Twilight of Kerberos - [Shadowmage 01-03] - The Shadowmage Trilogy (Shadowmage; Night's Haunting; Legacy's Price) (21 page)

“Have they got to the men on top of the cliff too?” someone asked.

Lucius didn’t see how but, seeing no movement from the crane, he jumped off the platform, sword drawn. He did not know what he was going to do, only that he hoped he could buy enough time for them to start the ascent.

One creature broke from the pack and swiped at Lucius with its claws. He parried the blow, and took a step back to avoid a second. He heard movement behind him and another creature slobbered at his back. A low whistle punctuated the air and he heard a dull thud as an arrow hit home.

Hearing an angry wail and hoping the creature behind had been taken out of the fight, Lucius stepped to one side, looking to create an opening. The creature in front followed his movements and, as it raised a claw to strike at him again, Lucius swung his sword in a wide arc, catching the creature’s arm.

He felt the sword bite deep, and wondered if the creature’s scales were not as thick on some parts of its body as others. It shrieked in pain, and scrambled backwards, cradling its injured arm, which was hanging at an odd angle, bone sheared by the impact of Lucius’ sword.

Apparently not liking the way the combat was going, the massed creatures hissed, the sound undulating eerily, sending a shiver down Lucius’ back. He held his sword out in front of him as they began to advance, their movements a little halted and slow. He made a couple of feints towards the closest creatures, hoping to force them to draw back, wishing he could scare them into at least re-considering their actions. They were relentless, however, and ignored the flashes of his sword. It was not as if he were able to stop them all.

He heard a creaking behind him, and knew the strain had been taken on the ropes of the platform.

“Lucius, come on!” Ambrose cried, but he needed no prompting.

The platform was beginning to rise with agonising slowness and Lucius hurled himself up onto its wooden surface. Hands steadied him as he turned round to look down at the creatures.

Seeing their quarry beginning to escape, they hissed in frustration and some shambled forward. Lucius saw their movements were becoming more exaggerated, slow and awkward. Even so, they did not have much ground to cover and they crashed into the platform, causing it to swing alarmingly. Ambrose was thrown to one side and he clutched wildly at the rope to stop himself from toppling into the snarling mass below. Claws whipped over the edges of the platform as it continued to rise above their heads. Lucius carefully grabbed a rope to steady himself before moving to the edge and stamping down hard into a scaly face.

The scrabbling sound of claws gouging chunks from the underside of the platform caused one thief to moan in terror. He screamed as one of the creatures launched itself from below to grab onto the side of the platform, beginning to pull itself on board. Its claws dug deep into the wood, giving it all the leverage it needed. Lucius kicked out again as they all lurched crazily, but the creature ignored the blow, intent on its prey.

It reached out and dug a claw into the boot of one of the thieves. The man cried out in pain as the claw drove through leather and bone, pinning him to the wood. Another thief tried to help him but lost his grip on the rope and fell into the dark, ferocious mass now twenty yards below, the sounds of flesh being ripped apart soon cutting off his cries.

Curling an arm around the rope as he tried to gain his footing on the tilting platform, Lucius hacked down with his sword at the arm of the monster, trying to sever its hand to free the thief, but he could not gain enough purchase to put any real strength into the blow. Blood seeped from the wounds he had caused, but the creature just hissed malevolently.

“Hold on!” Lucius shouted, and the thieves gripped the ropes they were holding more firmly when they saw what he intended to do.

Strapping his sword to his back, he reached into a boot to draw his last dagger. Frantically sawing at the rope he was holding, Lucius steeled himself, closing his other hand around it in a death grip. He knew that if he were to let go, he would fall into the claws and fangs of the creatures below. The threads of the rope sprang open, one by one, until with a final lurch it broke.

Men screamed as one side of the platform gave way completely, leaving them dangling in the air by the ropes they clung to. The creature’s grasp was wrenched away by the sudden movement, and the man it had pinned shrieked as the claw was ripped out with brutal force.

Lucius caught a glimpse of the creature as it fell, its shining black eyes reflecting what little light there was, before they disappeared into the churning swarm of the horde below. The crane continued to raise the tattered remains of the platform, leaving the three remaining men to look at one another with the wild eyes of those who have confronted their worst demons.

“What were those things?” Ambrose asked.

No one had an answer for him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

H
UNCHED OVER THE
long table in the council chamber, Lucius flicked his gaze over to Ambrose, who sat straight, arms wrapped around himself as he shuddered. The veteran thief looked shaken to his core, and Lucius could not blame him, for the events of the evening weighed heavily on his mind.

It had been his operation,
his
plan. The thieves who had volunteered knew there were risks involved but that did not excuse what had happened. His big ideas had cost thirteen men their lives, unless by some miracle, a few had managed to evade those hideous creatures and were, even now, making their way back to the guildhouse. Lucius now had to explain himself to Magnus and tell him exactly why his operation had gone so tragically wrong. In part, he resented the deaths. Up to now, Lucius had never been responsible for anyone, and this was an excellent illustration as to why he had avoided it so long. He wondered how the Hands had managed to sucker him in, made him feel part of their guild and accept the accountability he now faced. At the same time, he knew it was a childish regret, that the lives of good men
–
thieves though they might be
–
was an order of magnitude above his own petty concerns. He had no idea what he would say to Magnus. He still did not understand what had happened.

Of the three who had survived boarding the ship, Lucius was to answer for the tragedy, as would Ambrose, being the only senior thief to emerge unscathed from the
Voyager
. The only other thief to make it out alive, Sandtrist, had been excused on account of his injuries; Lucius had already heard that he was likely to lose his foot, and what use would the Hands have for a one-footed thief? In his own way, Sandtrist had been lost that evening as well.

