No, stop. She couldn’t let herself fall asleep; she had work to do. She drew on her self-healing powers and sobered herself up. She groaned, and scrambled into a sitting position, rubbing her head. There was a lamp on the bedside table and she lit it, then rummaged in an open bag that was lying on top of the blankets. She dug underneath the spare dresses and pulled out the close-fitting black clothes that she had brought. In a pocket was the address she had already killed two people to obtain. She stared at the piece of paper as her eyesight cleared; her drunken night out already fading from her memory.
She left her dress on the floor and washed her face in a basin of cool water, savouring the relief from the heat that lingered throughout the night. She cleaned her teeth to remove any odour of alcohol on her breath, then dressed in her black outfit. The upper half had a layer of leather stitched between the fabric that would provide a limited amount of protection; it wasn’t the most comfortable garment, but had been tailored to her precise measurements. Once dressed, she pulled on a pair of sandals then strapped a short sword to her waist and a knife to her lower leg. She stretched, loosening herself up, then glanced through a slit in her shutters. The inner yard of the palace was in silence. She could see a few guards standing by the gate that led to the moat, and more by the front of the tower where Lady Lydia had her residence.
She picked up a flagon of cold ale from her dresser, then threw a black cloak over her shoulders and stole to the door of her room.
You see me as a palace courtier.
Her chest tightened and she took a breath. Why was she nervous? She had done this a thousand times before. Yes, she thought, but never for Corthie Holdfast. It didn’t matter that he had no idea that she was investigating on his behalf. There had been two assassination attempts already, and if she didn’t act she could see no reason why there wouldn’t be a third. She paused by the door, her hand an inch from the handle, and went over the arguments in her head again. If she stood aside and did nothing, and Corthie was murdered, then despite knowing it was futile, she would seek revenge on those who had done it. Surely it would be better to act first? It would be the last time she would get involved with his life; once she had destroyed the conspiracy trying to kill the champion, she would step back and forget him. Or so she told herself.
She opened the door and went out into the empty hallway. Enough people would have heard her drunken return to the palace to assume she would be in an unconscious stupor, and she could be back long before anyone noticed her absence. She hurried along the quiet passageways, and descended the spiral staircase to the lower floor. She crept to the opening that led to the inner yard and peered out, seeing the guards at their posts. The shifts had changed with the midnight bell, and the soldiers looked bored and hot in their heavy armour. She straightened her back and stepped out, striding across the yard with confidence.
The soldiers glanced at her approach.
‘Evening, boys,’ she said. She handed them the cold ale. ‘I could see you suffering in this awful heat, and thought you could do with this.’
The two guards smiled. ‘Thanks, you’re a sweetheart. You came down here just for that?’
‘No, I’ve a message for the night boat captains in the harbour. Her Ladyship wants fresh lobsters for breakfast.’
‘And she’s making you go out in the middle of the night?’
Aila shrugged. ‘Demigods, eh?’
The soldiers laughed. ‘You said it.’
She squeezed past them as they glugged down the ale. ‘See you later, boys.’
She sauntered through the gatehouse and across the bridge over the moat. She kept her disguise until she reached the crossroads that led to the harbour, then ducked into the shadows.
You see me as a soldier in the Sander militia.
She re-emerged, then turned along a street that ran parallel to the harbour front. A few taverns were still open, their customers spilling out onto the side of the road as they drank the honeyed ale the town was famous for. She glanced at them like a soldier would, frowning at any misbehaviour while ignoring it at the same time, and continued on until she reached a quieter part of town. The old houses were stacked on either side of twisting lanes and she kept to the thick shadows until she reached the street written on her slip of paper.
Her eyes scanned the front doors. Each led to three or four apartments, and she read the names of the occupants as she walked by. She noted the position of the apartment she was looking for and kept going without breaking her stride. At the end of the street, she slipped into the shadows and worked her way to a back alley that ran along the rear of the apartments.
You see me as Stormfire.
She quickened her step, hastening along the alley until she reached the rear of the block she had noted before. The untidy backyard was heaped with household garbage, and she stepped through it with care until she reached the back door. It was locked, and she knelt, removing her picks from a small pouch on her belt. It had taken her many years of practice to become proficient as a picker of locks, but as a demigod, time was an advantage she could use. She felt the barrel of the lock turn, and pushed the door open. It made a soft creaking noise, but nothing that concerned her. She crept into the dark hallway, and ascended the stairs to the upper floor. There were doors leading to two separate apartments at the top of the final flight of steps, and she went to the one she was looking for, and listened. Silence. She knew there would be deadbolts on the other side of the door, so she glanced up. The hatch to the roof was within reach and she clambered up onto a window ledge and pushed it to the side, then pulled herself up into the attic. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, then she crawled slowly through the low attic space, climbing over the thick roof beams. She found the building’s water tank, and followed the pipes that led to the apartment she was after. There was a small hatch above the bathroom, and she placed her hand on it. It was locked. Damn it, she thought. She was going to have to make a noise, so she would need to be quick.
