Not unless I risk the Blood Break, he thought grimly. Not unless I use my full power.
"So kill him while he sleeps," Warden said simply. "Honmour and I have already been discussing it. He has to recuperate after every major exertion, or sleep and prepare beforehand— we’re not sure which," Kaltor leaned against the iron bars, thinking it through.
Rivatha had mentioned Melshek sleeping before going to the tavern. He’d paused at the merchants’ camp afterward for over an hour—far more time than would have been needed just to kill them—to rest, perhaps? He’d reached Vengral’s chambers and had slept before doing anything else, then had showed up at the prison a few hours later and assassinated the regent’s biggest rival.
"If he plans to attack tonight," Kaltor decided, "then he may already be asleep, trusting his negotiator to carry on the charade with Vengral until he awakes and launches his attack," Warden sighed in agreement, grabbing the Battleborn’s bag of equipment and sliding it through the bars.
"So, what do we do, then?" Warden asked. "I don’t have much sway over the regent’s armies. Just this small prison detail. I could probably arrange for your Stunts to stage a miraculous escape, though."
"My thoughts exactly," Kaltor said, sheathing his daggers and throwing blades. "I may need some help. Where is Selene, the Battlescorned?"
"Here," Warden said, waving toward the stone confines. "She’s a smart one. She noticed all the prince’s former supporters getting poisoned and came here. She’s been brewing plants for the last hour. I have no idea what for. She said you would know."
"Alright, then," Kaltor smiled, sheathing his last weapon. He glanced up toward Warden with a curious stare. "Has Selene already seen to my weapons?"
Warden grinned. "She said your daggers are as before, but you should save your throwing blades for special targets, whatever that means."
"It means that I need to ask one last favor of you," Warden nodded, pulling out his keys.
Too many have died already, Kaltor decided. Melshek won’t even touch Dad’s troops if I can get to him first. "Tell Honmour and the Stunts to head for Lord Gereth’s forces for the coming battle. Don’t tell them I won’t be there," Warden nodded in agreement.
Kaltor recalled the violent images of their first fight against Melshek, accompanied by Jensai’s and Prince Tyran’s lifeless stares ever present in his mind. Thinking back to his sparring matches with Master Taneth in the mountains, he tried to anticipate how Melshek would react to fighting a Remnant. A shudder of panic tickled his spine.
No! he thought defiantly. They can’t sense a Varadour coming. I can get to him undetected as he sleeps. This is how a Battleborn wins against a stronger opponent.
He thought back to his mother’s steady faith and quiet religion, thinking her son trained to relieve the sick. His lurking fear of Blood Breaking emerged, reminding him of the sacrifice of cutting his life span in half.
Sorry Mother, he thought. I’m ending this tonight. One of us will be dead before the sun rises. The Varadour Remnant will be unleashed.
After all, I still have to find Keevan when this is all over.
Chapter 23
The night welcomed him. Varadour power flowed through his body, adding speed, endurance, and strength. The cool night air rushed past him, shadows of the night blending around his frame to hide him from the view of the naked eye.
The archers atop the wall had only enough time to sense a Varadour jump and he was off, hooked rope latching onto a tall building on the opposite side of the street. Their shouts faded into the distance as stone, tile, and wood echoed beneath his feet.
Drawing on a bit more power, he used his skin vision to watch his surroundings carefully. His pace was hurried, but wary. He headed toward the town hall near the central marketplace.
At first the streets were empty. After jumping a dozen roofs, though, he started to see sentries and small raiding parties patrolling the city streets.
Inside one in every three buildings torches, candles, or fireplaces revealed Perversions gathered together, sharpening their weapons and preparing their equipment for battle.
We were right, Kaltor decided. They’re getting ready to attack. With Vengral on their side, they must be preparing to attack Dad’s troops.
One minor detour toward the walls revealed small groups of Perversions huddled on the ground, preparing ladders and ropes. They would be ready to send their forces over the wall in one massive, black-veined wave.
