The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (43 page)

A sniff from Grayling caught his attention and he looked around. The small thief had apparently abandoned her search of the bookcases out of frustration and had started lifting rugs. By the desk, right where Lucius had been standing, she pointed to the floor beneath a large bearskin. Set into the wood was a small metal safe.

Nodding, Lucius prompted her to open it, and she quickly drew a pick from her pack, then began probing. A thought crept into Lucius’ mind, a feeling that something was not quite right, and he frowned as he tried to detect what was wrong.

The location of the safe seemed right; hidden, yet easy to access while de Lille worked at his desk. The lock seemed fairly rudimentary but, like that of the door they had just entered, it seemed as though the merchant was confident that no one would get this far into his home.

So what was it? He watched as Grayling flicked tumblers, one by one, working further into the mechanism. Giving up on his search, Lucius instead called the threads of magic to his aid, ready to shape and twist them to face whatever threat was to be unleashed.

In his mind, he saw them, pulsing cords of magical energy, each a different hue, each containing a different potential that could be caught, separated and shaped to his whim, allowing him to conjure fire, give himself inhuman strength, suck the life from another living being, or any one of a multitude of actions.

He noticed then that several threads had started to bend and twist of their own volition, and he frowned. The threads of magic always curled and twisted around one another, making the process of separating and using them difficult without practice and training, but here they appeared to be curving around
something
. He had seen that effect before, but only when in the presence of another mage, such as Adrianna. This did not look quite the same. It was more... subdued, somehow.

Grayling felt the last tumbler click and, with a satisfied smile, placed her hand on the safe’s lever, ready to wrench it open.

Lucius hissed, stopping her instantly. She looked at him quizzically.

Waving her back, Lucius crouched down and studied the safe intently. He saw nothing unusual but, closing his eyes and focussing on the magical streams, he saw them split and curve far more acutely.

Opening his eyes, he saw Grayling looking at him with concern.

“Trapped,” he mouthed to her, causing her to frown in puzzlement. She shrugged, ready to accept his lead. After all, she was well aware that he could sense things she would never be able to see.

Turning his attention back to the safe, he gently placed a palm flat on its surface and closed his eyes again. This time, the obstacle that forced the threads to split and curve was obvious. He saw a small nest of crackling magical energy resting in his mind’s eye, its presence forcing the threads to avoid it. He knew that nest represented the safe or, at least, the magics bound within it.

Mentally grabbing a thread, he pulled it closer to the safe, and saw wisps of coloured gas, the raw essence of magic, begin to siphon off from the safe. After a few seconds, it was done. No more gases were drawn from the safe, and its nest of energy seemed diminished somehow.

For a fraction of a second he relaxed his control of that single thread and energy immediately began to flow back to the safe. Grasping the thread with his mind again, he halted the flow.

Briefly he wondered what to do next, then an idea occurred. Brow creasing with concentration, he tried to reach out to another thread that slipped and bent its way around the safe. He started breathing hard, and felt himself tiring; he had never before tried to utilise two threads at once.

Slowly, wearily, he brought the second thread over to the safe, and felt his confidence grow a little as, once again, gaseous energy began to transfer from the safe to the thread. After a few seconds more, the ball of energy representing the safe was a little smaller still.

Now he knew what to do, but he was dubious about his ability to control multiple threads at a time. Fervently, he hoped the next thread would prove sufficient to disarm whatever protective magic had been placed upon the safe.

As threads were removed from the main flow of magic, the remainder seemed more chaotic in their path around the safe, as if they were becoming less stable, and it occurred to Lucius that he had no real idea of what he was doing. Was he creating a hole in magic itself as he bound more threads to his control? Or was the more violent twisting and curving of the threads a natural result of his low level of training and understanding? He now began to wish he had paid far more attention to Adrianna and Master Forbeck.

