The Hunter's Gambit

by Nicholas McIntire

  “There are roads through Kalinor beyond the ones you know.” he admonished gently.

  She didn’t question him.

  Aleksei took two steps towards the apex of the roof before he realized that his boots could not possibly give him the purchase he required. With an anguished sigh, he dropped back into a crouch and pulled them off.

  “What are you doing?” Tamara hissed, glancing towards the edge nervously, as though any moment Bael’s minions would come swarming over.

  “I can’t walk on the roof tiles in these boots.” Aleksei muttered, pulling his left boot off and dropping it next to his right. “Looks like we’re both going to have to be tender with our footing.”

  Tamara unleashed a string of curses that brought a blush to Aleksei’s cheeks. “My entire life has been so bloody sheltered from exertion. I hate feeling helpless.”

  “I’ll do my best to shield you from it, Princess. As much as I can.”

  “And I believe that, Lord Captain. I have to.” Her steely Belgi gaze was enough to push him forward.

  Aleksei moved and she followed him across the smooth roof tiles of the Palace, trying to be as quiet as possible. Tamara wasn’t quite sure how one was supposed to be quiet while walking over roof tiles, since every one she stepped on clattered and clanked. But Aleksei somehow managed it, so she decided she might as well do her best.

  After what seemed like hours of treading lightly on the pale golden tiles, Aleksei raised a hand. She came to an unsteady halt and watched him point at the sharp drop-off not three paces before them. He pressed a finger to his lips, then crept forward.

  Tamara remained where she was, uncertain whether he wanted her to wait or follow.

  Aleksei crawled to the end of the roof and glanced off the edge before pulling back sharply. Tamara crawled over to him, breathing in her own gasp in when she caught sight of a sentry. A man stood on the battlements not five paces below them. He was dressed in black, with a wickedly curved knife gripped in one hand. Its black blade was dripping with the blood of a fallen Guardsman lying not far off.

  The Archanium Knight turned to her and pressed his finger to his lips again for emphasis, then drew his knife.

  Tamara’s eyes widened as she watched him heft the short length of icy steel. The knife flashed from his hand. She hadn’t even seen him move, but her ears heard the sudden gurgling from below. She leaned over just in time to see the man in black collapse into a nerveless heap on the battlements, Aleksei’s knife handle sprouting up from the back of his neck.

  “Serves him right.” she grunted.

  Aleksei gripped the edge of the roof and slid over the side. She started to tell him not to drop, but before she could muster the words he was gone.

  Tamara looked over the side in horror. She had once seen a Guardsman fall half as far and break his leg. Yet when she caught sight of him he was decidedly uninjured. He swiftly moved over to the corpse of the man in black and withdrew his own knife with a twist, wiping it on the dead man’s clothes before returning the blade to its scabbard.

  “Jump!”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head, unable to fight back her fear.

  He grunted irritably, “Tamara, jump! I’ll catch you!”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Trust me.” he demanded.

  She thought back to the last time he’d said that, mere minutes before. To the first time he’d begged it of her. She had trusted him then. He had always held his end of the bargain, and for all that he’d pushed her, he’d always kept her safe.

  Stifling a sob, Tamara gently lowered herself off the edge as he had done, then let go. A heartbeat later, she dropped into Aleksei’s arms.

  The force of impact drove the wind from her lungs, and she spent the better part of a minute regaining her breath. When her breathing finally steadied, Aleksei set her on her feet.

  “That was a very brave thing you just did.” he whispered into her ear.

  Tamara felt a rush of pleasure at having made Aleksei Drago proud. She looked up to realize that he’d already moved to the battlements, where he was examining a length of coarse rope.

  “What is it?” she hissed, joining him at the edge of the wall.

  “It looks like our friend here climbed up the wall with this.” he said, hefting a heavy iron grappling hook in one hand. “And it should be easier to go back down than climb up.”

  “Go back down?” she asked weakly, looking over the edge at the fifty-pace drop.

