Shadow's Son Part 17

Markus smiled behind the point of his sword. "You seem a bit stiff, friend. Not as nimble as you were on the pier, or upstairs for that matter. So the bolt found its mark. It stings, eh?"

"Come a little closer and find out."

Markus clicked his tongue. Caim beat their rush by a fraction of a heartbeat. He jumped just before the Brothers advanced. Pain ripped through his side, but he shoved it to the back of his mind as he rolled on his left shoulder and came up inside the guard of his first target. The clammy soldier fell to the floor, bleeding from a gouge in his belly and a slash across the face.

There was nothing fancy in Calm's technique. He shifted and lunged, ducked and riposted. His left-hand knife cut a jagged furrow along the tall Brother's arm while the right-hand blade beat aside a sword thrust and drove its author back. The tall soldier whipped his sword up into a guard position, but Caim sunk underneath and drove both points into the man's upper thigh where the artery pulsed. The Brother shouted and dropped to the floor.

As Caim moved to engage the others, a vicious spasm pulsed in his chest like his heart was trying to burst out of his rib cage. Steel flashed all around him in the lamplight. He retreated under a slashing sword stroke and slid away from a swipe at his head, but hampered by his wound he couldn't move fast enough. A boot stomped on his knee and almost spilled him to the floor. A sword gashed the sleeve of his shirt. In desperation, he launched a whirlwind of stop-thrusts to keep the Sacred Brothers at bay.

A bulky missile soared over his shoulder, accompanied by a dainty grunt. The oil lamp shattered on the floor behind the Brothers, and a wall of burning oil erupted at their backs. By a stroke of good fortune, Markus was stranded on the far side of the inferno.

Caim saw his chance. He darted in close, switching to the offensive. The suete suete knives cut through gabardine and flesh. Blood spattered the flagstones. A Sacred Brother screamed as his sword fell to the floor, his hand still attached to the hilt. knives cut through gabardine and flesh. Blood spattered the flagstones. A Sacred Brother screamed as his sword fell to the floor, his hand still attached to the hilt.

Caim was pressing the last two Brothers when another blade flashed at him from the darkness. He pivoted as Markus, his boots wreathed in flame, launched a barrage of furious attacks. Caim evaded the wild swings, but the action forced him back a step. He made two swipes with his knives to gain more maneuvering room, but the prefect's arrival had tipped the scales. Caim couldn't defend both himself and Josey. He retreated with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had lost the advantage. In a moment they would regroup and overwhelm him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder at Josey, backed against the wall with the ceremonial pike clutched across her chest. They were both going to die in this stinking cellar. The flash of her warm green eyes inflamed him. A tingle in his chest was the only warning before the chamber plunged into absolute night.

Icy sweat broke out all over Calm's body as he fell back against the stone wall. Even knowing what was happening didn't prevent the tendrils of fear from sliding through his veins. The shadows had come.

But he hadn't called them.

There was no mistaking the screams that echoed through the chamber. He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, just for an instant, but it was enough to melt his insides. Sleek and powerful, it prowled the darkness, and the fall of its ma.s.sive paws made no sound on the chamber floor. Calm's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't move; his muscles had turned to jelly.

Josey's cry shook him from the stupor. He felt along the wall until he found her, huddled against a bookcase. She shuddered at his touch and tried to slap him away.

"It's me!" he hissed in her ear. "We have to get out of here."

She buried her face against his shoulder. Careful of his aching side, he cradled her as tenderly as he could. His eyes were adjusting to the gloom. The oil fire was burning down. Flashes of metal near the center of the room showed him where the surviving Brothers were making their stand. There was no sign of the shadow beast, but Caim could feel its presence like a great, black wave rolling through a midnight sea. He only hoped the creature would focus on the soldiers, leave him and Josey alone.

With an arm around her shoulders, Caim steered Josey along the periphery of the chamber. He kept the knife in his free hand ready, but the soldiers were focused on the greater threat. A gurgling squeal rose beyond the range of human vocals.

Josey gasped as they approached the burning pool. The heat of the fire was intense enough to warm him through tunic and cloak.

"Trust me." He picked her up. Her arms encircled his neck.

Caim carried her along a narrow path between the fire and the wall. The heat climbed up his boots. They were almost through when a shape appeared before them in the gloom to cut off their escape. For a moment, Caim feared the shadow beast had turned on them. Then, Markus's face emerged from the shadows. His sword rose into the smoky air.

