by Alexey Pehov
Just then the man stopped chopping and saw his guests. He narrowed his gray eyes and with a casual motion changed his grip on the axe. This gesture did not go unnoticed by the riders. Shen stiffened and slowed his pace. Midge quickly glanced to the side. Only Whip remained calm. He smiled; only his alert eyes spoke to the fact that the leader was drawn as tight as a loaded crossbow. He continued until he was five yards from the master of the house and then Mols’s messenger stopped.
“Hello, Gray.”
The man stayed defiantly silent for a moment, and then he replied, “Hello, Whip.”
“How are things going?”
The carpenter grimaced angrily.
“Not bad. Until today.”
Whip preferred not to notice the grimace on their host’s lips.
“You’ve settled down really well. The wilderness, the forest, the river, no city noise. And your house is excellent.”
“I can’t complain,” came the dry answer. “What brings you here?”
“Business, of course. Can we talk?”
“That’s strange. I thought that was exactly what we were doing.”
“You won’t invite us in?”
“It’s messy in there,” he replied sullenly.
Whip chuckled. “Six years have gone by, and you haven’t changed a bit. You still hate having company.”
“Seven, to be exact. Hey there, Midge.”
“Hi, Ness. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. You disappeared quite cunningly.”
Their host shrugged his shoulders.
“Seeing as you found me, not quite as cunningly as I’d hoped. I suppose that Bamut is waiting outside the gates?”
“You know him. The man has no love for house calls. Mols sends his regards.”
“Good old Mols,” drawled the carpenter. “It’s hard to escape from him.”
The master of the house took a step to the right and forward, going around the split wood, and Midge echoed his movement, taking a step backward. Unlike Shen, the diminutive assassin preferred to keep a distance between himself and their unsociable host. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Ness smiled knowingly. Then he planted his axe in the stump and dragged his fingers through his flaxen hair.
The tension lessened slightly.
Just then a tall young woman appeared on the porch. Her light, almost-white hair was held back in a tight braid, and she was wearing a long black skirt and a linen tunic. When she saw the strangers, her dark blue eyes flashed with rage, and her thin lips pressed into a straight line. A shadow ran across her face and Whip involuntarily reached for his pouch. He had a talisman blessed by a priest of Melot in there. He knew that the amulet would be of no help against her, but the foolish superstition proved stronger than his reason. Only at the very last moment did he restrain himself and remove his hand.
Now he had to keep an eye on both the man and the woman.
“Good day, Layen.”
She ignored the greeting. She looked at her husband. He looked back at her in return. It seemed as if they were speaking with their eyes. Layen turned around and went back inside. Just before she closed the door, she cast the unwanted guests one last warning glance.
Midge let out a relieved breath. He’d been holding his breath the entire time the woman was on the porch.
“Didn’t you used to work as a threesome?” Ness asked Whip.
“That we did,” said the leader wryly, showing just how pleased he was with the circumstances that had foisted a fourth upon him.
“All right, tell me why you’ve come,” said their host, pulling on his shirt.
“Mols sends his regards.”
“There’s no way I’d believe that he sent you all this way just for the sake of a greeting.”
Whip frowned.
“Not just for that. He sent me to tell you that they are offering five thousand sorens for your head. And just as much for Layen.”
The carpenter remained unmoved. “Are you really here to aggravate me and tell me that Mols is that hard up?”
“No, he simply wanted to warn you. In remembrance of your old friendship.”
“That’s very kind of him. How did he find me?”
“How should I know? A little birdie whispered it in his ear. I’m told what to do—nothing more. The reward was offered about two weeks ago. There was a rumor that you were alive. It’s pretty clear that they want to make a trophy out of you. And you must agree that it will be easy to find idiots willing to do anything for that kind of money.”
“Quite so. If there’s one thing in this world of ours that will never change, it’s idiots. Midge, relax and get your hand off your knife.”
“Sorry; habit,” he apologized hastily, and as evidence of his peaceful intentions even stepped back toward the gates.
“So you understand that these whispers of so much money have not gone unnoticed. Your life is at risk.”
“What else did my old friend wish to convey?”
“Not much else. It was Joch Threefingers who named the price.”
Fire flashed in his gray eyes. And then it instantly faded.
“Well. Thank you for the news. Give Mols my thanks.”
“Actually, he’d much prefer that you gave it to him personally.”
“I’ve not been missing Al’sgara so much that I would return.”
“It’s dangerous here—all the rats know you. Don’t flee. We’re staying at the inn. We’ll be there for five or six days. If you change your mind, let us know.”
“An honorary escort?”
“Something like that. Take it easy.”
Without saying a further word, Whip walked to the gates. Midge was the last to exit. True to form, he left walking backward.
2
I wasn’t about to show them out. That would have been too great an honor. I stayed on the porch, watching as the runt closed the gate behind him. That fellow is truly repulsive. In the good old days in Al’sgara I’d had a face-off with him. At the time, it was Midge who had to step aside. But that doesn’t mean that he recognized my right to take the best contracts. Far from it. It was nothing more than a temporary, forced retreat. And now, despite all the years that have passed, I could expect trouble from him at any moment. I will not turn my back on him.
