by Robert Day
Faith returned after a longer than usual wait with his food, and Kalamar thought her hair might have been a little straighter and her hands and face were clear of the small specks of grime from before, and he gave a thin smile as she set the platter of food before him. It was not the best food he had seen, nor was it bad, and it smelled so very good for him who hadn’t eaten a proper meal in over a week.
“Thank you, Faith,” he whispered softly, which drew a fleeting smile from her, and he thought he smelled the faint scent of roses about her. “Do you have a room?” he asked, louder so anybody who was trying to overhear could, and not be suspicious.
“Yes, room Thirteen, up the stairs and to the right. The previous tenants have all just left.”
He nodded thanks to her as she whirled, and it was a struggle to choose whether to look at her as she departed or to begin eating the warm food, but her shapely legs won out and he followed her until she rounded the bar. The food came next, and as he ate slowly, savoring the food, he reflected on the news Faith had told him. Room Thirteen was the room where he always stayed when here, because it had a secret passage that led to the quarters of his spy network here in Cartyl. That they had all left surprised him, for usually one man was required to stay for security reasons. Most likely pressing business had come up, perhaps a coordinated stake out and shadow of a high ranking merchant or noble, or hopefully something to do with the whereabouts of Kitara.
By the time he had finished his meal and drank two more tankards of ale, there was still no sign of his men, so he rose and limped to the stairs leading to the rooms above. He hoped the men had something to take the pain away from his leg, for it was stiffer now after being off it for a while. Room Thirteen was unlocked, so he entered and locked it behind him. Only Faith and one of his men had a key to it, so he felt fairly safe. It was to all appearances a normal Inn room, large because it was suited for several travelers, with cupboards and beds lining the left and right walls. A small room opened off the right wall, leading into a small bathroom. A large shuttered window dominated the far wall, but it was closed and locked.
He detected the faint smell of roses and assumed Faith had been in recently, and he looked under the entry mat and found a folded note, with the letter ‘K’ on it. Opening it, he found a small letter penned for him.
“I will talk to you later.” There was no indication of who wrote it, but he recognized Faith’s handwriting.
The entry to the hidden base was in the bathroom, behind a sliding wardrobe, but he had no key to gain entry, so he decided to wait for the others to return. He tossed his pack onto a bed and removed his clothes and weapons. Naked, he padded into the bathroom and found the bath was warm, and he gave a smile. Faith was looking after him.
Returning to the bedroom, he quickly removed several coins from his purse and moved to the door. Gently he pressed them between the door and the upper jamb, so that anybody opening the door inwards would dislodge them. Then he stowed his pack under the bed nearest bathroom, keeping his saber with him. He slipped into the tub and lowered himself to his neck, letting the water ease his tired muscles. The water was just right, and it wasn’t long before he was dozing.
The jiggling of coins woke him with a start, and he was standing in a flash, his saber coming to hand in a heartbeat, but it was a moment before it registered to him that is was not the right noise for what he had expected. Instead, he found himself standing naked in the tub before Faith, who stood leant against the doorway, jingling a handful of coins before her.
His coins!
He stood watching her for a moment of stunned silence, and then sat back down in the tub with a frown. He must be getting old.
“Don’t you ever knock?” he growled in mock anger, though the real reason he had sat down was to hide his nakedness from her.
“Its a bad habit of mine,” she confessed with a soft sigh and a shrug of her shoulders. He realized she had changed clothing, and now wore tight black pants and an equally tight white shirt, with long sleeves. A long towel was draped over her left shoulder. He forced himself to look elsewhere as he set his saber back on the side of the tub.
“Well, it is your house, I suppose.”
She laughed at this, and took the towel from her shoulder and held it out for him. He almost blushed as he rose and waited at the edge of the tub, covering himself with his hands until he realized she was waiting for him. With a stifled curse he gingerly climbed from the tub and walked over to her, not giving her the satisfaction of looking at her as he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around himself. He held it in place with one hand while his other carried his saber, continuing into the main room. Her laughter followed him and he did flush then, though he was glad she couldn’t see it.
