Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3)

by Kel Kade

  “It was the easiest method of entry, and none of the guards were paying it any attention.”

  The woman smirked and said, “You’re a formidable fighter, but the stories of your cunning were exaggerated, I think. Anyone could’ve seen you.”

  Rezkin shrugged and said, “Perhaps, but they did not. Only you, and you were the one to trip the ward.”

  She scowled at him and huffed, “It was an uncommon failure on my part. I was in a hurry to keep up with you now that we’d finally found you.”

  Rezkin nodded. “Which leads us to my original question. How?”

  For any other, it might have been difficult to tell that the woman was still using the counter to hold herself upright. She plucked a dagger from her sleeve and used it to causally scrape at her fingernails. Rezkin felt it a weakly concealed attempt to secure a weapon in hand.

  “We are watching all of the major ports that you could have reached in this time. If you did land in Serret, we figured you would come here eventually. We’ve been keeping eyes on the buildings you were likely to attend. Looks like I was the lucky one.” She winced and pressed a hand to her ribs. She spied him suspiciously from the corner of her eye. “We might have found you sooner but, for some reason, my brothers and sisters could not remember anything specific about you. Average height, average build, average coloration … except to look at you now, I can see nothing average about you.”

  Rezkin ignored the observation and asked, “How did you know to look for me at the ports?” The last he had seen of the Adana’Ro was at the Black Hall, long before the tournament and his subsequent escape.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Mysterious dark warrior defeats everyone without acquiring so much as a scratch. Raven, meet Dark Tidings. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out.”

  Rezkin raised a brow. “You would be surprised.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him appraisingly. “Your claim to the throne—is that real? Are you trying to take over Ashai?”

  “I am merely a weapon, one of many in an arsenal to be used in saving it,” Rezkin said.

  Silence ensued as the woman looked upon him uncertainly. It appeared as though she had something to say but, in the end, resolved not to. She finally asked, “Are you going to kill me?”

  Rezkin turned and held her firmly in his gaze. “Do I have cause to?”

  Her expression was one of surprise and confusion as she shifted. “I am Adana’Ro.”

  Rezkin affected a look of boredom and leaned back against the counter again. “And?”

  “You’re just going to let me go?”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Killing you would serve no purpose. I could torture you for information, but I doubt you would provide something of use, only misinformation. I might conscript your services, but I could not trust you to carry out the tasks—”

  “You insult my honor?” she snapped with fire in her eyes.

  He smirked and said, “I had no idea you felt it would be an honor to serve me.”

  The woman’s nostrils flared with indignation. “I serve the Adana’Ro.”

  He nodded with a patronizing smile. “As I was saying, I cannot trust you to carry out my orders, so short of dragging you around by a leash to no end, the only remaining option is to let you go.”

  “Perhaps you not only lack intelligence, but sanity as well. You would just let your enemies free …”

  “Are we enemies?” he asked with a hardened gaze.

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  Rezkin sighed dramatically and said, “I have much to do and little time. Thus far, neither you nor the Adana’Ro have done anything to garner my ire. So long as you stay out of my way, do not interfere, and do not threaten anyone in my charge, I am content to let you be.”

  “But I attacked you,” she huffed with disbelief.

  He shrugged and replied, “It is effectual to practice one’s skills with a well-trained opponent.”

  The woman scowled. “I don’t know whether to be flattered that you consider me well trained or insulted that you found our practice to be of such little threat.”

  Rezkin shrugged but said nothing. Before the woman could walk away, he asked, “Why did you attack me?”

  “It was a preemptive strike,” she said, but her tone carried a hint of embarrassment.

  Rezkin cocked his head. “You regularly attack people for no cause?”

  The woman hissed. “No, I was afraid you might attack first and gain the upper hand. Besides, I had to know it was you.”

  “So you attacked me,” he said with a nod, as though that made sense. “You believed you could defeat me?”

  “No,”—she hesitated—“not from what I’ve heard of you.”

  “So you fought a battle you could not win. You expected to die.”

  She shifted and replied, “Well, I didn’t want to die, but if I did, at least my sisters would know I found you.”

  Rezkin nodded again. As she started to walk away, he added, “The ship has not yet arrived.”

  The woman turned. “What?”

  He slipped back over the counter and went to the desk that held the logbook. He spoke as he flipped through several pages.

  “The ship upon which Dark Tidings sails has not yet arrived.”

  “Impossible,” she hissed. “You are he.”

  He opened an inkwell and began making notations. “I am marking the plans as we speak. It was my purpose in coming here tonight. I need to smooth the way for the ship’s arrival.”

  “But …”

  Rezkin finished entering the information in the log and blotted the ink. Rather than entering the ship’s arrival for two days hence, when it would actually sail to port, he added it for the following week. It would be consistent with their story that they had arrived early due to the unrest in Ashai, and it was unlikely that anyone would notice the new addition so far in advance. An entry for arrival in two days would be suspicious since the log had surely been checked by multiple officials and no orders had been sent to the dock master.

