Death Weavers (31 page)

Cole felt tense inside. Harvan seemed overconfident. Maybe that was part of the ruse? Acting certain so the guards would accept him? Cole hoped he knew what he was doing.

If they were captured here, Cole might never see Dalton or Hunter again. Was he crazy to believe they still might make it home? He was currently in the afterlife of another world. Home felt a billion miles away. And it might actually be farther than that.

Hopefully, Dalton and Hunter were having better luck than him. Hopefully, they were eluding pursuit and finding Jenna. It helped to picture somebody happy. He tried not to dwell on Mira, Jace, and Joe, trapped somewhere in the echolands.

The only gates in the wall were closed. As they approached, Harvan raised his voice. “Open up—we've had a long journey.”

“Who goes there?” called a guard, just his head appearing over the top of the wall.

“Who do you think? Five who know the source of unmentionable power.”

“That's well and good,” the guard responded. “But how about names or passwords?”

“We have Drake with us, and Ferrin. The other names are our own. As for passwords, we've been on assignment. How about ‘slumber long no more'? Or the one about skies and hills.”

“Over sky and under hill,” the guard supplied. “Both of those are old.”

“Unlike cozy guardsmen, we've been out chasing leads,” Harvan said impatiently.

“Who is your master?” the guard asked.

“Nazeem directly controls our fate,” Harvan answered swiftly. “Right now, you're our master until that gate opens.”

“I'm not trying to be difficult,” the guard replied. “You know the routine.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're very dutiful,” Harvan said.

“I don't suppose you want to show your face?” the guard asked.

“You have your rules—we have ours,” Harvan said. “Our identities are to remain guarded. You know how Nazeem can be. We need to interview your prisoners and hurry onward.”

“Won't take long,” the guard said. “We only have the one. You'll have to talk to Ryger to get access.”

“Can somebody show us the way?” Harvan asked.

The gates opened. “Katka will guide you,” the guard called down.

A woman approached, tall with narrow features. The sides of her head were shaved, the hair on top black and combed sideways. Her skin had the unmistakable glow of a bright echo.

“You look shiny,” Harvan said. “Let me guess. You're the mediator meant to verify our true identities?”

Katka held out a hand, and he shook it. “I don't have to guess to know your robe is a disguise.”

“I'm not supposed to reveal my true identity,” Harvan said. “Orders from the top.”

“Like all primary mediators at secure locations, I represent Nazeem,” Katka said. “You will all reveal your identities to me.”

“Naturally,” Harvan said. “But not here. Far too many eyes and ears. Perhaps we can visit Ryger? He'll want our identities confirmed as well.”

“Very well,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led them down a cobblestone street away from the wall. Cole tried to keep his face as deep in the hood of his robe as possible. Unlike at the Hall of Glory, entering Deepwell didn't quiet the music. If anything, the disturbing cacophony had become even more invasive.

Cole didn't like how many echoes he saw roaming the village. At least twenty men and women. There had to be more inside the buildings. Every step away from the gate was a step they might be losing for a retreat. How would they fight their way past so many enemies? The bluffing had to hold.

Harvan fell into step beside Katka. “You won't share our identities with anyone besides Ryger,” he said.

“Only if they have premiere clearance,” Katka assured. “Your identity could not be safer than in my care.”

“I love the hair, by the way,” Harvan said.

She ran a hand across the short bristles. “You talk a lot for somebody trying to go unnoticed.”

“I love being noticed,” Harvan said warmly. “I just prefer to remain unknown.”

“Your friends don't talk much,” Katka said.

“Our spokesman does plenty of talking for twice our number,” Ferrin said.

“That I believe,” Katka said. “What's with the little one?”

Cole didn't like her attention swinging his way. He already felt out of place because of his stature. There were no kids in view. He kept his eyes off Katka's face and did his best to stand up straight.

“He's actually a giant,” Harvan said. “Best disguise in the group.”

Katka laughed a little.

“Are you on this side often?” Harvan asked.

“Lately, as we head into the final phases,” she replied. “I heard you back at the gate. Are you having any luck with the hunt?”

“So many leads,” Harvan said. “Too many, sometimes. False trails. We still haven't puzzled everything together. We're hoping your prisoner might help us explore some theories.”

“Not willingly,” Katka said. “You'll have to be in top form. I can tell you're good with people.”

“That's quite a compliment, considering your area of expertise,” Harvan said.

“Sure, I read people,” Katka replied. “They can't hide from me, especially here. But you're a charmer.”

“Who is the prisoner?” Harvan asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“You're not that good,” Katka said. “We need permission from Ryger before we delve into details. And before that happens, I need a look under your hoods.”

A guard at a door stepped aside, and they entered one of the larger buildings in the village. It looked to have once been an inn. The tables and chairs were all cleared off to one side. A man at a desk blocked the way to the kitchen, and another obstructed the hall that led to the rooms.

Katka led them to the man blocking the kitchen.

“You have quite an entourage today, Katka,” the man said.

“We need to see Ryger,” she replied.

“And if he's busy?” the man asked.

“We'll wait,” she said.

The man stood up and stepped aside. “He's available. You know the way.”