Caim lowered his shoulder and charged ahead. He slammed into Markus. The momentum of the blow sent Markus hurtling into the greedy flames. Spurred by the prefect's screams, Caim raced up the stairs as if the lords of h.e.l.l were on his heels. But halfway up the uneven steps, the pain in his side forced him to put Josey down. They crawled through the secret door, and Caim slammed it shut behind them. The Brothers' screams died away to ominous silence below.

As he staggered out of the niche, Josey pulled him close in a fierce embrace. Her soft lips mashed against his so hard he feared she might bruise herself. In the midst of this pa.s.sionate display, he collapsed in her arms.

Somehow she half carried him down the dusty hallway. The rest of the mansion was empty, which was good, as he was in no condition to fight. The sickness was worse than ever before. He ached over every inch of his body. While he waited for the effects to leach out of his system, disturbing thoughts caromed through his head. The truth about Josey's ident.i.ty hadn't struck him yet, not fully, but he could already feel his att.i.tude changing toward her. He stood a little straighter beside her, then scowled when he noticed this and deliberately slouched.

They left the mansion by the back door and crossed the yard. Every step jarred Calm's side. Scaling the wall was a brutal experience, but he survived it. As they stole away, a jarring crash from the mouth of an alleyway caused him to raise his knives, until a small, furry shape darted away. He squeezed his fingers around the hilts. He was getting jumpy. It was Josey's fault. He had been a successful, self-possessed professional before he met her. Now, he was a mess.

Perhaps guessing his mood, Josey asked, "What do we do now?"

The foggy street stretched before them into the gloom. "Back to Low Town."

"The brothel again?"

The note of indignation in her voice made him smile despite the fierce throbbing in his side. Already acting the part of a princess. Already acting the part of a princess.

"Not yet. I want to stop by my place first and pick up some things, a change of clothes."

"Wait." She stopped, which forced him to halt as well or leave her behind, something he wasn't willing to do.

"I need your help." She straightened her shoulders and faced him. "I want you to help me track down those responsible for the death of my father ... and my real family. I need you to help me punish them."

Determination burned in her gaze. So much like his own, it gave him pause.

"You mean kill them."

"I mean do whatever it takes. Whoever is behind this has taken everything from me. My father. My home. My whole life. I want them dead. Help me, and all I have is yours."

He forced a laugh, although it came out as more of a croak. "You're wearing borrowed clothes under a borrowed jacket. Any wealth your father possessed has probably been seized by the city. You're poorer than me."

"What do you want?"

He stepped closer. A look of uncertainty crept into her highborn features, but she held her ground. His mouth remembered the taste of her kiss. "How about a full pardon?"

Her smile returned. "We can negotiate that."

"It's negotiable?"

She took his arm as he steered her toward Low Town. "Everything's negotiable, Caim. But you know what this means, right?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"It means you're fighting for a cause."

Caim didn't reply, but let those words drift inside his skull for a while. Neither of them spoke on the long walk out of High Town. He figured they both had enough to occupy their minds. G.o.ds knew he did. The thing in the cellar prowled through his mind like a bad dream. What the h.e.l.l was it, and why did it keep appearing to him? More important, how could he get rid of it? The questions dogged him all the way back across the Processional.

Caim smelled trouble before they reached the Gutters. It smelled like smoke, and blood. A commotion stirred in the streets ahead. He pushed ahead of Josey as a throng of men poured out of a side street. Brandishing lanterns and makeshift weapons, they vanished down another lane. Their shouts echoed off the house fronts and rose into the night.

"Death to the prelate!"

"Swords rise for freedom!"

The crowd took up the chant as they marched off into the night. Caim started forward, but Josey dragged him to a stop. "What if we went to the palace instead?"

"Are you crazy?"

"If I announce myself, who I am, the people may rally behind my claim. A lot of bloodshed could be avoided."

"Or you might be seized and bundled away before anyone hears your claim. It's suicide. Look, you said it yourself. The ones in power don't play by any rules but their own. We've got to be smart about this. I don't know much about politics, but even if the prelate and the Elector Council vanish overnight, someone else will seize the reins. And they aren't likely to hand them over to anyone without a fight."

She tapped her chin with a chipped fingernail, but didn't argue. For that, he was infinitely thankful. He didn't have the energy for any more fighting tonight. He just wanted to get home and crash in his own bed for a few hours. Everything would look different in the morning.

They turned off Hooper Street and halted in their tracks. The end of the block was engulfed in an inferno. Towering flames licked at the night sky and cast off swarms of burning cinders. Maybe they had come down the wrong street. He searched for landmarks. No, this was it.

