by AC Cobble
“What kind of resistance might we find in the inner sanctum?” asked Rhys. He was squatting comfortably, drawing rough notes about what Sander was telling them. This wasn’t Rhys’ first show. Ben intended to stick close to his friend and do whatever he did.
Amelie scooted next to Ben, looping an arm through his. He looked down at her and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
Sander shrugged. “There are guards in there, maybe two or three dozen, but that is not what we need to worry about. The council has seven men on it. Well, it did before Lord Jason elevated himself. Of those six remaining, at least three of them are mages. Rettor is our target though. If we can avoid the others, then that would be best. Within Rettor’s chambers, we should find what we’re looking for.”
Ben scratched the back of his neck. “This seems rather risky. I’m not sure it is such a good idea.”
“By now, the staff of this inn have seen you with us,” responded Sander coolly. “They’ve seen you deeply involved in our planning. If we fail, the first thing the Thin Blades will do is find out who our accomplices were. How long do you think you’ll last after that?”
“I think we’re in this, Ben,” rumbled Rhys, “for better or worse.”
Men made their final adjustments to weapons and armor. Everything that was known about the layout of the keep and its guard rotation had already been shared. There wasn’t anything more to do than begin.
Quiet Men streamed out into the street in front of the inn. A pair of them who had been watching scurried ahead, weaving between the lit lanterns and scanning the doors, windows, and rooftops. All of them moved comfortably through the dark streets. Thieves and assassins, Ben reminded himself. This was normal to them.
Rhys whispered, “Whatever happens tonight, we leave immediately after. An assault on the keep and a dead councilman will mean retribution. I’m sure the Quiet Men have a plan to go to ground. If they couldn’t avoid the city watch, then they wouldn’t have survived this long. We’re too obvious though. Strangers stand out, and we don’t have the connections they do to hide us. We have to be outside the city walls by daybreak.”
“What if we haven’t found anything about the Purple?” asked Ben.
Rhys shook his head. “We still move on.”
“We can’t give up,” insisted Amelie.
“We can’t fight Lord Jason,” declared Rhys. “Trust me. He will come after us if we’ve killed a council member. When he does, we must run.”
“Lord Jason, Eldred, we’re doing a lot of running,” complained Corinne, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. “I know individually we don’t have the skill to face them, but there are five of us.”
Towaal murmured, “Remember what we are here for. We’re here to find a way to fight the demons. Getting entangled with Jason or Eldred does us no good. I know it sounds cowardly, but our work it too important to risk in a fight we may not win.”
Ben grimaced. They were jogging in the middle of the Quiet Men, but none of the thieves was paying attention to them. They were scanning the rooftops and doorways, looking for threats.
It had been a struggle for Sander to admit it, but during the planning session, he’d instructed his men to protect Towaal at all costs. Without her senses or the magical cloak the Thin Blades must have taken from Samuel, they would stumble into all manner of wards and traps. Without her, this was a fool’s errand. Even with her, Ben worried they were going down a hole they wouldn’t be able to climb out of.
“Stay focused,” instructed Towaal.
Ben nodded. Amelie gripped his hand.
The streets of Irrefort were tangled and confusing. Ben was glad they had the Quiet Men to lead them toward the keep and away from prying eyes. They kept to sparsely populated back streets, but just a block or two over, Ben could hear the revelry and drunken voices he was used to in a city this size. With the looming coronation, there were a lot of people in town, and they were celebrating.
Suddenly, Corinne stopped and slung her bow off her shoulder. In one smooth motion, she nocked an arrow and pulled it back to her ear.
Ben heard a snap and a crossbow bolt smacked into one of the Quiet Men next to him. The man uttered a strangled cry and flailed backward, the bolt buried in his chest.
Corinne let loose an arrow. It flew through an open window, barely missing the shadowy figure that plunged out. For a brief moment, Ben thought the man just killed himself, but as he watched, he saw the figure drift down to the ground at half speed. The man landed lightly and swept out a sword.
