Sourcethief (Book 3) (33 page)

"You will die by your own weapon, demon!"
said the young woman wielding it like a dowsing rod. She still had her eyes,
though her male companion bore the tell-tale vacant sockets of Loramar's
devotees.

"Use it, destroy him!" said the other,
backing away.

"Draw in as much aether as you like, it works
by channeling it through the blade," Rashan offered. The woman wielding
Heavens Cry took a step back, eyes widening. "What? Are you surprised I
speak Ghelkan or that I would tell you how my masterpiece works? I have nothing
to fear from it
or
from you. Now either use it or hand it over."

Rashan extended a hand for the sword but only
advanced a single step before he felt the twinge of a fledgling pull against
the aether. Heavens Cry belched forth a plume of noxious green vapor. The demon
laughed aloud as it spread harmlessly around him. With a beckoning gesture, he
used telekinesis to tug both adversaries toward him—into the fumes. A pair of
screams cut the air as flesh burned. Rashan retrieved his blade.

"Play with things you do not understand, and
this is what you get," he said with a snarl. His comment was lost on the
sword-thief, who was already dead.

* * * * * * *
*

"Fine. I admit your plan worked, now take your
people and flee the palace," Princess Shiann ordered. While many of Lon
Mai's citizens had taken to the countryside, the palace staff and all the
residents had remained.

"This is madness. You can't stay put with him
in the city," General Kaynnyn argued. She had to duck and lean around
porters herding children and guards gathering supplies for an escape.
"He's bound to come here when he can't find Councilor Fehr."

Princess Shiann grabbed General Kaynnyn by the arm
and locked gazes with her. Tiny sparks of aether made it appear as if flames
flickered in her eyes. "Maybe if we stop running we will find that this
one is fuller of lies than of legend. Trickery and fear are his weapons. Aether
is aether and there will be five of us against just one of him."

General Kaynnyn pursed her lips and clenched her
jaw. Her eyes screamed that Princess Shiann was being foolish but, she kept
silent and just shook her head.

"My father is too old and sick to travel. I
will not just abandon him here to the demon," Princess Shiann said.
Turning from the Megrenn general, she snapped her fingers in the air. "To
me!"

Sorcerers in dusky blue robes peeled themselves from
the edges of the room and fell into step behind the Ghelkan princess as she
swept out of the room.

General Kaynnyn stood fuming for a moment before
leaving to find Councilor Fehr's family and Shiann's daughter.

* * * * * * *
*

The door burst open, drawing Tanner's attention away
from the window and the scene playing out below. He turned to see Stalyart—or
whoever Stalyart's twin was—slamming the door behind him. Stalyart's arms were
piled high with a bundle of clothes.

"Put these on and make haste," Stalyart
said.

"What's going on? It looks like everyone is
leaving," Tanner replied.

"Not everyone, but if you are wise you will be
among them. Come," Stalyart said, forcing the bundle into Tanner's hands
when he made no move to take them. "Get changed."

Tanner took custody of a city guard's uniform. He
found that it was wrapped around a familiar weight. Eschewing the disguise for
the time being, he unwrapped his sword belt and found his own personal weapon
ensconced safely within its sheath. He hugged it close before buckling it on.

"I felt naked walking around here unarmed.
Thanks."

"Ghelk is counterattacking now that Jinzan has
taken on the role of Grand Necromancer," Stalyart explained. "The
people fear retribution once they gain the demon's attention. It has become a
very popular time to visit relatives who live in the countryside. There is a
wig in there too, to hide your dark hair."

"Aw, really? This is all sneak and blend in? I
hate that slinking stuff. Can't we just fight our way out in the night?"
Tanner asked.

"The time is the time, just like the tide
says," Stalyart said. "Enough talking. Dress yourself."

"Why are you helping me, anyway?" Tanner
asked as he stripped out of his Kadrin clothes. "Aren't you worried about
crossing your necro-pirate friend?"

"He is not here and I have a more pressing
alliance to make right now. Perhaps with a mutual dependence we might find our
situation more amiable."

"So, trying to make nice on the other side?
Fine, I'll buy that one." Tanner pulled the guard uniform over his head,
and squirmed his arms into the sleeves. "Think it'll work?" he asked.

"There are a great many people all rushing
about—"

"No, I mean getting on my good side,"
Tanner said with a grin.

There was shouting outside the room, but the Ghelkan
was all gibberish as far as Tanner was concerned. But it was angry gibberish,
and with a sword belted at his side, he drew it without a second thought.

A moment later the door burst open and five palace
guards entered. They were all armed, but none carried their weapons in hand.
There was a frantic conversation as Stalyart stepped between Tanner and the new
arrivals, all in Ghelkan. By the gesturing, Tanner surmised there was some
explaining to be done over why he was now armed and dressed in a uniform of the
Lon Mai city guard.

Tanner let his sword dangle loosely in his hand and
held his other out wide in a gesture that said "I have no idea what I'm
doing here." He approached the group slowly, walking up to stand beside
Stalyart. The guards eyed him warily but their attention was on the
fast-talking smuggler. Nevertheless, weapons were being drawn, though with
little urgency.

"Hey, I'm just going along with this,"
Tanner said. The guards paid scant attention to him but he continued on anyway
as they babbled back and forth with Stalyart. "I had just needed some
fresh clothes while mine went down to the washerwomen."

There was still no sign that the guards were able to
understand him, but they kept one eye to him while they continued arguing with
Stalyart.

"Step back," Tanner said, not altering his
conversational tone. "Make it quick."

Whether Stalyart trusted him or had no better
option, the twinborn smuggler took two rapid steps backward. Tanner lifted his
blade and had it in the nearest guard's throat before any of them brought their
own weapons up to defend themselves.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Mr.
Tanner," said Stalyart as he drew his own sword.

