Keshik’s two swords were a comforting weight strapped across his back. He always felt comfortable with them tightly secured as he ran. They had been his long-time companions until Slave had broken one with that disturbing Claw of his. When Sondelle had created the sorcerous blade and given it to him, Keshik had been uneasy with it, but it had proven itself since then. Keshik knew there was more to it than just a different blade, but he had not allowed himself to dwell on what that ‘more’ might entail. Certainly, it was deadlier than steel. He had felt it slice through metal and flesh cleaner than steel, and it held its edge, which was just as well — Keshik had no idea what he would use to sharpen it with.
A flicker of movement brought him out of his contemplations. He raised his hand, calling the Habigga to a halt. Keshik gestured again, directing two to move ahead to investigate the movement. The others melted into the shadows, vanishing from sight, waiting with hands resting on weapons. There was a pause before a clash of steel on steel announced a brief exchange. Keshik frowned as he listened. Swords clanged. A softer sound — a landed blow? A grunt, a thud — a falling body?
The two Habigga jogged back towards Keshik. They moved with confidence, almost a swagger in their gait. Keshik scowled. A kill in a city, two against one with surprise was no call for such a swagger. He had just decided a reprimand would be in order when two arrows sliced through the air and slammed into the two distracted Habigga. They dropped without a sound.
Keshik followed the trajectory of the arrows back to their source — a darkened window on the third storey of an overhanging building a little way down on the opposite side of the street. Even from this distance, he could just make out movement as one of the archers nocked another arrow. Keshik hissed a low curse, followed by a hand gesture to the rest of the Habigga to hold their positions.
No arrows came. Either the archers could not see the other Habigga, or they were not considered a threat. Keshik was faced with a choice: were the archers part of a group, or opportunistic vigilantes? He decided on the former. Using the Tulugma hand gestures, he split the Habigga into three groups and sent them on their way.
Keshik and three others moved slowly back, away from the window. When they were out of sight of the archers, they ran quickly across the road. Finding deep shadows once again, they slipped silently through the darkness towards the waiting archers. Once at their building, Keshik started to climb, the other Habigga with him.
The old walls were cracked and worn, affording numerous and easy handholds, making climbing quick and easy. They reached the third storey without incident and arranged themselves around the window, one at each edge. Keshik hung above the window. When all four were in position, he gave the signal. One after the other, the Habigga crashed through the window, taking the archers by total surprise.
By the time Keshik landed, there were two dead archers stretched out on the floor. He looked around for any other threats, but could not see anything or anyone waiting. It was a small room, with only one door leading out to what was presumably a passage. The room showed signs of having been lived in by the two men for a while. Keshik squatted beside the dead men while the Habigga spread out to search the room thoroughly.
The dead men’s fingers showed the calluses of the experienced archer, while their upper body development was impressive. Their shooting was pinpoint accurate, all the better for shooting moving targets below them and at night. Seasoned fighters, Keshik reasoned. He wiped a finger across their dark faces, and was surprised when nothing came off. Their dark colouring was natural, and almost as dark as Slave. Such darkness of skin was not native to Apros.
Imported, seasoned fighters? Who could afford mercenaries?
And why?
The ‘why’ wasn’t hard — they were either a part of the defence of the city or some private organisation protecting other interests. If the latter were the case, the dead men were criminals. If the former, then Keshik and the Habigga were now the criminals. Keshik gave a grim smile. I haven’t been a criminal in Apros before.
Keshik searched their bodies, finding nothing of interest. This confirmed his supposition: they were not military, and not hired by the military. They were mercenaries, working for some private organisation. Such an organisation operating within a city under siege … Keshik was not a criminal in Apros yet.
Give me time.
The door crashed inward sending splinters flying and revealing three Habigga armed and ready, just in case Keshik’s team had failed. Keshik rose to his feet to acknowledge their presence.
‘Good work,’ he said. ‘We need to keep moving.’
They left the bodies where they lay and fled downstairs, back into the dark streets. The remaining Habigga team was waiting for them in the shadows near the doorway and rejoined Keshik and the others as they continued their way towards the centre of the city.
They moved quickly through the deserted streets. All around them, darkened houses, empty places of business and dark shadows told of a city in fear. It was a pleasant, balmy night and Keshik presumed these streets would normally be bustling with the kind of night life common in large cities. He had yet to see a single inn or place of entertainment open, nor had he seen any of the people on the street selling the various goods and services that would go with such entertainment. He wondered whether the group behind the attack on his Habigga was responsible for the empty streets, or suffering from the lack of income such activities would normally provide.
Despite his preoccupation with the strange desertion of the streets, Keshik was alert enough to see the shadow move. An area of black hovered within the darkness of an alley. The faintest whiff of an unexpected odour tickled the back of Keshik’s nose, carried to him by the air current generated by the movement. He recognised the scent of sweat, leather and metal as that of a waiting watcher, armed and bored. How he knew the watcher was bored he could not say, but he offered a silent thank you for Slave’s example.
Once past the alley, Keshik stopped, and gave the signal for the Habigga to do likewise. After the next signal commanding them to stay, he doubled back and ran straight at the person waiting in the shadows.