“Stay back,” growled Rhys. He pushed through the tight cluster of Quiet Men. “He has a magical device.”
One of the Quiet Men, overly eager and ignoring Rhys, charged the newcomer. Instead of raising his blade to meet the attack, the shadowy figure raised his other arm. A brilliant orange fireball shot out from his wrist and caught the Quiet Man square in the chest. He burst into flame, screaming briefly before the fire consumed him.
The rest of the Quiet Men fell back and Rhys charged forward. The figure turned his wrist toward Rhys and another fireball shot out. Ben’s breath caught but the fire flashed around Rhys, not injuring him. Rhys’ longsword thrust straight ahead and caught the startled man in the neck. Their assailant clearly didn’t anticipate someone would harden their will and fight back against his fire.
Behind him, Ben heard a crackle. He spun to see a second attacker lying on his back. Smoke was drifting up from his chest. Lady Towaal was standing above him. The Quiet Men near her were shuffling back several paces and cursing. Knowing she was a mage and seeing what she was capable of were entirely different things.
Rhys bent, stripped a vambrace off the dead man’s wrist, and tucked it behind his belt. He growled to Sander, “You kill ‘em. You get to loot ‘em.”
Sander, pale-faced, didn’t complain. He turned from the corpse of the Thin Blade and waved everyone ahead.
“Remember that, thief,” called Towaal. “We will work with you, but we don’t have to.”
The leader of the Quiet Men kept moving and didn’t respond.
One of the men, trotting next to Rhys, asked, “Are you mage trained too? How did you do that?”
Rhys shook his head. “I’m not a mage, but that doesn’t mean I can’t defend against one, particularly one who is using a device he doesn’t seem to understand.”
“I feel a lot better having you with us,” remarked the thief.
Rhys replied, “Don’t start feeling good yet. Someone taught that man how to use the device. You were right. A mage is training these assassins.”
The Quiet Man grimaced.
Ben stopped paying attention to the conversation and went back to scanning the surroundings. The two assassins had been counting on surprise and didn’t think the party would be able to fight back against a magical attack. They may be more cautious the next time or have more men.
Ben spied movement in a few windows and doorways, but it was people peeking out and ducking back inside. One look at the armed party and people knew that whatever was going on, they didn’t want to be involved.
For half a bell, they jogged through the twisting backstreets of Irrefort. Lights and laughter poured down narrow streets and alleys, but the turns the Quiet Men took always led away from life and into the dark. Amelie stayed by Ben’s side, a hand on her rapier. Another was tucked into her belt pouch. Probably touching something from Jasper’s bag of tricks, guessed Ben.
Eventually, the tall walls of the keep appeared above the roofs of the buildings. Lights flickered atop the walls. Ben imagined regular patrols of guards paced along them. The walls were high, though, and their party would be like mice scurrying through the dark streets below. The men atop the walls were looking for overt threats against their might, not a few dozen men.
As they drew closer, Sander slowed the pace. Instead of a jog, they proceeded at a steady walk. The Quiet Men broke into smaller groups. Three or four men were in each group, all headed in the same d
irection, hopefully not appearing to be traveling together.
Finally, they reached the base of the keep. It was surrounded by an open cobblestone road that circled the entire structure. Fifty paces across and sparsely lit with lanterns, it was the straightest and widest street in the city. This late in the evening, few people were on it.
Scattered in loose clusters, the Quiet Men waited. A lone man left their group and sauntered into the open. Glancing furtively around the road, he meandered across the open space. A shadow detached from the wall and waved. Sander, witnessing the exchange, gestured to his men. Small clusters began to break away from the darkness of the houses and casually strolled to the keep.