A strong gust of wind pushed westward toward the center of town, covering the soft sounds of Kaltor’s leather boots grinding against stone. He passed two more lookouts who remained oblivious to his passage.
They’re all connected, he reminded himself. Killing one will alert the web-mouths, or even Melshek. Have to strike hard and fast. Where’s that town hall?
The structure was twenty feet taller than the rest of the surrounding buildings, silent and dark, like a Kahndra holding its breath before pouncing on its prey. With such a strong drive to be king, Kaltor decided, he must be sleeping in there. It must agonize him not to be able to claim the castle just yet.
The night no longer seemed so welcoming. His insides coiled and writhed nervously as he recalled his last two encounters with Melshek. He heals fast. I have to take out either his heart or his brain. He can’t heal that kind of wound— can he? His nervous breathing intensified as he realized that he honestly had no idea.
Crawling along the roof of an adjoining house, he crossed onto the town hall with little difficulty. Two lookouts watched from either corner, bows ready, arrows notched, but their gazes were toward the castle and the market place. It was a simple matter to crawl down the back of the roof and get in through the back door.
The air was stale inside the building, hot and unmoving from the sun’s heat and closed windows. I’ll have to search every room, and make sure it’s him before I stab. Just in case they have other captives here.
The back door led to a small hallway connecting to a number of studies where clerks and lawyers had once worked. Each room was untouched, as if their occupants had only ducked out for a walk. Only one room revealed signs of a struggle, with streaks of blood lining the floor across the hallway and up the small flight of stairs on his left.
Just like the inn, he realized.
Before heading up the first flight of stairs, Kaltor moved through the courtroom and waiting areas, all unoccupied. Some of the benches were overturned, the ground littered with abandoned papers and quills and stained with spilt ink. Not all of the liquids on the ground were manufactured. The ceiling above dripped blood as well, as if crying over the death of justice in the face of Melshek’s hold.
The only sign of violence within the room itself was the seat where the High Judge had once presided over sentencing. It was covered in blood and flecks of gore, but no bodies. Three guesses where the bodies of those who didn’t get Perverted are, he thought grimly.
The second story was much like the first, with a number of small rooms for the more dedicated staff who even slept there on occasion. A few more rooms held signs of struggle this time, leaving the same bloody trail up the final set of stairs.
So close, Kaltor thought. If you kill a web-woman, all her Perversions die. It should be the same with Melshek. Right? He desperately hoped so. He tested each step tenderly as he worked his way up the stairs, watching for signs of traps or creaky floorboards that could announce his approach.
The top floor reminded him of the tavern. Many small record rooms connected to the main hallway, littered with evidence of panic as people were dragged into the largest room on the right at the other side of the building.
Kaltor made his way along, following the blood trail and glancing into the rooms on either side for signs of ambush. A dark, heavy feeling came over him as he got closer. Something was not right.
It’s too easy— what am I missing?
This time the door to the main room was not shut, and it was so dark he had no choice but to
use skin vision to see. Besides a central table, all the other furniture had been removed. Eight bodies lay on their knees before the makeshift altar, held in place by thick spears.
The figure lying there on the pillows atop the table breathed rhythmically. Adrenaline cascaded through Kaltor’s system, making stealth and patience nearly impossible as the power welling up within him swelled further. He crept around the speared bodies, positioned himself at the head of the sleeping person, and stabbed.
The sleeper died instantly. A floorboard creaked downstairs, but no screams of agony announced the coagulating of their blood. Was I wrong? he thought. Are his Perversions still alive, then?
With a curious flip of the wrist, he removed the blanket and froze, staring at the dead face of a typical Perversion, black blood oozing from her head wound. The door opened wide and a large, muscular Perversion stepped through, then another, and another. Five Perversions formed a half circle around Kaltor, his back to the makeshift altar.
"Lord Melshek was right!" the smallest Perversion wheezed, licking his long, bloody dagger.
