by Allan Kaspar
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Escape from Falkonrest
A Martin of Loriak Tale
By Allan Kaspar
The streets of Falkonrest were bathed in the red light of a clear sunset. The headquarters of The Order of Hunters and Harpers sat proudly in the Market Circa, a looming structure that took up almost three small city blocks in size. The rustic exterior was typical for a hunting lodge, if your hunting lodge was the size of a mansion. Many furs of mighty beasts hung from the plastered walls, and for a moment Martin felt a twinge of longing inside himself. He knew he was going to miss the comfort of the place. Especially when he considered where they were heading: the cold north of Galeria.
Raven had drawn out their route on a map after some lunch and further “collaboration” with Martin. They would leave through the Keyarch gate, taking the back roads and alleyways out of the west side of Falkonrest. Raven felt (and Fynn had agreed with her) that if they were indeed being watched, then they should start laying the trail of deception now. They would follow Vintners Way until they reached the Ford of Lok, and then steer northwards through the Redwind Forest. They would not lose much time as the horses would be able to travel the trade road that ran through the forest. Considering the Great North Road would more than likely be watched, Raven figured the Redwind Forest should shield them from prying eyes. She hoped so, anyway.
Raven noticed Martin staring at the building, “Second thoughts, Martin?”
He smiled, “No, though I’ll admit I will certainly miss the comforts and the view from the Atrium.”
The front door of the Order Headquarters opened to reveal a man dressed for the road, plain leathers and travel gear, including a large backpack that clanged with pots, pans, and other supplies. “Solon?” Raven asked, shocked.
“Fynn’s—Sorry. Master Fynn’s idea. He figured my Jollyman’s outfit would be too easy to spot and remember,” he spat, “trust me, this lack of style is most certainly not my choice.”
Raven chuckled, causing Solon to blush. “Your Master is right, Harper,” Martin said smiling, “while we will certainly miss your exquisite attire, if we’re going to travel in secret this is for the best. Also, speaking of, don’t forget what Master Fynn said. About our cover story.”
Solon gritted his teeth, “I know, Martin. I’m acting as a hired guide for you, a representative to the Order of Daggers, hired to get you safely to the borderlands. This stunning lady here is your assistant. Speaking of staying secret and disguised… You’re still dressed to your station, Assassin.”
Martin smirked, “Because they’re expecting an Assassin to be sent north. And besides… it’s for your own protection,” he finished with a wink.
Solon’s face turned a deep shade of purple, “Protection? From what pray tell, oh mighty one,” he asked.
“Who in their right mind would try to rob or even throw fists with an Assassin, much less one of my…station,” Martin finished and gave Solon a hard, but friendly shove, and mounted his horse.
Raven held back laughter when she heard Solon growl under his breath. “Come on, Solon, Martin’s on our side. Besides, you better get that money-making smile back on your face by the time we find an Inn tonight. Nobody sings the skirts off the wenches… and the gold into travel purses quite like you, my dear,” she said, and clapped him hard on his ass.
Solon’s purple anger immediately changed to a crimson blush, “Damn you both, let’s go,” he said, mounted his horse and headed off in a slow trot.
Martin and Raven were certain they saw a slight smile on his face as he rode past. Raven turned to Martin and smiled, “Westward, shall we?”
“Aye,” Martin nodded, smiled, and gave his steed a kick and sped off after Solon.
Martin was riding several paces ahead of Raven and Solon, keeping an eye and ear out for any unexpected surprises. They all rode slowly through the tightly packed back roads that led to the Keyarch gate. Many of the villagers were making their way home or to taverns after working in the sun of the fields all day. Martin caught random bits of conversation as they rode. Some of the city folk wondered if the rumors of the Baron’s sudden illness at the feast were true. Another passerby mentioned that he had choked on his dinner and died, and another still had mentioned that he had run afoul of the Order of Merchants and Shippers and they had sent him a drugged dinner to remind him to pay his debts.
“I wonder how long Master Fynn can keep all of this quiet,” Solon said, fidgeting with his reins.
Raven turned to him, “Longer than most. You can do that when you have all the Town Criers and Newsayers in your pocket.”
