sound.
Cale had no choice, so he said, 'All right.'
Almor gave a satisfied smile and moved farther into the room.
'You won't get away,' Cale said, and meant it.
'Of course I will,' Almor replied. He sidestepped across the room, watching Cale the while. 'You're an intriguing man, Cale, from all I've heard and seen. I suspect I might find you entertaining in another context.'
When Cale heard those words and the innuendo registered, the realization hit him-a woman had disguised herself as Almor. A woman had led the attack on Stormweather Towers and killed the gods knew how many guards. For a terrifying moment, Cale had a mental picture of Tazi, Shamur, and Tamlin murdered in their beds-for clearly the Almor-imitator had not sent guards to protect the Uskevren bedrooms. The thought nauseated him, even while sending a hot rush of rage through him.
He forced his mind to focus on the three enemies before him. Perhaps they had attacked only to recover the sphere, and had only killed the guards in their way. He hoped so. But if that was true, what in the Nine Hells was the sphere?
He backed up until he felt the parlor wall behind him. If he had to fight all three, he wanted a wall at his back. He took care to ensure that as much furniture as possible stood between him and the intruders. With his combat mobility, he could use the furniture to his advantage if they tried to close.
He had few options. He considered casting another of his darkness spells but dismissed it because of the boy. The Almor double could kill him whether she could see or not. Cale was not prepared to sacrifice the young guard to save a piece of Thamalon's art. For the moment at least, they were in charge.
They had probably teleported into the courtyard and walked unchallenged right into the manse. It occurred to him then that possibly no one else knew the house to be infiltrated. No, he reminded himself. He had sent the other young guard to find the grounds patrols. They would be coming.
Cale eyed the sphere in Halthor's hand. It looked like. . nothing more than what it was. An unusual piece of quartz with flecks of diamond and tiny gem-stones suspended within it. He wondered what in the Nine Hells he and Thamalon had purchased.
Almor slid near her two comrades, dragging the guard with a chokehold while staring at the bloody corpses in the center of the room as though they were a feast.
'You have it?' she asked of Halthor.
Halthor nodded and held the sphere up for Almor to see.
Almor smiled and said, 'Excellent. Then we'll be off.'
Halthor, broad and going to fat, eyed Cale with narrowed eyes.
'And him?'
Almor, still keeping the hostage guard between herself and Cale, said, 'I suspect he's going to follow us out. Probably staring daggers with his eyes all the while. Isn't that right, Cale?' She fluttered her eyelashes, a grotesque display from Almor's scarred face. 'I'll be disappointed if you don't.' Seeing the disgust on Cale's face, she jerked the house guard's head to the side to expose the jugular. 'But not too close. Or else slice-slice.'
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.
