The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (17 page)

Ravi nodded, a brief dip of her head.

“Right. I need to gather some supplies. I suggest we meet back at Callian’s place at midnight.

The large skycoach slid through the night, flying as close to the rooftops as possible. Wren fingered the delicate embroidering sewn into the seats, then opened a small compartment in the door. It held a bottle of wine.

“Where did you get this coach?”

Bex grinned over his shoulder. “Best not to ask.”

Wren’s eyes widened and he pointed to the front. “Careful!”

Bex turned and smoothly pulled the skycoach upward. Wren peered over the side as a thin spire receded behind them. “You almost hit that one.”

“Do you want to drive?” asked Bex.

“No. I’m just saying.”

“And I heard you. Now keep quiet. I’m concentrating.”

Wren looked down to make sure that the enchantment woven into his shiftweave clothing was attuned to its natural state of darkweave, the shadows woven through the fabric concealing them from casual observation. It was the fourth time
he’d checked, but he couldn’t help it. Nerves were getting the better of him.

He glanced at the others. Ravi was perched on the other side of the coach, peering down into the darkness. Wren wasn’t comfortable with her, no matter what Callian said. He’d have to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t get out of control. He’d told Bex and Salka as well. The last thing they needed was some hot-headed shifter ruining everything.

Wren glanced over his shoulder to Salka, who stared down at her hands. There hadn’t been a chance for him to ask her what was wrong. He made a mental note to talk to her once this was over. Maybe he could help with whatever it was.

Warden Towers appeared out of the darkness ahead of them. Coldfire lights and torches could be glimpsed through the windows all the way up the building. Bex pulled the coach into a climb, and Wren gazed up into the cloudy sky before the half-orc leveled out again.

The tower hunched below them. The roof was a maze of chimney stacks and little huts, the use of which was completely lost on Wren. One side of the roof was covered in rubbish—scrap metal and chunks of rock. The other side held the hippogriff stable, a long, low structure that hugged the edge of the rooftop.

No guards were about. Which meant that Dalen must have started his illusions. Wren had asked him to create the image of a small army of creatures from the Cogs attacking some buildings close to Warden Towers. The hope was that most of the guards would respond to the attack, leaving the tower with a skeletal staff of guardsmen, taking some of the pressure off Wren and the others.

By the look of things, it was working.

Wren made his way to the front of the coach and pointed to the piles of rubbish. “Bring us down over there, flush with
the roof. I don’t want to land this thing. We’ll have to leave it in the air and hope nobody sees it.”

Bex nodded and lowered the coach until it hovered next to the rooftop. The group hopped off and Bex tied a makeshift mooring rope to one of the bent pieces of metal. Then they hurried across the roof to the stables.

Iron bars formed a cage around the buildings. The bars weren’t simply a fence. They had been bent backward over the stable yard itself, so that no one could climb over. Double gates were set into the fence so the hippogriffs and their riders could access the tower. A massive padlock kept them locked. Wren glanced at Salka, but she shook her head.

“It’d take too long.”

Wren nodded and turned to Bex. “Ready?”

The half-orc nodded. Wren turned to the padlock and concentrated. After a moment he could feel heat emanating from the metal. He added power to the infusion until he was forced to take a step back. The metal took on a faint rosy glow, a glow which slowly grew stronger until the whole lock and some of the surrounding bars turned a deep orange.

“Bex?”

“I’m here.” The half-orc stepped up behind Wren and held his hands out, almost as if he were warming them from the heat. “Now,” he said.

Wren cut off the infusion and Bex released the energy he had been building. Wren felt a blast of cold on the side of his face, like laying his cheek in snow. The padlock let off an explosion of steam and a loud cracking sound, like the slow breaking of ice. Wren took out a dagger and hit the padlock with the pommel. The lock fell to pieces at his feet.

“Told you it would work,” he said, pushing the remains of the padlock about with his foot.

Ravi went to push open the gate, but Wren held her back. “Hold on,” he said, rummaging through his satchel. He pulled out a vial and dripped a small amount of liquid onto each hinge. “Oil,” he said in response to their looks. “Many a thief’s career has been cut short by squeaky hinges.” He gave the gates a gentle push and they swung silently inward. “Bex, after you.”

Bex hurried into the stable yard. Salka followed him, then Ravi and Wren. Bex put his ear to the door, listened, then carefully lifted the latch and pulled the door open. Darkness greeted them. Wren could hear the gentle breathing of sleeping animals. Bex slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Wren had told him to make sure the hippogriffs wouldn’t wake up for the rest of the night. If they needed to make a quick escape, he didn’t want the Watch chasing after them.

Wren slipped out of the yard and back onto the roof, heading for the north wall. Dalen had said he would give them a sign when a sufficient number of the Watch had shown up to confront his illusion. Any time now …

A small light shot upward and bloomed into a slowly-growing circle of blue stars before it faded away. That was it. Wren hurried back to the others. They were waiting inside the first room, near a door that led into the main tower.

“We’ve got about half a bell before they realize what’s going on and come back.” He nodded at the door. “Anything?”

“Not sure,” said Bex. “It could be a room for the grooms.”

Wren took out his crossbows, modified to carry custom-made bloodspikes. He’d spent the afternoon crafting infusions for tiny vials that would render those hit immediately unconscious. He’d handed them to everyone, but Ravi hadn’t been happy. He turned to the shifter.

“Remember, Ravi. No killing.”

“Fine.”

“Hoods up,” said Wren, lifting the hood of his shiftweave cloak over his head. The cloaks were specially made to disguise their faces as well as their clothes. To an unsuspecting onlooker, they would appear as ordinary members of the Watch, their unremarkable features instantly forgettable.

