Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword and Sorcery

He had to stop it. Uncle Tewk. They had stone chips to compare. Had to fix the tower, was what. Broken stone. They could chisel it out and slip a new one in, cut to perfection.

“Broken stone,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I wondered,” Tewk said.

It got them across the cobbled inner courtyard and over toward the tower, at least. Steps went up the side of the wall at that point.

But—

“You!” someone yelled.

I can’t, Willem thought, turning on his heel. It was one of the black-caps, with a sword out, with an angry look on his face. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

Steel whispered beside him. Tewk had a dagger out. A dagger, for the gods’ sake—it wasn’t enough.

Was a big sword. Tewk…

Tewk was a black-cap officer.

The man stopped dead and looked confused. And saluted.

Tewk didn’t move.

“Sorry, sir,” the man said. “Sorry.”

“Good you are,” Tewk said. “Get up there and lay a fire. Big one.” This with a nod to the looming tower. “Put a squad on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man sheathed his sword and went running.

Tewk wasn’t stupid. Willem was sure of that, now. He stood there shaking in the knees, and Tewk stood there solid as the stone tower itself.

“Pretty good,” Tewk said. “Pretty damned good. You don’t even write ’em down. Never saw that before.”

“Who was I?” Willem remembered including himself in the disguise, and now it was coming unraveled.

“An old man. Pretty scary old man at that.”

“That’s good.” He’d broken out in sweat. They had to get out of here. There were gates and walls between them and freedom, and Master had said he had to bring the Alley with him, but he didn’t see the Alley anymore. Here was the palace grounds, a huge stone courtyard, towering stone walls, slit windows, and massive doors. They were in this place, and there was something dark inside, and there was no leaving until they’d done something he didn’t want to think about—

Which was bad, because he had to think about it and get them in deeper before he could get them out again.

Who’d get to the duke? Who’d be safe going through those doors?

Soldiers.

Maybe.

They’re all mercs. Nobody wants the black-caps traipsing through, not even Wiggy.

Servants. He saw two men in livery crossing the yard. Which he didn’t see well enough. He needed to see it to cast it.

“Come on,” he said to Tewk, suddenly in a fever to get through this, get Tewk where he needed to go—not to think beyond that. Not to think about that dark thing. He knew what that was. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t think on it. He thought just about those two servants, and the closer he got, the better he knew what he had to cast. Only fancier. Fancy clothes gave orders. Plain clothes took them.

The two servants were headed in the door. Merc guards there opened it and let them through.

Let them through, too, Willem thought. Beyond was dark, dark. He didn’t know if Tewk could see it, but he felt it crawling through the hallways, as if all the fortress was one great beast.

The door boomed shut. There was spotty lighting, a couple of lamps. The dark was real. It was around them.

Stone steps ahead of them led up. It hadn’t been a main door. Stone steps at the right led down and a smell of cooking wafted up. Meat roasting. Bread baking. That was the kitchens.

Where did dukes live, anyway?

This time it was Tewk who said, “Come on. This way.”

He climbed, keeping up with Tewk. They were two fancy-dressed servants on a mission.

They were two fancy-dressed servants. Tewk was the senior. It was all right. Everything was all right.

They reached an upstairs hall, and it was amazing. Tapestries. Oil lamps. Slit windows that let in white daylight. A carpet on the wooden floor, and then, around a left-hand corner, a bigger room and a stone floor past open doors, and huge hangings and a number of people standing around a man at a little table, who was writing.

But it wasn’t the man who was writing that was best-dressed. It was the dark-haired, glowering man in the middle of the bystanders. That man was dressed in brocade and velvet and chain-mail and he wore a sword low-slung at his hip. He was as big as Tewk, and his glance swept toward them like the look of the biggest, meanest dog in town.

Scary man. Scary. Willem stopped. Tewk didn’t. Tewk kept right on going.

He’s a servant, Willam thought about Tewk. He’s supposed to be there.

Something slithered across the floor. It was black and it was like fog and wasn’t just on the floor. It was on eye level and it was fast and it wrapped around the man in brocade as his sword came out.

Tewk looks like that, Willem thought, and instantly honed that thought like a knife: Tewk looks just like that!