The setting sun threw long shadows against the building he knelt upon, adding to his sense of urgency as he counted the number of people entering and leaving the estate. Soon his dagger slipped into view again, digging small holes in the mortar alongside him as he counted, grateful Master Taneth was not there to chastise him for letting his anxiety show.
He’s not here! Kaltor realized with a groan. The numbers going in and out are equal.
With another groan of frustration, he sheathed his dagger and continued his search of the city at an accelerated pace. Poorly maintained tiles and occupied rooftops made drawing on his power for stealth and stability a necessity, but still far superior to traveling along the ground. His next two locations proved equally typical of Shaylis during the late afternoon. This time Kaltor plunged his dagger into the roof of his last hiding place across from the many warehouses larger scale merchants or nobles used to store their wares.
Where could he be hiding? he thought, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Somewhere in the city he’s gathering victims with the black blood we fought against at the camp.
Holding his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and tried to reason it out in his mind. Think. Somewhere many people can enter but not leave without raising suspicion. Somewhere either large enough or loud enough people can be taken by force without drawing attention. Some place you haven’t checked yet.
A horn sounded in the night as the town watchmen walking the street called out the hour. Similar watchers throughout the city announced night’s arrival as the sun finally sank beneath the mountains which stood like frozen waves in a sea of stone. A few stars fought their way through the dark blue sky and the moon started its ascent in the east.
He’ll probably strike tonight, then, Kaltor thought. I’d better at least try to warn the — he paused. The castle stood like a powerful sentinel overlooking the city, the people’s strongest defensive position should the town itself meet with some kind of military struggle.
By the Gods! Kaltor cursed. I’ve been avoiding the best location where Melshek could be hiding! Wrenching his dagger free he took off across the warehouses’ wide roofs. In his mind he could already see Melshek’s entry into the castle grounds, claiming assault by thieves as the cause of his lost retinue and seeking safety.
He pictured the creature overpowering the first maid sent to attend to him, slowly working his way through the servants and leaders of the city. The images ended with a variation of the altar at the vault and Jensai’s motionless corpse, eyes open but unseeing.
Such thoughts added to his pace, pushing Kaltor through the cool night air which helped him stave off the fatigue gradually enveloping him with each additional step. Even a Varadour could only go so long without rest, and he’d been drawing on his powers non-stop since before dawn.
The half-moon had already cleared the mountains to the east when Kaltor reached the castle. He paused at a roof opposite the front gate, taking in the torch-bearing guards and horn-blowing watchmen. Traffic here seems normal, he thought. But Melshek could be pulling people in through other entrances. Perhaps the Gods are with me after all, and the creature only recently recovered from this morning’s attack. Perhaps he’s just started assaulting the castle from the inside.
Withdrawing his hooked rope, Kaltor let himself down the nearest alley wall. Time to make the most of these clothes, he thought, approaching the guards at the front gate. His stomach gnawed hungrily at him, having already burned through the small feast at Honmour’s inn.
"You are looking well," he said aloud. "Good evening," Both men turned toward him, their ceremonial armor glistening in the torch light. They tapped the ground with the butts of their tall halberds as they saluted in return to Kaltor’s greeting.
I wonder if they’ve ever actually fought in that armor, Kaltor thought. But perhaps I can get in without leaving any unconscious bodies lying around. Such things tended to hamper royalty’s trust in an informant trying to save the city. The drive flaring in his stomach, however, suggested a more direct approach would be more appropriate. He resisted the urge.
"A fugitive has snuck into the city," he said. "He’s already killed one of my comrades this morning," His voice cracked as Jensai’s open eyes stared back at him in his mind. "I need to discuss the proper counter measures with his majesty, Prince Tyran."
The guards eyed him suspiciously. One lowered his halberd toward him while the other stepped forward. "May we see your papers for identification?"
Kaltor glared at the guard dangerously, pulling back his tunic as he had so many times that day, exposing the brand at the base of his collar. Both guards paused briefly. "We can’t allow you passage simply because you’ve branded yourself as a Battleborn," the man elaborated. "After all, you could be a cast off from their society, for all we know."
