Demonbane (Book 4) (14 page)

“We still have the gendarme,” Hamis said in a conciliatory tone. “He might give us something.”

“He hasn’t said a word,” Tomas said glumly. He cracked the top of a beer bottle and took a long swig. “At least not according to Potemkin. The man’s either scared to death or convinced he’s got nothing to lose. Either way, he’s not talking.”

“They should let you have a crack at him, Tomas my boy,” Hamis put in jovially. “You’d make him sing like a canary.”

Tomas considered the bottle in his hand contemplatively. “I might. The gendarmes haven’t exactly offered to let me try.”

Kendril smacked his gloved hands together. “That just leaves Dutraad.”

Callen gave a weary shake of his head from where he sat on a piano bench. “I don’t think Dutraad knows anything, Kendril. Olan and Madris have been going at him for hours now.”

Hamis snorted. “I’m surprised they haven’t called Tomas in yet.”

“They will,” Tomas said darkly. He took another drink. “But only when they don’t care about bleeding the good baron like a stuck pig.”

“My,” said Maklavir from where he sat at the room’s only table, “what a marvelously revolting thought.” He glanced over at Kendril. “Not that you ever seem to need much urging to do anything, Kendril my lad, but how long exactly are we going to just
sit
here?”

Kendril crossed his arms. His eyes watched the snow falling outside the room’s windows. The first cold streaks of gray were dawning over Vorten. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Every second we wait,” said Joseph with quiet gravity, “is one less second that Kara may have.”

“One less second that Vorten might have, too,” Tomas added blackly.

Olan appeared in the doorway to the room. He looked over at Kendril. “Madris wants you.”

“Uh-oh,” said Hamis with a broad grin, “you’re in trouble now, mate.”

The hallway was deserted, like most of the Dutraad estate. Through the windows Kendril caught glimpses of armed gendarmes stationed outside by the mansion’s gates, as well as riders patrolling the street outside. Morning had come to Vorten at last, although the sky was still a carpet of thick clouds. The snow had slowed to a few scattered flakes.

At the last window of the hall Kendril noticed a fancy carriage parked outside the front of the house.

“I was wrong about you,” Olan said in the silence of the hall. “I’ve always thought you were a cruel, cold-hearted fiend who didn’t know how to take orders or work with others.”

Kendril remained silent, following slightly behind the other Ghostwalker.

“Not a team-player, maybe,” Olan continued, “but still good at what you did. Being a Ghostwalker. Hunting down the darkness wherever it took you.” He turned to face Kendril. The corridor was in a dim half-light, the glow-globes all turned off with the coming of morning. “But you’ve slipped, Kendril. Gotten soft. I use to think you didn’t care about anyone. Now I think you care about these friends of yours
too
much.”

Kendril looked the man in the eyes. “You really want to start this again?”

Olan smiled coldly. “Just expressing an opinion. A Soulbinder’s in the hands of a witch, and it’s all your fault. You made the wrong call, convinced Madris you could do the impossible. If we had stormed this place from the start—”

“If we
had
done that,” Kendril said in a measured tone, “then we would have missed Bronwyn entirely, and she and Lady Dutraad would still have undoubtedly managed to slip out of our grasp while we were dealing with the guards and trying to capture Baron Dutraad at the same time.”

“You just can’t admit when you’ve made a mistake, can you?” Olan taunted.

“I thought you said Madris wanted to see me.”

Olan stepped to one side. “She did. The Lord Mayor is here.”

Kendril began walking again. “How’s it going?”

Olan stepped in beside him. “Not good.”

“Who’s watching Dutraad?”

“Posted a couple of gendarmes on him.” Olan gave a weary shrug. “No way to tell how trustworthy they are, but at this point I’m not sure if we can get anything useful out of the good Baron anyway. I won’t shed too many tears if he winds up dead.”

They reached the open door of a large room. The sound of intense conversation came from within.

“After you,” Olan said. He gestured to the open door.

Kendril stepped inside the room.

“This all sounds like a bunch of bloody nonsense to me.” A rotund man with an enormous beard stomped back and forth across the carpet. His fat fist pumped the air as he walked. “Demons? Witches? Bah. Fairy tales, I say.”

