Free Demonbane (Book 4) by Ben Cassidy Page B

Talk .”
    The girl looked back at him. Her brown hair fell in ragged curls over her face. “How many in this house? Wrong question.” Her voice lowered. “How many in the city ? Closer. How many in the country ? Better.” She gave a laugh, strange and almost crazed. “How many on the continent —?”
    Kendril felt his insides turn to ice. It couldn’t be. This was beyond one cult, beyond one little cell of Seteru worshippers. Lillette was talking about a conspiracy so grand that it boggled his mind.
    She was lying. She had to be. There was no way there could be something that big, that organized, and yet still be secret. It would mean a shadow movement as large and vast as…as…
    As a Despair.
    “Despair is coming,” Lillette chanted in a sing-song voice. “It is coming for you. You can’t stop it. No one can stop it. The goddess ris—”
    Kendril cracked the woman’s head against the heavy wooden door of the cabinet.
    Without a sound she crumpled limply to the ground.
    Kendril’s mind was in a whirl. Lillette couldn’t be right. It was impossible. She was lying, trying to—
    The thought hit him suddenly, dashing all other concerns aside.
    Joseph.
     
    The musket banged out like a thunderclap in the stable.
    Maklavir grabbed the bag just as the bullet punched into a wooden post next to his head. He turned, the bag in hand, and dashed for the rear door.
    The first guard cursed loudly behind him.
    Maklavir felt himself smile. He was almost there. His hand was on the door handle.
    He was going to make it.
    He threw the door open and started out into the snow-filled night.
    Face-to-face with the second guard.
     
    For one dreadful moment, Kendril was certain that Joseph was dead.
    He certainly looked dead the way he was leaning up against the kitchen cabinets, his head lolled off to one side, his skin an unnatural color.
    It would have been a simple enough matter for Lillette to have killed him while Kendril’s back had been turned.  A quick thrust of the dagger, a slash across the throat—
    Kendril tilted Joseph’s head back. He put one hand on the clammy skin of the scout’s neck.
    There was a pulse. Faint, but there.
    Kendril breathed a sigh of relief.
    Lillette had apparently decided to come after him first. Take out the greatest threat.
    Kendril stood. Where in Zanthora was Maklavir? It shouldn’t take—
    He stopped short.
    There were mercenaries, five of them, standing at the top of the stairs with swords drawn. Their faces were grim and determined.
    One of them, a man who looked like he was in charge, lifted the point of his sword. “It’s over,” he said. “Yield and you will not be harmed.”
    “Right,” said Kendril.
    He went for the kitchen knife.
     
    Maklavir jumped back inside the stable.
    With a yell the second guard came running at him. A rapier was in his hand.
    Maklavir slammed the door and fumbled wildly for a lock. He found a bolt and slammed it down across the door.
    The door banged hard as the guard crashed into it from the outside. He swore, loudly, then pulled fiercely on the handle.
    The bolt held.
    Maklavir turned.
    The first guard stood calmly in the middle of the space between the stalls. He was half-way through reloading his musket. The side of his face was stained black and purple, a massive bruise from where Maklavir had hit him with the shield.
    “Nowhere to go, barrister,” the mercenary called out. “And no sword, either, I see. Not very smart.” He cocked back the flintlock on his musket. “I got a score to settle with you.”
    Maklavir dove for the cover of a stall.
    He rolled through a pile of hay and other things he didn’t want to think about, undoubtedly ruining his red cape in the process. Still, in certain circumstances even fashion had to take a second place to survival.
    This certainly seemed like one of those times.
    The guard gave a low chuckle. “There ain’t no way out, Mr. Maklavir. Ashes, but I’m going to make you pay for blindsiding me.