Ben left with his companions and they followed the Quiet Men. When they got close, Ben saw an open doorway in the base of the wall. It reminded him of the slops gate they’d used to enter Rhymer’s keep. Low and narrow, it led into a black hallway. Another Quiet Man stood inside with a shuttered lantern. He frantically waved them deeper into the hall. They were keeping it dark, Ben realized, so anyone on the streets was less likely to see what was happening.
Ben and his friends plunged into the black hallway, feeling their way forward. Ahead of them, they heard a score of men doing the same. Scuffles of booted feet followed them for fifty paces. Then Ben heard a heavy clank. Someone had closed the door. A spark of light appeared ahead, revealing a steep staircase. No one spoke. From now until they left, noise had to be kept to a minimum. A passing guard, a maid, anyone who heard them could raise the alarm.
Another lantern was struck alight behind them and the Quiet Men began to file up the stairwell. Story after story, the stairs climbed upward. The line of men wound back and forth, thick stone surrounding them. Ben could touch both walls if he extended his arms. His legs began to ache. Amelie was huffing and puffing by the time they reached a landing. The stairs continued higher, but there was a door off the landing and they took it. Inside the keep, it wasn’t locked. It led down a hallway fifty paces to where they found another door.
From Sander’s briefing back at the inn, Ben knew on the other side was a drilling yard for the Coalition’s troops. They would skirt around it and enter the public spaces of the keep. From there, they would climb several more flights of stairs and pass through the reception halls, meeting rooms, and then into the private quarters. They would go up more stairs. At the top of the keep, they would find the residency of the council members, the inner sanctum. They’d have to trust instinct and luck once they entered there.
Ben saw Sander pausing at the door and glancing back to see his men assembling behind him. Taking a deep breath, the leader of the Quiet Men opened the door to the drilling yard. They filed out slowly. On one side of the yard lay the public spaces they wanted to enter, on the other the keep’s barracks. Thousands of soldiers would be in there. In front of the barracks was row after row of tents.
“Marshalling the army,” muttered Rhys.
“For what?” asked Ben.
Rhys could only shrug.
The tents hadn’t been part of the sketches Sander provided at the inn. Ben looked ahead to see the leader of the Quiet Men nervously eyeing them and then gesturing for his men to keep moving.
The entire party kept an eye on the barracks and tents as they tried to walk calmly across the open field. Calm, that was the trick. Running or appearing furtive would give them away. They hoped they would look like any other group of men crossing the practice field late at night.
The sounds of carousing drifted across in the cold air. Ben eyed the barracks. Light spilled out of small windows, but the windows and the doors were shut tight. The tents appeared sparsely occupied. It was late winter. The men spent enough time out in the cold while they were on patrols or drilling. When they were off, they’d stay inside where it was warm, or so Ben hoped.
Finally, they made it to the other side. Ben found Amelie’s hand and gripped it tightly. They were standing in front of another door. This one was taller and wider than the others.
Sander reached out a hand to open it, but before he touched the knob, it turned. The door swung open. A young man, barely more than a boy, stood there staring at them. He wore Coalition grey and had a sword hanging from his hip.
“What—”
His question was cut short when Sander whipped a short sword out of his cloak and plunged it into the young man’s neck. Ben glanced at Rhys and saw his friend nod in admiration. Sander acted nervous around Towaal, but the man knew what he was doing.
Suddenly, they heard running feet on the other side of the door. One of the Quiet Men leapt over the fallen body of the guard and rushed inside.
Ben heard the thump of a crossbow and a crash as an armored body fell to a stone floor. Hurriedly, they dragged the body of the first dead guard inside. A second guard was lying thirty paces away, face down, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back. The Quiet Man was kneeling beside him and laying another bolt onto his crossbow.
Thick red carpet stretched down a wide hallway. Alongside it stood polished wooden doors. Brass sconces lined the walls.
“Check those doors,” whispered Sander. “Find somewhere private and stash the bodies.”
The thief toed the thick red carpet. He was obviously thinking the same thing Ben was, wondering if the deep red of the carpet was a close enough shade to fresh blood. The bodies of the guards were hauled off into side room and Sander waved the party ahead.
