Tamlin's defense was far too weak. Radu beat the blade aside as he landed lightly atop the unearthed archway. In the same motion, he thrust his blade neatly through Tamlin's heart.
Chaney winced as he felt the slight grating of stone as the blade passed through Tamlin's body and chipped the stone plug beneath. Blue light surged up from the buried artifact, so bright that Chaney could see Tamlin's skeleton beneath his flesh. In the next instant, it wiped away his sight, and a high keening took away his hearing. He felt a flash of agony so brief it might have been ecstasy.
Then he felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER 24
Sunlight gilded the crests of the clouds, yet the black belly of the storm still rumbled after each flash of lightning. Everywhere they flew, the storm rushed toward them.
"Castle Stormweather," said Cale.
He spied the titanic edifice at the very heart of the storm. Its massive cluster of gray spires pierced the clouds a few miles away. Above them wheeled griffon-riding sentries.
Shamur nodded grimly and urged their mount lower until the griffon's wings brushed the clouds. Her cheerful mood had waned during their flight from the elven armada, and neither of them had spoken since their departure. They were saving their strength for what lay ahead.
Once cloaked by the mists of the storm, Shamur gave Ripper his head. The griffon dived into the clouds, plummeting so quickly that Cale briefly feared the creature meant to kill itself and its riders. The wind pressed him into the high back of his saddle. He felt the flesh on his face rippling as they fell ever faster through the darkness of the storm.
Just before Cale thought he might lose consciousness, the griffon veered to the left, gradually decreasing the angle of its descent. It dived briefly once more, guided by instinct, and quickly rose up, flapping its wings to brake its speed. They emerged from the cloud cover, and Cale caught his breath as he saw how close they had come to the castle.
Ripper dropped easily onto the roof of one of the stronghold's spires. In the center of the landing stood a stable with a peaked roof. Even in the high wind, Cale could smell the musty odor of a bird coop mingling with the musk of big mammals.
A pair of attendants in heavy padded armor ran out to take Ripper's reins. When they saw who had returned the griffon, they reached for their truncheons, hesitating only when they saw Cale pointing an arrow at them.
"Tether the griffon, but don't alert the others," said Cale in the common tongue.
The men understood and obeyed.
Once Shamur had dismounted and stood behind the men with a drawn blade, Cale climbed down and removed the attendants' weapons, keeping one and throwing the other over the roof's edge.
"Who else is up here?" he asked.
"Four wounded from the harrying teams, along with two guards," reported one of the men, nodding toward a stairway adjacent to the stables.
"Anyone else?"
The man shook his head.
"Where is Thamalon Uskevren?" demanded Shamur.
The attendants looked back blankly.
"A stranger to these parts," said Cale. "We know he's here."
One of the men nodded in comprehension then grimaced. He glanced back over his shoulder, toward the highest of the castle's spires.
"The… Vanes," he said reluctantly. "You'll never make it up there. Only the Vermilion Guard is permitted-"
"That's enough," said Cale. "Can you take care of these two?"
Shamur nodded and said, "First let's feed Ripper, boys, then let's find some rope."
Despite her cavalier tone, Shamur's eyes were lined with concern. She hadn't liked the sound of these "Vanes" any more than Cale had. She prodded one of the men with the point of her sword.
"Back here in fifteen minutes," said Cale.
The attendants had answered quickly enough and seemed frightened enough to be telling the truth, but Cale couldn't count on that. Cautiously, he descended the steps to the guardroom. Lying on the stone steps, he crept down far enough to peer into the room below.
He saw two guards, both of whom had doffed their helms and set aside their breastplates and pauldrons. One of them sat at a table along one wall, rinsing bandages in a basin. The other carried a hot cauldron carefully into another room. Through the open door, Cale saw three occupied cots and inferred that there were at least three more in the room.
He got back to his feet and considered the two weapons in his hands. The sword was more certain, and he didn't have time to waste. Still, neither of the men was his assigned target, and he had no reason to believe that either of them was particularly despicable. Seeing them tend the wounded only aggravated Cale's qualms about killing them.
He made his choice and slipped quietly down the stairs, pausing only for an instant to scan the rest of the room. Satisfied that it was empty except for the men he had seen, he stepped behind the guard with the bandages and rapped him sharply on the head. The man fell forward, his arm knocking the basin off the table. Cale lunged forward and caught it just before it would have shattered on the floor.
"You all right in there?" called the other guard.
Cale heard the man set his cauldron on the floor and begin returning to the room. He stepped to the side of the door and pressed his back against the wall. When the guard came through, Cale shut the door behind him with one hand while raising his truncheon to strike.
The guard was no mere stable hand, however. Sensing the motion behind him, he ducked his head forward and kicked backward, striking Cale in the hip and groin. He spun in the same motion, reaching for his sword as he opened his mouth to shout for help.
Cale thrust the truncheon into the man's open jaws, choking him and smothering his alarm. The unorthodox attack shocked the guard into clutching for Cale's weapon rather than using his own.
Cale pushed forward, forcing the man's head back as he reached for his sword arm. He caught the man's wrist and twisted, turning him to face the ground, and removed the truncheon in the same motion. The man coughed and gasped for breath. Cale knelt on his back and rapped his head once. The man stopped moving, but his breath continued to come in struggling little wheezes.
Satisfied that the two men would remain unconscious a while longer, Cale bolted the door to the sick room, and he turned to his main task.
A little less than three minutes had passed since he'd left Shamur.
"You're late," said Shamur. She stood beside the same griffon. Cale knew there hadn't been time to remove the beast's saddle, but the lather had been wiped from its tawny coat.
"I had a hard time choosing the right color," Cale replied.
Shamur looked at the bright red armor Cale had lugged up from the guardroom and laughed. Cale wasn't sure whether she or he was more surprised at his banter. It was a great relief to jest after all his brooding on the journey to the castle, and it reminded him again of his friend Jak Fleet. The wise-cracking halfling always helped Cale shed some of the gloom that naturally gathered around him.
"At least this way they won't shoot us down on sight," Cale said.
He began putting on the armor and immediately realized it would never look convincing on his tall, gaunt frame. Even had it been made to fit him, Cale thought he would never prefer metal armor to his familiar black leathers. At least in them he felt he could breathe.
Despite her height and her decidedly feminine shape, Shamur looked far more convincing as a Vermilion Guardsman once she tied her hair back and donned the helmet.
They finished their disguises by securing the long capes to their shoulders. Cale added the short sword to the long sword at his weapon belt. Once they found Thamalon, he wanted his master to be armed.