With the ease of removing a small child, the man grabbed Kaltor by the front of his shirt collar and held him in the air a few feet above the ground. In desperation, Kaltor tried a variety of kicks and pressure points. The man only grunted inconsequentially. "What shall I do with him, my lady?" he asked.
"Toss him!" the noble woman demanded, belting her robe on tighter. "Make sure he hits the ground hard!"
Oh, for the love of the Gods! Kaltor thought. A twenty-foot fall for interrupting your morning tea? What happens when someone actually crosses you?!
Hassan shrugged, hauling his cargo toward the balcony. Guess he just answered my question, Kaltor surmised. A wave of relief washed over him as his skin vision displayed his surroundings in black-and-white. Perfect.
With the ease of tossing a bag of carrots, Hassan threw him through the air. Kaltor pivoted in mid-fall, hooking the edge of the broken balcony with his toe and even managed a stylish wave farewell to the noble woman as he directed his momentum straight down toward the next balcony.
Releasing his toe hold before Hassan could react, Kaltor let his momentum carry him into a somersault. Using his skin vision to watch his progress, he landed firmly on the balcony of the first story apartment, forcing his body to stop with a labored grunt.
He grinned up at Hassan’s surprised face, the noble woman peeking over the edge as well. That wasn’t so bad, he thought. Then her eyes burst a striking shade of blue, and Sight Seeker power gathered in her hands. "Never mind," he grumbled.
Even as he rolled over the balcony and onto the floor, a wave of mind-altering energy sank into his skull. His balance disappeared as his vision told him he had flipped upside down, leaving him with the impression that he was walking on the ceiling. Gotta keep moving, he thought, trying to ignore the mental injury as he rose hesitantly to his feet. She just might send Hassan after me.
With all the composure he could muster, he walked into the adjoining room, nodding respectfully to the confused-looking elderly nobleman. The man stared at him in surprise, holding a chunk of roast duck on his fork just inside his open mouth.
"Excuse me," Kaltor apologized, walking straight across the room and smashing into the door frame. Curse that woman! he groaned. She inverted my left and right reflexes, as well! Above him loud footsteps pounded down the stairs.
"Wish these people were so dedicated to stopping all the banditry outside their city," Kaltor grumbled, closing his eyes and feeling his way along the hall. "Maybe we need to kidnap a Bandit Lord and drop him into a princess’s lap while she dines in the morning," He stumbled down the hallway and around the corner, though it took him two tries to make the turn, and slowed his pace as he reached the street.
A few of the patrons glanced disdainfully at his mud-covered animal skin clothes. But the record keeper at the base of the stairs, her eyes glued to a report of some kind, waved habitually in his direction without looking up. "Hope you enjoyed your stay."
I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Kaltor grumbled. First order of business is buying a strong length of rope I can use to climb down into those alleys. I am not going by that route again! Nodding cheerfully to the guard by the door, he let himself out. Lucky for me the man is paid to keep rabble out, not in.
By the time Hassan reached the street, Kaltor had already mixed with the people milling their way through town. Okay, Master Taneth, he grumbled. I see what you were trying to teach us about preparation and subtlety.
The crowd set his senses on edge. Too many times he’d been taught how to use such groups as cover to escape or get close to a target without being detected. The situation could easily be reversed, however, if anyone in the market held strong feelings against Battleborn like him. A small crowd of children passed, laughing and swinging sticks toward each other as if they were swords. As he reached behind his belt for his coin pouch, he encountered another pair of fingers behind him with similar plans.
Without a sound Kaltor caught the pickpocket’s hand, jabbed a pressure point at the base of his wrist, and added in a burst of Varadour power. "Get a real job or next time I’ll take your entire arm," Kaltor growled. The boy hissed in pain, babying his stunned hand and disappearing in the throng of shoving people.
Best get cleaned up or stick to the rooftops, Kaltor decided. I won’t be able to hunt Melshek if half the pickpockets are hunting me looking for revenge, not to mention that beast Hassan. He paused, guilt and relief hitting him at the same time. I should visit Honmour’s family now, he decided. I can clean up there and warn them to flee.