"Is that ... ?" Josey asked.

"Yes."

His apartment building was burning down.

A crowd of people milled about in front and watched the conflagration. Some sobbed; others stood enraptured as the towering flames licked at the underbelly of the night sky. A firefighting brigade was on the scene, but their efforts, though valiant, were useless. Unable to stop the blaze, they concentrated on keeping the fire contained.

Calm's fists quivered. This wasn't an accident. Even though the rickety building had been a disaster waiting to happen, the timing was too convenient. This was a message aimed at him. We know where you live, and we can reach you any time we want. We know where you live, and we can reach you any time we want.

He wanted to stab someone, to fight something tangible. Instead, he stood with the rest and watched the immolation of the place he had called home for the past three years. He glanced at the faces reflected in the firelight. It had been a mistake to come here. Just like the mansion. Their enemies were a step ahead of them, looming at the end of every path they took. He had to do something unexpected, change his patterns. Otherwise, sooner or later, he was going to get them both killed.

Then he saw her.

The little girl sat at the edge of the crowd, her thin legs drawn up under her tattered smock of a dress. Tears carved pale lines down the mask of soot and grime plastering her delicate features. By her feet, a heap of charred corpses were stacked under a grubby tarp like so much cordwood.

A man stumbled out of the crowd. Unshaven, bloated, bleary-eyed, he staggered over to the girl. With a snarl, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her upright. Her father, her uncle, her mother's pimp-it didn't matter. Something unhinged inside Caim. He crossed the distance in three strides. An open-handed blow to the wrist broke the man's grip on the child; a clout above the ear with a knife pommel put him down. Some people in the crowd turned to watch, but Caim didn't care. Ignoring the pain in his side, he bent over the fallen man and put the point of the blade to his throat.

The hand holding the knife quivered, just a little, but to Caim it was like the tremor of an earthquake. His emotions were raging out of control. He wanted to kill so badly he could do it without thinking, without caring.

A pair of small arms tugged at his leg. Caim looked down into a pair of wide brown eyes, and he remembered the night, long ago, when he had watched his father die.

Go ahead, hero. Destroy her world, too.

He put away his knives and picked her up. She squirmed for a moment, but then buried her face into his shoulder with a shudder.

"Shhhh," he whispered. "It's over."

Josey waited for him at the end of the lot. She didn't say anything as he carried the child away from the burning building. Together they walked the narrow streets of Low Town, three ghosts alone in the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

-aim drew the suete suete blade across the smooth river stone. Steel whispered along the grains of the stone, turned over, and came back in the opposite direction. When the edge shimmered like foxfire over the moors on a cool summer evening, he put it away and started on the other knife. blade across the smooth river stone. Steel whispered along the grains of the stone, turned over, and came back in the opposite direction. When the edge shimmered like foxfire over the moors on a cool summer evening, he put it away and started on the other knife.

The girl's name was Angela. She sat at a table in Madam Sanya's kitchen, fast asleep beside a half-empty bowl of apple slices and clotted cream. Cleaned up and wearing a fresh smock, she looked a d.a.m.ned sight better than the waif they had found outside his ruined apartment building.

Madam Sanya crossed the kitchen in her nightgown to hand him a cup of warm tea. "Sure, she's welcome to stay here, Caim. It's no bother. I've had a gaggle of little ones running through this house before, and our business being what it is, I gather I'll see more before they put me in the ground. That is, if I can stay in business."

Caim accept the cup with a nod. "Getting bad?"

"As bad as I've ever seen. Parnipos came by today with news. Seems some citizens tried to stop a band of Flagellants from burning down a tavern on Rye Street. Just everyday folk, but they had the Beaters hemmed in tight until the Brotherhood arrived. Fourteen dead, all told. The bells on Septon's Chapel have been ringing all afternoon, and now there's talk that the holy prelate has died, G.o.d rest his soul." She drew a circle over her breast. "We've gotten more people at the door looking for a safe place to hide than actual customers these past few days, but things will look up."

Caim reached into his tunic and took out a leather purse. It was the last of his money. The rest had been hidden in the floors and walls of his apartment.

"This is for taking in the girl. See that she gets some learning. And I don't want her working a room here, Sanya. Not ever. I'll have your word on that or I'll take her somewhere else."

Madam Sanya made the purse disappear inside the folds of her gown. "I promise. She can fetch and cook until she's old enough for schooling. I know just the right teacher. He's retired from the university, a real scholar and a gentleman. No, she'll be fine as a spring rain, but what about you two? Need to borrow Kira's room for a while longer?"

