Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm (28 page)

“You next, wizard,” said Loren. “I can lower you down, if you like. You cannot weigh more than a sack of potatoes.”

Xain glared at Loren before climbing hastily over the rail. He landed without trouble, then they lowered the High King. She nimbly jumped. Chet and her guard helped to steady her landing.

The balcony door flew open, slamming into the wall with a crash. Loren looked over her shoulder to see Shades run into the sunlight, sun gleaming from their gore-soaked blades.

“Run!” she cried, waving desperately to Chet and the others. “Get Her Grace to safety!”

Xain was already walking carefully along the arch with his son and was a good distance ahead. The royal guard looked up at Loren with a grim nod, seized the High King, and dragged her away. Enalyn desperately fought him.

“Eamin!” she cried in anguish. “Eamin!”

“Jump,” said the Lord Prince, hefting his sword. “We will do our best to hold them off.”

Three royal guard remained on the balcony, one spoke gruffly over his shoulder. “No, Lord Prince. You must get to safety. We shall remain here.”

“I am afraid they are right, my lord,” said Loren. “Forgive me.”

She nodded to Gem, and together they gripped Eamin’s arms and half threw him over the railing. He went over the edge with a shout, and they held him at the final second before he dropped. Then they released him, and he fell to the arch. Chet caught him and dragged him back. Loren and Gem jumped over together.

Gem had vaulted a bit farther and landed catlike on the stone. But Loren had misjudged the width and landed too near the edge. As she fell forward on her knees, her left hand came down on empty space instead of stone. She pitched to her left, and for a terrifying moment hung out over empty space. Her body froze in terror.

“No!” Chet leapt forward, landing in a slide on his back and gripping Loren’s tunic. Desperately he dragged her back until she rolled over and came to land atop him, her face less than an inch from his.

“Keep your mind on the matter at hand, hunter’s son,” she mumbled, but her voice shook, as well as her hands where they gripped his shirt.

“’Tis not my mind that wanders, woodsman’s daughter.”
 

“
If you two are quite done?
” Gem was already up and running along the arch and had turned back to see them.

They scrambled to their feet and ran. Loren risked a glance back to see the royal guard holding the railing against the Shades. But there were too many, and one by one they fell. The last took a blade to the gut, the sword thrusting out the back of his jerkin. He seized two of his foes and pitched backward over the railing. Shades screamed as their bodies fell to break on the pavement below. Loren ran.

Hissing filled the air as arrows whizzed by, but by now they were too far for a clear shot. The arch dipped back down to block them from view. The slope was gentle enough to keep firm footing, and soon they had reached the tower’s top at the end. There the others waited, but other than that the tower was vacant. Loren looked off down the walls to find them empty. The Shades had broken into the palace, and the wall’s guards had all been slain.

“They are coming,” said the royal guardsman. Loren turned to see that some Shades had braved the jump, and even now came along the stone archway toward them. Another tried to jump as she watched, but he missed his landing and pitched off into empty space.

“They are foolish,” said Xain. Loren could see how it pained him, but still his eyes glowed as he summoned magic.
 

Flames burst forth, striking the Shade in front. She screamed while beating at the flames. Lurching back, she struck the man behind her, and together they tumbled screaming from the arch. But more were coming down from the rail. From somewhere they had found a rope. Even now they were tying it about the railing. Soon they would be climbing rather than jumping.

“Rope!” said Loren. “We need to flee, not fight.”

The tower’s hatch lay gaping open, and she went down to search. In the corner Loren found what she was looking for: a long coil of rope, thick, strong and well woven. She threw the coil over her shoulder and climbed back out into the daylight. Chet helped her tie it around the tower’s outer rampart with solid knots. Xain held the archway against the Shades as they advanced, while one by one the others climbed down the tower’s outer wall.

“Your turn, wizard,” said Loren.
 

“Go first. I will be right behind you.”

“Do I need to throw you again?”

He growled, turned, and climbed down the rope. Loren kept a careful eye on the archway, but the Shades were too far away. Once Xain was low enough, she followed, and soon they were all fleeing through the city’s blood soaked streets.

thirty-four

The greater part of the fighting had moved within the palace, but there was still plenty in the streets. They moved cautiously, ducking out of sight whenever a group of Shades came running. They had climbed down the palace wall’s northwest tower and did not have far to go before reaching the western gate. But the way was slow, and they could not take the main streets, for those were well patrolled.

Loren felt as though she were suffering the fall of Northwood again, for they saw the corpses of citizens in the streets all about. Only this time she was the one escorting others out of the city’s destruction rather than the one being rescued. She made a silent vow to herself: if need be, she would give her life to save the High King’s, in token of payment for Mag, who had perished for Loren.

They heard the tramping of boots and pressed themselves against a shop wall. Shades ran by, along the street and toward the palace. Loren leaned out to watch after they had gone, ensuring they were out of sight.

“How will we reach the western gate?” said Eamin. “Surely, they will have it guarded, especially if they know we have escaped the palace.”

“We may be able to break through,” said Xain. “I have my magic, and you have your blades.”

“Swords we have, but no armor, unlike our enemies. And forgive me for saying so, my friend, but you are nearly at the end of your strength.”

Enalyn turned to Loren. “What say you, girl? We have made it this far by your counsel.”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” said Loren. “In truth, I had not thought that far ahead, for I was not certain we would escape the palace at all.”

“How comforting,” said Enalyn.

“We scaled one wall,” said Chet. “We can scale another. Where can we go and not find the Shades gathered in strength, and make our way into a tower then down the other side?”

“To the north,” said the Lord Prince. “But the problem is not the city wall. It is the docks. They will be swarming with Shades, and we cannot escape the island without a boat.”

