Talgan saw the candle on his desk flicker, as if caught by a rush of air. With a quick glance to make sure his sword still stood within reach against the side of the desk, the nobleman turned to see someone standing by the door to his chambers, hidden within the shadows.
“What news do you bring?”
Stepping forward, the newcomer cast his eyes around the room suspiciously. “My arrival is expected now?” he asked in a whispered voice, the accent betraying his foreign origin.
Talgan forced a smile. Was this the same man he had met two months back? He quickly looked him up and down. Wearing a dark cloak which hid any possible weapons beneath, the man had his hood pulled up and all that could be seen was the lower half of his face. Talgan was sure he recognised the thin, pale lips. Standing over six feet tall, the man was surprisingly silent for one of such large build. Strangely enough, Talgan still did not know his name, but then again he was unlikely to give it.
“To be truthful, I thought you would be here four days ago,” stated Talgan. “Each night since then, I have awaited your arrival.”
The foreigner’s eyes caught the candlelight as he stared at Talgan coldly. “I have a message.”
Talgan nodded, feeling nervous under the foreigner’s gaze. “What is it?”
“It begins soon. You are to be ready.”
“How soon?”
The foreigner was silent for a moment, then turned his head towards the window. “That is not for you to know,” he answered.
“Not for me to know?” Talgan flinched at the volume of his own voice. “I think that I deserve to know after providing you with so much information on the kingdom.”
“However, we need to know what defense can be found at the place you call Barentin,” said the dark foreigner, seeming not to have heard the councilor.
Talgan bit back his angry words. “Barentin? It is a trade town. Why are you interested in it?”
The foreigner turned back to face him. “What defense?” he hissed.
“It has a town guard,” sighed Talgan, looking down to avoid looking into the man’s eyes. “As it is such an important place to do business, they keep the peace.”
“How many guards?”
“The garrison there number between one and two hundred men. I do not know the exact amount.”
“Do they react quickly to conflicts in the town?”
“Not as quickly as some would like.”
“Where are the largest contingents of guards located?”
Talgan thought for a moment. “Usually around the docks and the markets.”
“Are there any soldiers based in Barentin?”
“No. The northern-most area you’ll find Rotian military is at the border with Morassia, where the Ulmerien…the river…flows in.”
“They are of no concern anymore,” whispered the foreigner.
Talgan felt a cold dread wash over him. “What do you mean?”
“It is of no relevance. When we begin moving, you must pay close attention to the reactions of your king and council members. I will return for information when required and you are to tell me everything being planned. You are our eyes and ears now so your knowledge will be key in our success.” The foreigner turned silently and headed for the door. “Ensure you are ready.”
“Wait,” cried Talgan boldly. “I need to know more. I am…”
“You need know nothing else,” interrupted the foreigner, placing one hand on the door handle. “Should any other rotian know of our presence in the kingdom before our plan is set in motion, you understand the consequences.”
“You’re not leaving this room until I have some answers.” Talgan reached out and grasped the hilt of his sword.
“Do not be foolish, rotian. I could kill you before you could even lift that blade.”
Talgan froze. He had done too much to die now in a ridiculous show of false bravado. His grip on the hilt released and he slowly turned, expecting to see the foreigner standing before him with a weapon ready to strike. However, the man had gone and the door to his chambers was once again closed.
“Curse them,” spat the councilor.
He moved to the window once again and looked out at the city beyond. How different the Rotian capital would be soon. How different it would all be.
Chapter 2
Just one more.
Varayan Devohr knew that some day those three small words would be his downfall, but he shrugged the thought off as he worked at the simple lock.
The alley he crouched in was completely shrouded in shadow and the only sounds to be heard were those from the tavern two streets over. To Varayan’s reckoning, the occupants of the abode he sought to gain entry to had headed to that tavern thirty minutes previous.
He chuckled quietly to himself. Even though he had just turned twenty, Varayan was wise to the way of the streets and considered himself one of the best thieves in the Rotian Kingdom.
As the lock on the building’s back door clicked open, Varayan reflected on why he had come to this city in particular. He had lived most of his life in Shulgard, to the south-east, but had heard about the weighted pockets of the people in Ashgar and decided to head to the large city to try his luck. Eventually, he would have to move on. He found that he grew bored staying in one place too long. He had already narrowed his next destination down to either Naskador to the east or Kaeril in the south. It was a difficult decision to make. Naskador, whilst being the renowned Thieve’s Capital, was a dangerous place to be. The various guilds operating within the troubled city were not keen on newcomers or troublemakers. On the other hand, Kaeril was quiet, yet lawful. The Kaeril Guardsmen were famous for stopping a crime before it even happened.
The choices for a thief were never easy.
Varayan glanced left and then right before entering the building, finding himself in a narrow hall. Ahead, he could make out an open door in the gloom. He made sure that the back door was closed and moved on silently into the house.
