Sourcethief (Book 3) (46 page)

"Last chance. I lower you down, but I can't
hold your whole weight. You're going to walk down the outside wall, holding
onto the rope. Otherwise, we're leaving you
both
here," she
whispered. Soria hoped that the girl's safety was incentive enough to motivate
him.

Tomas nodded, perhaps longer than he needed to for
his agreement to be known. He eased himself up onto the ledge and turned
around. Soria saw that his eyes were closed. She also saw that every muscle in
his body was rigid—as rigid as a scrawny, flimsy puff of a man as Tomas could
get. Soria took up her end of the rope and tried not to envision the disaster
that seemed likely to follow.

After Tomas's first steps, Soria lost sight of him.
She leaned back, foot braced against the wall, aware of Tomas solely by the
enormous dead weight straining on the rope.
Rakashi should be doing this. He
could have made that climb
. She played out another arm’s length of rope.
Brannis
could have just carried him down
. She paused to catch her breath, knowing
that holding it was just making the pain in her arms worse.
Why did I have
to be the one up here?

* * * * * * *
*

Brannis watched Soria until he lost sight of her
around a corner of the keep. Twice on the way to the wall he had tripped and
had to pick himself up. Rakashi kept on running ahead of him, though it did the
Takalish warrior little good to arrive early. They headed not for the front
entrance, nor for the rear—both of which were likely being reinforced as they
approached—but instead headed for the side of the keep, guarded by nothing more
than flower beds and some evergreen shrubs trimmed to look like animals.

Brannis reached the wall, batting his way past a
verdant unicorn, to find Rakashi pressed against the side of the keep, waiting
for him. There were no windows on that side of the keep below the third floor.

"Stand aside," Brannis said, keeping his
voice low. Rakashi stepped back two paces. "More than that." Rakashi
scrambled away several more.

Avalanche slid from its sheath. Brannis thrust it
through the keep wall as if it was made of paper and not granite blocks as
thick as barrels. He swept the blade back and forth, carving a rough doorway.
The keep shook as it settled, a bit less stable than it had been a moment
before. Brannis remembered to sweep aside the rubble to the point where he and
Rakashi did not need to climb over anything.

They had entered a store room, just where Soria's
map said it should be. It appeared well stocked, but it had recently been
devastated by flying debris from a shattered exterior wall. The door out to the
halls beyond was shut, and may or may not have been locked. One swipe of
Avalanche took the door from its hinges, along with much of the wall those
hinges had attached to.

"Remember," Brannis called back.
"Keep behind me. I don't think fancy blade work will stop a musket."
"You just mind that your armor's protection does not last forever,"
Rakashi replied.

They advanced, their steps echoing on bare stone
floors, blades ready, into the halls of the keep. Ensconced torches lit their
way. "Around the next corner," Rakashi warned. His aether-vision made
him invaluable in the twisting corridors they were invading.

Brannis hesitated a moment, discordant with the
knowledge that his armor ought to protect him against anything short of cannon
fire in Tellurak. He peeked around the corner and saw six men armed with
muskets—three standing behind three down on one knee, all aimed down toward
their end of the corridor. Brannis was spotted, and reflex pulled his head back
behind cover. One of the Kheshis shouted something in their own language.

Brannis looked over his shoulder. "Nothing to
concern yourself with," Rakashi told him in lieu of translation.
"Shall we?"

"Tell them to surrender," Brannis said.
"We give them a chance first. They can't possibly know what they are
facing."

Rakashi shrugged then shouted back, a long string of
foreign noises that Brannis could not even dissect into distinct words.
So
much for learning that new word
. The Kheshis hollered back a reply.

"They are biding time, and I just saw
why," Rakashi said. "We have another group coming from the other
side. We will be caught between them in a moment. I think our time is
now."

