The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (11 page)

One mercenary stepped forward, intending to drive Lucius back another step or two, and his sword swung low. Lucius met the blow with the edge of his blade and pushed it up and to the side, leaving the man wide open. With his other hand he stretched forward, only releasing the power he had held when it was inches from the man’s face.

A jet of fire exploded from his palm and smashed into the mercenary’s skull, and a bright flash lit the hall for the briefest of moments. The man was dead before he hit the floor, and the remaining mercenaries all took a step back in fear as they turned toward the source of the fire.

Caradoc, no less mystified, nevertheless saw his advantage. He thrust forward, disembowelling one of the men he faced, then raced for the door, crying for Lucius to follow him. The mercenaries did not take long to recover and as one turned to chase after Caradoc, the last two rounded on Lucius.

These men had fought together before, Lucius could see, as they worked in almost perfect unison, standing side by side as they kept their enemy off balance with repeated blows. The winding energies in his mind’s eye separated for an instant, and Lucius drew one of them out, imagining its silver coiled force emanating from his heart to travel down his sword arm. He felt new strength coursing through him and, almost imperceptibly, his blade began to hum as it vibrated in tune with the magic.

Shouting a dreadful battle cry, Lucius stepped up to his attackers and stabbed with all the power he could muster, amplified by otherworldly energy. The mercenary tried to parry the blow, but Lucius’ sword was irresistible as it sped forward to spear its point through his eye. The man screamed as Lucius yanked his blade free, then pushed him into his friend.

The bulk of the dying man checked the final mercenary’s advance, giving Lucius time to release the last of the energies he had prepared. The shadows of the hall flared, spreading darkness in their wake. The mercenary cried out as he realised he was blinded while Lucius, following his memory of where the front door had been, carefully picked his way across the body-strewn marble. When fresh air hit his face, he reached out to find the door frame, then propelled his way outside.

Seeming serene after the chaos of the hall, the front lawn was quiet, and it took Lucius a second to realise what had changed. One of the front gates lay open and, as Lucius dashed towards them, he spotted the body of another armoured mercenary lying still on the grass, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back.

Grasping the open gate for support as he tried to catch his breath, Lucius saw Caradoc fighting a little further down the street. Evidently he had caught up with the money lender and his remaining guard. Brink was huddled up against a wall, abject terror on his face as he watched the two men fight over him, Caradoc had been wounded, and he clasped his thigh with a bloodied hand as he held his sword out in front of him, trying to keep the mercenary at bay.

Lucius cast an anxious look down both ends of the street, knowing that an open fight here could bring a patrol running with all speed. Violence was simply not tolerated in this part of Turnitia. Trying to control his breathing, Lucius gripped his sword firmly and started to pad up behind the mercenary.

As he closed the distance, he caught the eye of Caradoc, who quickly saw his way out. Holding up a hand and dropping his sword, he smiled at the mercenary sweetly.

“My man, I surrender,” he announced.

The mercenary took a step towards him, though whether it was to take Caradoc into custody or murder him in cold blood would remain a mystery, as Lucius’ sword entered the back of his neck and drove downwards, killing him instantly.

Such was the force of the blow, pushing the sword half its length down into the man’s body, Lucius had some trouble removing it. In the end, he had to position the guard on his side, then use both hands while putting a foot on the man’s shoulder to pull it free. As he did so, Caradoc sheathed his sword and drew a knife, holding it at the money lender’s throat.

“We’re not unreasonable men, Brink,” Lucius heard him say with a quiet, dreadful menace. “You pay on time, every time, and you’ll see we take care of you.”

He patted Brink on the shoulder as he smiled, though his knife never wavered from the man’s neck.

“But if we ever hear you have declared for those tosspots in the Guild, we will pay you another visit,” he continued. “We’ll kill your family, we’ll kill more of your very expensive guards and maybe, just maybe, we’ll kill you too – after we have seen how many times we can wrap your guts around that grand house of yours. Do you understand me, Brink?”

The money lender was beyond words now, such was his raw fear, but he shakily nodded his head.

“That’ll do him?” Lucius asked, anxious that a patrol would turn up at any time.

“That’ll do him,” Caradoc confirmed, as he pulled a scarf from his tunic and began wrapping it around his injured leg. “Well done lad, we’ll have words when we get back to the guildhouse. Now, let’s go before we catch the attention of the guard. Split up and make your own way back, usual drill.”

Lucius hesitated, eyeing Caradoc’s leg. Blood was oozing from what looked like a deep stab wound.

Caradoc waved him on. “Don’t you worry about me, I’ve had worse than this. Now, be off with you!”

Jogging away, Lucius kept the shadows. He cast one last look back at the gates of Brink’s place, watching as the money lender dragged himself, sobbing, back to his home. Lights were beginning to flicker on inside the house, and Lucius could hear sounds of activity as more mercenaries scoured the gardens and searched rooms for other intruders.

For a brief moment, he saw a figure silhouetted in one of the first floor windows, arms crossed as it stared down into the gardens. There was something familiar about the figure that tugged at Lucius’ mind but, after just a few seconds, it turned and left his view.

CHAPTER FIVE

N
EWS OF THE
evening’s events had already reached the guildhouse by the time Lucius made his way into the common room. As he walked in, a ragged cheer went up from the gathered thieves, and a mug of ale was pressed into his hands. He smiled sheepishly and looked around for the others he had fought alongside. Picking out three, he dared to hope their losses had been much lighter than he had first feared. Each was surrounded by a small gaggle of their comrades, being pounded with questions and asked to recount, yet again, their exploits.

