Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (114 page)

After hanging from the eaves of the storehouse, Nedwin
dropped to the wet paving stones, landing in a crouch. Drenching rain pelted down around him. He took cover behind some barrels under the eaves. The rain and darkness would help hide him, but he could take nothing for granted. A lanky, pale, mostly unclothed man in the yard of a castle would draw the eye even under inclement conditions. All it would take was a single vigilant guard and the light of a lantern.

He needed to reach the stables and the castle entrance hidden there, but any route he took would force him to cross open ground. He was currently shrouded in shadow, but light gleamed from many windows and lanterns. More lanterns would be lit if the heavy rain persisted.

Nedwin wished for a cloak or a blanket. With the rainfall he had an ideal excuse to hide his face and move quickly. There would be useful items inside the storehouse, but the sturdy door was locked, and without his tools he could not pick it.

As the downpour lessened, Nedwin realized that if he hesitated any longer, he might lose his best chance to reach the secret passageway below the stables. Risking open ground while the rain was heavy would be safer than risking open ground once the guardsmen resumed their regular patrols.

Nedwin crept from building to building, staying near walls and vegetation, taking cover wherever it was available. He found a soiled, sodden blanket in a handcart and wrapped it over his head and shoulders. It failed to cover his bare legs, but it provided a far better disguise than nothing.

The rainfall had become gentle by the time Nedwin reached the stables. They were dark and saturated with the odors of horses—hay, oats, wood, leather, mud, dung, hide, and especially blood. The allure was not nearly as strong as with human blood, but it smelled much more appealing than any meal Nedwin could remember.

Ignoring the scents, Nedwin found the hatch to the basement and then the disguised hatch to the subbasement. Down in the darkness, his fingers found a hidden catch, and he proceeded into a quiet hall.

The smells here were mustier—dust, stone, wood, rot, mildew, and rat droppings. Nedwin caught whiffs of the living rats, noting that rat blood smelled nearly as desirable as horse blood.

He could see nothing. Nedwin had no seaweed, and no way to light the torches stashed beyond the entrance. But he could smell his way easily. He could smell the walls as clearly as see them, just as he could smell the open spaces of the halls and rooms. He could even smell the locations of spiderwebs.

While prowling the black corridors, Nedwin noticed for the first time that his heart was no longer beating. He paused, feeling the lack of a pulse in his wrist, then his neck, and finally his chest. More than hanging from the wall, more than his enhanced sense of smell, more than his memories of the fatal injury, the lack of a heartbeat forced Nedwin to confront the reality that he was truly dead.

Nedwin rubbed his jaw. His life was over. He no longer belonged in this world. He was an abomination. His body housed the seeds of a horrible plague. If those seeds were planted in others, all of Lyrian would become like Ebera.

He had a final mission to accomplish; then he could rest. He would be careful. He would need the orantium. On his way to the hidden stash of twelve globes, he kept his ears alert. Hearing had been his sharpest sense for years, and it was frustrating to have it hampered. Even without perfect hearing, it soon became evident that a feast was in progress. If Copernum was in attendance, the meal might provide just the opportunity he needed.

Stealth had already failed him. This time Nedwin would rely
on overwhelming force. He would not survive, but survival was no longer a priority. He was already dead.

Nedwin found the orantium as expected, the twelve spheres bundled together in a sack, sawdust packed between them to help prevent an accidental detonation. He handled the sack gingerly.

By unseen passages Nedwin made his way to the dining hall. He climbed a ladder and peered out through a portion of tapestry that had been carefully thinned. Since he was looking from the darkness into the light, the colorful tapestry was almost transparent, affording him a good view of the roomy hall.

Nedwin stared in awe, hardly trusting his eyes. Not only was Copernum present, but so were the lords who had collaborated with him, including Dolan and the grand duke—more than forty conspirators in total. Who else had he expected to attend a feast sponsored by the usurper? Copernum was too smart to permit potential enemies near him at this early stage of the occupation.