  After closing the logbook, he glanced around for something someone might think worth stealing. He grabbed a few invoices, some letters of correspondence, and an official seal. He found no money box, so he assumed the funds were deposited at the bank after closing. The only object he truly appreciated was a small mage stone he found in one of the drawers.

  “What are you doing?” the Adana’Ro asked.

  Rezkin glanced up and said, “You did take out two guards. I need an excuse for their distress that will steer people away from my true purpose. Do you see anything you want?”

  He waved his hand over the room. He spied some kind of award displayed on a small pedestal on a desk. It appeared to have been dipped in gold, so he took that too. Surely a thief would not leave something like that behind.

  The woman huffed, “I am not a common thief … but I do see your point.”

  She rolled her eyes then grabbed a few random objects that probably had value to someone and stuffed them into a sack she found under the counter.

  Rezkin strode toward the door while keeping an eye on the Adana’Ro.

  “Wait,” she called, “the ward!”

  Rezkin smiled back at her from the other side of the ward and reached out to her. She looked at his hand doubtfully, and then her gaze followed the length of the ward, the tingle of mage power vibrating through his flesh as she did so.

  “Give me your hand,” he said. “We would not want you setting off another ward.”

  She looked at him with distrust, and he raised a brow sardonically. He had already defeated her. It would have been ludicrous to attack her now. Of course, if he did kill her, he could leave her body nearby. He could make it look like one of the guards had managed to stab her before being rendered unconscious, thereby redirecting all the investigators’ attention on to her. But, no. An Adana’Ro was worth more than a mere distraction. He briefly wondered if he should find another distraction on whom he
could blame the intrusion. One of the night stalkers hiding in the shadows perhaps. He pushed the idea aside deciding it was too much effort for little effect. He felt that their thieving efforts would be sufficient, especially since no one had been killed.

  Finally, the woman took his hand, and he pulled her through the ward. They slipped out the door without bothering to lock it behind them. The guards were still in there, after all.

  “You have not asked my name,” she said.

  Rezkin released her hand and replied, “I do not care.” Following her look of displeasure, he asked, “Were you looking for the Raven or Dark Tidings?”

  “We believed you to be the same,” she whispered back. He could tell she was uncertain and not yet willing to accept that they might have been wrong.

  “Well, you found the Raven,” he said with a grin. “Perhaps in a few days you will meet Dark Tidings.”

  Rezkin slipped into the shadow of the building and spent half a mark of extra effort making sure she could not follow. He had not spied her in pursuit, but if she was to be believed, the Adana’Ro were committing substantial resources to finding him. It certainly would not end with the confirmation that he was here. Her people would find him again; therefore, he had little reason to follow her. When he was certain he had lost the woman, he made his way toward the nearest councilor’s estate. Having completed his original task to clear the way for the ship’s arrival, it was time to secure the resources he needed for his new objective—Caellurum.

  The councilor’s estate was not the elegant home with sprawling gardens of an Ashaiian lord of the council. It was an austere, four-story building surrounded by a cobbled yard suitable for holding multiple carriages and wagons. The yard was bordered by a short, waist-high wall that served little purpose except to define the boundaries of the estate, and beyond that were roads and shops for craftsmen and merchants of high end goods. As was customary in Channería, a temple lay directly across the street to remind the counselor that the Maker was always watching.

  Several guards patrolled the perimeter, and two more were on the roof watching the surrounding streets and buildings. The windows on the first, second, and fourth levels were closed, possibly sealed, and mostly likely warded. The majority of those on the third level were open to the flow of the fresh sea breeze. That, combined with the fact that the third floor was the least accessible from the outside, indicated that the level probably contained the sleeping quarters.

  Rezkin doubted he could enter through one of the two doors on the first level. Each probably had a guard stationed inside the building. He did not want anyone knowing of his contact with the councilor, so he could not disable any of the guards. Actually … now that he thought about it, he probably could. A plan came together in his mind that would make things simultaneously easier and more complicated.

  Reaching into the sack tied at his waist, Rezkin shuffled through the papers he had procured from the ITA office. He hoped he had picked up something of use, even though he had not been particularly discerning at the time. He used the sack and one wall of the alley to hide his mage stone as he held it over the papers. One of the ship manifests claimed some questionable cargo. Although not completely absurd, it was a little odd that anyone would be trading in Walcuttin Golden Ale at this time of year, especially in such large quantities. That particular variety from Verril was supposed to be served fresh and did not age well. A few months ago, it would have fetched twice the price at market. It was strange that anyone would hold on to so many barrels of the ale past its prime. He did not find it strange, however, that the army would be the beneficiary of the foul brew. For what he had planned, the questionable trade alone might be enough to arouse the investigators’ suspicions. Still, it would be better if he had something more consequential.

  He examined several pages of correspondence and finally settled on one letter to the ITA administrator from Count Mestison, Minister of Agricultural Affairs. Mestison was petitioning the ITA for a temporary increase in permissible trade limits for grains and grain products. In addition, he cited his prior acquisition of an import tax reduction for such goods throughout the season. Both seemed reasonable since Channería was likely preparing for a military campaign against Ashai. He doubted their efforts to acquire more military rations would be successful, though, since every other kingdom was also preparing to carve out their own pieces of his homeland.

