by Ben Cassidy
Joseph couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.
It smashed into his knees, and sent him toppling him down into the snow. His rapier went flying and fell almost an arm’s length away.
The assassin was already back on her feet, using the momentum of her spin to straighten herself out again. She came in fast, giving her knives another twirl.
Even as he watched his own death approach, Joseph found himself stupidly amazed. This assassin fought and moved like no one he had ever seen before. Her movements were planned, exact, yet fluid and graceful like a dancer’s.
She was better than him, better even than Kendril.
He reached for the rapier, already knowing he would never get to it in time.
The assassin slid in and kicked the blade well out of his reach. She skipped back, and brought one of her long knives down for the killing blow.
Joseph could only watch.
A sharp crack filled the air, and simultaneously a tuft of snow exploded next to the assassin’s leg.
Her head jerked up, and stared at the rooftops behind them.
Joseph thought he saw the briefest trace of a mocking smile on her half face, then she jumped back towards the carriage.
Joseph dove through the snow and grabbed for the hilt of his rapier. He risked a look up at the rooftops behind him.
There, standing right on the edge with a smoking pistol in one hand, was Kendril.
The next time he went for a rooftop chase, Kendril decided, he was definitely bringing the rifle.
His pistols were finely crafted dueling firearms, but even they couldn’t hope to be very accurate at sniping range. The hurried shot he had taken at the assassin below had been designed more to distract and scare her than actually harm her.
Actually, he had been impressed that the bullet had landed as close to her as it had.
Joseph, for the time being, was safe.
Galla’s killer, however, was getting away.
The assassin throw open the door to the black carriage. She shouted up at the driver and dove inside.
Still holding his wounded arm, the man on top of the carriage gave the reins a quick lash.
The horses jolted forward. The carriage began to move, heading towards the street at the northern end of the square.
Kendril didn’t think. He didn’t have time to. Joseph and Kara were both down and off their mounts. If the carriage made it out of the square, Kendril knew, they would lose the assassin for good.
Turning to his left, the Ghostwalker started bolting across the edge of the icicle-encrusted roof. He glanced down at the speeding carriage below him.
Windows were beginning to open up around the square, and a few heads poked out to investigate the sounds of fighting.
Kendril paid them no heed.
He reached the end of the roof, and glimpsed another about ten feet below him.
The carriage rattled forward on his right. It was almost to the side street.
Kendril leaped, praying to Eru in one quick breath that he wouldn’t simply go straight through the roof below him.
His feet smashed into the wooden shingles. Clumps of snow and ice erupted from the impact. The noise seemed almost as loud as a gunshot, and echoed across the square.
The roof, however, held under his weight.
He scrambled to his feet, dashing across the lower roof towards its edge.
The carriage was already rumbling by, the horses pulling it faster than Kendril could ever hope to run.
He only had one chance, one brief moment of intersection before the carriage was gone for good.
Kendril ran to the edge of the roof.
The carriage passed by below him. Its top was only a few feet below where he stood.
Without slowing, he reached the end of the roof.
Then he jumped.
His feet struck the top of the carriage squarely in the center, and tore through the firm layer of fabric that covered the top.
Kendril tumbled down inside, and smashed into one of the seats as he fell.
He instantly launched himself forward, grabbing at the woman next to him.
If Kendril’s entrance into the carriage had surprised the assassin at all, she certainly didn’t show it.
She reacted immediately, blocking his awkward blow and leaning back on the seat to kick him.
Kendril pressed his back against the forward seat and tried to press her as far back as he could.
He didn’t even try to draw one of his swords. Being in the back of the carriage was like fighting in a closet. There was hardly room to breathe, much less swing a weapon.
He dodged a strike from one of her elbows, and struck out with a fist that met nothing but cushioned seat.
The assassin wormed away, then kneed him in the side as she reached for a dagger on her belt.
Kendril gasped in pain and twisted to one side himself as he snatched at her arm, trying to keep her from drawing the weapon.
The carriage hit a rut in the road and threw both of the grappling passengers hard into the side door.
Kendril kept his grip tight on the woman’s arm all the while, struggling against her as she tried to pull her knife free. His free hand grabbed the belt around her waist for one moment.
And then, before Kendril even knew what was happening, she ducked down, snapped expertly to the side, and kicked him hard with both her legs.
He felt his back hit the carriage door.
With one hit too many, the door cracked open and Kendril went flying out into the street.
The snow cushioned his fall, but he still hit hard, rolling until he collided with the wall of a building.
He tottered to his feet and reached for a pistol, but it was already too late.
The carriage disappeared around a bend and was gone.
Kendril wiped the wet snow from his face, and used the moment to catch his breath. He rubbed his side where he had been kicked, staring down the darkened street in the direction the carriage had gone.
“Kendril! Are you alright?” Joseph came pounding up behind him, his rapier back in his hand.
He nodded. “Fine. Nothing hurt but my pride.” He turned his head back towards his friend. “How’s Kara?”
“She took a throwing blade in the arm. It doesn’t look too serious. She’s collecting the horses right now.”
