"What are you waiting for?"
"They're waiting for me." Where Brutus stood tall as a warrior and broad shouldered as a bull, this man seemed more a mountain of fat. He waddled and the rolls around his belly and face were slick with sweat. His shirt showed signs of it as well. "You're the legendary killer Carbull wonders about."
"So my reputation precedes me. That appears to be the case often of late."
He saw no humor in Warden's musing, but swept shrewd eyes across him. "I think you're here for nefarious purposes."
"I'm here to discuss the terms of my surrender where I get to keep my head. Carbull seems to have significant pull among those of my stripe and I thought he would be a good one to talk to."
"I see," the man said. "I am Galen, his chief steward. You will be accompanying me into the house. The hired help go no further than the front door." The two archers looked away with their mouths closed tight enough that their lips disappeared.
Disgruntled help. Perhaps a weakness to exploit on the exit.
Stepping in the front door, Warden's gaze darted around. Sumptuous furnishings, a bust of a long dead king or philosopher or something, gold leaf, and heavy wood all combined to give him the sense of wealth with little taste. This Carbull fellow could use a lesson in decorating so as to keep from advertising so much. Galen went up the stairs like a ox dragging a stuck wagon, limping up each rise one at a time. Warden could have beat him to the top, but he didn't want to shame his host who was in far worse shape.
How had the man ever lived to get so fat?
On the second floor were more pieces that screamed wealthy. Warden knew thieves who would have given their eye teeth for a stroll through this place. They'd make a killing. Much as he intended to. Down a short hallway past a door opened a crack, they came to a door shut against them. Galen knocked. A voice bellowed from inside.
"Enter."
Opening the door, Galen gestured for Warden to lead. The assassin went into the room and was immediately struck by the size of the desk and the mountain of paper striving to reach its height. Behind it sat a portly man, overfed but not nearly as fat as Galen. His jowls hung nearly to his chest making him look rather like an angry dog, but he had small close set eyes which might well have been nearly blind for all Warden could tell. If he saw beyond the end of his nose with those eyes, it was a miracle.
"What is it?" The bellow was only slightly less loud with them standing in the room.
"Warden. The assassin is here to see you."
Carbull swept his eyes up and down Warden's frame and then he smiled, an unnatural looking palsy of the face.
"You've come to beg for your life," Carbull said. "I was advised you would come."
"About that--" Warden glanced back to see where Galen stood in relation to the door. "Well, I don't beg, you see."
No one chuckled. Warden flicked his eyes along the top of the desk looking for something he could use. Letting the archer find all of his weapons had been a ruse, he didn't actually need a knife to kill someone. In a pinch, a number of other things would do. Like the standard accessories of an office for instance. Light twinkled off the edge of a decorative blade used for breaking wax seals. A bit short for his purposes, but punched in hard enough and it would sever what needed severing. Not far from it, a marble paperweight in the shape of a siren. Heavy enough to do damage.
"I think we should call Master Fuchin in and let him deal with him," Galen said.
Fuchin. The name sounded familiar but it took a moment for Warden to place it. Ah yes, Fuchin, one of the more exotic masters of the guild. He specialized in poisons, something Warden had no use for.
"Now, now, just because I don't beg doesn't mean a deal can't be made." Warden sidled forward until he stood at the edge of the desk. "I happen to have it on good authority that someone wants you dead."
"Hardly unusual," Carbull said. "I am a man of business. Many lessers would like to see me done away with." The fat man gestured to his friend and Galen slid out of the room. Undoubtedly to get Master Fuchin. Best to make this quick.
"Well, there is a young woman, Palacia, who offered me quite a bit of money if I would make sure you can't outbid her on a shipment of merchandise. I want to know, how much would you offer me to make sure she is no danger to you?"
"She is no danger to me. As we speak, her inn is being raided and she'll be done away with before the day's end. Try another tactic."
"So you have no need of my services," Warden said letting his face fall as if he were upset by the news. "More's the pity." His left hand swept over to the statuette, scooped it up, and brought it down on Carbull's face. The hit shocked him out of shouting and Warden used both hands to bring it down again, slamming Carbull's face into the top of the desk. Parchment fluttered to the floor as he spasmed. Finally, bloodied he bellowed in pain while bringing his arms up in an attempt to protect his head. Slamming the paperweight down again, Warden snarled through clenched teeth.
This was not going according to plan.
Galen opened the door and a whirlwind followed him in. The first hit snapped across Warden's back and drew him away from his prey. At the desk, Carbull wheezed through a broken nose and tried to sit up. Master Fuchin kicked Warden again, but this time, he caught it.
"They said you would come here," Fuchin said. "I did not believe them." He broke Warden's hold on his leg and stepped back. "Is Carbull alright?"
Galen squeezed his bulk behind the desk to reach his master. "He's still breathing."
