First, though, he ducked into the third alley he came to, kneeling beside a group of figures all but hidden in the dark.
“Wake up,” he growled, gripping the chin of the closest one and shaking him. The guard came to at once, grunting as he tried to yell through the cloth gag in his mouth. The sound came out pitifully muffled, and he struggled with the bindings on his wrists and ankles.
“Shout all you want. No one can hear you through that,” Raz spat, standing up. The man stilled and grew silent, eyes wide, taking in Raz’s towering outline against the lantern light from the road.
“If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead, so stop worrying. I have a message. On the other hand, if you don’t deliver it—well, your friends will be happy to explain the consequences to you.”
He gestured to the other figures lying in the dark past the first guard, who turned to look at them. His muted scream was oddly satisfying, and Raz smirked humorlessly. The man fell over in his haste to scoot away. Blood pooled on the cobbled ground, forming black puddles where each of the rest of the patrol had had their throats slit. Every horrified pair of eyes was wide and staring, some gazing up at the night sky above, some at the walls around them.
Raz had made sure each and every one knew they were going to die.
“Are you listening?” he asked. The man nodded hurriedly, seeming unable to look away from the bodies of his comrades.
“Good. Then tell your šef that Raz i’Syul is coming for them next. Tell them the Monster says they’d best start running, and that they’d best start running now.”
CHAPTER 32
“In the records we have, we find that the Laorin eventually came to call him ‘the Warring Son.’ ‘Violent by nature and content to kill if it served his purpose,’ the Priest-author Carro al’Dor wrote, ‘it is odd to say that he is the greatest ally our faith has ever come across. Laor bless him for his strong heart and kind soul, but the creature is a conflicted being. Talo always used to remind me that all beasts are of the Lifegiver, but I wonder at Laor’s greater plan, and how it might involve this haunted child.’”
—The Atherian, by Jûn fi’Surr
“He’s a madman, Grandmother,” Adrion growled, coming to sit on the balcony chair opposite the woman’s, looking out over the city. The Sun hung imperiously at its apex in the sky above, a single bright eye gazing down on the world. “Do you hear me? Your pride and joy, the animal you had brought into our family. In the last week he’s decimated three full patrols, assassinated both the captain of the detail responsible for the Cages and his replacement, freed two shipments of slaves, and made an attempt on Gaorys’ life while he was collecting fees in the market. I’m telling you, the beast’s gone insane.”
The Grandmother didn’t react to his words, her empty gray eyes ever distant. She continued to stare out over the expansive slate rooftops of the houses around them. Her white hair, once neat and always kept in a tight bun, was disheveled and loose, hanging about her face and framing that maddening half smile plastered there. Adrion sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “I know how much you hate it when I bring up work with you, but this is important. If we don’t do something soon, Raz is going to cause a real problem for the society.”
The woman didn’t budge, the only motion in her entire bearing being the shallow lift and drop of her chest. A breeze picked up, catching a few strands of her loose hair.
Thank the Sun for this weather, Adrion thought, squinting to look up at the sky. The temperature was actually bearable, an exquisite rarity during the summer months even this far from the rolling dunes of the Cienbal.
“I’ll tell you what,” Adrion grunted, picking himself up out of the chair and grabbing his crutch from the bench beside him, “I’ll have Lazura bring you something to eat, shall I? Might do you some good.”
Hobbling back inside, he grabbed a silver bell from where it hung on the wall and rang it once. It was a quiet sound, but in moments the door to the study creaked open, and a young woman stepped into the room. She wore dark robes of black silk so thin they were almost transparent, the color clashing beautifully with her blonde hair and blue eyes. She was tall and slim, and Adrion would have found her attractive were it not for the great X-shaped scar that marred her face, leading from around her right eye and crisscrossing diagonally along her face in two perfectly straight lines.
“You rang, Master Blaeth?” she asked, her sweet, clear voice cutting through the silence of the house.
The woman was a miracle for her ability to get the Grandmother to eat and drink, but even if she hadn’t been, Adrion was fairly sure he would have kept her around if only to hear that voice at dinner every night. The one-sided conversation the old woman offered could get lonely, truth be told.
“I did.” Adrion moved to the great timber desk in the corner of the room. The study was a spacious chamber, lined with shelves much like Sass’ office was, but Adrion rarely had the chance to peruse any of them. Most of his time was spent locked in his office upstairs, going over numbers till the earliest hours of the morning for his employer and the other šef.
He really did need to invest in some oil lamps, considering how many candles he went through in a week…
“Could you see to it that my Grandmother gets fed, Lazura?” he asked, easing himself into the heavy wooden chair behind his desk. He found that he got better results with a kind word rather than a heavy hand, considering the image he cut. “And have the handmaids come and change her, if you would.”
“Those poor girls,” Lazura giggled, her laugh like a tinkling wind chime. “They won’t like that.”