“Good,” said Kendril. He started back down the street, shaking flakes of snow off his arm. “Time for us to get out of here before we draw any more attention. We have work to do.”
Joseph arched an eyebrow as he returned his rapier to its sheath. “Work? I don’t see what there is we can do. Galla is dead, and we’ve just lost his killer.” He shuddered briefly against the cold. “Seems like a dead end to me.”
“Not quite.” Kendril stopped and held out a gloved fist. He relaxed his fingers, and the pendant with the dark red jewel fell out, dangling in his grip.
The Ghostwalker gave a triumphant smile. “We have this.”
Chapter 11
“Stop squirming.” Joseph dabbed lightly at the wound with the wet cloth, squinting to see in the light of the fireplace.
“It hurts,” Kara replied.
“It’s supposed to hurt.” Joseph leaned back, and dropped the cloth back onto the bed. “At least for now. That should help prevent any infection.” He fumbled in his bag, and pulled out another small bottle. “And this should numb up the area enough for me to start stitching.”
Kara gave a heavy sigh, looking away at the door. “It’s just a little wound, Joseph. You’re making too much of a fuss.”
“Just hold still,” the scout commanded. He took her slender arm and dabbed the salve over the cut. “You let me do this right and it will heal in half the time.”
The thief smiled. “Those magical herbs of yours?”
Joseph grunted. “There’s nothing magical about a jacoya root.” He put the bottle back, then reached for a needle and thread. “And if you don’t want this to leave a scar
, you’ll do as I say.”
“It’s not like I haven’t gotten scars before.” Kara glanced over at him. “One more won’t really matter.”
“Let’s try to avoid scarring all the same,” said Joseph, threading the needle as he spoke. “Now give me your arm.”
The young woman obeyed, holding out her bare arm to the scout. She had rolled her sleeve up to the shoulder, revealing the entire length of her white flesh down to her delicate fingers.
Joseph took her arm gently. He hesitated for a moment.
Kara sat very still, feeling the warmth of his hand on her skin. She looked up to see him gazing at her. “Joseph--” she whispered, feeling her mouth start to go dry.
The scout didn’t move.
The door to the room suddenly opened. “Well,” said Maklavir as he entered, “there’s only one other room available, so it looks like things will be cozy tonight.”
Joseph was already hurriedly stitching up the wound, his attention focused completely on his work.
Kara stared down at him, her face suddenly flushed.
“Not that I see the point anyway,” the diplomat continued. “It’s practically morning by now.” He moved to the small fireplace, warming his hands in the glow. “Where is Kendril, anyway? Regnuthu take that man. If we had gotten rooms back when we had first arrived, like I suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Where he gets—”
The diplomat paused, his eyes falling on Joseph and Kara for the first time. He tilted his head back slightly, looking at them carefully. “I say,” he said coolly, “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Just a little wound dressing,” said Kara, her face flushing even more.
Joseph continued to work away, absorbed in his task.
Maklavir gave a short nod of his head. His eyes flickered between the two of them. “Right.” He turned back to the fire, rubbing his hands briskly together. “As I was saying, it’s just two rooms, so it looks like we’ll be three and one.” He glanced over his shoulder at Kara. “Feel free to pick whichever one you like better. The other one is right across the hall.”
“There,” said Joseph quietly, tying off the thread. “With those ointments it should heal pretty fast.” He moved his fingers gently around the red cut. “You’re lucky it just got you in the arm.”
“I heard the horses were wounded,” said Maklavir. “Will they be alright?”
“Just mine,” said Joseph as he got to his feet. “And he’ll be fine.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small circular disk made of metal. He held it up. The firelight gleamed off it. “It’s some kind of throwing blade. It doesn’t cut very deep. I think it’s designed more for distracting than killing.”
Maklavir gave the blade a curious glance. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” came an ominous voice from the doorway. Kendril stomped into the room, melted snow on his cloak and trousers. “We should all get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Maklavir gave a pained sigh. “Honestly, Kendril, Galla’s dead, and you’ve gotten your necklace or whatever it is back. Surely we can go now.” His face brightened. “Or, even better, see the town a bit? It’s been years since I’ve visited the Ice Gardens.”
Kendril gave the diplomat a sidelong glance, his face dark with purpose. “Did it ever occur to you, Maklavir, that whoever killed Galla to get this,” he held up the pendant in his gloved fist, “may very well try to kill us for it as well?”
The room was deathly silent. Kendril looked at all three of his friends. He tucked the necklace back into his pocket.
“I’m not leaving,” he said finally. “Not until I get some answers.”
By the cold light of morning, the inn’s common room actually looked warm and inviting, something that none of the four companions had seen for a long time. A bright fire roared happily in a nearby hearth. The walls were decorated with old swords and shields, some displaying the crests of important families that had served Vorten and Valmingaard for centuries. The fare was simple yet good, hearty sausage and buttered biscuits hot from the oven.
“Now this,” said Maklavir between bites, “is what I call a breakfast.”
