Queen of the Night Guild, page 31
part #3 of Queen of Thieves Series
Darreth looked up from where he crouched over the unmoving figure of Allon. “Ilanna, you shouldn’t be moving. You need more rest before—”
“No…time!” Ilanna gasped out. It felt as if a mountain sat atop her chest. The thump of her heart sent threads of pain darting through her torso, and each breath brought fresh waves of fire. “Have…to go.”
Darreth stood and bustled over to her. “One wrong move and you’ll snap your breastbone. It’s only by the Mistress’ grace that the bone’s not broken.” His eyes flicked to Rhynd’s corpse. “Had he caved in your chest, not even Tyman could’ve saved you.”
She gritted her teeth against the pain. “But there’s no immediate danger? No ribs about to puncture my lungs? No internal bleeding?”
Darreth shook his head. “No, but if you move—”
“Can’t you wrap it or something?” she demanded.
Darreth shook his head. “You don’t wrap injuries to the ribs or sternum—adding pressure runs the risk of snapping the bone. That’d be dangerous. Any sort of movement is dangerous right now.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Ilanna groaned and struggled to a crouching position.
Frustration in his eyes, Darreth helped her to stand. “You really should take it easy, Ilanna. Your injuries may not be as severe as the others, but they’re bad enough to warrant bed rest.”
“I’ll have time to rest later. First, I have to stop the Duke from executing the Night Guild.”
Darreth’s eyes flew wide. “What?” Confusion marred his face. “What do you mean?”
Ilanna winced. Rhynd had dragged Darreth, Errik, and the rest of her crew from the Night Guild tunnels when the Duke’s men invaded. They had no idea she was behind it. “I…”
She had no desire to tell them the truth. They would no doubt perceive her as a traitor and hold her responsible for the death of so many of their comrades. But she couldn’t lie to them, not about this. If they discovered the truth on their own, she would lose the trust of the only people in the Guild she considered her allies, her friends.
“When I heard what Rhynd was doing to the Night Guild,” she said, her words coming out slowly, “I enlisted the help of the only person in Praamis who could do anything. I brought the Duke’s men into the tunnels.” She steeled her expression at Darreth’s sharp intake of breath. “It was the only way to get rid of the Bloody Hand. And it worked. But then the Duke arrested me and every Journeyman, apprentice, and tyro. Their trial starts at dawn.” In less than an hour. Every second spent here could mean more Night Guild deaths.
“What can we do?” Errik’s quiet voice echoed behind her.
Ilanna whirled. Errik’s swollen eyes looked worse in the light of the meager fire. Mottled bruises covered his face, and he winced with every limping step. A cloth sling, torn from the blood-soaked robes of dead Voramians, held his right arm cradled to his chest. Yet his expression held only grim determination.
“Nothing,” she said. “I made this mess, so it’s up to me to clean it up.”
She cast a glance at the window. The first traces of dawn had crept across the horizon.
“You’re not goin’ to do this alone.” Joost came up beside Errik. The Fox wasn’t in much better shape than Errik. The bruises on his face matched the Serpent’s, though perhaps not as severe.
Ilanna shook her head. “You’re barely able to stand, much less fight your way through a pack of Praamian Guards and Arbitors.”
“Neither are you.” Errik rolled his eyes. “And we both know that was never your plan. You have something in mind—you always do. So let us help you.”
Joost’s expression grew stubborn. “You may feel it’s your responsibility to clean up the mess, but remember those are our brothers facin’ the King’s justice. If there’s somethin’ we can do to stop it, you’re a damned fool if you think you’re goin’ to do it alone.” He gave her a wry grin. “Besides, your last plan made me rich. Perhaps this one will make me famous. Think about it: the Fox who saved the Night Guild.”
Ilanna’s chuckle turned into a groan. “Foolish men. Trying to get yourselves killed.”
Errik shrugged. “It’s what we do. So tell us what you need.”
Ilanna took a deep breath. Her eyes strayed to Allon. Though the Hound’s chest rose and fell, his breathing was shallow, his face pale and clammy.
