Trotting out of the opposite end of the alley, Grayling looked up and down the wide road into the merchants’ quarter of Turnitia, dominated on all sides by the long warehouses that handled most of the city’s trade. A little further along, another thief was being hotly pursued by more Vos soldiers and, seeing the opportunity, Grayling whipped out another arrow and sent it flying. It buried itself in the back of one soldier’s leg.
Realising that his squad was in danger, this sergeant barked orders, and one man split off from the rest, running away from the thieves and into the main part of the city. The others continued after their original quarry, leaving their wounded comrade in the middle of the street, writhing in pain as he clutched his wounded leg.
Grayling let the single runner go, knowing full well where the man was headed and how necessary it was to the thieves that he remain untouched, however tempting a target he might present. Instead, Grayling had already settled on her prey – news of the guildmistress’ bounty on sergeants had swept through the thieves, and she intended to be the first to claim it.
Running after the fast disappearing squad, she tore past the wounded soldier, breaking her stride only to kick the man hard in the face. The tables had turned, and the forces of Vos were going to feel the wrath of the thieves.
The squad, fixated on the thief they were chasing, pursued him into a warehouse whose doors had been left wide open. As soon as the last soldier ran past the threshold, two thieves jumped from behind a wagon next to the warehouse. Moving swiftly, they flung the doors shut, driving a wooden pole through the handles to seal the entrance.
More thieves appeared from the surrounding area, armed with burning torches, and set light to spots along the walls of the warehouse that had been prepared with lamp oil. The flames took hold fast, and the thieves retreated, dooming the soldiers inside, and eager to move on to the next task. Grayling, however, slowed as she approached the warehouse and waited, pacing outside the building.
The flames clawed their way up the sides of the warehouse, and thick black smoke began to pour into the sky. After a few minutes, Grayling was ready to give up, presuming the men inside had already succumbed to the roiling smoke, if not the flames. Then she heard a crash from the opposite side of the building, and she sprinted around, readying another arrow.
A section of the wall splintered at about head height as she rounded the corner, then the thin wedge of an axe blade appeared as someone started to hack their way clear of the growing inferno. After a few more blows, smoke started pouring out of the gaps growing in the warehouse’s wooden walls. The axe blows stopped and the wall thudded once, twice, then three times, as if something heavy was being thrown against it.
In a crash of splintering wood, the sergeant burst through the weakened wall, coughing and spluttering from the smoke as he fell to his knees. Grayling gave a low whistle that made the sergeant look up at her, straight into the point of an arrow. Releasing the string, Grayling smiled as the shaft was buried in the sergeant’s throat, its bloody head emerging from the back of his neck. Stooping down, Grayling took the bronze sergeant’s crest from the man’s chest. The sergeant pawed weakly at Grayling, desperate for aid, but she pocketed the crest and turned, content to let the man die slowly in pain.
Wanting to see how other thieves were faring, Grayling retraced her steps but came to a sudden stop when she reached the main street leading into the district. The runner sent by the sergeant she had just killed had done his work.
Marching down the street, the Vos military had arrived in force. A dozen squads moved toward her in unison, brandishing spears, swords and shields, armed for a real battle. Grayling vowed that the thieves would give them one.
She sent an arrow soaring toward the assembled ranks, but the range was too great and the shot fell short. It was enough to catch the soldiers’ attention, though, and two squads detached themselves from the main body to pursue her.
Grayling immediately retreated, diving back among the warehouses and locating a storm drain she had earlier marked as a point of retreat. Lifting the grate, she lowered herself inside quickly, slipping and sliding down the wet, moss-strewn tunnel into the sewers. Too excited to even notice the stench, she quickly got her bearings and headed east to begin the next phase of the plan. With any luck, they would soon have half the soldiers of Turnitia in the merchants’ quarter, tied up and useless as they chased fleeting shadows.
DRAWING HIS CLOAK around him, Lucius blew into his cupped hands to ward off the coming evening chill. Balanced on a ledge that wrapped around the spire of a chapel, he had a good vantage point over much of the city and, more importantly, the closest wall of the Citadel.
The chapel was a new construction, one of several that had sprouted up around the city as the Final Faith spread its influence. There were plenty of rich nobles and wealthy merchants who were keen to curry favour with Vos officials by demonstrating their piety in commissioning their own chapels, and these places of worship were quickly filled by less well-off citizens who had their own reasons to attend the regular Mass.
The whole western end of the city, from the Five Markets to the harbour, was in chaos. Fires raged in both shops and warehouses, each carefully targeted by the thieves, and soldiers ran in the streets from disturbance to disturbance with little direction. Columns of smoke rose across the city, the black fog gathering into a great cloud above the streets that smeared across the face of Kerberos’ giant sphere; an unintended consequence, but a welcome one.
Their plan was working, that much was clear, Lucius decided as he turned his gaze to the Citadel. Though the fortress was too vast for him to see as a whole from the chapel, he could see the nearest facing wall was undermanned, the few scattered soldiers on its ramparts peering over into the city, wondering when they would be called to rougher duty. Several dead soldiers had already been carried into the gatehouse, nestled in the belly of one of the Citadel’s giant towers.
