The God Tattoo: Untold Tales from the Twilight Reign (6 page)

‘Good,’ he muttered with a wolfish grin, ‘I was getting suspicious that fucking mage had told me everything. Whatever this is least I know what I’m lookin’ out for.
Better than findin’ out what he didn’t tell me as it kills me.’ He looked up at the burning roof. ‘Time to move.’

Peering out of the doorway he saw the grounds were still deserted. What in Ghenna’s name was going on here he couldn’t tell, but the mage had said his damsel in distress would be
occupying most of their attention. What that meant the mage hadn’t said, but it had been clear most of them would be inside, with her. Daken had guessed they were up to some sort of ritual
using her as a sacrifice and hadn’t been corrected, so most likely he was running out of time.

‘Right, find the house shrine,’ he muttered, remembering what details the mage had given him.

When he’d scouted all round the house he’d noticed a pair of thin, double-height windows flanking the house’s main entrance. While they weren’t the only grand windows in
the building to contain glass, they were dramatic and west-facing. The first light of dawn would stream through them and most likely reach the length of the imposing hallway. It would be an
arresting sight for any pious fools droning through the morning devotionals, most likely they would be there.

He skirted the back of the main building, keeping to the shadows. The Hunter’s Moon, Kasi, was behind the building, sinking fast to the horizon but Daken guessed he still had a while
before midnight. If there was a ritual to be done in darkness, most likely they’d do it as Kasi went down and the darker half of the night began. There were several doors in view, but he
didn’t bother trying any of them. Instead he went to the corner where the two distinct buildings were joined and assessed the stonework there.

There was a lead-lined gully where the roof of the lower building met the side of the larger, a pipe leading down from that to a water butt. Using the gully as a low point to aim for, the pipe
and stonework around one of the windows proved enough to allow him to scale the side. Before long he was crouched in the gully, working the numbness from his complaining fingers as he gauged the
next stretch.

Above was a protruding balcony built into the stone, too far away to reach from where he was, but the roof of the lower building sloped sharply up to his left. He gingerly walked up the tiled
roof, wincing as two cracked under his weight, until he was level with the balcony’s wrought-iron rail. Freeing his axe, he reached as far forward as he could with it, assessing the distance
he had to jump. The axe was well short of the balcony, another four feet he guessed. Considering how much run-up he’d have, Daken wasn’t confident of making the jump.

Bugger, what else is there?
He looked at the axe in his hand, then up at the iron rail around the balcony. If he could maybe hook it on one of the iron bars, he’d be able to pull
himself up. It wouldn’t be easy, but white-eyes were unnaturally strong and he knew he had it in him, no matter how heavy he was. Daken picked his way halfway down again and looked up at his
proposed route.

If I fall, that’s going to make enough noise to get them all out here
, he realised as he set himself.

As quietly as he could he ran five feet down the roof to get up some speed, then launched himself forward at the wall ahead and kicked up off it. Reaching as high as he could, Daken slid the axe
head through the bars and twisted as soon as it was through.

Gravity dragged him down hard, even with both hands tight around the axe handle it was almost wrenched from his grip. A sharp pain briefly flared in the wrist that took the brunt of his weight,
but he refused to release his grip and a moment later he was just dangling above the rain-gully, legs swinging freely. With a grunt he raised himself to shift one hand above the next, then hauled
as hard as he could to pull himself close enough to the balcony to grab its edge.

He hung another moment until the swing of his body under him slowed again, then shifted one bar closer to the wall to set his boot against the stone to use it for support. Within a minute he was
crouched on the balcony and unhooking his axe from the bars of the rail, ready to enter the house itself. He tried the door that led off the balcony and was unsurprised to find it bolted, but
nearby was a shuttered window with a simple latch that his knife could work open without difficulty.

This high off the ground, the window was big enough for even Daken to crawl though. He checked he couldn’t hear anyone coming to investigate then eased himself through and shut the window
behind. In the darkness of an empty room Daken grinned. The hardest part was over; now he was inside their defences and undetected. The main part of the manor house was oblong and Daken stood at
one end of that. If the hallway was as grand as he suspected it would also contain the main staircase, but in a house this large there would be servant stairs too.