The unexpected arrival of my former business associates had made quite an impression on me. The Damned take them! Until now I had thought us impossible to find. Five years of moving from place to place and all of it in vain!
We hadn’t lingered anywhere for long, and we didn’t allow ourselves to become acquainted with anyone, let alone befriend them. We held ourselves stiller than the water under the grass. Layen and I knew that regardless of the fact that we were long dead to all, they would keep looking for us. Especially in the first two years.
We successfully avoided the roundups. At that time the Guards, the Viceroy’s soldiers, and the Walkers’ people were searching for a man and a woman. Twice they all but caught us, and twice we escaped by the skin of our teeth. Then, when the worst was over, we kept being cautious. Thus another three years passed. Subsequently, believing that everyone had forgotten about us, I brought Layen to the very outskirts of the Empire. To the south. Beyond the Blazgian swamps. To the forest.
We had spent two tranquil and happy years in this village. Neither my wife nor myself was especially overjoyed to live in such a godforsaken place, but we needed to bide our time, wait it out a little longer, and then head to the sea and try to find passage on a boat of some kind. To sail off somewhere even farther away.
And now, just when I had begun counting the days until our departure, the past, from which we so long and successfully ran, was insensitive enough to just show up at our door. It passes all understanding how they could have found us after we’d run like jackrabbits, twisting our trail so the hounds wouldn’t catch us.
It’s laughable!
That which the spies of the Walkers could not accomplish, that old buzzard Mols
had pulled off with ease. How? How, the Abyss take me, had he found us out?
The door swung open and Layen sat down next to me. We were silent for a time. We just listened as Whip’s associates climbed up onto their horses and rode away from the house.
“What do you think?” I asked my wife.
“They speak the truth—you can’t run from the past; sooner or later it will catch up with you. We have maybe a week, but no more. Then it will be too risky to stay here.”
“It’s too bad we’ll have to leave all this. It’s a good house.”
And I really did think it was too bad. It’s funny. All the time I was dreaming about leaving this hellhole, but now the time has come and I am loath to just abandon it. After all, I’d built this house with my own hands.
“These past few years have turned you into a real homebody, my dear,” she said, grinning. “You weren’t like this before.”
“You were different, too,” I said, copying her grin. “The time has come to get back on the road.”
“Mols could be lying. He’s wanted to send Threefingers off to the Blessed Gardens for a long time. And here we are at hand, fortunately for him. There’s nothing we can do but remove the client. And that’s exactly what Mols is counting on. Whip didn’t tell you that he was waiting for your thanks personally for nothing.”
“We’ll have to get rid of Joch, that’s true. But will that really help us? If those who are searching for us are lying in wait, it won’t do any good. They won’t let us live in peace.”
Layen frowned and rested her head on my shoulder. My sun understood who I was talking about, who might still be searching for us. The very same people who were searching for us when we faked our deaths and left Al’sgara behind forever seven years ago.…
* * *
It was already the second day that the snow had been falling. Massive white flakes dropped continuously from the low gray sky. They settled on the bridges, on the squares, on the trees, on the watchtowers, on the market stalls, on the red tiled roofs, on the spires of Melot’s temple, and on the hoods of the people walking by. Al’sgara the Green, as the capital of the southern province of the Empire was called, had been transformed into Al’sgara the White.
The children were overjoyed at the fresh snow. For everyone else it was just an inconvenience. It was the start of spring, but the snow was pouring down just as if it was the Feast of the Moon (an important religious holiday celebrated in the middle of winter). Such truly awful weather!
I cursed inwardly and rubbed my gloved hands together. My fingers were beginning to go numb. Cold ruled supreme in the attic where I had been loitering for the past three hours. Admittedly, there was nothing surprising about this. The glass was missing from the window and an icy wind was blowing through the attic. Yet another inconvenience was added to this—darkness. The meager light streaming in from the evening street was no help at all. But I didn’t dare light a candle. Of course, the chance that some passerby would see the flame was not all that great, but it wouldn’t do to risk it.
Damn it! This damn cold! I began rubbing my hands against each other more strenuously, but the tips of my fingers still refused to get warm. It’s a good thing that this really wasn’t the middle of cruel winter. Otherwise I would have already dropped dead.
I cautiously looked out onto the street. And cursed again. It would be fully dark in half an hour but the target was still nowhere to be seen. She was an hour late. The bell on the Overgate Tower of Hightown (the oldest part of Al’sgara; it was built on the Cliff, as that part of the city used to be called, around which the rest of the city subsequently expanded) rang twice. It was nine o’clock. Damn it. Where is she? Where? I realized I was getting nervous.
It’s no wonder. The purse Layen and I had scored for this was rather large. Fifteen thousand sorens in denominations of five-hundred-soren gold Imperials—an insane amount. That kind of money had never been offered for just one person’s head. Not even for a Viceroy. Such a contract was worth all the possible consequences. We decided to risk it.
True, we’d have to take care of today’s business and disappear forever, but with that kind of money (which, incidentally, had been paid up front), we wouldn’t have a care in the world.
