The night was pregnant with the possibility of doom. So much could go wrong, and all of it could be fatal. A thrill jolted her body. She loved this. There was no sensation comparable to taking your life in your hands, and measuring your skills against whatever fate might throw at you.
A light glowed through the leaded panes of the window. She swung gently sideways and looked through it. There was nobody within. Coals still glowed feebly in the fireplace. Using her tools she opened the window and entered the room, pulling it closed behind her.
The office looked smaller than it had when she visited previously, presumably because of the gloom and the shadows. Silently she moved over to the door and listened. She could hear voices talking in the antechamber. She put her ear to the keyhole and listened carefully, trying to work out how many of them there were. It would not do to have witnesses. Possibly if there were enough of them, and they had sorcerous enhancements they might even be able to overcome her. To be on the safe side she drew one of her envenomed daggers.
“It seems Azaar’s army has orders to invade Sardea,” said a voice she recognised as Xephan’s.
“Is he mad, to march on the Empire with so small a force?” said Ryzarde. So there were at least two of them. That made things more complicated but only a little more so. She did not find Ryzarde nearly so fearsome as the Prime Minister.
“The First Blade was always over-confident.”
“Perhaps he knows something we don’t. Perhaps the Great Bitch has some new trick up her sleeve. So far she has managed to foil all our best laid schemes.”
“Yes,” said Xephan. “I find that very suspicious. It’s almost as if she had a spy among us.”
“That is not possible.”
“It was impossible to destroy the Serpent Tower but she managed it, while avoiding a Nerghul and the best efforts of Jaderac and the luscious Tamara. Malkior’s plan to kill Kathea was supposed to be fool-proof as well, and now he is dead.”
“It does not matter. Once the Ritual of Death is complete we will have an invincible army at our disposal.”
Tamara froze. It sounded like she was eavesdropping on a council of war. Possibly she might overhear some useful information if she kept listening.
“The plagues have killed many. Soon the dead will outnumber the living, and we will be invincible.”
“This world will change.”
“It will be ours again. The humans will know their place. We will have an obedient army as great as anything they can field.”
“I am almost sorry that Malkior is not here to witness this. The secrets were in his books. Using the spell with the power of the Black Mirror behind it was a stroke of genius if I say so myself.”
The mention of her father froze her. She knew her father had a library of ancient sorcery in a secret chamber in the mansion. Had Xephan and his cohorts managed to plunder it, or had Malkior given them the book willingly when they were his pupils?
Glasses clinked, and wine was sipped. Good, she thought, the two were relaxed. She tested the door gently. It was not locked. She loosened another dagger in its sheath and pulled the door open, taking in the chamber at a glance.
Ryzarde sat in the nearest chair. Xephan stood in the corner with a decanter in his hand. She threw the dagger at him. It flew true and buried itself in his eye. She ripped her second blade clear of its sheath and lunged at Ryzarde. Her spell-enhanced speed carried her across the room, and she buried the blade in his heart.
Even as it went in she knew that something was wrong. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Xephan was still standing. He threw the decanter at her with such force that she could not avoid it, only managing to twist her head so that it did not catch her full on. It glanced of her head, and hit the wall, shattering and spraying glass and brandy over Ryzarde.
She rolled, blanking out the pain as she had been taught and tearing her shortsword from its sheath. Xephan stood there, the poisoned dagger protruding from his eye, seemingly unscathed. She saw no weakness in his stance, no sign that his throw had been some sort of last-gasp reflexive spasm.
“What have we here?” he asked, amusement in his voice. “A would-be assassin?”
He tugged the knife from his eye. It came free with a slurping sound, and the gel of his eyeball flowed back together.
A sudden whiff of alcoholic fumes warned her, and she sprang to one side as Ryzarde pounced. He was slowed down no more by her attack than Xephan had been by the one in his eye. It appeared she had been over- confident.
Powerful hands clasped her arm with numbing force, in a grip far stronger than any Terrarch should have possessed. She twisted and slashed down with the blade, aiming for the wrist. The knife’s edge cut flesh but no blood flowed. The cut healed as swiftly as the blade bit. A fist smashed into her with the force of a horse’s kick, sending sparks flying across her field of vision. She speared at her attackers eyes with her fingers and felt them bite home. Her foe gurgled and fell back, leaving her free from his punishing grip. At very least, she had caused him some discomfort.
Things were happening too fast. She had hoped to take her assailants by surprise, but instead she was the one who had been thrown off-balance by their unexpected abilities. Xephan drew a long blade and lunged at her face. She threw herself to one side but it caught the scarf around her face and jerked it free.
“Why it’s the lovely Tamara,” said Xephan. “Did Arachne put you up to this? Was that what your little chat was about? I believe I shall have to show our beloved Empress who is the real ruler of Sardea. Perhaps your corpse will demonstrate that sufficiently.”
The insanity of the situation hit her. Xephan was speaking in perfectly measured, perfectly reasonable tones. He did not look like a Terrarch who had just had a dagger plunged through his eye and into his brain. Ryzarde paid no attention to the poisoned dagger sticking forth from his ribs. Both of them looked amused.
“What has happened to you both?” she asked to distract them as she lunged at Xephan with her shortsword. The blade slashed his face, revealing something black that reminded her of the underside of a woodlouse before the flesh knitted cleanly together again over it. She remembered where she had seen its like; in Jaderac’s alchemical laboratory, when he had created the Nerghul. Had this pair been turned into unholy necromantic monsters? She did not see what else it could be.
“We have been remade,” said Xephan. “As you might have been if you had remained loyal to the Brotherhood. We are immortal and invincible. But really you are the surprising one here, little Tamara. You are impressively skilled.”
He attacked on the last word, and it was all Tamara could do to keep clear of his grasp. Her rolling leap carried her back into the office. Ryzarde came in on her heels, still stinking of brandy. Tamara’s fingers clasped on the coal shovel. She reached into the fire with it, and scooped out the last of the glowing embers, sending them showering over her pursuer. The brandy caught fire, burning in blueish flames, scorching flesh and cloth. Ryzarde reeled back, proving once more the old adage that fire was no friend to the undead.
She considered her options. Soon guards would come to investigate and there was no sense in sticking around for a fight she could not win. She had made enemies tonight she doubted that even the Empress could protect her from. It was time to make a run for it, to get away if she could. She sprang for the window and grabbed the spidersilk line. Momentum carried her out into the night. She let it carry her back to the wall and scampered up it.
She saw Xephan stick his head out the window, not knowing immediately where she had gone. In the darkness the line was almost invisible. Not that it mattered. They would soon have agents looking for her. It would be better not to go back to the mansion.
She felt a brief surge of regret. She would have liked to have found the books they had referred to, but there was no guarantee those were still in the library, or that they would be of any use even if she could find them. No, it was time to flee into the night and hope she could outpace the hounds that would inevitably follow her. There was really only one place for her to go now.
Back to the West, if she could make it.
