“What does that mean, exactly?” he asked, removing his eyes from hers and staring blankly at a day-old report he’d received from his agents and spies on the streets about the city’s goings-on.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” she answered, smiling at him and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Stop with the games…what news?” he asked, looking up at her again with an irritated expression.
“It went off without a hitch,” she said, producing a pair of exotic looking daggers with vicious curves to them and runes etched into the pommels. The daggers were clearly affected by some kind of magic and mirrored the length of a short sword. “And he had these,” she added, waving the weapons about before sheathing them.
“What? How did you—”
“Let’s just say that he won’t be needing them anymore,” Saphirra said, nodding to a figure that hid in the shadows, as silent as a shadow himself. The figure moved so noiselessly toward Ganthorpe that he had no idea that he was ambushed until it was too late. Only then did Ganthorpe realize that he had overlooked a few details upon entering—namely that the guards normally posted at his door were missing and that most of the lanterns that lit his office were dimmed. He of course, thought nothing much of it. He scolded himself for not paying more attention to the details presented as his face twisted in anger.
“Any idea what you want me to do with this?” Saphirra teased as she tossed a sack onto the desk. It was barely open, but thick with dried crimson, and Ganthorpe could see the top of a head peeking out the top until he realized it was Bronn’s.
“You have crossed a line, my dear,” he said as calmly as he could, while his unknown assailant held a sharp blade against his throat. “You were told to collect information—not body parts!—from the target.” He tried hard to maintain an air of authority and Saphirra laughed at that poor performance.
“You are the one that has crossed the line!” she shrieked in an uncharacteristic manner. Then calm washed over her contorted features as she took a deep breath.
Ganthorpe discerned that she was obviously flustered.
“I don’t think you will be giving me orders anymore,” she observed, matter-of-factly, to the apparently helpless man.
Ganthorpe wondered what exactly she was going to do with him. He had a way out, he recalled, risky though it was. Months prior, he had had the exterior of his chair and desk fitted with a row of tiny, poisoned darts for just such an occasion. Each of his offices was outfitted this way, for Ganthorpe did not like to take any chances. The darts, five of them in each section as he recalled, were very small and loaded on top of tightly wound springs. They were hidden beneath the leathers of the chair along the arms and top back as well as the front and back edges of his desk for just such an occasion. In this particular case, they would shoot up and into the body of anyone leaning over his chair, such as his unseen assailant was doing currently.
Ganthorpe assumed it was a man behind him based on numerous facts: the callous fingers, the strength of the hold and the sheer size of the hand on his head. The man would be dead or badly wounded if he pressed the mechanism under his seat twice in succession or tapped the lever on the top of the chair’s base—either trigger would do it. Ganthorpe had settled on two pushes as the activation method to avoid any accidental firings. Of course that would launch all of them on the chair, but it had not been quite perfected yet. He clicked it once in preparation and waited. He was curious to see what Saphirra had to say. He would certainly have to silence her now as their relationship had irrevocably changed with her betrayal. He was extremely disappointed with the woman, given their professional and personal history.
He was fighting the mix of emotions when he saw her…
Rose!
He depressed the button a second time, thus launching the darts into the portions of the man’s arm and chest that leaned upon the chair. He quickly held the man’s now-numb arm from accidentally slicing his jugular and waited longer. The assailant’s hold on his neck loosened as expected as he succumbed to the poison on the tips of the barbs as they penetrated his flesh. It happened so fast that the victim didn’t even notice the pinch in his arm until it was far too late. Ganthorpe remained seated as he heard the body slump to the floor behind him while watching a figure—that of a young woman—approach from the shadows.
Saphirra must have sensed an attacker approaching, or perhaps she had seen Ganthorpe’s eyes unintentionally betraying Rose’s presence. She instinctively rolled to the side, away from Ganthorpe’s desk and toward a more open area of the room. She tumbled forward quickly and came to her feet just as Rose attempted to land a thrust that would have wounded but not killed her.