Brannis nodded. He took a breath to steel himself,
and put an arm up to shield his face. He knew not how well the demonic helm of
Liead's armor would protect the exposed skin there, if it would at all. He
shouted, "Charge!" and rounded the corner, Avalanche at the ready.

Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!

Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!

The muskets' reports were deafening in closed
quarters, but the worst pain they delivered was to the ears. Brannis felt
impacts like dirt clods, not lead balls. He dropped his arm to see a cloud of
smoke around the musketeers. Shock registered on their faces as they saw that
their volley had not stopped Brannis, nor even slowed him. The ones who had
stood were already turning to run, the ones who had knelt were scrambling to
join them. Brannis caught up with two of the latter and dispatched them with a
single swipe of Avalanche. He took off after the rest.

Brannis spared a glance over his shoulder, but saw
no sign of Rakashi. Over the shouts and screaming that had overwhelmed the
ambient sounds of the keep, he could hear blades ringing back the way he had
come.

Brannis turned and retraced his charge. He barreled
around the corner at a run, nearly colliding with Rakashi, coming the opposite
way. On the ground lay four men in sleeveless leather armor, the same style
Soria wore. All had carried sword and buckler. One was cut nearing in half
across the belly; another was missing his head. The camaraderie that Brannis
had felt in the heady rush of combat sank for a moment, lodging itself in his
bowels, before bobbing back to rest once more in his heart. There was no time
for reminiscence or mourning.

"Not Tezuan," Rakashi said by way of
explanation. "Lead on."

Brannis nodded, saving his breath for running.

"We should find the kitchen, or the
larder," Rakashi reminded Brannis. "We may be days in our flight
before we reach a safe city."

The passed the slaughtered musketeers, and headed
off in search of the rest of the keep's defenders. The corridors were empty.
There were no other pockets of resistance to be found. Brannis looked to
Rakashi, who shrugged.

Brannis opened a pair of double doors, reducing them
to splinters with a long back-and-forth sweep of Avalanche. He strode through
and into the main room of the keep, with vaulted ceilings that rose the entire
four stories of the fortress' height. He saw nothing save a room set with long
dining tables and a raised terrace with a single, lonely table atop it. The
table was set for dinner, with two chairs; one was occupied.

"Sir Brannis, please enter," the chair's
occupant called out. She was fair-skinned, clearly southern Kheshi, with an
accent to her Acardian to match. Brannis held a hand out behind him, warning
Rakashi to stay back.

* * * * * * *
*

Soria's arms burned. Every muscle, stoically silent
during Tomas's descent, now found time to voice a protest over working
conditions of late. Her hands had worked themselves into claws, still trying to
hold tight to the rope that was no longer within their grasp. She shook them
out, wondering how she was going to manage to finish her assignment.
You
best not have been spending your captivity stuffing yourself with sweets,
peasant girl
.

Soria looked out the window. She watched as Tomas
fumbled with the knot at his waist. He looked unable to get it loosened enough
to untie. Soria reached for the second of her daggers, aimed with care,
resisted the temptation, then aimed again
away
from Tomas, and stuck the
dagger in the ground near his feet.

Startled though he was, Tomas had sense enough to
take it up and cut himself free of the rope. Soria hauled the rest of the rope
up as quickly as she could, then pulled her dagger free from the stonework—or
tried. Even telekinesis was not enough to yank it free. She leafed through a
mental catalogue of spells: she tried one for melting stone into mud, but
nothing happened; she tried to turn the dagger insubstantial, but to no avail.
She shook her head, regretting the loss of the weapon she had runed herself;
she did not have time to fool with it any longer.

She took up the cut end of the rope and climbed out
the window. It certainly looked a long way down to where Tomas stood below,
gawking up at her, hand pressed over his mouth. She stood on the window ledge
and hopped up, catching hold of the roof and hauling herself up. Her arms
protested but thanked her for only having to support her own familiar weight.

