Part 54 (1/2)

The sentry paced toward us, huddled in his cloak, paying little attention to anything except his own misery. Blackness reared out of blackness, and he had not even a moment to cry out as an arm swept around his chest, Svalbard's other great paw cupped his chin, and snapped his head sideways. His neck broke with an audible crack, and Svalbard let the body slip to the rampart, then stared down, his expression calm, as if nothing had happened.

I pulled the sentry's helmet off and gave it to Karjan. Even in this darkness I could see his scowl, but he was the most logical choice. We pulled the body's cloak off, gave it to Karjan, then slid the corpse over the parapet into the reservoir.

Karjan, with the Kallian's spear and cloak, the too-small helmet forced over the top of his head, would pose as the sentry-so no one would see bare walls and give the alarm-as well as being our rear guard.

We pulled the m.u.f.fling covers over our boots, saw steps not far away, and went down them, zigging back and forth, until we reached ground level.

Our way led through long stone corridors, and I lost direction twice, and had to retrace my steps. I heard voices several times, and we went by doors with light s.h.i.+ning under them, but encountered no one.

The Kallians were either asleep or acham-ber in front of a blazing fire at this hour, and I blamed them not, feeling the darkness of the ancient building in my bones.

We went up steps and down a pa.s.sageway. Ahead was a solid iron door, standing open, that led into the open.

I went through it, and the door slammed behind me with a clash of metal, and a bar dropped into place, sealing Yonge and Svalbard on the other side!

Elias Malebranche came out of the darkness.

”I feltyou coming, Numantian,” he hissed. ”I have a touch of the Talent, and my master's sorcerer was kind enough to give me an amulet to help. I'd hoped to encounter you on the battlefield and slay you there, but you have come to me, instead. So we can settle our private business privately.”

His hand touched his waist, and the knife came out.

”Third time lucky, Damastes.”

I said nothing. Talk in battle is for buffoons and the overconfident. My own dagger was in my hand, and we circledIf,each other. Malebranche was a far better knife-fighter than I, but I hoped his arrogance would help me. Not only had he spoken, but he had not given the alarm. He wanted the glory of killing me and ending our mission all to himself.

Players on a stage portray a knife fight as a series of lunges and thrusts for the vital areas. It's most dramatic, but also completely unrealistic. A real knife fight either ends on the first thrust, when your opponent is surprised and, hopefully, his weapon is still sheathed; or else is an unbelievably gory affair, with the two battlers slas.h.i.+ng away, trying to wound or cripple the other before attempting the killer stroke.

Malebranche's knife flickered, and I wasn't able to pull back in time. Pain burned the back of my forearm, but fortunately the Kallian hadn't been able to sever the tendons of my hands, as he'd intended.

He came in once more, and I kicked hard, my boot connecting with his lower leg, and he gasped, bent, and I cut him. I'd aimed for his neck but missed as he backrolled away, back to his feet.

”That is the end for you, Damastes. It is a pity you'll not live to witness the coronation of Chardin Sher as king of Numantia. Perhaps I'll take your widow to my bed, as recompense for the time you scarred me. Think of that, Damastes, as you go down into death.”

He slid around, toward my weak side. As he did, his guard was open for a moment, and I thrust. But it was a deception, and his free hand snapped out, and sent my dagger spinning away, and his blade darted.

I tried to pull back, but stumbled on the slippery cobbles, and he cut deep into my inner thigh. I almost shouted in pain, but clenched my teeth, went down, rolling, reaching for my knife.

But it lay nearly five feet away from my scrabbling hand, and I heard Malebranche's boots come forward, and the next thing I'd feel would be his knife between my shoulder blades.

I rolled, hand still outstretched, and then, impossibly, my dagger whirled through the air and was in my hand, and I had a flash recollection of the spell Tenedos had put on it after the demon-snake attacked us.

Malebranche was striking at me, but I parried, blade clanging blade, then smashed both feet up and sent him floundering. I had my feet under me, and limped toward him.

He struck, and my blade seemed to hum in my grip, reaching out of its own volition, brus.h.i.+ng his thrust aside, gas.h.i.+ng open his chest. Now I saw fear on his face, and he moved back, and I closed, moving cautiously. Back and back we went, and a stone wall was not far behind him. He glanced once over his shoulder, knew he was trapped, and broke.