Another thought entered his mind, as so often they did as he went about his business. He should just stay in Ashgar. The city was warm and inviting, plus the guardsmen were so dim-witted that he could get away with practically anything. Ashgar was the most secluded place in the kingdom. The nearest signs of life were the various farms scattered across the surrounding land and the tiny fishing hamlets along the southern banks of the Ulmerien to the north. Even the latter took several days to reach. Ashgar was alone in the wilds of the kingdom and that was the way Varayan liked it.
Finding nothing of real interest downstairs, the young thief headed for the first floor. The bottom step of the polished wooden stairs creaked and Varayan simply smiled at the fact that only he heard it. He swiftly made his way upstairs and began his search of the bedrooms.
He was a tidy thief though. People would not realise that somebody had been in their home until they tried to find whatever item it was Varayan had stolen. He was good at what he did, but he still failed to understand how the earnings of a night’s work vanished so quickly. He may have been a tidy thief, but he was a terrible gambler.
He entered the master bedroom and headed straight for the bedside table standing off to one side. Opening the drawers one by one, he found only insignificant trinkets. Spotting a heavy desk to his left, he grinned and moved across to it. He tried the two drawers in the ornate piece of furniture but found them to be locked. In a matter of seconds, both locks were open and he was pocketing some valuable-looking items. Not really satisfied, he reached to the back of one of the drawers and knocked on it, hearing the expected hollow sound. With just his fingers to guide him, Varayan felt along the back panel and discovered the small catch. Flicking it open, he pulled out the contents of the owner’s hidden cache. His eyes glinted at the sight of two full money pouches and an exquisite ring with an emerald in it the size of his thumbnail.
“I’d say this night’s work is done,” he beamed, making sure that all of the furniture was left just the way he had found it.
He found one hand going to the knife tucked into his belt. He had never actually used it, but he felt safer when it was there nonetheless. Then, reluctantly, Varayan took another step.
There was a sudden movement from the nearest doorway and he reacted instinctively, throwing himself forward and coming up running. The figure who had loomed from the darkness made a clumsy grab for the nimble thief but missed. Varayan sprinted for the back door, hearing heavy footsteps coming up behind him. He grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open, only to briefly see the alley beyond before a cudgel swung around the outside of the door frame and caught him square on the jaw. Dazed, Varayan reeled back into the house.
The man who had been waiting outside entered and closed the back door, then moved up to stand over Varayan. The second man, who had first grabbed for the agile thief, appeared next to him and spoke.
"This the one?"
Varayan could only see two dark silhouettes of men towering over him as his vision swam from the blow. The man with the cudgel was tall and slim, whilst the other was slightly shorter but much more well-built.
"Yes," answered the cudgel holder. "It's him alright."
Varayan squinted to try and see their faces better. Something about the slimmer man seemed familiar. "Do I know you?" he mumbled, rubbing his aching jaw.
The slim man laughed. "Oh, you know me, Varayan. You'll wish you didn't by the time Torga here finishes with you."
Varayan tried to push himself up off the floor, but the larger man named Torga pushed him back down with his boot.
"Stay down there, my young friend," chuckled the slim man. "We may be here for a while." He leant down so that Varayan could see his face more clearly and grinned.
Varayan groaned and rolled his eyes as he recognised his ambusher. "What exactly have I done to upset you this time, Leran?"
Leran prodded at him with the tip of his cudgel. "Where's my money?"
"Isn't it in your pouch?" smiled Varayan, sarcastically.
The cudgel swung up, catching the thief on the left cheek and throwing his head back. "Don't play games," growled Leran, his face contorted in anger. "You stole my money and I want it back."
Varayan's cheek was numb and he cursed his mouth for reacting faster than his brain did. "Leran, I swear that I didn't take any of your money. I left the tavern that night broke. Would I be robbing this house otherwise?"
"Yes, you would," replied Leran. "You're a thief, Varayan, and not a very good one. Now, where's the money?"
Varayan sighed. "Look, if you want something then just take this." He held out one of the money pouches he had found upstairs. "Looks like they were saving for a rainy day."
Leran swiped the pouch from Varayan's fingers and weighed it in his palm. "It'll do…for a start. What else did you find?"
The thief sat up straight and shook his head. "Nothing of any value really."
Leran glanced at Torga and the big man roughly hauled Varayan to his feet, then held him whilst Leran searched his clothing. All of Varayan's spoils were quickly transferred to Leran's pockets, including the beautiful emerald ring.
"Now, about my money," grinned Leran coldly.
"What?" cried Varayan, "You've got everything I own now. I don't have anything else. I didn't steal your money."
Varayan had learnt to deny accusations, be they true or false. In this instance, Leran was indeed correct. Varayan had lost to him at a card game in the nearby tavern two nights previous and, as he had left, the young thief had managed to take an ample percentage of Leran's winnings before anyone noticed
"I'll give you credit for one thing," said Leran, leaning in close to the thief as he dangled from Torga's grasp. "You're quick. You took that money without anybody noticing and that was an amazing feat, seeing how you were sat at the table with some of the best gamblers in Ashgar that night. However, I do not appreciate being the target of your petty thievery."
