The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (419 page)

‘Gennay!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.

From within came a crash of something falling, then more screams. He redoubled his effort, battering at the solid wood while his sister shrieked in mortal terror within.

‘Mistress Gennay!’ Pirn bellowed in his ear, more than willing to lend his own shoulder to the work but still it had no effect. ‘There must be another way to get in!’

Emin stopped and frantically ran his hands over his clothing. ‘Metal, what metal do you have on you?’ He grabbed Pirn and shook the larger man like a rat. ‘Metal! A brooch, anything!’

He ripped his cloak from his shoulders, bursting the brooch pin that fastened it and fumbling a moment with the remains. Pirn watched him with astonishment, but then Gennay screamed again and he was searching his clothes too.

‘Ah damn,’ Emin shouted suddenly, drawing his sword and holding it up. It was a slim weapon, made for speed on a city street rather than the battlefield, with thin curved metal bars forming the guard. Using a knife he scraped frantically at the leather grip until he’d stripped a piece away, then worked away at it until he could draw out a pin from the handle itself.

That done, he worked at the guard until it loosened and he could slide it over the blade, discarding everything but the guard. He dropped it on the ground and pushed it into the corner between wall and flagstones, stamping at an angle until it was bent out of shape. With the damaged guard and the brooch pin Emin set to work on the lock, working at it frantically while sounds of breaking glass came from within.

‘Old man over in Arwood taught me,’ he called as he worked, in answer to Pirn’s unspoken question. ‘Only learned it to sneak out of the house.’

It seemed to take an eternity, but at last Emin caught the pin he was looking for and felt something give way in the lock. He turned it all the way and jumped to his feet, pausing only to grab the stripped down sword he’d discarded. Inside, the library was a chaotic mess of books and dancing flames.

Emin looked around in desperation, but couldn’t see his sister – the desk she’d set up to watch the reading room was overturned and the room itself aflame. The bookcases on either side of it were similarly burning, broken lamps spilling oil at their base.

‘My cloak,’ he yelled to Pirn who ran to fetch it, but before the man returned Gennay screamed again and Emin saw movement up on the mezzanine.

He ran to the stairs without waiting, keeping well clear of the burning bookcases that had each been set alight. Halfway up the stairs he faltered, not because of the flames that Pirn was already attacking, but at the sight of his sister. Gennay stood past her desk, turning wildly, one way then the next with her burning coat wrapped around a broken stick of wood.

‘The shadows,’ she shrieked, whether to him or the Land at large he couldn’t tell, ‘it’s in the shadows!’

Emin looked around as he advanced up the stairs. He couldn’t see anything unusual except for the speed with which the flames were spreading around the library. Downstairs, Pirn was beating furiously at the flames with Emin’s cloak but seemed to be getting nowhere and already the haze of smoke filled the room.

‘Gennay, come here!’

His sister whirled around, makeshift-torch held out like a weapon. ‘I can’t,’ she sobbed, ‘the shadows are out there!’

Emin hurried forward but Gennay took fright at his approach and backed off towards the straw-packed boxes of books she’d just set alight.

‘Gennay!’ he yelled, ‘we have to get out! The shadows can’t hurt you; I won’t let them hurt you! But we need to get out of the library.’

She shook her head, moving constantly as though not daring to keep her attention fixed on him. Torch held out before her, Gennay turned left then right, fearfully looking all around as though there was a viper in the room.

‘Gennay, stop!’ Emin shouted as she set fire to the papers on her desk, but before he could do anything more she screamed again and lunged for him.

‘No! I won’t let you hurt him!’

Emin staggered back, slipping down a few steps before recovering his balance. His sister, oblivious, attacked the chimney’s flank with a mad fury, beating at the stone with her torch until the coat dislodged entirely and dropped in a burning heap on the step.

At the loss of her weapon against the shadows, Gennay seemed to deflate. She fell to her knees, weeping with uncontrollable terror. Emin tried to pull her up but she was a dead weight in his arms and before he had dragged her down a few steps there came a sound that chilled his heart. The door to the library crashed shut.

He looked up to see Pirn run at the door, frantically yanking on the handle to try and pull it open again. It wouldn’t budge and Emin saw him start to panic, running for the nearest exit to the hall but finding that locked too.

