in the street despite the cold and the wet. What errands would keep them abroad at this time and in this weather, Rik wondered? Fears niggled at him along with the worries and doubts.
Tamara was a sorceress. She had proven that back in Morven with the spells she had used to disguise herself. If she was a Shadowblood she would have other tricks up her sleeve. The strange magic she had used to murder Lord Elakar could just as easily be used against the three of them.
If she was a Shadowblood.
His hand fumbled for the amulet Asea had given him, seeking reassurance that it was still there. It was woven round with the most potent warding charms, would protect them against the most powerful spells, or so Asea claimed. But Lord Elakar had been protected by wards and that had not saved him. Perhaps Tamara knew some way of bypassing these charms as well.
He heard the neighing of destriers in the distance, and the clatter of wheels on cobblestones. The sound came from the right direction. This could be the coach returning from the ball.
“Get ready, lads,” he told the others. The Barbarian raised his two blades affirmatively. Weasel took the cover partially off his long-barrelled rifle. The hood of the cart provided cover from the rain. The Barbarian tugged the reins and it rolled out into the street blocking the way forward. There was the sound of a coach coming to a halt and a driver shouting; “Out of the way oafs! How dare you block the path of the High Lady Tamara — it’ll be the stocks for you if don’t get a shift on and out of our way.”
Rik looked at Weasel. “Time to get this show on the road,” he said.
The Barbarian got down from the cart and walked towards the coach. Rik joined him. The coachmen kept shouting at them.
“Meaning no offence to her Ladyship,” said Rik, “but our cart’s wheel is broken. It’ll take us some time to move her.”
The coachmen continued to heap insults on them, and Rik saw a head look out the coach window and then get drawn swiftly back inside. It was very definitely Tamara.
The two coachmen climbed down. One had a club. The other had a pistol. Rik felt a small trickle of fear pass up his spine. It would only take one shot to end his life, and that shot might well be lodged within the weapon. In battle he could run towards men firing on him, but it was an entirely different proposition on a cold night when the law might be set upon you at any moment.
Why was that, he wondered? It was not like the actual situation was any more dangerous.
He clutched his own pistols beneath his cloak, reminding himself that the one in his right held the truesilver bullet. That might be a mistake he now thought. It looked like he would have to use the normal pistol first. It was funny how things like that so rarely occurred to you when you were making plans.
Two more coachmen climbed down from the rear. One of them held a lantern and a small pistol. The other a blunderbuss, a trumpet-barrelled weapon loaded with nails and shot. It would make a big mess of anyone it hit even if the range was not great. The man with the lantern moved to the window of the coach and said something to the passengers within. Rik thought he heard both a male voice and a female voice but he was not sure. It might just have been the servant speaking.
Asea’s sources had assured them that Lord Jaderac usually went about his own business at night while Tamara attended the balls and parties, but it would be just his bad luck if the noble had decided to accompany the girl home this evening. Rik had a bad feeling about this turn of events. They were already outnumbered and Jaderac was a formidable warrior as well as a deadly sorcerer.
Looking at the bright side, Rik had a score to settle with Jaderac for sending the Nerghul after him. Now might be the time to pay that bill off in full. Assuming he got the chance. He tried one of the breathing exercises Asea has taught him for sorcery, and the tension flowed out of him. His muscles felt loose and relaxed. If violence erupted he was as ready for it as he was ever going to be.
“Halt right there,” said the man with the blunderbuss. “Don’t come any closer if you value your life.”
Briefly Rik wondered if something had given them away, then he realised that the servant was simply being cautious. It was night and the streets were relatively empty in this part of the city.
It was time to make the decision. Go through with the original plan and snatch Tamara or back off. His body seemed to make the choice for him, long before he could think through the possibilities consciously. He nodded at the same time as he stuck his left pistol hand forward from under his cloak and opened fire.
Some dark god answered his prayer. The weapon did not misfire. The man with the blunderbuss fell over, a bloom of blood appearing on his breast. The man with the pistol fell a moment later, a victim of Weasel’s sharpshooting. Almost simultaneously the Barbarian erupted into action, springing forward like a sabre-tooth, striking the leading coachman. His blade went into the man’s chest silver and came out red. The last servant took one look at what was going on and turned and ran. Rik did not blame him.
Upset by the smell of blood the destriers pranced. The Barbarian grabbed them by the reins and tried to gentle them. Rik stepped to the running board of the coach, leapt up, pulled the door open and thrust his pistol in.
“Stand and deliver,” he said.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” said Tamara, every inch the picture of the frightened noblewoman. Rik was suspicious. He knew what a good actor she was.
“If you do what you are told, Milady, you won’t be hurt. Step out of the coach.”
Tamara nodded and moved towards him. She seemed clumsy in her thick skirts, and appeared to stumble. He had been expecting something like this but even so the speed and ferocity of her blow almost took him by surprise. Fingers spread wide, nails like talons, she lashed out at his face. Even prepared as he was, he had barely time to avoid the strike, leaping backwards from the running board into the street. He could feel the wound she had given him sting.
“That was most unwise, Milady,” he said.
“I don’t think so, Rik,” she said. “You see my coachmen gave me time to prepare for you. There is poison on my nails.”
Rik was not surprised that she knew who he was. Tamara was observant and she was a mistress of disguise. He doubted she would have any difficulty seeing through his ruse.
“Really,” he said. Was the wound tingling? Did he feel a little dizzy? “Will your nails stop a bullet?”
“Cosmetics are a good way of hiding drugs,” she said conversationally. “Face powders can contain many interesting alchemicals. Just be grateful I don’t want you dead. There are still things we need to discuss.”
He noticed there were needles in her hand now, long ones, that looked like crocheting hooks but which he guessed were a lot sharper. Even in the bad light he could tell there was a white powder on them as well. Perhaps she was serious. And perhaps they had made a serious mistake. She was not defending herself with sorcery. She was prepared to use something else.
“Having some trouble with a chit of girl, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He moved in front of Rik, an action for which one second later he was profoundly glad. He heard the Barbarian grunt in surprise. Rik stepped to one side to get a clearer shot and saw that the big man and the Terrarch noble were exchanging blows with eye blurring speed. The Barbarian was awesomely fast and strong and yet Tamara appeared to have him on the defensive. A less skilled close combat fighter would have already been impaled on the poisoned needles.
He raised the pistol. His fingers felt numb. Tamara noticed his action and threw one of the needles at him. It buried itself in his arm. The pain put him off his shot and the truesilver bullet tore through the night above her head. Smiling she turned and gestured with her fingers. Lights exploded in the air in front of the Barbarian’s face. Somehow he managed to avoid having the needle stab through his jugular vein. Instead it buried itself in his neck.
“Bitch,” he grunted. Tamara withdrew the needle and stepped back for a moment. She paused as if listening to something. There was a roar from the middle distance. Somehow warned she almost managed to avoid the shot. It took her in the shoulder, spun her around and sent her collapsing to the ground.
Rik shook his head and tried to gather his wits. Weasel had opened fire, he realised, as the numbness moved up his arm and through his forehead. He had definitely been poisoned. His arm hung limply by his side.
