Time of Shadows (The Saga of the Seven Stars Book 2)

by Dayne Edmondson

  “How long have you been at the estate?”

  “I have worked in the mansion for several weeks.”

  “As a whore?”

  “I have served in any capacity required.”

  “Including attempted assassination. Do you even know what to do with that knife?”

  “I was told to slit your throat.”

  Boris grunted. “I should kill you, to send a message to Darin.” He felt her stiffen beneath his grip, fear seizing her. “However, I will let you live. It is clear you were not meant to succeed. I suspect that Darin planned this so that I would kill you and be blamed for killing a valuable slave. That would be reason enough for him to have me punished, perhaps even killed.”

  “Why doesn’t he just kill you himself?”

  “Because I’m a valuable slave. Those of no value die in the arena. Those that survive, they are prized by the slave master. Not even Darin is allowed to outright kill a winning slave. Not without reason.”

  “I am free to go, then?”

  “Yes. Leave before I change my mind.”

  “Thank you so much for your kindness.” Sansa rose to her knees and headed toward the door. She stopped at the door. “What should I tell Darin if he asks?”

  “He will know tomorrow that you have failed. But if he asks, tell him that I discovered your treachery and stopped you.”

  “Won’t I be punished? Or killed?”

  “Better to take your chances out there than to die in here. I can offer you no protection.”

  “I understand. Thank you.” She exited the room in the same manner as she had arrived.

  Boris lit a candle and studied the knife. Simple, unadorned, it looked similar to the blade he had used that day during the match. If they had found the dead woman in his rooms, they would have claimed that he hid the blade from the day’s match among his person, then used it on her. Boris took the blade and knelt down beside his bed. Using the knife, he pried one of the floor stones out. Setting the dagger aside, he dug out a shallow hole and laid the dagger within it, before replacing the floor stone. He tossed much of the excess dirt into his chamberpot and scattered the remainder throughout the room. The knife could come in handy when the day came to plan his escape.

  Returning to his flat, he felt more exhausted than before the woman entered. Sleep was not long in coming for Boris.

  Chapter 20 - A Challenge

  A loud crash awoke Dawyn. Sitting up from where he lay next to Anwyn, he saw men rushing into the room carrying crossbows. The men spread into the room, crossbows never deviating from Dawyn and Anwyn’s position. In the space of a few seconds, the room was packed. Dawyn eyed his sword at the side of his bed, but thought better of it. The entire reason for their journey here was to find Ferdinand, and the intrusion into their room suggested he was behind it and aware of their presence.

  Beside Dawyn, Anwyn stirred and sat up. Dawyn had to give her credit, for she did not scream. She looked around at the men, eyes wide, and then looked at Dawyn. “What do we do?”

  “Just stay calm,” Dawyn spoke out of the side of his mouth, not looking at Anwyn. “Let them take us.”

  Anwyn gave no sign of acknowledgment, but he was sure she had understood him.

  After the men had rushed into the room, the figure of Bertram darkened the doorway. “Bertram?” Dawyn asked. “What is the meaning of this? Who are all these men?” He tried to make his voice sound frightened.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you folks, but you were asking too many questions,” Bertram said tersely. “Most people don’t come looking for work for the nobles, and I didn’t like the look of you two. So, why are you here? Answer the question, and my boys won’t have to rough you up too much.”

  Dawyn forced himself to swallow visibly. “Alright, you caught us,” he said, defeat heavy in his voice. “We’re looking for the slave master Ferdinand.”

  “Why might you be looking for Ferdinand?” Bertram asked.

  Anwyn spoke up. “I was a prisoner of his, once. We came searching for revenge.”

  “Revenge you say? Just the two of you?”

  Anwyn nodded.

  “Well, you must be a special kind of stupid, then,” Bertram laughed. “Did you think you could just walk up to Ferdinand and attack him? Did you give no thought to guards or plans or the like?”

  Dawyn averted his eyes toward the comforter atop the bed, trying to seem ashamed. “We didn’t do much thinking. We just…we just wanted revenge.”

