Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

And what if he succeeded? Bren reached into his pocket and touched the dragonshard. If Cutter succeeded in killing Tiel, then what Bren was doing would be for nothing. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged the thought away. No one would mourn the loss of Saidan Boromar. In fact, he’d probably be doing the world a favor.

The carriage came to a stop at the end of the long driveway. Bren climbed out and looked around. Immaculately groomed lawns spread out around him. A footpath, flanked on both sides by marble statues, led from the drive and up to the huge house. Bren had a close look at the statues and was amused to find out that they were statues of past members of the Tain family. Somebody certainly thought a lot of themselves.

A huge ogre stood at the front door, checking invitations as the guests arrived. A valet approached the carriage, but Bren waved him away and told his driver not leave. Bren wandered off the path and into the gardens. Guests strolled across the lawns, sipping wine from crystal glasses while they waited for the dinner to begin.

Bren sauntered around to the rear of the house. He found a secluded area where the servants came and went, walled off from the rest of the grounds. Bren took off the expensive jacket Tiel had insisted he wear, and dropped it on a stone table. He took one last look around. The black clouds overhead were limned with gold as they slowly enveloped the sun. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He took a deep breath, smelling the dampness in the air, hoping he would be finished before the storm hit-not because he didn’t want to get wet, but because he wanted to watch it.

He passed through a gate into the rear courtyard. As he’d suspected, servants scurried around like headless chickens in preparation for the night’s supper. No one even gave him a second look.

The back door of the house led straight into the first of four kitchens. Each kitchen had five brick ovens lining the back wall, and each oven had three sweating chefs tending to the food. They shouted and cursed each other as they tried to organize their courses, fighting over space inside the ovens. Bren smelled spiced meat and roasting vegetables. He smelled something else-a fragrance that reminded him of mulled wine in winter. He looked around and saw a chef making a red wine sauce. He watched as the chef poured wine into the pot, then some into his mouth.

Pity no one would get a chance to eat all this before things started going bad.

He left the kitchen, pushing his way through a group of men and women complaining about being forced to work in the kitchens while wearing their most formal serving clothes. They feared ruining them before the dinner started.

The chaos of the kitchens faded behind Bren, and he located the door Tiel had told him about. It opened onto a set of stairs descending into pitch darkness. He closed the door behind him and felt his way gingerly down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he knelt and fumbled around behind the bottom step. The everbright lantern was exactly where Tiel had said it would be. He picked it up and opened the shutter, the squeak of metal on metal sounding abnormally loud in his ears. White light blossomed through the darkness, revealing a narrow corridor stretching ahead of him. He started walking, then swore loudly as he stubbed his toe against something. He lowered the lantern and saw that the floor was made of old, chipped flagstones. Some of them had risen from their bedding.

The passage stretched the length of the house. Smaller corridors opened off either side, tunneling beneath other portions of the mansion.

The corridor he sought was close to the end of the main passage. It opened into a large basement room. Bren held up the lantern to look at the beams of the low ceiling. This was it. The dining hall was directly above him.

Bren lowered the light and shone it about the room. Crates and boxes lined the walls. Old trestle tables were piled into a corner. Tiel had told him to look just inside the door to his right.

He swiveled around and saw a square crate. He placed the lantern on the floor at his feet. The box wasn’t big-the same length and height as his arm.

Tiel had been very specific. Don’t try to open it. Just lift it up.

Bren did so, raising the crate into the air and placing it aside. The box had no bottom. Bren got down on his knees and stared at what he revealed.

It was some kind of machine, made from brass and copper and a few other metals he couldn’t identify. It squatted on the floor in a way he found slightly disconcerting. A hole gaped in the front, a black circle shaped to look like a screaming mouth.

Bren stood up and listened. He heard voices above him. Tiel had told him to wait until he was sure everyone was seated before inserting the dragonshard into the machine.

He wouldn’t have long to wait.

Wren stood up in his seat as Col guided the skycoach through the thickening clouds.

“Will you sit down? Khyber, you’re worse than a child.”

“I’m just trying to see.”

“See what? Skyway’s a big place. How do you think you’re going to find him?”

As he uttered these words, the skycoach slipped out of the clouds and Wren saw Skyway spread below him, everything lit a strange, apocalyptic yellow color as the sun tried to filter through the heavy clouds.

The first thing he saw was smoke rising above a distant building. He peered closer and saw that something on the roof was on fire. He was too far away to see it, but he reckoned he’d found what he was looking for.

“Aim for that!” he yelled, pointing. “I’ll lay odds it’s Cutter.”

Tiel lowered his hands to his sides. The white-hot glow faded. Cutter looked up in puzzlement.

Tiel lashed out with a fist. The blow hit Cutter in the eye, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“You didn’t think I was just going to kill you, surely?”

He kicked Cutter in the ribs. A sharp pain told him that one of them snapped. He doubled over in pain-

And brought his face directly into Tiel’s swinging foot. The halfling’s boot caught him full on, snapping his head back and nearly breaking his neck. His cheek burst open. An eye ruptured, the white filling with blood.

The pain was worse than anything he’d experienced. He couldn’t take it any more. His body shut down, trying to save him from the agony.

He dreamed of Rowen, seeing her lying in her room beneath the sheet. Only she wasn’t dead. She was shaking her head in disappointment.

“You said you would avenge me. You promised.”

“I tried.”

“You failed.”

Then he was standing in the crypt, laying her on the slab of stone. He turned away and he remembered his thoughts as he tried to bury the pain of her death.

Fight it, he had told himself.

Hide it.

Push the pain away until you need it.

You couldn’t tame the beast. You could only chain it. And you knew. Knew that one day that chain would break and it would rise up and devour you, grown and fattened by the energy you’ve pumped into it in your attempt to keep the shackles strong.

But that day was far away.

Cutter’s eyes opened.

That day was now.

Tiel had wrapped his hands around the human’s neck. Cutter felt the heat in the halfling’s fingers as they tightened around his throat, the pain flaring through his skin.

Cutter surged to his knees with a roar. Tiel kept a grip on his throat so that the halfling was pulled to his feet. The heat intensified, Tiel realizing he had to finish the job. Cutter fumbled in his pocket, ignoring the excruciating pain.

He found what he was looking for. Exactly where he had deposited it during his fight with Jana. He pulled it out and flicked it open. The blade of the razor flashed orange as it reflected the glow from Tiel’s hands.