The stiffened edge of Rook's hand slammed into his throat before he could cry out an alarm. Eraegus shoved at her with vicious strength that could only have been the result of furycraft, and turned to go.
Before he could move, Aldrick was on his back, knife in hand.
"Stop!" Rook hissed. "Wait!"
Before she'd finished the first word, Aldrick had opened Eraegus's throat with his knife. The pockmarked man twitched and twisted, and managed to slam Aldrick's back against the stone wall beside the staircase. But the mercenary rode out the blow, and within seconds Eraegus collapsed, and Aldrick let his corpse fall to the stairs.
"Idiot!" snarled Rook in a furious whisper.
"He would have sounded an alarm," Aldrick growled.
"You should have broken his crowbegotten neck" Rook snarled. "We could have put him in his office, splashed some wine on him, and no one would notice anything unusual until he started to bloat." She slashed a hand at the bloodstains. "The next sweep will be through here in no more than a quarter hour. They'll see this. And the bloody alarm will go up anyway."
Aldrick frowned at Rook, then gave Odiana a glance. "She can clean it up."
"And sound the alarm," Rook said, furious. "Were you even listening when I told you about the security measures? Anyone in the tower who uses any furies Kalarus hasn't permitted rouses the gargoyles. I've seen the bodies of twenty-three different morons who did so despite being warned not to."
"Then you do it," Aldrick said. "You're a watercrafter, and one of Kalarus's own. Surely you have been cleared. "
Rook's eyes narrowed. "Kalarus is arrogant, sir, but not so arrogant that he trusts his assassins with full access to their crafting in his own home." Rook paused, then added, heavy with vitriol, "Obviously."
"Obviously?" Aldrick asked, his voice rising in anger. "Then it should be equally obvious that our friend there was using earthcrafted strength. I physically couldn't have broken his neck, but he'd have broken mine if I hadn't put him down at once."
Amara stepped forward between them. "Silence, both of you," she said. They did. She nodded at them, and said, "We don't have much time. And none to waste on argument and blame." She nodded at Rook. "So move."
Rook nodded once and half ran up the stairs, boots laboring noisily on the stone. She stepped out into a hallway and across it to an open door. She went inside, and Amara followed her into a small office.
"EraйguVs office," Rook said, voice terse. She started raking her eyes over the papers on his desk. "Help me out. There should be a record here of where they're keeping your Citizens. Look for anything that might indicate their location."
Amara joined her, swiftly going over page after page of reports, accounting statements, and other records of all kinds. "Here," Amara said. "What's this, about sending blankets to the aviary?"
Rook hissed. "It's at the top of the tower. An iron cage on the roof. We'll have to reach it through Kalarus's personal chambers. Come."
They hurried back to the stairs and started up them, following Rook to the top of the tower, passing the occasional window slit in the wall.
"Wait," Bernard growled. "Quiet."
Everyone there froze in place. Amara closed her eyes and heard a distant sound, though the tiny openings that passed for windows obscured most of what she could only describe as distant tones of some kind.
"What's that?" Bernard wondered aloud.
Rook's face suddenly went bloodless. "Oh," she said, and the young woman's voice was thready with panic. "Oh, oh crows and bloody furies. Hurry."
"Why?" Amara demanded, following hard on Rook's heels. "What is that?"
"It's the fanfare," Rook stammered, terrified. "High Lord Kalarus has just returned to the citadel."
"Bloody crows," Amara snarled.
And then there was a cry from somewhere far below on the staircase, and the alarm bells of the citadel of Kalare began to ring.
Chapter 44
"Guards," Amara snapped.
"Six on the top floor," Rook said. "They'll come down the stairs and hold the only way to the roof."
"Where the prisoners are," Amara said. "We have to go through them."
"Right," Aldrick growled, and drew his sword. "Calderon."
Bernard already had his bow untied from the quiver on his shoulder. The weapon was already strung, since he would have had to use earthcraft to give himself enough strength to do so. He set an arrow to the string, then he and Aldrick started up the stairs.
Amara turned to Lady Aquitaine. "Can you counter Kalarus?"
"This is his house," Lady Aquitaine said in a cool voice. "A confrontation with him here would be unwise."
"Then we should hurry," Odiana said. "To the roof, free the prisoners, and leave immediately."
"My daughter!" Rook snarled. "She's on the level below the guard station."
"There's no time!" Odiana insisted. "They're coming, now!"
"He'll kill her," Rook cried.
The thud of heavy boots on the stairs below them began to grow steadily nearer.
"She isn't important!" Odiana shot back. "The prisoners are what matter. We have what we needed from the spy, Countess, and it is clearly your duty to-"
Amara slapped Odiana across the face, cupping her hand as she did, to make the blow sting and startle.
Odiana stared at Amara, utter shock on her face, which then immediately darkened with fury.
"Shut. Your. Mouth," Amara said in a quiet, cold voice, each word carrying acidic emphasis. Then she turned to Lady Aquitaine. "Take Odiana and go to the roof. Help them clear the way-but for goodness' sake, don't employ any overt crafting unless you must. If we don't have a clear path of retreat when the gargoyles waken, none of us are getting out."
Lady Aquitaine nodded once, gave Odiana a firm push to get her moving, and the two of them started up the stairs after Aldrick and Bernard.
Amara turned back to Rook to find the spy staring at her, eyes wide.
The Cursor put an arm on the woman's shoulder, and said, quietly, "There's no time to waste. Let's go get your daughter."
Rook blinked tears out of her eyes, then something steely slid into her features, and she led Amara up the stairs at a run.
Rook opened a door and hurried through it, though Amara lingered for a moment as steel rang on steel up the stairway. Aldrick had engaged the guards, it would seem. He was likely one of the three or four deadliest men in the world with a blade, a former singulare of the Princeps Septimus, which was doubtless why the Aquitaines had retained his service to begin with. But even so, the difference between an excellent swordsman and a world-class swordsman like Aldrick was very fine-and six excellent swordsmen might well be able to overwhelm even Aldrick ex Gladius.