Ghostwalker (Book 1) (12 page)

The Ghostwalker frantically swept his eyes over the roaring inferno, trying desperately to think of a way out. His eyes caught sight of the staircase. The railing was starting to burn, but otherwise it looked intact.

His decision made in the space of a heartbeat, Kendril leapt over the bar.

For the second time that evening Maklavir found himself crawling across the ground, and he found it no more pleasant than his first experience. He had left his cape with Jade, along with the animals. Not that it particularly mattered. He would no doubt be dead in the space of two minutes. Then again, he was a gambling man at heart. Say three.

Wincing at the prospect of what his clothes must look like at this point, Maklavir flipped over onto his back, lifting one of the pouches filled with gunpowder and inserting it carefully into the crack between two logs in the stockade wall. He pushed it firmly but carefully with his fingers, making sure it was wedged in place, then made sure that the matchcord was properly attached. He pushed himself further down the length of the wall, risking a look back to see what was going on.

There were two men now, both no more than fifteen yards away. Thankfully they both had their backs to him, and hadn’t seemed to have spotted him yet. That was a small miracle. Their attention seemed to be riveted on the inn. Of course, if either of them turned around they would no doubt see him, and probably the one with the crossbow would shoot him dead.

Hard to miss at fifteen yards.

Maklavir stopped again, pressing yet another powder pouch into the stockade wall. Well, this was certainly going better than he had expected. Perhaps he really would get out of this alive after all. Someday, no doubt years from now, he would look back on this moment and laugh. Well, perhaps not laugh, but—

One of the two men turned their head in Maklavir’s direction. The diplomat froze instantly, the blood running cold in his veins.

Had it been two minutes, then, or three?

The second floor hallway was filled with smoke, but it hardly mattered. Kendril always made it a point to check out his surroundings, and he had been upstairs before. The room he had rented—had it been just earlier that afternoon? It seemed so much longer ago now. In any event, the room he had rented was the third door on the left, the one at the end of the hall. And at the very end of the hall, looking out the east side of the inn, was a window.

And that window was going to save Kendril’s life. Or be the death of him. Either way, he thought as he ran down the hall, it certainly beat burning to death.

He struck the window with his left shoulder, and felt the glass shatter out into the night.

“Hey,” said Uther suddenly, tapping Regvar on the shoulder. “What’s that, back behind us?”

“What’s what?” asked Regvar, turning to look.

A sudden shattering noise from the side of the inn caused them both to turn. For a second, they stood there in stupefied silence, then Regvar swore loudly.

“They’re getting out the windows. Come on!”

The question wasn’t really whether the fall would hurt. Any drop from the second floor of a building was going to hurt. The real question was how badly it would hurt, and whether any bones would be broken.

Kendril hit the ground with a roll, trying to absorb as much of the shock as possible. Shards of glass littered the grass around him as he slid to a stop down a slight slope, rolling three times before he came to rest. He stood quickly, one hand reaching for the pistol he had holstered.

Remarkably, it didn’t feel like any of his bones had snapped. Even more remarkably, he couldn’t feel the sharp burn of any cuts yet, either. In front of him was the large shape of the inn. He was looking straight up at its east side, smoke and flames pouring out of every possible opening. .

A sharp cry spun his attention to the right. A man came running around the back of the inn, a basket-hilt sword in his hand. As soon as he saw Kendril, his face twisted into a snarl, and he launched himself forward.

With his other hand reaching for his second pistol, Kendril brought the first up to fire.

He only hoped that Maklavir could actually blow a hole in the wall.

Otherwise, they were all as good as dead…

Montrose heard the shattering of glass, even over the flames and cracking timbers of the inn. It sounded as if it had come from over to the right. He took a few quick sidesteps in that direction, while still keeping one eye on the front door of the inn.

Queltin gave him a questioning look.

Montrose saw someone getting to their feet by the side of the inn. By the light of the flames he could see the figure wore a black cloak.

