Never crept along dark corridors, pausing before every intersection, door, or stairwell as he neared the Great Library. Escaping the crate had been easy enough, even without light. The Imperial Guard had rushed off the moment the gates boomed shut behind them, leaving Never to slip through silent marble-floored halls.
Now he slowed at new shouts.
Calls had been drifting across from the opposite end of the palace grounds but they were ordered shouts for action and watchfulness. From a window, he’d seen the red glow from what he estimated were the stables.
But these new cries were filled with shock.
Steel on steel followed.
Never frowned – some of the voices called for more swords, some for reinforcements, for commanding officers, some shouts urged people back into their rooms.
And he hissed when he realised some of the shouting was in the Vadiyem tongue.
What treachery was afoot?
The stairs leading down to the vaults of the library were unattended – instead, two Imperial Guards lay in their own blood. One man’s eyes were rolled back into his head but the other wheezed, his gauntleted hands wrapped around a crossbow bolt.
Never flipped knives into his grip and dashed forward. “Who did this?” he asked.
“They came from nowhere,” the guard managed.
Never hesitated. Either the Vadiya had attacked the palace, attacked Marlosa – or a few Vadiya were after something in the palace or the library. The fire seemed to suggest a diversion – but whatever it was, it was no half-hearted attempt.
He had to leave.
At best, he’d be mistaken for being involved; imprisoned after the attack was dealt with. At worst, he’d be killed by the Vadiya or Imperial Guard in the fighting. Yet he did not budge. Chaos. The best time to sneak in and out unseen. There was a chance he’d stumble across something to make up for his failures – perhaps even a map to guide him within the Amber Isle.
Footsteps thundered up the corridors leading to the library.
Vadiya soldiers – not just regular infantry but Steelhawks, laden with bows, daggers, hand-axes and swords – poured into the hall, their armour catching the torchlight. The leader pointed at Never and one of his fellows reached for a bow.
Never spun down the stair, bursting through the broken doors of the library and skidded into the shelves. They stretched beyond the limits of the lamplight, each like a glowing pool in a world of musty parchment and leather bindings. Only his breathing rasped as he ran deeper. The chance of escape was not in his favour – he couldn’t take on that many Steelhawks, even with the curse. It was useless against them. For the most part their armour protected them from the kind of cuts Never might inflict to use his curse.
Instead, he’d have to hide and wait. Take a chance. Slip behind them once they spread out. The Great Library was nearly an entire city block in width and length, a dozen men would not find one, if that one were quiet enough.
And Never considered himself quiet indeed.
He controlled his breathing and slowed his steps, crossing into a new row and backtracking enough so as not to lose the exit, where he leant against a giant shelf and strained his ears.
No need; the Vadiya Commander snarled his orders and the Steelhawks split into pairs. Each group took a lamp and ensured one man carried a drawn bow. Never rolled his shoulders; so, they weren’t going to make things easy. Typical.
But just what were they doing in the palace? In Marlosa? It was a question he couldn’t afford to answer, but it nagged him as he slipped between another set of shelves and drifted closer to the exit. It was still several rows distant but he was drawing parallel with the first pair of Steelhawks.
Movement flashed between the shelves.
Two figures ran for the stairs. Steelhawks shouted and arrows snapped – both running figures crashed to the ground. Library attendants or palace folk seeking a hiding place?
“Well, who are they?” the leader snapped as he walked over.
“Not guard, Commander Harstas. They look like thieves.”
Never slowed; the two from the Water Petal?
The commander sighed. “Very well. They are dead, yes?”
“Soon will be.”
“Then spread out, find the other one.”
Never kept still. The Steelhawks resumed their search. Not until the light faded did he move again, approaching the thieves. Neither stirred, one facedown and the other twisted on his side, scroll case gripped in hand.
He knelt beside the man’s outstretched arm and opened his fingers, lifting the case. He twisted the top and let the scroll within slide free. Glancing to the receding figures often, he looked to the map.
A maze of passages was revealed. Skulls marked some corridors; a spoked wheel, another. The scroll was old, frayed at the edges, and its ink fading but he could see enough. Was it truly a path to treasure? It felt right but he couldn’t say why. Something about the scent of age, the flow of the words...
He’d searched every other ancient ruin it seemed, spoken with healers and folk who claimed to know dark magics and it all yielded so little – yet something had placed him in the path of this map. Maybe not the Gods, maybe not fate but he was no fool when it came to following coincidences.
Tucking the scroll into his belt, Never stood.