  He fixed her with a cool golden-eyed gaze, “You’re going to have to climb down yourself this time. I can’t take us both down.”

  Her heart seemed to leap into her throat as his words sank in.

  “But where are you going?” she whimpered as he swung his leg over the edge of the wall.

  His tone came back reassuring, “I’ll go down in front of you. I’ll show you how to climb down, but you have to follow my example.”

  She nodded, pretending her heart wasn’t trying to burst from her chest. Her breath came in short gasps as she watched the Knight climb over the battlement and slowly lower himself.

  “Grab the rope.” he commanded.

  Tamara took the rope in her hands and reoriented herself as he had. “Lean back, holding tight to the rope.” he instructed from below.

  She did as he commanded, finding it far easier to slowly walk her way down the wall. Though the rope bit sorely into her hands, Tamara kept her whimpers to herself. She’d never endured this sort of physical difficulty.

  Even when he’d saved her from the assassins on the Southern Plain, he’d done all the riding and hunting.

  Still, there was no turning back now, and Tamara would not allow herself to give in to feelings of discomfort when her entire bloody realm was falling to ashes around her.

  Yet no amount of determination could make up for basic physical strength, and the farther she climbed, the weaker her hands became. Finally she stopped, trying desperately to catch her breath as she looked down to check her progress.

  “Don’t look down!” came Aleksei’s sharp snap, an instant too late.

  The street was spinning beneath her. It seemed to rise and fall before her eyes. And then she was hurling towards the ground at a breathtaking pace. Tamara closed her eyes tight and opened her mouth to scream as the cobbles rushed up to greet her.

  But even as she braced herself for impact she was jerked roughly short. She opened her eyes experimentally, wondering when the end would come, and found herself floating over an expanse of cityscape. After a moment she realized that something warm was trickling down her back.

  She looked up and nearly screamed at the sight of Aleksei’s strained face.

  One hand was clasping her left arm. Blood ran freely from his grip and down her arm, disappearing beneath the satin of her sleeve. His other hand held the rope tightly, but she could see a dark, slick trail vanishing up the rope and into the night.

  Tamara reached feebly for the rope dangling in front of her and, failing that, reached upwards and caught Aleksei’s wrist.

  He made no attempt to pull her upwards, but instead began to slide farther down the rope. The glistening stain trailed after him, and Tamara realized that his hand would probably be nerveless gristle and bone by the time they reached the street far below.

  Minutes passed, time punctured only by the grating rasp of raw hemp gnawing into Aleksei’s hand, the drip of his blood down the back of her neck. She didn’t hear him so much as whimper the entirety of their descent.

  Tamara’s feet touched the cool stone of the street, and a moment later Aleksei dropped onto the cobbles, clutching his right hand close to his chest. Blood drooled freely from his left hand as stabilized himself against the Palace wall.

  Tamara looked away from the crimson smear left on the white stone wall. She looked at Aleksei’s face, but his expression betrayed no hint of pain.

  “We’ve got to get out of the open.”
he grunted.

  She nodded, knowing that enemy soldiers could show up at any moment.

  “Where can we go? Krasik’s men will be everywhere.” Tamara whispered, suddenly feeling more frightened than she had all night. Despite how far they’d come, they were still as far from deliverance as they’d ever had been.

  Aleksei said nothing for a long moment, but rather seemed focused on remaining conscious. Finally, he stiffened, blinking away pain she could only imagine.

  “Follow me.”

  Emelian Krasik kicked aside the remains of a richly upholstered armchair and stepped into the room. It still stank of blood and smoke, and here and there the fine carpets were marred with sprays of viscera.

  His Magi had not been kind in their victory.

  Krasik smiled as he came to the center of the room. Before him knelt the thin form of a woman, streaks of white running through her chestnut locks. Her emerald eyes burned with a rage and determination, at once admirable in a woman of her maturity, and revolting.

