Shadowbred (40 page)

Gravel and loose stone covered the area around the small stone building. A few heaps of cast off stone and rubble provided cover.

Cale pointed, his team nodded, and all of them walked the night to an area behind one of the heaps.

“We wait,” Cale said.

The shadowwalkers, still holding their silence, sat cross-legged on the ground and closed their eyes. The rain and cold seemed not to bother them. Cale presumed they were meditating. It reminded him of Magadon, which reminded him of his purpose.

Riven peeked at the mine over the heap of loose stone. “This is no dwarven delve,” he said. “It can’t be that deep. We’ll be in and out quickly.”

Cale nodded. He joined Riven in eyeing the structure. Five

guards leaned casually on their halberds, their hoods pulled low against the weather.

“Where does magic stop working?” he asked Riven.

Riven shook his head. “I do not know.”

Cale decided to learn what he could. He held his mask in his hand and intoned the words to a simple spell that allowed him to see magic. The shadowwalkers opened their eyes and crowded around him as he cast. The mask tattoos on their faces gave them a sinister appearance.

When the spell was complete, Cale perceived a glowing aura around enchanted items. Cloaks, rings, earrings, amulets, boots, and gloves worn by the shadowwalkers glowed in his sight, as did Riven’s blades, his armor, a gold ring on his left hand, and two or three small items in a belt pouch.

Cale looked over the stone at the guards. Two of the guards bore swords that glowed. The portcullis, too, showed enchantment. Magic functioned at least up to that gate. Cale informed his team and all nodded. They waited for the distraction the Shadovar had promised.

A rumble shook the city. At first Cale mistook it for thunder. He looked up but realized the sound came not from the sky but from near the docks. Shouts and screams followed, audible even over the sleet. The sound of snapping wood and crashing stone carried through the city.

Cale, Riven, and the shadowwalkers rose to their feet, looking toward the docks. In the heavy rain, they could see little.

More shouting, screams, rending stone, snapping wood. The entire city shook.

“What in the Hells is happening down there?” Riven said.

Cale was curious, too, but resisted the impulse to view the docks. Instead, he waited for an opportunity to attack.

Above them, the guards on the walls of the Roadkeep pointed down at the docks. Pairs of armed men on horses thundered down the ramp, shouting. Cale could not make out their words. More and more shouts sounded, screams, the rumble of crashing stone.

The guards before the Hole’s portcullis shared nervous glances. They shouted something to an unseen comrade within the stone

structure and one finally sped off in the direction of Cale and his team. Cale, Riven, and the shadowwalkers melted into the shadows and the man passed by without noticing them.

Another impact sounded and the ground vibrated under their feet. Cale waited for the guards at the entrance of the Hole to abandon their posts, but it appeared they would not budge.

“It’s not going to get any better,” Cale said to Riven, who nodded. Whatever the Shadovar had done, they had to take advantage. The rest of the city appeared occupied, at least.

“I will get inside,” Cale said. “Clean up those outside.”

Riven nodded. Nayan nodded.

Cale wrapped himself in the night, turned invisible, and charged the Hole. The guards did not see him and he shadowstepped within the structure. The entryway opened onto a hallway that lead to a watch station fitted out with wooden chairs and several tables. A dozen or so guards stood about, sat, or chatted. Cale could see that the noise outside had interrupted some gambling—loose coins and playing cards lay scattered on two of the tables. All eyes—tired eyes—focused on the portcullis. They looked right through Cale.

A swinging iron gate stood at the back of the room. It opened onto a large, archway-shaped hole in the cliff face—the entrance of the mine. Lanterns lit it and Cale could see that it was not a vertical shaft. It was a sloped tunnel that led downward.

Using his magic-finding spell, Cale checked the men for magical gear. Several items glowed in his sight. The gate to the mine did not, however, and Cale wondered if the gate denoted not only the entrance to the mine but the point at which magic ceased working.

“Phraig,” a bearded guardsman said to a younger man. “Go see what in Helm’s name is happening.”

Cale flattened himself against the wall as Phraig hurried past him, then caused the darkness to eat the light in the room. It turned pitch, though Cale could see through it clearly.

“What the—?”

The men leaped to their feet and drew weapons. Fatigue made their movements awkward, imprecise. Cale moved among them, unseen, silent, the perfect killer.

