Oracle (Book 5) (17 page)

Tomas pointed with two fingers straight ahead, on the other side of the fallen driftwood.

That much Kendril got. He lifted his dagger and nodded again.

Tomas slid forward, melding into the darkness of the deep shadows.

Kendril made a face, then crept around the other side of the driftwood, much more noisily than he would have hoped. He peered anxiously ahead of him, trying to make out any abnormal shapes.

In the blackness of some large tumbled boulders just ahead, the shape of a man leaning on a spear began to take form to Kendril’s untrained eyes.

Kendril took a deep breath, clutched his dagger tightly, and moved forward.

This wasn’t his style. He hated sneaking around like this, like a thief or burglar. And, in fairness, he wasn’t very good at it. At all.

Kendril risked a furtive glance to his right, but he couldn’t see Tomas or the second sentry. He hoped to Eru that he wasn’t sneaking up on the same man that Tomas was.

There was no sound, just the relentless crash of the breakers on the rocky beach. It filled Kendril’s ears like a pulsing heartbeat.

He crept nearer. Nearer.

The Jombard began to take more shape. He was tall, standing among the boulders like a silent statue. Both his hands rested on a spear that was planted in the ground in front of him. He wore simple trousers. A shield, probably wooden, hung on his back.

Kendril frowned. With the shield the Jombard would be impossible to stab in the back. Kendril would have to go for the throat. A quick, savage strike.

The guard shifted slightly. He looked down the beach.

Kendril froze. His hand was sweaty, despite the chill in the air. A drizzle had started up again, and Kendril realized with a start that between the rain and the spray off the sea his cloak was soaked through. He ground his teeth and stepped forward.

Closer. Closer. He was just a few steps away now.

Kendril tensed his arm. A hand over the man’s mouth, the knife in his throat. Quick, and no sound.

Something crunched underneath his boot.

The guard snapped his head around.

Ashes
. So much for stealth.

Kendril hurled himself forward.

He slammed into the sentry. Both of them crashed forward onto the sharp rocks of the beach.

Kendril tried to drive his knife down towards the guard’s throat.

Fighting like a cornered wolf, the Jombard grabbed Kendril’s wrist, pushing the blade away. He slammed his hand into Kendril’s face, and pushed his head back.

Snarling, Kendril grabbed at the man’s face with his own free hand. He couldn’t see with the hand over his own face. He slammed his knee down into the Jombard’s stomach, then bit two of the man’s fingers as hard as he could.

The Jombard screamed. The sound was muffled by Kendril’s hand over his face.

Kendril felt the blood lust come over him. He drove the dagger down in a frenzy, driving it towards the Jombard’s throat.

For a moment they struggled, tangled limbs in their life and death struggle in the night. Kendril felt the tearing sharp rocks on his knees, the taste of the man’s blood in his mouth where he had bit his fingers. He ground his teeth together, pushed harder on the dagger.

The blade punched down into the man’s throat.

The Jombard lurched. His body convulsed. Once, twice. He made a low, gurgling sound, then went limp.

Panting, Kendril yanked the dagger loose and collapsed to the side. He was bleeding from a shallow cut across his face, where the man’s fingernails had raked him. The spear had rolled off to the side, and Kendril found himself sitting on it. He pushed away and leaned up against a nearby rock.

He wiped a glove hand across his face, still breathing heavily.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Kendril whirled, raising his dagger to strike.

“It’s me,” Tomas cried. He ducked down behind the rocks. “Regnuthu take it, Kendril! Could you have made any more noise?”

Kendril threw Tomas’ hand off his shoulder. “Guess we can’t all be perfect.” He glanced back towards the darkness pooling around the base of the cliff. “The other one?”

“I got him,” Tomas affirmed. He glanced over the top of the boulders. “I hope to Eru no one in the cave heard all that commotion you made.”

“I hope they did,” said Kendril with slightly more bravado then he felt. He spat the blood out of his mouth. “I prefer a straight-up fight to all this sneaking around.”

“You may get your wish,” said Tomas. His voice was low and frigid.

Kendril looked up quickly, one hand darting to his flintlock pistol.

Tomas slid back down the side of rock. “They’re coming out of the cave.”

