“Why are you still here, Cullen? Everything is gone already. Everything is dead.” Deltrea’s voice harped at her. Deltrea was dead, of course, but it seemed not even death could shut the woman’s mouth.
“I told you before, I’m waiting for something.”
If she looked in the direction of Deltrea’s voice she could almost see her friend, long and lean and smiling that lazy, lusty smile of hers. She missed Deltrea more than she would have thought possible. Enough, it seemed, to let herself wallow in the madness of fantasies.
She’d have thought she could do better when it came to spectral companions, but apparently her mind wanted Deltrea and she had to accept that.
“Does this make you our new queen?”
“What?” She looked toward the voice but there was no face this time. “No. Why would it?”
“You told me once you were related to the queen, didn’t you?”
“No. That was my grandmother.” She waved the question away. Or maybe she waved at a fly. It was hard to say sometimes.
Cullen had watched the grayskins move on and the people of Trecharch stumble past her, though she could not have told anyone which came first. Days moved past her with no true recollection beyond the end of everything she had ever believed in. She might never have moved again if hunger hadn’t finally snuck past her shock and bitten hard enough for her to notice.
In exchange for her vigilance, she had gotten Deltrea’s voice in her head. A blessing, perhaps, or a way for the Mother-Vine to make her suffer even more.
The Mother-Vine lay dead before her, burned and hacked and destroyed. That fact sat as well with her as the notion that sun would never shine again or that the Great Star would fly away and find a new home somewhere far away. None of the concepts made sense in her eyes.
She spent a week foraging in the woods around the ruins of the tower and circling the ruin of the Mother-Vine. What she touched failed to feel real under her fingertips. Her skin was numb and she could not escape the horror of what her world had become.
Sections of the great vine fell from the trees and shattered to the ground at random intervals and Cullen watched. It was all she could do. In time she found a decent bow and gathered arrows. Neither were hard to find. The grayskins had not claimed anything but the bodies of the fallen and most of her people who had gone past wouldn’t have known how to use a bow or were too weak to use one. Those she saw were not the sort to fight. The old, the diseased, the young. The rest were gone along with the Mother-Vine.
On the ninth day Cullen climbed to the remains of the Mother-Vine and slowly scaled the great husk. She wasn’t quite sure why, except that she seemed to have a need.
That was the only reason she had stayed this long anyway.
“What are you going to do, Cullen? Whittle your name in the remains?”
“You’re very rude, Deltrea.”
“Well, death has made me like manners less.”
“Nothing could make you like manners less. Shouldn’t you be off fucking Lurne’s ghost?”
“Now who’s lost her manners?” There was a pause and Cullen scaled the remains, pulling herself up the vast trunk of her dead god with ease. “Besides, I haven’t found any other ghosts to speak with.”
“Just as well. I’d be bored without you.”
“That’s why I stay, you know. To save you from boredom.”
“I have lost my mind and you are an echo of that loss.”
“You have lost your way, Cullen. There’s a difference.”
“Well, should you happen to know the way I should go, please feel free to tell me. Otherwise I’m just staying here until the winter comes around again.”
Deltrea’s voice stayed silent, but that was just as well. Cullen would have never noticed. She was too busy looking at the brilliant slice of green hiding in the ruined trunk of the Mother-Vine.
Had anyone told her that she would reach for that sliver of green in a vast field of dead, gray ruin, she would have laughed at the notion. Cullen was simply not that brave and would have been the first to tell anyone as much.
Still, her fingers reached, and touched, and burned with the vitality of the treasure she found hidden in the depths of a dead god.
Deltrea no longer spoke to her. Instead she screamed. Cullen screamed, too.
Drask moved as carefully as he had for days now. He could have made noise and he had no doubt he would not have been heard over the sound of complaints coming from below. Tega was quiet. The larger of the men was quiet as well, but the small one, the one he thought of as the digger, continued to bemoan the lack of food.