Footsteps sounded from outside the room, and Lucius braced himself for the confrontation, though he still had little idea of what he would say. Ambrose seemed not to have noticed the sound, and he did not look up when Magnus entered and stood, watching the two thieves.

Since he had known the guildmaster, Lucius had thought him wise, extremely competent and utterly benevolent to those in his charge. But as he looked at the man’s face, he could see a terrible hardness in his eyes, an iron will he had always suspected must lie within Magnus, but had never seen. The guildmaster smouldered with barely contained rage, and Lucius swallowed, awaiting the onslaught.

“Would you like to tell me,” Magnus said, starting quietly but gradually allowing his anger to take control until he shouted the last words, “just why thirteen of my thieves are
dead
?”

“Ambush–” Lucius began, but his voice was too quiet.

Striding over to the table, Magnus hammered a fist down, the sudden violent sound jerking Lucius back. It even seemed to rouse Ambrose.

“What?” Magnus said in a deafening tone that promised quick punishment to anyone who would chance a wrong answer.

Lucius cleared his throat and started again. “We were ambushed, Magnus, there was no warning, I–”

Magnus’ fist crashed down on the table again. “What happened to your plans? Where were the sentries? Why did no one see them approach? Why are my men dead, Lucius?”

“They weren’t human, Magnus.”

“Who weren’t? What are you talking about?”

“They just swarmed all over the ship while we were unloading. I swear to you, we scouted the area, silenced the sentry, and only then started the haul. But they were on us in seconds, too many of them. They started killing...” Lucius broke off at that, seeing again in his mind’s eye the terrible carnage on the deck of the ship.

“So who was it?” Magnus demanded.

“I... I think they came from the sea.”

Magnus looked utterly confused. “As an excuse, this is a poor one, Lucius,” he said dangerously.

“He’s telling the truth,” Ambrose said, and they both looked at him in surprise. “On my mother’s grave, Magnus, he’s telling the truth.”

Magnus sighed and, drawing out a seat, sat down with them.

“You better tell me what happened, from start to finish. Leave nothing out,” he said.

So Lucius explained, with Ambrose adding comments where he could. He told Magnus how he had begun preparations for the operation, using the Hand’s resources to learn about the ship and its cargo. He outlined the different teams involved, who was part of each, and what their expected roles were. He told how they had boarded the ship, located the silk, and then started offloading it.

Then he began telling Magnus of the appearance of the first creature, describing how it looked, its strength and deadly, murderous intent. Intentionally leaving out the use of his magical talents, he went on to tell of the slaughter that had followed, of the sheer number of the creatures that had boarded the ship after them, and how men had died. Their desperate escape from the
Voyager
followed, along with the pursuit across the docks and the final, terrifying assault on the platform as they fled the scene. When he finished, Lucius was shaking, the retelling of the events forcing him to relive them once more.

Magnus’ anger had subsided, but he shook his head in disbelief.

“I have never heard of such things,” he said simply.

“On my
mother’s
grave, Magnus,” Ambrose said again, and the seriousness of his expression seemed to give Magnus pause.

“You think they came from the sea?” he asked.

Lucius shrugged helplessly. “They seemed... adapted to it,” he said, remembering the foul sea stench, the webbed claws and scaled skin. “And they moved slower once they had been out of the water for a few minutes.”

“I noticed that,” Ambrose said.

“Well, do you have any idea why they were there?” Magnus asked. “Who sent them?”

They both shook their heads.

“I would dearly like to blame the Guild for this,” Lucius said. “But I saw nothing to suggest their involvement.”

“Then there are three possibilities that come to mind,” Magnus said. “First, the Guild has new allies. Second, we have inadvertently wandered into some dispute between the Allantians and these... sea demons.”

“And third?” Lucius prompted.

“Third, there is a new power in the city.” He raised a hand in a helpless gesture. “But none of those seem very likely to me. What would sea demons want with a city on land? Why have we heard nothing about them before? None of this makes sense.”

He prompted Lucius to retell the story again, searching for any information that had been missed the first time, anything that could give him a clue as to what his thieves had faced that night. No matter how many times he quizzed Lucius over particular points, however, they seemed no closer to the truth. Magnus was about to ask Lucius to describe the attack on the
Voyager
again, when shouts and excited cries reached them from the open door. When someone shouted for the guildmaster, panic evident in his voice, they all started.

Leading the way, Magnus rushed from the meeting room and vaulted down the stairs, Lucius and Ambrose in tow, where another thief directed him to one of the rooms used as sleeping quarters. Trotting behind Magnus, Lucius entered the room and gasped.

Tiny though the room was a dozen thieves were gathered in a tightly packed mass that they had to push their way through, some only relinquishing their place when they saw it was Magnus who had entered. Lying on the bed, its sheets already soaked through with his blood, was Caradoc. Helmut, a thief from Vosburg who was versed in some of the arts of healing, was tending to him, fussing over a crossbow bolt that jutted from the lieutenant’s shoulder. Writhing in pain, Caradoc looked up at Magnus as he entered.

“Caught me on Ring Street,” he gasped. “Tried to kill me.”

“Would have done too, but for another three inches to the left,” Helmut muttered to no one in particular.

“Who?” Magnus said, leaning over the bed to catch Caradoc’s words.

“Didn’t see,” he said. “Too dark. But... Guild. Has to be... the Guild. They’ve broken the truce.”

Magnus frowned at that, then laid a hand on Helmut’s shoulder. “Can you help him?”

The Vos man looked at his patient as he thought. “We need to remove that bolt, and that won’t be pleasant. But if he makes it through this evening, I think he will be just fine. So long as no poison was used, of course.”