Solon wasn’t so convinced, “It will eventually out, you know. The fact that the Baron never named a successor, either...” he trailed off mid-sentence.
Raven looked ahead of her again. They were less than two miles to the Keyarch gate now. “I know Solon. There are definitely dark and uncertain times ahead of us. We’ll be fine though. Our Order has survived for over five centuries, after all.”
Solon contemplated this for a moment. “Then why does Master Fynn find it necessary to work with the Assass—Sorry, Order of Daggers.”
Raven smiled at him, “Solon, Master Fynn obviously has always done what’s best for our Order. We’ve come out stronger through every questionable decision he’s ever made.”
“They can’t be trusted, Raven,” he said while removing a small brown wafer from a pocket in his shirt, and tucked it inside his cheek, “They would kill anyone for the right price.”
Raven laughed, “Indeed, that’s what assassins are known for, but do you know how they operate? They never violate a contract, it’s part of their conditioning. Rumors of what happens to an Assassin who even tries to break a contact that he’s signed are quite…hideous. They are only free from a contract upon completion or if the other party breaks their terms.”
“But the nature of their work… slinking around in the dark, getting close to someone all to literally stab them in the back. That’s real courageous,” Solon said.
“Even if they saw them coming, I doubt it would do any good,” Raven said, noting the look of shock on Solon’s face.
“What do you mean?” Solon asked, and looked back at Martin, who was scanning the crowds that passed by them with stoic determination.
“Their skill, obviously. No one, besides Assassins of course, has ever been known to defeat an Assassin in single combat. They are too highly trained, and some believe they possess some strange form of dark magick. Did you notice Martin’s eyes when he read over that letter you brought Master Fynn,” Raven asked him.
Solon shifted in his saddle slightly, “Yes. I do. I do remember. His eyes they—they seemed to catch fire.”
Raven nodded, “They have a sort of ability to slow the world down. To us they move with an inhuman speed and ability. Now do you honestly think you can fight someone who can move three or four times as fast as you can? That’s why you’ll see five guards, maybe even more, trying to take down an Assassin. It’s the only way the fight is fair for those who have not been trained as they have.”
Solon pondered this for a moment, “You’re sure about that whole contract thing,” He asked with uncertainty in his voice.
Raven nodded, “You have nothing to fear from an Assassin unless you’re the target of a contract. In this case, you definitely have nothing to fear from Martin of Loriak.”
Solon smiled a little, “Thank you, Raven.”
Raven waved her hand nonchalantly, “Anytime, Solon.”
Solon nudged his horse to a trot to catch up with Martin as they neared the Keyarch gate. Martin raised his hand for them to stop, “Hold up.”
Raven caught up to them, “What is it, Martin?”
“The gate plaza is completely deserted,” he pointed towards the gate, “and the guards. They are on alert.”
Solon looked at the gate and saw two armored men with pikes standing side-by-side, “Uh, they look like they’re just guarding the gate to me?”
Martin shook his head, “Look at their posture. Too stiff for town guards at the end of a shift. Not to mention that they are obviously looking for someone. And why is there no one in the gate plaza square? Surely there should be some people moving in and out.”
“Especially at the end of the work day,” Raven agreed, “Where are the farmers coming in from the western vineyards? Something isn’t right.”
“What do we do, Martin,” Solon asked.
Martin flexed his right wrist, and fingered the wrist-blade that came out from his sleeve, “Be ready.”
Raven unclasped the sheathstrap for her short sword, and Solon shifted his cloak back slightly to show the hand-crossbow latched to his lower right arm (of which there was a twin sister on his left arm), “Loaded and ready, I’ve got an eye on you, old timer,” Solon winked.
“Ok then, follow my lead,” Martin motioned, and nudged his horse forward.
Martin kept his eye on the guards as he slowly advanced closer towards the gate. The guard on the left looked to the other guard and nodded. The guard on the right threw back his cloak to reveal the red inner lining with the black falcon crest, the Standard of House Felkin. This meant they were guards from the Baron’s household and obviously highly trained. Which immediately set Martin on edge. It wasn’t that there were two highly skilled soldiers in front of him, but that there were only two of them. He was more worried about the ones who were nearby that he could not see.
