by Ty Johnston
The clapping and hollering boomed again, but died as soon as Belgad raised his arms once more.
“Tonight is a special night,” the manor’s lord continued. “Most of you are aware of my recent misfortune along the Docks.”
A soft murmuring spread through the crowd. There was no telling the rumors running through the room.
But Belgad did not let that stop him. “These events gave me pause to think, to think about the condition of the Docks and the economic future of our fair city.”
The masses quieted again. Belgad was talking about money, a subject dear to most of their hearts.
“The Docks have served Bond well over the years,” the big man said, motioning toward the room’s windows as if pointing out city beyond, “but to compete fairly with other cities and other nations, it is time we took steps to improve the Docks. It is time a full development plan was prepared to increase the safety, the conditions and the economy of the Docks district.”
The crowd remained quiet, hanging on each of the man’s words.
Belgad went on with a flourish of a hand over the gathering. “I understand such a proposal would require an endless, but necessary, series of meetings. After all, the taxpayers of our fair city do not need another burden upon their purses and their bellies.”
There were nods of agreement throughout the room.
“Thus, to save the city much time and effort and money, I am in the process of personally putting together a proposal for the city leaders, with full financial responsibility falling solely upon myself.”
All was quiet. No eye strayed from the northerner.
Belgad smiled broad enough to show teeth even to the those seated in the back. “I have this very day deposited fifty thousand gold into an account of the Western Ursian Treasury, with an attachment that proclaims the funds are strictly for improvement projects and ship building in the Docks district.”
The crowd went wild with applause. Fifty thousand gold was enough to build a small city, let alone reconstruct the Docks.
***
It was a simple matter for Kron to find his way to the roof. A set of creaking stairs led from a closet on the second floor to a door to the roof.
He stuck his head out the door and scanned Belgad’s rooftop. Everything was black and quiet, the only light from the moon above and lamps shining from the atrium's opening in the center of the roof. On his first visit to the rooftop a week earlier, Kron had been suspicious after finding no guards posted, but after watching for several days he concluded Belgad felt no need for guards on his roof. How wrong Belgad was, as Kron had proven by placing a package there two nights earlier.
Kron eased out the door, squatted low and made his way near the ledge overlooking the garden. He found his package easily enough and began to remove its contents. He was glad to have the throwing darts again; his sword and bow were out of the question for the type of work he had planned, but he had the darts and a dagger hidden beneath his belt and a trio of clay grenados stuffed in one pocket. It would be enough, along with his favorite grappling hook and silk rope he had wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t planning on combat if he could help it, his goal merely being to make Belgad look a fool.
Kron slung his cloak over one shoulder and pulled the hood down. No use anyone seeing his face.
***
From near the parapet overlooking the front lawn, a kneeling Adara nudged Fortisquo, but he would have none of it as he squatted and held the long reed to his lips. He had to wait for the perfect moment. Darkbow had not taken notice of them and Fortisquo did not want to ruin his chance at surprise. They were a good distance from their intended victim, at extreme range for the weapon at his lips, and he wanted his foe completely still before launching an attack.
They watched Darkbow uncurl a rope from around his waist and pull on the clothes from the bundle. Then the man in black appeared to be looking himself over as if he were going over a mental list of his weaponry and tools. He was still while doing so, his back to Fortisquo and Adara.
Fortisquo sucked in air through his nose and blew into the reed.
***
Kron was checking the throwing darts in the back of his left glove when he felt a tug at his shoulder. Looking back and down he saw a long, thin dart with a round ball of mud at one end sticking out of his hanging cloak mere inches from his arm. For a second he did not realize what he was looking at, then his training and instincts kicked in.
From out of the darkness came two charging figures, one tall and one shorter, each with lengthy swords pointed in Kron’s direction. Kron had only a moment to realize the tall figure was a foppishly-dressed man while the other was a woman who moved with grace and speed.
Kron would have none of their games. He had been surprised, but he knew how to extricate himself from such situations. He slung out his grappling hook, listened briefly for it to attach itself to the side of the roof, then dove head first into the garden.
Two jabbing blades missed him by inches.
***
“The man’s insane.” Adara watched the figure in black tumble through the air. The fall was only a little more than twenty feet, but the man had dove as if he were aiming for the ground.
“No, he’s not,” Fortisquo said, pointing with his sword.
Adara’s sight locked on the miniature grappling hook attached to a silk rope unraveling faster than her eyes could follow.
***
Kron knew he wouldn’t have long. The two above would quickly cut his cord.
He yanked on the silken rope as hard as he could, halting his plummet but sending him into a swinging motion.
He looked up just in time to see he was swishing through the air straight for a gigantic glass window. Through the glass he spotted crowds of people feasting at long tables.
***
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Belgad said to the masses before him, “without further talk of economic plans and hard work, it is time for the festivities.”
The large northerner waved a finger at Lalo the Finder seated upon the dais at Belgad’s own table.
Lalo stood, moved away from the table and stooped behind it.
