Demonbane (Book 4) (21 page)

Out on the stage more singing erupted again in earnest. A whole chorus piece.
Paletto
sounded like it was reaching the end of the first half.

Kendril turned a corner, running madly down a long space behind some dusty sets. He saw something ahead, on the ground.

He slowed, out of breath from the run. He was surprised to realize that he had been reloading his pistol as he ran. It was such an ingrained habit that he did it without even thinking, a knee-jerk reaction. He snapped back the lock and kept the pistol out in his hand, then stepped forward cautiously.

It was a body. Not a stagehand, but one of the cultists, wearing a robe. There was a large stain of blood on the floor underneath it.

Kendril knelt down cautiously, watching the shadows around him warily. He grabbed the cultist’s body by the shoulder and flipped it over.

It was Lilette. A stab wound to the chest was the obvious cause of death.

Kendril felt an uneasy tingling up the small of his back. Something was wrong. Who had killed Lillette, and why? And how—?

One of the shadows moved, just to Kendril’s left.

He leapt up and back.

A throwing blade hissed a finger’s width past his chest and struck into a nearby support beam.

Kendril whipped up his pistol.

Nadine was already on him. She twisted around and beside him with supernatural speed, then grabbed his gun arm and twisted it up.

Kendril threw out a punch with his other arm.

The assassin blocked it with the side of her free arm, then spun around and cracked Kendril’s arm hard against the side of the set.

He grimaced in pain, but kept hold of the pistol. He whirled around the opposite direction and aimed an elbow strike at the back of her head.

Nadine ducked under the blow and punched him hard in the lower part of his back.

Kendril stumbled down to the ground.

The pistol in his hand blasted out. The shot slammed into the side of the set.

With a snarl Kendril stood and hurled the spent pistol at Nadine.

She dodged it almost casually, then instantly produced two long knives in her hands. A smile appeared on the half of her face that was visible. “Miss me, handsome?”

Kendril didn’t answer. He drew both his short swords.

Nadine came at him.

Joseph went for the first door in the hallway. He was still holding Kara with both hands, and didn’t waste time getting an arm free to open it. Instead, he leaned back and kicked it with all his might.

The door swung inwards and cracked hard against the wall.

Joseph and Maklavir bundled into the room, supporting the unconscious girl between them.

A man sat in a chair in front of a large mirror. His face was almost white with applied makeup. He looked up in horror at the intruders, and half-rose from his seat. “Tuldor’s beard! What do you think—”

Joseph turned his head towards the man. “We need blankets,
now
!”

The man opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as his eyes fell on Kara.

Joseph laid Kara’s unmoving form down on a thick carpet. He looked up frantically.

There was a fireplace against one wall. It was unlit.

The actor tried again. “What—?”

Maklavir drew his sword.

Joseph stared up at his companion in surprise.

“She’s dying.” The diplomat’s voice was eerily calm. “Now stop talking and get us some blankets, or as Eru is my witness I’ll run you through.”

The man stared at the naked blade in Maklavir’s hand. He put up his hands, then ran out of the room.

Joseph leaned over Kara. He put one hand against her face.

It was ice cold.

He clapped her hard on the cheek. “Kara, it’s Joseph. Can you hear me?”

She moaned. Her eyes didn’t open.

There was a loud
crack
from by the desk.

Joseph looked up.

Maklavir lifted up two pieces of what had been the chair. “Firewood,” he said simply.

Joseph nodded. He could feel his heart racing. His stomach was gripped with fear. “It’ll do. Can you get it going?”

Maklavir snatched an oil lantern off the desktop and gave his trademark smile. “Got it covered.”

Kendril didn’t have time for this. Every second he wasted here with Nadine was one more second that Bronwyn had to get away with the Soulbinder.

And deep down, flickering dully to the surface of his mind in fits and starts, was a certain level of fear.

He was beginning to think he couldn’t beat this assassin.

Nadine flashed forward with a stab.

Kendril blocked it with his sword.

Was Nadine’s knife poisoned? Probably. One cut, then, and it was all over.

Kendril swiped back with his own sword.

