Shadow’s Lure (32 page)

He looked around. What options did they have? Fighting their way out the front gate would be suicidal. He might escape, with luck, but with the witch involved he couldn’t even predict that with any certainty.

Scanning the outlaws, he spotted the tall man with red hair in the back. “You. What’s your name again?”

“Braelon, but everybody calls me Oak.”

“Oak, did your cousin tell you any other ways out of here besides the front gate?”

Everyone quieted. Downstairs, metal screeched, a violent sound that grated on the nerves.

Oak frowned. “Orwen never mentioned another exit, and I never really asked. He mainly talked about all the loonies locked up in this place.”

“This is a waste of time,” someone muttered.

“What about the roof?” Caim asked.

In his head he was trying to devise a way to get a dozen people, some of them injured, across the rooftop and down six stories of sheer stone wall. Maybe if they tied blankets together for a makeshift rope …

“Nah,” Oak answered.

“I didn’t see any hatches above,” Caim admitted. “And the windows are too narrow to fit through.”

“Wait,” Keegan said.

“What if we make ourselves up like guards?” a man ventured. “Uniforms and such. Maybe we could—”

“Walk out the door as easy as that?” another finished for him. “You’re crazy. They’d sniff us out sure as—”

“Wait!” Keegan shouted.

“What?” Caim asked.

“If we can’t go out the front and we can’t go up, what about down?”

“How’s that?” Ramon asked. “We going to turn ourselves into moles and dig our way out? You’re as daft as a—”

“What do you mean?” Caim asked.

The boy’s face had turned bright red under the scrutiny of his fellows. “Well, there’s tunnels all beneath the city, right?”

“You mean the sewer tunnels.”

Keegan nodded. “Exactly. A building like this is probably connected to those tunnels.”

Caim ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, tasting blood. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard so far. Everyone downstairs. Find an access to the sewers and we might get out of this alive.”

The bulk of the outlaws returned from above, bloodied and exhausted, and Ramon rushed them down the steps. Caim helped Keegan carry Liana. Seeing her unconscious reminded Caim of when he’d carried Josey to his apartment from her foster father’s manor. Both were strong, independent women and fiercely attractive. Navigating the gore-slick stairs, Caim shook as the energy that had flowed through him during the short battle drained away, leaving him ragged and worn out. But it wasn’t as bad as the debilitating spells he used to suffer after encounters with his powers, for which he was grateful. The last thing he needed was to swoon at the feet of these men just when they were starting to listen to him.

They reached the ground floor to the sound of distant clanging—the soldiers outside hammering at the portcullis. A few outlaws peered through the archway looking toward the atrium. They held their weapons nervously, but Caim saw something new in their expressions, a grimness he hadn’t seen before.
About time. Where was this when we were running for our lives through the city streets?

Oak came hurrying up and gestured for Caim to follow. Caim helped Keegan settle Liana on the floor, spoke a couple words of hope, and went after the man. Oak took him down the stairs into the bowels of the prison. They stopped at a narrow landing thirty feet under the foundation. The steps continued downward, but Oak opened a door set in the corner of the landing to reveal a short tunnel. The moist odor of garbage emerged.

“Have you explored it?” Caim asked.

“A bit. There’s a tunnel running below us. I sent Billup and Fralk to take a look.”

“Good. Get everyone down there. Head downstream, out of the city.”

Caim went back up and found Keegan. His look of concern had worsened. Liana’s eyes were still closed.

Caim hunkered down beside them. “We found a way out.”

“We need to get her home to my father.”

“We will. You have my word.”

Caim moved to Liana’s feet in preparation to move her. The rest of the men had vacated the stairwell, taking Caedman with them toward the sewer entrance. Things were looking hopeful, but something bothered Caim. The feeling of dread had not disappeared. He had forgotten about it during the fight, but now, in the interim, it had returned in full force. They weren’t out of danger yet.

A loud rattle echoed from the corridor. Scenarios played out in Caim’s mind. None of them ended well. One ended less badly than the others, but it was the one he was most hesitant to attempt. It had been a long time, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it.
What choice do I have?

“Go,” he growled at Keegan.

The boy rose to his knees. “What?”

Caim jerked his head after the direction the rest of the outlaws had taken. “Get them out of here. I’ll bring your sister.”

“Are you—?”

“Get!”

The youth glanced from him to his sister. A loud crash resounded from the front gate, followed by heavy boot steps. The enemy was inside the prison. With one last look at Caim, Keegan ran after the others.

Caim stood over Liana. Keegan had arranged her arms across her chest, perhaps unconsciously mimicking the pose of death. But she would survive. Caim would be damned if he didn’t see to that. Of them all, she most deserved to live.
Just get on with it
. Setting his jaws together in a firm grimace, Caim went to the archway to face the enemy.

The soldiers came at him en masse, two score and change. A crossbow bolt sizzled past his head. The points of their spears and swords glittered in the torchlight.

They didn’t stand a chance.

The shadows arrived in numbers he’d never seen before, raining down from the ceiling in an ebon deluge. Torches fizzled out, but Caim saw what happened all too well. He forced himself to watch as the men fell, in clusters of five and ten, succumbing to the crowd of ravenous blots climbing down their faces, crawling inside their armor to devour warm flesh. Not a single soldier made it to the end of the hall.

Gnawing on the evil he had wrought, Caim gathered the girl in his arms. A sharp pain erupted in his right arm as he lifted her, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He went over to a sweep of shadows draped beneath the staircase. He wasn’t sure how this was going to work. In the end, it took less effort than he anticipated.

One moment he stood on a solid floor. Then he took a step, and a tempest of unfamiliar forces lifted him into oblivion.