  “Well, I admire your spirit. I happen to know Ferdinand very well, for he’s my brother,” Bertram said. “We’ll take you to him, and you can attempt to take your revenge. Now get out of bed and keep your hands where my men can see them. Any wrong moves and you both become pincushions.”

  Dawyn sat up and got out of bed, as did Anwyn on her side. The men searched both Dawyn and Anwyn, throwing their possessions onto the bed, where they rummaged through them. Fortunately, anything that could have identified Dawyn or Anwyn had been left at a safe place in the woods. Satisfied, the men bound the two with ropes around their wrists and ankles and shoved Dawyn and Anwyn out of the room and down the stairs. The hour was late, and the inn was closed for the night, resulting in a silent procession of armed men through the vacant common room of the inn. They exited through the back door, where a carriage awaited. After being shoved into the carriage, four men entered and pointed their daggers at the the two of them, urging them to be quiet and not to try anything.

  The wagon began moving and turned. It made a series of turns before Dawyn heard the rumbling of the city gates being opened. He wasn’t sure which gate this was, for the city had three gates. The carriage picked up speed as it reached the open countryside, the wheels clattering on the cobblestone road. Dawyn could hear the clatter of horseshoes hammering against the stones as well, suggesting the men from the inn were all accompanying the wagon.

  Several hours later, the wagon began to slow. The sound of voices in the distance reached Dawyn’s ears, while the smell of many cook fires assaulted his nose. At last, the wagon came to a halt. The doors were flung open on each side and Dawyn and Anwyn were once again dragged from the carriage. Dawyn looked around. They were in the center of an encampment of some sort. The tents around them were laid out in disarray, with no distinct pattern that Dawyn could discern. Mercenaries, Dawyn thought. No self-respecting military would allow their camp to be in such disarray. He noticed the riders that had accompanied the carriage - among them was Bertram.

  They shuffled toward a tent. The tent was larger than any of the surrounding tents and bore no banner. The entrance was flanked by two angry-looking guards, who slapped fist to chest as Bertram strode toward the entrance to the tent. The rest of the brutes from the inn followed. Entering through the tent flaps, Dawyn and Anwyn were treated to a scene of pretentious opulence. Thick, elegant carpets with artwork depicting epic battles lined the floor, similar mosaics hung from the walls of the tent. Servants, slaves rather, bustled around the tent.

  At the far end of the tent sat a gold-colored throne. Seated in the throne was a large man with short cut black hair, olive complexion and a scar beneath his left eye. The man wore no shirt, only dark brown trousers. “Bertram,” the man said. “What brings you here at this late hour, my brother?”

  “Hello, brother,” Bertram said with a slight bow of his head. “I have found two charlatans who have been searching for you. The woman was once a slave of yours.” He pointed to Anwyn. “They claim to seek revenge on you for her enslavement. I bring them to you to decide their fate.”

  Ferdinand stood up and walked toward Dawyn and Anwyn. Dawyn tensed as the man studied Anwyn. He grabbed her breasts, squeezing them, and grabbed her chin, turning her face from side to side. He seized her arm and looked on the inside of her wrist, where the mark of his band of slaves was faint but still visible. Anwyn, for her part, endured the inspection in silence, though Dawyn imagined she wanted to tear the man apart. “A pretty woman, though I do not remembe
r her. I will be happy to become reacquainted with her in the bed, however.” He stepped up to Dawyn next and walked around him. “Who is the man?”

  “Her lover, we believe,” Bertram said. “They were traveling together and stayed in the same room.”

  “Is this true?” Ferdinand asked of Dawyn. “Are you and this woman lovers?”

  Dawyn nodded.

  Ferdinand clapped his hands. “Excellent. There can only be one lover of this woman, so tomorrow you will die in the arena. You will provide the entertainment for my men.”

  “Who will I face?” Dawyn asked.

  “Why, my greatest champion, Golivar. He will relish destroying you.” Ferdinand looked at Bertram. “Take him to the arena and prepare him. Have the woman put in proper attire and taken to my viewing box. She will be seated next to me as her lover dies.”

