The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(137)

“You can arrest these men for looting if they survive,” Mal told them. “Right now I want all of you manning the murder-holes in the gatehouse.”

He left them to it and returned to his brother just as Ned came panting up the slope. Mal thrust the crossbows and quivers at him, and Ned began cranking one of them with his good hand.

“Any sign of them yet?”

As if in answer, a scream came from the outer ward. Mal caught Sandy by the arm.

“Come on, we’re going to have to lure them in here.”

They ran down to the gate under the Bloody Tower. A dozen youths in the livery of Anglesey Priory stood along the wall-walk, staring down at them.

“Here we are,” Mal yelled up at them. “We’re the ones you seek.”

As one the sorcerers jumped, floating down to the ground as gently as autumn leaves. Mal recalled moving like that in the dreamlands; Sandy was right, they were shaping reality around them as easily as a dream.

He backed into the gateway, not too fast lest they lose interest. They closed in, moving as one. Mal glanced at Sandy out of the corner of his eye. Like hounds picking up the scent at last the sorcerers charged forward. Mal turned and ran.

“Now, Gabriel!”

The rattle of the Bloody Tower’s portcullis mechanism filled the night air. Not a moment too soon. Two of the young sorcerers were crushed under the iron spikes but the rest ran up the slope, howling. Mal turned and drew his sword. They had to keep them here, away from the fleeing courtiers but away from Kit and Coby as well.

The tallest of the sorcerers stretched out his arms and clapped his hands together before him. The torches on either side of the portcullis flared, setting fire to the ancient wooden timbers. Outlined against the flames, he began to advance up the slope towards Mal. A crossbow quarrel zipped past Mal’s ear, only to burst into flame as it flew. The steel head fell to the cobbles a few feet short of its target. The stink of burnt feathers hung in the air for a moment before it was drowned out by the smoke now billowing from the portcullis.

“Fall back to the coldharbour gate!” Mal yelled over the roar of the flames.

He held his position until Ned and Gabriel were behind him, then backed towards the gates where the militiamen hopefully waited around the murder-holes. Burning the shafts wouldn’t make a difference if the missiles came from above.



Kiiren let the human woman, Hendricks, finish buttoning the unfamiliar clothes, then he shrugged her off and went over to the bed.

“What are you doing, lambkin?” she asked, coming towards him.

“Watch the door.” When she hesitated, he recalled the best way to appeal to her. “Please, Mamma?”

She nodded and went to stand guard. Kiiren pulled back the curtain.

Jathekkil glared up at him and wriggled backwards across the bed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kiiren said truthfully. “I just want to talk.”

He climbed onto the bed and loosened the gag, pulling it down over Jathekkil’s chin, then removed the prince’s spirit-guard.

Jathekkil spat fibres from his mouth. “I don’t have anything to say to you, traitor.”

Kiiren shook his head in pity.

“You have been human too long, Jathekkil. It does not suit your temperament.”

“You always were a sanctimonious little prick, Outspeaker.”

“Insults? Is that all you have learned from your time here?”

“You have no idea what the humans are like, do you?”

“I have studied–”

“Study. Ha!” Jathekkil licked his lips, warming to his subject. “Just wait until you’ve lived a lifetime or two among them. You’ll see. They’ll never stop, you know, these Christians. They want our gold and gemstones, and all our clever devices that bring light in the darkness and cold in the heat of summer. They want our lands and those of our human allies in the New World. They will not rest until they have it all.”

“You have misjudged them–”

“No, it is you who misjudge. You are too soft-hearted, Outspeaker. You see the good in everyone. Well I see the evil, and the evil is stronger.”

Kiiren retied the gag, replaced the spirit-guard and climbed off the bed.

“What was all that about?” Hendricks asked.

It was a moment before Kiiren realised he and Jathekkil had been talking in Vinlandic.

“Nothing, Mamma. Just idle boasting.”

He went over to the window and looked out, but from here all he could see were the barracks ranged along the north wall, and a scatter of new houses on the slopes above the Tower. He sank down on the window seat with a sigh.

What if Jathekkil were right, and all his efforts at diplomacy were for naught? No, he could not give in to despair, not now. His amayi still needed him. And one day they would both go home. That he had sworn, a lifetime ago when he first came to England. There was still the small problem of Erishen’s shattered soul, but they would work that out. Perhaps if they could capture Shawe, his alchemy would show them how.

Imbued with new purpose, he jumped down from the window seat. “Mamma, we need to capture one of the boys from the school. Alive, if we can.”



The coldharbour gates held for mere seconds before the fire-wielding sorcerer reduced them to ashes. One or two of his more reckless fellows dashed forward, only to be brought down by a hail of iron missiles from above. The youths gathered at the outer end of the passage, considering their options.