Tamara had already admitted that she had conspired to have him killed. Surely he would be within his rights to kill her. He pushed the idea aside. He wanted to know what Tamara had to say and whether Asea was right about her father. His father too, perhaps, although he was not quite prepared to take that on faith.
A lot of strange threads of his strange life were being blown on this night’s cold winds. A family he had never known he possessed had appeared, and turned out to be on the other side in the war he was fighting. Perhaps his father had killed the mother he had never known. It all seemed sick and mad and dangerous. Would it not be better if he simply ran off into the night to find a place to hide and bury himself?
He knew he could not. He wanted the matter resolved, to find out the secrets of his past, no matter how dark they might prove. And he wanted, if he could, to avenge himself on the people who had made his life so miserable. More than that, he wanted, in his own strange way, to see justice done.
Terrarchs like Malkior and Tamara were above the laws that applied to mortals like him. Or at least they thought they were. They planned murder and they killed and they got away with it. There was no way someone like him could bring them to justice. Normally. Just this once, he might be able to do it. If Asea was right, if this was not all just some mad fantasy of her sorceress’s brain, or part of some intricate inhuman scheme that he would never be able to understand.
“Think they’ll be here soon?” asked the Barbarian.
“I don’t know. The ball must be over by now,” said Rik.
“What are you going to do with the gold?” the Barbarian asked. Asea had promised them gold if this went well.
“Spend it on beer, cards and girls,” said Weasel. He was squinting into the gloom. Some figures still moved 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 hav
e 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. There was not a lot he could do. Tamara was moving again, starting to pick herself up. He reeled over to her and aimed a kick. She blocked the blow with her left hand and despite the heavy dress dragging in the wet managed to rotate her body below him and kick his leg. He dropped to the ground, even as she rose, turning her head. Rik looked in the direction she did and saw Weasel raise his long-barrelled rifle once more. Tamara sprang into the mouth of the alley. Blood dripped from the wound in her shoulder.
Weasel came running up and looked at the two of them. “This is not going too well,” he said.
“Do tell,” said the Barbarian. “Would never have noticed if you had not told me.” His voice was slurred and weakening. Weasel bent and touched the ground. His fingers came up red. He touched them to his lips and then looked at the trail of blood.
“Look after the big man,” he said to Rik. “I’ll get the girl. She can’t have gone far and she’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Somehow Rik got across and managed to tie a bandage over the wound in the Barbarian’s neck. A moment later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and the oddest sensation flowed through his mind. He thought he felt something coming from the back of the alley. He heard a shrieking, tearing noise that he was sure was not audible to anybody else. Sorcery, he thought.
Weasel was gone for so long that Rik was starting to worry. Eventually he came back out of the alley.
“Did you get her?” he asked. Weasel shook his head.
“Damnedest thing,” he said. “The alley is a dead end. Nothing there but a wall and trash pile. . It’s like she’s vanished into the thin air. All I could see was a patch of shadows, that crawled and gave me the creeps.”
If it was enough to frighten Weasel it must be really something. Rik tried to fight the dizziness and reeled to his feet. “Best show me it,” he said.
“Are you mad? We’d best get out of here before the law comes. This has been hanging work tonight, if we’re caught for it.”
“No, I want to see.” Rik staggered down to the end of the alley and saw at once what Weasel meant. There was something at the end of the alley, a patch of shadow that whispered and shimmered. At first he thought it was a side-effect of the poison but something about it set his teeth on edge. He recognised this thing at the very core of his being, even if he was not sure what it was.
He reached out and touched it. His fingers tingled and vanished. His fingertips felt very cold. He withdrew them to make sure they were all right.
The thing continued to fade until there was no longer even a whisper of its presence. What was going on here, he wondered? Then a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he tumbled forward into darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Rik looked up at Asea. For a moment he had no idea where he was. Had he exhausted himself performing mystical spells again? Then memory of the fight with Tamara came back to him. He looked around and saw that he was in his own chambers in the mansion.