Chapter 10

Joseph reacted without planning, without thinking about the ramifications of his actions. Like a wild beast. Pure instinct.

The first gendarme, Yuri, had his carbine almost in his hands when Joseph hit him.

Joseph slammed his hand forward, ramming it hard into the man’s Adam’s apple.

Yuri fell back, choking and sputtering. The carbine almost dropped from his hands.

The second gendarme, Korander, swung his carbine around, the barrel pointed at Joseph’s mid-section.

Joseph didn’t know if the man would really shoot him or not. Nor did he intend to find out. He leapt forward and grabbed the gun by the barrel. With a wild motion he twisted the weapon away.

The man fought like a rabid dog, jerking the firearm around in an effort to get it wrenched out of Joseph’s grip.

Joseph held on just as tenaciously. His life depended on keeping his hands on the carbine. “Maklavir!” he shouted.

Yuri bent over double, coughing and retching as if he was going to spill his guts all over the floor. It was only a matter of seconds before he straightened and recovered.

Down the hall came a wailing scream. An incessant banging started in one of the nearby rooms, then some hysterical laughter.

Wonderful. They were waking the whole place up.

Joseph yanked the carbine up. The barrel of the weapon pointed straight up towards the ceiling.

Korander growled. He clung tightly to his end of the weapon.

Behind Joseph’s back, Yuri began to straighten. He fumbled with the carbine in his hands.

Joseph heaved with all his might and shoved Korander against the wall of the hall. The nearby doors rattled from the impact. An austere picture that had been hanging on the wall dropped off to the floor. Its frame shattered.

Maklavir appeared at the door to Kara’s room. His mouth dropped open. “What in Zanthora—?”

Korander’s carbine fired.

The sound was a deafening thunderclap in the enclosed hall. A cloud of gun smoke erupted into the air, burning Joseph’s eyes and throat.

The carbine ball lanced into the ceiling. A shower of wood splinter, plaster, and dust rained down on Joseph and Korander.

Yuri backed against the opposite wall of the hallway. He lifted his carbine. The strap swayed from the bottom of the weapon.

Joseph kneed Korander hard in the gut.

A yell echoed down the hall, weird and frantic.

Korander doubled over. He let go of the smoking carbine.

Joseph turned, the spent carbine in his hands. He fully expected to be met by a bullet in the face.

To his surprise, he saw Maklavir wrestling valiantly with Yuri.

Joseph swung the carbine around and brought the weapon down on Korander’s head, hard enough to risk cracking the wooden stock.

Korander crumpled to the ground without a sound.

Joseph turned back around.

Yuri threw Maklavir off him with a roar.

The diplomat crashed back unceremoniously in the middle of the hall floor. His cape billowed out and over his head.

Joseph thrust the butt end of the carbine into Yuri’s face.

The gendarme didn’t see the blow coming until it was too late. His head snapped back, hitting the paneling of the wall with a loud crack. He hit the floor hard and didn’t move.

Joseph breathed heavily, his eyes watering from the pall of gun smoke that drifted in the hall. He reached over and pulled Maklavir to his feet. “Get their swords, Maklavir.
Move
.”

Maklavir struggled for a moment to get the cape off his head before finally extricating himself. “Tuldor’s beard, Joseph! When you said you’d take
care
of the gendarmes, I assumed you meant bribe them, or distract them—”

“Berate me later,” Joseph said. “Potemkin and his men will be on us any second.” He snatched up the unfired carbine, and checked the firelock with shaking fingers. The weapon was primed.

Maklavir snatched the swords off the belts of the two unconscious gendarmes. “What exactly is your plan, then? The windows are barred, and the doors are locked, if you hadn’t noticed. There’s no way out of here.”

A nearby door creaked open, and wide eyes stared out at them. There was a shriek, and the door banged shut just as quickly.

“There,” Joseph said, nodding with his head. “That door. It leads outside to a patio. We need to find a way to bash it down. Try to find something in one of the rooms…something iron, maybe. Anything we can use as a battering ram.”

Kara appeared at the door to her room. She looked down the hallway, her face calm and her eyes distant. “Ladder of green, swan in ice,” she murmured.