Nadine danced effortlessly out of the way.

Eru
she was fast.

Kendril jumped back and crashed into two stagehands.

They shouted in surprise, then in fear as they saw the flashing blades and intense combat. They turned and ran off.

Kendril ignored them. His focus was on the scything knives that lashed out at him again and again.

She was fast. Crazy fast. This was his fourth time going up against her, and her speed and skill surprised him all over again. The way she moved just didn’t seem
possible
.

There was a warbling of a single soprano from somewhere behind Kendril.

The opera. Of course. It was still going.

He tripped backwards, losing ground and fighting desperately.

Someone shouted something.

Kendril felt a hand pluck momentarily at his cloak. Furious, he tore away, barely blocking one of Nadine’s attacks in the process. His gaze stayed riveted on the long knives she held in each hand.

She parried his blow, then twirled nimbly and kicked him hard in the center of his chest.

Kendril stumbled backwards. He crashed through a thick curtain, then he was suddenly out in an open, blindingly lit space. Surprised, he raised a hand against the glare.

There was a row of glow-globes immediately to his right, set into the edge of a platform. Beyond that, barely visible past the brilliant lights, was a sea of faces that stretched up and away as far as he could see.

The singing suddenly stopped.

“
Ashes
,” Kendril swore.

Nadine swept past the curtain, then lunged at him again.

Olan moved down the upper hall of the theater. He paused outside of the open entrance to each private box as he went, peering inside.

Nothing. If it hadn’t been for their warm reception at the theater’s entrance, he would have thought they were on a wild goose-chase. As it was, he was beginning to think more and more that Kendril and Wanara were on the right track. The enemy undoubtedly lay somewhere backstage, amid the bowels of the theater.

So why had he sent Kendril back there in the first place? A stupid mistake on his part. The Ghostwalker was so rash and foolish that he might well lose them their quarry. He didn’t know what Madris saw in Kendril, why she listened to him and kept defending him.

Olan reached the end of the hall and turned with a scowl on his face. There were four levels of private boxes set above the level of seats on the ground floor of the opera house. He had seen nothing unusual in any of them.

It was time to get backstage.

He strode quickly down the carpeted hall, one hand on the hilt of his sword. At this point he didn’t know who in this theater to trust. It was obvious the cult had been operating out of here for quite some time, probably with the support of the theater’s owner.

As much as he hated to admit it, Olan was beginning to think that Kendril’s suspicions about the cult were right. It had its tendrils throughout the city, probably allied with other mystery cults as well.

There was no telling how much of Vorten had been turned to Seteru worship.

Olan neared the top of the stairs. He motioned to Hamis. “Nothing here. Let’s get backstage. Kendril’s probably found the whole cult by now.”

Hamis was staring down at the stage far below them. “You could say that again,” he rumbled. He pointed.

The orchestral music continued, but the singing that had been filling the hall just moments before had abruptly stopped.

Olan turned his head and looked. “Great Eru in Pelos,” he breathed.

Nadine’s daggers sliced through the air.

Kendril leapt back. He shoved a chorus member dressed in a barbarian costume out of his way, then blocked both of the assassin’s attacks.

Nadine somersaulted behind three peasant maidens holding buckets and fake geese, then tossed a throwing knife at the Ghostwalker.

Kendril ducked.

The blade spun off into the orchestra pit.

There was a ripple of murmurs and hushed conversation through the large audience. Some people began to stand.

Everyone on stage stared at Kendril and Nadine. A plump, blonde-haired woman dressed in a milkmaid’s outfit stood in the center of the stage. Her mouth was open so wide a frog could have leapt in.

The orchestra began to falter. The whispers in the audience became more intense.

Kendril and Nadine pushed out into the center of the stage, their blades ringing and whistling as they fought each other.

Cast members scurried out of their way.

In the audience someone laughed nervously.

The orchestra’s playing ground to a discordant halt. The hall was now filled with the confused conversation of the audience members.

One of the chorus members stepped towards Nadine with an extended arm.

She whirled and slashed his throat.

A cacophony of screams erupted from the audience.