He hurled his blade at me, and it spun in the air, hitting me in the chest with the pommel, hurting, but not harming, and he turned and ran, darting around my guard, heading for another pa.s.sageway. He'd shout alarm in seconds, and my hand was in my pouch, on one of the lead pigs, and I hurled it with all my strength.

It crashed into the back of his head, and I heard his skull crunch. He crumpled, and lay motionless. I hobbled to him, and kicked him over. His face stared up, horrible fear his last expression. I checked for a pulse, and found none.

The third time had, indeed, been the fortune.

I ran as fast as I was able back to the iron door and lifted the bar. The door came open and Svalbard stumbled into me. I saw no sign of Yonge.

”He went to find another way,” the big man whispered. He saw Malebranche's body. ”Are there any more?”

I shook my head, just as the hillman ran into sight. He saw the open door and the two of us, and there was no explanation needed at the moment. We ripped strips of cloth from my tunic for crude bandages for my wounded thigh and arm. I felt no pain nor stiffness, my body reveling in the death of my foe and the savage joy of battle. We dragged Malebranche's corpse into the shadows and went through that other corridor and found our goal.

The innermost keep of the castle was built most peculiarly, as a pentagon, and I remembered the tales of the priests and their dark magic and wondered if they'd held their ceremonies here. It was quite empty, which I well understood, feeling theifichill and something else around me. I wondered for a moment how Chardin Sher and his men could stand the aura I felt, but put it aside. Perhaps they didn't sense it at all, but I did because I was an enemy of Kallio. But I had no time for speculation.

I took the flask with the potion and the drawing stick from my pack, and hurried to the center of the keep. I took a deep breath, calming my sen, then carefully drew the figure as I'd been taught.

I finished within a few moments.

I opened up the flask, and upended it over the center of the symbol I'd made. I gagged; the potion smelled worse than anyone could imagine, the stink of burning corpses, the reek of fresh-spilled blood, the moldy odor of long-forgotten tombs filling my nostrils.

Then the flask was empty.

Tenedos had told me I must flee as quickly as I could once the spell had set. He said he would feel it begin to work, and begin his own casting from outside the walls, but we must be away from the fortress before the incantation took effect, or face the same doom he hoped to bring on Chardin Sher.

We hurried back through the corridors, making more sound than we had before. A door opened, a woman peered out, saw the three of us, and slammed and barred the door as we neared, yet I heard no outcry.

We retraced our steps, and I marveled I was able to remember them so precisely, and found the stairs leading up to the inner wall. Atop it, Karjan, the false sentry, still paced his rounds.

Gladly he doffed his helmet and cloak, cast the spear aside, and we tied a rope to one of the crenels and went down that sloping wall into the reservoir.

The icy water hit and burned at my wound, and I knew I'd have the grace of not feeling pain for only a short time longer.

The rope we'd left hung down into the water, and we pulled our way upward. I was very glad we'd taken the time to knot it at intervals before descending.

We untied it, ran to where the wall cracked, doubled a rope around one of the crenels, and slid down it to the end, pulled one end of the rope until it fell down to us, then crawled into the crack.

We were about to climb down in a normal manner, but I heard a roar. At first I though the storm was building, but then realized the sound came from everywhere, frominside the wall as well as beyond. We had to take a great chance, and hammered three iron nails into the stone, looped a rope around them, and tugged. They held firm, and we used the rope to backwalk down as we had before, although the chance of a peg pulling free and dropping us to our deaths was very great. My leg throbbed agony, but I ignored it.

The nails held, and again and again we did the same, while the clamor grew and grew, and we could feel the wall vibrating. Once a peg pulled free, and Karjan almost fell, but he caught himself and continued down.

I looked down, and saw to my amazement that the ground was no more than thirty feet below us. One more rope-length, and I reached for more nails. The wall around me was shaking harder and harder, and we'd ran out of time.

”Jump!” I shouted, and we sprang out into the blackness. We fell and fell, and I braced for the crack of breaking bones when we landed.

But I landed in muck, sliding and tumbling away from the wall, covering myself from head to foot. I found my footing and ran as hard as I could, limping, the other three in front of me. Karjan came back, threw his arm around my shoulders, and we ran on.

I was afraid to stop, afraid to turn and look back. Trees rose in front of us, and I saw our front lines, and a sentry, fear making his voice quaver, challenged us.

Yonge shouted the response, but I don't think it would have mattered, for the man was gaping at the fortress.