“He’ll be fine.” Darreth made a shooing motion. “I’ll keep an eye on him. And the Serpent.” He jerked a thumb toward Verum, who lay beside Allon. “You go and do what must be done.”
With a nod, Ilanna turned to Errik and Joost. “If we’re going to do this, here’s what I need…”
* * *
Ilanna gritted her teeth against the stabbing pain in her chest and forced herself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
She wanted to stop, to catch her breath, to sit even for just a moment. Fatigue blurred the edges of her vision. The fire in her breastbone and the fist squeezing her lungs made it impossible to think beyond her next step. She knew if she stopped moving, she wouldn’t make it. The exhaustion would wash over her and drag her into unconsciousness. By the time she awoke, the Duke would have executed the Night Guild.
She’d made the journey from the Warehouse District to Watcher’s Square dozens of times. It should take no more than half an hour running at full speed across the Hawk’s Highway. Walking the streets of Praamis, pushing through the crowded marketplaces and bustling streets, gasping for each agonized breath, she had no chance of arriving before the Lady’s Bells tolled out the ninth hour of the morning.
Blood rushed in her ears. Her heart pounded a staccato rhythm. Too late, it seemed to say. Too late. Over and over, mocking her failure.
She pushed away the thought of Jarl’s body dangling at the end of a hangman’s noose. No, she told herself, I’m not too late.
Duke Phonnis had started the trial of the Night Guild at dawn, but Praamian law required him to present evidence for each person accused of crimes. That should take hours. Hopefully long enough for her to arrive at Watcher’s Square and stop the executions.
The “how” of that particular problem had yet to present itself. She had no idea what to say or do to stop the Duke from simply arresting her and adding her to the ranks of the condemned. But she knew she had to try. That meant reaching Watcher’s Square before the executions commenced.
A passing cart slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the muddy street. Tears of pain streamed from her eyes as fresh waves of pain radiated from her chest. Coughing, gasping for breath, she staggered to her feet.
The Ward of Refuge loomed in the distance, and Ilanna turned east to skirt the heavily-traveled temple district. Those Praamian Guards not fortunate enough to be selected for duty in the Watcher’s Square would be watching the Temple Market. Only a blind idiot would miss the blood and mud staining her clothes. Best she avoid drawing attention for now.
Someone bumped into her, and she stumbled against a wall. Fire screamed through her chest. Darreth hadn’t wanted to wrap the ribs, but he’d insisted she take it easy. She couldn’t afford to take it easy, not until she had stopped the executions. Every Night Guild death would rest on her shoulders.
She pushed aside her fears. Joost and Errik knew their roles; she had to trust them. She had no other choice. The success of her plan hinged on her entering the Watcher’s Square alone.
Step by agonizing step, she drew closer to the Watcher’s Square. The buildings around her grew more elegant, the neighborhoods cleaner and more organized. A few more streets and she would reach her destination.
Her gut twisted at the sound of cheering and shouting from ahead. The tumult increased in volume with every laborious breath.
The executions had begun. She was too late.
Ignoring Darreth’s admonitions, she shuffled forward at an awkward run. The fire in her chest churned her stomach and brought acid to her throat, but she had no time for rest. She had to stop the executions before anyone died. She couldn’t let the Duke kill her comrades. Not because of her.
Time slowed to a standstill as she lurched around the corner. Six bodies dangled from the gibbet. Two wore the orange-trimmed robes of Foxes. One, wearing Grubber grey, was smaller than she. A Grubber apprentice. A tyro, perhaps. The two on the far left still kicked and twitched, their legs jerking as they fought for air. Dark hoods obscured their faces, but their white-trimmed robes proclaimed them Hound Journeymen.
But the figure dangling far to the right drew her eye. A hulking man, with huge arms tied behind his back and dark grey clothing trimmed with Hawk brown. She couldn’t see his hair, but there was only one Hawk it could be.
Ilanna’s lungs refused to draw air. Her heart stopped beating, as if devoid of purpose. She watched the huge body—Jarl’s body, it had to be—swinging back and forth without a twitch, and a tremor swept over her. She slumped to the cobblestone street, tears streaming down her face.
