Demonbane (Book 4) (10 page)

They would be on him in seconds.

“I mean it,” Maklavir croaked. “I’ll light it.”

The first guard’s smile disappeared. He lifted the sword. “Go ahead,” he taunted.

Maklavir’s hand trembled as he held the grenade. What could he do? There were no options, no easy escapes, no—

“I can’t wait to hear you scream like a stuck pig, you blue-blooded fop,” the first guard sneered. He swung back his sword.

Maklavir pushed the matchcord into the fluttering candle flame.

The force of the blow pushed Kendril back.

His hand and arm rang from the impact of Mayer’s blade. Kendril knew without looking that his palm was already bruised black and blue from using the fire poker as a makeshift weapon. He was certain that whoever had designed it hadn’t had physical combat in mind.

Mayer lunged forward quickly. He struck twice more, short savage slashes that were the sign of an expert swordsman.

Kendril managed to intercept and block both sword thrusts with the poker. Pain shot through his hand as the iron rang and vibrated with each hit.

Mayer was good. Better than the goons he had been commanding. He was fast, and skilled. There was no gap in his defense, no hesitation in his attack.

With a decent sword, even with his two short swords, Kendril might have stood a chance against him.

But with a fire poker, it was a losing battle.

Kendril leapt back away as Mayer’s sword hummed through the air where he had been standing. He felt his back press up against a kitchen cabinet.

Mayer thrust his sword forward again.

The matchcord sputtered and sparked to life.

The grenade was live.

The guards hesitated. Surprise was on their faces.

In fairness, Maklavir guessed the same look of surprise was on his own face.

He turned and tossed the grenade towards the first guard, the one whose face he had bashed with the shield, the one who looked like he wanted to take Maklavir apart piece by piece in the most excruciating way possible.

The guard swung his sword and batted the thrown grenade aside with the flat of his blade.

The smoking sphere landed in the hay a few feet away. It flared and sparked as the precious few seconds of matchcord it had burned rapidly away.

The second guard backed fearfully towards the stable door.

The first guard gave the grenade a dismissive glance. He looked back at Maklavir with a taunting smile. “Fool me once, barrister, shame on me. Fool me—”

Maklavir dove for the farthest stall he could. He cowered behind the wooden wall, then covered his head with both arms.

The smile disappeared from the guard’s face.

He looked down at the grenade again.

It exploded.

Kendril dodged to one side

For one brief moment he had the idealistic hope that Mayer might bury the tip of his blade into the wooden cabinet door.

The captain, unfortunately, was no such fool.

He twisted mid-strike, then forced Kendril back into the small kitchen space.

Kendril backed up. He could feel the heat of one of the cooking fires behind him.

He was running out of places to go.

Mayer allowed himself a triumphant smile, then brought his sword back for a killing strike.

Kendril brought up his own mangled poker.

A loud roar came from somewhere outside.

One of the horses was screaming.

Maklavir hoped it wasn’t Joseph’s horse. His own steed, Veritas, had been near the front of the stable.

The air was thick with the smell of burning hay and gunpowder. From somewhere outside came yelling and screaming.

Maklavir pushed himself up to his feet. His ears were ringing from the shattering noise of the grenade, his mouth was dry from the gunpowder in the air. He didn’t seem to be injured, though. No sharp stabs where shrapnel had hit, no cuts or even bruises.

His clothes, on the other hand, were an absolute mess.

Maklavir staggered out into the aisle. He looked down to where the grenade had gone off.

A large hole was blown in the side of the stable wall. Cold air and snow blew inside. One horse was dead, another was injured and crashing around crazily in its stall.

The first guard was…dead.

Maklavir turned his head away from the gristly sight. Hardly a gentleman’s weapon, the grenade. Still, he couldn’t help but admit that his rather perverse interest in explosives had gotten him out of a scrape or two. Including this one.

He felt bad about the horses, though. Couldn’t really be helped.