Madris sat in a chair by the windows. Her cane rested against the wall behind her. “I assure you, Lord Mayor, there are no fairy tales here. We are in danger of another Despair beginning right here in Vorten.”

“Bah.
More
fairy tales.” The Lord Mayor slapped a hand down on the banquet table that filled the room. Several nearby goblets rattled. “You know what I see that’s quite real? You and your cronies barging into the home of an upstanding citizen of Vorten, murdering a dozen people, causing a near-panic in the Vines, then overawing the good Captain here with an official-looking document.”

Potemkin’s face flushed. “Sir, I object. The letter
is
quite in order—”

The Lord Mayor waved his pudgy hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. It certainly
appears
that way, I agree. We’ll see in a few days when we get confirmation from the court at Varnost.”

“You must understand, Lord Mayor,” said Madris in her ever quiet voice, “you may have only hours in which to act, not days.”

“Well isn’t that convenient for
you
,” the large man sneered. His gaze turned to Kendril. “And who is this? Another of your cultists?”

“This is Kendril,” Madris responded. Her face seemed unusually pale from lack of sleep. “He is the Ghostwalker who discovered the conspiracy here in Vorten. I thought you might want to ask him some questions.”

“I have yet to
see
any evidence of this so-called conspiracy,” the Lord Mayor announced to the room. “The handiwork of you and your Ghostwalkers, on the other hand, is
quite
clear.”

Potemkin cleared his throat nervously. “If you’ll forgive me, your honor, there does seem to be evidence of a pagan cult of sorts. Two of my men attacked the Baron right in front of me, shouting something about—”

“So you’ve told me,” the Lord Mayor interrupted sharply. He turned his attention back to Madris. “As far as I’m concerned, you and your kind are as bad as any pagan cultists. Worse, in fact. You meddle in affairs that aren’t yours to deal in, acting like judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one, killing and imprisoning hardworking citizens at your leisure.” The Lord Mayor stabbed his finger towards Madris. “Well I won’t have it in my city. I don’t care what kind of paperwork you wave around.”

Madris and Olan exchanged a look.

Potemkin shuffled his feet. His hat was cradled under his arm. “Forgive me again, sir, but the pagan cultists—”

“There you are with that
conspiracy
nonsense again,” the Lord Mayor bellowed. “A day ago we didn’t
have
any pagan cultists in Vorten. Not until these accursed Ghostwalkers showed up and started shooting people at parties!”

Madris’ face stayed as serene as her tone. “It is true that before we arrived, the cultists had not yet revealed themselves, Lord Mayor, but that does not mean—”

“What it
means
,” the man interrupted yet again, “is that the only fanatics who I see causing problems in this city are
you
lot.” He swung his accusing finger around at the black-cloaked figures in the room. “Captain Potemkin,” the Lord Mayor said, “what are the charges against Baron Dutraad?”

The gendarme captain shuffled his feet uneasily. “Well, sir, I don’t rightly know if—”

“Then I want him released.” The Lord Mayor looked directly at Madris. “
Immediately
.”

Potemkin took a step forward. “Sir, if I may—”

“No,” the Lord Mayor spat, “you may
not
. Tuldor’s beard, we’re at the height of Candle Ice festivities. The last thing we need right now is a load of nonsense about demons and despair.” He turned to Madris. “Royal warrant or not, you and your Ghostwalkers are not welcome in my city. Do you understand? I won’t have—”

“Is no one going to shut this fool up?” Kendril said.

Potemkin took a deep breath.

Madris half-rose out of the chair. She glared at Kendril.

The Lord Mayor whirled around. “What did you call—?”

“A
fool
,” Kendril repeated. “You’re worried about
Candle Ice
celebrations when the fate of your whole city is at stake?”

The Lord Mayor’s face contorted with rage. “I will
not
–”

Kendril stepped forward. The look on his face was enough to cow a tiger. “Your idiocy is putting the life of every person in this city at stake. We are on the verge of
another Despair
. It will start in Vorten and spread like wildfire through the rest of Rothland unless we stop it right here and now.”

“How
dare
—” the Lord Mayer spluttered. The vein in his forehead stood out like a pounding hammer.

