45. Blood and Smoke
Blood and Smoke
Danzing’s knuckles whitened around the alchemist’s fire vial.
“Did you secure the rest?”
“No time.” I wiped blood from my cheek. Not mine. “They had crates of the stuff in the armory. I took what I could carry and left the rest to burn with the building.”
Through the shuttered windows, orange light flared. Not torches. Buildings collapsing into flame. The barracks ignited one by one across the grounds, staggered destruction lighting the sky while screams rose from the practice yards. Young nobles dying in their beds.
Haim swore. “Gods below. It’s a purge.”
“And the others?” Cain asked, daggers still wet.
“Probably dying.” The words came flat. I wasn’t going to dress it up. “We got to the Sword-Kin first. Couldn’t reach everyone.”
Maise glanced at me but said nothing. She understood. You saved who you could save, and you didn’t let the rest make noise inside your head where it could slow you down.
“The barracks are gone,” Kent reported, returning from the rear entrance. “Smoke from every building on the grounds. Horses screaming in the stables.”
“The main keep,” Haim said, his single eye fixing on me. “Your brothers are in there. How many other heirs?”
“At least a dozen houses sent their firstborns to the feast.” I thought back to the Amber Hall, all those young nobles in their fine clothes eating pastries and discussing nothing that mattered. “Could be more.”
The room went quiet.
“Someone planned this for months,” Sedrick said, leaning forward on his elbows. “The mercenaries were pre-positioned. They sealed the gates before the first barracks caught. That isn’t improvisation. That’s the host.”
The accusation sat heavy because everyone in the room knew what it meant.
Duke Hemmrich had invited them here. Duke Hemmrich controlled the gates, the guards, the grounds.
And Duke Hemmrich stood to inherit the chaos that followed when every major house in the region lost its next generation in a single night.
◇ ◆ ◇
Danzing planted Doomfall point-down. Stone cracked beneath its weight.
“Here’s how it is. We’ve got people in that keep and people burning in those barracks. We can’t save everyone, so we save who we can.”
He looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.
“Kent, Rikken, sweep the barracks. Pull out anyone still breathing. Don’t waste time on the dead. Anyone wearing the Duke’s colors gets put down.”
“Gwent, Sedrick, same but wider. Cover more ground. Send survivors toward the gates.”
“Tormund, Cain, Tennyson, you’re on me.”
“For what?” Tormund’s bronze skin began its slow creep up his forearms, the Brand of Taurus waking under his flesh.
“We’re opening the gates. ”
“Gates are sealed,” Grit reported from the window. “Saw them drop the portcullis when we crossed the yards.”
“Then we open them.” Danzing’s voice left no room for argument. “We aren’t leaving the heirs behind. Not while I can swing a sword.”
Ygritte stepped forward. “And us? What are we supposed to do?”
“You’re with Danarre’s team.” Danzing jerked his head toward me. “Five fighters have better odds in the keep than four. You get inside, find the heirs, get them out.”
She nodded once.
“The keep will be crawling with their best,” Tennyson said, flames flickering across his knuckles as the Sun brand burned brighter under his ruined skin. “Duke’s Own. The kind that need brands to put down.”
“Then it’s good Ygritte has one.” I looked at her. “Can you work with my team?”
“Can your team keep up?”
Maise snorted. Perrin’s crooked grin appeared. Grit’s hand settled on his sword.
“We’ll manage,” I said.
◇ ◆ ◇
Danzing crossed to a storage alcove near the hearth and dragged out canvas-wrapped bundles. Training golems, the same constructs he’d used to test us on the road.
“Still got these.” He kicked one upright, metal limbs clanking as they locked into position. “Won’t fool anyone up close, but in the dark, at distance, they look like fighters.”
“Decoys,” Tormund grunted. “Catch the first volley.”
“Bolts, too,” Cain added, hauling the second golem toward the door .
“Set them along the wall near the gate.” Danzing activated the first construct with a sharp twist to its chest plate, runes flickering to life as the golem straightened and its head swiveled.
“Make it look like we’ve got twice the numbers.
Buy a few extra seconds before they figure out what they’re shooting at. ”
The remaining golem jerked upright at Tennyson’s command, joints grinding as it found its feet.
“That’s good,” Sedrick said. “With luck, they waste their best ammunition on scrap metal.”
“It’s buying minutes, not miracles.” Danzing turned back to the room. “But minutes are what we need.”
“The keep has a servants’ entrance near the kitchens,” I said. “Less exposed than the main doors.”
“Probably locked,” Perrin pointed out.
“Since when has a lock stopped you?” I picked up my spear. “Baldir and Armand are smart. If they aren’t fighting already, they’ll be barricaded somewhere defensible. We find them, we get them out.”
“And if they’re already fighting?” Maise asked.
“Then we fight through to them.”
“Routes?” Danzing looked at me. “You were in that keep for the feast.”
