The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (28 page)

“Still thinking,” Grayling said as she looked left and right for a solution to present itself.

“I thought you said you had a plan?”

“Got us this far, haven’t I?” she retorted, though there was no venom in her voice. Slowly, Lucius began to realise that she was actually enjoying the moment, their brush with danger and the bid for freedom. He could not decide whether that was a good thing.

“We’ve got this,” Grayling said, scooping up a coil of rope that lay next to the Vos banners that were draped down the sheer sides of the towers on special days marked by the Empire. “But we can’t just drop it down into the courtyard.”

Staring out at the city, an idea came to Lucius. “If we could stretch it to the walls, they would be the last obstacle.”

She looked at him doubtfully, as if he had suddenly turned simple. “Even if we had a hook to tie to the end, could you throw it that far?”

Walking to the edge of the battlements lining the tower, Lucius stared at the wall, trying to gauge the distance. As a horizontal throw, it would be impossible, but from their vantage point, they had height on their side. If they had just a little help.

“Find something,” he said. “Anything that can act as a grappling hook. We need something that can dig into stone.”

Grayling disappeared back down the trapdoor while Lucius scouted the roof of the tower. He had hoped to find something useful among the tools and supplies surrounding the war machine, but he was unsuccessful. When Grayling reappeared, he could tell from her expression that she had been no luckier.

She looked up at the trebuchet. “You know, there are stories of thieves making their escape by using catapults.”

“Any thief telling that story is either a liar or a good deal shorter than he once was.”

Grayling sighed. “We might have to go back down into the tower.”

Closing his eyes, Lucius cursed. He knew what he had to do, but it would very likely mean an end to his place among the Hands.

“Grayling,” he began. “You counted on me before. I need to count on you now.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

“I mean it.”

Something in his voice checked her, and she frowned at him. “What are you planning to do?”

It was his turn to sigh. “Stand back until I say. And you’ll need a strip of cloth or short length of rope.”

Still clearly puzzled, Grayling nevertheless followed his instructions, and dug around the trebuchet’s supplies until she found something suitable.

Lucius took a deep breath as he began coiling the rope in his hands, staring fixedly at a portion of the opposite wall that seemed to have few guards on its ramparts. He turned his attention inward, seeking the threads of magic that constantly turned and twisted, and, like an old friend, they came flooding back under his control.

He began to swing one end of the rope above his head, whipping it around faster and faster as he manipulated the threads to bring those he needed into the real world. An otherworldly strength flooded into his body briefly, hot and fast, and he felt himself shudder as the power whipped about in his chest. Then it was gone, the energy passed to the rope spinning above his head, and suddenly it was moving with its own momentum. Letting go with one hand, he retained a grip on its length with the other. The rope coiled above his head as it span, reaching ever higher speeds.

He heard Grayling gasp in astonishment but his conscious mind was elsewhere, directing the magic that now song along the entire length of the rope. With a command that was part gesture, part vocals the rope arced high in the sky across the face of Kerberos before plunging down towards the wall. A bright flash of light surged along its length, pulling it taut as the tip rocketed downwards, plunging deep into the battlements of the wall. Feeling the magic spent as the conjuration was completed, Lucius pulled hard on the rope to ensure it had taken hold, then ran to the trebuchet to tie the loose end firmly. He cut a short length from it, and then returned to the battlements.

Throughout this, he avoided eye contact with Grayling, but was aware that she was giving him suspicious sidelong looks.

“Come on,” he said. “You first.”

With the briefest of pauses, Grayling threw her legs over the side of the tower and wrapped the cloth she had gathered around the rope. He saw her shift her weight in preparation to throw herself into clear air but she stopped, and turned to face him.

“I think I know what you are,” she said.

He stopped for a moment, then looked directly into her eyes. “The others cannot know.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’ll make you a deal. We survive this and escape, it will be our secret. If not... well, it won’t matter either way.”

Cocking a half-smile, Grayling put her dagger in her mouth and pushed off. Grasping the cloth wrapped round the rope in each hand, she quickly gained speed as she flew through the air, down to the wall below.

Lucius sat on the edge of the battlements as he twisted his short cord around the rope then, testing the strain to ensure it could bear him as well as Grayling, he jumped.

He tried to pull the ends of the cord across one another in an attempt to control his speed, but he gathered pace at an alarming rate as he shot down the rope. Feet dangling helplessly in the air, he was aware of shouts rising up from the courtyard, but whether they were directed at him or were the result of the ongoing battle below, he could not tell. Ahead, Grayling had already reached the wall and had dropped from the rope into a graceful roll. Even now, she was throwing her dagger at the chest of a guard but Lucius had greater concerns on his mind.

The wall was approaching at a terrible pace, the thick stone rearing up in front of him, growing ever larger. Belatedly, he tried to find the threads of magic, tried to summon energy that would enable him to avoid the inevitable collision that loomed. With the air whistling past his ears and the feeling of being utterly out of control, he was ashamed to find his concentration completely spent. As the wall approached, he tried to gauge his increasing speed and then let go of the cord.