"It appears you have botched another commission, young Warden."
"Bad luck. That's all," Warden said. A strong itch ran down his back and over his shoulders. Different from the aches he had been feeling, he almost welcomed it. "Besides, I'm not dead. I can still finish killing him."
"First you must contend with me."
Looking at Fuchin's style, Warden made a decision. Rather than try to take him on hand to hand, which obviously wasn't working, he needed to grapple and pound the older man. It would give him the advantage of his weight working to his benefit and eliminate this fight much sooner. He needed to get rid of Fuchin before Galen could get Carbull out of the room.
Warden rushed into the space between himself and Fuchin and grabbed the man by the torso before he could bring his leg back up for another kick. His momentum bore them to the ground in front of the desk. While Fuchin was recovering from having the wind knocked out of him, Warden knocked him several heavy blows to the head. Blood spurted from the man's nose, but he was far from helpless. Once he recovered, he brought his hands together at Warden's neck and squeezed. Fighting off the need for air momentarily distracted Warden who got dragged in for a quick headbutt. That did not unseat him from sitting on Fuchin's legs. Bringing his arm's inside, he forced Fuchin's hands apart and off his neck, then got in two more rabbit punches.
Galen had managed to help Carbull out of his chair and was edging him toward the door. Time was running out. If those two made it out of the room, that rule about the hired help not being allowed in the house might be rescinded. He didn't need a couple of archers coming in to make this any harder. Grabbing Fuchin at the shoulders, he slammed the man's head backward into the floor. Fuchin must have been seeing stars because he didn't move for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he was still.
Dirty fighting, but effective.
Galen struggled to get the door open while supporting Carbull's weight. Warden, aching and fatigued, lurched to the desk and picked up the seal breaker. It would do. When he stabbed Galen, it was in the neck right at the base where it came to his shoulders. The thick wattles held the blade, but that didn't stop him from bleeding profusely. He squealed like a stockyard animal and dropped Carbull who lay there beside the door without moving. Warden put his foot against Galen's back and used that leverage to pull the blade out. His red hands only barely managed to grip it. Galen's bulk bore him to the ground half in, half out the door. Leaving him to quiver and try to talk, Warden turned
his attention to his reason for being there.
Carbull had landed on his back and his glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Leaning over him, Warden waved his hand just over the broken nose of his victim. Not even a flinch. He looked at the short blade in his hand. It wouldn't make it through the muscle necessary to take out the heart, but the eye, yes, the eye would do just as well. He stabbed the man in both eyes in quick succession. The blade went in so neatly and came out almost clean. Carbull wheezed one last time and his chest hitched at the top before he stopped all together. With a smile, Warden considered how he would prove his kill to Palacia, who would undoubtedly want proof. Walking out of the building with a severed head might be a bit much. Though they were damaged, the eyes were much smaller and would make excellent proof.
Cutting them out took deft hands and he nearly botched it a time or two when his hands shook uncontrollably. Yet he managed to get the eyes cut out. He sawed a piece of clothe off Carbull's garments and wrapped them almost lovingly for transport. Now to get out before anyone else realized something was amiss. He could only hope the archers didn't stop him on his way out. Otherwise, he would have to add two more bodies to his count.
Fuchin stirred.
Feeling no shock, Warden climbed over the mass of Galen who had since stopped gasping. Behind him, Fuchin groaned.
"Goodbye, Fuchin."
Warden slipped down the hall on cat feet.
Given the precarious circumstances, Warden was glad he had arranged to meet Palacia a distance from her inn. Hopefully she would be there at the appointed time after her inn possibly having been raided and all. The day moved toward its close, but nearby the market still bustled with those concluding their business for the day. However, the garden of memory, flanked as it was by old stone buildings, was quiet. At the garden's edge, he stalked, eyes sweeping across the colored bushes between the marble statues. He stopped to wonder what was taking her so long? Was she trying to skip out on him? It wouldn't be the first time someone tried dangling him over the gallows's door, but he had expected better. A woman willing to contract with a killer for personal ambition was usually made of sterner stuff.
When she entered the garden courtyard, he saw her. Palacia had come alone. Maybe not the brightest of choices, considering he was a man with his loyalty for sale and he had just come from a very wealthy man. She sauntered across toward the statues of former magistrates, one whom Warden knew from history had opposed the Black King and failed. Nonetheless, he was remembered with a statue as if that did nothing to mar his reign.
Warden drew close, his insides troubled. Another bout of the mystery illness coming on or worse, certainty he had been betrayed? His eyes flickered to the exits from the memory garden back into the city proper. The market proclaimed itself close by through the sound of clatter and chatter. It gave the stillness of the memory garden a distinct undertone. She turned to him and her hands clutched the edge of her yellow cape.
"It's done," he said, offering her a small bag. "Just as you asked."