Bex opened the door. It was dark beyond, but Wren was still able to see. In fact, Salka was the only one who wouldn’t be able to see. All the others had varying forms of night vision.

Wren slipped through the door and looked around. A tack room. Various types of saddles, from gilded and ornamental to functional and plain, hung from the walls. Cages held small animals—food for the hippogriffs. He could hear them snuffling and nosing about in the hay. Blankets were piled on the floor to his right, and an old rusty rack held a variety of brushes to groom the steeds.

Another door lay straight ahead. Wren put his ear against the wood and heard the sounds of snoring. He tried the handle. Locked. He nodded at Salka. She stepped forward, took out her picks, and set to work. In no time, she had the door open. Wren indicated for Bex and Salka to take one side of the room while he and Ravi took the other. The plan was for them to rush in and use the spikes without waking anyone.

It didn’t quite work out that way. As Wren pulled the door open, the hinges gave a high-pitched squeal of protest. He froze, glancing at the wincing face of Bex.

“Why didn’t anyone remember the oil?” he whispered fiercely. “I just
told
you—”

“Whassa?” said a voice from inside.

Wren stepped in and loosed his crossbow at the man sitting up in his bed. The bloodspike hit him in the chest, sending him straight back onto the mattress. Someone cursed to his left, then tried to raise his voice in a shout. Wren looked over
but Bex was already there, his huge hand clamped over the groom’s mouth. He jabbed a bloodspike into his neck with his free hand. Wren turned to find Ravi raising a fist over the last groom. She brought it down in a sharp jab that knocked him unconscious. She saw Wren glaring at her, and dropped her victim to the floor.

“What? Don’t want to waste the bloodspikes if I don’t have to.”

Wren took a spike from his satchel and jabbed it into the groom lying at her feet. “We don’t want them waking up, Ravi. That’s the whole point.”

The shifter shrugged and stepped around the body to inspect the next door. Wren lifted the man back into his bed and tucked the blankets around him so he appeared to be sleeping. Bex and Salka did the same with the others.

The door beyond opened into a long hallway lit by coldfire lamps. At its end, they emerged into a large room. Two more corridors fed into the area and a staircase in the corner led down into the tower. Wren thought back to the plans. One of the corridors headed to an identical room on the other side of the tower. The second one, that veered diagonally to his left, was the one that interested him.

“Wait here,” he said, and ran down the corridor. It led to the center of Warden Towers and opened onto a gallery that wound all the way around the inside of the building. Wren leaned against the balcony and peered over the edge into the central shaft. It dropped all the way down to the ground floor, where he could make out the bustle and lights of the central hub of the tower. He could see guards scurrying on the floors below him. They shouted back and forth to each other as they tried to figure out what was going on outside. Wren counted down three levels to the cells. Guards patrolled that level, pausing
every now and then to peer over the balcony.

“What’s going on?” said a voice behind him.

Wren slowly turned to a sleepy-looking guard tying on his tabard. The guard glanced up at him. “I can never get this right,” he said with a sheepish grin, trying to look over his shoulder to tie the ties.

Wren glanced down the corridor. He could see Bex peering around the corner in the distance. “Uh, do you want me to …?”

The guard looked up and grinned. “Thanks,” he said, turning to the side. Wren tied the two pieces together. “So, what did you say was going on?”

“Oh. Some bugbears and orcs are causing trouble. The Nights of Long Shadows. You know how it is. In fact, you should probably report in. Last I heard, they were looking for reinforcements.”

The guard nodded, checking that his scabbard was attached correctly. “I’d better head down.”

“Good luck. Wish I could join you, but I have a shift on cell watch.”

The guard hurried around the balcony to the lift. Wren watched him descend, then took a deep, shaky breath and rejoined the others.

“What was all that about?” asked Bex.

“Don’t ask,” said Wren.

They took the stairs down three floors to the prison level. Wren peered along the passage that led to the central shaft, but it was empty of guards. “I don’t like this. There should be more guards around.”

“But they’re all off fighting Dalen’s monsters,” said Salka.

“I know, but …” Wren shook himself. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

They hurried down the corridor onto the gallery, walking
around it until they arrived at the passage that led to the cells. They moved cautiously, then turned to a recessed doorway. Wren faced the others. “There should be five of them. Pick your target and make sure he’s out cold. We don’t want any alarms raised. Ready?”

Everyone nodded. Wren took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and plunged into the room, a crossbow in each hand. He loosed one at the man lounging at a desk just inside the entrance. At the same time, he loosed the other at a woman who was walking into the room carrying a tray full of steaming mugs. The bloodspike caught her in the throat and she jerked against the wall, sending the tray flying from her hands. It hit the ground with a loud crash, the mugs smashing, shards spinning through the air. He turned to the other guards, but they were already slumped into a doze.

“Which one has the keys?” he asked, loading more bloodspikes.

“Got them,” said Ravi.

Wren held out his hand and the shifter threw them through the air. He caught them and hurried to the door on the opposite side of the room. “Bex. With me. You two stay and guard this side.”

The door led into a narrow corridor. Cells lined both sides, fronted by heavy metal doors, each with a small grill at the height of a human’s head. “Bex, you take that side. He’s over six feet, short hair, tattoo of a dragon down his arm.”

Bex nodded and peered into the closest cell. Wren did the same on his side. The first held a shifter who was sleeping on the floor. The next held a gnome who paced back and forth in the tiny room. He moved along as swiftly until Bex called to him.

“Wren, this him?”

Wren peered through the grill and saw Cutter sitting on his bed. He was staring blankly at the wall.

“Cutter,” he called. No response. “Cutter! Can you hear me?”

The man didn’t even look at him. Wren inserted keys into the lock, one after another, until he found the one that fit. He pulled open the heavy door and entered the cell, kneeling in front of Cutter.