Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 23 - To Catch a Phantom

A few days later, Darrel stood at the edge of the guard's training grounds, bathed in the moonlight of the midnight hour. During the day, the yard held countless sparring matches, ensuring guards remained fit and ready for battle. But at night, it was abandoned and still. The occasional night patrol strolled by on a regular rotation, except for tonight. Tonight, Darrel had given the night guards every coin he'd earned since arriving in Hilltop Spires, instructing them not to come anywhere near the grounds between midnight and one in the morning.

He'd gotten tired of trying to track down the Phantom. It was worse than tracking a ghost; he felt he searched for someone who didn't even exist. So he'd decided to have the Phantom come to him.

He'd left messages throughout the palace. Subtle ones, but he knew the Phantom would see them, even if others did not.

They all said the same thing: I know what the Empress is planning.

He knew the Phantom would be watching for him, once he saw the message. He'd know when and where to meet. As the clock struck midnight at last, he just prayed the Phantom would come.

Beside him, Willy wore the same black clothes, leathers, and cloak he'd worn into the palace tunnels. The moonlight struck his blonde hair, making it look almost ghostly white against the black of his clothes. Between that and the way he stood so that the Ultimate strapped proudly to his hip caught the moonlight as well, he looked absolutely lethal.

Darrel had ditched his post early so that he and Willy could spend the evening enchanting the grounds. As soon as the Phantom stepped foot inside the training area, he wouldn't be able to leave. Magic would seal him in, preventing an escape.

Now he just needed to walk into the trap.

As the minutes crawled by, Darrel fidgeted. He tugged at the hem of his uniform. He scratched at his head. He drew and resheathed his swords.

"Relax," Willy instructed, his voice strangely calm despite the rigidity of his stance. "He'll come."

"He's late," Darrel growled impatiently.
"He'll come," Willy promised.

They waited another twenty minutes. Darrel began to sweat. What if he'd been wrong? What if the Phantom hadn't seen his message? Or worse, what if the Phantom wasn't in the palace anymore to find it?

But then, out of the shadows, he felt something watching him.

Willy lifted his chin. It was the only movement he'd made in almost a half hour. "He's on the right," he whispered.

Darrel snapped his gaze in that direction. Sure enough, he swore that, just for a moment, he saw a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness. When he blinked, the eyes were gone.

"Should we go after him?"

"No. The trap is set. Don't scare him off."

Darrel grabbed the hilts of his swords and squeezed them tight. He'd waited weeks for this moment. He didn't want to waste another second. Forcing himself to remain still, he counted his breaths to give himself something to do.

And then, out of thin air, a man appeared in the center of the grounds.

He was taller than Darrel had expected. His auburn hair fell just short of his glowing red eyes. His arms crossed boredly over his chest. He wore all black, like Willy, and a sword that hung from one hip. A series of knives were strapped to a band that crossed his chest.

"This had better be good," he growled impatiently.

Darrel released a breath. Finally. His knees nearly gave out in relief.