Something continued to nag at the corner of his brain. Like he was forgetting something important…

Maklavir straightened his collar, swatted away a piece of burning straw that was drifting down through the air, then turned towards the stable’s entrance.

The second guard appeared in the doorway.

Maklavir stopped in his tracks.

Now he remembered.
Two
guards.

Captain Mayer turned his head at the sudden noise.

It wasn’t much. A natural reaction, almost a flinch.

But it was all that Kendril had. He knew that it was all he
would
have.

And
he
didn’t flinch.

Mayer’s attention was diverted for about a second. Probably less.

It was all Kendril needed.

He hurtled forward and swung the poker at Mayer’s head.

The mercenary captain snapped his head back, then tried to yank his sword around in time to block the attack.

He was too slow

Kendril cracked the iron poker into the man’s face with a bone-shattering crunch.

Mayer collapsed back onto the kitchen floor.

Kendril tossed aside the fire poker and turned back towards the stairs.

Only then did it hit him.

The noise had been an explosion, like a grenade.

Kendril scowled. No wonder Maklavir hadn’t returned yet. The fool was probably off getting himself killed.

So much for being clandestine…

There was a time-honored tactic that Maklavir had often found useful in situations like the one he was in now.

He spun on his heels and ran like all the creatures of the Void were on his heels.

Batting his way through the smoke and charred pieces of wood, past the injured horse and smoldering hay, Maklavir practically crashed into the back door of the stable. He fumbled with it for a moment in something akin to blind panic, expecting to feel the bite of the guard’s blade in his back at any moment.

Amazingly, he got the bolt on the door up. Even more amazingly, he got the door open and managed to get outside without dying.

All in all, things were looking up. Not that Maklavir had any intention of changing his original plan. Running was good.

The snow was still falling fast and heavy outside. There were shouts on the night air, the sound of panicked people.

Maklavir turned his head and glimpsed a crowd emerging from the house. Apparently either the grenade going off had finally gotten the attention of the nobles inside, or some other nonsense cooked up by Kendril and Joseph. Why, he could only imagine what—

Joseph.

Maklavir felt his stomach twist. He had forgotten. Joseph was still inside, poisoned and needed the mith—mithri-something or other. In the herb bag.

The bag that Maklavir had left back in the stables.

He groaned aloud. This night really couldn’t get any worse than it already—

The second guard swung around the corner of the stables, his sword in hand.

Before Maklavir could even breathe the blade flashed up to within an inch of his throat.

Joseph looked bad.

In fact, Kendril wasn’t even sure that the man was still alive.

He grabbed a silver spoon off the counter, wiped it clean on the corner of his vest and put it right up to Joseph’s half-open mouth.

A vapor of breath appeared on the metal surface. Hardly anything. But
something
, at least.

Kendril looked up, scanning the kitchen in agitation.

Maklavir better have a good excuse for why he wasn’t back with the herb bag yet.

A couple servants scurried by. There was yelling coming from elsewhere in the house. The music from the main hall had finally stopped. It appeared that Candle Ice was officially over.

And where was Kara? Did she have the Soulbinder? Was she trapped upstairs?

Was she even still alive?

Bronwyn or Dutraad could be escaping with the Soulbinder right now. The longer Kendril stayed here, the more time he gave them to get away. If he moved, right now, he could still—

But if he left Joseph…

Kendril clenched his hand into a fist until the knuckles blushed white. Tomas was right. Joseph had known the risks involved. They all had.

The side door to the kitchen flew open.

Kendril reached for the kitchen knife a few feet away.

He already knew he was too late.

“I surrender!” Maklavir shouted. He threw both his hands straight up in the air.

The mercenary did not appear amused. His eyes glittered coldly.

He slumped to the ground.

Maklavir stared at the prone figure in front of him for a moment, his hands still ramrod-straight in the air.

A crossbow bolt protruded out of his lower back.

Maklavir looked up.

A figure in a black cloak that flapped violently in the night wind came running up.

For a moment Maklavir thought that it was Kendril, until he saw the wisp of white hair underneath the hood.