Oh, Kaltor thought. If only I had time to put you both in your place and deal with the repercussions!
Rolling his eyes at the delay he stepped forward, putting his arm around the first solider to keep the pedestrians in the street from seeing the exchange. "The only men who leave our society do so in death," Kaltor whispered in his ear. "And any foolish enough to try to impersonate one of us never lives to see old age."
He reached for his coin pouch and froze. His fingers grasped at only empty air. "Perhaps you and your friend could discuss it with a barkeep tonight?" he offered hesitantly, realizing how empty his suggestion would be without a bribe to enforce it. "There is a wealth of information here in the city and you hear it all first in a tavern, after all."
Miserable urchins, Kaltor thought, feeling the heat rise to his face as his lack of funds registered on the soldiers’ faces. He recalled the pick-pocket he’d caught that day, surrounded by friends at the time. They’d planned for one of their own to get caught so I’d drop my guard over my coin purse and focus on that little imp of a child. No wonder Master Taneth keeps insisting we aren’t ready for field duty!
Then both soldiers glanced at his brand again and back to each other. "I’m sorry, sir," the second guard said, lowering his halberd toward Kaltor. "Without the proper identification I can’t admit you into the castle."
His friend nodded, lowering his spear hesitantly, then added, "Any man could have robbed a merchant to dress as you and try to enter unimpeded. If you have no money it must mean you have illegitimate reasons for entering at this late hour."
"If I had stolen these clothes from a merchant," Kaltor growled threateningly, "wouldn’t I have taken his money as well?" The soldiers glanced toward each other uncertainly.
That was their mistake.
Kaltor lunged forward, catching both halberds by the shafts just beneath the blades and jerking them forward. As their training dictated, they released the large, cumbersome weapons and reached for their swords.
Casting one weapon aside, Kaltor grasped the neck of the other halberd and swung its wooden base into the side of the first soldier’s head, guiding it like a spear-point into his face. The force of the blow knocked the man to the ground, spraying blood as his nose shattered.
The second soldier brandished his sword angrily, rushing forward in an attempt to get alongside his opponent’s makeshift spear. Kaltor tossed the halberd toward the soldier and reached for the throwing blades at his shoulder.
The man saw the glint of metal, raised his sword high in an instinctive attempt to protect his face, and knocked the projectile aside with his other arm. This counter left both arms high in the air, which he failed to lower in time to block Kaltor’s body as the assassin’s shoulder rammed the man into the ground.
The force of their landing knocked the wind from the soldier. Kaltor didn’t even bother disarming him, just forced his arms apart enough to smash his forehead into the man’s unprotected face, introducing him to unconsciousness. Hope you’re watching this, Jensai, he thought with a grin. You taught me that trick well. He jumped up off his knees, gathered his own blades, and moved quickly to the gate.
Kaltor threw
the iron doors open and quickly crossed the courtyard, heading toward the castle’s inner keep. Torches and candles lit every wall and window with the sun’s decline behind the western mountains. The wounded guards finally awakened enough to shout the alarm.
Great, he thought sarcastically. Would it have been so difficult to stay quiet just a few more minutes?
Two more guards stood at the keep’s inner entryway. They looked rather bored until the cries of alarm from the gate brought their weapons to the ready. I’ve had enough of these delays, Kaltor thought. I’ve already wasted the day combing the city when I should have been warning the prince so he could put the proper defenses in motion.
Drawing his hooked rope, he crept from one bush or tree to the next, moving toward the far side of the keep. Only the guards on the walls could see him, but they were assigned to watch outside the castle for trouble, and the soldiers screaming at the gate guaranteed their attention would stay pointed in that direction.
Drawing on his Varadour power, he Blended the colors around him. They shifted, merging with his body to hide him from the perceptions of the naked eye. He was careful to keep the camouflage partial, exposing an arm here and a foot there. No one had been able to maintain total invisibility since the Crippling. Doing so now would risk revealing his true identity to any who discovered him.
