Night's Haunting (16 page)

The strand of death and black hate buckled as the wizard siphoned power from it. No other type of magic held dominance over necromancy, which in turn held dominance over magic of the natural world. However, elemental forces were in direct opposition to necromancy, and it was this thread that Lucius drew from, constructing a cloud of magic and manifesting it in front of him. A thin mist began to form, hanging motionless in the air in front of him.

A dark bolt of energy leapt from the wizard's outstretched hand. As it collided with the mist, Lucius' magic began to split and break, but he concentrated hard, mending the magical shield. For a few seconds, the two spells vied with one another, and Lucius felt the strength of the wizard's craft. The man was well-versed in his chosen form of magic but, for all his ability, lacked the versatility of a Shadowmage.

The Vos wizard withdrew his spell and prepared another. Lucius went on to the attack immediately, punching the air as he forced his mist cloud forward to envelope his enemy.

The necromancer panicked as he was cloaked by the soft, cool mist, and Lucius smiled as the man fumbled his counterspell. Lucius focussed on the mist wreathing the wizard's body, forcing it to drive inwards, seeping in through the man's clothes and skin. He fed more and more power into the spell as it gained a foothold in the wizard's own flesh, and water flooded the man's lungs and burst through his mouth. Unable to breathe or speak, the wizard could do nothing against Lucius' spell and, held rigid by the magic, slowly drowned where he stood.

Lucius saw the dead soldiers drop motionless to the ground once more and knew the wizard was dead. He released his spell and the wizard fell out of sight behind the crenellations of the armoured wagons.

The corpse soldiers no longer hindering them, Ambrose's men raced down the road, keeping out of shot of the crossbowmen still locked inside the armoured wagon. As soon as they entered the battle alongside Wendric's thieves, the Vos defence folded. Once surrounded, they died.

Wendric staggered towards Lucius, not wounded but clearly exhausted by the short fight. He had ripped a scrap from a fallen soldier's tabard, and was cleaning the blood from his sword.

"That was tight," he said, once his breath had been recovered.

"It's not quite over," Lucius said, nodding to the armoured wagon. He looked back at the thieves behind Wendric, some of whom were noticeably limping or holding blood-sodden makeshift bandages to their sides. "How many did we lose?"

"More than we hoped for, a little less than we feared. A lot of walking wounded too."

"I have a feeling they will feel a lot better about the journey back to Turnitia when they are carrying a sack full of silver each," Lucius said.

"So, what are we going to do about the last wagon?" Wendric asked. "We had not accounted for that."

"Burn it," a young thief said as he walked up to the two of them.

"It's metal, fool," another said, joining them. "Metal doesn't burn."

"It's only metal on the outside."

"He's right," said Lucius, who had been thinking along similar lines. "Stay here."

Walking up to the armoured wagon, aware of the stares of the thieves behind as they wondered what he was going to do, Lucius called out to the soldiers inside.

"Surrender," he said simply. "The rest of your men are dead and you are alone. Surrender."

A single crossbow was thrust through the nearest slit, and Lucius stepped to one side as the bolt was loosed.

"This is your final chance. Surrender, or die where you are."

There was no response. The silver train to Turnitia had to be carrying a vast wealth to fund all of the Empire's activities in the city. Punishment for a soldier deserting such a prize had to be unimaginable. Sighing, Lucius stepped closer to the wagon, taking care to stay out of the line of sight of any of the arrow slits. Standing with his back to the wagon, the nearest slit just inches away, Lucius closed his eyes as he summoned one last spell. Whirling around, he clamped his right hand over the slit, and let the arcane energy pour down his arm and through his hand, erupting as scorching flame that filled the interior of the wagon.

Men shrieked with burning agony, and the stench of burnt flesh blew back into Lucius' face. He kept the fire rolling inside for a few seconds and, when the screams and cries had faded away, snuffed out the flames as quickly as he had created them.