“What happened?” he asked. “How did I get here?”
Asea’s face has a tight quality to it. It took him a moment to realise that she was barely containing her rage. He had never seen her this way before. He forced himself to be calm.
“Weasel brought you and the big man back. On the cart. He told me his version of what happened. Why don’t you tell me yours? Tamara escaped?”
There was no denying it or defending it. “She was a lot tougher than we expected. Faster too. She poisoned me and the Barbarian. Why am I not dead, by the way?”
“The poison she used was not intended to kill you, merely slow you and weaken you until you fell unconscious. Perhaps that is why she seemed so fast and strong.”
Rik shook his head. “She was moving swiftly before she struck me. That was not the effect of any poison, I am sure.”
“Go on.” There was more than rage there, he realised. There was excitement too. Asea was like a hound that had caught a scent and was ready for the chase.
“She almost managed to dodge a shot fired by Weasel, and I am sure she did not manage to poison him.”
“So he told me.” Rik felt a reaction set in. He could have died this last evening. Most probably would have if Tamara really wanted him dead.
“How could she have been so quick?” Rik asked. “And so strong? She is not built like the Barbarian.”
“There were mystical disciplines on Al’Terra that focused on combat. They allowed their practitioners to perform astonishing feats of martial skill. Malkior would know them. It appears he has taught his daughter.”
“A form of magic, you mean?”
“If you will.”
“Spells to make you stronger, faster, deadlier?”
“Techniques of the mind and spirit would be a better description but spells will do just as well.”
“So all we have really proven is that Tamara knows magic. We knew that already.”
“Did we?”
Rik realised he had made a mistake. He knew that already. He had never told Asea about it. “She is a Terrarch, isn’t she? Learning sorcery would have come naturally to her.”
“Quite so.” Rik sensed that Asea was uneasy with him. Perhaps she sensed his lies.
“In any case we know she can now.”
“She recognised you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The big man heard her say your name. So did Weasel.”
“How is the Barbarian?”
“He will live. The needle missed his jugular, and I have neutralised the poison in his bloodstream, just as I have done for you.”
“A useful trick. I wish you had taught me it.”
“I will make it the highest priority in your studies, Rik. I have a feeling that you are going to be needing it, and the ability to heal yourself.”
He was relieved to fi
nd that she still trusted him at least that much. Or perhaps she was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He would not have put it past her.
“Tell me more about the whispering shadow you saw.”
He told her all he could remember about it, including his suspicion that it was a hallucination brought on by the poison.
“I don’t think so. Weasel saw it too.”
“Do you have any idea what it was? It put the wind up the two of us for certain.”
“It was a shadowgate.”
“What’s that?”
“A hole in the fabric of reality linking two points in shadow. A sorcerer who knows how to make one can use it to move between one point and another without passing through the space in between.”
“You think Tamara used it to escape?”
“I am certain of it.” There was the excitement of the hunt again in her voice.
“That’s powerful magic.”
“You have no idea how powerful, Rik.”
“I take it you do.”
“Under the circumstances you fought Tamara in, it would be beyond me.”
“You are saying that Tamara is a better mage than you are.”
“Not in general - but in this particular area, yes, unless she possessed some artefact that allowed her to do it.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Spells of translocation are very difficult under the best of circumstances. They involve manipulating forces of a very high order. The spells required to open the paths between normally require long and complex ritual preparations, as well as enormous power.”
Rik thought he could see where this was going. “Tamara had no time for such.”
“Wounded as she was she should not have been able to maintain the necessary level of concentration to cast such a spell even if she could. At least if she was a normal sorcerer.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“There’s no reason why you should. There are many different types of magic, Rik, and many different ways of invoking them. The Shadowblood had many gifts, magical talents that were bred into them, that they could use as easily as a man can walk or run. Using shadowgates was one of those talents.”