“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,” Adrion agreed with a smile. “Least of all you or I.”
Lazura gave a small curtsy, a motion Adrion had yet to get accustomed to despite the fact that he had five servants employed in his estate, all women with the exception of Bertran, the cook.
The Grandmother required a lot of looking after.
After Lazura took her leave, Adrion rubbed his forehead again, feeling the headache that had built up over the last week throb painfully behind his eyes.
“Drink water. It works better.”
Adrion didn’t even jump as he looked up. Sass was standing in front of his desk, examining the shelves with an interested eye, flashy orange and black shirt and pants standing out in the shaded room. The šef had appeared out of thin air too many times before to scare his confidant, but it didn’t help Adrion’s mood in the least.
“You don’t ever knock, do you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Sass replied without looking around at him, reaching out to pluck a book from its place. “Ah, The Merchant’s Trail. And a first edition at that! I’ve been looking for this. Where did you—?”
“What are we going to do about Raz?” Adrion cut in, his temper flaring. “You’re standing there, drooling over books I keep for the effect they give the room, while he’s out there pulling our roots up one by one.”
“A handful of guards and some dozen slaves are ‘our roots’?” Sass chuckled, putting the book back and turning to look at Adrion. “I must have missed that part of the meeting.”
“He almost took out Gaorys, and would have if the man hadn’t been paranoid about going out in the first place. Even surrounded by sarydâ he barely got away with his life, and a half dozen more of our men are dead.”
“Calm down, Adrion,” Sass said sternly, interlocking his fingers behind his head and leaning against the shelf. “I know he’s causing problems, and believe me I’m doing everything I can to fix it. We all are. But life goes on, and we have business as usual to deal with.” Slipping a hand into his shirt, he pulled out a thin roll of parchment. “I’ve brought you the figures for the last section’s earnings. I need you to launder the coinage and stack the numbers by the end of the week. Can you do that?”
Adrion sighed. “Of course,” he replied, reaching to take the parchment. “But you
really think this is the time to be focusing on details we can deal with later? Raz is going to be more than a thorn in your side soon, Sass. He—”
“It. Will. Be. Handled.” Sass pressed every word in poignantly. “In the grand scheme of things, what can the lizard do to us? He’s a pain, I’ll admit, but everything he’s done and can do is mendable.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Adrion insisted. “You’ve hired him for more jobs than all the others put together! You should know what he’s capable of! And as for me, he was like a brother to me for over fifteen years. I saw him change, Sass, and while he used to be as human as the rest of us, he’s not anymore. The man is an animal in truth, pun and all. He won’t stop until he’s taken us all down. We should do something about it now.”
“He’s not a man at all,” Sass retorted, turning on his heel and crossing his hands behind his back.
“Fair enough, but he’s smarter than your prejudice allows you to see, and it’s going to cost you if you don’t listen to me!”
Sass stilled for a moment, turning his head to look out the open doors that led to the balcony. The Grandmother still sat there, gazing out into emptiness, the wind ruffling her gray gown. For a second, Adrion thought he had gotten through.
“Run the numbers,” Sass said over his shoulder before heading for the door. “I’ll be back at the end of the week for the sheets.”
And then he was gone.
“Idiot!” Adrion hissed, wincing as the headache throbbed again. Pushing himself up from the chair, he got to his feet, grabbing his crutch and the sealed roll of parchment Sass had brought him.
He was making his way around the desk, turning to head up to his offices, when a shadow fell over the room like a cloud crossing the Sun outside. Before he could turn around, though, something thin and heavy collided with Adrion’s back, sending him crashing to the ground.
“You’re the idiot, Mychal,” a harsh voice breathed while he struggled onto his good knee, winded and gasping. “These dealings of yours are going to get you killed.”
Raz stood over his cousin, Ahna held in both hands. He’d used her shaft to knock his cousin to the ground, and now he watched Mychal—No, he conceded—Adrion, struggle to breathe.
“You!” the man wheezed when he finally managed to turn around. “How did you get in here? Get out!”
“Not yet.” Raz knelt down and reached for something on the ground. “Don’t get me wrong, I love these family visits, but this time I came for something more valuable than your silver tongue.” He held up the roll of parchment.
Sass’ numbers.
“Bastard!” Adrion spat, scooting forward and making to swipe it from his cousin’s armored fist. “Give it to me!”
“No,” Raz replied simply, standing up and stepping back. “If I’m right—and I certainly pay people enough to be right—the Mahsadën only ever keep two financial records of any specific group of transactions. One for use by the šef and their underlings”—he said the word with a sneer—“and one for records keeping, locked away in some secret vault.”
“Which means what you hold in your hand is worthless!” Adrion exploded, crawling to the nearest bookshelf and pulling himself up into a standing position. “Give it to me, Raz, or by the Moon I’ll—!”