“It’s him!” he called to Queltin. He swung his crossbow around, bringing it up to his cheek.

For reasons that Maklavir was still having problems fathoming, he was very much still alive.

Not that he was complaining, mind. He had always preferred the prospect of living to that of a painful death. The two men who he thought would be his executors had been distracted by something along the eastern side of the inn, and both had vanished out of sight.

It was the chance Maklavir had needed. Fortune had apparently dealt him the cards he needed, and he wasn’t about to toss them away.

He got to his feet and shoved another powder bag into the crack between the logs, about a foot above his head. Only two or three more and then there was nothing left but to light the fuse.

And hope the gunpowder wasn’t too damp from the rain, of course—

Jade tugged the two bridles she held in her left hand, bringing Kendril’s mule and Maklavir’s horse close to the stable door. In her other hand she held the pistol, which she was beginning to hope and pray she wouldn’t have to use.

It was almost impossible to see what was happening outside through the open crack of the door. She had lost sight of Maklavir, and she couldn’t see Kendril, either.

Veritas whinnied nervously, pulling back on his bridle.

Jade stuck the pistol in her belt, rubbing the horse soothingly on the neck to calm him. The smell of smoke was starting to panic the animal.

Truth be told, it was starting to panic her, too.

Kendril’s pistol thundered, but his shot was too hurried to be accurate. The bullet went wild and punched into the side of the inn.

Regvar bared his teeth, bringing his heavy blade down at the Ghostwalker.

Kendril twisted to one side and dropped his spent pistol to the ground. He reached for one of his short swords with his free hand.

Regvar slashed through empty air, losing his balance slightly, then made another sweeping strike.

Kendril blundered backwards. His other hand came up with his second pistol, but not in time.

The sword was going to cleave his head in two, and if he stepped back, it would just be worse.

So, with the instantaneous reasoning born from long years of fighting, Kendril leapt forward, and smashed the top of his head into Regvar’s face.

The henchman stumbled back with a cry of pain, blood gushing from his broken nose. His sword swiped through empty air.

That one second of hesitation was all Kendril needed.

The Ghostwalker drew his short sword and swung it hard at the thug’s neck. The sharp blade tore though Regvar’s throat, almost severing his head completely. The man tumbled to the ground.

Kendril was already moving.

Without looking to see what damage he had caused, he rotated to look behind him, his second pistol at the ready.

Another man was coming right at him, a sword held ready to attack. It was the same thug he had fought in the inn earlier, and he didn’t look too happy.

Kendril blasted off a quick shot with his pistol, filling the night air with a sharp flash and stench of gunpowder. At the same moment he dropped to the ground.

A crossbow bolt tore through the air where Kendril had been. He had no idea where it had come from.

Queltin gripped his sword in both hands, bringing it down in a frenzied blow.

Kendril artfully rolled to the side. The sword missed him and plowed into the ground. Pivoting, Kendril swiped his own blade at Queltin’s exposed knee.

The henchman was too wily to be caught by such a trick. He dodged out of the way, then lurched his sword back for another strike. Two of the stitches on his cheek burst from the effort.

Kendril leapt to his feet and blocked one blow from the swordsman, then another as Queltin came at him again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a man with a crossbow out in the street in front of the inn, waiting patiently for an open shot. By the back corner of the inn was another man, hurriedly reloading another crossbow.

Kendril was caught in between. It was only a matter of time before he took a bolt in the back or the chest.

Blazing cinders scattered down in all directions as part of the inn wall collapsed. A column of smoke and fire roared up and blocked the way to the front street. The inn was a raging inferno by now. The entire structure was ready to collapse.

If Queltin sensed the danger, he didn’t seem to care. With blood streaming down his cheek from his reopened wound, he charged at Kendril again, his war cry lost in the roar of the flames.

The intense heat searing his back, Kendril stepped forward to meet certain death.