Movement above him caused Lucius to jump back, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. A body, still smouldering, hung over the crenellations above, a single arrow jutting out of its neck. Hearing someone approach behind, Lucius turned to see Ambrose walking towards him, bow in hand.

"He was probably just trying to escape. Didn't want to take the chance though."

Lucius looked up at the corpse and then back at Ambrose.

"That was a fine shot. And it suits our purpose that none of them survive this attack. It will raise more questions in the Empire if the silver train simply disappears."

"Aye, that's true," Ambrose agreed. "So what would you have done if they had surrendered?"

Lucius shrugged. "Given then a cleaner death, perhaps."

"Well, just remember, we did not strike the first blow in this war."

"That's what I keep telling myself."

More thieves started clustering around them, expectant looks on their faces, looking for all the world like children expecting a great gift on their birthday, and Lucius could not help but smile. Within seconds, half a dozen thieves had scaled the sides of the wagon, and called down that they had found a trap door leading inside.

"Get inside and see if you can unlock the ramp," Lucius shouted up to them.

They disappeared from view for several minutes, though everyone outside could all hear the occasional curse of frustration as they tried to work the locking mechanism. Lucius waited patiently at the rear of the wagon. He was finally rewarded by a cheer from inside and the sound of the heavy latches turning. A slit of darkness appeared at the top of the ramp as it slowly lowered on thick chains.

The thieves stood at the ramp's edge, their expressions a mixture of triumph and revulsion. Lucius waved them out, and sent others in to drag out the bodies. A cursory check was made to see if any still lived, but Lucius' magic had killed them all.

The bodies removed, thieves flooded into the wagon, tearing up the benches that lined the walls in search of the treasure they had been promised. Wendric stormed on board, threatening to make any thief who did not listen to him penniless, and drove them out. He waved Ambrose on, and the veteran thief began a systematic search of the interior, ignoring the suggestions shouted out to him from the thieves clustered outside.

Finally, Ambrose stood, looking critically at the floor of the wagon. He stamped a foot down on the wooden boards, then looked up, grinning. The excitement among the gathered thieves was palpable.

When Ambrose called for crowbars, two thieves rushed to help him, and Lucius followed. The thieves feverishly levered up the boards, snapping the wood in their haste and Lucius spotted a flash of metal. More boards were removed, revealing six square steel chests. Each chest was nearly two feet to each side, and one of the crowbar thieves whistled as he began to wonder how much silver each chest could contain. The crowbars were employed again to open the chests.

Their contents glinted in the daylight. Lucius stared at them, his mouth open. He had never seen so much wealth. Nearly filled to the brim, every chest was heaving with newly minted silver coins, their pristine edges sharp and unsullied by the hands of merchants and craftsmen.

Wendric boarded the wagon and glanced at the chests, and then smirked to himself. "There's more than a million silver coins there, boys," he said. "Maybe two million."

There was no reaction from the thieves outside the wagon, just a silent awe at being in the presence of so much wealth.

"So, what do we do now?" Ambrose asked after several moments' silence.

Lucius shook himself, remembering that he wanted to be out of the area and back in the city as soon as possible.

"Get your sacks ready," he said to the thieves, unfolding his own. "Form an orderly line - believe me, there is more than enough here for everyone. Take as much as you can carry. It's yours. No guild tithes on this job, you keep everything you can carry."

The thieves had not been expecting that level of generosity, and they whooped with glee and greed, causing Wendric to bark at them to restore order once again. As he left the thieves to stuff as many coins as they could into their sacks, pouches and underclothing, Wendric walked over to Lucius who, having slung his own sack of silver over his shoulder, was near the cliff top, staring out at the sea.

"We had not agreed to that," Wendric said. "You'll spoil them. They'll expect to retain all of their takings in the future."

Lucius shook his head. "There will be plenty of time to restore discipline later, and I daresay few will disobey while Elaine is guildmistress. It's alright this time. Thieves are not usually expected to fight pitched battles against Vos soldiers, and many of them are wounded. It will also do something to stop others leaving the guild altogether. Hopefully, there will be more volunteers next time."