  “What if I succeed?” Dawyn asked.

  Ferdinand laughed. “If you succeed in killing my champion, you may do as you wish with me. You may even kill me.” His voice made it clear that he did not expect that to be an option.

  Dawyn made eye contact with Anwyn and tried to make his gaze as reassuring as possible. He had no intention of dying. He gave a slight nod to emphasize his unspoken thoughts. She gave an almost imperceptible nod in return, before they were separated.

  Chapter 21 - Binding

  Jason walked through the streets of Tar Ebon without purpose after parting ways with Ashley and John. At the late hour, most of the vendors were closing up, while the taverns and inns throughout the city were just beginning to get busy. He stopped by the water’s edge for a warm meal of fresh whitefish. Returning to the Dancing Mare so soon held little appeal to him, so he decided to take a meandering path back to the tavern, one which took him through the royal district and next to the palace.

  Jason walked down an alley a street away from the walls of the palace when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A figure stood, pressed close against the wall, down the street. The person was dressed all in black, with his hood up. As Jason watched, the figure manipulated something with his hands and a doorway slid open. They entered without a glance around. Curious, Jason moved to where the figure had been. An opening in the wall, equal to the size of an average person, was before him. In the fading light of the evening, Jason could see a stairwell which ran down after a small landing.

  Something about the figure did not sit well with Jason. The way he had acted, and been dressed, brought to mind the ninja movies from back home on Earth. He thought about the direction of the stairs. They slanted downward and to the west, toward the palace. He looked around, but saw no one. The door began to slide closed and Jason made the choice to rush inside before the door completed the motion.

  As the door shut with a click, Jason found himself in absolute darkness. He felt in front of and to the side of himself. Cold stone walls lay to his left and right, while his fingers touched nothing ahead. Remembering the stairs he had seen in the faint light, Jason took a timid step forward, testing the ground with his foot before bringing the other foot forward. After a few steps, his foot met only air, and he moved it down until he felt a stair step. Keeping his arms out to feel for the walls, Jason began to descend the stairs.

  After a short while, Jason came to a door. He felt for the door handle and it creaked open. Stepping inside, he found himself in a long hallway lit with torches, the end of which he could not see. He stopped and surveyed the entrance he had come through. There was no further path down, no alternate entrances. Next, he looked at the floor. Having seen many movies where traps lay hidden in such mysterious hallways, Jason looked for possible patterns in the floor stones and along the walls. He looked for openings where razor sharp blades might swing out on pendulum movements, or spike traps that might poke up from the floor. He noticed no pattern to the floor tiles - they were all unadorned stone - and saw no overt openings where traps might lay in wait.

  Satisfied enough that traps did not await him, Jason began to move down the hallway. He moved slowly, his ears listening for the slightest sound, his eyes open as wide as possible to take in everything. At one point he stopped, thinking he heard whispers, but convinced himself it was just paranoid delusions on his part. After several minutes, Jason reached the door at the end of the hallway and pulled it open.

  Stairs lay before him, extending up into the darkness. Sighing, Jason stepped forward into the darkness and began to ascend the stairs. After a time, he came to a landing. Feeling above himself, he felt only the cold stone of the ceiling. He moved his hands around him until he fumbled upon a latch, which he pulled.

  The panel slid aside with barely a whisper, and Jason stepped into a chamber. Once inside, he glanced around. His eyes, already adjusted to the darkness from the journey up the stairs, tried to make out his surroundings in the faint light. Tapestries hung along much of the four walls. One such tapestry appeared to depict a great battle; which battle, he didn't know. The others were too far distant to make out in such poor light. Across the room, the sole source of light resided, two candles held within sconces fastened to the wall, flanking a set of double doors. Mirrors sat behind the candles, reflecting the light so it was amplified across the vast room. He noticed a single door along the left wall. Other sconces lined the room, and Jason guessed they would provide quite a bit of illumination to the room if they were all lit.