Solon and Raven rode close behind, and Raven began eyeing the rooftops around them. The Dove and Laurel Inn (the building nearest the gatehouse on her left) could be a problem. She noticed that its rooftop had several tiers and a steep grade, and she could see nothing that lurked on the other side. There was definitely room to hide several archers. Immediately across from it stood a blacksmiths shop with a weapons shop next door, no doubt to sell the newly made weapons . Raven noted a shadow of movement in the alley between them.
The guards drew their swords and held out a hand for Martin to halt. “Martin of Loriak, you must come with us.”
Martin gave them a casual smile, “Must I? On what charge,” he asked, motioning for Raven and Solon to hold fast.
”You are suspected in a poisoning at a recent dinner party, and the Inquisitor would like to talk to you,” the guard on the right said with a smug smile.
The Inquisitor? Something wasn’t right. There was something about these guards, something in their faces that showed they weren’t who they said they were or dressed as. Martin laughed, “And if I choose not to come quietly?”
The guard on the left let out a whistle. Two archers appeared over the rooftop of the Dove and Laurel. Another two swordsmen, wearing black cloaks, came out from the alleyway between the blacksmith shop and weapons store. “Then we’ll be taking you by force and we can’t guarantee you’ll get there in one piece. Get him down, lads,” the tallest said, pointing his sword directly at Martin.
Martin put up his hands and moved them behind his head, and then gave a thumbs up to Raven and Solon, “I was hoping you would say that,” he said, and leapt from his stirrups to a standing position in the saddle.
With incredibly fluid agility Martin leapt from his horse and twisted in the air. The men on the ground looked up, suddenly confused. Solon had kept his eye on the archers, and already had one targeted. There was an audible click, a thwack, and a high pitched whistle as the small bolt screamed towards the closest archer on the roof of the inn. He turned to notice it just in time for the bolt to tear through the tissue of his right eye and lodge into his brain. The shock to his nervous system caused his fingers to flex and squeeze the trigger of his crossbow, which had started tilting downward. The bolt sailed into the courtyard and struck one of the swordsmen in the shin, shattering the bone.
This had all taken less than three seconds, and Martin was just above the two guards that came out of the alley. They were trying to raise their swords to block the impact. Martin planted two feet into the left guard’s head as he came down, the force of which would cause the man to lose consciousness in seconds. Martin used his increasing downward momentum, and the other guard as a brace to kick with both feet, cracking the other guard in his exposed chin and sending him sprawling.
The moment of surprise was gone now, and the other two archers had taken cover behind the roof and were defending against Solon’s well placed shots. Two more swordsmen, these men also wearing black cloaks, came out from the alleyway beside the Inn to join their comrades squaring off against Martin. The only guard left standing was now reinforced by two fresh comrades. One of whom stood by the gate behind them to prevent any escapes.
Raven had leapt from her horse and was making her way around an adjacent building, and she was soon out of Solon’s sight. Solon’s hands shook a little as he reloaded both crossbows, so he reached into his pocket and slipped another of the small brown pellets under his tongue. The tabac pellets had a way of steadying his aim in a combat situation. He took aim, sighting down his left arm. The crossbowman had noticed Solon reloading and had taken his chance to aim towards Martin.
The crossbowman had gotten lucky when one of the glazed tiles slipped out of place under his weight, causing him to slide. He then made a split-second grab to stop from sliding off the steep roof, which caused Solon’s shot to sail past his head. He ducked behind the roof again after he realized the near miss, and began taking shots at Solon. Solon had to dive behind several fruit crates when he realized several bolts were coming at him in rapid succession.
“Blasted,” Solon shouted, “Watch the guy on the roof, Raven, he has a Repeater!”
A Repeater was a self-loading crossbow of Karvish design. They were highly valuable, and fired in revolving clips of five bolts. “Nice hardware,” Solon shouted, “too bad you can’t shoot worth a dwarfshite!”
The crossbowman fired at Solon, and Solon could hear the bolts slamming into the crates his back rested against. He slowly raised his head to try and get a good shot. Then he realized his mistake. The guard still had two bolts left. He gave Solon a sadistic smile, “Hope you’ve made peace with the Gods, little boy!”
