The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper (howl and other poems TXT) 📗

long it would take to get out of the city earlier in the evening and the speed of a laden coach compared to that of fast horses. “We might make it,” he said quietly, handing parchment and pen to Branwyn, “but not if we wait for others—not even if they act at once.”

Human sacrifice required specific times, didn’t it? Or was that merely a device of plays, which said that all murders must take place at midnight, preferably in thunderstorms? Zelen could only hope that the truth was in their favor, but he couldn’t count on it.

“I know,” said Branwyn. She was writing quickly, steadying the paper against the wall and covering both wall and wrist with ink as a result. “Twelve guards might be a problem, even for both of us, and magic will be worse.”

Idriel came back down the hall then, the two grooms trailing behind him. Zelen considered them as possible allies, then rejected the notion. Lena was strapping enough, and Jander nimble, but they had no real training in armed combat. They might have done for hunting down a few criminals, but he couldn’t in good conscience take them up against the guards of Verengir, let alone whatever magical tricks Hanyi might pull.

“I’ll need Brandy and Jester ready to ride as soon as you can get them saddled,” he told the grooms. “Idriel, take this to Tinival’s temple as fast as you can.” Zelen passed over the folded message as soon as Branwyn handed it to him. “And bring the boy along. He’s an important witness.”

That would make Dimitri less trouble, gods willing.

He took Idriel’s armload—tunic, trousers, boots, and belt, complete with sword—and began changing then and there.

“Come along, lady,” said Lena to Branwyn. “There’s a set of my clothes that’ll fit you.”

Zelen only realized then that he’d either been expecting Branwyn to have clothing ready or to go fight armed men while wearing his dressing gown. He would have been embarrassed about that oversight as well, except that he had every confidence she could have done exactly that and triumphed under most circumstances.

* * *

“You’ve got two guards on the front,” Branwyn said, swinging up onto the roan mare that Lena had provided for her and looking to Zelen on his brown gelding, “and two at…what, the servants’ entrance?”

“Outside the stable building, yes.”

“Any chance we can catch the carriage and waylay that?”

“Not much. Might catch them as they arrive.”

“Tactically sticky.”

Zelen, who knew the city better than Branwyn, nudged his horse into the rapid start that the young animal seemed eager for, and they were off as fast as they could go. Heliodar’s streets slowed them down, though, so they made plans while the horses jogged.

“Could take two, even four guards on my own,” Branwyn said. “Would have to leave the horses and sneak up, I’m guessing. Or they’d all be ready.”

“Right.” Zelen turned down an unexpected alley, and his words came back to her as they rode single file in the narrow gap between the houses. “Hoping some will have left for the city already, but can’t count on it.”

Half of the force waiting for them wouldn’t be professional, and most of them wouldn’t have seen a Sentinel. That might help. The grooms and footmen—maybe the guards as well—might break and run when she turned metal. It had happened before.

On the other side of the scales, the Verengirs had at least one wizard, maybe more, and maybe a demon. The possibilities were too wild to predict—and then there was the chance that, if pressed, the traitors would slit Tanya’s throat then and there.

Only way a hostage situation can get worse, Yathana agreed. Bring the bloody mages into it.

“I’d love a distraction,” Branwyn said. “Fire, maybe?”

“Too wet to burn well.”

They emerged from the alley practically at one of Heliodar’s lesser gates and slowed as the lone watchman there came forward to peer at them. “Name and business?”

He was young and alone, but the halberd he held was sturdy, and Branwyn didn’t doubt that he had a companion with a crossbow covering him from a nearby building.

“Zelen Verengir,” said Zelen, holding up the hand with his signet ring on it. “Urgent family matter.”

The guard didn’t even examine Branwyn closely enough to make out her form under the cloak or her face under the hood. “Gods speed you, m’lord,” he said, and stepped aside.

Amris would have had the man mending armor and chopping wood for a month for that, Branwyn thought, but Amris was commanding on the front lines, not in a rank-bound city. She followed Zelen through the gates and then drew alongside him on the narrow road beyond.

“You know,” he said, “I have a notion of how we might do this.”

Part III

Call: Who are the children of Sitha and Poram?

Response: They are three.

Eldest is Letar, the Queen of Shadows, lady of desire and death, healing and vengeance. With her, the elder gods gave mortals the gift of fire.

Second is Gizath, the Traitor, the Forger of Chains. Once he ruled over the ties between all things. Now he is the enemy of creation.

Youngest is Tinival, the Silver Wind, the Lord of the Scales. He holds in his hands true justice, that to which high and low alike have a right—and that which low and high alike should fear.

—Litany of Sitha, Part IV

The question remaining is this: Where did Thyran get his knowledge? We grant that the slaughter of his household sealed his pact with Gizath. A chance does exist that he acted simply in murderous rage and that the blood so spilled weakened the Veil of Fire enough to allow a direct connection or a demonic intrusion. It’s far more likely that he knew precisely what he was contacting. That suggests a teacher. And that in eighty years, we haven’t identified a likely candidate for the role…that worries me greatly.

—Letter from the Blade Caden to his superiors

Chapter 34

Rain started falling again as they were riding away from the city. It wasn’t a hard downpour, but