She half-stood in the cramped attic, then brought her foot down onto the hatch. The wood split, then swung free, the boards colliding with the wall of the bathroom. She dropped through the gap, landing on the floor and drawing her short sword at the same time. She kicked the bathroom door open and raced into the next room. A man was sitting up in bed, his hands scrambling for a crossbow on the table next to him. She pulled her knife from her leg-sheath and threw it. The blade struck the man’s hand, fixing it to the surface of the table. She leapt over the bed as the man’s mouth opened to scream and smacked the hilt of her sword down onto his temple. His eyes rolled up and he fell back onto the mattress, out cold.
Aila paused, listening. She waited a few moments to ensure no one else in the building was coming to check, then got to work.
It was nearly two hours before she could get the man to awaken. She had tied him to a chair, with one arm behind his back, and his ankles bound to the wooden legs. She had stuffed a pair of his woollen socks into his mouth, but had left his other hand secured to the table by the knife; it was a nice touch, she thought. She wiped the blood from his face and slapped him a few times, then splashed him with water until he groaned and opened his eyes.
He stared at her, panic and fear gripping his face.
‘Do you recognise me?’ she said. ‘Nod if you do.’
He nodded.
‘I’m going to remove the gag to let you speak. If you shout out I will torture you and leave you alive but broken, do you understand?’
He nodded again, and she yanked the socks from his mouth.
‘Are you really her? Stormfire? I though you were a myth.’
‘Unfortunately for you, I’m quite real.’
‘What do you want from me? I’m not mixed up in anything in the Circuit; I stay well clear of that cesspit.’
‘I’m extending my remit.’
He was sweating and shaking as he stared at her. It was the scar, she thought, it always freaks them out.
‘Yo
u paid four men to kill someone.’
His eyes widened. ‘No, you’re mistaken.’
‘Don’t lie to me. I’ve already spoken to, and killed, one of them. He gave up the name of his handler in the Circuit, and guess what? Yes, I killed him too. He was tough; it took a lot of… effort to get him to tell me where the money had come from. But, he did in the end, and so here I am.’
The man said nothing, the sweat trickling down his forehead.
‘How did you know the champion was going to be in the Circuit?’
‘Look, I’m only a middle-man, I was only passing on a job to a colleague. It was nothing personal against the champion; it’s just business.’
‘I know.’
‘I have gold; take it, all of it. Tell me what I need to do to stay alive, and not… be broken.’
‘You know what to do. Tell me who gave you the commission.’
He paused. ‘And if I do?’
‘Then I’ll knock you out, untie you, and leave.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Yes.’
‘My life will be in danger; I’ll have to run and hide somewhere.’
Aila shrugged. ‘I’ll leave you the gold; I’m not interested in money, I want the truth.’
‘But you don’t understand who you’re dealing with here. The people who gave me the orders, they…’
‘Yes?’
‘They’re demigods.’
‘You saw them?’
‘No. Not once. I dealt with one of their mortal lackeys, a man by the name of Tangrit.’
Aila almost cried out in rage, but managed to appear calm. ‘Tangrit of Pella?’
‘Yes. He works for…’
‘I know who he works for.’
‘Lord Naxor is a very dangerous man. If he discovers you’ve traced the money to him…’
‘What did Tangrit say? Did he tell you who wanted the champion dead, or why?’
‘He told me that Lord Naxor had received orders from his mother to make sure the champion was eliminated. We already knew he’d been in the Circuit, and I was told to prepare a team close to Redmarket in case he came back. As I said, it was only business.’
Aila frowned. Princess Khora had ordered the attempt? It didn’t make any sense.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why would Naxor’s mother care about the champion?’
‘Because he’s a slave of the duke, and she’s scared. She’s heard that Marcus is thinking of moving against her, and if he does, and that champion is by his side, then nothing will stop him.’
She nodded. ‘I think I might have to have a word with Tangrit.’
‘You can’t,’ he said, ‘unless you can speak to the dead. His body was found floating in a canal days ago. His eyes had been gouged out. You mean that wasn’t you?’
‘I never touched him.’
‘Someone’s covering their tracks, miss.’ He glanced at her as she pondered his words. ‘Have I said enough?’
She nodded, then got to her feet.
‘Praise Malik,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t say anything about you being here.’
‘I know you won’t.’
She swung her hand, clubbing him with the hilt of her sword, then slashed his throat with a sideways swipe, stepping away to avoid the blood as his head slumped. She wiped the blade on the bed and sheathed her sword as she felt waves of rage course through her. She almost spat on the body, but controlled herself.
Her anger could be put to better use.
Chapter 22
Wrong for Each Other
Arrowhead Fort, The Bulwark, The City – 2nd Namen 3419
Lightning streaked across the dark red sky amid the torrential rains that battered down on the Great Walls. Huge, black clouds were rolling in from the direction of sunward, though no sun could be seen. Already the moat was starting to fill, after four months of almost no rain, and the parched earth outside the walls was transforming into thick mud. Many of the greenhides had begun their retreat; peeling off in groups towards the drier regions that lay sunward beyond the reach of the Sweetmist storms.