Solon cringed and prepared to roll out of the way, tensing his muscles for the impending impact. Suddenly, the guard’s face changed from maniacal glee, to one of confusion, and then to pure horror. Solon watched as the man’s throat opened, Raven’s sword ripping through the skin and veins of his neck, and torrents of blood rushed out onto the glazed roof tiles. Solon rose to his feet and dusted himself off while nodding a silent thanks to Raven, who nodded back, placed her foot on the guard’s back, and pulled her sword free. His body landed with a thud on the cobblestone below.
Martin meanwhile, had just rolled out of the way of two guards, one of which clipped him on the shoulder with the edge of his mace as he passed by. Martin shouted as the pain radiated down his arm, the impact dropping him to a knee. One of the guards laughed, “So much for the revered skill of the Assassins.”
Martin looked up at the men surrounding him, and his mouth curled into a half smile, “Oh, does that mean I can stop going easy on you now?”
Each man noticed the red-orange flicker in Martin’s eyes as he stared them down and quickly swung with their weapons. Martin’s world changed to one of grey, slow motion. Each guard’s face was slowly curling into an expression of fear as their weapons seemed to slowly make their way towards him. The guard’s weapons were the only color in his sight.
Martin unsheathed his wrist blade on his right arm, drew a stiletto with his left hand and leapt to his feet. He quickly deflected the right guard’s sword with his stiletto, knocking it aside with ease. Martin then pivoted on his left foot, and slashed hard with his wrist blade at the mace of the left guard, which lopped the spiked ball of the mace off the wooden haft.
Martin quickly dove between the two men using the momentum of his swing, twisted in the air to slide on his back, and jabbed both weapons into the back of the knee of each guard. This would bring them crashing t
o the ground, he knew, and that only left the one he had kicked in the chin earlier to deal with. The one guarding the gate still had not moved, the look on his face showing he was frozen with fear at the speed Martin brought down his comrades. He could see Solon and Raven slowly running towards him on the other end of the square, who had probably panicked when they saw him go down.
Martin leapt to his feet from his back, his muscles contorting to propel him upwards. He found himself standing directly behind the guard with an already disgusting bruise on his chin and jaw. Martin quickly slammed the balled handle of the stiletto that was in his right hand handle down hard onto the back of the guard’s neck. The end of the handle actually ended in a small point. The handle itself was reservoir that contained a small portion of poppy juice mixed with moon petal extract. A small drop of it was released when the point of the handle slipped into the guard’s skin. Finally, Martin sheathed the weapon as he could see all targets dealt with, and were collapsing ever so slowly towards the ground. Martin swallowed hard and took a deep breath, allowing his mind and body to slow back down to normal paces, and the colorless world around him was suddenly awash in brilliant tones.
To Solon and Raven this was a matter of maybe two, perhaps three seconds. Martin’s body was an incredible flurry of motion. One second it seemed he was down on one knee, and then in a series of unbelievably fast movements that played tricks on the eyes, he was standing behind the guards. Two of which were on the ground writing in pain. The third was lying face down and not moving. The fourth guard, who had been standing towards the rear and had not advanced, decided the best idea was to turn and run out of the Keyarch gate. Raven and Solon had reached Martin by the time the effects of his lightning fast movements caught up with him and he dropped to a sitting position.
Solon sighted his crossbow at the fleeing man. “No!” Martin shouted, and put his hand out to Solon, “let him go.”
“Why, so he can go back and get more guards to send after us?” Solon growled, slowly lowering his crossbow.
“I told you, he’s not with the guards. They’re not even with the Baron’s House Guard. The rest of these men are incapacitated and will not be a problem for however long they were paid to have the square cleared. Raven if you’d be so kind,” he said in heavy breaths, then pointed to the guard lying face down, “Bind his wrists, then bring the horses. Put him on the back of my horse. I will question him once we are well clear of Falkonrest. In the meantime, we must leave here as fast as we can. Solon, help me.”
At first, Solon looked confused as to what he was supposed to help Martin with, and then he saw that Martin was barely able to
