time.”
Tex snorted. “Don’t be naive. It’s always like that. There will be bloodshed. There will be loss. There will be no return for some.” His thin white eyebrows rose. “Given the speed your scouts are returning to us, I think bloodshed will come sooner rather than later.”
Leão made no noise as he ran; Pira made little. The only sign of their passing was a thin cloud of dust that puffed behind them.
The two came to an abrupt halt, their dust catching them with a whoosh.
“There are men in the Citadel—at least six—and one woman.” Leão flushed and shot an uncomfortable look at Pira. “She’s not there willingly.”
“They don’t change, Jacaré,” Texugo said, levering himself to his feet and checking his weapons.
“Which is exactly why we’re here.”
* * *
Donovan’s Wall provided the foundation for the lowest level of the Citadel’s northern face. Miles of gray stone were blemished by an ironbound gate that led into the building. Only one man and the tiny baby he carried had exited through that gate and the dense bramble hedge beyond and survived.
The barrier hummed against Jacaré’s skin, but no jolt of power tossed him back. Instead the magic seemed to welcome him. The bramble curled into itself; the sharp thorns tucking their points into the branches rather than snagging his flesh. The air grew bitter with the acrid sap that dripped from the plant.
His crew followed, unhindered, pressing against the wall on either side of the gate. Its hinges were rusted and broken, but it swung open silently under Jacaré’s touch. He slipped through the door at a crouch, with Pira above him, short bow at the ready.
The rear hall was empty, but the smell of urine and rotting food scraps said it hadn’t been for long.
Leão tapped his ear and pointed upward with four fingers, then pointed to the front of the Citadel with three more.
Jacaré nodded, and Leão and Pira peeled off, making their way through the hall and to the front entrance.
Tex headed for the central staircase, pulling his two-handed mace as he went.
The upper floor of the Citadel was in a slightly better state than the main floor, likely because the small contingent of guards slept on that level and occasionally patrolled on the third story when the weather was pleasant.
The soldiers threw dice on the once-fine rug in the center of the hallway, too involved in their game to realize death stalked toward them on silent feet.
They died as they sat. Dice and blood spilled across the slate floor with a click and splatter.
Jacaré stopped to wipe his blade on one guard’s grease-stained uniform and searched the bodies for clues. He found what he was looking for almost immediately and cut free the coat of arms stitched above the man’s heart.
He tucked it into his palm and entered the chamber which had once been the private quarters of a king. Everything of value had been stripped away except the enormous bed built into the Citadel’s wall.
A body lay sprawled across the tangled sheets.
“Too late for the girl?” Tex asked as he surveyed the scene with casual distaste.
“Isn’t it always?”
Tex didn’t respond, and Jacaré should have known better than to wait for false assurances. Their mission had little chance of success, just as the poor peasant girl had little chance of survival in the hands of six repulsive soldiers.
He’d been too late to save her, but maybe he’d make it in time to save the princess.
“Take care of this,” Jacaré nodded toward the bed.
“Of course.” Tex reached into his belt pouch and pulled out one seed, glowing red against his fingers. With a flick he tossed it onto the bed, which instantly burst into flame.
They stood together in silence and watched the macabre blaze.
Chapter 15
Leão
The main hallway of the Citadel had once been a grand receiving area. Vaulted ceilings soared three times Leão’s height. Delicate ribs of exposed stonework and intricately
Tex snorted. “Don’t be naive. It’s always like that. There will be bloodshed. There will be loss. There will be no return for some.” His thin white eyebrows rose. “Given the speed your scouts are returning to us, I think bloodshed will come sooner rather than later.”
Leão made no noise as he ran; Pira made little. The only sign of their passing was a thin cloud of dust that puffed behind them.
The two came to an abrupt halt, their dust catching them with a whoosh.
“There are men in the Citadel—at least six—and one woman.” Leão flushed and shot an uncomfortable look at Pira. “She’s not there willingly.”
“They don’t change, Jacaré,” Texugo said, levering himself to his feet and checking his weapons.
“Which is exactly why we’re here.”
* * *
Donovan’s Wall provided the foundation for the lowest level of the Citadel’s northern face. Miles of gray stone were blemished by an ironbound gate that led into the building. Only one man and the tiny baby he carried had exited through that gate and the dense bramble hedge beyond and survived.
The barrier hummed against Jacaré’s skin, but no jolt of power tossed him back. Instead the magic seemed to welcome him. The bramble curled into itself; the sharp thorns tucking their points into the branches rather than snagging his flesh. The air grew bitter with the acrid sap that dripped from the plant.
His crew followed, unhindered, pressing against the wall on either side of the gate. Its hinges were rusted and broken, but it swung open silently under Jacaré’s touch. He slipped through the door at a crouch, with Pira above him, short bow at the ready.
The rear hall was empty, but the smell of urine and rotting food scraps said it hadn’t been for long.
Leão tapped his ear and pointed upward with four fingers, then pointed to the front of the Citadel with three more.
Jacaré nodded, and Leão and Pira peeled off, making their way through the hall and to the front entrance.
Tex headed for the central staircase, pulling his two-handed mace as he went.
The upper floor of the Citadel was in a slightly better state than the main floor, likely because the small contingent of guards slept on that level and occasionally patrolled on the third story when the weather was pleasant.
The soldiers threw dice on the once-fine rug in the center of the hallway, too involved in their game to realize death stalked toward them on silent feet.
They died as they sat. Dice and blood spilled across the slate floor with a click and splatter.
Jacaré stopped to wipe his blade on one guard’s grease-stained uniform and searched the bodies for clues. He found what he was looking for almost immediately and cut free the coat of arms stitched above the man’s heart.
He tucked it into his palm and entered the chamber which had once been the private quarters of a king. Everything of value had been stripped away except the enormous bed built into the Citadel’s wall.
A body lay sprawled across the tangled sheets.
“Too late for the girl?” Tex asked as he surveyed the scene with casual distaste.
“Isn’t it always?”
Tex didn’t respond, and Jacaré should have known better than to wait for false assurances. Their mission had little chance of success, just as the poor peasant girl had little chance of survival in the hands of six repulsive soldiers.
He’d been too late to save her, but maybe he’d make it in time to save the princess.
“Take care of this,” Jacaré nodded toward the bed.
“Of course.” Tex reached into his belt pouch and pulled out one seed, glowing red against his fingers. With a flick he tossed it onto the bed, which instantly burst into flame.
They stood together in silence and watched the macabre blaze.
Chapter 15
Leão
The main hallway of the Citadel had once been a grand receiving area. Vaulted ceilings soared three times Leão’s height. Delicate ribs of exposed stonework and intricately
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