“Back to back,” shouted the bearded man. “I can’t see to go back to back,” answered another. Outside at the portcullis, Cale could hear the shadowwalkers and Riven battling the guards.

Phraig drew his blade and shouted a belated alarm. “We are attacked!”

Cale moved behind his first kill and raised Weaveshear. He stared at the back of the guardsman’s throat… and hesitated.

Recalling his promise to Jak, he reversed his grip on Weaveshear and slammed the hilt into the head of one guard, then another, then another. They fell hard to the floor, collapsing in a heap of armor and the clatter of dropped weapons. Cale could not be certain that all of them would live—he’d had to hit them hard to ensure unconsciousness—but surely most of them would.

Outside, Cale could hear fists thumping into flesh, men grunting, crying out.

Cale dodged a few wild swings taken blindly in the dark, but his work was easy. The guards were men-at-arms of limited experience. Cale and Riven could have cleared the room almost as easily even if they had walked in and announced themselves. In moments, he had ail of them down except Phraig, who stood with his back against the wall, panting with fear, blade held before him.

“Belum? Corz? Who still stands?” Phraig called.

Cale moved silently beside Phraig and put Weaveshear to the young man’s throat. “Be still or you will die.”

The young man gave a start. His brown eyes were wide in the dark. His lip trembled and he lowered his blade. Sweat pasted his brown hair to his forehead. Cale let the light return and Phraig’s eyes went wider still when he saw all his fellows down and only one other man in the room.

“Open the portcullis,” Cale said to him.

“No need,” Riven called.

The shadowwalkers appeared around Cale and Phraig, stepping out of the darkness.

Phraig gasped at their sudden appearance. Riven, too, winked into existence. Cale questioned Riven with his surprised eyes.

Riven pointed at the gold ring on his left hand. “From the Sojourner. Works a few rimes per day. How else could I get supplies to the island, Cale? I’ve a few other items, too.”

Phraig eyed the shadowwalkers’ tattooed faces, the disc Riven wore at his neck.

“You’re priests of Mask,” he said.

“Endren Corrinthal,” Cale said. “Take us to him.”

Fear in his eyes, Phraig said, “I don’t know where he is.”

Cale saw the lie. So did Riven, it seemed.

Riven stepped before him. “Lie again and I will split you, boy. Clear?”

Phraig looked into Riven’s face and must have seen the seriousness in the assassin’s eye. “I know where he is.”

Riven nodded, looked around the room. He saw that Cale had left the guards alive. Cale expected a rebuke, but Riven simply said to Nayan, “Bind them.”

The assassin had vowed to help Cale keep his promise to Jak. It appeared he would.

The shadowwalkers each produced rope from their packs and rapidly bound the guards.

“This one is dead,” said Nayan, holding the body of one of the guards.

“And this one,” said Dahtem.

Cale cursed. Phraig softly spoke the names of his fallen comrades.

“Corz and Draeg. He was just married three months ere.”

Cale said nothing, nor did Riven. The shadowwalkers left the dead where they lay and arranged the rest along one of the walls. None of the guards stirred throughout the process. Cale had put them out cold.

“Asir has the key to the mine gate,” Phraig said, indicating one of the guards near Nayan. The shadowwalker skillfully rifled the guardsman’s pouches and pockets, collected the key from a pouch, and tossed it to Cale, who threw it to Riven.

“Let’s move,” Cale said, putting the dead guardsmen behind him.

The moment Riven placed the key in the mine gate, a sound carried from outside, a shriek so loud it froze them all, a shriek that Cale had heard once before. Shadows boiled from his flesh. The hairs on the nape of his neck rose. He put his hand over Riven’s and prevented him from turning the key.

“What?” Riven said.

“Wait here,” Cale said. “Right here.”

Heart pounding, hopeful and fearful, he shadowstepped past the portcullis, past the dead guards outside, and into the city. He scanned the skyline, selected the first tall building he saw, and walked the darkness to the roof of a three-story inn. From there, he looked down at the docks, at chaos.

The fleshy gray mound of the kraken’s enormous body fairly filled the harbor, displacing so much water and mud that the lower tier of the city had flooded. The whole dock ward was little more than a soup of bodies, broken ships, and destroyed buildings. The beast must have swum into the harbor at full speed and run itself partially aground on the docks. Tentacles flailed through the city streets, toppling buildings, crushing people and animals. The gash in its head—the open wound in which the Source had once lay—had scarred to a thick rubbery line. The Source was gone.