In the shadow of the great wall, Lucius saw other forms moving. The assassins of the thieves’ guild had gathered in force for the strike they planned tonight; all the disruption enacted by the other thieves was merely the prelude to unbalance the forces of Vos and give this attack the best chance of success.
The assassins had already begun swarming toward the wall, taking up their final positions before they launched the assault. Some stayed on the ground, using alleys and walls for cover, while others gathered on rooftops. Together, they spanned one great wall, the furthest moving up past the great tower to the next wall.
Shifting his position, Lucius took a couple of steps around the ledge until he was behind the spire, hidden from any spying eyes on the Citadel’s wall. His eyes adjusted to the gloom as he looked into the alleys below. He spotted the form he was looking for and gave a short wave. There was a flash of a toothy grin as the young boy below waved back and ran off. Within minutes, the boy would reach Ambrose, and the Pontaine rockets the veteran thief had acquired from a friendly trader the day before.
“So, it begins,” Lucius muttered to himself, as he clambered down the side of the chapel, the stepped stone construction of one of its buttresses aiding his descent. He dropped down into the chapel’s grassy grounds, and trotted into the empty market that sprawled before the great tower. Moving quietly, he took his place behind a tall wooden stall, its tenant having long since disappeared after the day’s trade. Two assassins waited patiently for him.
After glancing to check it was Lucius who approached, Elaine turned from him to look pointedly at the skyline.
“Ambrose is late,” she said, gesturing at the empty, smoke-filled sky.
“No,” Lucius said coolly, not wanting to start an argument just before the assault began. “There is still time.”
The assassins had split into three-man teams, the better to support one another on what would be a very difficult attack. Lucius had seen Elaine’s face when she realised that everyone else had simply presumed he would be on her team, and he knew she had not been co
mfortable with the idea. It frustrated him in turn to think Elaine would not trust him on a mission, regardless of their own personal issues.
He found the third member of their team, Heinrich, harder still to deal with. He was a typical stone-cold killer, the archetypal assassin who killed without thought or conscience for silver. He had taken a dislike to the man instantly, and this was only magnified as he watched Heinrich and Elaine make their final preparations for the assault. Lucius knew Elaine trusted the man and might even call him a friend, but it was not until he saw Heinrich reach over and adjust the scabbards holding Elaine’s twin swords on her back that it occurred to him that they could be sleeping together.
That darkened his mood, as he continued to watch them out of the corner of his eye, noting every point of physical contact they made.
He checked himself, then smiled self-consciously. Was that jealously he was feeling? Lucius sighed. The noise pricked the ears of both Elaine and Heinrich, and they threw irritated glares at him which he waved off dismissively.
The hell with it, he thought, Elaine can sleep with whomever she likes. He really did not give a damn any more. There were more important things in his life than in whose bed he lay.
With a shrieking whistle that shrilled across the entire city, a column of sparkling fire rose into the sky from close by, then exploded beneath the pall of smoke hanging above. The flash lit up the city for a fraction of a second, then more trails of fire rose into the sky, one after the other, to explode. Ambrose had unleashed both a signal to the assassins and a distraction to the remaining guards within the Citadel who, even now, were running along the walls to get a closer look at the fire trails as they hung for a few seconds in the sky before winking out. Lucius knew Elaine felt the same relief he did that the rockets had worked as intended.
“That’s it, go!” Elaine hissed as she rose, running for the wall and keeping her head low, Heinrich close behind.
Along other sections of the wall, the other assassins were moving in. Some, like Heinrich, were swinging grapples up past the crenellations running along the top of the wall; others scaled the walls with climbing spikes or used heavy crossbows to drive bolts trailing rope into the stone wall of the Citadel and swiftly cross the void. Lucius had no idea how the devices had been rescued from the guildhouse before the Vos attack, and began to wonder what else Elaine had managed to save. If nothing else, she was a most capable guildmistress.
Heinrich was already scaling the rope, having ensured the grapple at the top of the wall was secure. Lucius followed, trying not to grunt with the effort, conscious that Heinrich was making it look very easy. As soon as Heinrich swung his boots over the top of the wall, Lucius heard the sounds of a sword fight above him and started to climb faster. While he did not like the man, Lucius knew of his reputation and did not relish the idea of penetrating the Citadel without him.
Peering over the wall before throwing himself over, Lucius saw Heinrich to his right, engaged with two Vos soldiers. One cowered away from the assassin’s paired long and short swords behind his shield, his own blade only occasionally flickering out to test an opening. The other stayed behind the first soldier, jabbing at Heinrich with a spear.
Lucius pulled himself over the wall and drew his own weapons, a sword and dagger, before wading in to help Heinrich. There was space on the wide rampart for them to fight side by side, and the soldiers began to give way under their combined assault.