For a brief second, he seemed to float through the air, and he fancied he might land neatly on his feet, coming to rest lightly on the ramparts of the wall. Instead, he barrelled forward helplessly. Tucking in a shoulder by sheer instinct at the last minute, he smashed into the battlements and the wind was forced from his body.

Lucius was completely dazed, and his head rang as he tried to take in air. He briefly thought he had been run down in the street by a racing wagon, and that well meaning citizens were trying to get him to stand once more. Not caring for their attentions, he tried to tell them that he just needed to sleep, but the words came out wrong. He was not even sure they were audible. Tucking his head under his arms, Lucius was irritated when someone dragged him to sit upright and started shouting in his face.

A sharp sting hit his cheek, and he shook his head. The voices seemed clearer now. He blinked and saw Grayling draw back her hand for another slap. He raised his own palm to show he was back with her, and it was sufficient to forestall the blow.

“Can you walk?” she hissed.

“I think so,” he said, feeling the complete opposite. With her help, he stood, and though the world reeled at first, everything quickly settled down as he took a deep breath. The motion was accompanied by a nagging pain in his chest, and he reached down to hold his side.

“A rib, probably,” Grayling said. “You were lucky that was the only thing you broke.”

“Got to get out of here,” he managed to say, and he found no argument from her.

“That’s the easy part. Grab that man’s sword. I don’t know if there are others on this part of the wall, but we can’t have gone unnoticed.”

“Where are you going?”

Watching Grayling retrieve her dagger from the guard’s chest, Lucius leaned heavily against the battlements, aware that the streets of Turnitia
–
and freedom
–
were just a few yards below on the other side. No other guards rushed their position and for this, he was grateful, as he did not think he could fight effectively in his current condition. Lucius yearned for a bed and a long rest, but steeled himself for just a little more discomfort before he could claim them.

Grayling had gone back to the rope and, wrapping her legs around it, pulled herself back along its length, hand-over-hand. After she had gone out a little distance, he saw her look back at the wall, as if sizing its dimensions. Then, taking the dagger from her mouth, she began to saw at the rope. Lucius frowned, as it seemed to him to be a remarkably foolish thing to cut a rope one was using for support. And sure enough, it snapped with an audible twang. Grayling dropped from view.

Stumbling to the edge of the rampart, Lucius looked down to see Grayling grinning up at him as she ascended the rope again. He leaned down to give her a hand as she threw a leg over the stone threshold, and instantly regretted it as pain lanced up his side.

As she stood next to him, Lucius looked at Grayling, the rope she held, and the wall.

“Don’t get it,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “That fall robbed you of your senses. Watch.”

Holding the rope in front of his face, she then threw it over the other side of the wall. It draped itself over the battlements to dangle gently just a few feet from street level.

“You see?” she said. “Simple.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

H
OVERING ON THE
border of consciousness and deep sleep, Lucius was only barely aware as his imagination and dreams ruled his mind. He only dimly recalled the flight through the streets of the city, supported by Grayling as he stumbled, taking seemingly random turns as they tried to shake any attempt to follow them. There was no memory of arriving at the guildhouse, but images of mighty Shadowmages commanding vast hordes of creatures from the darkest depths of the sea ran riot, the dreaded demons sweeping through Turnitia, claiming it as their own. He thought his wounds were tended to by the smooth and soft hands of a dozen half-naked virgins, but they were soon replaced by the threads of power twisting around one another, before fusing into a terrible energy that burned his eyes and boiled his blood.

Lucius did not know how long he had lain like this, assaulted by confusing scenes and half-remembered dreams, but a cold, wet touch to his forehead made him groan as his mind slowly travelled through the mental fog, back to the real world. A quiet voice forced him to open his eyes, though he quickly half-closed them again as light flooded his vision.

“You’re awake. Finally.”

Wetting his lips, which suddenly felt deathly dry, Lucius tried to focus on the woman sitting next to his bed.

“Grayling,” he managed to say.

“Indeed.”

“We made it then.”

She gave a short, humourless laugh. “You nearly didn’t. You damaged more than a rib in that outrageous stunt. I had to virtually carry you the last quarter-mile. We had to give you honeyleaf-dram to get you healthy again.”

Lucius sighed. That, at least, explained why he had been barely sentient. The dram was known to induce fever, and in sufficient quantities, coma and death. But the Hands had long used it to aid the healing process. With other concoctions from the guild’s laboratory, many serious injuries could be countered in a relatively short space of time, as the body’s own mechanisms were accelerated. Widely used among the nobility of Pontaine, the dram was eschewed within the Empire of Vos, but the Hands had learnt how to use it with only the merest chance of fatal results.

He coughed and accepted a mug of water from Grayling. Sitting up and taking a sip, he tried opening his eyes fully, and found his senses rapidly coming back to him, though he felt quite nauseous.

“How many got out?” he asked.

“Not enough. We’ve counted seven in so far, but I do not expect there to be any more. There has been no word of hangings, so we are assuming the others were killed trying to escape.”

“Well,” Lucius said, then fell silent for a moment. “It beats a noose.”

“Yes, it does. But Luber was one of those who did not come back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lucius had not known the man very well, but was surprised to discover that he
was
sorry. Sharing a cell with Luber, however briefly, had forged something of a bond. “We might not have escaped at all if it were not for him.”