The third thread bucked and twisted, and he had the bizarre image of a kicking and screaming child. Screwing his eyes tight with concentration, he forced the thread, inch by inch, toward the safe. It bucked and rolled under his touch, but he managed to move it close enough for the transfer of energy to resume. As the magical essences started to shift away from the safe, he breathed in relief as the energies around the safe shrank by a much greater margin.

That was enough for the rampaging thread to wriggle out of his control. Like a writhing snake, it coiled back upon itself and, for the briefest instant, touched the safe. The safe exploded, blowing Lucius onto his back.

He felt Grayling grab his shoulders and start to haul him up, but his vision was blocked by a thick mist that rolled with unnatural speed from the lighting globes, down the walls, to fill the room. When his hearing returned, he was aware that de Lille’s room was ringing to the sound of a large, thunderous bell.

Still shaky on his feet, Lucius shook his head to clear the daze left by the blast, and saw Grayling reach down to the safe, twist it open, and grasp something inside. Grinning, she held a golden chain in front of him, a stone-encrusted, moon-shaped device suspended from its length – the torc.

Nodding his thanks, Lucius gestured that they should leave. The doorway was barely visible through the roiling fog, but as he took a step towards it, he saw Grayling’s eyes widen in alarm. He dropped to the floor and rolled as a sword blade hissed through the air behind him. Hearing it thud into the floor, Lucius sprang to his feet, his own weapon in hand.

The fog began to sting his eyes and Lucius blinked to clear his vision. De Lille stood before him. Two quick thrusts from the portly merchant drove Lucius back, and then spun him around as he desperately parried.

He swung for de Lille’s head, but his blade was met by the merchant’s own before it could strike. Another thrust pierced Lucius’ guard and buried itself in the side of his hardened leather tunic. The blow was a glancing one, but he felt a rib give way and wetness start to spread along his side. Lucius began to realise that, for all his bulk and love of riches, de Lille was a most credible swordsman. This was not something he had factored into his plans.

“Go!” Lucius shouted at Grayling.

He saw her hesitate for a second, and then watched her slight form disappear into the fog. He nodded to himself; there was no sense in them both dying here when they were so close to completing the mission. He just hoped the small thief would be able to make her way past the mercenaries that were undoubtedly on their way.

Opting not to play to de Lille’s strengths, Lucius backed up a couple of paces, reaching for the threads, but his enemy was quick, closing the distance immediately. De Lille thrust again, a blow aimed straight for the heart, though Lucius was more prepared this time.

Catching the thrust he turned it aside and reached forward with his left hand. Lucius willed. From his palm, a bolt of flame shot forth. Incredulous, Lucius watched it split apart, discharging its energy harmlessly either side of de Lille.

The merchant advanced, chopping and thrusting with easy, almost lazy blows. The fog was starting to dissipate, but that did not help Lucius in the least, as he was beginning to feel himself tire.

Backing off another few paces, he thought hard. The merchant had to be wearing some charm. That made some sense, and if anyone could afford such defence, it was de Lille.

The merchant pushed from his back foot and he lunged with the speed of a viper, delivering a thrust aimed at Lucius’ belly.

Lucius twisted away. The blade gouged a line against his leather tunic, which held, though he would carry a bruise for a week. Unbalanced, Lucius crashed to the floor, sprawling on his back, his sword clattering away from his grasp. Upon him in an instant, de Lille levelled his sword at Lucius’ face.

Weaponless, Lucius fell back to his magic. He could not disappear into the shadows with de Lille so fully aware of him, and he knew that a direct attack would be instantly nullified by whatever protection the merchant had bought. That just left flight and escape.

Taking a deep breath, Lucius concentrated. It felt as those his veins were burning with the energy being channelled through them. He gestured towards one of the thick rugs lying in the centre of the room.

De Lille saw the rug fly through the air towards him and reacted instantly. He whipped his sword around, but was engulfed by the rug.

Lucius leapt to his feet and pounded out of the room, realising only as he came to the first junction that he had left his sword behind. He had little wish to confront de Lille again in order to retrieve it.