His action was clearly unexpected as he caught the watcher completely unprepared. Keshik crossed the narrow alley in a single bound, bringing his fist down on the hidden person with all the momentum of his body, bringing unconsciousness with a single smashing blow. He caught the insensible body before it slumped to the ground and heaved it back into its hiding place where he ripped off the cloth wrapped around the face.
In shock, Keshik realised the watcher was a woman. Her face had the features and colouring of an Apros native. She was armed with a pair of beautifully crafted daggers bearing the marks of care that only a professional would lavish on weapons. This was a woman who would be well paid for her services. Keshik lowered her to the ground and started to search through her clothing. He found another matched pair of knives, these weighted for throwing; a garrotting cord; two vials of a thick black fluid which he surmised was poison; and an exquisitely made short sword strapped to her back. She was lethal and any fight with her would have been dangerous. Keshik felt a brief pang of disappointment that he had caught her so completely by surprise.
By the time he had divested her of her weaponry, she was showing signs of regaining consciousness. Keshik tied her hands together behind her back, leaving her face down in the gutter, resting his foot in between her shoulder blades. Her breathing changed as she shocked back into full consciousness. She made to roll over, but Keshik leaned forward, pressing down on her back a little harder. The woman spat a word in a language Keshik did not know, but stopped moving.
‘Kill me now,’ she rasped.
‘Why?’
‘If you don’t, I will hunt you down and kill you.’
‘Who do you work for?’
The woman twisted her head around to look up over her shoulder at Keshik. Her eyes caught a stray gleam of Grada, reflecting a little of the moon’s silver light, sending Kes
hik’s mind flickering off to Slave. For an instant, he nearly faltered, but caught himself before weakening.
‘If you don’t know that, you are either stupid or new to Asnuevium. Either way, you will be dead before me, I think.’
‘Who do you —’ Keshik was interrupted by the woman’s abrupt shimmering as she shifted form beneath his boot. In a heartbeat, where there had been a woman, there was suddenly a thing of nightmares. Keshik sprang back from the big striped animal. It was a feline creature of teeth and fangs, fur and frenzy. She roared at Keshik. When she rounded on him, her gaping, fang-filled mouth was level with Keshik’s face.
‘Welcome to Asnuevium, stranger,’ the beast rumbled. Her breath carried the foetid stench of the carnivore and thick yellow saliva dripped from each fang as she spoke. The voice was rasping, like the woman’s, but strangely unaccented to Keshik’s ears. She was mostly dark orange with thin black stripes running vertically across her body. Long, pointed ears lay back flat against a head bigger than Keshik’s chest while claws extended out of paws that seemed built for running. The claws were as long as Keshik’s middle finger and looked to be sharp like a kitten’s. This was a predator to shame a spurre. Keshik wondered what it was and why he had never come across one before.
Keshik stared into the red eyes with their slitted blue pupils and swallowed hard. Those teeth were too close for him to be able to draw his swords, but there was nothing in her stance that suggested an imminent attack. She seemed to be content with intimidation. Keshik went to take a backward step, but the moment he moved, she roared again, stilling his action.
‘You wait,’ she rumbled.
‘For what?’
‘For him.’
‘Who?’
The shapeshifter stepped away slightly to give Keshik a chance to look over her shoulder. Approaching them along the alley was a big man carrying a massive war axe over his shoulder. Keshik immediately started sizing the man up: watching how he moved; the distribution of weight as he walked; the sturdy leathers he wore; the way his eyes tracked; the grip he had on the axe haft; the patina of use on the glinting blade. The conclusion was quick — this man was a dangerous enemy. Keshik soundlessly repeated his dofain as he felt himself slip into fighting readiness. The leather-clad axeman came to a stop outside Keshik’s reach, and swung his axe down off his shoulder to place the haft on the ground between his feet, his hands resting on the top of the blade.
‘Unless I have been fed lies,’ the man said, ‘you are Keshik, Kabutat of the Tulugma.’ His voice was confident, slow and thoughtful, full of the rich Apros accent.
‘I am,’ Keshik replied.
‘You’re bigger than the stories say.’
‘I don’t hear that very often.’
‘No, I don’t imagine you would.’
There was a hint of humour underneath the man’s voice that was at odds with his appearance. He was not just a threatening fighter, he was intelligent as well. The shapeshifter padded softly away from Keshik to stand at the axeman’s side. He absently rested a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was familiar, as if the two were long-time friends or fighting companions. Keshik cocked his head to one side. Everything about this man was dangerous.
‘You know me,’ Keshik said, ‘but who are you?’
‘Call me Bojhan,’ the big man said. ‘And I want to know what the great — if very small — Keshik is doing in my city.’
‘I came with the Blindfolded Queen’s fleet.’
‘How many in the fleet?’
‘I don’t know, but most of the Tulugma and the Blindfolded Queen’s army.’
Bojhan gave Keshik a narrow stare. ‘That’s a lot of fighters. Where are you all going?’
Keshik shrugged. ‘I just joined them.’
