Cale looked at the two men with him and said, "Stay close to me and do what I say."
They nodded, and one of them said, "Word was you'd left, Mister Cale. I'm glad to see it's not so."
Cale didn't take the time to correct the guard's mis-perception. He was back, but only temporarily.
He sprinted for the house. Burdened with their mail, the guardsmen struggled to keep up. The gardens were empty, the shrubs and dwarf trees ghostly in the darkness. Cale stopped.
"Where are the grounds patrols?"
The young guardsmen shared a confused look, and one of them said, "I don't know, sir."
Could all of them have been put down? Cale wondered. Probably not. After all, the Uskevren estate covered a lot of ground. Unless there was a special event or some reason for alarm, only twenty-five or so guards were on duty at any given time. Possibly, there were just no guards in the immediate vicinity. It was dark and Cale couldn't see far. He hoped that was the explanation.
"You," he said to one of the guards. "See if you can find any of the grounds patrols. Alert them to what's happening and get them into the house."
Cale wanted to ensure the safety of the family foremost. The man looked unsure.
"What's happening, sir?" the guard asked.
"I'm not entirely sure. But be careful. I mean that. You call out if you see or hear anything. Do not try to deal with it alone."
The man nodded, turned, and sped off back through the gardens.
"Let's go," Cale said to the other.
They entered the house via a back entrance near the kitchens. Embers from the supper fires still smoldered in the three great hearths. Besides that soft glow, the kitchen stood dark and empty. Brilla and the kitchen girls were probably already asleep in the servants' quarters near the stables.
Heading for the door that led into the main hallway, Cale moved past the preparation tables, the butcher's block, and several stools.
"Stay close," he said over his shoulder to the guard.
The young man nodded, tightening his grip on his long sword. The clink of the guard's mail and the thump of his hobnailed boots on the wood floor sounded an alarm to Cale's ears. He should have come alone. Nothing for it now, though.
Without warning, the kitchen door flew open. The guard behind Cale gave a start and stumbled backward over a stool. Cale dropped into a crouch, blade ready. The dim light from the hallway beyond illumined an armored figure with his blade held high to strike. Cale recognized him immediately—Almor.
"Almor!" Cale said in a sharp whisper. "It's us."
"Mister Cale?" Almor hissed, and lowered his blade a bit.
"Where are the other guards, man? Godsdamnit, I told you to gather your men."
Almor stepped through the doorway and spoke in a whisper, "I sent the guards stationed at the main door upstairs to check on Lord Tamlin and Lady Shamur. When I went to pick up the guards at the garden door, I thought I heard someone in the parlor. No one should be there, Mister Cale. I was on my way to check on it when I heard this one—" he nodded at the young guard—"clattering around in here like a drunk cooking maid. I thought you were more of them and figured I'd better do something."
The young guard mumbled something and looked sheepish. Cale thumped Almor on his shoulder.
"You did well, Almor. Now keep quiet and follow me."
Only a single oil lamp on a side table illuminated the hallway beyond the kitchen. The parlor was just down the hall. From there, Cale's keen ears caught a faint scuffling, like a boot dragged over the hardwood.
Blade held before him, Cale stalked down the corridor. When he reached the parlor, he peeked around the doorjamb and spotted two figures standing near one of the bookcases across the room. Both had their backs to him. In the darkness, he could discern no features, but the light from the hall glinted on steel.
Cale charged, shouting as he ran, "Almor, here!"
His call startled the intruders. They whirled around and Cale saw them more clearly—
They wore the blue and silver livery of House Uskevren.
Even as the implications of that realization began to register, Cale tripped over something meaty in the middle of the floor. He caught himself on a reading desk before he fell but....
Corpses. Three of them, all Uskevren guards with their livery stained dark. Cale looked at their faces—
This was impossible!
Almor was among the dead, his throat slit wide, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace.
Then the other Almor ... ?
An imitator, Cale realized, disguised by magic.
Thinking quickly, Cale hurdled a desk to his left and put it between him and the two intruders, just as Almor—or the Almor double, rather—entered the room behind him. The imitator had disarmed the young guard and held a blade at the lad's throat.
"Say nothing and I won't open a new mouth in his throat."
The double still spoke with Almor's voice. Cale marveled at the accuracy of the disguise spell.
The young guard, Cale didn't even know his name, squirmed a bit and said, "Damn this prig to the Nine Hells, Mister Cale. Kill them! Almor, you trait—"
Faint pressure on the blade drew a thin stream of blood. The young man's protest ended in a grunt of pain.
"You hold your tongue too, boy, or the next one's deeper. And there's your Almor."
The double indicated the corpses on the floor. The young guardsman took in the corpses and went wide-eyed. The double smiled languidly at Cale—an incongruously feminine gesture from Almor's grizzled face.
"Cale?" the impostor prompted.
The two other men advanced a few steps nearer to Cale, cutting off his lane to the far door. Both had blades drawn. Able to see them better, Cale saw that they looked like house guards he knew—Derg and Halthor—but he figured them to be disguised by the same magic as the Almor imitator. The real Derg and Halthor were probably dead. The Halthor lookalike held something in his hand. It took Cale a moment to recognize it: Thamalon's crystalline sphere, the one Cale had intended to take with him when he had first left Stormweather.
"Cale, I grow impatient."
For emphasis, Almor again nicked the captured guard. To his credit, the boy gritted his teeth and made no sound.
Cale had no choice, so he said, "All right."
Almor gave a satisfied smile and moved farther into the room.
"You won't get away," Cale said, and meant it.
"Of course I will," Almor replied. He sidestepped across the room, watching Cale the while. "You're an intriguing man, Cale, from all I've heard and seen. I suspect I might find you entertaining in another context."
When Cale heard those words and the innuendo registered, the realization hit him—a woman had disguised herself as Almor. A woman had led the attack on Stormweather Towers and killed the gods knew how many guards. For a terrifying moment, Cale had a mental picture of Tazi, Shamur, and Tamlin murdered in their beds—for clearly the Almor-imitator had not sent guards to protect the Uskevren bedrooms. The thought nauseated him, even while sending a hot rush of rage through him.
He forced his mind to focus on the three enemies before him. Perhaps they had attacked only to recover the sphere, and had only killed the guards in their way. He hoped so. But if that was true, what in the Nine Hells was the sphere?
He backed up until he felt the parlor wall behind him. If he had to fight all three, he wanted a wall at his back. He took care to ensure that as much furniture as possible stood between him and the intruders. With his combat mobility, he could use the furniture to his advantage if they tried to close.
He had few options. He considered casting another of his darkness spells but dismissed it because of the boy. The Almor double could kill him whether she could see or not. Cale was not prepared to sacrifice the young guard to save a piece of Thamalon's art. For the moment at least, they were in charge.