“Clever bitch!” Saphirra cried, turning to see the red-headed young woman emerge from the shadows of the room.
“It is a shame that one so young has to die,” she intoned calmly, removing those long, vicious daggers from the makeshift sheaths on her belt. She brandished them threateningly at Rose, not even noticing that Ganthorpe’s attacker was down, nor that Ganthorpe himself merely sat in his chair of his own free will, staring at the two women about to engage in a death duel. He felt a slight twinge of anxiety as his emotions got the better of him but wanted to see what the two of them were made of, and so he did not move to act.
Rose held a pair of daggers as well, one in each hand. She too was skilled in the martial arts of close combat. Although she’d only been exposed to a few months of instruction under the Shadowhands trainers, she had a very instinctual and predatory way about her when she fought. Ganthorpe had recognized that immediately during their first training session, and had predicted that such ability would certainly be useful—especially now when she faced the incredibly dangerous Saphirra.
Saphirra was mystified as to where Rose had appeared from. She was sure she had checked the room thoroughly before springing the ambush on Ganthorpe. But no matter, she thought. The girl must have been hiding behind a secret door of which she was unaware. That thought, though, angered the woman even more as she now believed that Ganthorpe shared secrets with Rose that he had never revealed to her.
With that overwhelming jealousy guiding her actions, Saphirra lunged for Rose, a wicked dagger in each hand waving to and fro. She slashed back and forth, left to right, and then in reverse, attempting to throw the young woman off balance with her veteran maneuver.
Rose backed away instinctively, managing to parry that second series of slashing moves by guiding her opponent’s strike wide with her left hand. Rose continued her counterattack, punching Saphirra’s right forearm with her right fist, the pommel of the dagger in her hand reinforcing the strength of the blow. This sent a wave of pain along Saphirra’s forearm as she noticeably winced. It angered her.
Saphirra shook off the discomfort and continued her rotation of the jagged and exceptionally long blades, slashing and slicing, gaining speed as she continued her attacks. This was not lost on Rose, who fearfully backed away again and was quickly on the defensive. Saphirra only then realized that a potent magic must be aiding the dagger attacks since the sheer speed of her assault was inhumanly quick. It sent her shoulders to aching with the relentless fury of thrusts and swipes.
Saphirra, in quick succession, landed first a right slash that cut Rose under her left breast, then a left slash that sliced in further and slightly deeper along Rose’s ribs, where blood surfaced immediately through her leathers.
Saphirra paused a second to meet Ganthorpe’s gaze. She also took note that he remained seated at his desk and that her accomplice lay unconscious or worse on the floor behind his desk.
“Men,” she spat, with a twinge of spiteful hatred in her voice. “They are all useless, it seems.”
She managed a mocking smile at Ganthorpe. She was not sure why he was still sitting there, but could not give it any further thought as she meant to press her assault. She charged forward once more, attacking the adolescent girl faster and faster, again and again. Rose f
ell back under the swiftness and ferocity of the assault but managed to parry and dodge several of the blows. But the speed at which the attacks came was more than she could handle and she received many superficial lacerations on her arms and upper torso. Try as she might, she was unable to completely evade the older and more experienced woman’s ever-hastening strikes.
“Are you frightened of me, girl?” Saphirra asked as she paused her assault.
“No!” barked Rose in response, pure anger welling up inside her.
“You should be,” warned Saphirra in an even and threatening tone as she advanced yet again on Rose, daggers held out before her.
“Use the shadows!” called Ganthorpe, interrupting the steady dance of death that Saphirra was presenting as a show to him, toying with the girl he favored. As the onslaught paused for a few heartbeats, Rose shot him a look that inferred that she’d already attempted that. He returned a confused, and then concerned look, as he understood that she must have tried it already. Saphirra had Rose on her heels and was toying with her as a cat did with the mouse.
Ganthorpe gave her one last command before deciding to join the fight.