Counting the top story windows along the back of the keep, Kaltor recalled the castle map they’d memorized with Master Taneth, made his choice, and threw his hook. Thankfully, color blending could disguise clothes and equipment too, though hiding something as long as a hook-rope took practice.
Metal clawed on stone as he pulled the rope taut and worked his way quickly up the wall, hand over hand with his feet on stone as if walking straight up the side of the wall. Pulling himself over the edge of the window, he found Prince Tyran sitting at a small table in his chamber, munching on a roast duck.
"You know, Battleb—," he did not have time to comment further, as the hunger in Kaltor’s stomach finally reached a powerful crescendo, sending him sprinting forward. The guards cried in alarm, they and Tyran drawing their swords as the prince rolled aside with the ease of a fellow warrior. Tensions paused when Kaltor hit the table with both hands, ravaging a thick slice of lamb like a feral animal.
About half-way through his fourth bite Kaltor paused, realizing where he stood and exactly how skilled each swordsman pointing their weapons his way actually was. He licked his lips, pulling away from the meal with a visible effort. He grabbed a napkin on the table and dabbed at the grease and fat dribbling down his chin as calmly as possible. There was little he could do about the sleeves and collar of his tunic, however.
"I could have you thrown into a dungeon for slipping past my guards," Prince Tyran said with a chuckle, sheathing his sword. "But since you’ve given me a wonderful scene to relate to Taneth, I will let him decide your punishment."
Kaltor’s heart sank. Master Taneth always said the hunger pangs could strike suddenly like that, he recalled. But I never thought they could be so strong.
Heat rose in his face as he surveyed the scene, half the Prince’s dinner scattered across the floor in his desperate rush to eat meat. He imagined his teacher’s reaction when he heard the news of this slip up. Oh, imprisonment in the Abyss itself might be more pleasant than Master Taneth’s punishment for this! he thought with a shudder.
With a gulp he turned toward Prince Tyran in an attempt to maintain some dignity. The royal Varadour was in his early twenties, tall and lean. His body was built and trained to favor speed over power—a good representative for ruling the region where Battleborn were trained.
"Apologies, Prince Tryan," Kaltor said as respectfully as possible, coiling his hooked-rope and releasing his body from its partial camouflage. "You sensed me coming, I assume?"
As he emerged into view two of the prince’s attendants, who Kaltor hadn’t noticed standing in the corner of the small room, muttered in surprise. Battleborn, those in training at least, were not common within the city. The guards smiled at his naïve mistake but did not lower their weapons just yet.
Prince Tyran smiled. "I can recognize one of Taneth’s students from across the courtyards— more so when they are scaling my walls. I used to be one, after all!"
Wow, Kaltor thought. Master Taneth must be very good friends with him for them to not use their titles when they talk of each other. The rumors must be true, he realized. He was personally trained by Master Taneth! He felt something of a kinship with this man. They shared the same teacher, who had occasionally taught them exclusively. Granted, Kaltor had yet to speak to his teacher so candidly. His spine cringed at the thought.
Tyran returned to his former position at his table. "Bring an extra plate for my friend," he called to his servants. With a smirk he added, "It seems he hasn’t eaten much today and has important news to discuss with me in private." The servants nodded, leaving immediately. With an extra wave of his hand he convinced the guards to wait outside the doors as well.
"Thank you, Prince Tyran," Kaltor said, taking a spare chair by the wall and pulling it alongside Tyran’s desk. "I am hungry, but we have a lot to discuss. The city is in danger. I am the first messenger of many you will likely receive. We must act quickly."
"What’s wrong?" Tyran asked, pausing in between mouthfuls of potatoes fried in oil. "Is there a foreign invader? Should I mobilize the armies?" Two regiments were always standing guard this close to the borders of the kingdom’s neighbors to the north and west.
"No, but mobilize them anyway," Kaltor answered, spearing a chunk of chicken with his dagger. "The city could be in ruins by the end of the week."