Ducking a thrust of the spear, Lucius slammed his dagger into the top of the shield, forcing the soldier to duck. Lucius hooked his sword under the shield’s bottom edge and heaved upwards, and Heinrich stabbed forward with his long sword, a smooth and supple movement that tore through the soldier’s mailed shirt to cleave his heart. As the man dropped, Lucius and Heinrich advanced on the remaining soldier, who backed off a few steps to give himself room, the tip of his spear darting forward at head height to slow their step. Lucius could see the soldier assessing the situation, casting a glance at the dead man now behind his attackers and realising his position was desperate.
With a loud cry, the soldier stepped forward and swung his spear sideways, hoping to use the weapon’s momentum and his own strength to knock his attackers flat. Heinrich ducked under the blow, but it nearly blind-sided Lucius, who had expected the assassin to block the attack. At the last second, Lucius raised his sword to catch the spear, the blade biting deep into the shaft. Twisting his wrist slightly so the spear could not easily be withdrawn, Lucius tried to pull back, but the soldier had a better grip on his weapon and when he heaved, Lucius followed, stumbling forward.
The soldier took another step back, frantically trying to shake his weapon free, but Lucius and Heinrich were quicker. Even as the spear came free of the sword, Lucius’ dagger was plunging into the soldier’s neck and Heinrich’s own blades were thrust deep into his stomach.
The soldier sank to the floor as Lucius and Heinrich ripped their weapons free. Lucius was about to compliment Heinrich on his style, but a thunder of heavy footsteps and rattling chain caught his ear.
He whirled around to see a third soldier who, having crept up behind them during the fight, now charged at Lucius’ back. Lucius spun to face the man, trying to bring his sword into a defensive position against the blow, knowing already that he was too slow. The soldier had raised his sword high above his head for a vicious downward cleave that would split Lucius’ skull in two – and then he stopped.
Lucius frowned as the soldier looked at him blankly, sword still held high. With a crash, the man collapsed to his knees, and then fell flat on his face, his sword clattering away before tipping over the edge of the wall to fall into the courtyard below. From his back, a throwing knife protruded.
Beyond the fallen soldier, Lucius saw Elaine clawing her way onto the wall, and he smiled.
“Thanks,” he said with genuine relief, and ignored the sour look he received in return.
Elaine glanced at the dead soldiers and then into the compound below. Dominated by the central keep, the bailey was a hive of activity, with the authoritative shouts of officers organising squads of soldiers into platoon and company before dispatching them to various parts of the city. The inner walls were strewn with outbuildings built along their length, a variety of stables, guardhouses, blacksmiths, and stores.
Elsewhere along the wall, more assassins had entered the Citadel, and three teams had already descended into the bailey, engaging the closest soldiers before the Vos forces had time to react. As the officers began to notice the presence of intruders, more and more soldiers peeled away from their formations to take up arms, but the assassins in the courtyard quickly melted away, retreating to the walls or to the towers, where the tighter confines would favour their style of battle, not the soldiers’.
Gesturing for them to follow, Elaine started running along the wall, heading for a stone bridge that ran from the nearest tower to a large gate mounted halfway up the side of the keep itself. As Lucius followed, he eyed the keep, the massive fortified structure that was the centre of all Vos operations and government in the city. He remembered being inside it once before, as a captive.
This time, he vowed, the upper hand would stay with the thieves and their trained killers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE PASSAGE WAS lit by slow-burning torches that sputtered in wrought-iron brackets as Elaine closed the heavy door, filling the passage with a tangle of wavering shadows until the light steadied. Voices could be heard far off, commanding and authoritative, as the men of the Citadel struggled to keep a rein on the chaos in the city.
Crouching in the shadows, Elaine, Heinrich and Lucius paused with weapons drawn, alert for any reaction to their entrance. The battle within the tower and along the bridge that connected it to the keep had been fierce but brief, and dominated by the assassins. Other teams had briefly joined them and the defenders of the tower, depleted by the need for soldiers to control the city, had been wiped out quickly.
Now they were a
lone, the other teams having moved off to different areas of the keep. They had all been briefed on a broad range of targets, from the mysterious Commander of the Citadel himself, to various functionaries and officials responsible for the day-to-day running of Turnitia. However, if they were Vos-born and had a measure of authority, anyone could be considered fair game this evening.
While most teams were heading for the higher levels of the keep, where they expected to find most ranking individuals, and a few stayed near ground level where soldiers were still assembling, Elaine led her team underground, into the darkest reaches of the Citadel.
Lucius had guessed why, and who she was hoping to find there. For his part, he was happy with the assignment, for he had been incarcerated within the dungeons of the Citadel in the past, however briefly, and was familiar with the area.
Holding up one hand and pointing forward, Heinrich padded ahead, following distant voices. A few paces behind, Lucius and Elaine followed, senses straining, determined not to be caught flat-footed should a soldier or official inadvertently happen upon them.
Moving silently, foot by foot, they followed Heinrich, trusting to his keen senses and memorised maps of the Citadel. While the guild had never been able to put together a complete plan of the keep – the Vos military being very careful to guard the identities of its architects – years of bribery, trespass and even incarceration had all led to pages upon pages of maps being compiled and revised. The final picture, while not yet complete, had been invaluable to the assassins while planning the assault.
The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) Page 45