Panicked citizens thronged the streets, rushing up Yhaunn’s slope for higher ground. At the same time, groups of Watchblades tried to move down the slope and control the chaos. Others fired crossbows into the kraken. It was like throwing pebbles at a dragon.

The earthen ramps that led from one tier to the next filled with terrified people. The low stone walls that lined the edges of the ramps did not prevent the mob from forcing a few people over to fall to their deaths.

At the harbor, a trio of wizards zipped about in the air above the kraken, raining fire, lightning, and glowing bolts of energy onto its body. The spells seemed not to trouble the gargantuan creature. Groups of armed men, wizards, and priests gathered here and there and started down the slopes. The city was organizing its defenses rapidly.

For Cale, all the connections suddenly fell into place, all Mask’s

words. The Shadovar commanded the kraken and the kraken was no longer bonded to the Source. The Shadovar therefore had the Source. For what purpose, Cale could only guess. And only one man alive had previously contacted the Source and lived—Magadon. Mask had told Cale that Sembia’s fate was tied to Magadon. Tamlin had thrown in with the Shadovat. But there was more.

The kraken shrieked again and the sound sent hundreds of panicked people roiling forward. Cale saw many citizens cowering on rooftops, swimming through the debris.

He turned to go back to the Hole—he still had to get Endren out—but stopped. He watched another building topple, watched a woman get crushed between a floating timber and the side of a building.

He had to help.

He shadowstepped to the entrance of the Hole. Riven had the gate open. Skelan was eyeing the passage.

“Magic doesn’t work beyond the gate,” Riven said, then noticed Cale’s expression. “What is it?”

“The Shadovar have Magadon,” Cale said to Riven.

Riven’s eye narrowed. “The Shadovar? How do you know?”

“The kraken is desrroying the city. The Source is gone.”

The words took a moment to register with Riven. “The godsdamned kraken? Dark and empty!” He looked into Cale’s face. “Let’s go have a chat with these Shadovar.”

Cale nodded. “Afterward. We get Endren first. How many men do you need?”

Outside, the kraken’s shriek again split the night. The whole city shook undet its onslaught. Cale got a disturbing mental image of all of Yhaunn sliding down the quarry’s slope and sinking into the sea, just as Sakkots had slid off its floating mountaintop to lie in a heap.

“What do you mean?” Riven asked. “What are you going ro do?” The shadowwalkers watched them closely. “Help get some people out of the way of that monster,” Cale said. “How many do you need to get Endren?”

Riven stared for a moment at Cale, then turned to Phraig and grabbed him by the shirt. “How many guards are down there, you little pissdrip?”

Phraig stuttered, finally managed, “A score and a half.”

“How far is Endren?”

“Not far,” Phraig said.

“Not far and thirty guards,” Riven said, considering. “Leave me half.”

Cale nodded. “Nayan—you, Erynd, and Dahrem are with me.” To Riven and the shadowwalkers, Cale said, “Kill only if you must.” Riven frowned.

“Only if you must,” Cale repeated. Riven looked into his eyes and nodded. “If we are not out in half an hour…” Riven started. “We’ll come in after you,” Cale finished. “If we’re not out in a half-hour, there won’t be anything to come after.”

Cale nodded, and the First and Second clasped forearms. Then Cale, Erynd, Dahtem, and Nayan moved through the shadows to perch on nearby rooftops. From there, they got a full view of the destruction.

Squads of Watchblades rolled ballistae down the streets, forcing them through the ocean of terrified citizens, trying to get a shot at the kraken. Meanwhile, more than a dozen wizards flew in the ait above the harbor, firing destructive energy at the cteature. Entire platoons of Watchblades perched on the edge of one of the lower tiers, firing clouds of crossbow bolts.

The huge crearure shrieked again and the entite city rumbled. A tower collapsed in a pile of dust and falling stone. Two tentacles rose into the air, flailing for the wizards. The enormous limb struck a wizard and he spun into the harbor, broken and lifeless.

“Pull out any trapped citizens,” Cale said, pointing at stranded women, children, and men cowering on rooftops or in alleys. “Get them to higher ground.”