Caim looked over at Josey, sitting across from Angela with her head nestled in her arms. She looked almost like a child herself, despite the blood and soot marring her borrowed clothes.

"No," he said. "It isn't safe here, for us or you. We'll be moving on."

Madam Sanya observed him over the rim of her cup. "By the way you speak, doesn't sound like you intend to be back."

"You never can tell, can you?"

Caim went over to Josey and woke her with a gentle nudge. She looked up with squinty eyes. "Hmm?"

"It's time to go."

Madam Sanya gave them each a hearty embrace before they shuffled out the back door. Outside, the deep purple of night's final hour lightened into the faint glow of dawn. Umber streaks etched the sky, forecasting poor weather ahead.

Caim led Josey out the fence door and down the narrow alley behind the brothel. Their situation was bleak, to say the least. They couldn't trust anyone now, couldn't go anyplace he normally frequented. Not even his secret bolt holes in dives across the city were safe. He was known throughout the underworld, and his pa.s.sage would go noticed. Disguises wouldn't hide them forever, not as long as they stayed in the city. The only thing left was to leave.

It wasn't an easy decision. Josey opposed it, of course. Caim put himself in her position and understood why. This was her home, all she had known since she was a little girl. But he had to rely on his instincts, and they screamed that as long as Josey remained in Othir, she was sitting in the jaws of a bear trap, just one ill-fated moment away from being snapped up. So he was taking her to the only place in the world he thought she'd be safe.

Josey started to shake off her drowsiness as they paused outside a chandlery on Fafstall Lane. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.

Caim peered down the street. Folks would be rising soon. He didn't want anyone remarking on two people seen hurrying through the predawn streets.

"No," he said. "But it's what your fathers would have wanted. Both of them."

"We'll return as soon as it's safe, right?"

"Sure." He let it go at that. Would it ever be safe in this city again? "Come on."

They stole across the street and down another alley. As they came around the next corner, they almost walked into a desperate melee. The ancient walls and cul-de-sacs of Low Town sometimes played tricks with noises. Caim didn't hear the fighting until they were upon it. In the middle of a crowded street, a score of militiamen, rural conscripts by their mismatched brown coats and crude wooden pikes, struggled to hold off a mob. Angry cries on both sides were punctuated by the clash of arms. Blue scarves dotted the crowd, but Caim didn't see anyone he knew. He drew Josey away.

Four blocks eastward, she grasped his wrist as the cemetery's dingy walls appeared from the night fog. The stonework was cracked and pitted like old cheese, caked with clumps of moss and climbing vines. Fallen chunks of masonry were scattered about. Wrought-iron spikes, now rusted and bent, lined the top. Once, there had been a contingent of watchmen a.s.signed to protect the final resting spot of Othir's citizenry, but it had been deemed a waste of resources.

"What are we doing here?" she asked.

He nodded to the gate, slouched in its crumbling hinges. "This is our way out. Trust me?"

She pulled herself up straight and nodded. Caim opened the corroded lock with a quick twist of a knife point, and grimaced as he heard a snap. The hinges squeaked as he shoved it open. He ushered Josey inside, then shut the gate behind them. There was nothing for the lock; it was busted well and good. How long before someone noticed that? Maybe were the only ones out here tonight. Sure. Maybe were the only ones out here tonight. Sure.

Josey shivered beside him. Caim put an arm around her shoulders, partly to comfort her and partly to keep her from stumbling. The atmosphere of the boneyard was pungent with a miasma of noxious vapors. Swirling fingers of fog wafted across the spa.r.s.e, gray gra.s.s through storm grates in the River Wall.

They didn't dare risk a light, but Caim knew the way. He navigated a winding path through the rows of gravestones. Some were so old their dates couldn't be read. A dozen centuries of corpses lay in repose beneath their feet. A sobering thought and not something he pondered often, but these past few days had ill.u.s.trated his mortality in ways he'd never thought about before. He doubted whether either of them would survive this fiasco. Where will I be put to rest when my time comes? Dumped in an alley for the street sweepers to take out with the morning trash? Or thrown in the Memnir with stones tied around my neck? Where will I be put to rest when my time comes? Dumped in an alley for the street sweepers to take out with the morning trash? Or thrown in the Memnir with stones tied around my neck?

Caim stopped Josey at an old mausoleum near the east end of the cemetery. The words carved into the stone lintel above the heavy bronze door were faded and eroded by time, but still legible.