She had arrived too late. Jarl was dead, because of her. The Duke had executed her only remaining friend in House Hawk. She would save everyone in the Night Guild, but her friend—
The Praamian Guards ripped the hoods from the now-unmoving bodies, and hope surged within her. The man wearing Hawk brown was unfamiliar, with the rough, dark features of a Voramian. Not Jarl’s blond hair and beard.
Climbing to her feet, she clambered onto a nearby wagon and craned her neck to see over the crowd. The captive Night Guild stood assembled behind the gibbet, guarded by men in blue tunics and silver breastplates. A handful of bodies—mostly Hounds and Bloodbears, from what she could see—lay in a cart beside the scaffold platform. Those remaining alive wore the ragged clothes of Foxes and Grubbers, with a few Scorpions and Serpents among them.
And there, in the front of the line, stood a hulking man with flaxen hair and a thick, yellow beard. Ilanna wanted to weep at the sight of Jarl. His face had a sickly pallor and his clothes bore dried bloodstains, but he stood with his head held high, a stubborn look on his craggy face.
Yet Ilanna’s relief died a moment later when the Arbitors shoved Jarl and a handful of Grubber Journeymen and apprentices up the stairs. The cheers and shouts of the crowd quieted as they waited for the executions.
A fresh wave of horror mixed with the painful tightening in Ilanna’s chest. What could she do? Thousands of Praamians had flocked to Watcher’s Square to watch the executions. She’d never reach the scaffolding in time to stop the execution. Even as she pondered, the hangman strung the noose around Jarl’s neck and slipped a hood over his face. Her friend would die unless she did something now.
She did the only thing she could. In the inevitable breathless silence as the crowd waited for the next body to drop, she shouted as loud as she could. “Praamians!”
Her voice echoed across Watcher’s Square. A few heads turned toward her, but not enough. However, the guards on the scaffold looked up. The hangman paused, his hand hovering over the lever.
In desperation, she called out again. “Citizens of Praamis, hear me!” Her voice cracked with the strain of shouting, but she forced herself onward. “My name is Ilanna, Journeyman of the Night Guild, and I have a dangerous secret to tell you—one that would destroy the very foundation of this city!”
Chapter 41
Her words had the desired effect. The crowd turned toward her, eyes seeking the source of that strong voice.
“Listen well, people of Praamis.” Though every word sent pain flashing through her chest, Ilanna stood straight and spoke in a strong clear voice. “For decades, the line of Keadanis has ruled over our fair city. They have demanded much—your hard-earned coin not least of all—and given little in return. All the while, they lied to you. Treated you like fools.”
Her gaze fell on Duke Phonnis. The Duke stood on the scaffold, his finger thrust at her as he sent the Praamian Guard surging through the crowd.
Ilanna hid a smile. “Your King believes you to be incapable of understanding the truth. For they fear what you could do if you rose up and took control of the city. You are many, and they are few.”
The olive-clad figures shoved their way through the press of people. She had another minute, perhaps two, until the Duke’s men reached her.
Perfect.
“They conceal a dangerous secret not only from you,” she continued, “but from all in Praamis. Even the ones they call their fellow lords and ladies. A secret so dark and loathsome that the Chief Justiciar of Praamis would send his men to murder any who know.”
Few things could steal the crowd’s interest away from an execution; a royal conspiracy counted among those things. Anger twisted more than a few faces, and more than a few Praamian Guards found their way barred. Shouts rose among the crowd—some called out for “death to the thief”, yet more echoed in anger against the King.
“Behold!” She stabbed a finger at the nearest pack of Praamian Guards. “They come to silence me, for they fear what I would reveal. They may lock me away in the dungeons, but they cannot silence the truth. Be ready, people of Praamis, for you will soon know what they would seek to hide from you!”
Strong hands dragged her down from the wagon. She cried out as pain flared in her chest. The Praamian Guards hustled her toward the gibbet amidst a wave of angry cries and shouts. Every jostling step sent agony lancing through her torso, but she forced herself to keep up. Hands reached out from the throng to strike at the olive-clad guardsmen. Her inflammatory diatribe had served its purpose.