“Wanara,” he said with a sigh of relief. He put down his hands. “Thank Eru. The others?”

The white-haired young woman held a crossbow in one hand. She pointed with the other back towards the mansion where party guests were now streaming out the front door.

“Oh, right then,” Maklavir said guiltily. In the excitement he had forgotten Wanara’s vow of silence. “I suppose everything we’ve done is a waste, then? Hang it all.”

Wanara shrugged. She reached into a quiver at her belt for another quarrel.

Maklavir smacked his head. “Great Eru, I forgot again!” He looked over at the Ghostwalker. “Joseph, in the kitchen. He’s been poisoned.”

Kendril’s hand closed on the hilt of the knife.

Tomas rushed in. He wore the black cloak of a Ghostwalker once again. He looked around at the bodies on the ground, then smiled at Kendril. “You did all that
without
a sword? You’re just as violent as I remember.”

Callen entered through the side door as well, following quickly on the heels of his fellow Ghostwalker.

“About time,” Kendril snapped at the red-headed lad. “Joseph’s poisoned.”

Callen grabbed his herb bag and knelt down quickly over the scout. “What kind?”

Kendril stood up. “What do I look like, an alchemist? Before he passed out Joseph said he needed mithridatum. You have it?”

Callen nodded. “Of course.” He pressed a hand to Joseph’s neck, then nodded. “He’s bad, but I think we’re in time. Looks like he only got a light dose of the poison.”

“Right.” Kendril’s face remained hard. “My weapons?”

Callen tossed him a brace of pistols, then a short sword. “Here. I don’t want them.”

“Suit yourself.” Kendril buckled on the weapons. He glanced over at Lillette’s unconscious form. “Word of advice. Bind her hands before she stirs.”

Tomas raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?”

“All the fun, for starters.” Kenril finished checking one of the pistols, then thumbed back the firing mechanism. “Come one. We have to find Kara and Dutraad.”

Tomas whipped out a dagger. “Lead the way. I’ll just step over the bodies.”

Kendril smirked, then turned for the stairs.

The house was in panicked chaos.

Servants ran here and there, nobles shouted and roared for their carriages, women cowered in the corner and wept.

Kendril ignored all of it.

He swept around the corner and headed straight for the main staircase that led upstairs.

A few startled party guests leapt out of his way as he stormed down the hall.

Tomas followed close behind him, watching the side doors of the main hall carefully as they went.

One of Dutraad’s guards appeared at the top of the stairs. He raised a musket to his shoulder.

Kendril raised his pistol without even breaking stride.

It cracked out a flash of fire and smoke.

The guard spun from the hit. He rolled heavily down the staircase, flopping like a sack of flour.

There was a gasp of fear and surprise from the milling people. Several leapt back into rooms and out through the main hall.

“Kendril!”

Olan and Hamis appeared, their black cloaks flapping as they hurried through the hall. Hamis carried a large greatsword in his hands. Olan had his sword out and ready for battle.

With shrieks and yelps the party guests melted back away from the foreboding intruders. One elderly woman actually fainted.

“
Kendril
!” Olan called out again.

Kendril didn’t stop.

He dashed up the steps of the staircase, reloading the pistol as he went.

Someone screamed.

Tomas hesitated at the bottom of the staircase. He glanced back at Olan.

Another of Dutraad’s guards turned the corner of the hall. He stopped, startled at the appearance of the Ghostwalkers, and reached for his sword.

Hamis launched forward and bashed the man in the face with the pommel of his greatsword.

“Kendril, stop!” Olan shouted.

Kendril reached the landing, then bolted up the last flight of stairs to the second floor. There was another flurry of shouts behind and below him, then a crash as something toppled over.

He turned a corner into the main second-story hallway.

It was empty.

The glow-globes set throughout the mansion had throbbed back to life, no doubt turned on again by some enterprising servant.

Kendril snapped back the lock on his pistol and strode down the hall. He scanned each door and room on either side of him. Smoke wafted from the barrel of the pistol in his hand.