Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (30 page)

Loren reached out and took Gem’s arm, gently and without a sound. She took one step back. A moment’s confusion, and then he nodded and followed.

“Who cares?” said Auntie. “Probably dead in some alley somewhere, and a blessing to the nine lands.”

Damaris did not scream or cry out. Instead, she reached into her dress sleeve. Her hand emerged with a dagger. The blade sank into Auntie’s side, between the ribs and under her arm. Auntie gasped and tried to scream, but it left her mouth in a wheeze.

“You can use your gift to heal yourself,” said Damaris, withdrawing the dagger. Her words held truth, for Loren saw the wound sealing itself already. “I will test the limits of that magic, weremage. Tell me where my daughter is.”

Loren took another step back, this one quicker. Too fast, for it caught Gregor’s eye, and she saw realization dawn.

Auntie gasped again, and her voice returned. “I have not seen your daughter in days. Last I did, she was running about with
that
one.”

Auntie tossed her head over Damaris’s shoulder. The merchant turned slowly, eyes fixing on Loren’s. Her mask of cool, icy calm melted slowly away, and in her eyes Loren saw a fury and fire more terrible than she had ever seen in the face of her father.

Loren seized Gem’s arm and spun him around. A guard blinked in confusion as the pair dodged around him. Then, together, they fled into the darkness.

thirty-five

“It looks tall,” Gem said, breathless, stopping at the first drainage hole they could find.

Loren ignored him, seized the boy under the arms, and flung him to the edge of the drainage hole. Once he crawled out, she leapt to seize it herself. But he’d been right, and Loren had misjudged the distance. Her fingers could find no purchase on stone.

“Come on!” cried Gem, reaching down for her.

Loren heard shouts down the sewer behind her. She turned back for a moment to see a cluster of torchlights dancing down the passageway toward her.
 

“No time! Run! Vanish! I will not let them catch me.”

Loren dashed off down the passageway without waiting for Gem’s reply. Drainage holes lined the ceiling and lit her way, but they also allowed the guards to easily see her. And the passage did not split in many directions, so she had no chance to lose them in a maze.
 

Still, Loren had grown up running, and the guards wore pounds of armor. Soon, she had gained enough of a lead to think she might risk climbing out, and did at the next hole that looked low enough to do so. She judged the height correctly, and her fingers clutched easily at the stone. She hauled up and slid out, emerging into the bright daylight. Loren heard the furious shouts of pursuers below her. Even as she watched, a mail-gloved hand seized the drainage hole’s edge.

She fled blindly down the street as the guard emerged behind her, giving chase with a shout. Soon, Loren heard voices join him.

She rounded a corner, desperately scanning to determine her whereabouts. The wealthier district for certain, but beyond that she did not know.

More heavy boots tromped the street behind her. Trying to gather her bearings slowed Loren down. She needed time to form a plan but would not get it so long as they followed.

Two constables froze and stared at Loren in shock as she rounded another corner. She darted down an alley away from them. But the guardsmen did not lose the trail. She did not dare look behind her.

The roofs,
she thought.
I need the roofs.

Finally, she saw one, low hanging and with two crates against the wall below it. She vaulted up the crates and seized the shingles, pulling herself up. Then, finding her feet again, she ran along the slope to the next roof, leaping the gap to reach it.

Her head cleared in the open air. She looked around. Not far off, she spotted the familiar sight of the constables’ jail, towering over the other buildings. That, at least, told Loren where she was. And just like that, a plan appeared. It was mad, but insanity must serve when reason failed to appear. She found a path that cut left and led her toward the jail.

On the streets below, Loren saw Damaris’s men running parallel to her course. They dogged her steps, running below her like hounds trying to bring an eagle to bay. But they could not catch her, and by a stroke of luck she led them to an alley with no outlet. The men halted with furious shouts and turned to trace back their steps. Soon, their voices faded behind her.

The jail grew ever closer. Soon, she was only a few streets away. But Loren did not have Gem’s knowledge of the city and came suddenly to a roof that led nowhere. No other building stood near enough to reach by leap or miracle, and going back would only send her to Damaris’s men.

She was two stories up. Edging to the roof, Loren looked down to see a merchant’s sign hanging from the building’s front, suspended by a strong beam. It reached six feet into the street, fixed to the building halfway to the ground.

Loren steeled her nerves, took a deep breath, and dropped off the roof’s edge.

She aimed for the beam, and her aim held true. But she hit it too fast. The wood slammed into her chest like a warhammer’s blow and took her breath in a
whoosh.
Loren tried gripping the beam but flew too hard and fell to the street. Her right ankle twisted hard as she fell and ripped a scream from her throat.
 

She had landed in a busy thoroughfare of a street, and many stared at her in shock. Fortunately, she saw no constables. Loren fought to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her ankle. It would not bear her, at least not for long. But the jail stood close, only a couple of buildings away.

Hobbling like a lame old man, Loren limped for the gap between buildings. On the other side lay the street before the jail. She was almost there. She would make it. She hobbled faster and faster, until every step commanded a whimper.
 

She heard a cry of alarm behind her. Someone had alerted the constables—or Damaris’s men. Tromping boots again filled her ears.

Loren reached the street and nearly fell as she came into the open again. But somehow, she stayed upright. There stood the jail’s front door, with two constables standing guard with halberds before it.
 

Stars and sky smiled upon her, for Loren recognized in one of them Corin’s squat and bulky frame.

Both men stared at her in shock—Corin’s face a perfect picture of disbelief. They stood rooted as Loren stumped toward them and finally let her ankle give way. She collapsed to the ground in the very doorway of the jail, and as she rolled to her side she saw half a dozen of Damaris’s men behind her.

