go.”

  “We won’t last five minutes if I leave,” she snapped. Despite her outward annoyance, Leo could have sworn there was a hint of approval hidden in the layers of her voice. “Send Karran if you won’t go yourself.”

  He nodded curtly and hurried in the ambrosian’s direction. He found Karran pacing a half-circle in front of Atarah and Fanette, her gaze alternating between the trow she protected and the battle taking place some thirty paces away. Upon noticing Leo, however, she stiffened visibly and dashed to intercept him.

  “I’m fine,” he said quickly, before she could twitch her claws, much less interrogate him. “But we’re going to lose this battle unless we have help—and soon. I need you to find others. Lucius, Buchold, someone. Bring as many soldiers as you can. Understood?”

  Karran stared at him, wild-eyed, and shook her head emphatically. She gestured wildly, incredulously, including at her own mouth. Even without the clarity of hand-speech, her objections were clear.

  “I’ll be okay,” he assured her. “And you don’t have to explain it to them. Just have them follow you! They’ll figure it out.”

  Karran’s tail whipped violently, and her claws stomped and scratched at the cobbles. If she’d had hair, she would doubtless have been tugging at it so great was her distress. Whirling, she gestured at Atarah and Fanette.

  “I’ll protect them,” Leo promised.

  Karran shook her head, fangs bared in frustration. She grasped her horns momentarily, kneading them with her palms. Then, indicating the trow, she flung her arms wide.

  “I can’t send them. They can’t defend themselves while they’re chained like that.”

  Scowling, Karran shook her head and crossed her arms. It was the latter act that pushed Leo over the edge. Snarling, he seized the ambrosian by the brow horns and yanked her head forward until her face was inches from his.

  “Karran,” he growled. “This isn’t the time. Now, do as I say. Go.”

  She knocked his hand from her horn with a backhanded swipe. She might have done more had it not been for a loud outcry from the warring armies that erupted suddenly. Karran paused then slowly lowered her arm. Her expression hovered between determined and wounded for a moment. Then, turning brusquely on her spined heel, she took off at a sprint.

  Leo watched her go then turned to Atarah and Fanette. The pair stared back at him in silence.

  “I’m going to help Nyssa,” he said. “You two stay safe. If we fare poorly, I want you to find shelter before Grey’s men break through.”

  Their collars and attached restraints made it difficult to nod, but Leo read acknowledgement in the sisters’ eyes. Giving the pair a brief, encouraging nod, he strode back toward the source of the conflict.

  It was hard not to be drawn back into the brutal skirmishes taking place, but Leo did his best to resist. His sword felt like a living, breathing thing against his palm, fighting and straining to be put to use. So urgent were its whisperings that he would have returned it to its scabbard if he’d not been worried that the blood coating its length would dry and glue it in place. And so he roamed, sword in hand, shouting orders and encouragement as he roamed the width of the occupied street.

  And, surprisingly, his presence worked. It was difficult for Leo to fathom, given his mediocre talent as a warrior, but his title—Duke, Sha’rath, or both—had a palpable effect on the elves’ morale. At the sound of his voice or a glimpse of his presence, his soldiers pushed back against their foes with boisterous snarls and frothing curses. The effects lasted for only a few seconds, but they were so unmistakably tied to his presence that he found himself urgently pacing from one end of the street to the other, shouting demands for greater valor.

  It wasn’t enough. True to Nyssa’s dire predictions, even the momentary courage he inspired was insufficient to turn the tide completely. Slowly, inch by inch, Grey’s men succeeded in pushing them from the plaza and back onto the street. The right flank, spearheaded by Nyssa’s ever-whirling blades was the sole exception. But even she, upon finding herself alone and exposed, began to carve a fighting retreat.

  With a curse, Nyssa tripped over a corpse and fell in a heap. Leo’s heart seized in his chest. He leaped toward her, knowing before he began that he would never reach her in time. At the same time, several of Grey’s men rushed forward to take advantage of her misstep.

  “Nys!” Leo bellowed.

  He didn’t see her move. He did, however, see the crimson-on-silver gleam of her swords as they swung, knocking aside the sword aimed her way and removing the attached arm with a follow-up swipe. A second later, Nyssa regained her feet and slid unsteadily through the ranks and toward Leo. Her hair was a mess, the uneven locks damp and glued to her bloodstained cheek.

  Leo breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes found his. Then, before she could reach him, he glanced back at the trow’s students. Atarah and Fanette had not yet fled, though the pair was clearly considering it. They’d edged away from the battle, one of the sisters testing the strength of her leg with an evaluative grimace.