"He said a Battleborn would come," the largest of them agreed in a thick, booming voice.
"So predictable," a third conceded, holding his spear in both hands.
Gods’ might! Kaltor swore. He knew Reeth would tell us about the spice! This was too much like the inn. Where were they hiding?
His hands drifted to his dagger handles, then stopped. His opponents wore different kinds of armor, bore different kinds of weapons, all designed to force their enemy to keep changing his strategy until they overwhelmed him.
We’re at the center of Melshek’s domain, he reminded himself. The odds of any unPerverted Varadours being still alive nearby are slight. They aren’t facing a simple Battle-born. I’m the Remnant.
He sheathed his daggers, facing his opponents barehanded, as if to wrestle them all into submission. Confusion flitted across their faces for a moment. What warrior would chose to fight five opponents empty-handed?
Finally time to see what I’m really capable of, Kaltor thought.
Two Perversions in the back, clad in leather armor, advanced first with their spears. The two largest ones on the ends of the semi-circle closed in on both sides, axe and mace swinging fiercely. Their attacks wavered when Kaltor blended his surroundings as only a Remnant could, vanishing completely from view in the dark room.
Throwing himself into a back flip, Kaltor spun over the top of the table, spinning past spear point and blade alike. When he landed against the wall, he summoned Varadour energy into his good leg, flipping over the table with all his strength and kicking it toward them.
The flat, wooden furniture spun, throwing the corpse and itself into the crowd of Perversions. The two creatures wielding spears failed to retract their weapons in time, piercing the table and losing their footing as the object’s momentum twisted the spears from their hands.
The two corner Perversions, heavily armored, swung toward where Kaltor had kicked the table, but the Varadour was already in motion. His black-and-white skin vision let him see attacks coming from all sides and react accordingly.
As the largest of the two swung his axe, Kaltor caught hold of the shaft and jerked fiercely, throwing the weapon’s trajectory into his companion’s head. The wounded Perversion grunted from the blow, dropping his mace, which vanished before it could hit the ground as Kaltor caught the weapon by the hilt and planted it solidly into the axe wielder’s face.
Another blow to each one guaranteed their lack of participation in the remainder of the fight, giving Kaltor just enough time to roll aside as a spear-wielding Perversion advanced, poking and stabbing in every direction in a desperate attempt to locate their prey.
Some said the greatest warriors were masters of a single weapon. Others claimed fighting unarmed was the fiercest of skills. The best of the Battleborn were taught that, given their stealth and speed, the only weapon they needed was in their enemy’s own hands.
"Enjoying the reversal?" Kaltor whispered from the corner of the room. "Predator to prey?"
Both spear wielding Perversions whirled toward the corner of the room, lunging forward. They could not see Kaltor land in a cat-like crouch on the floor in between them.
The right Perversion’s leg shattered beneath his mace while the left one flipped into the air as Kaltor grabbed his right foot and pulled viciously. They both crumpled to the ground, reaching for the daggers at their belts. The final Perversion, who’d watched from the shadows, screamed vengefully and tackled the space between his companions.
His dagger scratched the surface of Kaltor’s leather armor harmlessly, but the Perversion wheezed victoriously as he raised his dagger for another attack. Still using skin vision, he saw his opponent plunge his weapon downward, still aware of the other two spears hurling toward him.
He did not roll aside, or even attack the last Perversion. With a burst of Varadour strength, he grabbed the creature’s dagger hand by the wrist and re-directed its momentum into the thigh of the Perversion on the left. As an afterthought he caught hold of the middle Perversion’s collar and jerked him forward into the spear point of his confused comrade on the right.
The Perversion on the right growled in determination and plunged his spear all the way through his ally, hoping to impale the Battleborn hiding beneath him. It took all of Kaltor’s flexibility, but he managed to bend out of the way of the spear point, pushing the shaft upward with a sideways roll into the belly of the Perversion on the left. It didn’t take much to borrow one of their daggers and finish off the two wounded Perversions.