Kendril glanced out the paneled window uneasily as a small group of gendarmes rode by, their muskets slung onto their backs.
“We need to be careful,” he said in a low tone. “After last night I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s reported us. At the very least they must have found Galla’s body by now, and Maklavir and I were the last ones asking about him.”
Joseph took a bite of a biscuit, chewing on it contemplatively. “It’s a big city. As long as we lie low, we should be alright.”
“So what’s the plan?” Maklavir inquired, stabbing a sausage with his knife.
“The plan is to get some answers,” said Kendril, still staring thoughtfully out the window. “We need more information before we can act.”
Maklavir took a bite. “Assuming we need to act at all. I for one am for hightailing it out of here.”
Kara leaned back in her chair. “You don’t care about who killed Galla? Or why they were so desperate to get that pendant?”
The diplomat shrugged. “Idly curious, perhaps, but I certainly don’t see the point in risking my own neck over a piece of jewelry. It’s none of my business, after all.”
“I think it became our business when Galla double-crossed us and left us for dead,” Joseph pointed out.
“And now he’s dead. Frankly, I’d rather not join him.”
Kendril’s eyes flickered over to the diplomat. “What you do is your own concern, Maklavir. I’m going to see this to the end. I have to.”
Maklavir crossed his arms, staring skeptically at his friend. “That seems a bit cryptic, old chap. Care to enlighten us as to why this necklace of yours is so important?”
“It may not be,” Kendril admitted. “But I need to know for sure.”
There was silence around the table.
Joseph ran his thumb down his beard thoughtfully, considering his black-cloaked friend carefully. When he spoke, his voice was low against the background buzz of the common room.
“You were right about Galla,” he said slowly. “Twice. We should have listened to you, but we didn’t.” He gave a pensive sigh. “I admit I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but I’m willing to trust you if you say it’s important.”
Kara put down a half-eaten biscuit. “There’s something rotten about all this, that’s for sure. Galla’s killer was no ordinary thief. Did you see the way she moved? No one fights like that.”
Joseph pushed his shoulders back uncomfortably.
Kendril just stared blankly at the plate in front of him.
“She was an assassin,” Kara continued, rubbing vacantly at her wounded arm. “A professional one, too, by the looks of her. She must have been in training most of her life.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maklavir snorted. “A female assassin? Where was she trained? Who teaches a woman to swordfight, much less kill in cold blood?”
Joseph bristled. “Kara can handle a sword just fine, Maklavir, and you know she’s a better shot with a bow than all of us here.”
Kara fingered her biscuit, shaking her head. “No, Joseph, Maklavir is right. Everything I learned about swordplay and archery I picked up myself while working in my brother’s gang.” She looked over at the scout. “This woman was trained. There’s no other explanation.” She looked down at her plate again. “And I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“I might know,” said Kendril suddenly, “but I need to make sure before I start making wild guesses.” He glanced out the window again, tapping his hand restlessly against the table for a moment. He looked back at his three friends, leaning in closer.
“The way I see it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “we need to do two things. First, we need to find out what this pendant really is and why Galla was killed for it.”
“And second?” Joseph asked, hi
s voice just as quiet.
“Second, we need to track down who in this city wants it, and why.”
“You mean the assassin?” Kara asked.
“Her,” Kendril acknowledged, “and whoever sent her after Galla in the first place.”
Maklavir cupped his head in his hands. “Not another conspiracy,” he groaned.
“The carriage,” said Joseph. He straightened up in his chair. “It had drapes on the side, hiding the markings.”
“The driver was just sitting there, waiting for Galla’s killer,” Kara confirmed, her mind racing as well. “It was a private carriage.”
“And private carriages cost money,” Kendril said firmly. “That means there is someone wealthy and influential behind our little trained assassin.”
“And if we find the carriage,” Joseph added, “we find whoever is behind this whole thing.”
“You’re all insane,” Maklavir said through his hands. “Why is it that no one ever listens to me? We could be halfway out of this city by now.”
“You’re welcome to go, Maklavir,” said Kendril, his voice icy.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said the diplomat with a sarcastic smile. “Of course I’m staying.” He glanced out the window as two other armed gendarmes rode past the inn. “Just don’t blame me when all the dying starts.”
“Noted.” Kendril glanced around at his three friends, clasping his hands together on the table. “Now here’s the plan.”
The streets of Vorten were filled with people, bustling to and fro across the vast metropolis.
Joseph and Kara walked side by side through the snowy streets, watching the colorful traffic all around them. The massive shape of the Bathhouse loomed over the buildings to their right, hot steam pouring up into the cold blue sky. Sunlight sparkled and glinted off the ice-encrusted snow, crunching under the boots and hoofs of passer-bys.
Kara glanced longingly up at the tiled building.
“I wish we had time to go there,” she said as she dodged out of the way of an oncoming wagon. “Maklavir makes it sound so decadent. Hot and cold baths, swimming pools, steam rooms—” She sighed, giving a sad smile. “Tuldor’s beard, what I wouldn’t give for just an hour inside.”
