The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (36 page)

“Really?” Cyte shook her head. “I thought I was the only one in the world who bothered with that stuff. At the University, only third-raters go into pre-Karis history.”

“You’re a third-rater, then?” Winter smiled, to show it was a joke, but Cyte’s face went dark.

“I’m a girl,” she said. “Girls are automatically third-rate, at best.”

There was a pause, and then Cyte relaxed a fraction, running a hand through her dark hair.

“Sorry,” she said. “Old wounds, you know?”

Winter nodded and pointed the way down to the riverbank. “We’d better see if we can find those boats.”

The crowd thinned out as they got farther away from the gate, but here and there small groups congregated around a fire or sent dancing shadows out from a swinging lantern. As the Vendre passed out of view behind a line of town houses, the deadly serious air of the riot dissipated somewhat, and some of the previous sense of revelry returned. Here, the doors had been smashed open and
the houses ransacked, sometimes for valuables but mostly for liquor, and groups of younger dockmen were passing these finds around. Some of them were even singing, though rarely in the same key. None of the student-revolutionaries from Cyte’s group seemed to have made their way this far south.

“How old are you?” Winter asked, abruptly.

“Twenty.” Cyte looked at her curiously. “Why?”

Twenty.
Winter felt as though her time in Khandar had aged her by a decade. She was only two calendar years older than Cyte, but for all that the University student felt like a
girl
to her, which made Winter the adult. It was an echo of what she’d felt for the men of her company, back when Captain d’Ivoire had first put her in command.
Though most of
them
were younger than Cyte.

“I just . . .” Winter shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. I know how you feel, but—”

“I doubt it,” Cyte said darkly. “And I know I don’t
have
to. I volunteered, same as you.”

“I’m not sure you know what you’re getting into, is all,” Winter said. “Have you ever been in a fight?”

“Once or twice.”

“A real fight, with someone trying to kill you? And you trying to kill them?”

Cyte pursed her lips, silently.

“Do you know how to use a weapon?”

“I’ve studied with the rapier,” Cyte said stiffly. “Four years now.”

“With padded tips and paper targets,” Winter said.

“I see,” Cyte grated. “And I suppose you’ve killed a dozen men?”

“Not a dozen,” Winter said, “but one or two.”
Or three, or four.
She tried to count but couldn’t keep track.
Do green-eyed corpses count?
“I’m not saying you’re—”

“I don’t care what you’re saying,” Cyte said. “I volunteered. I’m going. I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you—”

“Here’s a dock,” Cyte said. She vaulted a rope and walked carefully out onto the stone quay. “Do you think these boats will do? Or do we need something bigger?”

Winter put her hands in her pockets, gave a little inward sigh, and went after her.

WINTER

C
louds were rolling in from the east. That was good and bad; it would hide them from any watchers on the parapets, but it made even finding the dock under the Vendre’s walls far from a sure thing. Fortunately, Rose’s sense of direction was apparently not hampered by either the darkness or the current. She and Winter rowed in tandem, as gently as they could manage, pushing the little boat closer and closer to where the fortress blotted out the sky. Behind them sat Cyte and Raesinia, with Vice Captain Giforte huddled uncomfortably in the rear.

The wind was a bare breath on her cheek, and the gray surface of the Vor was glassy smooth. The sheer walls of the prison rose above them like a cliff, darkness broken here and there by the faintest lines of light, reflections of firelight through the gun slits. Winter held her breath as they came close. Here even Rose’s instincts were not enough to guide them, and she was forced to let a trickle of light out of her hooded lantern. By its faint gleam, she saw piles of jumbled rocks where the wall met the river, worn smooth by centuries of wind-driven swells. And, so small that she would have missed it from any farther away, a narrow passage between them, leading to a low, vaulted passage under the wall.

They began rowing again, slipping nearly silently through the gap into a long, watery tunnel. The air stank of mold, and streaks of dried slime on the walls charted the rise and flow of the river. Winter stared ahead, trying to discern the outlines of the dock in the gloom. She reached for the lantern to let out a little more light, now that they were out of view of the sentries on the
walls, but Rose’s hand slammed down over hers. The boat bumped against one dripping wall and rocked to a halt.

“There’s a guard,” she whispered, nearly inaudibly. “A light, anyway. Shut the lantern.”

Winter did so, blinking in near-total darkness. Near, she found, but not quite. There was another light somewhere, around the curve of the corridor, and it speckled the water and the damp walls with tiny reflections.
How the hell did she see it, though?
Winter looked back at Rose to find her tugging the laces off her boots.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “I’ll bring the light forward when it’s safe to move in.”

Giforte shuffled forward, making the boat rock and rasp ever so slightly against the wall. Winter thought Rose winced.

“One of mine,” the vice captain said in a hoarse whisper, “or one of theirs?”

“No way to know.” Rose shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her thin undershirt over her head in one fluid motion. Giforte gave an embarrassed cough, though it was so dark that all Winter could make out were silhouettes. “Does it matter? One scream and we’ve had it.”