Loren ignored them, looking up into Corin’s worried eyes. “Justice,” she wheezed. “I throw myself upon the mercy of the King’s justice.”

thirty-six

Corin stooped to seize Loren’s arm and yanked her to standing. She winced as her weight came down hard upon her ankle.

“Give us that girl, constable,” growled one of Damaris’s guards. Loren recognized him as the one who had failed to break down the door in the sewers.

“Are you mad?” growled Corin, glaring at the man. “I am the King’s constable. I obey his laws, not you.”

“She is nothing to you,” said the guard.
 

“Nothing?” said Corin. “I have chased this girl for leagues, through forests and across rivers, over mountains and under the moon. I am glad to have her in my grasp at last, where she may be put to the question.”

Even knowing it for an act, Loren’s stomach clenched.
Be calm,
she reminded herself.
He cannot reveal himself.

The guard put a hand to his sword hilt. His companions did the same. Corin and the other constable lifted their halberds from the ground. The air thickened with tension.

“I warn you one last time,” said the guard. “If you do not give her over to us, my lady will ensure you regret it.”

“Threats?” barked Corin. “Threats against the law? What is your name, fool? And best, you give me the name of your lady as well, though I can well guess it. Perhaps the both of you could profit from time in a cell.”

He slammed the butt of his halberd twice against the door behind him. It swung open, and three more constables emerged, each armed with a broad shield and sword.

The guards hesitated. Slowly, they removed their hands from their weapons.
 

Their leader said, “If you think my lady will enter your jail over this, you vastly underestimate her,” but some of the fight had abandoned his voice.

“Begone,” said Corin. “Justice will be served. Stay any longer, and you will dine from its bitter dish.”

The guard did not answer but turned and walked away, taking his companions with him.

“What was that all about?” asked one of the other constables.

“Nothing,” said Corin gruffly. “Only a few fools with heads too big for their helmets. Take my watch, Brother. I will escort this one to her cell myself.”

Corin handed over his halberd, and one of the newcomers took his place beside the door. Another constable swung the door wide, and Corin escorted Loren inside.

The jail’s front room seemed oppressively squat. A small fireplace sat in the corner missing its flames. A desk lay against the far wall, and behind it sat a fat man with a bushy beard. His red leather armor barely contained his ample frame. A large book with many pages rested before him, along with an inkpot and quill.

“Who’s this, then?” asked the clerk.

“Loren is her name, of the family Nelda,” said Corin. “The one that Bern named.”

Bushy white eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “Indeed? He will be well pleased to see her, I wager. I will check her for weapons.”

“I have it,” snapped Corin. He ran his hands down Loren’s sides. She felt his hand pass over the dagger, but he made no mention. Same for her two bags of coin. But he reached into her boot, withdrew her hunting knife, and tossed it to the clerk.

“That is all,” said Corin.

“Very well.” The clerk bent to write in his book.

Corin took Loren to the stairs. Once they had climbed the first flight, he paused on the steps, loosened his grip, and pulled Loren closer.

“I am sorry about your knife, but it would have looked suspicious otherwise,” he said in an urgent whisper. “Why have you returned?”

“A matter of desperation, I fear. I was pursued, as you saw.” Loren winced as her ankle nearly buckled beneath her. “Be gentle, if you please.”

Corin frowned. “I fear you may have guessed poorly at the situation. I cannot sneak you out, not now at any rate. Too many have heard your description from Bern, and not twice can I pull the farce of being overcome. I must place you in a cell.”

“I understand. I will think of something.”
 

Loren hoped that would prove true.
 

“I fear we have no empty cells. We took many boys this morning, young urchins all. Bern led many men on a raid—to find you, actually. Do you know aught of that?”

“You must not put me with them,” she said as panic gripped her. “They will kill me on sight. Their mistress, Auntie, is mad with hate for me.”

Corin drew back to look at her. “Stars and sky, girl. What is it about you that draws such trouble?”

“A special talent, I am sure. One I must learn to break, before it breaks me.”

“Indeed. I will empty one cell into the others. They will not be comfortable but will suffer no choice.”

“Thank you, Constable Corin. I am again in your debt.”

“We are both in the debt of greater masters, and you know it.”
 

Loren flushed. She wondered at Corin’s cryptic words, and at what would happen if the constable discovered she did not work for the masters he thought.
 

She barred the thought as Corin led her to the second floor. The stairs ended upon a landing with a lone guard standing by a door. He nodded at Constable Corin and opened the door to a long aisle with iron cells lining either side. The foul stench of human refuse wafted toward Loren and made her feel ill.
 

“Come,” said Corin. “This one requires a cage of her own. A valuable catch, and not one we shall risk with any other prisoner.”

The guard nodded and followed them in. The stink grew ten time worse. The aisle stretched a long way before turning left, leading to still more cages.

In every cell sat swarms of children. Many were Auntie’s fighters, but many more were her wide-eyed pickpockets. These sat silent in huddled groups in the cells’ centers, eyes wide and frightened as they watched her pass. Loren’s heart nearly broke. These wretched creatures looked lost without their mother, mad though she might be. Now they suffered in darkness and silence, surrounded by nothing but their reeking waste.

“What will happen to them?”
 

“They will be out by the morrow,” said Corin gruffly. “Not that you need worry about them, wretch.”

Loren wanted to kick herself.
 

I must not reveal the game
.
 

They came to a cell with six urchins. The guard pulled a great ring of keys from his belt, picked one, and opened the door. The children scuttled against the back wall like roaches. But the constable proved surprisingly gentle, ushering them out the door one at a time and to other cells while Corin stood guard to keep the rest from escaping.