by Travis Kerr
Perhaps she would be right.
She stretched out on the soft rug, gesturing for him to join him once she had made herself comfortable. He never questioned why she wanted him to join her there. As before, he suspected that some things were best left alone. If she felt the desire to remain close to him, even after her heat cycle had passed her, he would not disagree with her.
She pulled one of his arms underneath her, using his thick bicep as a makeshift pillow, and without another thought he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her tightly. She snuggled against him, as if for warmth, though he was certain that, with the fire blazing only a few feet away, she could not possibly have been cold. Comforted in their mutual embrace, the slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
“Hey, watch where you’re going old man,” the drunken sailor slurred, roughly pushing his way passed the frail-looking old man who stood, bent over his thick cane, in front of him.
The old man staggered backwards, though to his credit he somehow stayed on his feet. He took an extra step back, as if to move out of the way. He could hear the small waves of the calm ocean water lap lazily against the wooden posts of the dock he was standing on. He was only a foot from the edge, the water behind him hidden by the night, just a swirling movement of black and grey in the darkness. Another step back and he would find himself swimming in that water, he knew.
“Sorry,” his high voiced cracked apologetically. He didn’t see any reason to point out to the sailor that he had not been moving. It was the sailor that had run into him, not the other way around.
“You better be,” the sailor returned darkly. The sailor’s friends laughed behind him. There were three of them, all of them dressed in the manner common to those that spent a lot of their time at sea. The pungent odor of alcohol was evident on all of them.
“Hey, maybe he should pay you for your troubles,” one of them commented.
“Yeah old man. You should give me something for my troubles. How much money do you have on you old man?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything,” the old man replied, his hand trembling slightly where it rested on his cane.
“Don’t lie to me old man,” the sailor returned threateningly. “You’ve got something on you. Now you can give it to me, or you can go swimming off the side of this dock.”
“I told you, I don’t have anything to give you,” the old man repeated, moving another half a step back.
Only six inches left.
As the old man stepped backwards his coat moved to the side, just for the briefest of seconds. Just long enough to reveal the small leather pouch hidden there. Just long enough for the drunken sailor to see it.
The sailor’s eyes lit up with triumph, and his mouth widened into a vile grin. The old man caught the sailor’s intent. He knew what the man was thinking.
If I won’t give him what he wants, he’ll take it from me.
His foot slid back another small bit.
Three inches.
The drunken sailor lunged at the old man, reaching for the pouch he knew would be hidden at the old man’s side. He was confident of his ability. He was fast, he knew.
The old man was faster.
The movement was barely noticeable, he just shifted himself ever so slightly. He moved less than a foot altogether, but toward the sailor instead of away! He slid between the sailor’s outstretched arms like liquid, avoiding them completely. He turned to the side and the sailor rushed passed him, tripped over the cane that the old man had placed, unnoticed, in front of his knee, and fell out into....nothing!
The old man’s high pitched laugh could be heard over the sound of something large splashing into the water behind him. The three remaining sailors glared at the old man. The largest and closest of the three reached to his side and slid a long knife out of its sheath. The old man could see the murderous intent behind the eyes of the drunken men.
Not one of them moved to help their friend, who still splashed about in the water somewhere below them, coughing violently as he tried to spit out the salty water he was swallowing. Obviously revenge was more important to them than helping the fallen sailor.
Great friends.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that,” the knife wielder growled. “You’re going to regret that.”
I doubt it.
All three sailors staggered forward, the knife wielder leading the way. The attack was clumsy, but the knife was sharp. Even such a drunken sot as this man could be dangerous if he got lucky.
He didn’t. With a light flick of his wrist the aged man brought his cane up. It smashed against the knife wielding sailor’s head with a resounding crack. The surprised man cartwheeled off the side of the wooden dock.
Without missing a beat the old man thrust his cane into the open space where the knife wielder so recently vacated, striking the sailor behind him in the center of his chest. This man stumbled backwards to join his companions in the dark, swirling water below them.
The final sailor stared at him as if he were a demon pulled up from the depths of the underworld. The old man simply stared back, a look of barely disguised amusement printed on his wrinkled face. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
So are you going to join your friends, or are you going to grow a brain and keep yourself dry?
Coming to an apparent decision, the sailor bellowed and charged, throwing his arms wide.
Apparently he thinks that grappling with me will give him a better chance. The old man snickered.
At the last possible second the aged man dropped underneath the sailor’s outstretched arms, spinning quickly and bringing his cane into the back of the sailor’s knee. As the drunken sailor dropped the old man deftly slid behind him and caught him, breaking the man’s fall with his own lap. As the sailor looked up at him the old man tilted his head until it was only a hair’s breath from his own.
“So are you ready to go swimming with your friends?” the old man whispered with false sweetness, his crackling voice practically dripping with barbed honey.
