“Lord Garik gave us a mission, Boris. Don’t tell me you’re going to back out now.” Veronica's voice had become like steel.
“No, Veronica, I’m not saying I am. I was commenting on how it would be so easy for us to catch a boat for Valnos and head east over the ocean toward Imperial lands. We could start over, free from the grasp of Garik and his agents.”
“Listen, Boris,” Veronica whispered in a fierce undertone, “I am not leaving until I get revenge for the death of Richard. If that means that I have to bow and scrape and kiss that fool Garik’s feet then so be it. I will have my revenge on Garik and his little pet bitch.”
“I understand. Forget I said anything. Come on, we have to get to the docks.” Standing up, Boris left a generous tip on the table as compensation for the glares the poor serving woman received from Veronica every time she came around, and headed for the door.
As Boris and Veronica departed from The Gull Tavern, Boris noticed a city watch patrol, consisting of six men, making their way toward the tavern from the north. Grabbing Veronica's arm, he steered her in the opposite direction, not looking back.
“What are you doing,” Veronica said as she looked up at him, though she was going along with him and speaking in a fierce whisper.
“City watch,” Boris replied. That was all that needed to be said. Assassins didn't quite fear the city watch, for they were under-trained and underpaid, but they were a nuisance to be avoided when possible. Although the city watch members lacked skill, they did possess coordination, and, just as a pack of hyenas could take down a lion, so too could a large enough squad of city watchmen take down a pair of highly-skilled assassins.
Boris and Veronica had dressed to blend in on their journey to Tar Ebon. Boris wore a typical pair of workman brown trousers with a faded green tunic, while Veronica had packed up her dark leathers and knee-high boots in favor of similar clothing, for she had refused to wear a dress.
Each wore a tattered brown cloak at their backs, as most people in this region did if they were traveling. A cloak was one of the most valuable tools available to a traveler. It would act as shelter from rain, a cushion from the hard ground when an inn wasn't an option, a margin of warmth during the colder seasons and could serve as camouflage in the dark.
Boris did not look back, as he knew that would look suspicious. He let go of Veronica's arm and reached instead for her hand. She was reluctant and began to pull away, but then realized why he was doing it and allowed him to grip it. Holding hands would make them seem more like a couple, just a workman and his woman out on the town, going about their business.
The ruse seemed to have worked, for when the two stopped at a fish vendor along the docks, Boris looked northward to survey The Gull Tavern. As he watched, the entire squad entered the inn one-by-one.
“We're clear,” Boris said at last, releasing Veronica's hand and beginning to move southward along the avenue again. Better to continue the way they were going than to pass the inn again and risk drawing unnecessary attention. Veronica turned and followed.
They had arrived in Tar Ebon on the third day after their meeting with Garik. Since then, they had acquainted themselves with the city, learning about the docks and surveying the level of security at each of the gates leading out of the city as well as spending some personal time together at the local inn, drinking in the common area and partaking in late night activity in their room.
They had learned that the ships from the north docked, logically, in the smaller North Harbor, while the ships from the south docked in South Harbor. The only thing that separated the two harbors was the large Celestial Lighthouse, which was attached to the customs building. When ships arrived, they were to dock at any open dock and await a customs official to come and check their manifest and inspect their ship.
In terms of gates, the north gate was the least trafficked and therefore the least-guarded. The guards appeared lax there, seldom checking the carts of the farmers and local artisans entering or exiting the city. If Boris and Veronica could disguise their package as something a farmer or artisan would be leaving the city with, they should have no problems.
Boris and Veronica continued south a ways, until The Gull Tavern was no longer in sight, before cutting up a side street and heading north again. Today was the day the ship was to arrive, and they intended to be there as soon as it docked. Their best chance would be to unload the important cargo prior to the customs officials arriving, hence reducing unwanted questions.
As they walked north, Boris thought back to the conversation they had been having at the tavern. It was clear that Veronica was not about to consider leaving the assassins’ guild and fleeing to Imperial lands until she had her revenge. Perhaps I'm homesick, Boris thought, but I miss my family. He considered for a moment leaving on his own, but could not bear the thought of leaving Veronica all alone. Who knew what Lord Garik would do to her if Boris defected? It was likely he would inflict on Veronica the same punishment Boris would have received. Boris was not about to have that on his conscience.
At last, they arrived in the area directly parallel from North Harbor. They chose a vantage point on a wooden bench near the water's edge where they could watch all of the ships come in. It was a busy day as usual, with carts pulled by horse or oxen moving up and down the avenue behind them, vendors hawking their wares and street urchins running amok. Customs officials passed them several times on their way to inspect ships as they came in to port, but spared them a only a brief glance. To the outside observer, the two would look like another working-class couple out to admire the Tar Ebon harbor.