"We're all petty criminals around here. I was just trying to make a living."
Leran's face showed no humour at that remark as he turned away from Varayan and strolled to the foot of the stairs. "You know, I once visited Naskador and tried something similar to what you did. Let me tell you, in Naskador you'd be dead by now."
Varayan felt like he was getting a lecture and struggled in Torga's grip. "I think I'd like Naskador," he said.
Leran looked distant for a second, then snapped back to the moment. "Well, young Varayan, you'll wish you were in Naskador soon enough. Let's get this over with, Torga, I'm getting hungry." He sat down on the bottom step and leant upon his cudgel, watching the other two anxiously.
Torga twisted Varayan's arms, so that the thief felt they were going to snap. Then, with a vicious kick, Torga caught him in the stomach. Varayan felt the breath fly from his lungs and his legs buckled. However, Torga still held him limply in place, now with one hand.
"I don't think he's going to feel much," Torga said to Leran. "He's nearly passed out already."
Leran gave an impatient gesture to continue and Torga pulled his arm back, aiming to land his clenched fist somewhere on Varayan's face. By the size of the man, Leran believed that his fist was the same size as the young thief's head and he leant forward to watch the bloody display.
Varayan, through watering eyes, caught sight of his knife still tucked into his belt. He saw Torga pull his arm back and realised that he needed to time his move right so that the large man's fist didn't punch him through the nearby wall.
Torga threw the punch and Varayan caught him by surprise, twisting to the right and bringing his leg up to catch him firmly in the groin. Torga yelled in unexpected pain as the boot connected. He released his grip and Varayan's hand flashed to his knife. Leran was up quickly and charging towards him, cudgel raised.
"You should learn to take your punishment, boy," snarled Leran, swinging the cudgel.
Varayan ducked the blow and slammed the knife down as hard as he could into the top of Leran's boot. Leran stumbled forward as the small blade stabbed deep into his foot and found himself lying face down on the floor, the cudgel sliding out of his grasp.
Quickly, Varayan wrenched the knife free, bringing another yelp of pain from the fallen man. Then, aware that Torga was looming in the background, he thrust his hand into one of Leran's pockets and pulled out the emerald ring.
"Mine, I believe," stated Varayan, making his way towards the back door once more.
He heard Torga's thumping footsteps behind him and wished that he had been able to grab the money pouches from Leran too. Still, the ring should fetch a tidy profit.
He flung the door open, ready to escape into the darkness of Ashgar's alleys, but instead stared straight into the face of the homeowner and his wife, who stood with horrified expressions at the sight of a stranger opening their back door for them.
"You really picked the wrong time to come home," Varayan told them.
He was suddenly aware of Torga again and darted past the man and woman, sprinting off down the alley. He could hear them calling for the guards as he ran, but he was not concerned with that. He just needed to put some distance between him and the two thugs he had left behind.
As he ran around the next corner, he came to a sliding halt at the sight of three town guards running in his direction. They had obviously heard the cries for help and were coming to investigate.
"You there," yelled one, pointing at Varayan.
With a brief curse, the thief was away again. This time, he could hear the heavy footfalls of the guards as he escaped through the maze of alleys. He knew them better than any man and was soon resting in a darkened doorway, catching his bre
ath. His cheek hurt, his jaw ached and his stomach still turned at the kick from Torga. Worst of all, five other people had seen his face and could now recognise him if need be.
"I guess that decides it then," mumbled Varayan to himself.
He would have to leave Ashgar. From what Leran said, if he had indeed been telling the truth, Naskador was not an option. Varayan would be face down in the river within the week. He wondered whether Leran and Torga had escaped the house before the guards had arrived. Torga could have, but Leran's injury made his escape a little more tricky. Varayan did not really care. He was in one piece and that was all that mattered.
He waited in the darkness for an hour, allowing his body a brief time to relax after the blows he had received. Then he headed for the nearest main street, where he peered out from the alley. When he was sure that no guards were nearby, Varayan sprinted across into an opposite alley. He travelled towards the nearest gate in the city wall and eventually found what he was looking for.
Located just a stone's throw from the gate was the Watchman's Point tavern. Gentle laughter could be heard emanating from the establishment, which was a favoured place for people leaving the city the next morning to stay overnight.
Varayan caught a movement from one of the upper windows and glanced up to see a woman closing the curtains. He wished that he could spend just one night in a comfortable tavern bed, with fresh sheets and large pillows. He had not slept in a decent bed for months now due to his nocturnal profession and found that, during the days in Ashgar, he slept whenever he could. However, he did not have a home in the city and slept wherever was available at the time. He had slept in stables, gardens, doorways and even once or twice in the churches. Apparently the local temple gladly let people rest in their chambers, but Varayan found that religious types were strange folk. Most talked of the gods and their teachings, but Varayan was sure that something sinister lay behind the false masks they wore each day.
Severed Destinies Page 2