“
Every
Despair has been accompanied with invasions, civil wars, barbarian raids, and slaughter,” Kendril stormed.  “
Every
one.”

“
Kendril
,” Madris hissed between her teeth.

“This one will be no different,” Kendril continued, his eyes flashing dangerously. “The enemy have picked Vorten for the birth of this Despair. There is no way of knowing how many supporters they have in this city, how many cults there may be working together. We know the city is compromised. We just don’t know how badly. You may well have a civil war on your hands, and you’re worried about some Void-cursed winter festival?”

The Lord Mayor had managed to get himself into some kind of composure. He thrust a finger at Kendril. “Captain, arrest that man.”

Madris shut her mouth and closed her eyes.

Potemkin stared at the Lord Mayor in surprise. “What for?”

“Slander,” blurted the large man. “Verbally assaulting a public official. Eru knows I don’t care, just clap him in irons.” He swept his gaze across Olan and Madris. “Clap them
all
in irons.”

“Your honor,” said Potemkin slowly, as if weighing each word carefully before speaking it, “they have a Royal authorization—”

“I don’t care,” the Lord Mayor fumed, “I won’t be treated this way by a murderer, and I certainly won’t stand by while he and his cronies kill people in their own homes.”

Madris grabbed her cane and painfully rose to her feet with its assistance. “Lord Mayor, I don’t believe we are properly impressing upon you the level of authority the King of Valmingaard has bestowed upon our order.”

The Lord Mayor cracked his head around. “What on Zanthora does
that
mean?”

“If you don’t quiet down and listen,” said Madris in a voice as cold and hard as steel, “I will have to ask Captain Potemkin to place you under arrest until this crisis is averted.”

The mayor’s mouth dropped open. He looked over at the gendarme captain behind him.

Potemkin shifted the hat that was tucked under his arm. “I’m afraid, sir, that the writ of authorization they have is quite…open-ended.”

The Lord Mayor swiveled his head back towards Madris. “This…this is a rebellion. An insurrection!”

“The insurrection hasn’t started yet,” said Olan gravely. “But it will very soon, unless we find and stop it.”

“What on Zanthora are you talking about?” The Lord Mayor demanded.

“One of Dutraad’s guests was a witch, a servant of the Seteru,” Madris answered. “We infiltrated this house in the hopes of securing a Soulbinder we believed was here, an ancient artifact that can summon a demon to this realm and bind it to the soul and body of a person. We now believe that in all the confusion the witch and Dutraad’s wife escaped with the Soulbinder and are planning to use it.”

“
Tonight
,” Kendril emphasized.

“How can you possibly know that?” the Lord Mayor fired

“Because tonight is the new moon,” Olan explained. “The point where the veil between the Void and this world is thinnest. Any binding ceremony can only be done at such a time.”

The Lord Mayor turned his gaze wildly from one person to the other. He ended on Potemkin. “Captain, are you seriously telling me that you believe
any
of this nonsense?”

Potemkin’s flickered down to the Royal writ that lay on the table in the room. “Whether I do or no, sir, I don’t think we can afford to ignore the possibility that any of this is true.”

“Demons? New Moons?” The Lord Mayor gave a derisive snort. “These Wars of Despair that you’re talking about are legend. Ancient history. To think that something like that could happen here,
today
, in Vorten of all places…” He clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “The very notion is utterly preposterous.”

Potemkin glanced over at Madris. “All the same, sir, perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to call up the Trained Bands. We don’t know yet what kind of threat we might be dealing with.”

The Lord Mayor glared at the gendarme captain. “And what would you have me do once the Bands have been mobilized, Captain? Put the city under martial law? And what about the cost? Do you have any idea how expensive it is to maintain the Bands for even a few days? During
Candle Ice
?”

“We don’t even know how many of men we can trust,” Olan said as he rubbed his forehead in thought. “Dutraad was the commanding officer of the Orange Regiment. The guards we fought in the house tonight all belonged to it. If we called the rest of the regiment up the soldiers might well turn against us.”

“We still don’t know what kind of threat we’re facing,” Kendril reminded. “Better to have the Bands called up then not. Leave the Orange un-mobilized if you have to. Five regiments are still better than none.”