“Don’t worry, Kalamar. I have seen plenty of men in my time, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Wondering if she were making fun of him, and deciding it was for better men than he to fathom what women really meant, he sat on one of the beds and laid back with a sigh. He knew from the feel of the cold water in the tub he had been dozing for a while, though it was still bright through the shuttered window, so he guessed it was probably early afternoon.
“Here. I have something for you.” Shifting his gaze, he barely saw the small projectile coming for him, but his hand snapped out and caught it as he flashed her a mock frown. It was a small container. Wondering what was in it, he opened it away from his face, a force of habit, and looked inside. It was filled with an oozing brown substance that smelled faintly of acorns.
“Its a salve, silly, for your leg. It was expensive, but it is very good, and will heal almost everything, or so said the Merchant who sold it to me.”
“I knew that,” he lied, though he had assumed it was something of the sort.
“And this.” She reached behind her, where something was leaning against the wall near the bathroom door. A little longer than his arm, it was slightly curved in its dark leather scabbard, and the thread bound hilt was long, with a small, circular guard and an inch of gold as the pommel.
“An Al’katar! Where did you get it?”
“From a merchant friend. I told him I would be interested if he could find one for me.”
She held its sheathe, offering it to him. He grasped the hilt softly and slowly pulled it free. The blade gleamed as it hissed free of the sheathe, and Kalamar drew the blade up before his eyes and ran his fingers over it lovingly. His trained eye noted the fine quality of the blade, and he could see the edge was fine. Not even a tiny burr marred the diamond enriched edge. Even the blade was of Adamantine, not just steel.
“You owe me big time, Kalamar. That sword didn’t come cheap.”
“I bet it didn’t. I wish I knew its origin. Probably Elvin make, for I have never seen one of better quality outside of Lloreander. Maybe Dwarven, but they have a tendency to mark their blades with runes. How much did it cost you?”
“Too much,” laughed Faith, and Kalamar looked up at her sharply. She had sworn never to return to the ways of her former profession, and he had a brief concern the Merchant friend of hers had asked for other than monetary payment for the weapon.
“You didn’t?” He felt a sudden anger, realizing the thought made him jealous for some unknown reason, though she was neither his woman and had slept with many men previously for money or other gifts. He saw her regarding him, and he turned his gaze back to the sword.
She shifted to his side and sat then, and her hand reached out to softly touch his arm. Her touch felt so warm, he felt his stomach cramp. Slowly she pushed, forcing him to lower the weapon.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I paid cash, and a good price. It is a gift, from me to you.” He was looking into her eyes, and the usual, flashing charm and passion they usually held was now soft and innocent, and he wondered if his eyes were the same.
“It’s all right. I guess I didn’t like the thought of you “ She leant forward then and brushed her lips across his, ending his words
, and after a soft kiss, she drew back. Misconstruing his shock for lack of interest, she began to rise, but his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. The sword he had held fell to the floor with a soft thud, but he hardly heard it over the own thudding of his heart.
A moment of silence followed before he managed a smile, an apologetic smile, for he knew he had inadvertently hurt her by not allowing his true feelings for her to be known. He had tried to deny them for so long, but that moment, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t deny them any longer. A soft tug had her falling into his arms as he fell back onto the bed, and she was lying above him, her hair hanging down, caressing his face and shoulders.
“I am sorry. I should have done this a long time ago.” So saying, he kissed her long and deep as his hands caressed her face and hair, and for the first time in a long time, Kalamar: spy and assassin, was truly happy.
Chapter 29
Dozing again, this time even more comfortably, Kalamar almost didn’t hear the door open for a second time, but he was rousing and reaching for the Al’katar he knew was still beside the bed even as the door slammed closed. His eyes focused on a figure backing slowly away from the door, holding a longsword in bloodied hands, while his clothes appeared torn and dirtied.