Maklavir grabbed Kara and pulled her away from the doorway. He pushed her behind a tall potted plant.

Joseph looped out a satchel of cartridges from the gendarme’s belt. He looked down at the carefully prepared shots, wishing to Eru that Kendril were here right now.

Did he really just think that? Joseph felt a shudder of rage and revulsion shiver through him. It was Kendril’s fault that Kara was the way she was right now. He had shot her, even though Joseph had begged him not to, even though—

A gendarme appeared at the bottom of the stairs, carbine in hand. He looked up the stairs, confusion evident on his face

Joseph ducked back from the edge of the stairs. “Hurry,” he hissed at Maklavir. “Find something,
anything
—”

Maklavir pushed Kara down to a sitting position on the floor.

The girl didn’t resist. She seemed abnormally calm.

Maklavir flipped back his cape. “Give me two minutes.”

Joseph leaned forward, the carbine set to his shoulder and ready to fire.

Three gendarmes were coming up the stairs. They spotted Joseph. They ducked back and raised their own guns.

Joseph deliberately aimed at the empty space between them, then pulled the trigger on the carbine.

The gun sparked, flashed and roared in his hands. It gave a satisfying kick back into his shoulder, and thundered out a black cloud of smoke that obscured his view.

Joseph ducked back without seeing the result of his shot. He hoped that his aim had been good enough to miss.

A ripple of gunshots flickered out from the stairs below.

Down the hall, someone screamed. A door banged shut.

Bullets tore into the banister, shattered a hole in the nearby window, and tore a piece off the top step.

Joseph scurried back, reaching for another cartridge. He coughed.

Maklavir was kneeling calmly beside the door that led the outside patio. He was fiddling with the lock.

“What in Zanthora are you doing?” Joseph yelled. He hit the floor behind a small table. His fingers fumbled clumsily with the bullet cartridge.

“Finesse over brutality, old chap.” Maklavir’s voice was surprisingly calm. “I’m going to
blow
the door off.”

Joseph peered through the black smoke that covered the head of the stairs, but could see no emerging shapes of gendarmes. “You
brought
explosives with you?”

“I’ve made it a habit ever since before the Despair.” Maklavir moved his fingers to the hinge of the door. “Got caught in a library once without a lick of gunpowder and almost got killed. Can’t say I don’t learn from my own mistakes.”

“Maklavir! Joseph!” The voice was Potemkin’s, coming from out of sight down the stairs. “You’re being fools. There’s no way out of there.”

“That’s what
he
thinks,” Maklavir mumbled.

Joseph fumbled with the cartridge, biting the wax seal off the top. He had reloaded a firearm perhaps a grand total of a half dozen times his whole life.

“Come down with your hands up!” Potemkin ordered. “
Now
, gentlemen.”

Joseph was relieved that the gendarmes weren’t charging their position. At least not yet. He glanced back behind him. “Iola?”

“Fainted dead away.” Maklavir moved a piece of matchcord between two charges, then stuffed something up in the top corner of the door. “I doubt she would have come with us, anyways. I wasn’t paying her
that
much.”

Joseph fumbled his way through reloading the carbine. Gunpowder spilled onto the carpet from his clumsy attempt. He almost dropped the lead ball.

This was madness. Even if they could get the door to the patio open, where would they go after that? Kara would be no different, certainly. Breaking her out of the Sanitarium wouldn’t suddenly cure her.

But it would be better than letting her rot in some military prison.

Joseph unhooked the metal ramrod attached underneath the carbine’s barrel, then used it to ram the paper wadding home.

“You have five seconds, gentlemen.” Potemkin did not sound amused in the slightest.

Joseph looked behind him as he clicked the hammer on the carbine back. “
Maklavir
—”

“I got it,” the diplomat said. He ducked back from the door, trailing a thin line of matchcord behind him. “I just need a light.”

Joseph stared at him blankly for a moment. He wasn’t carrying any tinder or flint, didn’t have—

Iola’s candle
.

Maklavir seemed to have the same thought at the same moment. His eyes flashed towards the soft golden glow emanating from Kara’s room.

“
Go
,” Joseph hissed. “I’ll—“

“Time’s up,” Potemkin shouted from below.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.