  “Isn’t this an auspicious meeting, Majesty?” he asked softly. “I must wonder if you saw this coming, all those years ago? Or perhaps you thought your insult would go unpunished?”

  Andariana gave him no response, save the single tear that slowly wound its way down her soot-stained cheek.

  “Zra-Uul,” a uniformed man interrupted, stepping into the room and bowing low, “your presence is requested in the chambers of the Princess Tamara.”

  Krasik’s smile brightened, “Ah yes, the Princess. Tell me, is my granddaughter well?”

  He watched Andariana as he asked, gauging the levels of her fear, her hatred.

  “I…I’m not sure, Zra-Uul.”

  Something about the way the man floundered forced Krasik to turn, “You’re not sure? Either she’s breathing and she’s alive, or she isn’t and she’s dead. Which is it, Commander?”

  “N…Neither, Zra-Uul? She’s…gone, Your Grace.”

  Emelian turned, glaring down at Andariana. The whore’s face lit up in triumph. He reached down and rapped the back of her head, sparing a light brush of his power. The queen collapsed into a nerveless heap on the floor.

  “Take her to one of the storerooms.” he barked at the commander. “I don’t want her taking her own life before I’ve taken my satisfaction from her.”

  The commander darted forward and swung the unconscious monarch over his shoulder. He hurried from the room.

  “Perron!” Krasik roared.

  There was the sound of low conversation from the corridor, and then Lord Perron took a dignified step into the chamber.

  “Your Grace.” he said with an infinitesimal bow.

  “Tell me, Lord Perron, how it is that the Princess Tamara is not in her chambers? As of your last report, I believe she was hiding in there from our Magi.”

  “Indeed she was, Zra-Uul. But it seems that a rescue attempt was mounted between the time I received that report and the moment our Magi broke into her bedchamber.”

  “And I don’t suppose you have any idea where she is now?” Krasik asked, his voice soft and measured.

  Perron sighed, “We found one man dead on the north wall of the Palace, and blood on the grappling line he used to scale the wall. We believe her rescuer took her out of the Palace by such means.”

  “Which means they’re in the city.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. The sentries are all under strict instructions to open the Palace gates for no one.”

  “And what about the walls surrounding the city? The sewers? Are they being guarded as well?”

  Perron cleared his throat, “With all due respect, Your Grace, it is impossible to monitor the entire sewer system and the city walls with our invasion of the Palace in the state that it is. There is a standard night watch on patrol of the city. Any unusual activity will surely be dealt with by them.”

  Krasik arched a snowy eyebrow, “Lord Perron, there are certain residents of this Palace who are still unaccounted for. Residents who could be responsible for spiriting the Princess Tamara from her room and, in due time, from this city. Despite the diligence of your night watch.”

  Perron blinked in surprise.

  Krasik heard the confused rumble of the man’s thoughts as though Perron had blurted them aloud.

  “The information you receive, Lord Perron, is at my disposal whether or not you choose to divulge it to me.” Krasik groaned.

  He hoped he sounded bored. Gods, he was bored. So much conquest, so much blood to whet his whistle and what to show for it?

  Perron stiffened.

  Krasik read each thought before it trickled out of Perron’s ear. The Chancellor was a silly man in the best of times, but this was a triumph! This was the culmination of his first invasion, and he was already fielding excuses like a first-day kitchen scull?

  “In my experience, Lord Perron,” Krasik intoned, “men of your station often think themselves to be in some way remarkable. This supports a belief that while you may deceive others, you cannot yourselves be deceived. This is, I believe, the doom of your kind.”

  Perron tried to smile, “As you say, Your Majesty.”

  “Now then, would you mind telling me the latest word on the whereabouts of Jonas Belgi or Lord Captain Drago? Or shall I dig for that as well?”

  “The Prince has not been in his chambers since just before sundown, when he exited the west wing of the Palace. He has yet to return. The Lord Captain was stationed at the Palace gate, where we amassed our attack earlier this evening. He would have been in the blast zone of Bael’s most…unusual assault.”