‘Do they know you’re abroad? I hear you’re a wanted criminal in five kingdoms.’
‘At last count,’ Keshik conceded.
‘You better come with me.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere quiet, where we can talk.’
‘What have we got to talk about?’
‘How long you have to live; what you bring to my beautiful city; how you and I can make a difference — that sort of thing,’ Bojhan said.
Keshik made a show of hesitating, as if considering Bojhan’s words, but in reality he was signalling behind his back to instruct his Habigga to spread out and follow him. When he was done signalling, he gave a grunt of assent.
‘Ah,’ Bojhan said. ‘The famed Keshik grunt. I hear you can have a full conversation without once opening your mouth.’
Keshik growled in anger. The man might be dangerous, but he was irritating and arrogant without substance. While Bojhan was talking, Keshik had been observing his stance and his alertness, deciding by the end of the conversation that the axeman would fall in a fight.
‘Move,’ Keshik instructed.
Bojhan hefted his axe over his shoulder and turned away from Keshik. The shapeshifter padded along with him, leaving Keshik to follow. Keshik unsheathed his swords, not bothering to attempt to disguise the steely slither they made as they came out of the scabbards. He was rewarded by both Bojhan and the shapeshifter hesitating slightly.
He almost snarled in silent anger. They had disrespected him by turning their backs on him and, while such things normally did not concern him, the recent anger at having lost Slave and Myrrhini made him easily rankled.
Let them fear. Keshik, Kabutat of the Tulugma, criminal in five kingdoms, is fully armed and walking behind them.
And he is not alone.
As if at some unspoken decision, the two ahead of him slowed their pace and separated, allowing Keshik to catch up and walk in between them, thereby providing some chance of surviving should he attack.
Too late.
It was with great satisfaction that Keshik heard nothing of the following Habigga. He was confident they were there, following his orders, shadowing the mismatched pair with him. He enjoyed the feeling of confidence he had with warriors at his back. It was so different to what he was used to in moving into enemy territory alone, or with Maida.
Thinking of her made him suddenly sad. She should have been there, with him, but he had left her behind, barely considering her in his decision to follow Slave into the city. It bothered him more than he liked that he had simply forgotten her, and that he had not even thought of her since leaving. Had the time he had spent without her made him careless of her? With a shake of his head, Keshik drove the disconcerting thoughts away to focus fully on his surroundings.
He was being led through a tangle of alleyways, so similar to those he had seen in every large city he had ever visited. And like all of those, the unwary would become lost in moments. Unfortunately for Bojhan, Keshik was always wary. The apparently complicated path they were following was little more than retracing their steps along a well-worn path through the darkness. Keshik was aware of the life around him — people going about their normal night-time activities behind closed doors and shuttered windows.
He could sense the fear that lay beyond each and every wall as murmured conversations fell silent with his passage while those inside peered out to watch. No one was out on the streets in the wealthier section he had just left behind, and no one braved these dark alleys either. A curfew was the most likely answer, but where were the soldiers tasked with enforcing it? Not only were there no civilians, there was none of the military presence normally needed.
What was happening in this ancient city?
What was causing the people to cower in fear?
Keshik had no time to consider the questions as Bojhan ducked down a claustrophobically narrow alley. The shapeshifter did not follow Bojhan immediately, waiting for Keshik to go in ahead of her so that Keshik remained between them. With the Habigga tracking him, he would not be at risk from these two.
The buildings crowding in on either side were ramshackle, the quality changing abruptly at the entrance to the alley. They seemed to lean over the alley, almost
meeting above Keshik’s head, narrowing his vision of the sky to a sliver. A new sound intruded into Keshik’s mind: a low, pervasive creaking, as if the buildings were settling, moving, seeking a new level. The whole place seemed to be unstable. Keshik looked around, nervousness starting to grow in his mind. This whole place felt like it would fall down at any moment, a feeling not eased by the fact that the alley was so narrow that Keshik frequently had to turn slightly to prevent bumping the walls with his shoulders.
Bojhan shoved open a door on his left. A flicker of light seeped out along with the smell of an impoverished dwelling. Keshik forced himself to concentrate on the smell, rather than just dismiss it as rank. He detected sweat, old urine, stale beer, something dead and … something else, something out of place.
Perfume.
Keshik scowled, hesitating before stepping towards the open door. Behind him, the shapeshifter gave an impatient-sounding rumble. The sound — more odd even than the scent of perfume, decided Keshik — indicated there was something wrong here, and he was supposed to walk blithely into it.
Not blithely.
The swords he already gripped reassured his mind as he stepped forward into the feeble light. His mind, alert, shifted into a level of crystal clarity he rarely experienced outside an actual fight. He became aware of everything his senses detected — the sights, sounds, smells, feelings around him became sharper, cleaner, somehow harder, like the edge of a blade. He smelled the rich predator scent of the shapeshifter behind him, the rank stale sweat of Bojhan, but overriding those was the oddly familiar floral hint of perfume that wafted softly over it all. As he stepped over the threshold into the room, Keshik saw the source of the perfume.
‘Hello, Keshik,’ she said. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’
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