Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

Caim and his crew crossed a boulevard lined with statues of tall men and women in long robes. Each sculpture pointed up to the pyramid at the top of the city. They found a stairway to the second tier between two wrought-iron gates. From there they made their way through a forest of towers. Caim could tell Dray and Malig were trying to be quiet, but every sound they made echoed off the stone walls and made him wince.

They were moving parallel to the boulevard, searching for a way up to the top tier, when Malig hissed under his breath. Caim stopped and listened. The tromp of boots echoed from behind them. Caim beckoned the Eregoths over a short iron fence into a side street and pushed them against a wall. The sounds grew louder until a troop of soldiers-Northmen in black armor-marched past. The brands lighting their way were painfully bright in the darkness. Caim held his breath until they tromped out of sight.

Malig sighed. “I'm getting too old for this shit.”

Caim tapped his crew on their chests and went back into the street. They followed the soldiers at a slower pace. While they crept along, Caim racked his brain to formulate a plan. His goal had been simply to reach the pyramid where the vision hinted his mother might be kept, but the closer they got, the less confident he became. He needed an edge. Normally he could rely on his skills and the shadows, but he didn't think they would be enough this time. Then he recalled the woman in the palanquin. Like pouring grain whiskey on a fire, the energy flared up inside him, and a new pulling took hold of him. It pointed upward to the heights of the city, but a few points west of the pyramid.

He stopped in the street and considered this new development. He had already followed his powers to one ambush, and lost a good man in the bargain. Did he dare trust it again? What other choice do I have?

“You all right?” Malig asked.

Caim nodded and started off in the direction of the new pull. They climbed two long staircases, past a row of impressive manors-all apparently vacant and unused-and over a small bridge spanning an empty channel. With every street they passed, the pull grew more precise, leading Caim like a mariner's compass, until it brought him to a small palace. There was no other way to describe it. The main structure was three stories tall with broad, angular windows. Two round towers protruded above the roof. Stone arches covered a breezeway leading to the back. The pull was dragging Caim straight to it.

They found a side alley about a hundred paces down the avenue from the palace. Once Dray and Malig were situated inside, Caim asked if they had everything they needed.

“Sure. We know the plan.” Malig took the bottles from his pack and set them in a row against one wall of the alleyway. Each bottle had a length of cloth wadding extending from its corked mouth. “How long are we going to have to wait?”

Caim looked to the sky. It was past evening and well into true night. “Not long. When I give the all-clear signal-”

Malig waved him away. “We know, we know.”

Caim spared a last glance at Dray, who stood with his spear, looking out over the forlorn city. “You all set, Dray?”

The Eregoth nodded, but maintained his vigil. He's wound too tight. He'll snap if the pressure gets any greater. But Caim didn't have any other choice, except to terminate the mission. No, it's now or never.

He left them and slipped down the avenue toward the manor. There was no sign of activity inside the palace, but as Caim approached he began to feel a dull ache in his chest, the same feeling he got whenever a shadow warrior was near. Checking his knives, he stole across the avenue, leapt, and pulled himself over the high wall.

He made no noise crossing the lawn of crushed black-and-white stone. When he reached the corner of the main building, he searched for the best way up. He planned to scale the palace and start a search from the top-his usual routine. Keeping tight control over the energy inside him, and hoping that was enough to cloak his presence from anyone nearby, Caim scaled the breezeway and jumped to catch the sill of a window on the top floor beneath the sloped roof. There was no hinge or slide; the window was sealed shut by design. Cursing through his teeth, Caim glanced around at the other windows on this side of the house. They were all the same. That makes things more difficult.

Faced with the options of either abandoning the plan or trying something unconventional, he listened for several heartbeats. He hadn't seen any sentry patrols on this tier, but noise carried in this citadel. When he didn't hear anything except the sound of his own breathing, Caim took a deep breath and kicked the window dead center with the heel of his boot. The glass shattered, and Caim had to resist the impulse to jerk his foot back. He drew a knife and knocked out the remaining shards, and then slipped inside.

He landed in a hallway with one closed door on the left side; the corridor turned to the right about fourteen paces from the window. Caim's boots crunched on broken glass as he went to the closed door. He turned the handle and looked into a modest-sized bedroom. There was a plain bed, low to the floor, next to a narrow wall cabinet, a basin on a wooden table, and a porcelain chamber pot. The pulling beckoned him deeper into the palace. He approached the end of the hall with quick steps, then continued around the corner for another six paces before turning to the left; two more closed doors entered into the hall. Caim checked them and found a bedchamber, also vacant, and a storage closet with shelves of linens and a waste bin. He went around the next corner, feeling the sands of time fall quickly through the hourglass in his head. Ahead were double doors of fine hardwood. If they were locked or-gods forbid-barred from the other side, he would have a hard time getting through.

Not if I use the shadows. He toyed with the idea, but using his powers might advertise his presence. Caim put a hand on the latch of the left-side door and pushed.

He entered into what had to be the master bedchamber due to its massive four-poster bed in lustrous hardwood with matching armoire and a lady's vanity. His gaze was drawn to the bed, where a woman with long, black hair reclined on the coverlet. In three long steps he was across the room and beside the bed. The woman wore a modest ivory gown that contrasted with her dusky complexion. Her eyes were closed.

Caim pricked the hollow of her neck with his seax knife. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she started to roll over until he increased the pressure. “Don't move,” he whispered.

The woman stiffened, but made no move to escape. Caim took that as a good sign as he considered how to proceed. He was reasonably sure this was the same woman he had seen in the palanquin. That indicated she was someone important. A noble, perhaps. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

The woman nodded, firmly, but just once. Her hands shook a little, though. Caim didn't feel any other presences. “Sit up.” When she complied, he asked, “How many more people? Where are they?”

The woman held up one finger with a long, tapered nail and pointed down at the floor.

“A guard?”

She shook her head and made a rubbing motion as if she was wiping a flat surface, maybe cleaning something. When he guessed a servant, she nodded.

Caim nodded to himself. That made things a little easier, if she was telling the truth. He missed Kit in the worst way. He could really use her talents right now. “All right. I'm going to remove my knife. If you scream or call out-”

The woman shook her head. A flowery perfume lingered in the air. Caim pulled the seax back. “Who are you?”

She touched the spot where he had pricked her. “My name is Dorcas. I live here.”