He went to the door ahead of him and tried to see through the keyhole. The corridor beyond it was dark enough that he couldn’t make anything out. When he inspected the other door he saw it
didn’t have a lock, just a simple latch. Clearly this was a disused suite of rooms, all connected to each other. He stowed his axe and drew his dagger again, easing the door open with the
weapon ready. There was no one in the other room but it did have a few pieces of furniture, a large bed and looming wardrobe, all draped in dust-sheets. The next room was similar to the first
except it didn’t have an exit onto the corridor, just a musty garde-robe in the back corner, so Daken returned to the second and waited at the door, listening for a long while before he
opened it.

He found himself on a bare stone corridor that led off to the left and met another from which a faint light shone, while on the right it turned a tight corner a few yards away. He followed it
that way and was rewarded with a narrow doorway covered by a long drape that led to a cramped servants’ stair. He walked slowly up to the third floor, his only illumination the moonlight that
crept through a slit window halfway up.

There he found a similar corridor and stalked along it until it met the central landing. Somewhere down that he could hear the tap of footsteps walking slowly towards him. A single pair; walking
with the measured pace of a guard doing a circuit inside their perimeter.

He transferred his knife to his left hand, pressing his back against the wall that hid him. His practised ear told him when the footsteps were just at the corner, two steps beyond the point
where the anxiety of adrenalin screamed for him to strike. He was reaching just as the figure came within one pace – dragging himself around the corner as he brought the knife up. The guard
flinched at Daken’s sudden appearance, but had no time for anything else before the knife-blade was at his throat, its edge pressed hard enough to break the skin.

‘Move or cry out and you’re dead,’ Daken whispered, his other hand around the guard’s which in turn clasped his sword hilt.

The guard was an average-looking man who could have been anything to Daken’s eyes. He was middle-aged and clean-shaven; not as battered or unkempt as most mercenaries but clearly no raw
recruit either. After an initial moment of panic in the man’s eyes he grasped the situation with the clarity of someone who’d felt Death’s hand on his shoulder and recognised
Daken wasn’t exaggerating.

He didn’t nod of course, standing perfectly still without replying but Daken could see he understood easily enough. Keeping the knife at the man’s throat he turned around him and put
a hand to his back, pushing him towards one of the doorways off the corridor. The man realised what he was being asked to do and walked without complaint into the room.

‘Do what I say and there’s no need to kill you. Now, lose the sword belt.’

The man perceptibly sagged with relief that he wasn’t going to have his throat cut in the next few moments and fumbled to obey – taking care not to drop his sword and make any undue
noise or do anything else that might annoy the white-eye with a knife at his throat. Daken took hold of the back of the belt and pulled it away from the guard’s unresisting grip.

‘Good. Now I’ll be tying you up soon enough, but first tell me where she is.’

The guard made a puzzled sound. ‘Her?’ A moment later Daken heard him gasp. ‘The mirror? You’ve come to free her?’

The white-eye sensed the change in his prisoner immediately; body tense, lungs filling. Without thinking he wrenched back with his dagger, cutting deep into the guard’s throat as he moved
back. The man turned half around, hands rising as though to reach for Daken, but the movement was never completed as a spray of blood followed the knife and he crumpled to his knees. Daken took
another step back and caught the dead man by the arm, easing him down while trying to avoid the worst of the blood flowing out over the wooden floorboards.

‘Man wanted to live,’ he commented dispassionately, ‘until he heard what I wanted. Wasn’t expectin’ that.’

He dragged the body away from the door and considered his next move. Even loyal guards were rarely eager to sacrifice themselves in the faint hope of warning their master, and what did a mirror
have to do with all this?

‘Startin’ to feel screwed over by my employer,’ Daken said softly, a grin once more creeping across his face. He sheathed the knife and pulled his axe out.

‘Now we’re on familiar ground. So there’s a mirror involved in this ritual – most likely they’re usin’ it as some sort o’ gateway. That and a blood
sacrifice. Fucking daemon-worshippers; always eager with a virgin and sacrificial knife.’