Chapter 12
After hearing Kaltor’s report, Prince Tyran leaned back in his chair, studying him carefully. "Even as a Battleborn in training, you realize how difficult it is to believe something like this by your word alone. It sounds like a horrific tale one tells around the campfire to appease little children. Even more unbelievable is the thought that someone like Melshek could be part of such slaughter!"
"I wish it were," Kaltor snorted derisively. "I wish we’d never opened the vault."
I should have trusted those feelings! he mourned. I should have recognized them as warnings and just left things as they were!
Kaltor stood from his chair, pacing around in front of Tyran. He almost started flipping his daggers into the air, but after his starving entrance through the window he thought better of it. The last thing he needed was a servant to enter, see him armed, and sound the alarm.
"I’ve spent the last day looking for him," he finally pleaded. "I have no idea what he will do if left alone in the city."
A knock sounded at the door, and Tyran’s servants entered, carrying another plate of steaming food and a pitcher of wine. They placed the food on the prince’s desk, bowing graciously as they eyed the mess on the floor from Kaltor’s previous antics. Prince Tyran waved them away and Kaltor took his seat and ate, this time with the necessary foresight to actually use utensils.
"A messenger left this for you, your majesty," the last servant added, pulling a scroll from his belt. "He left this only moments ago at the stables. It’s from Lord Gereth."
Finally, Kaltor thought in relief. I can use all the help I can get. Tyran glanced Kaltor’s way curiously as he took the scroll and nodded his thanks to the servants. They left quickly, but not before he caught sight of two guards standing at the doors, still eyeing him suspiciously.
He’s been well protected the whole time— that is comforting. He’s been listening out of sincere interest, not because he’s sitting alone in the room with a Battleborn and needed to play along. Thank the Gods something is going right today!
Prince Tyran unrolled the scroll, nodding grimly as he eyed the message contained within. He leaned back in his chair after he’d finished reading, fingers stroking his lips as his mind digested this new information.
"Melshek is my brother, but our relationship has always been one o
f indifference," Prince Tyran explained. "I knew the difficulties of war first-hand. I’ve always fought to defend my subjects from those horrors. The war ended before Melshek could learn such important lessons. Until recently he’d lived a carefree life. Only after he met Rivatha did he start to exhibit any interest in wearing the crown.
"Lord Gereth is a scholar at heart," Prince Tyran said simply. "He lacks any skill when it comes to keeping out of trouble, political or otherwise," He set the scroll aside and nodded Kaltor’s way. "What do you suggest?"
"We need to find Melshek as soon as possible," Kaltor demanded, swallowing mouthfuls of gravy and biscuits. He fixed his eyes on Tyran’s thoughtful face, the prince soaking in every word. "He did this in a single night," he nodded toward the scroll. "Imagine what he could do to this city in a week!"
Prince Tyran nodded, standing as he finished the last bite of his meal. "I will alert the entire town watch. By tomorrow afternoon the entire city will be covered in wanted posters. I will put soldiers at every gate this instant, in case he tries to slip out of the city. He won’t be able to so much as scratch himself without being seen."
Kaltor sighed in relief, drew a dagger and flipped the weapon, catching it by the flat of the blade. "Let’s go," he said. "I can tell them what to look for."
Tyran shook his head, putting a hand on Kaltor’s shoulder. "Take it easy, Battleborn. Before he went to the vault, Melshek spent a week at my regent’s mansion greeting soldiers, nobles, and the like. I was worried he was considering supplanting me or starting a rebellion. Either way, half the city would recognize him."
He looked compassionately at the assassin-in-training. "You can’t possibly be as awake as you pretend. You’ve been drawing constantly on your power since you entered my city."
Kaltor’s breath caught. I never thought of that, he realized. I’ve always trained myself never to use my full power around people. I’d never considered my endurance to be a sign, as well. I’ve been constantly in motion since before the sun’s rising. A typical Varadour would indeed be exhausted to the point of uselessness by now.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 14