When I had told Layen about the proposal, received from an unknown client, she did not bother trying to dissuade me from the risky venture. She realized that I’d already taken the bait. She heard me out without speaking and then stood up just as silently and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. She returned after an hour. I do not know where she was that whole time. By her reddened eyes I could see that she had been crying but it would not do to ask her about it. She hated it when someone witnessed any weakness in her. So I pretended that I didn’t notice anything.
Layen sat down at the table, took me by the hand, and nodded. My sun was still with me. And that meant that we could take on the job. Without her participation the contract wouldn’t be worth a Blazog’s empty eggshell. They’d drag me out feetfirst.
The view from the attic was dreadful. I couldn’t see much, only a small space just in front of the exit from the square and what was located directly below the window. I knew that I would have to shoot from this extremely awkward position. I’d barely be able to see the target.
Anyone who had even the slightest understanding of archery would say that constructing a “nest” in such a place was absurd. That’s precisely why I chose this spot. When the chaos starts, all the attention of the security will turn to the bell tower and the house of the wealthy nobleman standing opposite it—you could arrange a truly excellent ambush there. And it would be very convenient. But it wasn’t worth sitting in such an ambush because you could only leave it in one direction, and that led to the cemetery. And in my opinion, I’m still too young to be sent there.
Ness?
Layen had been silent for more than an hour and her voice resounding in my head caused me to flinch.
I’m here, I answered her mentally.
The target isn’t. I’m worried. If she doesn’t arrive within the next fifteen minutes I think we should leave.
I see.
I frowned in vexation. She was right. The chance of missing the shot in the dark was far too great. And I couldn’t miss. It needed to be a clean shot. A single shot. There simply wouldn’t be time for a second.
Warmth ran along my spine in a tender stream and I relaxed my tense muscles. I exhaled gratefully and leaned against the wall. My mate, who was located at the far end of the street, knew when to comfort me.
Layen possessed the Gift, although she was neither an Ember nor a Walker. She had the ability to speak over a distance with anyone. But this was not the limit of her abilities, even though no one knew about most of Weasel’s other talents besides me.
How she had been able to kindle her “spark” without the help of the Walkers—this was something I did not understand. I did not want to ask about her past, and she never initiated such conversations. It is possible that it was too dark, and that it would do no good for me to crawl into her soul. I swear with everything I am, that it didn’t matter to me who she had been before. So I simply told myself that it was an established fact—Layen has the Gift and that’s that. I knew that I loved her and that I could trust her. We were not just friends and partners, but also family. No one but Mols had any idea about the latter, but he never asked about it as he wasn’t one to pry into other people’s private business.
She’s here! I see her. Get ready.
I calmly took off my warm gloves and tucked them into my belt. I put on the ones I used for shooting. Then I picked up my one-hundred-and-eighty-pound (the draw weight of the bowstring) bow. Resting the bottom limb to the ground, I leaned on the upper limb and, holding my breath, forced the string into place. I had shot this monstrosity over a week ago and easily managed to pierce an oak plank from a distance of two hundred yards. It’s too bad that I’d have to leave it behind. But after the assassination it would be ut
ter stupidity to walk about on the street with it.
I’m ready.
They’re coming down the street. Quickly. They’ll be near you in a minute.
Got it.
On my signal.
I nodded and then immediately realized that Layen couldn’t see me.
She’s got six with her. Two Embers and four of the Viceroy’s Guards. Two have crossbows.
I’m more worried about the Embers.
A warm wave once again rushed through me.
Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.
I chuckled. Layen had the most difficult job—she had to overwhelm the sorceresses, to take away the protection they afforded the target. Not for long. Just for three, perhaps even four seconds. Just enough time for me to take the shot.
Suddenly the falling snowflakes swirled. A moment later their speed and direction changed. The northwest wind had replaced the north wind. This was not good.
The wind changed. Layen was also keeping track of the changing conditions. Northwest. Gusts. A quarter of a finger.
A quarter of a finger. That’s even worse. I’d need to aim slightly off and pray to Melot that when I shot the fickle elements did not act up. It’s a good thing the bow wasn’t weak, and that the arrow was heavy.
I see. I’m aware. Thanks.
Twenty seconds. They’re near the treasurer’s house. Walking toward you.
I tried to even out my breathing. Exhale, inhale. This is a normal shot. Nothing more. I’ve been shooting with a bow for as long as I can remember. I spent the war in Sandon. And in war everything is far more complicated. At least here no one would run at me with a sword. I just needed to sight, aim, and do what we had been paid for.
Grabbing the arrow that had a white arrowhead made of some material I was unfamiliar with, I quickly examined the fletching. Was it crooked?
The client’s man had given me the arrow along with the compensation. When Layen saw it she refused to pick it up. All she said was that such devices were created to kill the foundation of the Gift in people, to extinguish their spark and to destroy the very soul of the mage. I’d felt uneasy about this “present” from the beginning. But using the arrow was a nonnegotiable term of the contract. I had to clench my teeth and accept it. But I had no idea how it would behave in flight.
