The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (59 page)

But even here the Kindred moved with great stealth, easily flitting between swirling patches of darkness. More noise ahead – another patrol. This one was coming down the street straight toward them, there was no way for them to avoid being seen – not with the lanterns these men were carrying, lanterns that bore the sharp fluorescent light that lit the rest of the street.

Davydd signaled to his two lieutenants, both of whom signaled to the rest of their groups – one on either side of the street – and the Prince saw the selected Eshendai raise their short bows. Davydd unsheathed the long Valerium dagger he kept at his waist, careful to hide its bright white gleam, and the Prince did the same with the dagger Leah had given him.

He looked around nervously at the large, opulent buildings surrounding them – they had wide, glass windows, through which the whole street was easily visible. This could go very badly very quickly – all it would take was one person to see them attack the guards and the alarm would be raised. And while most of the men were apparently out fighting Autmaran, the Prince was willing to bet that in a city so carefully run that a blanket curfew was issued and put in effect every night, more than just a token number of guards had been left manning the walls. Certainly enough had been left to raise the alarm and alert Tiffenal, if nothing else. And the Fox … the Fox was trouble they didn’t need.

We’re here for the dagger. We have to stay away from him if we can.

When the guards were no more than a few spans away –
how had they not seen the hiding Kindred yet? –
Davydd flicked a finger, and arrows shot from bows, felling two of the guards, piercing their throats so that they couldn’t scream or make a sound. They died as they hit the ground.

For a second, it looked as if the three guards in front wouldn’t even notice what had happened – they continued walking down the broad street, apparently not noticing that two of their number had fallen behind them.

But then one of them stopped. Perhaps he’d heard the whistle of the arrows, or perhaps he’d noticed one of the shadows lurking nearby was oddly man-shaped. Whatever it was, he turned to look behind him – and his gaze fell immediately on his fallen companions.

In the time it took him to take one step back and turn to his fellow guards, three Kindred had sprung from the shadows and sunk knives into his body – one at the neck, one in the gut, and one through the vulnerable area under his armpit not covered by his armor.

Six more Kindred fell on the other two as they turned as well, detaching themselves from the shadows, a terrifying sight even to the Prince. As each of the guards fell, they were caught by the waiting Kindred and dragged back into the darkness.

In a matter of seconds, the guards and all evidence of their passing were gone from the wide, paved street, leaving the Prince shocked. The deadly efficiency was astounding. Davydd signaled again and the group moved forward.

They traversed the rest of the boulevard, through houses and manors increasingly more lavish, without further incident, and soon they were at the gates of the palace. But instead of entering, Davydd led them down a side street, around the back of the huge building.

“Servants have access to the whole building,” Davydd said to the Prince when he looked at him quizzically. “If we want to get to Tiffenal unseen and unheard, the best way is through the kitchens, I’ll bet my life on it.”

They made their way around the palace – around huge sweeping fountains and majestic lawns that, even in the misty darkness, seemed to glisten as if reflecting invisible rays of sunlight. Gone were the gruesome sights and smells of the Commons quarter with the rotting corpses – gone too were the clockwork lights; here there were well-maintained oil lamps, casting the whole scene in a wane, golden light.

Davydd found the servants entrance unerringly and the Prince realized that this was likely something he’d done more than once before.

It was a small door, nearly invisible, set behind a large fold in the outside wall of the palace, hidden behind a winding path of shrubs and bushes. They passed through one by one with hands on their weapons, watching warily every shifting shadow, noting every twitching leaf.

There was a quiet, muffled crunching noise from up ahead – and when the Prince rounded the corner he saw that Lorna had thrown a shoulder into a stout oak door and broken it clean off its hinges, though how on earth she’d done it so
quietly
, the Prince had no idea. They quickly filed through.

On the other side of the door was a long hallway that led both right and left – Davydd’s two lieutenants Handel and Smynt made their way down opposite sides, accompanied by their Ashandel Jemphas and Lionel. The rest of the Kindred spread out along the corridor, while Lorna wedged the broken door back into place. Handel and Jemphas returned first.

“Servants quarters this way,” Handel said quietly. “Rooms, nothing more.”

“Good – then we go this way,” Davydd said and the Kindred followed Smynt and Lionel, who had just turned back and were beckoning them that it was safe to follow.

They turned a corner and found themselves in a long kitchen full of gleaming pots and a long, wooden table that split the center. Doors led off in every direction – there were nearly a dozen of them all together.

“Where do we go now?” The Prince asked Davydd, watching the other man carefully. They were in the palace now, and Tiffenal was close. He had to keep an eye on Davydd, had to make sure he didn’t do anything rash.

“Scout the passages. Smynt, Handel, Jackson and Twyine, each of you take a door, leave the smaller ones, they’re likely useless. Look for anything that would lead to an audience chamber – most likely something that will lead upward. Go.”