The creature on the right, the last survivor of the five, recovered his comrade’s spear and limped back into the corner of the room. He stabbed and swung with desperation, howling with the rage of a cornered animal.
Kaltor stood in front of him, just out of spear range, a little to his right. At first his opponent stabbed forward at chest level and then suddenly, no doubt remembering the attack that had cost him his leg, stabbed the ground at his feet. But his weapon did not cut flesh, for his opponent was already airborne.
Even as he sailed through the air, Kaltor kicked his enemy’s spear out-of-line with his body. Unfortunately for his victim, the force of Kaltor’s Varadour-strengthened jump colliding elbow first into his head produced more damage than the creature’s skull could sustain.
The lifeless body fell to the ground, its spear clattering across the floor. Pulling himself back into a crouch, he scanned the room for additional surprises. The axe-wielding Perversion groaned, trying in vain to rise. Head wounds could do strange things to a man.
Sighing with relief, he massaged his still-healing leg. Not bad, he thought. With blending I can hide myself enough to only rely on quick bursts of power. No huge, Blood Breaking exertion necessary.
He walked over to the wounded Perversion. Kicking the weapons aside, Kaltor pulled the Perversion’s head back by its hair. "Where is Melshek?" he demanded. The creature coughed up black blood. Even its eyes had not survived the blow to the face.
"You will never find him!" a high-pitched, screeching voice shuddered from the large creature. A web-woman, he realized. She must be close enough to maintain control. Heavy boots echoed through the town hall as more Perversions stormed the building. "You will die tonight," she finished, cackling gleefully through the man’s wounded face.
"Either tell me where he is or I will kill you all," Kaltor demanded. He could hear the heavy boots reaching the second story of the town hall. He was running out of time.
"I think my pets will kill you long before you can reach me," she sighed sadistically. Bootfalls echoed on the stairs to the third story.
Not good enough, Kaltor chided himself. What can’t they afford to lose?
"What about Vengral?" he said angrily. "Can you afford to lose him?"
The boots froze halfway down the hall from his room. Got you! he thought in satisfaction. "Tell Melshek he either meets me on the roof of Reeth’s house in ten
minutes," he threatened, "or he finds himself a new puppet to keep the local army from attacking his flank."
Silence settled over the entire building for a moment, and then the boots slowly retreated. "Very well," the web-woman sighed through the dying Perversion. "The battle will be decided in that moment. Gereth will lose heart when we throw the body of his only son over the wall."
"Tell him to come alone," Kaltor demanded. "Or Vengral will die even faster than the web-mouths we killed this afternoon."
"Deal," she whispered, as the Perversion gave one last groan of surrender and died.
The bootsteps slowly left the building, but Kaltor did not wait for them to hide an assassin or two behind to kill him on his way out. Recalling from earlier where the lookouts to the building stood, he walked to the next room, rolling his eyes at the hole carved in the mattress of the bed where one of the Perversions had hidden himself.
Such a simple hiding place, he thought. I’ll have to remember that one for later.
It did not take much to remove the wooden boards over the window, and he kept blending his surroundings as he left the building, watching for archers or other forms of ambush.
Melshek kept his promise. The roofs for fifteen streets in any direction were devoid of lookouts, and not one Perversion was visible in the marketplace below.
Not that Kaltor was so trusting as to walk to Reeth’s house. Perversions could easily be hidden in any building nearby. Jumping a few rooftops as he had done earlier, it did not take long to reach Reeth’s.
His surroundings in every direction were laid out clearly before him in black-and-white. The roof was slanted on either side with a raised portion in the middle to direct rain into the gutters along the edges of the roof. Ceramic tiles molded into semi-circles formed the floor of the roof.
Kaltor walked along each row of tiles quickly, searching for loose ones he could use or at least avoid in the coming fight. The roof was well-maintained, but he memorized its slight defects anyway.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 27