As Cole walked past the man into the kitchen, he pictured fighting his way out. The chances of escaping if somebody raised an alarm were feeling slim. He tried to thrust away his fearful thoughts. They were here. The task at hand was convincing Katka they belonged. He had to act natural. Once again he hoped Harvan knew what he was doing.

They descended a flight of stairs from the kitchen down to a stone-lined storeroom. Katka approached a door and knocked.

“Enter,” came a surly voice from inside.

Katka opened the door and admitted them to a spacious room where a heavyset man with a dark unibrow reclined on a bed, fingers laced behind his head, potbelly projecting upward. There was no other furniture in the room.

“Hello, Ryger,” Katka said.

He moved his eyes to regard them without shifting his head. “So many visitors? And so mysterious with the hoods?”

“They're under orders to remain anonymous,” Katka said. “We're about to find out who they are.”

“Have you figured out how to sleep?” Harvan asked.

“I find a bed more comfortable,” Ryger said.

“We need to talk to your prisoner,” Harvan said.

“That would explain your presence in the dungeon,” Ryger said. “Are you stalling?”

Katka approached Harvan. “Lose the robe, mystery man.”

“Okay,” Harvan said with a nod. Pushing off against Katka, he sprung to the bed and cracked Ryger over the head with a sudden and vicious blow from his walking stick.

Winston extended his hands toward Katka. “Hold her,” Harvan said. “Don't hurt her.”

Drake and Ferrin raced forward, taking Katka by each arm as Winston chanted and gestured.

As Ryger tried to roll off the bed, Harvan smashed him on the head again. And again. He kept trying to rise. After the third blow, Ryger stayed down.

“I've got her,” Winston said.

“Hurry,” Harvan ordered, still wailing on Ryger. “You saw the keys?”

“Yes,” Ferrin said, leaving Katka to lift the large key ring off the knob at the head of the bed.

“Fetch the prisoner,” Winston said, his voice a little strained. “I have her.”

As Cole rushed to the door with Drake and Ferrin, he glanced back to see Katka standing as still as a statue. Setting his walking stick aside, Harvan had crouched down and put Ryger in a headlock.

Back in the room that led up to the kitchen, there were two other doors. One was ajar. Ferrin raced to the other, found it locked, but chose the right key on the third try, revealing a hallway beyond. And a guard with a mustache.

“Who are you?” the guard asked.

Ferrin flipped back his hood. “Ryger sent us to interview the prisoner,” he said casually.

Considering the clawing panic he felt inside, Cole could hardly believe how calm the displacer sounded.

The guard scowled. “He would have joined you or sent another guard.”

“Those rules don't apply in a nightmare,” Ferrin said, removing his head.

The astonished guard never saw Drake coming. The seedman hit him low and hard, tackling him to the floor, then straddling him and pummeling him.

“Come on,” Ferrin said, head back in place. There were several doors on either side of the hall beyond the guard. Ferrin raised his voice. “We're here to rescue you! Where are you?”

A muffled thumping commenced a few doors down on the right, along with stifled cries of “Here! Here!”

Ferrin started testing keys. There were twelve on the ring. It took five attempts.

The door swung open to reveal Desmond, dressed just how Cole had seen him on a cot beside Honor and Destiny back at the Temple of the Robust Sky. The knight withdrew a couple of paces from the doorway. “Who are you?” he asked warily.

Cole realized his hood was hiding his face. He flipped it back. “We're here to get you out,” he said.

Desmond looked like he was trying to say something.

“Yes?” Cole asked.

Desmond shook his head. “Later. Good to see you, Cole. Your escort is on our side?” He jerked a thumb at Ferrin.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Let's go.”

22

G
ood to meet you,” Ferrin said with a nod. “We should run.”

“Yes,” Desmond agreed.

“Leave the door open!” Harvan called.

Cole turned to see Harvan entering the hall of cells, dragging Ryger, the thickset man still in a headlock. Drake had his guard pinned to the floor.

“We'll lock them in here,” Harvan said. “The prison doesn't allow for external spying or mental communication. Let's use the weaving that protects this place to our advantage.”

“What about Winston?” Ferrin asked.

“Could you go lend him a hand with Katka?” Harvan suggested. “Is this the prisoner? No princesses?”

“Sorry,” Desmond said.

“He's Desmond,” Cole said. “He was with Honor. He used to serve under the Dreadknight at Blackmont Castle.”

“Desmond, help Drake drag his man to the cell,” Harvan said.

Cole held the cell door open while Harvan manhandled Ryger into the small room. Drake and Desmond came next with their guard. Then Ferrin returned to the hall, carrying Katka, who remained rigid. Winston followed, still muttering and gesturing.

“Katka isn't close enough to her physical body to return to the other side,” Harvan said. “It came through in her music. Once I heard that, I knew we had a chance.”

After Ferrin set Katka in the cell, Harvan flung Ryger to the floor, and Drake abandoned the other guard. Desmond, Ferrin, Drake, and Harvan raced out of the cell, and Winston quit chanting to help Cole slam the door, then made sure it was locked.

“That should hold them for now,” Harvan said. “Come on.”

They ran out of the hall and closed the door. Harvan dashed to the room where they met Ryger, retrieved his walking stick, and grabbed a sack, which he tossed to Winston.