“To show my appreciation for the beauty of this city,” Belgad continued, “I have some beauty of my own, shipped in from the south, which I wish to share with all of you.”
Lalo lifted a door on a small cage of reeds.
The three white swans lifted to the air, free from their confinement. They soared overhead, looking for an escape route, while the crowd below clapped and whistled.
Then one of the large glass windows looking upon Belgad’s garden exploded.
***
Shards of glass danced on the air before crashing to the tables amidst screams of surprise and fear.
Kron’s rope snapped at the edge of the window, and the man in black found himself tumbling through the air with the shattered glass. He somersaulted and landed on his booted feet in the center of a table.
People screamed and charged for the doors. Women with ribbons in their hair fainted into the arms of their escorts. Men wearing swords for show backed away from the black figure who had suddenly, explosively appeared among them. The few guards found themselves swamped by the running and frightened masses.
Kron faced the front of the room where an astounded Belgad stood with his mouth hanging open.
“Well met at last, Lord Belgad.” Kron’s evil smile revealed itself beneath the shadow of his hood. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kron Darkbow.”
“Kill that man!” was Belgad’s response.
***
Markwood was as surprised as everyone else when the man in black came crashing through the window, but unlike most, the wizard was not afraid to act after his moment of shock.
He said a few magic words and waved a finger in the air. The falling shards of glass slowed, floating to the ground as if feathers upon a wind.
Before he could act further, Markwood was shoved from behind and tosse
d into the fray of the panicked party-goers trying to reach the exit. He tried to get off another spell to escape the madness, but the quarters were too compact to loosen a proper incantation.
In the mass of bodies that shoved him toward the door, Markwood kept an eye out for Randall, but he saw no sign of the healer.
***
Wyck had been using a bent fork to pry at the locked drawers of the desk in the library when the hubbub downstairs reached his ears. He darted to one of the library’s doors, popped his head out and heard the confusion before he saw it. A second later an entangled lump of legs and arms poured into the entrance room below the stairs. Guards tried to keep control as best they could, but quickly found it no use and threw open the doors to allow the frightened gentry of Bond to flee with their screams.
Wyck pulled back into the library and closed the door.
He told himself he wasn’t leaving empty handed as he dropped the fork.
The boy glanced around trying to find something worth taking. He had had some little while to study the library, but the only portable items he had found were books. Wyck knew some books could be quite valuable, but he also knew he did not have the resources to sell such items on his own without drawing attention to himself.
His eyes finally landed on a silvered mug with the words “Belgad of Thunderclan” engraved on its side.
“That’ll do.” Wyck snagged the item.
As he ran for the door, he wondered how he could melt the mug down to make a profit. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and sell it on the market with Belgad’s name written across it.
Out the door, Wyck charged down the stairs, dived into the exiting crowd and hurried away from the home of Belgad the Liar. Not once did he look back to see if he was pursued.
***
Kron found himself in a position difficult to escape. The obvious exit was full of screaming rich people and guarded by anxious men hefting big swords. The path by which he had entered still held possibilities, but he knew his attackers on the roof were waiting for him if they weren’t already sliding down his own silken cord. The opposite side of the room held more windows to another of Belgad’s precious gardens, but there was no easy way out of the garden except climbing to the roof. Toward the front of the room, Belgad screamed and kicked over a table from beneath which the large, bald man pulled forth a gigantic sword.
Kron knew he’d quickly have to chose the right exit.
With a wave of a hand and a deep bow, his cloak surging wide behind him, the man in black motioned toward Belgad. “I apologize for not staying longer, Lord Belgad, but it seems I have made my point and overstayed my welcome.”
The lord of the manor roared as he hefted his sword in both hands above his head and charged down wooden steps.
Kron spun on his boot heels and dove out the window he had recently busted through. Landing on spongy green plants, he stood and looked up to see the two on the roof still waiting for him there.
Kron removed one of the clay balls from his pocket and without looking tossed the grenado into the dining hall.
This time flame did not erupt from Darkbow’s favorite weapon. Instead, a dense, ebony smoke poured forth, blocking the view of all inside the dining room.
Kron grabbed the rope still hanging where he had left it and hoisted himself up several feet, fully expecting his enemies above to cut the line at any moment. When they did not, he dared a glance upward.
The tall man and attractive woman still peered over the ledge watching him.
Straining, Kron glowered at them. “If you’re not going to finish me down here, make yourselves useful and pull me up where you can kill me proper.”
Fortisquo sheathed his sword and yanked on the rope with Adara’s help.
Within seconds the dark figure was hanging on the edge, overlooking the atrium. Dark smoke had filled most of the garden below, but screams of fear and yells of anger could still be heard.
Fortisquo offered Kron a hand.
Kron grabbed the swordsman’s wrist.
Fortisquo grinned. “I could fling you back into the nether.”
“And I could pull you with me,” Kron answered.
The sword master nodded and pulled his foe over the ledge onto the roof.
Adara drew her sword.
“I have no weapon.” Kron held up his empty palms for the two sword fighters to see.
