Warrior's Dawn (Fire and Tears) (12 page)

“You’re counting on the mayhem to help disguise us.”

He smiled, very slightly. “Oh, it will. That’s the nature of battle.”

She wasn’t so sure of his plan, mostly because he was too recognizable. If that woman hadn’t spotted him last night, Mina might be happier with his strategy. In fact, if he wasn’t with her, she’d make herself appear a servant and do exactly what he was proposing to reach the List fortress. No one would take notice of a servant on an errand at a time like this.

But with a wanted elf in her wake…

“We’ll stick to the shadows as much as we can,” she decided. “Only using your more brazen method if we have no choice. I’d prefer to alert as few people as possible to the direction we’re heading.”

“Fine. But be prepared to look like a new minion.”

She nodded. She’d played that role before—new because the stink of rotting meat took time to build, the yellowish skin and red glint over the irises requiring continued exposure to Sorcerer magic. She couldn’t pretend at either the smell or the eye color and her face was still too fresh and alive. No one would believe she’d been under a Sorcerer’s control for longer than a day or two.

New minion was better than servant in this case too because she could move about armed. A servant wouldn’t carry weapons.

“I need to ask…” Althir started, then trailed off.

She waited him out, afraid he’d bring up the elf-fire and she couldn’t discuss that now.

“Your swords, do you understand their providence?” he finally asked.

The question surprised her, especially since she’d just been thinking about them. “Meaning?”

“You know they’re elven?”

“Yes.” She debated telling him more but couldn’t see any immediate harm if she was vague. “Passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations.”

“Old. Old is good. Remember that.”

She scowled at him before facing the city again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Old elf magic is strong. Old elf weapons are very strong. Stronger than even the weapons your people use now.” He nodded to one of the swords on her hip. “Those are…particularly fine instruments that can cut through a lot of magic.”

That caught her attention enough to face him. “Really? How do you know?”

He gave her a look, as if her question was self-evident. “I can sense the magic. And my profession for the last two centuries has been weapons trade with Sinnale. I know swords.” He ran a finger down the scabbard. “Those blades were made by one of our greatest smiths, many, many centuries ago.”

When she frowned her question, he shrugged.

“I spotted his signature when you loaned me one. There aren’t many of these blades left in existence. A true treasure.”

He jerked his hand away and faced the window. She waited for more but he remained silent.

She bunched her brow in consternation. Why had he told her that? She’d valued the weapons before this because they were one of the few things she had remaining of her family. But now he’d made them something even more, something she’d be devastated to lose. She couldn’t afford to worry about such things, not if she wanted to live. She had to be willing to sacrifice even these heirlooms.

Damn him, he just kept complicating her life.

Chapter Ten

The hour they spent in the window, waiting for the sun to set, watching the Citadel, dragged on. But they did see two runners enter the Citadel and confirmed that none of the elves were being called in this direction.

As twilight darkened the streets, in those moments before the gas lamps brightened, they left their observation post and headed out.

To Mina’s surprise, they managed the journey with very little difficulty. The fighting had everyone left in the area distracted, and with no minion patrols forcing them to hide frequently in alleys and doorways, she and Althir covered the five blocks to the List fortress quickly.

The building was exactly as he’d described—ordinary, even dilapidated. Nothing that would draw attention or make a passerby look twice. A perfect example of hiding in plain sight, she thought as they edged around to a side door.

“The front is spelled,” Althir murmured near her ear. “It’s not the real entrance.”

She nodded, relying completely on him to get them inside now. Having to put her trust in him during this part of their mission was less daunting than she’d expected it to be. When she had time to consider that, she’d probably be terrified of what she’d opened herself up to. But for now, she followed his lead, trusting him to get them inside and back out again.

He took several long moments outside the door, studying it. There was no visible lock, but that didn’t mean the door was open, or that an alarm wouldn’t be triggered.

Finally, he gently turned the knob and let the door fall inward. Then he waited another moment or two before going inside.

“Was that very easy,” she whispered, “or have we just started a countdown before someone comes to check a breach?”

“We’ve started the countdown,” he murmured back. “Couldn’t be helped.”

Great, she thought, but kept her mouth shut. The less noise they made now, the better.

He didn’t hesitate in the path he took through the building. Inside, everything was much cleaner and richer. The hallway Althir led her down was decorated with thick carpets, rich paintings hung on the walls, and the walls were half wood paneling, half silk paper. Bright gas lamps lit the corridors, reflecting off mirrors interspersed with the paintings.

Mina hadn’t seen anything this well maintained since the war started. But then, she’d never been into the Citadel. She’d heard from other spies that the public building was kept at the height of luxury. And from the outside, it was obvious each of the Sorcerers kept luxurious accommodations. Most other buildings, even the places important to servants or housing minions, had been allowed to lose any glory they might have claimed.

Noman’s Land was worse—everything dirty and worn. Sinnale territory was kept…as best as they could keep it, under the pressures of the occupation. But nothing was maintained to this standard.

A faint scent of some sweet-smelling incense permeated the air, something she couldn’t completely identify, but there seemed to be hints of cinnamon and clove within the larger smell. It reminded her of her family’s bakery in the weeks before the Winter Festival, and her chest tightened.

To offset the sudden pierce of pain, she returned to studying their surroundings. No guards hovered in the hall or stood sentry outside any of the few doors they passed. She couldn’t hear much noise either. The thick carpets muffling their footsteps. She reached out to touch a doorknob, to test if the room was locked, but Althir stopped her with a hand on hers and a sharp shake of his head.