“Concentrate,” he said sternly to Rose.
Rose had been fighting on instinct, she realized suddenly during the brief respite as Saphirra once more gazed wickedly toward Ganthorpe, seeming to mock him. It was time to shift the tide of battle in her favor, she decided. So this time, when Saphirra came at her again, Rose simply rolled back, submerging herself in the shadows of the room’s peripheries. Once inside the shadow realm, she ran to where Saphirra stood and then stepped out of the shadows directly behind her. She lunged, but to her surprise, Saphirra managed to avoid most of the brunt of her thrust, which wounded her superficially along the left side of her back. However, on top of grazing her, Rose did also manage a solid kick to the inside of her left knee, bending it to the side, and obviously straining the tender ligaments and tendons within, as the older woman howled in agony.
Rose disappeared into the shadows once more. She repeated the action, emerging from the realm of shadows and melting back, over and over again, scoring many shallow and superficial wounds to Saphirra’s flesh. She knew she could not slow Saphirra’s attacks, which were clearly augmented in power and swiftness by the magical daggers, but she could impede her by striking at her base. And so she focused on assaulting her opponent’s legs.
Sensing the weakness in her that the young rogue had exposed, Saphirra immediately responded to reclaim her advantage. She hastily unsheathed another dagger, one that was weighted specifically for throwing, and flung it at Ganthorpe. The man instinctively recoiled backward and fell over the unconscious form of his prone and former assailant. Suddenly, Saphirra rushed toward him and hovered over him, dagger held expertly to the side of his neck, ready to rip straight through the soft flesh.
“You can stop your tricks now, little Rose,” instructed the woman, jerking her head to the side to shake free her tangled hair from in front of her eyes. In so doing she revealed a deadly set of blue eyes that regarded the room with great care, darting back and forth.
“If you are behind me, know that you will not kill me before I can drive this blade’s edge all the way through your lover’s neck! I will bleed him like a pig if need be,” she threatened to the empty air, letting the warning dangle as she worked Ganthorpe back to his feet. She stood behind him, waiting for a response.
“You certainly are a thorn in my side, young lady,” she finally remarked as Rose presented herself, emerging from a shadow in front of the pair.
“Here I am,” Rose acknowledged, arms held out wide in a display of submission.
“You can put the blade down now, Saphirra,” Ganthorpe boldly expressed to her in a commanding tone, attempting to assert himself despite his considerably inferior position. “You cannot kill me.”
This seemed to shock Saphirra momentarily.
She suddenly bore an expression of disbelief, her expression indicating to Rose that Ganthorpe was not taking the scenario seriously and that he might regard her as less than a threat.
Ganthorpe was pushing her patience. Saphirra could not hide her contempt and almost plunged the blade through his neck in anger, but held it still. Oh, how little he truly knew about her plans and designs. She had set into motion a devious campaign during the past year, gathering names and arranging meetings with the most elite killers in all of Wothlondia. While under the employ of Ganthorpe and the Thieves’ Guild, Saphirra began to realize a certain and undeniable fact.
She enjoyed killing.
And all she wanted to do was add to the stakes of their game and reap the rewards that came with them. She wanted to leave Ganthorpe’s organization and develop one of her own. An organization of Assassins—not thieves—and, moreover, one where her word was the absolute law.
In this moment of silent reflection, as Saphirra allowed her mind to wander, Ganthorpe reacted. In one swift motion, he simultaneously grabbed both her elbow and her wrist with either hand, thus securing the arm that held the dagger to his throat and preventing it from penetrating his skin. He shoved the arm up and ducked underneath it, all in the same motion. The Master of Thieves moved so fast that neither Rose nor Saphirra registered what was happening as it unfolded before them. Ganthorpe, for whatever reason, was a great deal faster than he’d ever shown before.
Saphirra filed that fact away for later consideration. Ganthorpe was full of surprises, she admitted, only beginning to scratch the surface of this man’s secrets.