He returned to the main passageway and cautiously headed down it. At the far end there was a solid balustrade beyond which a large wrought-iron chandelier hung. Only half its candles were
burning but they were enough to cast adequate light around a central space that seemed to extend from ground level right up to the roof. Over the carved balustrade came sharp voices, several men
talking over each other until a fist was thumped on a table and Daken heard a voice clearly.

‘Put the damn fire out, we can argue about who set it later!’ Daken’s grin widened a fraction as he heard feet scurry to obey. Unable to see any more guards on this level he
crept forward and hid behind the balustrade as he decided his next move. He’d marked the stairways leading down to the first floor already, off to the left above where he guessed the shrine
was. Flush against the back wall they came down from the sides to meet in the middle, the positioning making it clear they opened out to meet the lower stair at the second floor.

Almost on hands and knees he crept to the end of the balustrade and looked around the thick pillar at the corner. The way was clear to where the staircases met so he edged down the steps to the
next corner, keeping hidden behind the balustrade with his axe at the ready.

‘Do you think it’s him, sir?’ a man said from the hallway below, younger than the first.

‘I don’t know,’ the other said with a sigh, ‘but we’ve warded this estate with everything Parain knows and double-checked it all – I don’t see how he
could have got past all three layers of wardings.’

‘Could it be her?’

‘Don’t be stupid, man! She’s bound securely right there, go and check for yourself if you don’t believe me.’

That seemed to spark fresh panic in the younger man. ‘No! No, of course, sir – I know Parain has done his job.’

Two voices speaking frankly,
Daken thought, tightening his grip on his axe handle.
Sounds like that’s as clear as I’m likely to get.

Without waiting he straightened and jumped the short flight to a square half-landing, finding himself with staircases on each side leading down. In the hall ahead were two armed men dressed like
campaigning knights, staring astonished up at him as he came. A third was at the foot of the right staircase, foot poised to ascend but similarly taken by surprise.

Daken kept on straight, one hand on the balustrade as he vaulted it to control his fall. As his feet left the landing time seemed to slow, Daken seeing the older, aristocratic-looking man
reaching for his sword as the other recoiled from the shock. Then he caught sight of a fourth almost directly below and the Land speeded up again.

Twisting in the air, Daken managed to bring one knee up as he dropped. He crashed into the soldier’s shoulder and knocked him aside into one side of the archway below the balustrade. The
man collapsed to the floor, but Daken caught himself on the other jamb, ending up in a crouch as he absorbed the shock of a ten-foot drop. Not bothering to turn towards the danger he drove forward,
axe ready to catch any blow but none came. Three quick paces took him to an altar decked out in all sorts of arcane objects – charms, wreaths of half-a-dozen plants, all surrounded by painted
symbols on every available flat surface. In the centre of it all stood a mirror, Daken guessed by the shape, covered with an altar-cloth bearing Death’s symbol.

‘No one move or I break the mirror!’ he bellowed, chancing a look behind him.

There were open archways on either side of the altar too, three ways they could come at him and he wouldn’t be able to cover them all. He kept moving, looking left and right with the axe
held out before the mirror.

‘Stay your weapons!’ the old man roared as his companion started forward. ‘All of you – hold!’

Once he was sure they were going to keep to his order, the man composed himself with remarkable speed and addressed Daken directly. ‘Stranger, don’t do anything rash – breaking
the mirror would be as dangerous to you as the rest of us.’

‘Don’t you be so sure o’ that,’ Daken said, still moving warily, ‘folk say I’m mad; ain’t one for takin’ the safest path.’

‘Fair enough,’ the old man said placatingly, before his tone suddenly turned sharp. ‘Takkar, back off now! Get back, do nothing without my order or I’ll kill you
myself!’

Through the archway ahead of him, Daken saw a man’s shadow on the flagstones and put the edge of his axe to the covered mirror. As commanded, the man edged away again and Daken watched his
progress by the way the old man turned his head. Satisfied the man was far enough away he relaxed a touch, but was quick to cut the old man off before he could speak again.