“Eric?”
The figure spun, as fast as he could, almost falling, and Kalamar could see why as he saw the wounds that oozed blood down the man’s stomach and arm. They looked to have been made by a weapon, though Kalamar couldn’t tell what. At his side, he felt Faith stir and rise, and her breathe caught in her throat as she saw the wounded man.
“So you are already here. And you have tainted fair mistress Faith. You bastard, isn’t it enough you betray us and kill the others? Is this why I was allowed to escape your men, so you could make me find you like this?”
As confused as he was at the words, Kalamar was still not unsurprised when the man lunged for him with his sword low. Off balance and wounded, the man still managed a good thrust that almost caught Kalamar in the shoulder as he heaved Faith to the side with one arm, and brought the still sheathed Al’katar around in a parry. The longsword drove beneath him as he arched up, where it dug into the mattress. He leaped off the bed as the man pulled it free and swung again, but Kalamar was well out of reach. Faith stood off to one side, naked and looking confused and scared, but Kalamar could only afford her a quick glance as he confronted the man who had once been a friend.
“Eric, what madness is this? What has happened to you? It is I, Kalamar. What happened to the others?”
“By the gods, you mock me too much, traitor. You will die for your treachery this day, if the fates guide my sword.”
Though his heart was not in it, Kalamar was forced to parry the next attack, a cutting slash at his head, which forced his weapon to unsheathe itself, and the hiss of its withdrawal was like a portent of doom. He had always been taught that if the weapon was drawn in battle, it had to taste blood, to kill, to take no quarter, but here he was fighting a friend, a person he had known for many years. It was obvious Eric was more than confused and frightened, so Kalamar had to train his actions to defense, concentrating on keeping Eric from injuring him and possibly Faith.
Luckily for him he was a far superior warrior, and it wasn’t long before Eric was laboring, feeling the pain of his wounds and the frustration of not being able to kill the man he obviously viewed as a traitor. There was no disguising the anguish on his face as Kalamar hooked his sword away with a deft twist of his new sword, and the injured spy dropped to his knees as Kalamar held his sword before him.
“Don’t make me wait, traitor. Kill me like you did the others. My blood will join theirs, still warm on your hands, and I hope you pay for your actions.”
“Eric, I didn’t kill the others. You have to believe me.”
“More lies!” spat Eric, sending a spray of blood across the floor. “You had us meet you at mid day, and you told us you knew where the Princess is being held, and we were going to free her. Then you led us into your trap. How much did they pay you? If only Dhoric could see you now, his favorite spy.” Eric spat again, and Kalamar flinched. He cast another quick look to Faith, who had covered herself with a sheet off one of the beds, and he saw her face furrowed in confusion.
“Eric, listen to me. I have only just arrived here this morning, and I have been here all day. Believe me, I speak the truth. Faith can vouch for me.”
Faith moved forward then, kneeling beside the injured man who was beginning to sob uncontrollably. Kalamar saw he was not a great threat to Faith, whom he obviously had a close affection for. He remained ready, though he lowered his weapon to appear non-threatening.
“It is true, Eric. Kalamar arrived here this morning, and he has eaten and bathed, and then we slept up until you came in now. He is no more a traitor than you or I.”
“They are dead, Faith. All dead.”
The cries of anguish from the spy chilled Kalamar’s heart. What could have happened to cause this? That the others were dead he had to believe, and he realized somebody must have been impersonating him, and known enough of his organization here to have planned the cunning attack. Obviously whoever it was knew of Kitara’s kidnapping, and few would yet know whom he had not permitted to be told, so either it was a traitor among his men, or the real kidnappers themselves who saw his network here as a threat, and chose to do something about it.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Faith, can you get him some clothes and some food? We will have to find somewhere else to go, as will you. These people obviously know where we are, and that will put you in danger, even if you had nothing to do with us.”
