Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,52

was Jindus, staring rigidly at the ceiling, pale as parchment.

There was a great, deep silence—in this room.

Outside, far away, out in the courtyard, maybe, men were shouting. People outside were still alive.

“I take it that was the wizard,” Tewk said, letting up on his grip. “Are you all right, boy?”

It took three tries to say yes.

“Jindus was easier than I thought,” Tewk said, and nodded toward the pile of fresh bones. “That one—that one put up a hell of a fight.”

“Did,” Willem said. He was on his own feet, now, and there was something over there in that pile of bones, something dangerous that as good as glowed when he thought about it. He took a deep breath and went over and got it, a small book on a chain, which came loose from the bones when he pulled on it. He didn’t want to look at it. He knew better. He went over to the fireplace and threw it in.

“Ugh,” he said. And watched it burn.

“That’s not all that’s got to burn,” Tewk said, from where he stood. “Boy. Look at me.”

He wasn’t a boy. Not now. Wanted to be, but even magic couldn’t manage that. Tewk looked at him and something changed in Tewk’s expression, something serious and sober.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Tewk said. “Have you got one more trick in you, son? Can you get us over to that signal tower?”

Willem thought about it. A thick fog seemed to have settled in his brain. They were in a safe place at the moment, because everybody was dead. Demons were like that. That was what Master had told him: you could control them by giving them what they wanted, which wasn’t any sort of control at all—it was still what they wanted, after all, since they were still in their Place. And if you were going to bring a demon all the way into your Place so you could control it, you still had a problem, because you had to give them a shape to live in and if you wanted it to do something for you, you had to find something else it wanted. That meant you had to be stronger than that body was—Miphrynes hadn’t been stronger than Jindus—or smart enough to keep outsmarting the demon.

And Miphrynes might not have been smarter than this particular demon, after all. It had gotten its blood. A lot of it. And a few souls. And it was back in its safe Place. Wherever that was. One hoped it was back in its Place.

He wanted out of here. Right now. But wishing wouldn’t do it. Feet had to.

“Willem!” Tewk caught up at the door, and grabbed his arm. “The place is crawling with mercs. They don’t know Jindus is dead. They might’ve heard something going on. But can you—”

“You’re Jindus,” he said, and Tewk was. It wasn’t even a hard piece of illusion.

Tewk looked down at his hand, which was browner, and scarred, just like that of Jindus, who was dead back there on the floor.

Tewk looked a little uneasy.

“You can do it,” Willem said. “We go down there and you tell them to light the fire.”

“Works if nobody got out of that room,” Tewk said. “Where’s the old man? The scribe?”

The old man at the table. The table was overturned. The papers were scattered, the inkpot spilled on the stone floor.

But the old man was gone.

The upper halls were deserted. The Jindus illusion was worth holding on to, Willem thought, because not everybody might believe the duke was dead. He half-ran, being a merc, just a plain black-cap, beside Tewk, and they went rattling and thumping down the little side steps that had gotten them into the upstairs in the first place.

They passed the kitchen stairs. They descended as far as the closed outside door and Tewk drew his sword. “Open it,” he said, and Willem drew the latch back and swung it inward.

The guards were gone. Mercs were all over the courtyard, opening storerooms, carrying stuff, like an overturned anthill.

“They know,” Tewk said. “They know he’s dead. The town’s going to be next. Probably they’ve already started looting down there, but the gold’s up here. We’ve got to get Osric’s army in here. Got to get to the signal tower. Fast.”

They tried. But about then some of the looting mercs spotted them and dropped what they were carrying on the spot. One drew a sword, clearly not even trying to explain what they were doing.