“I doubt that,” Fortisquo said, his grin thinning to evil, “but it does appear you are without a sword. That is your bad luck.”
Adara scowled. “We can’t kill an unnarmed man.”
“This is what we are paid to do,” Fortisquo said aside to the woman without taking his eyes from Darkbow, “but if you feel so strongly about it, Adara, give the man your weapon.”
The woman took a step nearer the two, but did not offer her sword. “Are you insane? I’d never turn over my sword, especially to a man who is supposed to be my enemy.”
With the tip of his blade and his eyes remaining pointed at Darkbow, Fortisquo turned his head to the woman. “You said you wanted to be a fencer. Let this be another lesson.”
Adara fumed. She knew better than to hand her weapon to an opponent. She still had a main gauche sheathed on her back on her sword belt and a smaller dagger on her right hip, but those were defensive weapons. Her rapier, a sword special to her because it had been a present from her father, had been her savior on more than one occasion.
“Do as I say,” Fortisquo ordered with gritted teeth.
Adara looked to Kron and held the sword up so the narrow blade was between her eyes and pointed to the stars. “If this weapon does not return to me, I will spend every waking second of my life hunting you down.”
The man in black smirked. “Aren’t you already doing that?”
Adara sneered and tossed the weapon.
Kron caught the fancy-hilted pommel with one hand and wrapped his forefinger around the quillon. He studied the blade with his eyes and hand, noting the near perfect balance. “Not my traditional weapon, but it will do.”
Fortisquo backed several steps and went into a fencing stance, his left arm out to his side and his right hand holding his rapier low with the blade tilted up slightly to aim at Darkbow’s eyes.
“On your guard,” the fencing instructor said.
“On yours.” With great speed Kron dipped the end of Adara’s sword to the roof’s edge and caught his small grappling hook on the end of the weapon. Flicking the blade at Fortisquo, he launched the hook and its trailing cord at the sword master.
Fortisquo had not expected the move, but he sidestepped the miniature missile with ease. Another thing he had not expected was a full charge from Kron Darkbow.
The sword master brought up his blade to impale his attacker, but Kron knocked his opponent’s weapon aside with Adara’s rapier.
The men would have tumbled into one another if Fortisquo had not spun away on the balls of his feet, his weapon held over his head with the point always aimed at Kron.
The fencer came to a stop shaking with rage. “That was overly dramatic and foolish.”
“If you didn’t like that, you’ll loathe this.” Kron flung Adara’s weapon at the sword master.
The woman screamed. She held little regard for Fortisquo’s well being, knowing the swordsman could take care of himself and a thrown sword was not much of a true threat. What worried her was the flying sword.
The rapier spun end over end as it tumbled through the air.
Kron paid no more attention to his enemies. Now that he was near the grappling hook, he snagged it from the ground and took off at a full run for the outside edge of the roof.
“Adara, after him!” Fortisquo smacked her sword aside with his own weapon.
The woman’s rapier clattered to the hard rooftop with new scratches.
For a second Adara was focused on her fallen sword. Then her combat instincts kicked in and she spun toward the running man, the small dagger pulled from her belt.
S
he flung the knife in an arch, over her head.
Kron tossed his grappling hook to the roof’s edge again, and without halting his run he pulled on the rope until the hook latched onto the parapet. He jumped over the edge without thinking of what lay below.
He was in mid-air, his booted feet having just left the rooftop, when the thrown dagger sliced into the back of his left leg and caught in his boot straps. He winced and tumbled, but had enough of his mind to hold onto the cord connected to the roof.
Adara and Fortisquo ran to the edge and looked down to watch Kron’s clumsy descent of the rope. He slid down as fast as he could, kicking off the side of the building twice, but his movements lacked the acrobatics he had shown earlier.
“Guards!” Adara yelled in hopes of gaining the attention of Belgad’s men.
Fortisquo’s anger had drained. “Let him go. He deserves better than to be caught by some idiot wearing a kettle on his head.”
They watched Kron land on one leg and wince again. He jerked the silk rope so the hook jumped off the edge of the roof and fell into his waiting hands. The man in black spent a second to glare upward at the two, then was gone, mixing in with the crowd still discharging from Belgad’s mansion.
Fortisquo pushed away from the parapet and wiped sweat from his brow. “Don’t worry. We will meet this man again.”
The woman agreed with Fortisquo’s thinking, and she looked forward to meeting Kron Darkbow once more. The man knew how to improvise a melee situation like no other she had seen before. Despite the fact Darkbow had nearly ruined her sword, it had been a smart distraction to toss the weapon.
Yes, Adara Corvus was positive she would meet Kron Darkbow again.
***
It took a while to work his way through the masses, but Markwood finally found himself outside the front entrance of the mansion. He was glad to have room to breathe again without being trampled. The rush to escape the dining room had been maddening and dangerous.
The wizard looked through the crowd. He had lost Randall before the figure in black calling himself Kron Darkbow had appeared, and he was concerned for the young healer’s safety. Randall was not a large man, nor was he sturdy, so there was no telling what could have happened to him in the rush of the maddened crowd.
