War of Shadows (36 page)

Let me in, Connor
, the Wraith Lord’s voice sounded in his mind.
I can protect you. We’re under attack
.

Connor steeled himself and nodded. “Go,” he murmured. He felt the cold mist of the Wraith Lord’s presence envelop him, and the jarring dislocation as Kierken Vandholt’s consciousness took possession of his body.

You’re stronger, better able to withstand me
, the Wraith Lord noted, and Connor knew the change was due to Penhallow’s last healing.
That’s good. We have a battle to fight. I’ll tell you what I’m doing as we go. Please don’t fight me, we don’t have time
.

“What about Dagur?” Connor asked. Dagur rocked back and forth on the floor, insensible, moaning in pain.

“The enemy’s using magic against the mages,” the Wraith Lord replied. “We can’t do anything about that, but we can fight, and we must protect the
talishte
and the ritual chamber.”

The Wraith Lord ran down the corridor and up the steps to the bare entrance room, then burst out into the wan daylight.

Voss’s mercenaries were fighting soldiers whose garb Connor recognized all too well.
Hennoch
, Connor thought.
Damn
.

The smell of smoke hung in the cold air, not the distant
smell of cooking fires or the scent of the mage’s fireplace but an acrid, heavy stench of burning oil. A wall of fire rose behind the ruins of Mirdalur’s manor house. Voss’s soldiers fought a force that easily outnumbered them by half. No soldiers could be spared to extinguish the flames without dooming the others to die by the sword. Behind the battle lines, Connor made out the shapes of wagons bearing huge casks.

The mages are down. The
talishte
are trapped by the daylight, and the soldiers are fighting for their lives. It’s up to us to put out the fire
.

Mirdalur survived the Great Fire and the Cataclysm
, Connor thought.
If Hennoch’s soldiers break through the line, they’ll make sure the whole place burns. Smoke will kill the mages. Fire will destroy the
talishte,
the artifacts, and McFadden’s last chance to anchor the magic
.

All right, then. What can we do?
Connor asked the Wraith Lord.

I’ve got a plan
.

It had better be good
, Connor retorted in his mind.

The Wraith Lord chuckled.
First, we need weapons. I’ll head down to where Dolan and the others are sleeping. We’ll take what we need
.

“Stealing the weapons from a team of
talishte
warriors isn’t a recipe for a long life,” Connor muttered.

The Knights can’t use their weapons, because it’s daylight. The other soldiers are occupied, and the mages may die if we don’t get things put right. We’re the only ones free to stop that fire. Win this, and Dolan will forgive you
.

Connor let the Wraith Lord direct him through unfamiliar corridors and stairways to the deep crypts where Penhallow and the Knights slept. Their weapons were nearby, and Connor
took what the Wraith Lord wanted: a bow with a quiver of arrows, and a crossbow and quarrels.

We’ll need something from the mages’ workshop
, the Wraith Lord said.
Don’t stop, don’t fight me, no matter what you see. We don’t have much time
.

“I’m terrible with a bow,” Connor grumbled to the Wraith Lord.

But I’m quite good with one
, the Wraith Lord replied.

They reached the entrance to the mages’ rooms and Connor had to keep himself from fighting to stop in his tracks. The mages lay on the floor, some pale and still, others rocking and moaning in pain.
We can’t do anything for them here
, the Wraith Lord said.
But if we succeed, their pain ends. We must hurry!

The Wraith Lord found the substance he wanted, a cake of white powder, and took a small burlap sack as well. Then he grabbed a bucket of pitch near the fire, and a handful of rags.

We’ll tie a bit of rag near the head of each arrow, then soak the rag in pitch
, the Wraith Lord explained.
We’re going to fight fire with fire
. Connor watched his hands as the Wraith Lord made quick work of it.

Now we need to find the highest point we can facing the pond that’s just beyond the courtyard
, the Wraith Lord advised.
We’ll put the mage’s powder in the sack and tie it onto one of the quarrels
. Connor watched, eyeing the arrow skeptically.