  The night had become cloudy as storms threatened. Little light entered the room through the tall window along the right wall that appeared to lead onto a balcony. In front of him was a high-backed chair with its back to him, preceding two couches which sat facing each other. A table sat in the center between the couches, with another high-backed chair beyond, its back to the illuminated doors. It was some sort of sitting room; an antechamber that would lie outside of a bedroom. Back home he would have called it a living room, but he was slowly becoming accustomed to the terms of this new world.

  Jason began to walk toward the source of the light, walking to the right around the chair, when suddenly he felt a hand on his back and he was shoved forward. He had been standing in front of the left arm of the rightmost couch and found himself tripping over that and landing face first in its cushions. A hand jerked his shoulder so that he spun onto his back, the other hand, gloved, clamped over his mouth to prevent him from shouting out in surprise. Jason looked into the face of a masked figure, a piece of dark cloth covering his mouth and nose so that only blue eyes peeked out. Panic set in and he tried to struggle away, tried to make sense of it all, but the figure was straddling him and prevented him from escaping. He tried to call upon his magic, to send the assailant flying back with a fist of air, or burn him with a ball of fire, but he felt as though a heavy shroud lay over his mind. His mind sought release from his body, but was denied by some unknown force. He felt the coldness of steel pressed against the skin of his neck. A female voice warned, "Stop struggling if you want to live." Jason became still, his eyes wide.

  The woman studied him for a moment and then leaned her head in to breathe in his left ear, "Will you promise not to scream or shout if I remove my hand from your mouth?" At Jason's hurried nod, followed by a wince of pain, for he had nicked the knife when he nodded, the woman leaned back and removed her hand from his mouth, letting it fall to her side.

  A hundred questions flashed through Jason's mind, but what came out in a whisper was, "Please don't hurt me, I was just looking around, I wasn't going to steal anything." She had spoken in a whisper and so Jason did as well, not wanting to cause more trouble by waking any people sleeping in the adjoining chambers.

  "Why were you following me?" she asked.

  "I...well...I saw you come in through a door in the alleyway. I was curious as to what you were doing so I followed you. I didn't mean you any harm." The words came out of his mouth in a rush.

  The woman snorted. "As if you could hurt me,” she said with contempt.

  "What are you doing here?" Jason asked. He was afraid he knew the
answer to that question, considering the knife in her hand and the familiarity with which she used it.

  "Why, I'm going to assassinate the king," she confided matter-of-factly. "But first, I must decide what to do with you," she trailed off, malice in her voice.

  The king! What had he gotten himself into? Oh God, this assassin was going to kill him and then murder the king. His voice quavering, he asked, "The king? Why would you want to do a thing like that?"

  The assassin hesitated, as if wondering whether she should tell this man whom she intended to kill, for Jason had little doubt she would kill him, her reasons. At last it seemed she decided it would do no harm to tell him, he wouldn't live to reveal any of it. "It is my job. I was ordered to kill the king by my master. It's nothing personal."

  "Oh, well, it's nice to know it's nothing personal when you slit my throat," Jason said sardonically. Perhaps if he kept talking, someone would walk in and save him. No, anyone walking in on the scene would cause the conversation to end and he'd be killed where he lay. He had to think of something, and fast! "You can't honestly believe you'll get away with killing the king and still be allowed to escape. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth to bring you to justice."

  "You should feel lucky. I could have slit your throat without you even knowing I was there. Instead, I offered you a chance to explain yourself. Perhaps I made a mistake. As to my assassination attempt, perhaps I want to die, have you considered that?" There was almost a hint of...remorse...in her voice. Did she really want to commit suicide in such a way?

  Jason couldn't have explained why, but he felt something toward this woman. He had always had an affinity toward other human beings; had always wanted to help anyone he met who truly needed it. He had to try and save this poor woman. "Is your life truly that terrible? Do you care nothing for yourself? To sacrifice your life for nothing seems quite foolish. Don't you have family, friends, a home to return to? Won't someone miss you when you're gone?"