“Servants’ passages connect to the main floors. There was a servant woman, Betta, who knew my mother when she studied here. If anyone knows those passages, it’s her.”
“Assuming she’s alive,” Grit said.
“Assuming she helps,” Ygritte added.
Both fair points. But I didn’t have better options, and standing here debating wasn’t going to change that .
“It’s our best shot.” Danzing made the call. “Find her, use her, get to the heirs.”
He turned to his gate team. “The rest of you know your jobs. We hold until everyone’s clear. No heroes. Just killers doing work.”
“What about their mages?” Cain asked.
“Then we find out how much fire Tennyson can eat before he chokes.” Danzing’s grin showed teeth. “Questions?”
“When do we move?” Sedrick asked.
“Now.” Danzing hefted Doomfall, and the massive blade sang as it cut air. “Gate team goes first. Make noise, draw them. Rescue teams wait sixty seconds, then move during the chaos. Danarre’s team waits ninety. Let the courtyard clear before you cross.”
A crossbow bolt punched through the shuttered window and buried itself in the far wall. Wood splinters scattered across the floor.
“They know we’re here,” Perrin muttered.
“Good.” Danzing moved toward the rear entrance. “Means they aren’t at the gates yet. Move.”
◇ ◆ ◇
The Sword-Kin moved with the certainty of men who’d spent their whole lives walking into rooms where people wanted to kill them.
Tormund’s bronze spread up his arms, covering flesh with living metal that caught the firelight. His fingers flexed, joints moving smoothly despite the transformation, and the muscles beneath the bronze looked like they’d been cast rather than grown.
Cain’s hands blurred. Daggers appeared and disappeared between his remaining fingers, each one real and each one sharp enough to open a throat .
Tennyson’s Sun brand ignited fully, white light spilling from his chest. The melted half of his face looked worse when lit from within, scar tissue pulling tight over bone that shouldn’t have been visible.
These were the people Henrik had trusted to keep his sons alive. Watching them now, brands burning and weapons in hand, I understood why.
“Gate team, on me.” Danzing led them to the door and paused, looking back. “Don’t waste what we’re buying. Get them out.”
“We will.”
He nodded once. Then he was gone.
The sounds were immediate. Shouts from outside as the mercenaries spotted movement. Steel on steel as someone made the mistake of closing distance. Doomfall’s heavy ring as it carved through armor and whatever was wearing it.
Someone screamed. Short, sharp, cut off.
Then someone else screamed, longer, the sound of a man learning what Tennyson’s fire felt like from the inside. The gate team was making noise. The mercenaries were answering. And dying for their trouble.
◇ ◆ ◇
Haim listened at the door, counting seconds with the patience of a man who’d measured time by heartbeats for longer than most people lived.
“They’re engaged,” he said. “Full attention on the gate team now.” He looked at me. “Ninety seconds. Then you move.”
“Understood.”
Grit checked his blade, running a thumb along the edge. Perrin produced more knives from places I couldn’t identify and probably didn’t want to know about. Maise rolled her shoulders, working out the kind of tension that only more violence would actually fix.
Ygritte waited, her Devil Brand flickering faintly at her throat. The shadows around her feet pooled darker than firelight should’ve allowed.
“The keep has multiple floors,” I said, using the time. “We get in through the servants’ entrance, find Betta, and use her to navigate the passages. Fast and quiet until we can’t be.”
“And if we run into the Duke’s Own?” Ygritte asked.
“We go through them.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I met her eyes. “You got a better plan?”
She didn’t answer. Which meant she didn’t.
Outside, the sounds of war deepened. I could hear Doomfall singing, that particular ring of impossible steel meeting ordinary flesh. Men were dying at those gates, buying us time with their blood.
“Sixty seconds,” Haim said.
Maise caught my eye. No words needed. We’d trained together long enough that the conversation happened in the space between a glance and a nod. She’d cover my left, I’d cover her right, and we’d trust Grit and Perrin to fill whatever gaps opened.
Ygritte was unknown, but she had a brand and she knew how to fight. Good enough for tonight.
“Thirty seconds.”
Through the walls, steel on steel. Men shouting orders that got swallowed by the chaos. The roar of Tennyson’s fire finding something to burn.
The Sword-Kin were buying us time. We couldn’t waste it .
“Time.” Haim straightened from the door. “Move. Good luck.”
We moved.
Haim followed after, heading for the gates. One more sword in a line that was going to need every blade it could get.
◇ ◆ ◇
「Hel’s Ledger」
Vessel: Danarre de Blaise | Year 828 | Age 13
House de Blaise | Status: Bastard (Unacknowledged)
Location: Duke Hemmrich’s Estate, Veteran Barracks
「Knight of Swords」 — Raging
「Emperor」 — Sleeping
「Magician」 — Sleeping
Active Charge: Find the Hierophant. End what was begun.
The vessel walks toward the fire. This night is a night of many things.