Mirdalur’s main house was a ruin. Its broken walls stood like an empty shell, with its roof and most of its flooring long gone. The Wraith Lord and Connor came up from the cellars and heard the battle unfolding around them. Smoke hung heavy in the air, and the fiery wash of oil from the wagon casks burned closer to the house and its crypts. Connor knew that if the upper portion of the manor burned, the mages and the Knights would die.

The Wraith Lord studied the stone walls until he saw what remained of a staircase. The stone supports and bits of old timbers still stuck out from one of the walls. He slung the bows across Connor’s back and started to climb.

The stone was old and covered with dirt and moss, making the footing treacherous. The Wraith Lord slipped, barely catching himself with a handhold on another stone that ripped at Connor’s skin and nails. The wall gave him cover from the fighting, but they could hear the clang of steel and the shouts of the fighters. The first empty window in the ruined wall was still far above him.

We’ll have to climb faster!
the Wraith Lord advised.

“We nearly fell,” Connor muttered. “You won’t break if you hit the ground, but my body will.”

You’ve got my strength and agility, and the resilience you gained from Penhallow’s bond
, the Wraith Lord reminded him.
That makes you harder to kill
.

Difficult, but not impossible
, Connor grunted in his mind, as he stretched to grab the next handhold. The smoke was growing thicker, and Connor could hear the flames licking closer to the manor. The oil fed the fire, and the dry grass enlarged it. Heat from the flames raised a sweat on Connor’s forehead despite the cold day.

An arrow zinged past Connor’s head, narrowly missing his scalp. A second arrow sliced through the skin on his upper arm, nearly making him lose his grip. Despite the cuirass he wore to protect his torso, Connor knew that most of his body was vulnerable to a keen-eyed bowman.

They were still low enough to the ground to drop without breaking a limb, and as the smoke drifted his way, the Wraith Lord took advantage of the temporary cover to hide Connor, disappearing from the sniper’s sight.

We need to get high enough to have a clear shot into the pond
, the Wraith Lord reminded Connor.

“We also need to avoid becoming a pincushion,” Connor muttered. He paused to think. Mirdalur had been slowly deteriorating for decades, helped along by the Great Fire’s devastation. Yet the buildings were made of solid rock, built to withstand assault. Wooden interiors might have disintegrated, but the walls of the fortress had been built as a stronghold for the ages.

“I have an idea,” Connor said.

The Wraith Lord read his thoughts.
Let’s try it
, the Wraith Lord responded.

Keeping Connor’s head down, the Wraith Lord moved from one protected vantage point to another, until he saw their objective: a narrow old bell tower that stood on the intact side of the ruined keep.

The Wraith Lord dove from cover, getting several yards closer to the bell tower before the sniper spotted him. An arrow bit into the frozen ground at his heels, and another narrowly missed him, skimming his shoulder closely enough to rip his shirt without raising blood. He ducked behind a ruined stone wall and then ran a zigzag path as fast as he could for the dark doorway at the bottom of the bell tower. He heard the twang of an arrow, and warm blood flowed down over his left ear from where the sharp tip had opened a slice in his scalp. Another arrow hit his right thigh, biting into his leg and darkening his trouser leg with blood.

Limping and swearing, the Wraith Lord moved into the darkness of the tower. Too late, they saw the shadowy form waiting there.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Connor’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, and in
that instant, his attacker swung. The Wraith Lord reacted, executing a deadly series of parries and blows that took his opponent by surprise. The enemy soldier got in one lucky blow, opening a slash across Connor’s chest that made him gasp in pain. Connor could feel the Wraith Lord’s anger coursing through his borrowed body. Only then did the attacker realize that his opponent’s skill far outstripped his expectations. In the next instant, the enemy soldier was dying, with Connor’s blade in his heart.

Trust me, Connor
, the Wraith Lord said as he eyed three long, rusted chains that hung from high in the bell tower’s rafters. The heavy bells were gone, but the chains remained, connected to the iron yoke far above. Connor wiped the blood from his face and grimaced as he put weight on his injured leg. He could feel the pain of his injuries beginning to throb as the Wraith Lord grasped the shaft of the arrow in his leg near the skin with one hand and cut off most of its length with his sword.