He reached into his pouch and took out a logga nut. Most people required a knife or a rock to open one of the hard nuts. Drask had a silver hand. He found it very useful for just such situations.
They had made surprisingly good time. Despite the constant complaints, the digger led them well enough, careful to avoid the more obvious pitfalls.
Drask merely followed, as he had been ordered.
Until they reached level ground.
Everything that he had already seen in the depths of the Mounds was here as well, only more so.
There were columns of crystalline rock that held hidden things within the murky depths; half-seen bodies and remnants of other forms. Near his left hand he could see a human head, burnt and blistered and torn, suspended in the stone and staring with one wide eye in his direction. He did not fear such things, but they made him uncomfortable.
When Ydramil spoke it was with Ganem’s voice. Ganem was the King in Silver and so this was not at all surprising to Drask. Her voice was smoky and sultry and Drask closed his eyes, delighted to hear the familiar tones.
“It is time, Drask Silver Hand. You will soon learn secrets never meant for the Sa’ba Taalor.”
Drask nodded his head, fully aware that the god knew and could see all that he did.
“There are places forbidden to your people for your protection. This is one such place. But there are also secrets here, for even gods have their secrets. You are trusted as none of your kind have been trusted before in this. Think carefully before you react. Know that your actions and words will have consequences.”
Drask spoke softly, but he spoke. “Ydramil, I have served all of the Daxar Taalor. I have lived in each land and studied the ways of every king and every god. Yours is the path of reflection and consideration. I have chosen to follow your ways. I will not disappoint you.”
“The Fellein will soon find what they have sought. Here there is a weapon that can be used against us. It is also a weapon that can be used by us and for us. Look upon their discovery when the moment comes and if you would honor me, take up that weapon in my name.”
“How will I know this weapon, Ydramil?”
“You are a warrior, Drask. You will know it as you have always known weapons. You will see it for what it is.”
The voice faded, but the presence did not. For this moment in time Ydramil kept close watch on Drask and that by itself was enough to make him understand the gravity of the matter ahead.
Drask watched the Fellein as they moved across the flat surface of the ground and closer to the source of the light they had been seeking for so many days.
“By the gods, Vonders! Do you ever stop complaining?” His voice was louder than he’d meant it to be, but the sentiment was sincere and Nolan glared at the source of his frustration.
“No, not often.” Vonders looked back at him and smiled. It was the first time Nolan had seen the man look remotely cheerful in the last two days.
“You’ve enough of your trinkets to buy a castle when we get home. You should be celebrating, not pissing about how hard your existence is.”
Vonders shrugged and patted the pouch he’d sewn into his cloak. “Can’t spend a fortune here. It isn’t worth a fortune here, and even if it were, I’ve still got to finish this nonsense.”
Nolan knew that Orly was only complaining to hide the fact that he was terrified. The nightmare that had killed Tolpen had been unsettling enough, but when they found Tolpen’s corpse far below them several truths became evident. First that the thing Tega called a Mound Crawler was not dead. There was no sign of the vast body. Second that other things were alive down here. Hart’s body had been chewed on a great deal. Most of his face was gone and the droppings of whatever had fed on him were nearby.
Tega reached into her cloak and pulled out three pieces of pabba fruit that should not have been there. They were fresh and smelled as perfect as a sunrise over the mountains looked.
“Eat,” she said. He could see the strain on her face. Though she had explained little, he understood from her words that sorcery of any sort had a cost. Getting fresh fruit from another part of the world might have seemed like a parlor trick to some, but there were no fruit stands here and however she had managed the feat she had to reach a very great distance to gather the feast.
Vonders snatched the fruit and sniffed it eagerly.
“Gods, Tega. Now if you could just manage a bit of bread and a good cheese.”
Nolan looked carefully at Tega. “Thank you, but do you need this more than me?”