T
he world righted itself as Sybelle stepped out of the shadow gate and touched down on the cavern floor. She plucked at her sleeves and brushed the front of her gown, seeking out the insidious little deaths, but finding nothing.

How
dare
he?

The indignity burned in her breast. The upstart—scion or no—had sent his shadows against her. In her birth world, none would have dared such an insult. She hadn’t expected it, and that had almost spelled her doom as hundreds of the tiny predators swarmed over her. Their bites stung, nothing serious, but only quick action had saved her from worse. Of course, she had left Erric’s men behind to deal with the threat.

But the scion …

Sybelle went to the orichalcum box and breathed in a double pinch of the yellow resin. The jolt of instant energy washed away her exhaustion, but it did nothing to relieve her aggravation. She shook the box, debating another dose, but the powder was all but gone and there was no way to garner more; the plant from which it came only grew in the Shadowlands.

She shoved the box back onto its shelf, unable to get the events at the prison out of her head. She had known it was him at first sight. Like a long-forgotten memory, his essence came back to her and stirred powerful feelings. She hadn’t been prepared for that. For battle, surely, but not for the volatile combination of resentment and doubt that flooded her mind when they came face-to-face. She had seen him only once before, years ago when he was just a boy. That seemed like another lifetime. Perhaps it had been.

The scion’s presence here, though unexpected, was not apocalyptic. Where was he now? Sybelle leaned over her scrying pool and cast forth her vision into the waters. She had tasted a morsel of his essence in those moments they stood eye-to-eye, not enough to wither him with a curse, but sufficient to find him anywhere in this realm. She stirred the waters, but they remained dark. Then she remembered Soloroth’s words, how he had been unable to track the scion.

The shadows won’t hunt …

Sybelle grasped the edge of the pool as a spell of vertigo crashed over her. What was this? She felt … distanced from the Shadow, cut off. The sensation only lasted a moment, not even the interval from the release of one breath and the inhalation of the next, but it left her shaken. Never before had she—

No. She
had
felt such a thing before, when she passed through the Barrier to this world. Almost twenty years ago, and now again today. She did not believe in coincidence. She needed an augury. She was consulting her charts of the astral houses when a cymbal chimed in a niche beyond the pool.

Sybelle dug her fingers into her skirt. It was Erric. She toyed with the idea of putting him off. Hunger gnawed at her innards, and she glanced to the passageway leading to the nave. Better for him if she waited until she had assuaged her appetites. But then the cymbal rang again and made up her mind for her. Fine. If he wished to see her now, then so be it. And if he had a trollop draped across his lap when she found him, she would strike them both with a curse to make the gods of this feeble realm tremble.

Sybelle opened a portal in the air and stepped through. Another tremor of light-headedness overcame her as she arrived in the unadorned room at the top of the castle. This was a mistake. She should have fed first. Arrogance, her father called it whenever she overtaxed her abilities. Sometimes she still heard his voice in her head, chiding her for this choice or that, but she paid it less mind than a cockroach scurrying underfoot. She was her own mistress now.

Are you truly?

Sybelle thrust the voice out of her thoughts as she descended the long stairs. She arrived at the great hall to find the duke alone, slouched in his throne, dressed in full regalia with the gold crown settled upon his brow. Despite his sloppy posture, he cut a regal figure. She would make of him a king in truth, if only he stayed out of her way. Like most men, he was willing to be guided by the nose, or the cock, but he had the irritating trait of intruding in her works when he was least wanted. Still, she was …
fond
of him. Another word came to mind, but she shoved it away. The Queen of the Night did not know love. Affection, yes. Fondness, surely. But love was as far from her essence as starlight from the day.

Sybelle kept her features neutral as she approached his throne, unwilling to grant him a smile. A petty gesture, perhaps, but no more than he deserved after summoning her like a common servant. Now, if he apologized with sufficient enthusiasm, she might see her way to suggesting a more interesting way to renew her energy. With these thoughts tumbling in her head, she stopped just short of his reach. Her lover’s mouth was turned down in a sour grimace. His eyes, though open, looked into the distance as if he did not see her, which brought back her fury all over again. She started to address him and then stopped herself, intent that he should acknowledge her presence first. He tested her patience as the heartbeats stretched into a minute, and then another. He spoke just before she opened her mouth to scathe him.

“The ambassadors from Uthenor and Warmond have left the city.” His voice was thick with lethargy.

“What of it?”

The duke looked up, finally meeting her gaze. “First, the mercenaries leave, and now the ambassadors. Who will be the next to abandon me? You?”

She forced a laugh from her throat. It was a small thing, but it took all of her self-control to make it. “Are you mad? After all I have done in this country, for you, for us, you think I would leave now? Don’t be a bigger fool than needs be. I will not leave you, and neither have the ambassadors.”

“No? Then why did they depart at night without so much as a by-your-fucking-leave?”

She swallowed her anger and sat on the arm of his throne. “They have been recalled to other fronts.” He started to ask, but she cut him off before he could get it out. “Do not inquire into these matters. Be assured that you still enjoy the benefits of our Master’s aegis, and that our plans will go forward without delay. In fact, I want you to—”

He slammed his fist down on the other arm. “No, Sybelle. No more orders. This is my realm, and you will do as
I
say.”

Sybelle ran her fingers through his hair. “Is that so?”

He croaked in outrage as she yanked his head back. He started to reach for her, but she placed her mouth over his. She poured all her rage into the kiss, white-cold like the northern winds, bitter as the sun that hovered over this dreadful world. His body stiffened beneath her. Sybelle pulled back and looked into his eyes, which darted back and forth over her face. He was in terrible agony as her sorcery crawled through his veins. She felt herself becoming excited at the thought.