  “Leo, we need—” Nyssa began.

  The rest of her words were drowned out by a sudden, deafening roar. Leo whirled, terrified that Grey’s men had somehow b
roken through. They hadn’t. But strangely, the men looked just as surprised as Leo by the sudden noise.

  It wasn’t until the flanks of the opposing force pulled back in a tardy, ineffective effort to turn and reform ranks that Leo realized the source of the cries. A few seconds later, a tidal wave of non-humanity struck the beleaguered attackers in the form of a fresh wave of elven reinforcements. They crashed against the men in the hundreds, whooping and cursing and lunging with bloodied spears and blades. And then, as if that alone had not been enough to decide the battle, a second wave of elves charged suddenly from the opposite direction.

  Pressed from both directions, Grey’s men began to fall by the dozens.

  At first, it was only the officers of Leo’s much-depleted force that turned to look at him. Then, a few seconds later, the soldiers themselves began to gaze his way as well. In their eyes, he found both a weary disbelief and rapturous expectation.

  “What are you waiting for?” he called, fixing a few of the officers with studious frowns. “Finish them off!”

  And so, they did.

  The battle didn’t last long. It had been one thing for the officers of Grey’s dedicated battalion to fight to avenge their murdered commander when the odds were on their side. But as soon as they found themselves surrounded on three sides by a numerically superior force, even the most stalwart members among them faltered. In the end, it took less than a minute for a quarter of the survivors to fall and only a few seconds longer before the rest began to throw down their arms in desperate surrender.

  It was sorely tempting to ignore the gesture. Leo’s heart was racing and his mouth tasted of blood as he stalked the rear of the formation with Nyssa beside him. Grey’s men had killed more than a third of the elves that had supported him during the parley and fully half of those who’d survived sported grave injuries. The fact that every single one of those casualties was unnecessary throbbed in his mind like the worst of headaches. And yet, he could not afford to resume his reign with wholesale slaughter.

  “Stand down,” he called at last, with no small reluctance. Those within the sound of his voice obeyed quickly but he did not repeat himself as the message sluggishly trickled outward to the rest. “Collect their weapons and see to our wounded. They’re more important than this lot.”

  “Leo!” came an urgent cry far to the rear.

  Leo spun, tensing at the sight of the charging multitude. He was about to shout orders when he caught sight of Karran. She sprinted at the head of the host, keeping pace with an elf in bloodstained armor. It took Leo far longer to recognize Lucius than he had Karran, but he was grinning broadly by the time the elf slowed to a winded march.

  “You’re late,” he teased. Taking Lucius’ arm, he shook it firmly and nodded to where the fresh reinforcements were harshly driving Grey’s men to their knees. “But, if this lot hadn’t arrived when they did, you’d have been just in time.”

  Lucius nodded, accepting the information without comment.

  “Any sign of Grey?” he asked. “Karran couldn’t tell us much.”

  “Ah, right.” Leo glanced at Karran. Though her shoulders had slackened in relief, presumably at finding him unharmed and victorious, her eyes burned and her claws flexed with frustration. Flashing her a soothing smile, he turned back to Lucius. “Count Grey is dead.”

  The brief pause that followed was rife with uncertainty. Lucius stared at Leo almost as if he expected his words to be some sort of ill-advised joke. Then, slowly, his brows lifted.

  “Truly?” he asked. Glancing at Karran, who nodded, his brows lifted further. “How did you…?”

  “I didn’t,” Leo confessed. He turned and indicated the trow sisters. Now that the battle had ended, the pair was conversing with Nyssa as she attempted to pick the locks of their collars. “Grey brought them out and was about to kill them. I threw my sword at him. Fanette picked it up and killed the bastard for me. His body should be around here somewhere.”

  “You’ll have to reward her later,” Lucius said. Something in his tone made the words feel dangerously close to an innuendo, but before Leo could comment on it, the elf sank to one knee. Staring up at Leo, he spoke in a deliberately loud voice. “Your Excellency. Now that Count Grey has been brought to justice, what are your orders?”

  Leo hesitated as the elves nearby followed Lucius’ example and dropped to their knees. He tried gesturing for Lucius to rise, but the elf gave a subtle shake of his head and continued to kneel, waiting. Leo sighed and cleared his throat.

  “Secure the city and spread the word of our victory. Any of the late count’s men who surrender are not to be harmed. They’re to surrender their weapons and return to their homes or barracks. Bring any officers or prisoners of note here, to the Ministry.”

  At last, Lucius rose and offered a stiff, uncharacteristically proper salute. “It will be done as you say, Your Excellency.”