The day wore on and, as dusk neared, Boris began to wonder if the ship had not passed Tar Ebon by and decided instead to make for Henry's Crossing. At last, illuminated by the final rays of the sun, a medium-sized cog arrived in the harbor and made its way toward North Harbor. Nudging Veronica, who had begun to doze off, Boris stood up and made his way toward the dock where the ship was going to tie up.
Behind him, Veronica grumbled about being awakened, but he could hear her moving off into the darkness. It was her task to fetch the cart from the nearby warehouse. They had paid for it for the day and ordered the warehouse operator, in very clear terms, to keep the horse and cart ready to be used at a moment's notice.
“Ho, are you The Black Blood?” Boris called out as the ship came alongside the dock and sailors threw ropes from the ship to tie it down.
One of the sailors, who had leaped onto the dock, replied “Aye, it is,” before continuing his work of tying up the ship.
Boris waited as the ship slid alongside the dock. Behind him, he could hear the “clop-clop” of horse hooves and turned to see Veronica riding atop a wagon, the wagon operator at her side steering the animals. Veronica gestured and the man brought the wagon alongside The Black Blood.
The gangplank was lowered from the ship and Boris moved to ascend.
“Hold where you are,” a stern voice commanded from atop the ship. “State your name and business here.”
Boris looked up toward the ship and found several men pointing crossbows at him, while one of the largest, most muscular, men he had ever seen stood watching him, arms folded. The man was olive-skinned by the look of it, most likely from the southern lands of Tar Ebon or from the region of Caladon in the southwestern Imperial lands.
“My name is Boris. I have been sent at the command of Lord Garik to collect the important cargo you hold on your ship.”
“Do you have some proof of this?” the large man said.
A blur streaked past Boris to his right and struck the wooden railing beneath the man. “Any other questions?” Veronica said from behind, in a menacing tone.
The man grabbed the dagger from the railing and studied it. Boris knew he would find the symbol of the Assassins’ Guild on it. Lord Garik had given it to them before they left, to present as proof that they spoke the truth. At last, he laughed and stuck the knife in his belt. “My, aren't you the fiery lass?” He
raised a hand, palm outward, and the men that stood along the railing lowered their crossbows. “My men are preparing the package for off-loading as we speak.”
“Thank you, sir,” Boris replied. “We will require the services of several of your men to accompany us on our journey to deliver this package. Can you spare some?”
The man was silent for a moment before replying. “Aye, I can spare five men for you, but no more. This may be important cargo that Lord Garik wants, but I will not leave my ship defenseless.”
“That will suffice,” Boris said.
While Boris waited, he heard a commotion behind him. Coming along the dock were several men, illuminated by lanterns. It appeared the arrival of the ship, and the resulting activity orchestrated by Boris and Veronica, had caught the notice of the customs officials.
A few moments later, a squad of a dozen customs officials, their swords drawn, approached. Veronica and Boris eyed them but did not draw their concealed weapons. Better to act innocent for as long as possible. It would be a challenge to take on a dozen men without the aid of those aboard The Black Blood, and the sounds of fighting would draw more officials, perhaps even the city watch, making it more difficult to extricate their package from the city.
“What are you doing with this cart?” The lead man, obviously the squad leader, demanded.
“We are off-loading cargo,” Boris replied, keeping his voice calm.
“Perhaps you're new here, Imperial,” the man said as he approached. He had judged Boris based upon his accent, which was Imperial despite his years in Tar Ebon. “The ship does not unload until we have inspected the manifest and compared it to the cargo aboard.”
Boris was about to make a witty reply about how they should have been faster to get out there, and could see that Veronica was about to start stabbing people, when the large man once again spoke. “Perhaps I can clear this up, squad leader,” he called out. “Turn around and return to your headquarters. Tell your commander the Black Captain Rogerio is at his docks. He will know what to do.”
The squad leader's eyes had gone wide at the mention of Rogerio's name. Clearly, the man had a reputation here on the docks of Tar Ebon. “Y-yes, I-I will do that,” he stammered, inching backward. The man looked as though he was about to pee himself. When he felt he was far enough away, he turned and motioned for his squad to turn around. They left at a brisk walk, to save some face, but Boris had a feeling they would not be back.