Amelie, pale faced, strode beside Ben.
“They were Coalition,” whispered Ben. “They would have done the same thing to us in a heartbeat.”
“He was just a kid,” muttered Amelie. “He had his whole life ahead of him.”
“We did too, back in the City,” responded Ben.
Sander glared at them over his shoulder and they quieted down. Towaal gave them a curt nod. Ben wasn’t sure if it was to assure them it was okay the Coalition guards were killed, or if it was appreciation that it concerned them. The mage was hard to read.
The long passageway led to a giant reception hall. Arches rose high above their heads, disappearing in the dim light of the few lit lamps. The red carpet continued, spreading out and covering the stone floor like a massive sea of blood. Huge, unlit braziers stood in the center of the floor. The walls were lined with banners and flags. Some of them appeared ancient. Some were torn and bloodstained. They hung evenly spaced on the walls of the huge room. This late in the evening, it was empty. Whatever receptions held there were earlier in the day.
They scurried along one side, ducking behind thick stone pillars that supported the roof. They neared the front of the room and Amelie gripped Ben’s arm. She came to a stop, staring at one banner near the front. Light blue, pristine. It was Issen’s banner.
Ben wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Quiet Men streamed by, unwilling to wait for two hangers on. Towaal was the one they needed. Corinne passed them and laid a hand on Amelie’s shoulder. Amelie sniffled once and met Ben’s eyes. She nodded to let him know she was okay and they hurried after the backs of the thieves.
Corinne looked back at them and patted the haft of one of her hand axes. The meaning was clear. Amelie’s back stiffened and she touched her rapier. Ben knew she wouldn’t blink when the next Coalition soldier got a crossbow bolt in his back.
The party climbed another set of stairs and the hallways grew more ornate. The red carpet continued, but the sconces turned silver and held oil filled lamps instead of torches. Polished mahogany tables sat along the walls. They were cluttered with etched silver dishes, carved wooden figurines, and crystal vases. Tapestries graced the walls in between the lamps.
It was a display of wealth and power. Ben thought back to the derelict buildings and hungry faces that filled many of the Coalition towns they had passed through. The university and food kitchens didn’t seem such a charity when he saw how much wealth the council really controlled.
Several more times they found guards on patrol, but the Quiet Men were prepared. They h
ad experience moving silently through the streets of Irrefort, and it turned out the keep wasn’t that much different. The thick carpets muffled the sound of their footsteps, and the jingle of chainmail gave away the guards long before they got close. The thieves would duck out of sight and wait for the men to pass, or, if there was nowhere to hide, they would slide a dagger across the throat of the surprised guard.
They found a few cleaning crews also, groups of women mopping the floors or dusting the tables while the lords slept. To Ben’s relief, they circled around these. A pair of guards was one thing, but a dozen women would have turned his stomach. He suspected the Quiet Men had different motives. A dozen targets would be nearly impossible to neutralize before one of them could shout out.
The reception halls and meeting rooms they cut through were arranged in order of importance of the audience. The first one must have been for the guards or soldiers. Then there were wide open chambers for receiving common folk. More ornate halls followed that could have been for formal gatherings of highborn. After that, they grew smaller, more intimate. This was where the council would meet in small groups with lords or wealthy merchants. Beyond those were the private residences of Irrefort’s elite.
Their pace slowed as the rooms shrank. At the end of one of the hallways, a guarded door would lie. Beyond it, they’d find the sanctum of the council.
Sander, who was in the lead, held up a fist. All of the Quiet Men stopped. The jingle of armor came from around a corner. It wasn’t a pair of guards this time. It was more. Many more.
Sander held up eight fingers and gestured to a closed door. Eight of the Quiet Men broke away and slipped behind it. Sander frantically directed the rest of his men into small groups to wait in ambush behind different doors. In heartbeats the hallway was clear.