Soria made her way around the top of the tower to
the side where Abbiley's window ought to have been. She hung her head over the
edge and adjusted her aim, then climbed back down over the edge. She dropped
the last foot, landing on the ledge and quickly hooking an arm around inside
before her tenuous balance failed her.

A shriek fit to shatter crystal greeted her arrival.

Swearing mentally, Soria pulled herself into the
room, stealth cast aside in favor of urgency, barely remembering to keep hold
to the rope. She saw Abbiley sitting up in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, mouth
agape, emitting that inhuman sound.

Soria leapt onto the bed and smothered Abbiley with
her hand.

"Quiet!" Soria whispered in the girl's
ear, somehow surprised to have found her no more stalwart than her lover.
"It's me, Lady Soria. I've no time to explain, but we've got to leave.
Now!"

"Lady Abbiley," a voice called from
outside the door, in accented Acardian. "What is wrong?"

Gut me!
"Tell them you saw a
mouse," Soria whispered. She let go Abbiley's mouth.

"I ... I thought I saw a mouse," Abbiley
said.
Good little parrot.
Soria used her free hand to begin reeling in
the length of rope.

"I will come in and see to it," the voice
replied.

"No!" Soria shouted. Her eyes went wide;
she had not meant to say that aloud.

Thinking fast, she pointed to her outfit, then to
Abbiley. She mouthed the words "not dressed." Abbiley gave her a
puzzled, frightened look. There was a sound of a key working at a lock. Soria
halved the distance between them and whispered it, "you're not
dressed."

"I'm not dressed!" Abbiley called out.
"Give me a moment." The sound of the lock stopped.

"Of course, my lady," the voice assured
them. "Please let me know when I might enter."

Soria did not leave the dressing task to chance, as
she had with Tomas. She tore through Abbiley's wardrobe for something
road-worthy, settling on leather riding trousers and a green bodice. She was
relieved to find the girl had riding boots, as well.

Soria was no expert at fashion, but she was at least
knowledgeable about the fittings and lacings of women's clothing. She helped
Abbiley into the outfit she had picked for her. She noted as she did so that
she still wore the little jade dragon pendant that Kyrus had given her, and
wondered what that boded for Tomas.

"Lady Abbiley?" the voice called from
outside again. "Are you quite well? What is the delay?"

Soria's eyes searched the room. It was furnished
just like Tomas's had been. She found a wardrobe that looked near enough and
put a shoulder to it. It was massive, and merely rocked a bit before settling
back down with a thud.

"I am coming in. Cover yourself, Lady
Abbiley."

Soria waved frantically for Abbiley to come aid her.
The peasant girl weighed little more than she did, and was hardly fit for brute
labor, but their combined heft was enough to topple the wardrobe sidelong in
front of the door.

"Let's go!" Soria said to Abbiley, all
pretense of deception and stealth abandoned. "Tomas is waiting
below."

Abbiley looked to the window, the rope, and to
Soria. The fear in her eyes told of a grand epiphany about their method of
escape. Abbiley shook her head with fervor. "I can't."

"I didn't think you could. I'm taking us
both," Soria said, hoping that her confidence would find full support from
her weary arms. "One arm over my shoulder, the other under my left arm, lock
your wrists, like this." Soria demonstrated. "Don't put both around
my neck, or I'll choke and we both fall. Got it?" Abbiley nodded.

Soria pulled up all the slack in the rope and
climbed onto the ledge, offering Abbiley her back.
Merciful Tansha, don't
let me drop us
. The peasant girl followed Soria's instructions, attempting
to crush her collarbone, but thankfully lacking the strength to do so. Soria
wrapped the rope around a wrist and gripped it tight. She turned and worked
Abbiley out through the opening, and over empty air. She heard the sharp intake
of air from just behind her, and soft whimpering.

The door to Abbiley's room opened a crack, but
stopped fast when it hit the wardrobe. "Lady Abbiley, what is going
on?" the voice from outside shouted. The door closed a bit then slammed
open again. Soria took that as ample cue to leave.