Retracing his steps, he sprinted past the ruined combination door and on through twisting passageways to the corridor with the filcher’s floor, all the time hearing the shouts of mercenaries and the stomping of their steel-clad feet. The ice holding the floor of the corridor in place had melted some time ago, leaving a damp sheen, but now the alarm had been sounded there was little need for caution.

With no more pretence at stealth, Lucius ran, feeling the boards shift beneath his weight with each step, every movement eliciting crack, thunder or crash. A mercenary stepped out ahead of him, clad in metal from head to foot. The guard held a spear, ready to gut the thief as he approached.

Lucius closed the distance between them and then dropped, skidding under the mercenary’s guard along the wet floor. Once past the mercenary, Lucius scrambled to his feet and vaulted for the chair in front of the open bay window.

Looking down at the courtyard and gardens below, Lucius snorted in frustration. There was no convenient pond or thicket for him to leap into and a drop from this height would leave him with a broken ankle or worse. Glancing upwards, he thought he would have a chance at scaling the bay and getting from there onto the roof, but he was distracted by a roar from back inside the corridor.

He twisted to one side, desperately hanging onto the window frame as a spear was thrust at him. Realising just how precarious his position was, Lucius grabbed the shaft of the spear with his one free hand and pulled. Perhaps thinking Lucius was trying to pull him out of the window, the mercenary relaxed his grip on the spear. That was what Lucius had been waiting for.

Thrusting the spear back into the window, Lucius felt the butt connect with the mercenary’s chest, sending him stumbling back. Lucius then leapt upwards to catch the roof of the bay and hauled himself onto the roof.

He saw Swinherd fighting a guard, the thrusts and swings from the mercenary forcing the thief back with every step. Glancing back across to the garden, Lucius saw Grayling sliding down the rope across the wall, followed by Ambrose, mercenaries racing below in a vain attempt to stop them. Gathering what remained of his strength, Lucius pounded up the tiles towards where Swinherd was fighting.

A vicious swipe from the guard caused Swinherd to back up, and the thief lost his footing, slipping down to one knee as he tried to keep balance on the ridge of the roof. However, the guard paid him scant attention, instead hacking down on the escape rope with his sword, the blade passing through it easily. Lucius was sure Grayling had reached safety, but he saw Ambrose fall, disappearing into the hedges. Guards were cleaving their way through the vegetation within seconds.

The mercenary on the roof turned back to Swinherd. Roaring to distract the man, Lucius ploughed into him. The mercenary slid down the incline of the roof, frantically scrabbling to arrest his descent. With a forlorn scream, he disappeared.

Not waiting to hear the crash of the armoured guard hitting the ground, Lucius grabbed Swinherd.

“There will be more of them up here at any moment,” he said.

“They’ve already discovered the ladder and kicked it down,” Swinherd said. “I’ve found something else though. Come on!”

Behind them, the mercenaries had apparently erected their own ladder, for two appeared on the roof at the far end of the mansion. Heading in the opposite direction, Swinherd guided Lucius along the roofline, and then threw himself down its incline, sliding to the rear of de Lille’s home. Controlling their descent, they steadied themselves as they reached the edge. Looking down, Lucius saw that an outbuilding butted onto the back of the mansion, its own sloped roof reaching up perhaps half the height of the main building.

“It’s a longer drop than I thought,” Swinherd admitted.

Lucius looked over his shoulder to see mercenaries rapidly approaching, with more close behind. He groaned in expectation of the coming pain.

“We have little choice,” he said.

Grabbing the stone gutters, he swung his legs over and dangled for a few seconds before letting go.

Lucius seemed to fall for an age. Then, with a jarring thud, he slammed into the roof tiles of the outbuilding, shattering dozens of them with the impact. Immediately, he began to slide down, causing a cascade of broken tiles to tumble before him. He was barely aware of rolling off the roof until he hit the grass with a blow that forced all the air out of his body.