Lessek's Key

THE ATRIUM

The third level of Welstar Palace was as far up as anyone outside Prince Malagon’s personal staff was able to go without permission: a long, wide carpeted hallway hung with tapestries. Torches burned in wall sconces, and the whole floor felt homey, comfortable. Hannah wondered who lived here.

From the main hall lots of smaller hallways ran east or west, some emptying into large rooms and others spilling out through etched-glass doorways onto balconies overlooking the encampment and the river beyond. Halfway down the hall, Hannah nearly ran into a Malakasian soldier, a woman. She had obviously been off duty, for she was struggling to buckle on her tunic belt when Hannah rushed by.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

Hannah allowed her terror to diffuse into her lies. ‘Back there. It’s some kind of attack. We’re going to get Colonel Strellek. He’s supposed to be here in the atrium. But you go, they need help – second level.’

The woman nodded obediently and turned towards the commotion, but she had gone barely two steps when Churn grabbed her by the throat.

‘Churn,’ Hannah cried, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Go,’ he signed, then drew the woman’s sword from its scabbard and tossed it across the hall.

‘Churn!’

‘Go.’ He tightened his grip and lifted the soldier from the ground; she kicked furiously and pried at his fingers, trying to break free.

What-?’ she croaked, her face turning red and her eyes bulging.

Churn lowered his face to hers, and a horrifying moment of recognition passed over the woman’s face. She remembered him.

‘You- you were dead,’ she croaked, ‘the- the tree.’

Churn nodded, lowered her to the floor and relaxed his grip long enough for her to take a breath; a moment later, he closed his fingers again.

‘Please don’t,’ she rasped, ‘so sorry.’ Her face was red, and her eyes had begun to bulge from their sockets again. Churn wondered idly if he squeezed hard enough, would they would pop out and bounce across the floor? What kind of noise might that make? She had such a pretty face; he remembered it so well, her pretty face, and the way she had climbed the tree so nimbly. She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; he would have told her that if he could have summoned the strength to speak that day. But he couldn’t speak, and his parents, his sister and the baby had all died that day. This pretty, nimble woman had left him there, a crucified joke, hanging in the cottonwood tree.

And now here she was, a gift from the gods. Churn thought about letting her take another breath, but the noise from the other end of the hall was too loud now. They were too close. He didn’t have time to torture her, though he had dreamed of this moment for so long. From the atrium, he heard glass shatter: Hoyt and Alen had broken through the window.

I’m not going out there, he thought. I don’t care if it’s dark, and I can’t see down. I’m not going out there.

Looking back, Churn saw the first soldier reach the third-level hall. There would be a few moments of confusion before they realised who he was… he still couldn’t jump. I guess this won’t help my case, he thought as he slammed the woman’s head into the stone wall. It was quick, crushing her skull, and gruesome, but what made it worse was that he didn’t feel anything; there was no great wellspring of satisfaction. He dropped the woman’s body and ran down the hall behind Hannah. He had nearly reached the atrium when the first arrow struck him in the shoulder.

‘You go first,’ Alen said. ‘Get a good grip, and I’ll hand Milla out to you. Then I’ll come out and take her while you jump across.’

‘And then?’

Alen didn’t want to say it out loud; instead, he gestured, I’ll throw her to you.

All right. There’s no time to think about it, anyway.’ Hoyt smashed out the window over the sloping stone buttress with the hilt of his dagger, then bashed out the remaining shards from the lead frame. He nearly slipped off the stone precipice, not realising how steeply it sloped, but he clamped his thighs together and gripped either side of the buttress, then reached up to take Milla. The little girl came willingly, giggling as she was folded into Hoyt’s arms.

‘This is high up,’ she said. ‘Do we have to stay here long?’

‘No,’ Hoyt said, ‘not long at all. Ready?’

‘Ready.’

‘Here we go.’ He loosened his grip and began slipping backwards, towards the raised end of the buttress; it wasn’t much, just a few stones and some mortar, but it would be enough to stop him from tumbling into the darkness. He could already see Alen sliding towards them.

‘This was a great idea,’ Hoyt called. ‘I tell you, a view like this would cost a fortune anywhere else.’

Alen glanced quickly across the encampment towards the river. The watch-fires lining the path between the palace’s main gate and the wharf were great blazes, and there were literally thousands of campfires, looking as though Nerak had scattered handfuls of fiery gemstones to flicker on the frozen hills around Welstar Palace.

‘Funny,’ said Alen, ‘but I’m afraid if we don’t hurry, we’ll be getting a much closer view.’

‘Take her,’ Hoyt shouted. ‘I’m going over. You’re right; it isn’t far to the courtyard.’

Alen let go with his hands and felt his stomach clench into an iron knot as he lost his centre of balance, but that was enough to get what remained of the dead sergeant’s adrenalin flowing and he felt his legs strengthen to an almost inhuman degree. ‘Come here, Pepperweed. I’ve got you,’ he said encouragingly.

‘Where is he going?’ she asked, apparently nowhere near as afraid of heights as either of her self-appointed protectors.

‘Just over to that snowy patch of grass right there.’

‘That’s not far.’

‘Do you want to jump it together with me, or by yourself?’

‘I’ll go by myself. Will he catch me?’

‘Yes he will,’ Alen assured her. ‘Just don’t look down.’

Hoyt made the leap easily, rolling to his feet when he landed. The ‘courtyard’ was in fact a second-level balcony laid out as a miniature botanical garden, now winter-bare, with just a few patches of grass poking through the snow.

‘I think I’m scared,’ Milla said. ‘Can we go back inside?’

‘Just another moment, Pepperweed,’ Alen said comfortingly, allowing himself to slip down to the raised stones at the end of the buttress.

‘It’s cold.’

‘I know, Pepperweed, but it’s just another moment.’ He checked to be sure Hoyt was standing, arms raised and waiting for her. ‘All right, turn around.’

‘I really don’t want to.’

‘Pepperweed, you have to.’ He held her fast, gripping the buttress with all the strength in his fit young thighs, then lifted her up until she was standing on the end the sloped beam. ‘Close your eyes now.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she whined, ‘I don’t want to.’

Ignoring her, he said soothingly, ‘Close your eyes and-’ he tossed her with all his strength, ‘go!’

Hoyt couldn’t hear over the sound of the wind rushing between the wings of the old castle. As he stood waiting, he squinted into the darkness, to make sure he saw Milla when Alen threw her over the short but deadly-deep abyss separating them.

There she was! Hoyt pressed himself into the wall, feeling like his timing was off; something about the darkness had first made the girl appear much closer, but now she seemed to be falling from a great height, or maybe taking an inordinately long time to come down.

Then she was there, light as a feather pillow, landing softly in his arms. Hoyt realised this child was special. ‘You can fly!’ he exclaimed, hugging her to his chest and twirling her round.

‘People can’t fly, silly,’ Milla said. ‘I just know how not to fall bad. I used to fall a lot when I was little, well, littler than now, and I made that up so all the bonks wouldn’t hurt.’

‘You made it up?’

Alen leaped over the gap to join them.

Hoyt repeated his question. ‘You made it up?’

‘So falling and bonking hard won’t hurt any more, but it’s not flying.’

He looked to the former Larion Senator; Alen raised his eyebrows and nodded.

‘Good job, Milly. You were the best of all.’

Then Hannah screamed and slipped off the buttress.