"I suppose," Wendric said.

"But all of that does not really matter," said Lucius. "It is the big picture we must look at. The important thing is that Vos loses its silver, that we begin to starve them out of the city. Without money, we have a much easier time putting the guild back together. I don't mind if a few thieves get rich helping us do that. Besides, if they get to keep all the silver they carry, it will make this next step a bit easier."

So saying, he turned from Wendric and headed back to the wagon. He could not help but smile again at the sight of the grinning thieves, all loaded down with silver.

"One last task, my friends, and then it is back to the city," he said, eliciting a cheer of triumph from them. He pointed to the armoured wagon. "I want you all to push that over the cliffs."

The grins fled from their faces immediately. The wagon was still full of silver and even though not one thief could carry any more about his person, the thought of pitching all that wealth into the endless sea was anathema to any thief.

"You... you're kidding, right?" said one thief among the crowd.

"It has to be done. You know that. If we just leave it here, or bury it, or hide it somewhere, Vos may find it. Our task was not to get rich, but to make the Empire poor. What you are carrying on your backs is... a bonus. Do what I ask."

The thieves moved half-heartedly, some running back on board to cram another coin or two into their boots. When they were assembled around the wagon, ready to push it forward, no one moved.

"Alright boys, it pains me too, but needs must," Ambrose said, and Lucius was not sure whether he was just making a show of solidarity or not. "On the count of three..."

The wagon was weighed down with its metal armour, but the straining thieves gradually got it moving again, and inching towards the cliff edge. The massive structure slowly gained momentum, and soon the thieves were half running as they pushed it. At a shout from Ambrose, they released the wagon, and watched as it trundled toward the cliffs. For a brief moment, it tottered as the front wheels hit empty air, and then dropped out of sight. Later, Lucius would swear he heard more than one thief sobbing.

Once the haul of silver had been thrown from the cliffs, getting the thieves to clean up the rest of the battleground was easier. Any horse that was still fit was led away, to be taken back to the city, but the dead were dragged to the cliffs and then pushed over. The wounded were killed cleanly and then they too were thrown over. Wagons, dead soldiers and dead thieves quickly followed them, the latter thrown with a degree of reverence and a few words dedicated to their souls.

As the thieves cleared the remainder of the battlefield, collecting stray arrows and covering pools of blood with earth and dust, Wendric approached Lucius.

"So," he said. "We'll call that a success then."

"I think so. It could have been so much worse for us," Lucius said.

"Well, in two weeks, when they send the next silver train, we can do this all over again."

Looking north to the Vos Empire, Lucius grimaced.

"Next time, it will not be this easy."

Chapter Twelve

As morning turned into afternoon, Elaine wandered slowly through the southernmost of the Five Markets, her arm linked with that of a tall, fair-haired man. Gesturing at the various stalls they passed, his Vos accent was clear as he chided vendors for the prices they tried to charge, or else made disparaging comments about the quality of their merchandise. Dressed in good but affordable clothes, to the casual observer they appeared to be the epitome of middle class Turnitia, hard-working but living comfortably.

Even if such an observer did not miss the man's tone dropping whenever the crowd thinned out, and the couple would talking in hushed voices, they might only presume that the conversation had turned to matters only a man and his wife need know. There was certainly nothing in their demeanour to suggest that here was the mistress of the remaining thieves' guild, discussing work with one of her lead assassins.

"I feel we are being shut out," the man was saying, as he steered Elaine away from a meat vendor whose prices had attracted a mob of excited wives and house cooks. "We are poised to act, and yet you are holding us back in favour of operations by footpads and burglars."

Elaine smiled to herself. "There is no disrespect intended, Heinrich. Their talents are useful right now. Yours will come into play soon enough."

"And what of the attack on the silver train? Our skills would have been well suited to that mission."

That question caused Elaine to glance at him and raise an eyebrow, though she quickly reflected that it was difficult to keep any secret from her assassins. After all, she had taught several of them herself and, through her position in the guild, elevated the role of the trained killers.