*****
After a few minutes of wandering around, he found Honmour’s home. It was a modest stone inn. They had well-stitched rugs rolled up in the corner for cold mornings, and even a few silk tapestries, a sure sign of financial compensation from the king for their son’s service.
"Can I help you?" a middle aged man asked, sitting behind the counter on his left, the wall behind him full of small pockets for each room’s messages or keys. He was riffling through a large book and comparing it to a smaller one on his right.
Kaltor bit his lip nervously. How, exactly, do I go about explaining this? he thought. Finally he said, "I believe you can, sir," Pulling his leather tunic aside, he exposed the brand of the Battleborn on his left collar bone. "I bring a message from Honmour."
The innkeeper gasped, his face turning from shock to joy in the space of a single heartbeat. "You know my son?" he leapt around the counter, spilling ink all over a page, but he shut the book carelessly as he hobbled in Kaltor’s direction before grabbing his cane. "How is his training coming?"
The last twenty four hours flashed in Kaltor’s mind, but he had not the heart to speak of it in the wake of the man’s eager smile. "He’s exceptionally skilled with a short sword and his fists," he replied honestly. "For good reason. That sense of humor of his has caused more scuffles than a gold coin thrown into a band of thieves."
"Gets that sense of humor from me, he does!" Marnin huffed with pride. "The fists he gets from his mother. Come, she’s preparing lunch in the kitchen," Ignoring Kaltor’s attempts to explain his need for haste, the innkeeper caught Kaltor’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip and hauled him into the back room. The smell of roasting meat and boiling herbs set his stomach
aflame with the desire for sustenance.
They rounded the corner in time to see a large, silver-haired cook sever a chunk of meat in two, the bones within snapping apart under the weight of a cleaver large enough to use as a plate. Marnin tapped her on the shoulder. "My dear Agatha, a Battleborn is here with word of Honmour!"
The cleaver clattered against the table top, giving Kaltor enough time to gasp in shock before Agatha’s thickly muscled arms caught him in a thankful embrace, lifting him into the air, his feet kicking uselessly in search of sound footing. Her high-pitched squeals of delight seemed quite out of place with her tall, muscular build.
So much for Battleborn being feared and respected, he thought. Just as he considered using Varadour strength to break free, she released him and took a step back, flustered at her overly bold welcome. "I’m sorry, sir," Agatha apologized shyly. "It’s been over a year since we’ve heard from our son. How does he fare?"
"The lad says our boy still has my sense of humor and your fists!" Marnin repeated proudly, both hands on his cane like a general reporting the success of his troops in battle. "I told you he would do well there!"
"Yes, you did," Agatha admitted, waving toward a large table at the end of the room. "You Battleborn are always famished."
She has a point there, he thought, his stomach gurgling threateningly.
"A quick meal, then," Kaltor agreed, putting some distance between himself and Agatha’s steel embrace as he took a seat at the farthest chair at the end of the table. Marnin accompanied him, oblivious to their guest’s discomfort at being lifted like a doll into the air.
"I’ll also need to wash up and purchase some clothes," Kaltor continued, gesturing toward his leather armor, c
overed in dirt, sweat, and a few flecks of blood. "I’m afraid there’s still much to do today."
With impressive speed Agatha had a modest meal of well-seasoned steak, vegetable soup, and home-baked bread with honey laid on the table. Kaltor consumed the meal with equal haste, both due to the seriousness of his errand and the hunger from refueling his power. Marnin and Agatha waited patiently as he tore through his meal.
"I apologize for eating so much of your wares," Kaltor said sheepishly. "The last day has been very grueling," He decided to tell half of the truth. "Honmour and I are tracking a fugitive," he explained. "I lost him somewhere in the city. Honmour is only a day behind me."
"He’s dangerous, then?" Agatha asked.