Tanner said nothing in reply. Instead he
concentrated fully on the four remaining guards who suddenly decided he was
worth much more of their attention than the word-slinging friend of Councilor
Fehr. He used the body of the dying guard as a hazard to the footing of his
opponents and kept it between himself and them.

The guardsmen's swipes were tentative, probing.
Tanner had seen it all before. It was endemic of knights who had never seen
real combat, something in the head that kept the practice-yard heroics from
translating into a real fight: the fear of death. Tanner feared death as much
as the next man but had long since inured himself to the idea that it was going
to hang over him in every battle. Letting the thought of it preoccupy him just
made it more likely to happen.

He slapped a Ghelkan sword aside, taking a measure
of its length and sending it into the way of another of the guards. He had an
advantage of reach but only by a handsbreadth. He was more interested in the
fact that none of the Ghelkans seemed to know how to fight in close quarters as
a group. Tanner kept his parries quick and safe, always guiding the Ghelkans'
blade into each other's way whenever possible. The Ghelkans were not stupid and
began to spread out.

Tanner spared a glance back at Stalyart to see
whether his flank would be defended, but saw that his companion held well back.
Knowing that there was only so long he could hold four men at bay once more than
two of them reached him at once, Tanner took the offensive.

A quick feint drew his rightmost opponent's sword
out wide and a quick slash at his wrist sent his sword falling from limp
fingers. Tanner stepped in close and used the unarmed man to shield himself
from the rest. With only one flank to worry about, Tanner pressed his
advantage. He timed a thrust by the next nearest guardsman, and surprised the
man by meeting the attack with a thrust of his own. Tanner judged the distance
such that he put less than a handsbreadth of steel into the guard's throat as
the tip of the dead man's blade blew a rush of air just under his chin.

Faced with just two remaining opponents, Tanner
relaxed. One of the two turned to the other and said something; the other
replied with a single word and an emphatic shake of his head.

"Stalyart, get your stuff packed up. We're
about ready to go," Tanner said without turning back to look at his
"rescuer." He heard the steps behind him as Stalyart circled around.

The final two guards separated to keep out of one
another's way. That was all Tanner had been waiting for. He rushed the one on
his right, turning to keep the other in his field of vision. He beat the man's
sword aside, waited for the overcompensation on the recovery, and followed up
with a thrust to the man's gut.

His blade was freed as the guard crumpled to the
ground, trying to staunch the bleeding with a layer of leather in the way. The
last guard standing—the one who had seemed to prompt his companion to retreat a
moment ago—began to back toward the door, eyes wide and blade held pointed at
Tanner.

Tanner sighed as the same trick worked twice in a
row and he made quick work of the last guard.

Tanner watched Stalyart put his blade to two of the
wounded as he made his way to the door. "Decided to wet your sword a
bit?"

"There is no point in allowing loud suffering
to draw yet more attention to our departure," Stalyart replied. He wiped
his blade clean on the bedsheets before leaving the room.

Outside Tanner's cell, the spires of the palace were
connected by covered stone bridges. Tanner walked out onto the covered stone
bridge and looked down, then to Stalyart and the heavy coil of rope he had
picked up from by the door.

"You gotta be joking," Tanner said.
Stalyart smiled and began tying an end around one of the supports to the
bridge’s roof. "I'll be gutted before I climb down from here. I'd rather
take my chances fighting my way down through the main spire."

"Yes, you did rather well just now with your
blade. For all your boasting, I had expected more style from your
efforts," Stalyart said as he continued his work.

"Style gets you killed. So does getting your
blade shoved so far through some poor grunt that you can't get it back out in
time to defend yourself. You nick and poke and maim and do whatever you can to
keep blades out of your soft bits," Tanner said. "None of that
matters though if we smash against the ground like overripe gourds."

"Mr. Tanner," Stalyart said. "I know
a thing, or perhaps a great many things about knots and rope. I trusted your
blade to finish those guards and I stayed clear of you as you worked. Now
trusts must be traded. We are taking my way down and we will not fall."
Stalyart began tying the other end of the rope about his waist and legs and did
something with the slack in between that left a loose knot between the
harnesses and the extra rope.

"What's all this for?"

"It will slide out slowly as we descend,"
Stalyart explained. He took a shorter length of rope and lashed himself to
Tanner's back. Stalyart plopped something atop his head as well. "And if
we do not attract enough attention getting down in this manner, it might avail
us to draw no more." Tanner reached up and felt the coarse hair of a wig.

Stalyart climbed onto the railing and offered a hand
to help Tanner up. Tanner clasped it with reluctance.

When Tanner climbed up beside Stalyart, he felt his
legs go weak beneath him. If not for being tethered to Stalyart he might have
fallen back down. His trepidation was short-lived as Stalyart overbalanced them
and sent them both sliding down to the ground with nothing but air to all
sides.

Tanner's scream was cut short by a hand clamped over
his mouth.

"Really, Mr. Tanner ..."

* * * * * * *
*

Rashan dragged Heavens Cry across the floor as he
went, the tip scratching a trail down the tile mosaics. He had been wandering
the main spire of the palace for an hour and more with no sign of anyone worth
killing or even parleying with.

"How is anyone supposed to find anything in
this place?" he muttered. "Round rooms everywhere, doors pointing off
in every which direction, no sense of symmetry or pattern. I wish we had kept
maps of it; this place seems like it was built just to confuse unwelcome
visitors ..."

Rashan pondered his own words a moment. The walls were
runed and lightly infused with aether—enough so that he could not see through
them.
What if there is more to it than that?