Davydd turned to the Prince.

“Where is he?” Davydd asked him point-blank.

“Davydd,” the Prince said slowly, his voice low, “we’re not here for Tiffenal. We’re here for the dagger.”

“And you don’t think he has it with him?” Davydd asked him, red eyes glowing like coals. “You said he’d keep it – like a spoil of war. Where else would it be but next to him? He must know its value.”

And then the Prince realized how foolish he was being. Davydd was right. Any of his other brothers and sisters would have turned the dagger over to Mother or else locked it away deep in a vault. But Tiffenal would keep it in the open, somewhere nearby, just to lure them in.

I’ve been deceiving myself. It was always going to come down to this.

The Prince closed his eyes and reached out through the Raven Talisman, wondering if the same enchantment that had kept him from sensing the Eshendai on the wall would hold here, but to his relief it did not. His mind expanded, and he quickly bypassed the Kindred around him, reaching out further, feeling for points of light, feeling the castle, looking for his brother.

He found him. He was above them – to the right.

The Prince’s eyes flew open and he pointed at a single point in the beamed kitchen ceiling.

“That direction,” he said, and Davydd nodded, looking pleased. His red eyes were shining, and that strange maniacal light was back. The young man was looking forward to this – and the long odds only seemed to have made him more eagerly determined.

“Wait,” said Lorna to them, “that direction … if I’m not mistaken, it’s the direction of the throne room.”

“How do you know that?”

“This palace has a simple layout,” she said quickly, her husky voice easily heard by the rest of the Kindred who were listening now. “If we’re in the kitchens, the front gates were in
that
direction, then the audience chamber should be exactly where you just pointed.”

Davydd and the Prince exchanged a glance.

“He’s waiting for us,” the Prince said quietly.

“We don’t know that,” Davydd said, “we may still catch him by surprise. It may be his bedchamber, we have no way to know.”

The Prince opened his mouth to argue, but Handel returned at the same moment and motioned for them.

“This way leads up to a main passageway,” he said.

“Which way does it go?” Davydd asked.

Handel pointed to the same exact place the Prince had, and Davydd looked like he had to suppress a gleeful cackle. His red eyes were terrible, like those of an avenging spirit.

“Call the others back – we go that way. Ready your weapons; be on the lookout for anything. We may need to silence more guards – if you see them, strike first. We cannot risk raising an alarm.”

The Kindred moved off, and the Prince made to follow them, trying to think of a way to convince Davydd to wait, sensing something was wrong. But then something tickled the back of his mind, something that needled its way into his thoughts, and he suddenly faltered and stopped. He reached out through the Raven Talisman, this time going
downward
…

Pain. Agony. Terror.

He stumbled and ran into the long table that split the room, his mind reeling. He felt Kindred hands grab at him, keeping him from falling as his knees buckled.

“What’s wrong?” Davydd asked quickly.

“I … there are people down below us being tortured,” he gasped. “I can … I can
feel
them … they’re underneath us, somehow downward, underground. They’re … oh shadows and light they’re in so much pain …”

The Prince only just stopped himself from letting out a sob, and in order to prevent it from happening, he severed his tie with the Raven Talisman and pushed his mind back into his own head, where it returned with a strange
snapping
sensation.

He found that he was breathing heavily, and clutching the table with clawed hands. He looked up at Davydd, and the other man took a step back seeing the look on his face.

“We need to save them,” the Prince hissed, suddenly certain of what they were really here to do. “I’m not leaving with just the dagger. My brother
dies
tonight for what he’s caused. That pain … so many lives,
dying
… no more!”

His words echoed strangely in his own head, and he saw the other Kindred looking at him in alarm, though beneath that lay a grim kind of anticipation.

“No,” Lorna said quietly. “Autmaran reminded you both that we are here for one purpose – the dagger. That’s it.”

“I will not leave them down there,” the Prince said to her, almost viciously. “I will not abandon so many people.”

She considered him for a long moment.

“Are there Kindred down there?” She asked quietly.

The room got quiet,
very
quiet, and the Prince took a deep breath. He reached out through the Talisman once more, searching through the hundreds of lives below them, trying not to think of the red haze of pain that they showed him, feeling for anything that might make him think of …

And then images began to come to him, strange visceral things not normally associated with the sense the Raven Talisman gave him of lives. They were bright hopes, the only things to which these men and women had left to cling, mingled with terrifying images of despair.

Kindred – the valley of Vale –

Trapped – a box – a cage –

Pain – sharp, blinding, piecing, wracking, never-ending –

Smell of pine trees – blue sky – white rock mountains – home!

With a huge groan he pulled back, and found himself once more clutching the table so hard with his hands he was surprised he hadn’t broken it or left imprints of his fingers in the wood.

“Yes,” he managed to breathe out.