  “You do not honestly believe him dead, Perron.”

  “It seems unlikely.” Perron admitted.

  “Who among Sammul’s Magi is missing?” asked Krasik.

  “The Magus Aya has not been seen, Your Grace. She is the only Magus Sammul considered dangerous in the Voralla. All other surviving Magi have been rounded up as Lord Bael instructed and placed under guarded arrest.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Cathedral of Mokosh, Zra-Uul. It was the only secured structure that could contain their numbers.”

  “I trust they are under sufficient guard?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Perron responded quickly. “By our best Magi. Though it seems that even our weakest Magi are more than a match.”

  Krasik smiled, “Indeed. Sammul has done his job well. We’ll have to find some suitable reward for him, if he survives.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” said Perron, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  “Excellent. I am going to get some sleep. Contact Bael and let him know that I am returning to the camp.”

  Perron frowned, “You’re not going to sleep in your palace, Your Majesty?”

  Krasik laughed harshly, “It is not my palace yet, Perron. And until it is, I have no intention of entrusting these walls with my life. I shall see you on the morrow. Perhaps dawn will bring news of victory. Remember, they cannot hide here forever. Either they will escape or we will sniff them out.”

  “As you say, Zra-Uul.”

  Krasik nodded, then left the broken chamber.

  Perron allowed himself a sigh of relief that he had survived yet another encounter with the man. To say that he’d gotten far more than he’d ever bargained for in the form of Emelian Krasik was an understatement of spectacular proportions.

  What had begun as an efficient coup d’état was rapidly spinning out of Perron’s control. And now he was charged with tracking down the two people who had made his life a misery for the past year.

  Krasik might as well have commanded him to shoot down the sun and put the moon in a bag for all the likelihood Perron had of catching either Jonas Belgi or Lord Captain Drago. And even if he did get his hands on either one of them, what was he to do? He supposed it would be easiest to have them killed on sight.

  He might even get lucky. After all, only one had to make a mistake for him to be the victor.

 
; He chuckled lightly to himself, not foolish enough to gain confidence, yet not quite as dejected as he had been a moment before. Circumstances, he thought, were not necessarily as dire as he had supposed.

  On a rafter far above a tiny brown wood-mouse blinked its beady emerald eyes. When Jonas was sure that nothing new would be revealed, he scurried away through a crack in the wall, unnoticed, unseen.

  Aleksei led Tamara through a winding series of alleys. From the stench of the rubbish bins surrounding them on either side, they were near the butcher’s markets. This was confirmed a moment later when their alley abruptly emptied onto Butcher’s Square.

  Aleksei glanced at the garishly painted sign proclaiming their location and sighed, “I suppose it’s as fitting as a place as any.”

  “Fitting for what?” she muttered.

  He held up a ruined hand, “Wait here.” His golden eyes narrowed, “And don’t make a sound. If they discover your presence, we forfeit our escape.”

  Tamara nodded emphatically. Aleksei breathed a sigh and stole away from the alley entrance, hugging the shadows as he crept around the edge of the Square.

  He sniffed the air as he moved, making slight corrections in his position as their scents grew stronger.

  While Perron’s soldiers might be working to overthrow Belgi authority, most had been trained under the same regimens as all other Legionnaires in the past twenty years. A shift of allegiances shouldn’t be able to tamper with that training too much.

  Excepting, of course, that they broke their oaths to their queen, he thought bitterly.

  As difficult as it was for Aleksei to cut down men who only months ago had been his own troops, a deeper determination consistently won out. These men were here to dethrone the Queen, and all those loyal to her House. They had come to replace the House of Belgi.

  Jonas was not exempt from their planned retribution, and for that alone Aleksei refused to display even the meanest form of mercy. He felt their malevolence for the Crown as keenly as though it were leveled at him, but he cared less for that than the malice they had in their hearts for his prince.