‘Pirn!’ Emin called. He ripped Gennay’s keys from her belt and threw them to the man, then ducked his head under Gennay’s arm and hoisted her up.

The flames seemed to deepen now, the air rapidly filling with choking smoke. Emin glanced back and saw most of the mezzanine was aflame. A gust of smoke rolled over them, causing Emin to heave and cough for a moment before he could get Gennay down to the ground floor.

‘It’s jammed!’ Pirn wailed from the front door.

Emin ran over as best he could and grabbed the keys off him. In the smoky half-light of flames it was hard to see, but he realised the man had been using the right key. He shoved it in the lock and felt the key collide with something halfway – the lock had been blocked up.

‘What’s going on? The lock was clear!’ Emin cried, working away with the key but getting nowhere. ‘Someone’s done this, someone’s trapped us inside!’

He turned and tried one of the other doors, the nearest leading to the offices. As he tried keys, none of them seemed to work. There were only six in total and he tried them all, but none would turn the lock no matter how hard he worked at them.

‘Piss and daemons, I can’t move it!’

He glanced back; Pirn was holding his sister up and watching him anxiously. Behind him, shadows danced down the stairs as the flames rose steadily behind the balustrade. The rear way, past the reading rooms, was also blocked by a burning bookcase which had been pulled down across the corridor. Half the books had fallen out and they blazed bright underneath, but the new wood was also starting to burn already.

‘Gennay! What have you done?’ Emin wondered aloud, realising it was she who’d fired the building out of some mad desperation to fight off the shadows. He turned back to the door to give it another try before he went for the one on the other side of the room.

A wordless howl from Pirn stopped him before he could even find which key had fitted best and in the next moment a strange whisper raced around the room with the crackle of flames. Emin turned and the keys fell from his hands as he gaped. There was a figure on the far side of the room. Difficult to make out through the smoke-filled air, it stood in the lee of the staircase, just before the door Emin had intended to try.

His hand went to his belt but Emin found he’d discarded his sword on the staircase and the figure seemed to know it, turning to the stairs briefly before the whispers came again, like distant chants and laughter mingled. It took a step towards them and Emin realised it wasn’t the smoke that made it indistinct, the figure was no more than a shadow in the place of a man.

‘What in Karkarn’s name …’ Emin gasped before smoke filled his lungs and he began to cough and retch.

Gennay seemed to wake up at the sound of whispers and raised her head. Seeing the figure she started to scream uncontrollably, and so violently her body convulsed with the effort. It was all Emin could do to prevent her from smashing her head on the door behind them, while his head started to swim at the smoke in the air. Panic set in. He couldn’t see any way out and the shadow-daemon slowly advanced towards them through the library’s uncertain twilight.

Something on the mezzanine fell with a crash and a sheet of yellow flame rose briefly. Emin saw the daemon falter at that, becoming more translucent in the briefly waxing light. Pirn saw it too and began to howl about the flames as Gennay had been.

‘The flames, the light keeps it back!’

Pirn didn’t wait for a response and jumped up to run to the nearest burning bookcase. One arm raised to shield his face from the heat, he dragged a burning book from the pile there and tossed it towards the daemon.

The book clattered over the stone floor, missing the daemon but making it falter once more. Buoyed by his modest success, Pirn grabbed a second and a third, crying out as he burned his hands but refusing to stop. Each one briefly diminished the shadow, but even those that passed straight through its body didn’t stop it entirely.

‘Pirn!’ Emin spluttered through the smoke filling his lungs, ‘it’s not enough! We need a way out!’

Whether the man heard him or not Emin couldn’t tell, but he didn’t stop and now the daemon concentrated solely on him. Walking with predatory, staccato steps, the shadow peered at Pirn as he scrabbled around for more books. Emin struggled to stay standing as his head began to spin, a painful wooziness filling his mind as Gennay continued to wail. She lay helpless in his arms, taking deep breaths to scream and increasingly her cries were interspersed with coughs and wheezing.

He felt himself sink to one knee and didn’t have the strength to stand again – he could only watch as the shadow suddenly darted towards Pirn with unnatural speed. It crossed the stone floor in one step, gliding as much as anything, to surge right up to the retainer’s face just as the man turned with another burning book in hand.