A shape hurtled toward him.
Vadiya.
Never caught a knife-wielding arm as he hit the stone floor, the man’s weight knocking the breath out of him. But he kept a grip on his attacker’s wrist, reaching for his own blade with a free hand, even as he gasped for air.
The man shouted for help and Never growled.
He drove his head forward, smashing into his attacker’s face. Pain bloomed but he hurled the man aside and found his feet. He skipped away from a grasping hand and then kicked the man before the soldier could get to his knees. The Vadiya clattered back to the stone.
An arrow ricocheted from the wall near his head and Never flinched back.
Men surged forward, drawing near from many sides.
Slow them down!
Never leapt for the nearest shelf and hurled his weight against it.
Wood creaked and the huge shelves began to tilt. Two of the Vadiya closed in and the commander, his red cloak inky black in the dim light, skidded to a halt as Never gave the shelf a solid kick.
Books slid free and the shelf crashed down – but not before the commander used one of his men as leverage, hurling himself back to safety while leaving his subordinate in the path of danger.
The Steelhawk disappeared with a muted cry, crushed beneath huge shelves.
When the wood crashed into the next shelf it knocked that down too, scattering more soldiers. Never cast one of his knives through the clouds of dust and another body clattered to the ground – he’d taken down the fellow with no helm.
Not a bad throw, considering the poor light and dust.
Then he was charging up the stairs.
Once at the top, he ran down the corridor, heading for the nearest stairway. Distance. He needed to lose them first. Then find the quickest path out.
“This way,” someone cried in Vadiya.
Never skidded around a corner; glanced back. Two Steelhawks, closing the distance despite their armour. Bastards trained from birth, why wouldn’t they keep up? He reached for a statue – a heavy brass figurine of a rearing stallion. Then he waited at the edge of the corner.
Feet thundered closer.
Just before the first Steelhawk came into view, he swung the stallion.
A mighty crash filled the corridor, shockwaves travelling up his arms. The second man tripped over his friend. Never dumped the statue and drew a knife, plunging it between the gap in the man’s breastplate and helm.
Blood spurted but Never was already spinning away, batting aside a lunge from the first man, who still lay on the floor, trapped by the weight of the corpse. Never stomped on a grasping wrist and drove his boot into the man’s head.
A crack and the
Vadiya was still.
Never paused to exhale; his luck held.
Something hot sliced into his thigh. He blinked at the sudden flow of blood. Another two Steelhawks charged along the corridor, one drawing a second arrow. Never fell back, scrambling to pick up speed. Along another corridor and then up a stairwell, grunting with pain as he slid into a small armoury, complete with a window overlooking the grounds.
Never snatched a halberd from a stand and rammed the butt through the window. Glass shattered. Voices echoed up the stair. Never strode to the top and drew the halberd back and waited. Blood trickled down his leg and his chest heaved.
A Steelhawk appeared.
Never drove the weapon down with a roar. The point pierced the man’s breastplate and cast him back, knocking his fellow down the stair with a hideous crash. Never ran for the window, ignoring the scrapes he earned when he slipped through, gripping the edge of the sill and kicking around for a foothold.
Something firm rested beneath his boot.
In the dark it was impossible to tell what, but it seemed to take his weight. He stepped down and clung to the minor imperfections of the stonework. The edge of a turret was near enough that he could reach across and brace himself between the sharp angles. The strain on his arms and legs was immediate but he worked his way down, passing an ornamental bust of Pacela.
Moving as swiftly as he could, Never soon reached a balcony. Leaping down, he paused to tear another strip from his cloak and bind his leg as best he could. Two wounds now, and blood was seeping through the bandage on his arm as well. He glanced up. A head peered out from the window.
“Down, down,” a voice cried.
Never swore, then kicked in the door to whatever room lay beyond.
West side of the palace – not guest rooms, generally these were reserved for minor nobles. Someone gave a shout from an adjoining chamber, but Never took advantage of the moonlight streaming through the now open balcony, finding his way to the door. He opened it and paused. When no arrows came he peered out.
Empty corridors. The sound of battle from the left. Imperial Guards were fighting with Vadiya – Harstas’ men or other Steelhawks? Never took the opposite direction, soon coming to a darkened stairwell ahead.
Worth a shot, especially if it got him safely to ground level...
Harstas appeared at the opposite end of the passage. He shouted a Vadiya curse and charged, several of his men in tow.
Never dashed for the stairwell.
Chapter 7.