The actors bolted, running for either side of the stage. They tore at each other in their haste, shouting and yelling. One of the set pieces, a large wooden backdrop painted to resemble a Rajathan vineyard, came crashing down with a thunderous
boom.

Screams and shouts filled the opera house. The audience members began to stand, clawing their way to the exits.

Nadine kicked a basket out of her way. She cocked her head at Kendril and smiled, her long knives at the ready.

There was no time to reload another pistol. It was blade work now, fast and sharp.

The problem was, Nadine was faster.

Kendril staggered back. He was out of breath. His hands ached from where the iron pokers had bruised them the night before. A sudden weariness overtook him. He hadn’t slept in almost two days.

He shook his head, blinking hard. Not now. He had to keep his wits and his focus.

Nadine clucked her tongue. “Am I too much for you, handsome?”

“Go to the Third Fire,” Kendril spat.

He launched himself forward.

Maklavir dropped next to Kara and covered her with a musty blanket.

Joseph looked up. “Is that all you could find?”

“Our friend brought it.” The diplomat inclined his head towards the door. “I must really have scared him. He threw the blanket at me and ran off.”

“Let’s hope he’s not part of the cult.” Joseph wrapped Kara’s inert form in the blanket.

She was still unconscious, but some color was slowly beginning to return to her face.

Maklavir got up and moved to the desk. “Yes, well if the worst this cult does is throw blankets at us, I’d be tempted to join myself.”

“Don’t joke like that.” Joseph rubbed the side of Kara’s face. “She’s still cold.”

Maklavir grunted as he wrenched one of the drawers of the desk out. “Yes, well she was down in that freezing sewer with nothing more than that torn dress of hers on.” He crossed to the fire and tossed the wooden drawer on top of the blaze.

Joseph pulled back the blanket. “It’s wet. And she’s still shivering.” He paused awkwardly. “We should probably…well, get it off her.”

Maklavir crossed his arms. “Ah.”

Joseph’s face turned bright red. “Don’t give me that. It’s—as long as she’s wearing it, she…I mean, she won’t—”

Maklavir cocked an eyebrow. “Right.”

Joseph leaned back and took a deep breath. His hands froze over the girl’s huddled form.

There was an awkward pause.

“Oh for Eru’s sake,” Maklavir said with a roll of his eyes, “step out of the way. You’re more prudish than a Baderan school mistress.”

Joseph backed up a bit. He looked awkwardly away. “You’re sure you don’t…I mean do you need—?”

Maklavir pulled back the blanket. “Trust me, if there is one thing I have
plenty
of experience with, it’s undressing a woman. Of course, usually they’re awake when I’m doing it.”

Joseph shyly averted his eyes. He suddenly straightened up. “The music, it’s stopped.”

Joseph and Maklavir both looked at each other.

“
Kendril
,” they said at the same time.

The screams and yells of a thousand panicked people filled the opera house. Everyone was trying to flee down the aisles at once. It was sheer chaos.

Oh, well. Kendril had never been much for the subtle approach anyways.

Nadine parried his blow, then slid under his scything second attack. She aimed a stab up at his gut.

He twisted, catching the edge of her long knife and deflecting it before it cut him open.

She laughed.

Regnuthu take her, she was actually having
fun
. And she wasn’t even breathing hard, for Eru’s sake. She was moving with such fluid, dexterous strikes that Kendril felt like a clumsy oaf in comparison. Her swordsmanship was outstanding, her footwork impeccable.

And Kendril was beginning to suspect that she was deliberately playing with him. She wanted the panic, wanted the fleeing house of people to create even more chaos and confusion…

It was the perfect cover for Bronwyn and Mina to escape.

Kendril set his face. He was being played. And while he fought with this cursed assassin, Vorten’s fate was being sealed.

He pressed in with another fierce attack, slashing both his blades in quick succession.

She parried both strikes with ease, then skipped back towards the rear of the stage.

“Bronwyn was right,” she said jauntily. “You
are
a lot of fun, Kendril.” She turned and ran up the flight of stairs that led to the faux castle wall backdrop behind them.