Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“I’m just suggesting an option,” Marcus said. “I don’t like the way this Maurisk is talking.”

Raesinia had an odd smile on her face. “I don’t, either. But I don’t see what choice we have. Even if we make it away, Lieutenant Uhlan and his men would be slaughtered. And then what? Back to Ohnlei?”

“I’m forced to agree.” Janus looked over his shoulder at the mob. “I. . was not expecting this.”

Coming from Janus, this was a shocking admission. Marcus let out a sigh. “Then we go along quietly?”

Raesinia nodded, decisively. She turned around and went back to face Peddoc.

“I want you to guarantee fair treatment for these officers and their men,” she said.

“Of course,” Peddoc said.

“We will hold them for a time,” Maurisk said. “But when things are settled, they will be released.”

“Very well.” Raesinia drew herself up, though she still made for a tiny figure. “I place myself in your care, then. Count Mieran, would you ask your men to stack arms?”

Janus turned to address Lieutenant Uhlan. His orders were almost drowned out by the cheers of the mob. Shouts and hurrahs started at the front, where people could see what was happening, but they spread backward through the vast mass. Like sparks down a powder trail, the news and the exultation passed back over the bridge and spread outward in ripples, through the heart of the city.

ANDREAS

The little cabin seemed dark and dead. Andreas, his booted footsteps inaudible on the soft, leafy ground, put his back to the trunk of a massive oak and checked his pistols, then paused a moment in thought.

The Gray Rose had led him quite a chase. That was to be expected, of course. He would have been disappointed by anything less. They’d left Ohnlei behind and climbed the forested slope at the edge of the gardens into the royal hunting preserve. This swath of ancient forest, untouched by axes since the days of Farus the Conqueror, was the domain of huge, spreading oaks and stands of skinny birches, with little underbrush to impede men or horses.

The ground was soft from the recent rain, but not muddy enough to show tracks. Fortunately, the Gray Rose was wounded, and Andreas had been able to keep her in sight. He’d stayed well back, conserving his own strength and letting her exhaust herself, not wanting to risk a pounce that might let her turn the tables on him. He had the highest respect for his quarry.

Orlanko would be furious, of course. The chase had taken all day, and the light that now slanted through the forest was the soft, golden radiance of late evening. But Andreas was confident the plans he’d laid would be enough to deal with the queen and the deputies, if the Gray Rose was not allowed to interfere. Besides, he’d been looking forward to this for years. Politics would keep. This was. . personal.

As the sun sank lower, he’d closed the distance between them. The Gray Rose had slowed, worn down by distance and loss of blood. She’d seemed on the edge of collapse, in fact. He knew he would have to make an end of it before the light disappeared; wounded or not, she might be able to evade him in the darkness.

Then they’d crested a ridge and come into sight of this tiny cabin. It was a single-room log hut, roofed with crude shingles, and probably belonged to one of the Royal Gamekeepers. No fire was burning, though, and the little stable was empty. The Gray Rose had gone straight to the door, staggering and clutching her shoulder, and stumbled inside.

Until now, Andreas thought her flight had been random, but she’d obviously been aiming for this place, which meant that she’d prepared it in advance. He’d broken off his pursuit and done a long circuit of the little building, confirming that the door was the only way in or out. Then he’d closed to within a few yards of the door, behind the nearest tree, and listened. All he could hear was birdsong and the rustle of leaves overhead.

So it’s a bolt-hole, he thought. A hiding place. She’ll have weapons, for certain. Booby traps, perhaps. The Gray Rose hadn’t looked in any condition for a fight, though. Now that she was run to ground, Andreas could go for reinforcements, but that would mean leaving the cabin unobserved for however long it took him to leave and return. He wouldn’t put it past the Gray Rose to feign weakness and make a dash for it while his back was turned.

No. I have to finish this now. But carefully . He drew a pistol and edged around the tree, then sprinted to the cabin wall, flattening himself beside the door.

There was no lock, just a simple push latch. Andreas tried to get a view of the interior through chinks in the logs, but it was too dark to see anything. He crept up to the side of the doorframe and stared dubiously at the latch. Was that glistening just the recent rain? Or had some noxious substance been painted on for the unwary finger?

He retreated a few steps and cast about until he found a suitable stick. Then, shifting the pistol to his left hand, he put his back against the wall again and reached out with his makeshift tool to trip the latch. It took some fumbling, but he got it, and a shove with the stick sent the door creaking inward.

There was a click when the door had opened wide enough to admit a body. A moment later, a curved blade scythed around the doorframe with spring-driven force, ripping through the spot where an intruder would have been standing at groin height. Its arc continued through nearly three hundred sixty degrees, swinging all the way around to bury itself in the outer wall in a way that would have severely inconvenienced anyone standing cautiously to one side of the door as it opened. It smashed Andreas’ stick to splinters.

He smiled and shifted the pistol back to his right hand.

Edging around the blade, he squeezed sideways through the door, not opening it any farther. His eyes scanned the floor for trip wires or caltrops, but nothing presented itself. The interior of the cabin was only dimly lit by the fading light from the doorway, but he could see the huddled shape of a human figure in the center of the dirt floor, beside a heavy stone cooking block. Next to it was a small pit, which looked as if it had been concealed under a dirt-covered board. Andreas, squinting, could make out a pair of pistols inside, but the figure made no move to take them.

Was that her? It was too dark to tell. But the rectangle of sun from the doorway showed a couple of brilliant scarlet drops on the floor.

“Did you get all this way, only to collapse on the threshold?” he said aloud. There was no response from the figure. He leveled his pistol at it and edged forward.

It certainly looked like a woman’s body. It would be safest to shoot first and investigate later, but if the Gray Rose was lying in wait, that would leave him temporarily disarmed. Instead Andreas walked crabwise across the floor, scanning every corner of the cabin. No one was hiding in the shadows, and the body on the floor didn’t move. When he was close enough, he reached out and nudged it with his foot. It shook, slightly, but did not respond.

He aimed his pistol, rolled the figure over, and stepped hurriedly back.

The body was. . not a body. It was a giant doll, a mannequin stuffed with straw and dressed in a woman’s coat. It had no face; where eyes and mouth should have been, there was an embroidered rose, in black and gray.

“Clever,” Andreas said, turning slowly around. “But not clever enough, I think. You can barely stand. Can we not give up this contest?” He didn’t seriously expect her to give in, of course. But the offer might provoke some kind of response.

At that moment, the other device that had been triggered by the latch went off. Ten barrels of black powder buried in the dirt floor of the cabin exploded simultaneously, converting the hut and everything in it into an expanding blossom of flame that rose into the canopy and shook burning leaves from the trees. The boom echoed through the hunting preserve, all the way to the distant walls of the palace.