"Ha!" Marnin laughed. "Not nearly as dangerous as my wife here with a cleaver! Perhaps we should help them on the hunt, eh Agatha?" His wife’s poignant stare silenced his attempts at humor as they both soaked in their guest’s reaction.
Kaltor’s eyes lost their warmth and his gaze sank to his plate. "Yes," he answered, numbly. "He’s very dangerous," Agatha pursed her lips, recognizing the pain in his eyes. She reached forward and patted his arm with her hand, her palm alone engulfing most of his forearm. "What’s the real reason you’re here?"
"Honmour made me promise that before things got bad here I would come and warn you," Kaltor explained, still not finding the strength to lift his eyes. "Things could get very— bloody, in the next few days. He wants you to leave town. As soon as possible."
Agatha and Marnin looked at each other, an entire silent conversation taking place between them in the space of a few short breaths. Jealousy gnawed on Kaltor’s mind. They were both separated from their families, but Honmour, at least, had a whole family to return to. Each of his parents relied on the other for both survival and love, but there was a unity here and a complete honesty he wished his family could enjoy more fully.
"My sister runs a small farm just a day south of here," Agatha replied, chewing thoughtfully on a spoonful of herbs. "We’ll close the inn for a few days. Can you tell Honmour I said as much?"
"Of course," Kaltor answered, standing from the table. "Thank you so much for your hospitality. Is there anything I can do for you before I clean up and get on my way?"
"Actually—" Marnin said, raising a finger. "One thing? Could you stop by the garden up top before you leave? I was late planting my strangle-beans this year."
"I’d be glad to," Kaltor said with a smile. "Where can I change when I’m done?"
"Room 206," Agatha said. "Up the stairs at the end of the hall. We always keep a room handy for travelers in a hurry. Even has a change of clothing. Since this is an emergency, check the floorboards under the bed."
"Thank you," Kaltor replied.
"No, thank you," Agatha answered. "You’re the first messenger we’ve received with word of Honmour. Master Taneth keeps you on a tight leash. This must be a troubling issue indeed, for him to send you so far from the camp."
Kaltor could only nod and grit his teeth against the memory of Jensai’s open, unseeing eyes. With a much lighter hug farewell, Agatha returned to her work in the kitchen. A small group of patrons stood waiting at Marnin’s desk, so the man tossed the needed keys Kaltor’s way and let the Battleborn find his own way around the inn.
Kaltor first headed toward the roof, following the stairs until he reached the final door, unlocked it, and let himself onto the roof. A dozen large containers of earth, some rectangular, others circular, filled the open space. Most were well cared for, but as Marnin had mentioned, the strangle-beans growing in their tell-tale tangles had obviously been planted late. A full bucket of water sat nearby, as if his arrival had been expected.
Four thick poles, tied together horizontally by four strings, left the plants with ample room to grow. Kaltor stood before the plants, poured the nearby bucket of water onto the earth at their base, and released a more unusual form of Varadour power. He felt the pouch situated atop his heart eject its liquid into his blood stream, flowing along his extremities until it reached his hands.
The fluid broke down there, generating energy through his flesh. The breeze around him warped and pulled like still air over a stone road on a hot day. The distorted air, full of life, seeped into the plants before him. Their systems accelerated, drawing nutrients from the fresh water and earth much faster than normal, using his energy to accelerate their growth. In a matter of minutes the four poles were full of new, young shoots, nearly two months older than before.
At least I was able to compensate them for the large meal, he thought contently. Honmour would never cease to mock me if I ate all his parents’ food in a single day. He locked the door to the roof as he passed back inside and let himself into room 206.
It did not take long to locate a pair of simple trousers, a tunic, and a cloak. These clothes were those of a man with moderate means, but not quite equal with the nobility. I’ll stop by Melshek’s estate again tonight, he decided. Perhaps he only hid for a few hours to throw me off. Making sure the door was locked, he stripped off his armor. A fresh basin of water was already prepared for him, so he grabbed a rag and quickly rid himself of nature’s scents and grime.