“Just . . .”

“I’ll do my best.” Rose stepped out of her trousers, folded them neatly, and handed the bundle of clothes to Winter. It was heavier than it should have been, and she could feel several hard, flat metal shapes through the cloth. “Hang on to these.”

Rose slipped lithely off the boat and into the water with barely a splash, setting the little craft to rocking once again. Her legs cut the surface once, and then she was underwater. Winter couldn’t see where she came up.

“She works for you?” Cyte whispered to Raesinia, incredulously.

“More or less,” Raesinia said.

“Quiet.” Winter was straining her ears for the sound of a gunshot, or even a scuffle. There was nothing.

“What if she doesn’t signal?” Cyte said. “How long do we—”

“She’ll be fine,” Raesinia said. “Trust me.”

A moment later, a bright light came on, glinting off the water. Winter started paddling forward, first one side and then the other, while Raesinia took up the other paddle and helped fend off the walls. After a few dozen yards the passage ended in a larger chamber with a protruding stone dock. Rose sat on
the end of it, naked and dripping, holding a lantern in one hand and a rope in the other. She tossed the latter to Winter, who hauled the boat alongside and tied it off.

“Any problems?” Raesinia asked, as they stepped carefully onto solid ground.

Rose shook her head, accepted the bundle of clothes from Winter, and dressed. She moved with a total unselfconsciousness that reminded Winter of Jane. In the lantern light, Winter could see that she was a good deal more muscular than she looked when dressed, and that her skin was covered with thin white lines. A star-shaped lump of scar tissue marred the inside of one breast, and her arms were practically crosshatched with old wounds. Giforte pointedly looked away, and after a fascinated moment Winter did likewise.

The body lay at the base of the dock, under a black leather coat that covered it like a shroud. Winter walked over to it and found it was a young man, dirty and bearded, with a single puncture wound just below his ear.

“He had a pistol,” Rose said, coming up behind her and holding the weapon out by the barrel. “Make sure it’s loaded.”

Winter checked the pan and the barrel and confirmed the pistol was charged, then wedged it somewhat awkwardly in her belt. She already had another pistol there, and an old cavalry saber on her hip. It felt better than she wanted to admit to be carrying weapons again. Raesinia had refused any armaments, but Giforte carried a sword and pistol and Cyte had a rapier. Rose had fended for herself.

Once their little party had gathered in the light of the lantern, Rose gestured at the corridor leading back from the dock.

“From here it’s not far to the main stairs. Two levels up from here is where they’ve got the new prisoners. Then there’s another three levels of ordinary cells before the ground floor. Captain d’Ivoire and Danton are in the tower above that. I don’t expect to see anyone on the stairs, now that Jane has started making threatening noises with the ram, but there’ll be guards on the cells.

“Raes and I will go and find Danton. Vice Captain, most of the men guarding the prisoners were your people. Do you think you can convince them to stand down?”

“If they know what’s good for them,” Giforte growled.

“Winter, Cyte, go with him, in case there are some Concordat soldiers mixed in. We’ll break the others out and come down to meet you.”

“What if you run into trouble?” Winter said.

“Then you’re in charge. Do whatever you need to.” Rose lifted her lantern. “Let’s go. And remember to stay as quiet as you can.”

—

The first turn of the spiral stairs was completely dark. Rose crept ahead while Winter followed with the lantern almost completely shut, leaving just enough light for the others to see the steps. After they crossed the first landing, more light began to leak down from above. Rose held up a hand, shuffling up the steps at the center of the spiral, until she’d gone just barely out of sight. She edged back just as quietly, frowning.

“Two men on the landing,” she whispered. “Armsmen. I can’t take both quietly. Either one of you can take one”—she glanced at Winter, then at Giforte—“or we can try it your way.”

“Let me talk to them,” Giforte said.

“Just don’t make a lot of noise.” Rose glanced at the ceiling. “The Concordat people have got to be close.”

Giforte nodded, straightened his back, and went up the steps with a reasonable approximation of parade-ground swagger. The others followed, keeping a half turn back. On the landing, the two green-uniformed Armsmen lounged against the wall on either side of a doorway. They straightened up at the sound of footsteps, but the sight of Giforte’s uniform confused them for a crucial second while he stepped into the light and gave them a good look at his face. They started to salute, but Giforte waved a hand.

“Keep quiet,” he barked in a stage whisper. “Both of you.”

“Yes, sir!” said the man on the left, coming to attention so stiffly he vibrated. His companion, older and wider of girth, squinted suspiciously at the group now coming into view up the stairs.

“Sir?” he said. “Beg your pardon, sir, but we were told you had tried to surrender the fortress to the rebels, and were to be detained on sight.”

“Circumstances have changed, Sergeant,” Giforte snapped. “I had direct orders from Captain d’Ivoire to begin negotiations. When Ross found out, he tossed the captain in a cell and took over.”

“Fucking Ross,” the younger Armsman said. “I always said he was a snake.”

“But . . .” The sergeant hesitated, looked at the four young women.