Dessert had not yet been served, but the feast had obviously been in progress for some time. Many of the lords in attendance looked like they had already eaten their fill. Bustling servants shuttled away empty trays and plates. A large fire blazed in the huge hearth.

Nedwin could smell the food as never before. Beef, mutton, ham, chicken, turkey, and goose were present, with all their varied gravies, seasonings, and sauces. He smelled pea soup, chunky vegetable stew, mashed yams, fresh berries, pungent cheeses, buttered mushrooms, skewers of olives stuffed with garlic paste, and hunks of bread slowly growing stale.

Despite the diverse scents discernible in greater detail than ever before, the food did not smell appetizing. Not in the slightest.

All the aromas paled next to the intoxicating allure of fresh human blood.

Tonight the feast was not on the tables or in the kitchens. Tonight the feast was inside the diners, pumping round and round, warm and liquid and beckoning.

But Nedwin was not here to indulge his new appetite. No matter how brightly that desire burned, he must not heed it. He had a mission to accomplish.

He quietly unpacked the spheres from his sack, then replaced them without the sawdust for easier access. He practiced how he would hold the sack and how he would remove the spheres.

The secret entrance to the dining hall was concealed behind another tapestry, at the side of the room. It would not allow him to emerge near Copernum, but unless he was clumsy, it should be near enough.

Nedwin could not afford to wait. He needed to strike while Copernum remained. What if the head traitor excused himself before dessert?

Nedwin worked the releases and slid aside a cunningly constructed section of the stone wall. The section moved without much noise, disguised by boisterous conversation, clinking tableware, and hustling servants. The heavy tapestry still covered the gaping opening.

Thrusting the tapestry aside, Nedwin stepped into the dining hall. The fire in the hearth bothered his eyes, but not enough to slow him down. Most of the armed guards were clustered near the main door. The first orantium globe sailed their way. The second went to a nearer table. Both globes exploded in rapid succession, with white flashes and thunderous booms that echoed in the cavernous hall. The guards were thrown in all directions. One man lost his helmet. The table bucked and splintered, platters of food soaring into the air. Diners flipped and tumbled.

Startled faces turned his way. Nedwin saw shocked recognition
in most of their eyes. All had professed loyalty to him and the crown. Smiling, he produced another orantium globe, tossing it at the guards near the table where Copernum, Dolan, and the grand duke dined. The explosion devastated the guards and overturned the table.

A quarrel hit Nedwin in the ribs. He observed it with mild interest. The projectile caused no pain and failed to hinder him. He rewarded the crossbowman for his accuracy with an orantium sphere that launched him, and others near him, into astonishing feats of acrobatics.

Servants were scattering, making for the doors to the kitchen. Nedwin threw a sphere there next, to dissuade people from exiting.

Some of the diners were pulling knives and drawing swords. Most were seeking cover. A hurled knife stuck in Nedwin’s thigh, causing no significant harm or discomfort.

A group of nobles from the nearest tables charged Nedwin, forcing him to throw an orantium sphere closer than he liked. He felt the warm shockwave from the blast. The noise made his ears ring, and the flash left him dazzled. He staggered, but kept his feet. He could smell his own charred flesh.

Nobody was attacking him anymore. Most were pressing toward the doors. Nedwin threw a globe at the main doors and another at the doors used by the servants. The blasts claimed many lives.

“This is your reward for taking orders from a displacer!” Nedwin called, his voice strange in his ears. He threw a globe at some lords taking refuge behind an overturned table. A direct hit proved that orantium was much more powerful than wood.

Men screamed and moaned. Smoke filled the air. Nedwin stalked toward the table where Copernum was huddled. Their
eyes met across the room. Nedwin had never seen Copernum looking bewildered or afraid. Tonight he saw both emotions displayed nakedly.

With three globes left, Nedwin hurled a sphere at another table where treacherous lords cringed. A few people were escaping out the doors. But not Copernum. Nedwin got close enough that he could not possibly miss, and demolished the table where Copernum cowered. Although it was heavier than the other tables, the orantium blasted it into kindling.

