When Demons Walk Read Free Page B

“Who hasn’t? There aren’t many thieves with the—” she hastily dropped the word she’d picked up from her father’s men and substitutedsomething less shocking, “er—rashness to rob the king in his own chambers.” She paused and thought about what she’d said. “ This is where you found the king’s lost crown?”
    Maur smiled.
    â€œI thought you did that with magic.” For a moment she was disappointed; finding the crown was touted as proof of Maur’s powers throughout Southwood.
    â€œMagic,” replied Maur, tapping on the runes, “—wit, and a little luck are always more powerful than magic alone. Remember that. I also found the remains of Golden Jo next to the crown; not much left of him after all these years. It looked like he took too much time storing the crown and got trapped in the cave. From the scorch marks in the cave and on the bones, I’d say that he tried to teleport and drew more magic than he could handle—the Spirit Tide’s funny that way sometimes. All in all it’s a better way to go than dying of thirst.”
    â€œHe had luck and magic,” said Sham slowly, “but his wits were lacking if he trapped himself here.”
    Maur nodded. “You remember that, child. Never trust to any one of the three: And don’t stay in the caves too long.”
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    O NCE THROUGH THE mouth and several steps into the cave beyond, she called her magelight. By its illumination she worked her way upward through the damp tunnels until she passed the high-tide mark. The small grotto where she kept her treasures was well above the highest mark the water had made.
    She stored the coins in the oiled-leather pouch with the considerable pile she had already amassed. There were other things in the cave, too. She knelt and loosened one of the oilcloths that protected her treasures from dampness. When she was finished, she held a small footstool.
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    L ARGE FEET ENCASED in neatly darned damp woollen socks rested on the battered footstool near the fire in her father’s office. The warmth caused a faint mist to rise fromthe wool as her father wiggled his toes and set aside the crumb-covered wooden platter.
    His blond hair, the same shade as her own, was caught back by a red ribbon from her mother’s favorite gown. His chainmail shirt, which he had not taken off, was the best of its kind, as befitted the captain of the King’s Own Guards. Over the metal links he wore a wine-colored velvet surcoat, one arm torn where a sword had parted the cloth. Beneath the tear, she could see the stained edge of a bandage.
    â€œThank you, my dear, though I didn’t expect to see you. I thought the sorcerer had you tied up with his work.”
    Shamera grinned. “Maur released me from my apprentice duties today at the king’s request as Mother is needed soothing and terrifying the ladies of the court into behaving.”
    Her father laughed and shook his head. “If anyone can keep those hens in line it’s Talia. Nothing is worse during a siege than a bunch of helpless ladies twittering and—”
    His words were interrupted by the call of a battle horn. Her father’s face paled, and his mouth turned grim.
    He grabbed her by the shoulders and said hoarsely, “You find someplace—one of the tunnels the children play in—someplace safe and you go there now! Do you understand?”
    Terrified by the fear in her father’s face, Shamera nodded. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œDo as I ask,” he snapped, drawing on his boots and reaching for his weapons. “You go hide until I come for you.”
    He never came.
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    G ENTLY , S HAM WRAPPED the oilcloth around the footstool and set it aside. The next bundle she unwrapped was considerably larger—a small, crudely made chest. She lifted the lid and revealed its contents. She set aside a faded scarlet ribbon, miscellaneous bits of