Jon Sprunk - Shadows son

Moments dripped by like the falling rain, and all the while Calm's anger burned hotter, a smoldering coal in the pit of his stomach fueled by recrimination. He had been fooling himself. He'd only ever been good at one thing his entire life. It was time he went back to it and forgot about being the hero.

With images of Josey gnawing at his mind, he got up and started toward the tree. He kept low and worked his way around behind the sentry. He could pass by, unseen, but tonight wasn't a time for taking chances.

As he moved into position, Caim found not a knife in his hands, but the leather cord from Josey's necklace, wrapped around his palms with a foot of length stretched between. He clenched the key amulet in his fist as he stole up behind the sentry. His heart beat harder. He had never strangled anyone before; some stray dogs, years ago when he had been living on the streets and it had been kill or starve to death, but never a man. He supposed it was all the same.

Then, the moment was upon him. Caim slipped the cord around the guard's neck and pulled tight. His arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets as the man lurched forward. The guard kicked and grunted like a wild animal. Caim slammed a knee into his back and hung on. If not for the key, which Caim gripped like a garrote handle, the cord would have been ripped from him. As it was, the loops of leather sawed into his left hand until he started to fear he might lose the fingers.

The sentry stumbled to the wet grass and Caim kept up his hold, and it was a lucky thing because his victim fought for a good long time. Minutes passed before the guard was still. Caim stood up, a little shaky. His hands and wrists ached like he'd been wrestling a bear. As he unwound the cord from his stiff fingers, a flicker of lightning lit up the gardens and he got a glimpse of his victim's face. It was a sight he could have done without. The man's features had turned an ugly shade of purple. His tongue lolled from his mouth like a swollen red worm, his eyes open wide. Worse, he was a kid, maybe seventeen at most.

Calm's gaze fell to the crimson surcoat covering the youth's armor. Not a kid. A soldier. An enemy. Older than I was when I chose my path. He wrapped the cord around his wrist again.

After hiding the body in a clump of tall fronds, Caim continued onward. Another fifty paces brought him to the foot of the inner wall. No sign of additional sentries. He ran a hand across the granite facing, too smooth to climb and too hard for pitons. From around his waist he uncoiled ten fathoms of braided silk cord, a gift from one of Hubert's contacts.

"Are you sure you can manage this?" Kit asked.

"I'll meet you on the other side. You remember the plan?"

She gave him a withering look. "I'll be there. Just don't take too long." Then she was gone.

He attached his grapnel to the line and measured out seven times his own height. Fortune favored him. The sharp prongs caught on the first try. Caim pulled the line taut and listened for signs of movement above. After sixty heartbeats of silence, he began his ascent. Foot by foot he climbed. It was difficult to find purchase on the slick stone. Several times his feet slipped and nearly wrenched the cord from his grip, but he held on. At the top he grabbed hold and hoisted himself onto the curved capstone.

He lay there, heart pounding against the stone as he peeked over the side. Several large buildings crowded the inner bailey, which was floored with rectangular blocks of pale gray stone. The old imperial residence, where the Elector Council now held its sessions, dominated the center. Flying buttresses radiated out from the main structure like the legs of a colossal insect. Lofty towers surrounded the great central dome, painted in gold leaf.

Lesser buildings abutted along the inside of the wall: a barracks and stables for the Palace Guard on the bailey's east end; on the west side, the Thurim House. The Thurim had been the body of state elders responsible for advising the emperors of old. Of course, as one of its first acts after gaining power the Church abolished the assembly. For many Nimeans, it remained the singular most heinous misuse of power and was the spark for rebellious elements like the Azure Hawks. A few cloaked sentries patrolled the courtyard in pairs, but the majority, it seemed, had taken Hubert's bait and rushed to the outer walls. Caim prayed they would remain there. He didn't fancy the idea of running into a patrol of angry soldiers as he wandered the citadel.

Kit appeared on the wall beside him, her legs dangling over the side. Not a drop of rain touched her. "Is this as far as you've gotten? You need to get moving or we'll be here till midsummer."

He stifled an acrid reply. "I count eight down below."

"And four in a guard shack."

"No one up top?"

She shook her head, sending her silver tresses swinging. "I guess they're afraid of a little rain."

"That's good for us."

Caim unhooked the grapnel and let the line fall to the ground. Pulling with his arms and pushing with his toes, he slithered along the top of the wall while the rain beat a tattoo on his back, until he reached the near corner of the Thurim House.

Caim got to his feet. While Kit levitated beside him, he tried to dry his hands on his sodden tunic. The Thurim House was an older style of building, with tall lancet windows, deep ledges, and elaborate fluting; ideal for climbing, but the edifice rose more than a hundred feet above the bailey. One slip would mean a quick end to his career.

"Get on with it, will you?" Kit said. "Before daybreak."

Caim shot her a nasty glare as he found his first handholds and started up. He put his mind on other matters while he climbed. His next problem was how to find Josey within the confines of the palace. He was counting on the belief that Ral wouldn't harm her until the last of the riots were put down and he had firm control of the city. A cold shiver of dread that had nothing to do with the rain passed through Calm's body as he considered the idea she might be dead already. In that case, Ral would pay.

Chilled by his thoughts, Caim didn't realize he had climbed so far until he reached the ornamental cornice jutting from the edge of the roof. Teetering on a narrow shelf, he leaned out to grasp the overhang. Then, with a deep breath and a prayer, he let go with his feet. The palace grounds spun beneath Caim as he swung out over empty space. The guards' torches were tiny sparks far below. His side burned like a hot coal shoved under his skin. With a grunt, he pulled himself over the lip.

He rested on the rooftop to catch his breath. The rain felt good on his skin.

"Come on, Caim," Kit called.

He groaned and rolled to his feet. With the wind whipping past his head, Caim crossed the slippery roof. Scaling down the building's eastern facade was easier. Halfway down the wall, he stopped and inched along a narrow ledge. A tapered buttress arched out like a slender bridge from a corbel set in the side of the building to support the towering walls of the imperial residence. Caim didn't stop to think. He just stepped onto the slick stone blocks and walked, arms held out to either side like a tightrope acrobat. He only tottered once. Halfway across a gust of wind swirled from below to disrupt his balance. He froze as his feet began to slip out from under him, but he clenched his toes and forced himself to stand rigid until the gust died down. With a racing pulse, he continued on and reached the other side without further delay.

As he touched down on the roof of the residence, Caim took a moment to gain his bearings. Battlements studded the top of the building like rows of teeth. Minarets rose at each of the four corners. Once, fires had burned atop each slender tower, a symbol of imperial rule, but those braziers had lain cold these past seventeen years.