One globe remained.

Through the smoke, Nedwin saw Copernum scrambling away, his body bleeding and blackened. Dolan was dead. The grand duke was dead. Dozens of other traitors had perished.

“Wait, Nedwin!” Copernum cried, holding up a hand. His stunned eyes were desperate. Flecks of food had spattered his face and clothes. Splintered pieces of the table protruded from his body. “Wait! Kill me and Galloran dies. I have vital information!”

Nedwin shook his head. “Galloran has had enough of your help.”

He threw the final sphere so that it shattered against the floor beside the disloyal chancellor. The glaring explosion did the rest.

Feeling oddly disconnected from himself, Nedwin looked around. The smoky room was still. Everyone had fled, had died, or was feigning death. He had succeeded. He had unnaturally extended his life for a purpose, and the task had been accomplished. The realization brought profound relief.

Just to be sure, Nedwin checked a few ragged pieces of his former torturer. After all, he was a displacer. But it was no trick. Copernum was not temporarily disassembled. He was extremely dead.

“You’re even deader than I am,” Nedwin mumbled.

How soon before more guards came after him? Any minute.
The thunder of the orantium would summon soldiers from all over the castle. Some of the guards might want to hesitate. They would hear what had happened from the survivors. They did not know he was out of orantium. And he was supposed to be dead. But not knowing that their leader had perished, they would also fear his wrath if they failed to act.

Nedwin walked toward the fire that still blazed in the hearth. He had deliberately not disturbed it with his barrage of orantium. He needed that fire.

Nedwin glanced at the secret passage. The dining hall remained still. He might be able to sneak away.

No. He had been fortunate. He had not only eliminated Copernum, but he had executed most, if not all, of the men capable of taking his place. Without the might of the giants, without treacherous nobles orchestrating the occupation, another revolution was inevitable. Justice had been served. The traitors had been punished. When Galloran returned, he would find allies running Trensicourt, not enemies.

Shuffling forward, Nedwin accepted that he would never see Galloran again. He would not be here to welcome his master home. But stories of this night would be everywhere. Galloran would find that his former squire had held true to the end, and that meant everything.

Nedwin paused near the hearth. The bright flames hurt his eyes. The warmth bothered his skin. Every instinct screamed for him to withdraw.

What if Galloran failed? What if the king never returned to his kingdom? If Maldor emerged victorious, Nedwin could unleash the plague and spoil the victory. Nedwin reconsidered a hasty escape. He thought about weeks of hiding, feeding on animals, waiting for news.

No. Too much could go wrong. For now, he felt certain that no worms had escaped his body. He had to keep it that way. He had to trust Galloran. But what if Maldor won? Nedwin bowed his head. He had no right to destroy the world. He had served Galloran to the best of his abilities. He must not sully his sacrifice. Bringing the worms out of Ebera had been his responsibility. Galloran had never authorized it. Every moment that Nedwin survived increased the risk of an accidental infection. The worms had to burn, which meant he had to burn with them.

It had been many years since Nedwin had feared death. He did not fear it now. The fire was not appealing. The blood promised fulfillment. He could smell it everywhere. The fire promised misery. He heard footfalls. Guards were coming. They were too late. Nedwin threw himself into the fire, squirming until he was settled at the heart of the flaming logs.

Everything inside him recoiled. Every instinct screamed that he must flee. He was not in pain. The worms, maybe—not him. The fire was everywhere. Warm, not hot. It had seemed bright and horrible, but now he found it almost relaxing. He smelled it consuming him. His eyes were closed. He was not dying. He was already dead. This was just the end of his worn-out body. He had stayed sane through it all. Sane enough, at least. He had done his duty. He felt certain that Galloran would be proud of him, and the thought gave him comfort. He could no longer smell the burning. He could no longer hear the logs crackling. His hardships had ended. No pain would haunt this slumber. At long last, Nedwin rested.

CHAPTER
33