Rose suddenly emerged from within the shadows again, appearing beside Ganthorpe. Saphirra only had a heartbeat with which to react. She removed the second dagger from its scabbard and drove it toward Ganthorpe’s exposed back. But, before she could connect with his flesh, a blade emerged from the darkness, biting into her own forearm, and causing her to drop her enchanted blade, all the while biting back a yelp against the biting pain of that vicious thrust.
Saphirra swung her now free left arm, which Ganthorpe had released upon seeing her drop the first dagger, and attempted a wild punch at Rose, trying to make her pay for her interference here. Rose ducked beneath the poorly and angrily swung assault and drove her hand up and into her jaw, causing Saphirra to see stars as she fell backwards. She felt the sharp pain of something striking her head as the blackness continued to flood her vision and thoughts, until they claimed her completely.
When she awoke, several hours later, her hands and legs were bound behind her, and a piece of cloth had been stuffed into her mouth. A damp sensation chilling her to the bone, Saphirra squirmed and her eyes widened in surprise. Directly in front of her stood Ganthorpe, hands on his hips, staring straight into her eyes which registered first shock, then anger and finally dread, realizing her helplessness.
“I assume that I can remove your gag without fear of you shouting or otherwise making a scene?” Ganthorpe asked in a demanding way. She nodded, never removing her gaze from his icy stare as her fear turned to open confusion. Ganthorpe must have read this plainly as he offered an explanation.
“I am willing to let you live, despite your distinctly dissimilar intentions for me,” he announced.
Saphirra was beginning to recognize their surroundings. They were below the docks, along the shores of the North Gulf where many victims were sent out to sea—many victims that she herself had claimed!—never to be seen or heard from again. She panicked suddenly and her heart hammered in her chest as she recognized the form of her associate, whose name she could not even recall, and who was also bound and gagged, lying on a raft. That tiny vessel would certainly not last very long in the rough waves once the current pulled it out of the North Gulf and into the High Sea and beyond. It was a very frightening and unnerving scene that filled her thoughts. The High Sea was full of pirates, sharks, troglodytes and worse.
“I would very much like to understand why exactly you betrayed me, and what is in it for you?” Ganthorpe asked her, mercifully pulling her thoughts from he
r morbid reverie.
“I have my own agenda that includes not so much working against you, but perhaps…with you,” she informed him, in an attempt to entice the man’s attention and tug at the strings of his curiosity.
“And what exactly is this proposition?”
“I am proposing to organize my own guild. A Guild of Assassins,” she explained simply. “One that will work in harmony with you and your own organization.” She continued, outlining her plan. “I have set things in motion, including ties and promises to some very significant people. I will give you generous discounts and anything else you may want or need!”
At that moment, Rose came into view from behind a support beam that held up the pier along the ocean’s edge, near the raft that was ready to be shoved out to sea. The man who lay upon it now was wide-eyed with fear, his arms and legs tied uncomfortably behind his back as he looked from one to the other to the other again.
“Are you seriously considering this?” Rose said, openly questioning Ganthorpe, a truly puzzled look upon her face.
“Ah, you brought the thorn along,” Saphirra said, dripping with sarcasm and nodding toward Rose.
“Are you giving me your word that no harm will befall me, or my organization, and that you will never again interfere in my affairs?” Ganthorpe asked Saphirra, ignoring all of their comments for the moment.
“Aye,” Saphirra promised, looking from Ganthorpe to Rose and back to Ganthorpe and finally upon her associate again. “My word.”
“Very well,” Ganthorpe remarked as he withdrew a dagger and moved to stand above Saphirra. She shuddered for a heartbeat and even closed her eyes tight, not knowing if he would kill her or not. He cut the bonds on her wrists and then ankles. As he bent over her, she kissed him on the lips and then quickly scanned the expression of Rose to gauge her reaction and smiling a wicked grin.
The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) Page 4