  Leo watched as Lucius turned smartly and began issuing orders to his junior officers. Then, shaking his head, he turned to Karran. The ambrosian was staring at him in clear uncertainty, her lips curled into a sort of uncomfortable smile.

  “Karran,” Leo murmured. Stepping forward, he gathered her hands in his and squeezed them softly. Her skin was hot, almost feverish, but the blood splattered across his knuckles rendered them nearly the same shade of red. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

  Karran frowned, cocking her head. Without the use of her hands, she had no means of speaking but Leo reckoned he could read the question in her eyes.

  “For earlier,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I was just trying to—”

  Karran interrupted with a laugh, or rather, with the dry, huffing exhalation that passed for laughter with her. Leaning forward, she kissed his brow with undisguised affection.

  It was an extraordinarily brief kiss. Pulling back abruptly, Karran sputtered and wiped the sweat from her lips with a hand. Laughing, Leo explored his shirt for a clean section with which to dab his brow. Unable to find one, he settled instead for the back of his hand.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll save that for after my bath.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The thrill of victory decayed to ashes in Leo’s mouth as he climbed the Ministry’s steps and passed through the sturdy oak doors into one of its county wings. Dozens of elves preceded him out of an abundance of caution, commanded by Nyssa and one of the elven lieutenants that had accompanied him through the city. Karran came too, though the ambrosian remained at his side, rather than venturing ahead in search of potential ambushes.

  It wasn’t that Leo resented the extra protection. Truthfully, after the dread excitement of the past two hours, he was grateful for it. What he resented was the necessity of it.

  There was no sign of Cirilla. A quick conversation with Atarah and Fanette confirmed Leo’s suspicions; his wife had refused to abandon the Ministry until defeat proved inevitable. Only then had she fled into the tunnels. The sisters had remained behind, both to buy time for her escape and to lead Grey’s men away from the hidden entrance. And although neither trow had seen or heard anything to hint at where she’d gone, both confirmed with small nods and haunted eyes that Grey’s men had questioned them extensively on both details.

  And so, Leo walked through the silent, abandoned halls of the Ministry of Justice, knowing there was nothing and no one to be found, yet compelled to search all the same. His anxiety increased as they passed through the count’s private chambers and into the main atrium surrounding the ducal hall. The large, imposing statues dotting the marble floor were familiar. They might almost have been nostalgic were his errand not such a gravely serious one.

  He passed through the throne room next, glancing only briefly at the spot where he’d slain Wyden and not once at the golden, elevated throne. And then, stepping through the plain, unmarked door at the rear of the chamber, he found himself in a familiar, deserted hall. There were a few signs of struggle—mo
stly toppled decorations and torn heraldry—but none of the soldiers or looters he’d feared.

  “Spread out,” he ordered softly. “Search everywhere. Nyssa, Karran, you two stay with me.”

  Leo waited until most of the elves ventured out of sight before setting off with his more trusted accomplices. The elves would find nobody; their whole purpose was in guarding against potential ambushes. What he really needed was the tunnel.

  The kitchens adjacent to the servant quarters were empty when they arrived, though a pair of elves searching nearby made to join him as he stepped inside. Gesturing at Nyssa and Karran, he declined their help and purposely shut the door behind him. Nyssa and Karran had already lit candles and descended the steps to the larder-style cellar by the time he joined them, the latter dragging aside casks of wine and ale and a half-empty crate of sprouted potatoes to uncover the boards concealing the tunnel below.

  No sooner had Karran pried the first of the boards aside than Leo was struck by the pungent aroma of smoke. It wasn’t wood smoke either. His hand flew to his sword, and he dashed forward to rescue her.

  He needn’t have bothered. Not only was he hopelessly late in stopping her from yanking further panels from the meter-wide pit, but Karran’s reflexes were far quicker than his own. Baring her fangs, she dropped into a wary crouch and curled her bladed fingers into deadly, blackened claws.

  The two men seated just inside the end of the tunnel surged to their feet with startled curses, and the one who’d been smoking dropped his pipe in alarm. Both men reached for the knives at their waists then hesitated before they could draw them.

  “Easy there, Karran,” Leo said. He edged closer, trying to angle his way between her and the men to no avail. Then, having failed in one approach, he squinted down at the men, instead. “You two are Davin’s?”

  The men relaxed a further degree, exchanging glances and pointedly releasing the grip on their knives. The smoking man nodded slowly.

  “Aye,” he growled. Coughing, the man rubbed his chin and eyed Leo critically. “I take it yer the Duke?”