Without waiting for a reply the elderly man pushed with far more strength than his frail form should have possessed. With a final look of surprise the last and final sailor flew forwards, disappearing over the edge with a loud, definitive splash.
“Well, that was fun,” the old man mumbled under his breath. He once again stooped low over his cane, as if he couldn’t possibly take a step without it. Anyone who hadn’t seen him only a moment ago would never suspect he was anything other than the old man he seemed to be.
One man, however, had seen. A reptilian head appeared from a darkened corner of a squat building at the end of the dock, slowly pulling back the hood of the shadow grey cloak he was wearing.
The old man watched him with interest. He had known the sloveckii man had been standing there the entire time. He had been waiting for him, or someone very much like him. The cloaked sloveckii walked over to him at a cautious pace.
“I haven’t seen someone fight with that much grace and ease in a long time,” the reptilian man said when he reached him. “I’m guessing that you are not at all the old man you appear to be. What brings you to this part of town?”
“I’m here to see Loretta,” the old man answered without missing a beat. He noticed the sloveckii's eyes widen ever so slightly at the name, betraying his thoughts.
Good, I guessed right. He does know her.
“Not too many women would come into this part of the city,” the man replied instead. “If you are looking for a woman, then you want to head over to the red light district a few blocks over. You’ll mostly find sailors over here, especially now. Quite a few of the fishing boats are in, so their crewmen would be out drinking. Stick around here and you’ll be sure to find more men like those. This group would be the ones coming back early, the ones that couldn’t hold their drink. In another hour you’ll see some of the heartier ones. You might not find them as easy to deal with as those drunken louts were.”
“I should finish my business and be gone before then,” the old man replied casually. “Since we both know that you know who I’m talking about, and that you most likely work for her directly, why don’t we save each other some time. Take this to her, and tell her that the owner is waiting for her here at the dock. She won’t keep me waiting long.”
He tossed a small metal object to the sloveckii man, who caught it easily. He reptilian man glanced at what he held. It was a small, round disk, like a coin, though not of gold or silver. Still, though he had never seen one, he knew exactly what it was. He looked back at the old man, who waited expectantly.
“If you have this, you should know the way already. Why do you need my help?”
“I haven’t been here in a while,” the old man answered. “As I’m sure you already know, the door isn’t in the same place it once was.”
“Stay here,” he replied. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
That said, the man turned and disappeared down a nearby alleyway. The old man listened for his footfalls, then smiled. As he would have expected, he didn’t hear any.
Good thing he didn’t keep up the pretense any longer, the old man thought. It can be so tedious.
After only a few minutes the sloveckii returned. With a wave he motioned for the old man to follow him. The aged man didn’t keep him waiting. With a laboring step, leaning heavily on his cane with each footfall, he followed him into the darkness.
The sloveckii guided him through a maze of alleyways. The old man noticed that on more than one occasion they passed over their own trail, but knew better than to question it. Few would know the way to where they were going. They could not allow themselves to be followed.
Finally they came to a dead end alley, with brick walls surrounding them on three sides and no discernible doors or exits. The old man wasn’t fooled.
The best passages are hidden from view, he knew.
His sloveckii guide turned back to the entrance to the alleyway, peering back the way they had come for several minutes. Finally satisfied that they were not followed, he headed back toward the back of the dead end alley. He went to the right hand wall, almost near the end. All the bricks here looked the same, but the old man guess that one of them held a secret.
Sure enough, the sloveckii pushed in one of the bricks, which slid in easily. No one, not even the old man, would have been able to find that hidden trigger without knowing where it would be, as the sloveckii obviously did. Soundlessly, an entire section of the brick wall slid back, revealing the opening carefully concealed there.
Without a single word the sloveckii entered the opening, and the old man quickly followed. From behind them, a sapphire blur streaked passed, melting into the darkness. The sloveckii guide spotted the creature, but chose to ignore it. Instead he turned and headed forward into the dark passageway.
The hidden door closed quickly behind them, as soundlessly as it had opened. As it closed they were bathed in pitch darkness, but it only lasted a moment. From some unseen source above them, a pale light winked into being. The old man looked back toward the gateway they had entered. Not so much as a single seam betrayed its existence.
Inside, a narrow stone staircase spiraled downward for several stories. It took them deeper and deeper under the city streets, ending finally at a stout oak door. The guide opened this door and led the way inside.
In contrast to the dark stairwell, the room they entered was brightly lit. Colorful murals hung in splendor on cheery, vibrantly painted walls. These were men and women who lived in the shadows, who thrived on darkness. These were men who hid who they were from the world. This was the one place they didn’t have to hide.
Few men alive knew of its existence. Fewer still were those that had any hope of finding it. Thankfully no one would be foolish enough to look for it without an invitation. Uninvited guests would never leave.
This was the hidden halls of the assassin's guild of Miani.