“Peace!” Duke Phonnis tried to still the crowd, but they refused to be silenced. Their shouts of “justice!” resounded off the high walls of the Royal Palace.
The Praamian Guards hauled Ilanna up to the scaffold and set her roughly to stand beside the Duke.
“You call yourself Ilanna of the Night Guild?” The Duke’s face showed no sign of recognition.
“I do!” Ilanna turned her eyes to the crowd. “And I demand to be brought before King Ohilmos, where I will stand fair trial.”
The Duke’s eye twitched. “You question the impartiality of the Chief Justiciar of Praamis, servant of the Watcher?”
“As a citizen of Praamis, I have the right to appeal my case before the King.”
“No evidence has been presented against you.” Duke Phonnis spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “You have not been accused of anything.”
“Yet my comrades of the Night Guild face execution,” she said. “Surely I am to be given the same fate?”
The Duke’s mouth curled down into a frown.
“Then as is my right,” she said, “I will appeal to King Ohilmos. Not only on my behalf, but for all in the Night Guild.”
Duke Phonnis’ frown deepened to a snarl. “The evidence—”
“He would deny me justice!” Ilanna whirled to the crowd, thrusting an accusing finger at the Duke. “He fears what I have to say.”
“Justice!” a voice roared from the crowd. More voices took up the cry. “Justice! Justice!”
Hatred and rage filled the Duke’s eyes, yet a hint of fear tinged his expression. Her plan to rile up the populace with inflammatory words and accusations had worked. He had no choice but to accede to her demand to stand trial before the King. If he didn’t, the crowd, which had fully supported the execution of the criminals that had preyed on them for so long, would turn against him. Crowds were fickle that way.
“Peace!” Duke Phonnis held up his hands, and the chanting gradually faded. “She will stand trial before the King. And when she is proven guilty, she will join her comrades.” He turned to her with a smile of barely-restrained fury. “You demand the King’s justice—you shall have it!”
At the Duke’s gesture, the Praamian Guards closed around her and hustled her off the scaffold. Relief flooded her as more olive-clad men removed the hoods and nooses from Jarl and the others. She had delayed the executions. Now she had to stay alive long enough to stand before the King.
Heedless of her cries of pain, the guards dragged her through the palace gates, up the walkway, around the empty fountain, and into the palace itself. The Duke marched at the front of the entourage, his back stiff and ramrod straight. The moment the double doors of the palace boomed shut behind them, the Duke whirled on her.
“Foolish girl! Do you have any idea how dangerous this game is?”
“Of course I do.” Despite the agony in her chest, she met the Duke’s eyes without hesitation. “Which is precisely why I fanned the flames of their anger without actually giving them the truth.” She forced her voice to sound confident to conceal the fear thrumming through her.
The Duke jerked back, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Ilanna chuckled. “It’s easy to rile a man up: simply tell him someone else believes him to be a fool. He’ll turn his anger on the person insulting him. Add to that the insult of the King’s taxes, and you have the perfect recipe for an angry mob.”
A mailed fist slammed into her kidneys. She slumped, coughing, as pain flared through her side and spread up to her chest.
“And that mob could turn on you and rip you to pieces!” Duke Phonnis bent over her, anger burning in his words. “Or turn a peaceful city into total chaos.”
“Which is why I allowed your men to capture me,” she said. Pain tightened her voice. “You save face by agreeing to bring me to justice, and I stand before the King.”
Wheels turned behind the Duke’s eyes. He straightened, his face hard and expressionless. “Take her to the dungeons. Lock her up and throw away the key.”
The Praamian Guards seized her wrists, but Ilanna spoke quickly. “That would be a mistake.”
Duke Phonnis sneered. “And why is that?”
“Because I have the proof of your secret.”
The Duke jerked back as if struck. His eyes searched hers, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Search her.”
Before she could respond, the Praamian Guards shoved her against the wall. Ilanna cried out as her injured chest struck stone. One guard shoved her face into a tapestry, and the scent of ancient dust and moldy fabric filled her nose. The rough hands of the guards fumbled up and down her body. Her stomach twisted, and it took every shred of self-control not to strike out—not that it would do much against the armored men holding her bound.