“All right. I will fix things. Wait here.”
Faith rose after giving the sobbing Eric a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and quickly changed into her clothes. Kalamar dressed quickly also, all the time watching Eric who remained kneeling with his face in his hands, whispering softly to himself and rocking himself slowly from side to side. Kalamar spotted the container of ointment Faith had given him and picked it up. His leg was much better, and he saw that the wounds on Eric, though small, must be painful, so he knelt to apply some to the man’s wounds.
“Whoever deceived you and killed the others will pay, Eric, I swear that to you. Bobbi, Stevan, Sammy and Kurt will be avenged.”
Eric’s sobs slowed at this vow, and he began to react to the soothing touch of the ointment, flinching as Kalamar spread it slowly over the wounds after wiping away most of the blood. Kalamar was thinking how young the men were who had lost their lives; none of them older than twenty-five, all young and full of life, and good men at that.
Not deserved of such a fate.
He didn’t realize, but tears were falling across his cheek too, which he wiped away as the door reopened and Faith walked in.
His moment of joy at her appearance turned to dismay as he saw the figure who followed her, and by the way she walked, there was no mistaking the presence of a weapon at her back. Yet it was the figure that caught Kalamar’s attention. He almost growled in rage and anger as he saw who must have been responsible for the death of his men, for he could have been looking into a mirror. Softly the man pushed the door closed with his heel, and ushered Faith towards the center of the room.
“So pleased to meet you in person, Kalamar.” Even the man’s voice was similar to his own, enough to fool many who would not have heard the real thing in a while.
“The pleasure will be short lived for you, I am afraid. Let the woman go and I will show you. She knows nothing.”
The figure shook his head and admonished Kalamar with a wave of his finger. “Now you should expect I have studied these things enough to know of Mistress Faith’s dealings with you, Kalamar. And even if she was innocent, she has still seen my face.” Obviously pleased with his joke, the man began to laugh, but it did not last. Kalamar looked to Faith, and saw her tense, and he warned her with his eyes not to move. He had no idea what to do to save her, but he was going to d
o nothing to endanger her further. He was just about to speak, when Eric broke into motion.
Forgotten at his side, the distraught spy cried out and lunged towards the fake Kalamar, his hands rising as he charged, obviously meaning to grab for the figure, and Kalamar knew he was too late even as he reached for Eric to stop him.
The enraged spy evaded his grab. “NO!” came Kalamar’s shout, echoing through the room as time slowed, even though everything suddenly happened at once.
The fake Kalamar stabbed forward with his arm and the real Kalamar cried out again as he saw Faith being thrown to the side. The dagger wielding imposter reversed his arm and threw his weapon at the charging Eric. The bloodied dagger caught the Spy in the left eye and he crashed to the floor, twitching as if even in death he struggled to reach the traitor. Kalamar’s cry of anguish was still ringing through the room as the commotion died. His eyes shifted from the groaning figure of Faith to the dead body of Eric, and then to this man who wore his face, now set with a mocking smile, his lips set to laugh as if he shared a silent joke. A rapier had appeared in his hand.
“You will die for that.” Kalamar looked upon this figure and stepped forward, past the body of Eric. He suddenly felt a calmness like he had never known, an inner peace as he stepped forward to fight, for the revenge of his friends and the revenge of his love, not caring that he might die also, but knowing he was going to make this man pay for his actions.
Whoever this man was, he appeared unperturbed by Kalamar’s threat, even motioning him forward with his Rapier. Kalamar was cautious, not knowing how good his martial skills were, but he was confident in his own skills.
The first exchange was a slow flurry of thrusts and feints, a test to measure each other’s skills, and Kalamar knew the figure was good, though how good he could not tell yet. He advanced again, this time faster, and his strikes were quicker and more challenging, another test, and his opponent parried easily. He was fast and his technique was good, probably a Master, and maybe a trained killer, like he was.