“It’s only worthless,” Raz interrupted, “if you don’t have both.”
He pulled a small leather satchel from around his back and flicked it open. Inside were a half-dozen similar rolls of parchment, each sealed shut with a black circle of wax the size of a coin, embossed with a curvy M.
Adrion was speechless.
“Your messenger ran into a bit of trouble,” Raz explained, closing the bag and tucking it away again. “Don’t bother looking for him. I always found it shameful how little they feed the oasis crocodiles.”
“NO!” Mychal screamed, throwing himself at Raz, who dodged out of the way. “Sun burn you, Raz! Lazura! LAZURA! CALL THE GUARD! HE’S HERE! TELL THEM HE’S…!”
But Raz was already running, ducking his head and darting through the doors onto the balcony. Jumping up, he planted a foot on the balustrade and with a great shove leapt into the air. Spreading his wings, Ahna held in one hand and the satchel secure in the other, he soared.
The fall was magnificent, the air rushing around him like a storm. For the brief few seconds it lasted, Raz remembered the times years ago when he’d spent his nights leaping from roof to roof in every city his family traded in.
Then the memories were gone, and he landed smoothly on the cobbled ground below, right in the middle of the crowded streets. There were gasps and screams as he rolled and leapt to his feet, but Raz ignored them, ducking and pulling his hood up before taking off. He’d never been good at blending in with a moving crowd. His size had its downsides, after all.
Still, if he could stay low enough and not jostle too many people, he might just be able to get to safer roads without much of a—
“STOP! AFTER HIM! STOP!”
Or not, Raz thought, cursing.
It had been a risky plan, breaking into Adrion’s house in the middle of the day. But when their messenger didn’t show up for records keeping, Raz was sure the Mahsadën would have gotten the second copies under lock and key within an hour. It left him only a small window of time in which to pull off the theft. Still, he’d managed it, and now he had the only two copies of Sass’ financial exchanges for the last three months, along with five or six other scrolls he was hoping might contain valuable information.
Assuming he could make it out alive, this would be Raz’s most fruitful day yet.
Forgoing his attempt at stealth, Raz ran, dodging through the crowd as best he could and shoving people aside as needed. Catching a break in the throng, he took it, making for the alley that headed south toward the market quarters. Before he took his first step onto the sidewalk, though, two uniformed men cut across his path, swords held high.
Ahna’s pointed tip took one of them through the sternum, the other going down under Raz’s fist, the gauntlet colliding with his face, splitting his nose and shattering at least a half-dozen teeth.
Bulling over the collapsing pair, Raz made it into the shade of the alley, halting to look left and right. It took a second to figure out exactly where he was, but it was all he needed, and he took off again just before another group of guards poured in behind him. He could take them. He had no doubt about that, but he would be wasting valuable time in which reinforcements would be called. Even he would get swamped if one against five suddenly turned into one against fifty.
He was good, but he wasn’t that good.
Left. Right. Right. Left. Right. It was a good thing he’d made it an essential part of his self-training in his first years as a sword-for-hire to memorize every inch of the city he could. Using all his speed and cunning, he put distance between himself and the guard, dodging through the maze of alleys and back roads that only in this district would be kept so clean. Another left and he was almost positive it would be… there! The narrow space, barely a foot wide, between the guesthouse of one of the estates and Miropa’s only bookstore.
Making the corner, Raz turned his body and tucked his wings, shimmying through the opening. He was two-thirds of the way through when the guard caught up, most of them running right past the space before one of the stragglers noticed him.
“OY!” he yelled to his compatriots, slipping in. “HERE! HE’S HERE!”
He was halfway across when Raz’s dagger caught him in the throat, accurate as an arrow despite the awkward throw with no room to spare. Raz watched him gurgle and collapse, body held upright by the opposite wall that had been barely two or three inches away from his chest to start with. Smirking, Raz heard the other guards curse when they couldn’t get past the body, and he scooted the last few feet to freedom, popping out in a tiny square courtyard surrounded by walls on every side. The stones here had been torn up from the ground, leaving the sandy earth bare, and the careful care and delicate hand of the esta
te’s widowed heiress had turned the place into a tiny garden.
There was even a small tree—oak, someone had told him once—growing in its center.
Sadly, as this wasn’t the time to marvel at a rich old woman’s use of her crowns, Raz kept moving, aiming for the tree. When he was a few feet from it he jumped and grabbed the lowest branch with his free hand, using his momentum to swing and wrap his legs around the next one. Using his tail as an anchor, he pulled himself up, climbing branch by branch, tugging Ahna free when she got caught and checking every few seconds to make sure the stolen satchel was still closed and safe.
In twenty seconds he was high enough and, gathering his courage, he crouched for one last leap.
The Wings of War: Books 1-3: The Wings of War Box Set, Vol. 1 Page 28
