Shadow’s Lure (48 page)

Smiling, Sybelle sauntered back to her lover.

Twenty-fourth day of Circept, 1143

Levictus has been absent these last three nights since I sent him to Ostergoth. Although I am confident he will perform the tasks I have laid out for him with his usual precision, I find myself less willing to trust him. These past weeks and months he has become at turns more sullen and secretive. I do not know what I will do if this pattern of volatility continues
.

The pact into which I entered with the Power in the north has been costly, both here and abroad, and produced little in the way of results, but it is too late for regrets. I have sown my crop, as they say, and I will abide by its harvest. Still I cannot keep from wondering if this was not a miscalculation
.

C
aim leaned closer to the flames burning in the large brick hearth as he turned the page. The wind moaned through the gaps in the conservatory’s tall windows. The timbers of the old mansion creaked in protest with every gale.

Coming down from the hills, they had taken shelter in the outlaw rendezvous to await nightfall. While the others kept watch, Caim sat inside by himself and perused Vassili’s journal. The flames of the funeral pyres burned in his memory. Liana in a borrowed dress, her copper hair brushed out in waves around her face. She looked like an angel on the verge of waking, forever young and beautiful. Beside her lay her father, a cudgel of oak by his side. Caim could only watch in silence as Keegan spoke the words of passage into Arugul’s realm. Too late, they both understood what the old man had been trying to them tell them, that in this conflict there would be no victory, no satisfaction. Only devastation.

Blinking from the sting of the hearth’s smoke, Caim turned the page, and a square of parchment fell out. Its stamped golden seal glimmered at him from the floor.

“You miss her.”

He didn’t answer as Kit passed through him and appeared in the fireplace. Yes, he missed Josey, but it was like missing a dream, only half there to begin with and nothing but mist come the morning. She was back in Othir, and he was here. He threw the parchment into the fire without opening it and watched it burn. He followed it with the journal.

“I missed you, too.”

Kit seemed different after her travails in the Barrier, more reserved. He wasn’t sure how to take that.

“People are coming,” she said with an impish smile.

That didn’t surprise him. He was ready. He just had to do this thing, and then he’d be free.
Free to do what?

Kit blew him a kiss as Keegan entered the room.

“We’ve got—”

“People coming.” Caim stood up. “I know.”

“It looks like Ramon and his crew. And they’ve brought friends.”

Caim wanted to sigh, but he held it in. He had enough enemies already, but anyone who got in his way tonight might not live to regret it.

“Pull in the outer sentries and make sure everyone is ready to go.”

Keegan returned with two men in damp cloaks. Ramon was more bedraggled than the last time they met, face caked with sweaty dirt, his white fur mantle muddied and stained. The other man was built like a young bull, though he hardly came up to Ramon’s shoulder. He had a harsh, unforgiving face with eyes harder than cold steel, and a glistening shaved head. He, too, wore a white mantle under his cloak.

“—hear me, boy?” the smaller man was saying as Keegan led them into the room. “Watch your mouth or there ain’t nothing to stop me from stringing you up by the yarbles and bleeding you like a harvest lamb!”

Caim tugged on his gloves. “There’s me.”

The shaved man glared across the room. “And who the fuck are you?”

A little chill went through Caim as he spoke his full name aloud, something he hadn’t done in longer than he could remember. But it was time to own up to his past.

The grizzled warrior walked across the room. “I’m Angus, thane of the Allastars since Jevick’s murder. I’ve been hearing your name of late.” He jerked his head back toward Ramon. “From them. They say you’re some kind of warlock. I came to see for myself.”

Angus had a dirk sheathed on his left hip and a waraxe on the other side, but he made no move toward them.

Caim stepped to within arm’s length of the man. “I’m worse than that. I killed the Beast and left his body to freeze in the snow. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you and all your clan together. And tonight I’m going after the duke.”

Angus nodded slowly, and a crooked smile broke open his face. “I like that. My boys and I have come to help.”

Caim looked to Ramon. “You heard what happened at the castle?”

“We were holed up with the Allastars when the news reached us. We came as fast as we could.”

“How many warriors did you bring?”

“Almost sixty, most of them blooded fighters.”

“Where’s Grendt? I don’t see him lurking behind you.”

Ramon spat on the floor and stomped on it. “He ran off as soon as he heard we were coming back here to finish the job.”

Caim forced his mouth to turn upward in a smile he didn’t feel in his heart. “So what did you come to do? Torch a few granaries?”

“And the armory, and mayhap a few houses in the old city. Want to join us?”

Caim glanced to Keegan. The youth was wound tight enough to chew wrought iron. “We’re going to the palace.”

Angus gave a barking laugh. “That’s as good as cutting your own throat, boy.”

Caim shrugged. “Still, we’re going. You could join us. We’d be a good-sized band if we joined forces.”

“Aye. Enough to bloody the duke’s nose good. There’s rumors he sent the bulk of his men south.”

Caim pressed his lips into a firm line. South could only mean a push into Nimea, and with the border in shambles Josey wouldn’t know until the invaders were deep into the heartland. Then it would be a long, bloody affair to dig them out.

“That only makes our job easier. Are you with us?”

“Who leads?” Ramon asked.

Caim hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Keegan Haganson.”

Ramon’s mouth twisted as if he had bitten into something sour. “He’s no thane.”

“My father is dead,” Keegan said. “By right I take his place as loreman of the free clans of Eregoth. And I call upon Caim to lead us until the duke is overthrown or we all lie dead.”