Now to manage another kind of jungle entirely, he thought. The image of Hassan’s attack flashed in his mind. One just as dangerous. He picked up a hat from the top of the wardrobe and then thought better of it.
I hate how it blocks my skin vision. Even a Battleborn’s leather armor had narrow gaps at the joints to allow their skin vision to peek through. Removing the cloak, he strapped on his daggers and throwing weapons, just in case. His eyes caught on the bed next to the window.
Oh, almost forgot, he reminded himself. Giving the furniture a quick shove, he found a loose floorboard and pulled it aside. Within the small compartment lay a sturdy oak cane with a silver handle, a map, and a letter. Curious, he opened the message and, upon reading it, rolled his eyes.
Battleborn,
I arranged for these supplies to be hidden throughout the city should an emergency arise in Shaylis. Just show them your mark and they will give you what you need to traverse the city easily and perform your duty quickly. Should you fail, you will spend another year as a Stunt. Good luck.
P.S. The cane is not just for walking.
Sincerely,
Master Taneth
"Sometimes I think that man is truly prepared for anything," Kaltor said with a smile, pocketing the map and examining the cane. It was about four feet long, made of smooth, black oak, but its handle did not consist of just a pommel to grip. The silver progressed another six inches down the shaft as if— he pulled and twisted on it a bit.
With a snap the pommel rose from the wood, revealing its true identity as the hilt of a well-crafted sword hidden beneath the smooth craftsmanship. Very nice, Kaltor thought. Dependable but well concealed. Everything a Battleborn should be. He locked the room as he left, returning the key to Marnin with a grateful wave.
"Thanks again!" the innkeeper answered. "Come back whenever you can."
Kaltor left the inn dressed in the typical fashion of the middle class. Prying eyes no longer gauged him at every corner. He maintained a hurried pace regardless, but tried his best to keep his path along the fringes of the crowd where he could see those passing him clearly before they got close. Following the map, he passed an elderly merchant’s cart, revealed his brand on his collarbone, and received a strong length of rope along with a gold coin.
Kaltor proceeded to the next shop. Another flash of his brand got him a quiver full of arrows. Recalling Melshek’s healing and his habit of pulling out the projectiles that pierced him, Kaltor selected the hooked variety known for doing more damage on their way out than in.
At the last cart he received a large fishing hook, earning an odd look from the boy in charge not much older than himself. "Fishing for something big," Kaltor explained as nonchalantly as possible.
If only I were sure I could bring him down at all, he thought with a shudder. St
ill, it’s better I finish this before Honmour returns. I may need to use my Remnant powers. I don’t want to do that with him at my side. I can’t risk exposing my secret.
Ducking down into the next alley, he removed his cloak and organized his equipment. He tied the large fishing hook to the strong cord, wrapping the rope around his arm a dozen times to reduce the cumbersome length of rope into a more manageable bundle.
The bow and quiver he slung over his shoulder, covering the entire arsenal with his cloak, then walked out again with his new sword-cane in hand. Maybe the nobles in charge will take me seriously now, Kaltor thought. If Melshek is hiding at his estate, though, I can kill him before this gets any worse.
Moving to the back of an alley, Kaltor swung his hooked rope into the air, latching onto the edge of the roof on the second try. Got to hurry, he urged himself, drawing on a bit of extra endurance from his heart glands to maintain his quick pace up the wall. Melshek could already have a quarter of the city infected by now. What could he possibly be planning?
When his feet hit the rooftop, the tension in his chest and hands receded. I can find him from here, he assured himself. With a little luck I might be able to shoot him in the head through a window and stop him before anyone else dies.
For a few uneventful minutes he perched upon the roof of the mansion opposite Melshek’s estate. The main living quarters, gardens, and servant’s homes were separated from the rest of the city by tall, crenellated walls.
This should be easy, Kaltor thought, recalling the tracks from the chilling scene in the inn. Wherever he’s hiding, he’ll start by gathering people, which means a large number entering but few leaving. He’ll need somewhere either loud or private, where he can capture and pervert his victims without attracting attention.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 13