Rogerio confirmed his feelings. “Their commander and I have an arrangement. He leaves my ship alone and I don't kill every one of his family members. We won't be bothered again tonight.”
“Very impressive,” Veronica said, stepping up beside Boris. “Lord Garik's little pet must have had a tough time bringing you into Garik's new world order.”
“I may be a brute, lass, but I ain't stupid,” Rogerio growled. “Better to live to fight another day than die for such a foolish reason. If only the other guild leaders had understood that simple lesson we'd already control this land.”
After the squad of customs agents had faded from view, the cargo rose from the cog and settled onto the cart. The cargo was heavy, for the suspension on the wagon strained to keep the wagon bed from rubbing against the wheels. Perhaps we'll need more horses, Boris thought as he counted in his head how much of the coin Lord Garik had given them remained. There was enough left to purchase several dozen strong horses, in addition to a squad of mercenaries if necessary.
Once the cargo was off-loaded, five of Captain Rogerio's men trudged down the gangplank, travel sacks over their shoulders, and fell in around the cart without a word. “These are your men,” Captain Rogerio called from the deck. “They will serve you until the cargo is delivered or I'll have their heads.”
Boris nodded in understanding and approached the wagon driver, who had not moved from his seat. “We need another horse. Where can we find one?”
The man scratched his beard nervously. “I have a horse back at the warehouse, sir. We can use that one.”
“Good, take us there.” Without further words, Boris began walking down the dock and in the general direction of the warehouse. Veronica returned to her seat next to the wagon driver. She would be assurance that the man did not attempt anything duplicitous.
Arriving at the warehouse, the second horse was hitched to the wagon. As the wagon driver turned back to his seat, Boris stepped up to him and placed a hand on his chest, halting him. “You're not coming,” he said. “You will remain here and keep quiet about what happened. Do you understand?”
“B-but, that's my only wagon and horses,” the man protested pitifully. “How am I to make a living without them?”
“That's not my problem,” Boris said, and turned to mount the wagon. “You'll have your life, be grateful for that.”
“Better to be dead at this point,” the man sobbed.
Be careful what you wish for, Boris thought. He looked up and caught Veronica's eyes. He gave a brief nod and she withdrew one of her throwing knives from the pouch at her belt. Without a word, she threw the knife at the wagon driver. It took the man in the throat, and he clutched at it soundlessly in disbelief.
Boris snapped the reins and the wagon, with its precious cargo and the company of five mercenaries, began to depart the warehouse, leaving the wagon driver to flounder on the floor as his life drained quickly from his throat. Before they made it out of the warehouse, Boris heard the thump of a body hitting the floor. He had hoped to avoid bloodshed this night, but having no witnesses left to wag their tongues was convenient.
Making their way toward the north gate, they met no other interruptions, though they did stop at five inns along the way and steal a horse from the stables of each for the mercenaries. They needed to make haste, and being mounted would expedite the travel to Henry's Crossing. Fortunately, the grooms they encountered possessed more wits than the wagon driver and said nothing when a silver mark was given to them.
The gates of Tar Ebon were unique in that they never closed. In many smaller towns or cities with walls and gates, the gates were closed after dark to all but those on official business of the lord or lady of that city. But due to the size of Tar Ebon, it was difficult to make farmers and other artisans and merchants wait until the dawn, especially during the colder months when darkness remained for longer periods of time each day.
Approaching the gates, they were halted by the gate guards, who looked as though they wanted to be anywhere but the gates. “What's your cargo?” one of the guards, a scrawny young man that could not have seen more than nineteen summers, said.
“Rare metals for the foundry in Ironforge,” Boris said easily. Boris chose this story because it would explain the heavy guard and their direction. The best way to Ironforge, which lay nestled at the foot of the White Mountains where its people mined the depths of the mountains and forged beautiful works of art in the form of weapons, armor and tools, was to go north and then east, rather than take the more traveled road east and north.
The lad considered the group for a moment, eyeing the hard-eyed men guarding the wagon, clearly mercenaries, and gawking at Veronica who, despite wearing clothes meant to pass as “plain”, was still quite beautiful. “You're clear to go,” he said at last, stepping back and making for his chair. “Safe travels.”
“Thank you, sir,” Boris replied politely, before snapping the reins and urging the horses onward. It was best to make for Henry's Crossing with all due haste. They would ride all night and probably halfway through the day before resting near a stream or other body of water, then continue at nightfall. The wagon contained several bags worth of dried jerky and biscuits, and Boris was certain the mercenaries had brought their own rations as well.
Chapter 5: Darkness Spreads
Blood and Shadows Page 5