  Rezkin stashed the sack in the alley and then flitted across the road. With a nearly full moon, the night was not dark enough to hide his presence. There were no trees or decorative structures in this area, so the shadows were few. It meant he could also see the guards fairly well, so he was extra vigilant to move only when they were out of view or their backs were turned. He approached one guard from the side yard and rendered him unconscious before the man knew he had been struck. Rezkin dragged the man to the side of the building, hoping the body would be hidden by the eave, at least for a while.

  None of this was in his original plan, and he wished he had more time to do things properly. Wishing never made anything happen, though, so he worked with what he had. The building’s outer wall was plastered and would not provide footholds. He drew the mage rope from one of the pouches at his belt. The thin line would be strong enough to hold two or three times his weight, but true mage rope was a rare find. It did not last forever and lost strength with each use, so he used it sparingly. He was a bit piqued that he would have to use it now, but once he had an idea of what these buildings held in store, the others would be easier to infiltrate.

  He plucked a palm-sized, three-pronged hook from another of his belt pouches and tied it to one end of the rope. After a quick survey of the yard, he stepped away from the wall and launched the grappling hook at the third-story window. One prong sunk into the inner corner of the sill, and he tugged to make sure it held strong. His masters would have punished him severely had he failed in such a simple cast. Rezkin shrugged the thought away as he began scaling the wall. He did not know why the errant thought had crossed his mind, but now was not the time for reminiscing. He doubted there was ever a need for such things unless the historical account could be of use.

  Since no one sounded an alarm, Rezkin felt it unlikely his entrance had been noticed. He drew up the rope behind him as he surveyed the dark room. He felt no sense of anyone’s presence, besides the small animal that streaked out the door upon his arrival. He thought it might have been a cat, and based on the smell, there were likely several more in the vicinity. Outworlders in Ashai often chose to share their living spaces with animals. Although he appreciated the practical reasons for keeping animals, it seemed some people developed emotional attachments to the beasts. He saw no advantage to such sentiments.

  The councilor apparently had an affinity for cats, as did many Channeríans. In fact, the kingdom was overrun with the little beasts since the present king’s great-grandfather had enacted a law preventing anyone from harming felines. The law had made sense at the time. Channería was deficient in life mages, and the capital city of Serret had been infested with rats due to its proximity to water and the large number of ships and food storehouses.

  The presence of the beasts was advantageous for Rezkin, though, because it was unlikely there would be any strong wards on this level or any of the floors on which the cats were permitted. If the wards were too strong, the cats would set them off, and no one would get any sleep. In fact, he had barely had to try when he slipped through the ward on the window. His goal was to find the councilor, but the room in which he presently crouched was not a bedchamber. Dark silhouettes lead him to believe it a study.

  Sounds of the hurried but cautious footsteps of multiple people could be heard ascending wooden stairs not far from the room’s entrance. He hid behind the doorframe where he could see into the corridor though not in the direction of the stairwell. A small white cat with one blue eye and one green sat staring at him from across the hall. Rezkin frowned, and the cat slowly blinked unconcernedly. The
cat’s attention was suddenly captured by the source of the heavy footsteps that were approaching his doorway. It turned and scurried away.

  “It has to be this room,” one man whispered. “Their strange behavior seems to be focused here.”

  “The wards weren’t activated,” a second said.

  “Maybe not, but the cats know,” the first replied.

  The rush of footsteps on the stairs preceded a sudden announcement. “Captain! Hedly was just found unconscious in the yard.”

  Rezkin was impressed. He had barely made it into the room and already he had been exposed by the furry little beasts. The sounds of shuffling bodies and the drawing of weapons reached his ears. This had not quite gone to plan. He had intended to draw the guards’ attention, just not so quickly.

  “Alright!” the first man, presumably the captain, announced. “We know you’re in there! You might as well come out. Don’t make any sudden moves. We have three crossbows aimed your way.”

  Rezkin thought it considerate of the man to provide him the number of crossbows with which he would have to contend. He ensured his features were hidden beneath his hood and then stuck his arm out into the hall to wave at the guards. A crossbow bolt shot past the doorway, and he jerked his hand back. Luckily for him, the man had poor aim.

  “Hold your fire!” called the captain, and then Rezkin heard a thump that sounded much like someone being struck on the helmet. In a quieter yet irritated voice, the captain said, “He won’t come out if you’re shooting at him, you idiot.” He raised his voice again and announced, “We won’t fire if you come out peaceably.”

  Rezkin stuck his hand out into the hallway again. When it was not fired upon, the rest of his body followed. He stepped with large strides so that he stood closer to the far wall than the center of the corridor. It was to his good fortune, because two more crossbow bolts whizzed through the air where the guards had apparently expected him to stop.

  He tisked and said, “Captain, you and your men lack honor or discipline. Either way, it is unbecoming for members of the councilor’s guard.”