‘Look at them run,’ said Corthie from the shelter of a covered stretch of battlements. ‘It’s funny to think that they’re scared of a bit of rain.’
‘It’s not the rain,’ said Quill; ‘it’s the darkness. The City will be overcast for the next two months, so forget about seeing the sun for a while.’
‘Bollocks,’ he muttered. ‘This is awful. Not only will I have nothing to do until winter, but it’s going to be grey and miserable the whole time?’
‘Namen’s always the worst month; it’s still overcast throughout Balian, but it’s not as wet.’
‘The weather here is crazy.’
‘Don’t you have seasons where you’re from?’
‘We do, they’re just not quite as abrupt as here. I mean, yesterday it was still hot and dry, and now we have two months of this?’
‘It’s fine; we just move everything indoors. Sweetmist is a time of rest and recovery.’
‘I need to find something to do. I can’t hang around here idle, I’m already bored and it’s only been a day.’
She shook her head at him. ‘You’re lucky; not many Blades are free to roam the City whenever they feel like it. You could visit Tara or Dalrig, or even Icehaven. The mountains there are supposed to be beautiful.’
‘I’m not free to roam the City; I’m banned from the Circuit, remember?’
‘Why would you want to go back there? The last time we went, you were shot at.’ She eyed him as she said the words. ‘And the adjutant saved you. Funny that.’
Corthie sighed. ‘If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.’
‘It’s nothing; it’s just that I think maybe she likes you. Why else would she have stepped in front of you?’
‘She’s a demigod; she healed in seconds.’
‘Hmmm. I doubt she’d have done it for me.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re not the champion.’
‘What, so my life is worth less than yours?’
‘No, but maybe these demigods don’t see things the way we do.’
‘There’s no “maybe” about it; every demigod in the City is an arrogant asshole who couldn’t give a toss about mortals. They treat us all like servants, or slaves.’
‘That adjutant answered your questions, didn’t she? I remember you commenting on it at the time.’
‘So you’re defending one of them now?’
‘She did save my life.’
Quill stared at him. ‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘What? I’d only just met her.’
‘I know, and that’s what’s bothering me.’ She frowned. ‘Something weird’s going on, and I don’t like it. I’ve also noticed you sneaking down the stairs some nights, past my room. Where have you been going?’
‘I’m not going to the Circuit.’
‘I know, you’ve not left Arrowhead; I checked with the sergeant on the gates. Look, I don’t care if you’re sleeping around, and I kind of appreciate you not bringing lots of girls up to the tower, but you don’t need to keep it a secret from me.’
He stared out at the greenhides retreating through the rain, relieved with the conclusion she had reached. ‘Alright. Sorry.’
She said nothing for a while, then walked from the battlements.
‘Quill, wait…!’ he shouted after her, but she kept going and disappeared down the stairs leading to the forecourt. He turned back to the greenhides, wishing he was down there with them. He had lied to Quill, his closest friend in the Bulwark, not just about Aila and the dragon, but about sleeping with other girls. He was trying to keep too many secrets, when blunt honesty was his usual approach to life.
Blackrose was right, he thought, humans existed on lies.
He had just dried himself when a knock came at the door of his bedchamber. He smiled. Quill?
‘Come in.’
A young man in a wet raincoat opened the door but didn’t enter. ‘Sir? I h
ave a message for you.’
Corthie pulled on a dry tunic and walked over. Under the man’s raincoat, he could see the badge of a Blade messenger.
‘Aye?’
‘Sir, Lord Naxor has sent a carriage; he awaits you at the Fifth Gate in the Middle Walls, and asks if you would care to join him there.’
‘Did he say why? Are we going on another tour of the City?’
‘Lord Naxor didn’t give a reason, sir.’
Corthie shrugged. ‘I’ve nothing better to do, so aye; I’ll be downstairs in five minutes.’
The messenger left and Corthie finished dressing. He glanced at the long, ugly raincoat he had been supplied with and left it hanging by the door. Hopefully Naxor was planning on taking him to a dry tavern somewhere, and maybe he would get a chance to slip in a subtle question about Aila. He smiled at the thought of her, then stopped himself. No. It had to end before it could become… something. His sister was coming for him, and he would leave as soon as she had arrived, while the City had been part of Aila’s life for over seven centuries. He couldn’t ask her to start something that he might not be able to see through. And if he fell in love with her, then parting would be even worse. He laughed at himself. ‘If he fell in love with her’. If? He was already halfway there.
He tried to clear his mind as he laced up his boots, but the image of her lying in his arms after she had saved him in Redmarket was seared into his memory. He had turned down casual relationships because he had wanted to meet someone he liked; well, he had, and now he was doing his best to wreck it before it became serious.
He headed down the stairs to the level where Tanner and Quill lived.
‘Hey, Tanner.’
The older warrior nodded. ‘What did you say to Quill earlier? She came down here with a face that told me to stay well away, and she’s not come out of her room since.’
The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1) Page 31