“If we can climb one of those chains, we’ll have a view of the pond,” Connor mused aloud. “And the bell tower is a more protected climb than the wall we tried before.”

Unless an archer follows us and shoots from below
.

“Very funny,” Connor grumbled. The tower was cramped, the size of a small room at the bottom, growing narrower toward the top. He doubted that the area where the bells had been was much wider than his shoulders. The Wraith Lord sheathed his sword, adjusted his bow and quiver into the center of his back, and squared his shoulders.

Here we go
, the Wraith Lord said, and took a running leap to catch the largest bell chain. Connor bit back a cry as the pain from his injured arms and chest spiked. They dropped down, and fell as Connor’s injured leg gave out under him.

We can do this, Connor
, the Wraith Lord encouraged. Connor
gritted his teeth and felt himself dragged to his feet. He could hear the battle outside, and he knew that their ability to change its course decreased with every passing moment. Eyeing the chain as if it were an opponent, the Wraith Lord ran and jumped again, Connor stifling a cry as he caught the chain, willing the Wraith Lord and his injured body not to let go.

The Wraith Lord wrapped his legs around the chain and inched up its length, hand over hand, using Connor’s good leg to help hold him in place. The Wraith Lord shook blood out of his eyes, and Connor tried not to think of how much blood he had lost. It would not do to get light-headed at the top of the bell tower. His ragged breathing echoed in the confines of the tight space.

We draw on your new strength
, the Wraith Lord encouraged him.
Remember: You are no longer fully mortal
.

Connor had already thought about the enhanced abilities Penhallow had promised would come from his tighter bond. Whether it was the strengthened
kruvgaldur
or merely that with experience and mortal fear, Connor had grown more cussedly stubborn, they kept on climbing. Connor’s arms shook with the effort, and his legs ached from gripping the chain, even with the Wraith Lord in control. As they ascended, the stone walls brushed his shoulders in the narrow passage. Connor did not think he would ever be able to straighten out his fingers again, since they had cramped into claws from holding on to the chain.

The bell chain swayed. They were nearly to the top, and he had begun counting every handhold as the Wraith Lord climbed, anything to keep his mind off the pain and his height above the ground. If the Wraith Lord’s grip gave way, he doubted that anything could save him.

“How come you can’t fly like normal
talishte
?” Connor muttered.

The Wraith Lord’s chuckle sounded in his mind.
‘Normal’
talishte.
You never cease to amaze me, Bevin. But even among immortals, not all talents are equal. Flight was not one of mine
.

Connor’s head rose above the sill of the bell tower window. In the distance, they could see the pond.
Just a bit more
, the Wraith Lord murmured.

Metal creaked, then gave way. The chain grew slack in his hands and fell away with a rush. For an instant, Connor fell, too.

He never figured out whether he reacted out of survival instinct or whether the Wraith Lord knew what to do, but his arms and legs thrust out, stopping his fall by bracing himself against the narrow stone walls. His howl of pain echoed up the rock tower, but despite his shaking limbs, his body did not buckle. Biting into his lip so hard he tasted blood, the Wraith Lord began to inch his way back up the tower.

At the top of the tower, they found the remains of a platform used by long-ago bell ringers. Its heavy planks had been treated in pitch to withstand the elements, and Connor heaved himself onto it, praying to all the gods that it would not give way beneath his weight. For a moment, he lay still, gasping for breath, shaking from head to toe. Then he gathered his wits and crawled on all fours to where he could see the horizon.

We’re going to fire that arrow with the white powder into the pond
, the Wraith Lord instructed.

“Are you mad? I can’t hit that from here!” Connor protested.

I can
.

Connor fought down his instincts and took a deep breath. He mentally stepped back so the Wraith Lord could take full possession of his movements without distraction. With a skill and grace born of lifetimes of practice, the Wraith Lord armed the crossbow and took aim. Relegating himself to a corner of
his mind, Connor watched as the Wraith Lord sighted the target and squeezed the trigger, grabbing for a handhold with faster-than-mortal speed as the crossbow’s kick nearly sent them tumbling to the stone floor far below.

Prepare!
The Wraith Lord’s voice warned. Connor stared after the quarrel, utterly confused.