“I can manage on one fruit, same as you.” She smiled and he felt his stomach flutter. He had seen her kill with a gesture, had watched her quite literally make a monster explode before his eyes, but she was still capable of smiling and making him forget all of that. She was lovely, true enough, but that wasn't it. She was also kind when she did not have to be and that forgave many sins in his eyes.
“I think the glow is stronger here.” Vonders’s voice had lost some of its waspish edge now that he was eating.
“It is,” Tega agreed. “I think we have almost reached our destination.”
“Then why have we stopped here?”
Tega smiled in his direction. “Because we are tired. We are thirsty and we are hungry. Better to allay those troubles before we face whatever comes next, I think.”
Nolan nodded his head. There was wisdom in the notion and he was certainly tired enough.
The fruit was perfect, fresh and sweet and juicy. He made himself savor it instead of wolfing the food down. Vonders did not follow the same philosophy.
Nolan looked away from the other man and scanned the area above them. There was a lot of darkness up that way and he could only guess that they had descended close to a thousand feet. He was wrong. Drask would have pointed out that they were closer to five thousand feet down.
“I hope that if we find a weapon against the Sa’ba Taalor that it is light.”
Tega frowned and pulled a section of pabba fruit from the whole. “Why?”
“I will do what must be done, of course, but I have no desire to carry a great weight all the way back up there.”
A second later they were all looking at the vast distance they had covered.
Vonders sighed. “The problem isn’t the weight so much as the entire thing will be uphill.”
Tega laughed at that, the sound echoing away from them and bouncing back. The look of horror on her face when the sound started was enough to make both of the men with her smile.
It was as close as Nolan could remember to being genuinely relaxed in days. He finished his food and licked the juices from his fingers, relishing the taste. By the time he had finished the others were long done.
“We should go.” Vonders spoke almost too loudly and Nolan looked at the other man. He gestured with his hand, pointing in the direction that they’d come from. Nolan looked that way but only after starting to collect his belongings. The move hid his taking the time to look where Vonders pointed.
He barely managed to keep his face calm when he saw the giant moving carefully down the path.
The man was enormous, but moved with the grace of a cat.
Before any more time had passed, Vonders had a throwing blade in his hand and Nolan tried to get his attention and stop him before he could throw. The challenge was to do so without being noticed himself.
He was too late. Vonders Orly was a clown half the time and he was greedy to a fault, but he was also a trained soldier and he had moved through the periphery of the Blasted Lands a hundred times or more. He knew how to handle his weapons and he knew how to aim at a target.
The blade cut the air silently and moved for the shadowy form. If the blow was not perfect, if the enemy did not get injured, but instead merely noticed the attack, they were going to suffer for Vonders’ actions.
The blade sailed flawlessly into the darkness and the man moved, stepped to the side and swept his hand at the spot where the blade should have buried itself into him.
The man’s head turned and his eyes flashed with a light all their own.
He made no sound as he moved, but instead came in fast, charging toward Vonders. If the scavenger had thought to escape before he was struck, he failed in his efforts. The man came out of the semi-dark and drove his fist into Vonders’ chest with a hard, wet noise. Vonders let out a grunt and fell back, his face twisted with pain.
As Vonders fell backward the man moved in closer again and drove his knee into the muscles of his attacker’s thigh. The thick bone snapped. Nolan watched the way Vonders’ leg bulged unexpectedly and then saw the bone rip free of the muscles around it. Vonders never even screamed. He got lucky and passed out before the pain could fully register.
The man turned, his entire body lowered into a crouch, and his right hand glimmering oddly in the faint light. His left hand held a blade of some sort, but from his current distance and in the dim light, Nolan couldn’t quite make it out.
The fight was over before Tega even noticed it was happening. That was hardly her fault. She was not trained in fighting situations and besides, the entire thing had happened in two heartbeats.
“Drask Silver Hand!” Tega stepped forward, her hands held out at her sides, showing clearly that she held no weapons.