With a shuddering groan the front section of the inn collapsed, sending up a swirling cloud of sparks. Montrose took a few steps back as part of the porch caved in as well. His view of Queltin and the Ghostwalker was completely blocked. Had they been caught in the flames?

He raced back down the street, splashing through a large puddle as he came to the front of the burning inn. Nothing could still be alive in there. Either the girl was dead, or she had somehow escaped.

If she had gotten out of the inn, she couldn’t have gone very—

Montrose stopped in his tracks. The stables. Of course. It was possible, given a little luck, that someone could have crawled from the back of the inn to the stables without being seen from across the street.

Keeping clear of the showering spray of burning fragments and heat, Montrose turned to the left side of the inn.

Only one way to find out for sure…

Jade barely had time to leap to one side before the stable door came crashing open. Maklavir came in and shut the door quickly behind him.

“Did you do it?” Jade asked.

Maklavir grinned. “We’ll know in about fifteen seconds.”

A burning timber crashed down. It barely missed the spot where Uther was standing. He jumped back, uttering a strangled curse.

The whole inn was coming down, and he would go with it, if he wasn’t careful.

Grabbing his half-loaded crossbow, he turned away from the two men fighting in front of him.

Montrose was paying him well, but not
that
well.

Kendril parried another blow. His sword vibrated from the impact.

Queltin slashed his sword back again and barely missed the Ghostwalker’s chest. A muffled roar came from within the burning inn beside them as part of the second story floor collapsed.

Sweat ran down Kendril’s face. The heat of the blaze was scorching the side of his face. He lashed out with a counterblow, then darted quickly off to one side.

Queltin came at him again, oblivious to the growing danger around them.

As he moved back, Kendril’s foot slipped on a wet patch of grass. With a sharp sense of panic he felt his entire leg slide out from beneath him. He hit the ground hard.

Queltin came towards him, and lifted his sword for a killing blow.

Montrose cleared the back of the inn, seeing the dark shape of the stables in the flickering glare of the fire. The towering stockade wall was just behind it. He raised his crossbow as a sudden shape came running towards him from his right.

“Don’t shoot!” the man cried. “It’s Uther.”

Montrose lowered his weapon, pointing back behind the inn. “The stables. Let’s move.”

“That’s funny,” said Maklavir thoughtfully. “It should have gone off by now. Perhaps I was counting wrong.”

“Maybe we should—“ Jade’s voice stopped mid-sentence. She was peering out of the crack in the stable door once again.

Maklavir quickly straightened. “What’s wrong?”

Jade recoiled from the door, desperately reaching for the pistol in her belt. “It’s
him
! The man in the inn. He’s—”

Her words were suddenly drowned out by the roar of a huge explosion.

Chapter 9

The blast caught Queltin completely by surprise.

He instinctively ducked, thinking for a moment that someone was firing a cannon behind him. But even as he turned his head, he knew the noise was too loud.

An entire section of the stockade wall had simply disintegrated, sending pieces of wood flying in all directions. A huge column of smoke was billowing out across the grass, stretching up into the dark sky.

Queltin suddenly realized he had let his guard down for a fraction of a second. He turned back to his opponent, but the Ghostwalker was already gone.

He whirled frantically, sword at the ready, but he couldn’t see the man anywhere. Choking smoke filled the air all around him, making it difficult to breathe. Queltin held the sword at the ready, backing up as he desperately attempted to find his enemy.

It was no use. There was too much smoke. He could barely—

With a lumbering crash the inn wall came smashing down, fire and burning debris raining down around him. The henchman glanced up just a split-second before flaming death enveloped him.

Queltin didn’t even have time to scream.

Montrose was striding towards the stables, reaching for his mace, when all of a sudden he found himself looking at the night sky. The stars were moving, he noticed. No, he thought,
he
was moving.

And then he hit the ground.

Splinters of shattered wood sprayed in all directions as Montrose came sliding to a stop, about twenty feet away from where he had been before. Blood ran down his neck from a cut. He tried to get to his feet, but fell backwards again, his ears still ringing from the noise.