Paul Kemp - Twilight Falling

Cale said nothing, merely gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and forced himself to stay focused. At that point, he could have darted out of the parlor and recruited help-could have, that is, were he prepared to sacrifice the house guard and let the intruders go. But he wasn't. If they made one mistake, he'd make his move.

Halthor frowned at him and said, "I heard you were mean. You ain't mean. You're as tame as a pussy."

Cale made no reply, but promised with his stare what would happen if they met in another context.

It was Halthor who looked away first, muttering something unintelligible.

"Well done, Mister Cale," the Almor double purred. "You are interesting indeed."

They started to move toward the main exit. Derg and Halthor led, with Halthor holding the sphere in one big hand and his long sword in the other. Almor brought up the rear, facing backward toward Cale and holding the young house guard between them.

Cale followed at a few paces, tense, coiled, ready to act at the first opportunity.

"The main door," Almor said to her companions.

They nodded over their shoulders. She kept her eyes on Cale as they moved down the hall. After a few moments, she shot him a grin.

"You're wondering how we did it, aren't you?" With her gaze, she indicated herself, Halthor and Derg, all the while keeping her blade at the guard's throat.

Cale knew how they had done it.

"Illusion," he said, and closed a stride closer.

Back on the street outside the Stag, Vraggen had used a sophisticated illusion to project an image of himself through which he could cast spells. A different but equally sophisticated sort of enchantment placed on these men and the woman could have altered their appearance and voices to look and sound like Uskevren guards.

She smiled enigmatically and said, "I suppose it is an illusion, of sorts."

Cale closed another half stride. Her gaze focused on him.

"Stay back, Cale, or he dies. He's just meat to me."

She pressed the blade so tight against the guard's throat that he gagged. The slightest motion would slit his throat. Cale backed off, seething.

The hallway beyond led through the Great Hall. From there, it was only a short distance to the high-ceilinged reception hall and the main door. Cale watched Almor carefully, hoping she would make herself vulnerable, even for just an instant. She didn't. She kept a hawkish gaze on him and a sharp edge at the guard's throat.

Cale could see the young guard growing increasingly nervous. Sweat pored down his clean-shaven face. His eyes looked wild. Cale realized then that he couldn't have seen more than nineteen winters. Despite his previous bravado, the tension had the young man close to breaking. If he did break, he might try something stupid and get himself killed. Cale tried to distract him.

"What's your name, guardsman?"

The boy's gaze focused on Cale. He blinked away the sweat dripping from his eyebrows into his eyes.

"Huh?"

Almor choked him off. "Shut up," she hissed, and glared at Cale.

Cale ignored her. If he could have, he would have dug out her eyes with his thumbs.

The guard twisted his neck to the right to free his windpipe and said, "Ren, Mister Cale."

Cale gave him a nod and said, "Stay calm, Ren. They don't want to hurt you. They just want to get out. It'll be over soon."

"Yes, sir," said the boy.

"Another word and I open him, Cale," Almor said. Her eyes were hard. She meant it.

Cale said nothing more.

They reached the reception hall. Wood-framed arches opened on all sides. Two dead house guards, stabbed through the chest, lay propped against the wall to either side of the closed main door. Cale knew them-Vondel and Mran. Good men. He resolved then and there that whatever happened that night, he would eventually find and kill the woman and her two lackeys.

Distant shouts from outside in the courtyard carried through the walls. The guard Cale had sent to find the grounds patrols must have rounded up some men and sounded the alarm. It would spread quickly.

As though to emphasize the point, from somewhere above them on the second floor, more shouts were taken up. The heavy thump of boots reverberated throughout the house.

"Outside! Now!" Almor commanded Derg and Halthor.

They hurried for the main door. Almor followed, dragging Ren across the reception hall, all the while keeping steel at his jugular. Cale kept pace. Though it might have, the raising of the alarm did not give him comfort. The tension level had risen. It showed on Almor's face. And tense people did rash things. Were the guards to appear, Cale thought it unlikely that he could get Ren out of it alive.

"They won't get here in time," he said, trying to reassure her. "Just let him go and get the Hells out."

Cale figured that the moment Almor and her team got clear of the wards on the manse proper, they could teleport out.

Almor sneered.

But I'll find you later, Cale silently promised. This isn't over.

At that, Almor gave an absent nod and replied, "I'll look forward to that, Mister Cale."

That almost stopped Cale in his tracks. Could Almor read his mind also?

Nine Hells!

"Who are you?" he asked.

She made no reply, only smiled.

"Let's go," she said to her team.

Derg reached for the large main door-

— and it flew open, smashing into Derg and knocking him back a step. Three house guards, no doubt one of the alerted grounds patrols, poured through, blades bare. Upon seeing what appeared to be three of their comrades holding another hostage and standing over the two dead guards at the door, they stopped in surprise-

"D-Derg?" one of them said, haltingly.

Before he could say any more, before Cale could shout a warning, Halthor stepped forward and stabbed the speaker through the chest. He went down immediately, bleeding and gasping. The two others bounded backward toward the doorway, confused, weapons held in uncertain hands.

"Bastard," cried Cale. He whipped one of his throwing daggers free from its belt sheath, and with a flick of his wrist, hurled it underhand at Halthor. It tore a gash along the side of his throat. Blood fountained to the floor. Halthor staggered, dropped his blade, and clutched at the slash with his empty sword hand.

At the same moment, Derg leaped over the dying guard and unleashed a powerful overhand slash with his falchion at the smaller of the two remaining guardsmen. The house guard tried to parry with his shield, but too slow. Derg's heavy blade split the links of his coif and opened his skull. His eyes went white and he started to fall.

Cale drew another dagger, but before he could throw, before the small house guard had even hit the ground, Derg jerked free his blade, spun three hundred sixty degrees, and slashed low at the last guard. It took him below the knee, nearly severed his calf, and swept him from his feet. A stab through the chest finished him. The whole combat had taken the space of two breaths.

Halthor, still bleeding from his throat, shot Cale a glare. Cale took a step toward him, blade ready. He would gut the man.

Unarmed, Halthor snarled and advanced, raising the sphere above his head as though he meant to bludgeon Cale with it.

"Stop!" ordered Almor. She threatened the boy with the blade. "There's five dead here already, Cale! You want another? I'll kill him. I promise you. Dolgan! Put that down."

With effort, Cale stopped his own advance, but didn't lower his blade. Halthor-Dolgan, Cale corrected-also stopped. The big man lowered the sphere. Blood poured from his throat. He seemed unconcerned.

Cale struggled to keep his anger under control. Five men lay dead at his feet. He ought to kill every one of these sons of whores. But he could not simply sacrifice Ren, and he could not get to Almor before she could slit Ren's throat. So he fought down his instincts and did nothing. They would let Ren go when they got outside. It was the sphere they wanted.