The giant nodded, but his attention remained firmly focused on Nolan. “Put down the weapon. Do not make me hurt you.”
It was only then that Nolan realized he’d drawn his axe. His grip on the handle was tight enough to make his fingers hurt.
It wasn’t conscious, but he calculated his chances of taking the man down before the situation could get worse. The odds were not in his favor. He put the axe away.
Vonders coughed and groaned, drifting slowly back toward consciousness. Nolan knew he would wake properly soon enough and that the pain of his leg would come down on him like a felled tree.
“You’re following us?” Nolan could think of nothing else to say.
“I am.” There was an odd tone to the man’s voice. A sibilance that made Nolan’s flesh shiver.
“Why?”
“My gods wish me to know what you do down here. I obey the desires of the Daxar Taalor.”
Nolan nodded. He wanted to stall for time but could think of nothing to say.
“You’ve broken his leg.” Tega had moved forward to examine Vonders where he lay on the ground.
“He attacked me.”
“Well, yes, you were following us.”
“Had I wanted you dead, you would be dead.” Drask looked down at her. The man’s face was broad, his jaw was strong and squared and his longish hair tied back away from his face. His skin was gray and looked lifeless, but he lived and moved and breathed. His eyes glowed, much like a cat’s in the right light. It was an unsettling effect and Nolan found himself wondering if the stranger could see as well in the dark as a feline. His face was mostly hidden in the darkness but Nolan could see that something was off about the way his mouth moved.
When Drask came closer he saw and understood what that something was. The lips of the man’s mouth were sealed into a scar. At regular intervals along that scar slits ran from his chin to just under his nose. Each of those slits moved as he spoke. Each revealed a hint of teeth and gums.
Nolan looked away and forced himself to breathe. This was an abomination. Not as severe as the dead things that had moved and attacked when he was on his way to Tyrne a few weeks earlier, but just as unsettling and offensive to his senses.
Drask said, “You are Tega. The apprentice to Desh Krohan.” He moved around her, his unsettling eyes scanning the area.
“I am. We are here. We are here to find a way to end the war between our peoples.”
“You seek a weapon that will stop the war.” Drask nodded. He moved his hands and Nolan saw the metal appendage that took the place of a real hand. He saw the fingers move, the hand flex, and bit down on his own lip to stop from screaming. He was not a cowardly man, but the unnatural things he ran across unsettled him.
“Do you seek a weapon, Drask?”
“I seek what my gods ask of me.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Neither is it a yes.”
“Why are we at war, Drask? Why did one of your people kill the Emperor?”
Drask shook his head. “I do not know. I traveled with Andover Lashk and others, and I heard about the murder only after I returned to the Taalor Valley.”
“I can’t mend this. You’ve broken his leg and his chest is bleeding.” Tega spoke softly, but there was little else to hear.
“He should not have attacked me.”
“You should not have followed us.” Nolan spoke without thinking. He knew the situation was tense and yet he opened his mouth and made comments that would not ease the problems. His father would have disapproved and he felt shamed as a result of that knowledge.
“I am here. You are here. This is either a peaceful situation from here on out, or we fight and I kill you.” Drask spoke calmly and looked directly at him. Nolan did not know how skilled Drask was – though the evidence of his abilities was currently bleeding and broken on the ground – but the stranger had enough confidence for a dozen men.
Nolan took a step toward him and Tega shook her head. “Stop. Do not provoke him, Nolan.”
There it was. He clamped down with his jaw and stopped himself from saying something foolish. This girl was in charge of what he did here. He did not have to like it, but he had to accept it.
Of course, the girl was also a sorcerer and had killed monsters that slapped him aside with ease. It would be best if he didn’t think of her as weak.
Drask turned away from him as if he didn’t matter, and Nolan felt himself bristle at the notion.
Best not to say anything foolish. Best not to do anything to escalate the situation. He didn’t know enough about his enemy aside from the fact that he looked monstrous.