Ramon started to shake his head. “He’s no war—”

“Show them, Caim.”

Caim untied the laces and pulled his tunic aside. On his shoulder glistened knots of fresh blue ink in the ancient trefoil pattern. Angus grunted, but he held his tongue. Ramon took in a deep breath that strained his deerskin jerkin, but finally he nodded.

“So be it. For my brother and my cousin, and everyone else who’s died at Eviskine’s hands. You have a plan?”

Caim took out his knife and knelt on the floor. By the firelight he started cutting lines in the hardwood.

Arion pressed a hand to his hip as he leaned against the corridor wall. The combined stenches of blood and puke and shit clung to the back of his throat. He looked over at Stiv and Brustus, catching their breaths. This wasn’t the reception they’d expected.

They had reached Liovard after an exhausting ride to find the city in shambles. People fought in the streets, burning, looting, and killing indiscriminately. When Arion and his men forced their way through to the barracks, they found Yanig and Okin barricaded in an arms locker. But the joy of the band’s reunification was short-lived as Arion outlined his plan.

Passing through alleys littered with corpses and abandoned plunder, they climbed the hill to the castle and found the gates unguarded. The watch towers were unlit by torch or lantern. They moved through the vacant outer bailey and entered the donjon, not sure what to expect. It wasn’t this.

The keep’s chambers were scenes of carnage. An odd light filtered through the high windows and tinged the bodies stretched out on the floors with a sepia patina. Paintings and sculptures had been defaced, excrement smeared on the walls. The attack came as they entered the series of corridors that led to the great hall. A door opened. Half a dozen foreign mercenaries carrying wine casks, and a rolled-up carpet spilled into the chamber. The melee was swift and furious. While Arion concerned himself with staying alive, Brustus and Davom put on displays of bladesmanship such as he had never seen. Their performance was so inspiring he didn’t notice the stablehand with the pitchfork sneaking up behind him.

Arion pulled away his fingers. The puncture wasn’t crippling, but it bled like a rainspout. Others had paid a higher price. Okin had taken a butcher’s cleaver to the neck. Yanig slipped on the floor and split open his skull.

They laid out their brothers on the floor. While Stiv mumbled some kind of a prayer, Arion looked down at the men he’d known, for more than ten years in Okin’s case.

Davom rolled over a body with his foot. “I know these guys. Pavel here owes me six nobles.”

Stiv shook his head. His short beard was matted with blood and spittle from a split lower lip. An ugly red gash on his temple dripped down his cheek. “What in the Dark’s name is going on here?”

“They’ve all gone mad.” Brustus wiped the blade of his sword with a discarded cloak. “Toe-curling, shield-biting, bark-at-the-moon crazy.”

“This is Sybelle’s doing,” Arion said. “She bewitched my father. Now she’s done something to the city. When we find her, we’ll find the source of the problem.”

“So what’s the plan?” Stiv asked.

Arion looked down the corridor. “We don’t stop until we reach the throne. Kill anyone who gets in our way.”

Stiv reached inside his mail shirt and pulled out a small gold amulet. Arion was surprised when he saw the sunburst design. He hadn’t known his right-hand man was a follower of the True Faith. Since Sybelle’s coming, there weren’t many believers left in Liovard. At least, not in public.

The sergeant shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

Brustus grunted. “If we get out of here alive, maybe I’ll let you convert me.”

“If we get out,” Davom said, “I’ll build the biggest temple you’ve ever seen. Maybe even set myself up as the high priest.”

Arion let out the breath he’d been holding. “Form up.”

They moved with purpose. When they reached the doors to the great hall, Stiv lifted a hand. But the sergeant halted in his tracks as the portals swung open before them, revealing a tableau straight out of a nightmare. Arion tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

The light of a single lamp high above the chamber illuminated his father’s throne. Headless bodies slumped on the floor in pools of congealing blood, and shaggy orbs floated in the air around the throne.

“Bugger me,” Stiv swore.

“Easy.” Arion tried to exude a confidence he didn’t necessarily feel, but then he saw the figure slumped in the throne. “Father!”

He started to run forward, but a willowy shape emerged from behind the throne. Her inky gown devoured the light. Seeing her, with her hand upon his father’s arm, Arion halted at the edge of the ring of floating heads.

“What have you done?” he demanded.

Sybelle lifted his father’s arm and dropped it, and Arion’s heart lurched to see the limb flop lifelessly. He couldn’t breathe. He took another step and batted aside a hovering head. Stiv cursed in earnest as the macabre trophy spun away into the darkness.

Arion pointed his sword at the witch’s chest. “I always knew you would be the death of him. From the start I saw you for what you are, witch.”

Her laughter played down his spine. “And I knew you from the first moment, Arion. As a fool too weak to live up to your father’s legacy, and too stupid to leave when you had the chance.”

With a shout, Arion charged, but Sybelle stepped into the gloom before he could reach her. He looked around his father’s throne, sword raised, but the witch had vanished.

“Arion,” Stiv said.

He looked up. Sinuous figures moved in the darkness, weaving closer. Arion adjusted his grip on his sword as his men took up positions. Davom stayed low, knife weaving back and forth, almost taunting the enemy to approach. Brustus struck a classic dueling stance, sword extended perfectly still. Stiv unleashed a string of vile curses as he caught a floating head and hurled it into the shadows. They were good friends, better than he deserved.