“One bridge at a time, my lord,” said Chet. “If we can make it beyond the north wall, then let us go to the north wall.”

“I see you share Loren’s gift for not thinking far ahead,” said Enalyn.

Loren was looking out beyond the edge of the building, her brow furrowed in concentration. Not far away, a strong wind whipped at the banners flying from the western wall. “They have not burnt the buildings.”
 

Xain looked at her sharply. “What?”

“They have not burnt the buildings. They are sacking the city, but they are not trying to destroy it. Why?”

“Likely they mean to occupy it,” said Eamin. “If they can take the Seat for themselves, it will be a demonstration of their power.”

“No,” said Enalyn, eyes widening. “They cannot risk their fleet. If the flames spread from the city to the docks, their ships will be destroyed. Then they will be trapped here, unable to flee if we should counterattack in strength.”

“I do not see how that can help us,” said Xain. “Unless we mean to burn the city ourselves in hopes of the flames finding their ships.”

“I think that is precisely what Loren has planned,” said Enalyn, eyeing her with a grim smile.
 

Loren said, “The ship’s crews will have remained with their vessels, as well as some soldiers to guard them. If they see the city burning, they may leave the ships to fight the fires. We could slip past them then, to take a ship for ourselves and flee.”

Eamin stared at Loren as if she were mad. “You mean to burn our own city?”

“It is lost already,” the High King said. “I think this plan may be a wise one. A strange sort of wisdom, certainly, and yet it may work.”

“Xain, can you muster the flames?” said Loren.

His skin was pale, and his arm shivered as it wrapped his son’s shoulders. “I have little strength but will do as I must.”

“You may not have to,” said Loren. “Torches will suffice. Collect all you see as we move to the western wall. We will set flames wherever we think they may catch. Then, Xain, you can spread the fires with wind.”

“That would be easier,” he said, nodding in thought.

“Let us go, then, and quickly,” said Enalyn.
 

They set off again, this time faster, for now their steps held purpose. Many wall fixtures held torches, and soon they each had collected a great armful. When they reached the west wall, they looked about to see if there were any Shades nearby to spot them. But the coast was clear.

One torch sat in a fixture on the wall above them, but rather than remove it, Loren had Xain light it. One by one, she held the other torches in its flames until they all caught. Then she, Chet and Gem ran out among the buildings. Any place they found a shop with wooden shingles or an inn with a stable full of hay, they flung their torches. Soon, smoke rose from several buildings, then the smoke turned into fire and reached for the sky with angry red fingers. Blazing heat baked the air.

“Now use your magic, Xain,” said Loren.
 

Eyes glowing white, the wizard put forth his power. Air howled and whistled before his hands, and a heavy gale swept in from the sky. It struck the houses and carried the flames south, throwing sparks and flaming brands across the city’s western side.
 

In moments, it seemed that half the island was burning.

Casting her cloak about her, Loren ran to the western gate. She slowed as she neared it, searching warily for anyone who might spot her. But no one was in sight as she sidled up to the great wooden doors lying broken upon the ground, torn from their hinges by a battering ram, or else by some powerful magic. The portcullis still hung in the air—the attackers must have raised it during their assault.

She peered around the corner toward the docks, and her heart sang. Shades who had been left to guard the ships were now running toward the city walls. Behind them crews streamed from their vessels, carrying buckets that they dipped into the Bay.

She withdrew and ran back to the others. “It worked. They are running to douse the flames. We should get closer to the gates and be ready to run as soon as we discover an opening.”

Step by step, they followed Loren forward, coughing and casting their cloaks across their mouths to stop themselves from inhaling the soot. Erin buried his head in his father’s shoulder, crying. Loren soon realized she did not have to worry overmuch about being spotted; the smoke pouring through the streets, as well as the scorching heat, held the Shades’ attention. Sometimes, they passed soldiers a few paces away in the smoke, but still attracted no notice.

They soon emerged coughing from the smoke, running as quickly as they could into the open square before the western gate. But the moment the smoke left their eyes they skidded to a halt on the paving stones.

There stood Rogan, framed by the western gate. His axe and shield were battered and stained, and his armor bore many rents from blows from battle. He stood alone, for all his soldiers were in the city to wrestle the fires. Loren quaked in her boots, for she knew he was easily a match for them all.

“I see I was right,” said Rogan. “As soon as I saw the smoke rising from the city, I knew you were making for the boats. A clever tactic, Loren.”

Chet stepped forward to stand at her side. Gem and Eamin followed.

“You may stand aside, if you wish,” said the Lord Prince. “I swear we will let you live.”

Rogan laughed, blood standing out shockingly red against his bright teeth. “A precious sentiment, Princeling. Here is my counter: kneel and present your necks for my axe, and I will make the killing quick.”

“Remember the tattoo. You cannot defeat him,” Loren said quietly. Then she turned to Xain and the royal guard standing by the High King. “Get yourselves out of the city, and the High King as well. We will hold him off as long as we can.”

“I will not leave my son,” said Enalyn.

“You will if you must, Your Grace,” said Loren firmly. “If he will not run from this fight, still you must reach the Selvan shores in safety.”

“What are you whispering there, Nightblade?” said Rogan. “I think you have used your last clever strategy. Come, we shall make this quick. There is no need for you to suffer as Jordel did.”

Loren turned on Rogan. Her bow felt light in her hand, and she ached to use it. “You may not speak his name.”

Rogan smiled, and despite all she knew of him, it looked kind. “You truly loved the Mystic, did you not? The look in your eyes . . . it is almost worship. He should not have died. He should have been on our side. I can only imagine the sort of captain he would have made in our ranks. I am what he could have been—but better, for I will never die.”