Still, he desperately wanted to beat the man down.
Drask started walking, heading toward the very thing they had been traveling to reach for the gods knew how long.
“Where are you going?” Tega spoke before Nolan could.
“I intend to find the source of the light.”
“What about Vonders?”
Drask frowned, puzzled for a second. The expression was doubly unsettling as it pulled the muscles in his mouth – mouths?! – in strange ways. “Your man is not my concern.”
“You cannot go on without us.”
“I can.” Drask looked at her. Studied her. Perhaps weighing his chances of surviving her powers. Did he know what she was capable of? Nolan was unsure. “I will.”
“We cannot leave him here.” She sounded frustrated.
“Have your man carry him.” He spoke slowly now, as if to a person of dubious capacities. “He is not my concern.”
Without another word Drask was moving on, heading toward the potent illumination in the near distance. It was no longer a matter of hours or days, but of minutes to reach that spot.
Nolan looked at Tega. He looked at Vonders, broken and bleeding on the ground.
There was a mission to consider.
He followed Drask.
After only a moment, he heard Tega following and he damned himself for his lack of compassion.
Half a continent away the Pilgrim marched, and behind him a growing column of people moved along and kept pace. They were tired, but they understood that this was a mission of the gods themselves.
They knew this because the Pilgrim’s closest followers told them as much. They knew this because they had seen his actions on their own, or heard of his amazing deeds. They knew this because though none of them had brought much by way of supplies, still they did not go hungry and they did not go thirsty.
In Goltha the Pilgrim had stopped and approached the greatest of the temples to Etrilla armed with only a simple sword and his faith, and come away with two hundred followers. Each of those followers had enough supplies to stop the hundred already following from going hungry, and when their food ran out, there were others who offered food and clean water.
He was a quiet man, but he answered questions when asked. He spoke with conviction and he spoke with a deep knowledge of the past that was haunting to those who listened to his answers.
That was all the news that Merros Dulver had received of the man so far and he was not comfortable with the information as it stood.
Desh nodded when they looked over the pages of written descriptions. “Well, it’s different.”
“Yes it is. I also have to wonder where this man is coming from and what he’s doing.”
“As well you should.” Desh looked toward him. “He’s a part of the greater sum of parts, isn’t he?”
“You’re being cryptic. It suits you well enough, but now is not the time.”
Desh waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “It’s always a good time to be cryptic. Comes with the territory. But in this case I’m being accurate. He’s up to something. We have no idea what. He could be coming here to help. He could be coming here to lead a small gathering of people who believe that they must be here to seek protection or to volunteer themselves for some obscure purpose.”
“It’s not really a small gathering, Desh. There are over a thousand of them.”
Again he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a matter of perspective, really. We have fifty times that number trying to find homes in the city already.”
Merros rubbed at his temples. His headache was back and growing exponentially the longer he spoke to the First Advisor. “Yes, and that’s a problem.”
“Not your problem, Merros. We have a head of the City Watch here. He has to deal with the overflow.”
“All of us have to deal with it, Desh. I’ve already had to chase off several squatters from my own home.”
“Hardly an issue I’d think. You’re normally not there but for a few hours.”
“You see? Right there. You think you’re being witty, but really, it’s only annoying.”
“No, really it’s funny. You’re just too close to appreciate the humor of the situation. If Nachia were here she’d agree with me.”
“Where is the Empress?”
“She’s dealing with her family. More precisely, she’s having them dealt with. The Inquisitor. What’s his name?”
“Murdro, I think.”
“Darsken Murdro, that’s right. He’s investigating who, exactly, was behind the murder of her cousin. All signs lead to another of her cousins. She’s not taking it very well.”
“Shouldn’t one of us be with her?” He felt his guts tighten. “What if someone tries something foolish?”
Desh smiled at him. “You have obviously never dealt with Darsken Murdro. The only thing anyone will do around him is behave and pray he does not notice them.”