Pirn shrieked in fear and fell back; collapsing onto the pile of flames he’d been dragging books from. In a moment his clothes caught and he began to flail wildly while the shadow stared down at him with malicious interest. The more he thrashed the more he became enveloped in fire and Emin barely found himself able to remain on his knees, let alone go to help the man. A dark pall seemed to cross his vision and Emin felt himself sink back as the effects of smoke took their toll, as the shadow at last bored of the burning man and turned its attention his way.

Through the darkness he saw a sudden light emanate from the main door. Emin lurched drunkenly around to see wisps of glowing white play around the jammed lock. The distant whispers in the air turned suddenly angry and sharp. In the next moment the door burst open and a man stormed through, light playing about his body like tendrils of mist raging at the dark.

A gust of cool wind accompanied him and Emin fell towards it, gasping for clean air even as he retched at the smoke inside him. The flames in the room surged up to meet the fresh air and the shadow-daemon faded in the renewed light. The stranger looked around the room and stepped towards Emin, who blinked and heaved on the floor nearby. Through his blurred, confused vision it seemed to Emin that the man’s outline remained where he’d stood for a heartbeat, a figure in white light standing in opposition to the daemon, but then it was gone and he felt strong hands under his arms.

With what strength Emin had left he pushed up, dragging his limp sister with him as the man hauled him toward the door. A scream of rage crashed around the library hall then was eclipsed by the roar of flames, but Emin had only one thought in his mind – escape.

They charged for the door even as it started to close of its own accord, the newcomer dipping his shoulder and riding the blow as he dragged Emin out—

And then they were outside, the cold of night rushing forward to meet them. They staggered across the courtyard and to the street beyond, Gennay loose in Emin’s arms. As soon as they were out of the courtyard Emin crashed to the ground, his sister falling on top of him. The stranger pushed Emin’s clutching hands away and tendrils of light again started to play around his body. Behind them there came another crash from the library, some large beam falling and taking part of the roof with it. The roar and crackle seemed to intensify after that, the fire renewing its efforts to consume the building entirely.

‘I’m sorry, she’s gone,’ the stranger said, his voice hoarse with effort.

‘What?’ Emin coughed, ‘No! She can’t …’

He turned Gennay’s face towards him and saw the emptiness in her eyes, and the words died in his throat. He stared down in disbelief but the stranger didn’t give him time to grieve. He grabbed the weakened Emin by the armpit and placed one hand on his chest as Emin began to cough again. He felt a warmth in his chest, a tingle of magic rushing through his body that seemed to fizz through his veins and burn hot and sour on his tongue. Emin’s eyes widened with astonishment as his bones seemed to hum and resonate with the energy being driven through him, then a great surge forced its way down his throat and another coughing fit took him.

He bent and retched as he coughed, feeling the surge of magic race from his lungs with the force of a punch. To his astonishment a mist-wrapped cloud of smoke was expelled, to dissipate on the evening breeze as he gaped at the stranger. Whatever the man had done it restored Emin’s wits and he looked at his saviour with a flicker of recognition.

‘You, you were in the street?’ he said, panting desperately. ‘A few days back, you frightened my sister.’

The man nodded. ‘I spoke to her,’ he corrected, ‘what frightened her was somethin’ else entirely.’

He was a man past his middle years, dishevelled and dressed like a wandering tinker. But for the magic he’d displayed, there was nothing remarkable about this ragged stranger at all, but Emin found himself able to do little but stare in wonderment at the man.

‘Who are you?’

The man twitched his nose and glanced back at the library. The flames continued to rise from its roof and shouts for water began to echo across the street.

‘Name’s Morghien. Guess you could say I’m the enemy of your enemy.’

Tom Lloyd was born in 1979 in Berkshire. After a degree in International Relations he went straight into publishing, where he still w rks. He never received the memo about suitable jobs for writers and consequently has never been a kitchen-hand, hospital porter, pigeon hunter or secret agent. He lives in South London, isn’t one of those authors who gives a damn about the history of the font used in his books and only believes in forms of exercise that allow him to hit something.