“Representatives from the leaders outside,” Giforte said. “I’ve agreed to release the prisoners on this level, who were in any case illegally detained by
the Ministry of Information. In exchange, we’ve been guaranteed safe passage away from the fortress. Captain d’Ivoire and I will take all responsibility to the minister and the king.”

That was enough for the sergeant, who saluted. “Sir. Yes, sir!”

“Where are the rest of our men?”

“About half are here watching the cells, along with two or three black-coats. The others are up at the barricade. Ross wanted to pull everyone off, but we had orders from the captain himself to guard the prisoners.”

“What about the prison levels above us?”

“Empty up to the ground floor. Ross has got everyone waiting for the big break-in. I think he still has men on Danton up in the tower, though.”

“Right.” Giforte glanced over his shoulder. “It sounds like you should have a clear path until you get to the tower.”

“I can handle a few guards,” Rose said. “Raes, stay a half turn behind me. Let’s go.”

“The problem here is going to be breaking the news to the rest of the Armsmen without anyone raising the alarm,” Giforte said.

“Uh . . . I don’t mean to interfere, sir,” said the sergeant, “but I don’t think Ross will surrender on your say-so. And he’s got a lot more men than we do.”

“One thing at a time.” Giforte looked at Winter. “Any ideas?”

“What’s the layout of this level?” Winter said.

“There’s a sort of anteroom through here,” the sergeant said, indicating the door. “After that passages run in either direction. One way is where we’ve got all the women and kids. The other is the men.”

“How many people in the anteroom?”

“None, now,” the Armsman said. “We were using it as a break room, but Ross called everyone up.”

“Perfect. Vice Captain, you wait in there. Sergeant, you go down to the cells and ask one of your friends to step out for a moment. Say that Ross is asking for reports on the prisoners, or something like that. Once they get the picture, send them back and get another one.”

“What about the Concordat people?” Giforte said.

“I don’t think it’ll be hard to convince our fellows to hold a gun on them,” the sergeant said. “Hell, I’ve been itching to do it myself.”

“Cyte and I will watch the stairs,” Winter said. “I want every one of those guards to see nothing but green uniforms.”

Giforte nodded decisively. “Come on, Sergeant. Let’s spread the news.”

“We can keep a better watch about a half turn up,” Cyte said. “That way we can keep an eye on the next landing.”

Winter nodded agreement, and they started up the steps as the three Armsmen disappeared into the dungeon. Oil lamps flickered in wall brackets, casting uneven shadows. After the door below closed, a deep silence returned, broken now and then by muffled muttering.

“What if something goes wrong?” Cyte said, quietly.

“Then we’ll hear the screams,” Winter said. “Or the gunshots.”

They settled down to wait. Winter knew from experience that time stretched like taffy in situations like this one, turning minutes into endless hours. She wished she had a pocket watch so she would know when to really start worrying.
Although, in the end, what good does worrying do?

There was a sound from above, faint at first but getting louder. Footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of voices raised in conversation.

“They’re coming down,” Cyte said. Her voice was tight.

“They may not come down this far. Maybe they’re checking the cell blocks.”

“What if they do?”

Winter let out a long breath. “Then we take them. As quietly as we can.”

“Take them.” Cyte put her hand on the hilt of her rapier, testing the grip. “Right.”

Turn around,
Winter willed the footsteps.
Go back upstairs. You’ll live longer, and so will I.

Two pairs of black boots became visible around the curve of the stairs, followed by the flapping tails of two black leather coats. Winter drew her saber and waited another heartbeat, then rushed them.

Two Concordat soldiers, both with shouldered muskets, came into view. Running up the steps robbed Winter of most of her speed, and the soldier on the right had a split second to react. He brought his musket up crosswise, ready to parry a cut at his chest or hit her with the butt. Winter, breathing hard, caught him off balance by stopping several steps short and whipping the heavy blade around in a low cut that caught him on the inside of the knee. The joint practically exploded, the soldier’s leg bending stomach-twistingly sideways, and he toppled past Winter and started rolling downward.

She barely had time to sidestep the injured man before the other one came at her with a bellow, musket raised in both hands over his head like a club.
Winter blocked the swing and nearly lost her weapon and her footing from the force of the blow. Before he could take advantage and shove her down the steps, Cyte came into view, rapier extending in an awkward fencer’s lunge on the uneven footing. The thin blade went into the man’s armpit, found a gap between his ribs, and sank smoothly nearly to the hilt. He fell backward with a gurgle, dropping his musket, and the hilt of the rapier was jerked out of Cyte’s hands.

Winter looked over her shoulder to see what had become of her own victim, but her head snapped back around when Cyte shouted her name.

“Winter! Up there!”

Looking up, Winter got a glimpse of a third man, a quarter turn behind the other two and already taking to his heels. She swore and vaulted the corpse of Cyte’s victim, clawing for the pistol at her belt. There was no time to check the pan again. Just a moment to level and fire—
and even if I hit him, they’ll hear the shot—