“I’ve only seen him from a distance but he seemed pleasant enough.”
“Oh, he is,” Desh nodded. “So is a murder rose until you decide to hold the blossom in your hand and sniff it. Perfectly inviting and even charming until the poisons burn your skull open.”
“By the gods, man, where do you hear about these things?”
“I was the one who advised Empress Detelia to outlaw the farming of the things. Foolish sort of thing to cultivate in the first place, but they were very popular eighty years ago.” There had been a time when Merros was absolutely convinced that Desh Krohan was a charlatan and spread rumors of his power strictly to make sure everyone thought he could perform sorcerous acts. He had no doubt in his mind that Desh worked on the rumors and convinced as many as he could. He also had no doubt the man could truly work sorcery though he had never actually seen Desh himself do anything at all that qualified as mystical aside from wear his robes.
“So the Empress is safe?”
“She has a dozen armed guards and an Inquisitor. Not even her worst blood relatives are foolish enough to try anything right now.”
That was one less thing for him to worry about and Merros was grateful for it. “Back to where we were. What are we supposed to do about this Pilgrim fellow?”
“Absolutely nothing. Let him continue on his way. If he is a threat and he and his followers reach the city, the City Guard will handle him. You have more pressing matters to attend to. Like Elda. How are we going to handle that matter?”
Merros shook his head. “We’re not. Elda did not deliver their conscribed allotment of soldiers. They fell short despite the threat of levies and fines and a lack of protection from the Empire. So now they face levies, fines and an attack from the Sa’ba Taalor. Should the invaders move past Elda, they will find that we have amassed a few surprises for them.”
“Levies and fines?” Desh frowned. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Technically, I suppose. In my case the levies are the number of soldiers I will take by force from any would-be refugees from the battlefront. The fines will be monetary. Wars cost money. Failure to offer the proper levies will add to the fines.”
“You are a cruel man, Merros Dulver.”
“I prefer to think of myself as practical.” His head hurt.
“That expression right there. The way you rub at your temples when you think of how much you have to do? That is why I made you a general.”
“Nice of you to confess. And you’re saying my pain is beneficial to my career?”
“It means you’re the right person for the task. If you didn’t mind using Elda as an example I’d think you heartless. An army should have a heart.”
“Hearts don’t win wars.”
“I disagree.”
“I’m telling Nachia that you confessed to manipulating me into being a general of the Imperial Army and that it was not, in fact, her cousin.”
“I never denied it. I merely clarified. I suggested. He signed the papers.”
“Are you sure Nachia’s safe?”
“She’s still in the castle. She’s as safe as she’s likely to get.”
Swech watched the Empress as she moved across her court, her arms behind her back clasped together as if she feared letting them free of each other, where they could lash out.
She was hidden, of course. Dressed in her black clothes and wearing her veils, to hide away hair and face alike, despite her hiding place, because caution required not being seen or recognized. The crawlspace where she hid herself was concealed in the very wall of the large room. There was a reason that she’d taken the key from around the neck of Libari Welliso when she’d killed him. Access to several hidden chambers had gained her access to several different keys before Tyrne burned. No one looked for the keys now, because they were assumed destroyed with the city.
The gods were wise.
The Empress of the Fellein Empire was in a bad mood. Even if she had not heard the words spoken, Swech would have understood the body language. Tension in muscles throughout the woman’s body. Her hands not still, but clenched with each other as if fighting for dominance. Her posture stiff and her teeth grinding against each other.
She was not the same carefree creature she had been before ascending to the throne of her Empire. That made her at least moderately wise.
“My cousin, my blood and yours, is dead! He was murdered two nights ago in the company of cutthroats fresh from a boat that delivered them to the city. What I want to know is why he was murdered. The investigation so far has led to a very real possibility that one of the members of our family is responsible. One of the people in this room.”