She frowned but dropped her arm. Questions could wait until they were back on the streets, or, better, when they were somewhere safe and hidden again.

If she couldn’t risk opening any of the doors, though…

They were too exposed in the corridor. She unsheathed one of her swords, knowing if they came across any guards now, they’d have to fight. There was nowhere to hide without going into a room.

But to her surprise, no guards came running to stop them. Althir paused often, listening. Then continued straight, never veering into another hallway or room. They reached a spot she roughly calculated to be the rear corner of the building farthest from their entry point. And Althir finally opened a door.

From behind it, two large men stepped out with their swords at the ready. Mina took a single step back, raising her weapon and preparing to fight. These were no minions, she realized, staring at their very serious expressions. They attacked Althir without a word or shout, and Althir met the attack in the same way. Outside of the clash of metal on metal, none of them even uttered a grunt.

The lack of noise was so unique and unexpected, she didn’t react immediately, a lapse that meant she was almost caught when one of the two men broke from his launch at Althir to come at her.

She skittered back from his first swing and found her footing before he could attack again. He was agile for a man so large, and his reach, and sword, were significantly longer than hers. She focused first on avoiding his attacks, ducking and backing up, using her smaller size to keep her distance while she waited for an opening. She’d noticed large men underestimated smaller women in fights, and she had no trouble taking advantage of that when he finally lunged forward, attempting to spear her, and opened himself up to her counterattack.

She slid inside his guard and drove her sword into his vulnerable side, then disengaged and leapt away. The wound slowed him. But it wasn’t a killing shot.

Her fight with the single guard moved her so that her back was to the door Althir had opened. She heard the sound of clashing metal, more than should have sounded with only two combatants, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off her opponent to check on Althir.

The hair on her neck rose, a warning that she needed to move. Without taking time to analyze the impulse, she dove toward the man she’d been fighting, swinging her sword wildly until she got past him. He’d responded to her sudden lunge and answered her attack, but awkwardly because of his wound. When Mina whirled to face him again, this time looking back at the door, she saw the knife sticking out of the wall close to where she’d just been. It quivered at a level even with her throat.

She swallowed, hard, and met the next attack. Her own grunts under the weight of deflecting the man’s sword were still the only sounds of effort coming from any of the now many guards in the cramped corridor. Her own attacker didn’t give her time or an opening to see how Althir was doing, but it only took a brief glance to see there were a lot more guards surrounding him.

A second guard approached her fight, and Mina’s adrenaline and fear ratcheted up. She’d barely been holding her own against one. Two would overwhelm her quickly.

This wasn’t like fighting minions. These men were trained, efficient and very good. She’d learned to fight out of necessity. Because of her particular skill set as a spy, though, she wasn’t actually called on to fight often. She wasn’t up to the level of these guards. Which meant she was in serious trouble.

Her entire focus shifted to just keeping them as far away from her as she could. She drew her second sword and used both to deflect each attack. The men fought well together, not getting in each other’s way, and she started to take hits. A cut on her forearm, a slice through her biceps, the tip of a sword piercing her thigh when she didn’t move fast enough. She could feel the blood dripping, feel her strength waning.

From the very brief moments when she looked toward Althir, she couldn’t even see him for all the guards.

So desperate to keep from being skewered, she didn’t have time to be afraid, to recognize death so near. Part of her acknowledged this was probably her last fight. But too much of her brain was focused on the swords swinging relentlessly at her to worry about that.

Conscious thoughts dropped away and she shifted to instinct and motion, moving, lunging, striking when she could, sucking up the pain when she wasn’t fast enough.

Her muscles trembled, her weapons felt too heavy to hold and her reactions slowed. The little cuts and slices started to come more frequently. They were playing with her. She recognized that. They were too good, and she should have been dead already. But she took the small blessing and kept fighting. If they wanted to play, she’d see it through until she could no longer lift her swords.

As that moment approached, another fleeting glance toward Althir made her frown. There seemed to be fewer guards now. She could actually see the elf. She risked a closer look and realized he was silently slicing through men, working his way toward her own attackers.

He was magnificent, his speed and skill unlike anything she’d ever seen in battle. The fighters before him were well trained and yet they fell one by one, none of them rising in his wake.

Her second look at him, the time it took her to appreciate his skill, cost her. She stared a split second too long. A sword whipped toward her neck. She acted on instinct, falling back to avoid the cut, but she wasn’t prepared and ended up falling onto her back, one sword flying from her hand to hit the corridor wall. She didn’t even have time to scramble back and had to raise her remaining weapon in a hurry to stop a downswing.

She looked into the dispassionate gaze of the guard as he pressed down with his superior strength, forcing both his and her sword toward her throat. She gripped the tip of her own in a vain attempt to hold him off, ignoring the sharp edge cutting into her hand.

The pressure eased as the guard pulled his sword up just a bit. She watched his next strike coming, knew she couldn’t hold him off this time.

And then blood splattered across her face.

Chapter Eleven

Mina gasped, unable to control the reaction, and rubbed a sleeve over her eyes. The guard who had been on the verge of killing her was pushed sideways into the wall, his throat sliced open, revealing things Mina preferred not to see.

In the next breath, Althir stood over her, his hand out to help her up.

She blinked and took his offered aid. He pulled her to her feet with ease. Panting, she rubbed her shirtsleeve across her face again, smearing the blood. Althir wasn’t even breathing hard. She looked down the hall and saw no less than twelve dead men laid out. Her eyes widened as she looked back into Althir’s face. His gaze was dark and intense as he looked down at her, his mouth set in a line.