Lucius soon had his own audience, but he elaborated little on what he had seen, unsure of how free he should be with his speech, even here in the guildhouse. When he told them he had seen Hawk fall, and there had been at least one other death, a groan swept over all assembled. He felt the atmosphere of the common room become mixed, elation entwined with mourning for the loss of a respected talent. Mugs and glasses were raised, and he joined in with the toast to fallen comrades. Someone remarked that it was a better death than one might find in the Citadel, a fate all thieves strove to avoid. Ambrose, though, pointed out that no money lender was worth the life of a good thief, and this was greeted with murmurs of agreement.

Louder cheers were raised when Caradoc entered, limping while supporting the weight of another thief. Both smiled at the welcome, collapsed heavily into the two chairs brought to them, then accepted drinks. Caradoc waved a hand at the man he had helped to the guildhouse.

“Sarnol thought the best way out of the house was through the window – seems he forgot we were no longer on the ground floor!”

Sarnol smiled with embarrassment. “Ah, I didn’t forget that,” he said, before his expression suddenly turned serious. “Twisted my ankle when I hit the lawn. It was the only escape I had. I saw Kernne struck down by one of those damned mercs, and knew I was next.”

“Kernne as well?” someone asked sorrowfully.

“It was a tough one,” Caradoc said, scanning the crowed as he counted how many of his men had returned. “Hawk also – he died fighting by my side as we held off a veritable army of the bastards. And Lucius was with us too!”

Caradoc raised his glass to Lucius, who nodded in return. One man was inspecting Caradoc’s wound, and it was apparent that he had lost a great deal of blood. The scarf was soaked through as the man removed it, and more blood flowed as the pressure was released.

“We best get you seen to,” he said.

“Little more than a scratch,” Caradoc insisted, though he shifted his weight as he attempted to stand.

“Yes, well, let others be the judge of that. Let’s get you upstairs, Magnus wants to see you. Come with us, Sarnol, we’ll check you out too.”

Several thieves moved to help the two injured men, bearing their weight as they filed out of the common room towards the back of the building.

As he watched them leave, Lucius found himself manoeuvred into a tall leather chair and was instantly surrounded by those who wanted to hear the story all over again, but from his perspective. Lucius gave them a quick rundown, crediting Hawk for keeping him out of trouble early on, much to their approval. He spoke of the desperate fight when the alarm had been triggered, of how he, Hawk and Caradoc had fought side by side, though he carefully neglected any mention of how his magic had swung the battle. Instead, he described how Hawk had sacrificed his life to save both Caradoc and himself, creating a diversion that allowed them to escape and continue pursuit of the money lender.

He lingered on the description of Caradoc’s warning to the cringing money lender, and this too met with the approval of his audience. There was clearly nothing they liked better than a happy ending. After his tale, there were more questions, more ale, and as a soft haze began to envelop his brain. Lucius’ descriptions of the night grew little by little, until it seemed as though there had been half an army stationed within the house. Not that those listening minded, for it simply made their guild seem all the more daring.

“So, the triumphant heroes return!” The voice that rose above the general hubbub of the common room was clear and confident, needing little raised volume to command attention. All the thieves rose to their feet, causing Lucius to look around in confusion before clumsily scrambling to his own.

A well-dressed man clothed in silk and cotton had entered the room, flanked by two others who strode in his wake. The man was middle-aged and greying, though he possessed an obvious vitality that the years had yet to touch. He smiled and Lucius immediately formed the impression of both confidence and trustworthiness. Of course, having spent time with any number of con artists and tricksters, he had learned to be on his guard when confronted by such people, but this man also had an obvious command of, and respect from, the other thieves present. His face was rounded and nondescript, except for his eyes which seemed to constantly sparkle with amusement.

The two men who flanked him were almost the complete opposite. Dressed in black leather with long knives at their belts, both exuded an aura of menace. Lucius thought, if there were such a thing as natural born killers, these two would be the definition.

It was not until the man was among the thieves and clamping a hand on the shoulder of one who had been on Caradoc’s mission that Lucius heard someone thank him by name and understood who he was. So this was Magnus, the guildmaster of the Night Hands. Despite all the time Lucius had spent in the guildhouse recently, he had yet to meet the man, though he had heard plenty of stories about him. He recalled Ambrose once telling him that Magnus had been a lieutenant in the old Thieves’ Guild. When the guild had broken apart, it had been Magnus who had tried to centralise the scattered thieves into a new organisation, at great risk to his life from the guard and other, less pleasant forces. If half of what Lucius had heard was true, then he thought this would be a very easy man to admire.

After shaking another thief by the hand, Magnus turned towards Lucius, and smiled.

“And this would be our newest recruit then. Lucius, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes sir,” said Lucius, unsure of how to address the guildmaster.

Magnus waved the honorific away, though Lucius was acutely aware of the attention of his two bodyguards, who seemed to be itching for him to make one aggressive move.

“Just Magnus, please,” he said. “You’ve done well tonight. Brink represents a significant account for us, and the return of his business is worthy of congratulations. I believe you are staying here now – eat and drink well tonight, you’ve earned it.”