The room itself, one of many, was massive, with a curving domed ceiling that led up to point in the center. In the center of that point hung a breathtaking crystal chandelier, which caught the light around it, creating a dazzling display of color along the walls. A bright dragonling flew out of the dim staircase to land on a curved outcropping of the wall. It perched there like a gargoyle, staring down into the room below it, its swirling eyes opened widely.
A petite blond woman, with two thick muscled bodyguards on either side of her like a pair of guard dogs, walked briskly in his direction. She was small, barely five feet tall, but she walked with the more confidence than the most powerful of men.
“So, who might be the old man who carries my father’s totem?” she asked, coming directly to the point.
She always was a direct one, he thought.
“That would be the person who he gave it to, of course,” he replied merrily, breaking into an impish grin. “I don’t think he ever gave his totems to someone who it could be taken from. So how have you been Loretta?”
“Garan, is that you? Where have you been all this time? We all expected you to come for the funeral when father passed away. You were one of his best students.”
“I would have been here if I could have,” he answered, his jovial manner gone in an instant. “Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace a bit more private?”
“You know we’re all friends here. There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say openly, not in my house.”
“I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, there are some secrets that I won’t share with anyone, not even with the guild. The walls have ears they say, and that’s true anywhere, even here.”
“We can use my office then. I have a certain mage under my employment that I pay an exorbitant amount of money to keep my office private. No one can listen in on us there.”
“Why do you keep such a room if there are no secrets in your house?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, at least not out loud, however the look she gave him spoke volumes. Something was not quite right within the guild, he suspected, and she was taking pains to keep it from being noticed.
He was at once glad that he insisted on privacy. Had he spoken openly she might have lost trust in him. He was not the type of person to broadcast his information, and she would have known that already. She had been testing him, he realized.
Like father, like daughter.
She turned and led the way briskly through the next three spacious rooms, her burly bodyguards keeping perfectly in step with her, three paces behind. He followed quickly, no longer bothering with the cane he had been using to appear old and frail. He wasn’t fooling anyone here, nor did he think he needed to.
With the cane and its pretense gone, the sapphire dragonling flew down to him, landing lightly on his shoulder. It wrapped its thick tail around his neck for balance.
Finally she came to a solid, thick door. Reaching into her tunic, she pulled out a heavy key that she had attached to a thick cord. The end of that cord disappeared deeper into her her neckline, off to her left side.
Most likely it’s tied around her arm, he thought approvingly. Tying it around your neck only gives possible enemies something convenient to strangle you with.
“Stay out here,” she ordered her guards. “I have nothing to fear from this man. Garan, follow me please.”
He did as he was bid, closing the door behind him as he entered. As the door closed he heard a strange hiss of air, surprising him.
This room is completely sealed, he realized. Not even the air can escape here.
A quick glance was all it took to see everything that the small room had to offer. At the far end was a plain wooden desk, with a plush, thick cushioned desk chair behind it. On the left hand wall sat two soft chairs with even more padding then the desk chair offered. Against the right wall sat a long couch, with cushions that matched the chairs perfectly.
Only one picture graced the plain white walls, a portrait of Loretta’s father, Martin, which sat directly b
ehind the desk, as if he was looking down on everyone standing or sitting in the room. Raiste suspected that he would probably find a safe behind that painting, though if there was anything in it he would have been surprised. It was simply too obvious a place, and therefore likely to be a decoy.
“Please, take a seat Raiste,” Loretta said, surprising him once again. He hadn’t told her his real name yet. Once again he did as he was told. As he sat the dragonling hopped off of his shoulder to land on the back of the chair he was sitting on. After a brief inspection of the room it curled up into a tight ball, feigning sleep.
“I didn’t know that your father told you my secret,” he replied as he sank into one of the plush cushions. He had to shift his weight several times to get comfortable. For someone so used to the hard ground of the outdoors, the soft chair was not much to his liking. Instead of taking the equally soft chair next to him she choose instead to sit on the corner of her hard wooden desk.
“He didn’t. Unfortunately you can’t walk along the road between here and Tam without hearing your name at least a dozen times. When you showed up at my door, who else could you be?”
“You always were the clever one.”
“Not half as much as you. So, you’re Raiste Goldstone, son of the great Fallon Goldstone. I should have guessed it was something like that. My father wouldn’t have taught just anyone, and he always doted on you. So is it true what they’ve been saying, that you’re a battle mage?”
“No, not me. There is a battle mage now, and he was with me in Port Tam, but it wasn’t me. So that’s what they think then, that I’m the battle mage? If that was the case you would have known long before now.”
“I knew all about your magic since I was a kid. Don’t forget, you were in my house since I was six years old. Anyway, what brings you to my door? It must be something important for you to come all this way. I would have expected you a year ago, when we needed you.”
“I would have been here before now if I could have,” he replied vaguely. In truth he would have, but there was nothing he could have done. By the time word reached him of Martin’s death, the event was already a month past.