There were twenty or more members of the same family, the royal bloodline, apparently, all in the room with her. If she understood correctly, they were all in line for the throne if Nachia died. Blood was what mattered in Fellein, not skills or faith. And wealth. She was learning that quickly enough. If one had money one could open any number of doors.
She shook off her reverie as the family members present went through their motions. They nearly crawled over each other in an effort to declare their innocence. She knew which of them was involved, of course, though he was not responsible for the death in this case. His hired blades were supposed to kill the Empress. That was why she had killed them.
The gods wanted the Empress alive. She did not know why and she did not need to know. Was she curious? Of course. But the certain knowledge was not required and not knowing did not cause her to suffer. The gods had wanted the Emperor dead. They wanted the Empress alive. That was all she needed to know.
The guiltiest of the parties, Laister Krous, crossed his thick arms and scoffed. “What possible purpose could any of the family have for murdering Windhar? Who is served by such foolish notions?”
Nachia Krous turned on her cousin with a smile on her face that would have made most enemies hesitate.
“Who indeed, Laister? The most solid connection we have to the brigands found with Windhar lead to Losla Foster.”
He was good. Laister Krous barely even twitched.
“Darsken Murdro.” Nachia gestured with her left hand to a dark-skinned man with a powerful build and long black hair that exploded into tails of differing lengths. He was dressed unremarkably, and carried a short staff. “Inquisitor Darsken Murdro is here to speak with each of you. You will answer his questions to his satisfaction and only after you have done so will you be allowed to leave this chamber.”
Once again the protests started. Not everyone raised their voices. A few looked toward the dark man with nervous expressions. One of the older women in the group leaned back in her seat and looked coldly toward Laister. Her smile rivaled that of the Empress. It was a promise of pain and suffering on an epic level.
When Nachia Krous continued her voice snapped. “You will do this thing! You will stay here. You will answer his questions! We will know, all of us, exactly what has happened to our kin. Should any of you attempt to leave before Inquisitor Murdro has allowed it, the guards in this room will see you punished.”
She moved toward the doors to her private chamber, which meant that she headed straight for the hidden access point above those doors, where Swech was currently waiting. Swech did not move. She did not fear discovery. She was well and truly hidden within walls that were several feet thick.
Her surprise when she saw the Inquisitor looking directly at her could not have been more complete. There was no mistaking it. He was not looking in her general direction. His eyes were on her.
The Inquisitor made a gesture to one of the guards and the man moved closer. Those dark eyes never left her. He spoke softly and the guard looked toward the chamber the Empress had entered.
Swech did not stay around to contemplate how she had been seen. She merely moved, as quickly and quietly as she could, fully accepting that her hiding spot had just been discovered.
The guards entered the chamber of the Empress at the same time Swech was dropping down behind one of the heavy curtains that surrounded the windows of the room.
The guard that grabbed at the curtain to move it aside managed to handle that task and to offer Swech her chance to strike at the same time. His body was exposed as the heavy fabric was pulled away and she drove a blade into his neck without hesitation.
He fell back, choking on his own blood, and Swech helped him along, sending the dying man stumbling across the room to knock aside a small table.
Nachia Krous saw her and her face dropped with shock. She had not expected to find anyone in the room. She should have been prepared – her predecessor had been assassinated after all – but she remained surprised enough to let Swech move past her at a dead run.
By the time the dying guard had collapsed and the Empress had let out a call of alarm, Swech was out of the room and moving down the hallway toward the next wing of the vast structure.
One unfortunate guard came out from a side door as the alarm was sounded. He stared at her and started to draw his short sword. She was already moving faster than he could draw the weapon, but she shifted position and then broke his neck with an elbow strike as she moved past.
Within ten minutes she had vacated the palace. There were other tasks she needed to attend to, and there was little time to dwell on the unexpected discovery. Still, she marked the Inquisitor in her memory as someone to be aware of.