Her face took on an artificial confusion as she leaned closer.
"What do you mean?"
Trap.
He didn't have to look around to know it closed in but he glanced back. As he did, a member of the Watch entered the courtyard with his bugle in hand. Reinforcements wouldn't be far off.
Palacia put her hands up at his stare and backed away. In a spare moment, he could have killed her but it was a spare moment he didn't have as the watchman drew closer.
If he brought that bugle to his lips more would descend and Warden had every chance of being as caught as a fish on a line. But if he couldn't signal for help...
Warden rushed him.
With the instrument nearly to his lips, Warden reached the watchman. They collided. Though he had the slighter frame, Warden had speed on his side. On the ground, they were a tangle of arms and legs for a moment before Warden broke free and sprinted away with the watchman's bugle in one hand. The other man called after him but he kept running, throwing the instrument away as he went. Into the market, he turned and winnowed his way through to the other side among the crowd of late shoppers.
Ducking into an alley between buildings, he checked his left and right for someone following him. If there was, they were good because they weren't obvious. He ran to the next street and slowed down. The night would offer him some protection, but not much since they were looking specifically for him. He couldn't escape from the city with the gates securely locked. He had only barely made it back in. Now what to do? Getting off the street took priority. After that, he could consider his next course of action.
Walking quickly, but still with the flow of traffic, he edged his way off onto a side street. This part of town seemed dingier and darker. He didn't see a Watch uniform immediately. Maybe there were none. He walked up that side street for a block or two before changing direction. A man coming up the street toward him attempted to bump into him, a common tactic for a lazy pickpocket. Warden caught the man's hand as it went into his cloak and twisted it harshly.
"I have nothing for you to take," he said.
"Too bad, old boy," a voice said coming from his left. "Guess we'll take everything you have then."
Warden almost rolled his eyes. Street toughs. Just what he needed when he was attempting to avoid the Watch.
"Let me go and I'll let you leave with your lives," Warden said. Letting go of the pickpocket, he turned toward the voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pickpocket retreat down the street, probably to look for another mark. His escort, however, remained behind. Two men stood in the mouth of an alley. One carried a cudgel, the other a dagger.
"You'll let us leave with our lives," the speaker said. "And just what do you think you can do?"
The second man didn't speak, but smacked the cudgel handle against his hand with a thick sound. Without moving, Warden considered his options. He could run, he could probably outdistance them. He could fight, but with the Watch no telling how far behind him that was risky. Always interested in his own well-being, Warden took to his heels. He sprinted down the street following the pickpocket with the other two now trailing behind. Seeing several wooden crates stacked along a wall, he jumped up them and then to the edge of the roof above. Warden pulled himself up with a grunt. His back protested, but held.
The man with the cudgel made it close enough to hit Warden's legs with a resounding thwack. The shock vibrated up his body and threatened his grip. Clambering up onto the roof, Warden looked back. His pursuit climbed the boxes one at a time following him. Getting his feet under him, Warden took off at a limping run across the top of the roof while looking for either a way down on another street or a way to get to another roof. He didn't want to be trapped up there when they managed to follow. He reached the edge of the roof and looked over. Below his feet, the entrance to a tavern. At his right, a roof too far to reach. At his left, another building rose a bit higher. Scrambling over to the edge with the higher building, he looked for somewhere he could grab hold. All he needed was to get off this roof.
The others picked their way along the roof tiles more carefully.
Warden grabbed the edge of the next roof and tried to hoist himself up. Under his hands, the roof's edge gave way and he plummeted.
Split in Two
For the former Queen, the days had begun to run together. They rode. They stopped. They ate. They rode more. They stopped for the night. She gave up counting after the first week when it became clear she would not be allowed out of her bounds for any reason and she would be accompanied at all times. Even followed to do her necessaries. They had stopped for the night as the sun went down. The plains being long, flat, and unforgiving. She had made this journey once before, traveling from Backaran to Arathum. It wasn't the fastest way, but it was the way calculated to break the spirit. If she would allow it.
Leviana refused. She did not balk at having a soldier follow her to pee, or even being fed bread and cheese a p
iece at a time. Having someone hold the skewer while she bit off her meat because she couldn't be trusted with a sharp object. She endured all with a silent unforgiving stare. These men would not live beyond the time she returned to the throne. Of that, she assured herself. Now all she had to do was reclaim the throne.
The long grass of the plains burned well in the firepit they had dug to keep from lighting the whole plain. Beside it, Leviana sat with her hands tied behind her back. Her shoulders, which had burned for the first few days, had become accustomed to the strange position because they no longer hurt. At the next source of fresh water, she would demand a bath. Her clothes stuck to her with dirt and sweat. She smelled like a horse. She could tolerate it, but why should she have to?
Closing her eyes, she eased herself into the edges of sleep. Only there could she feel her beloved so far away. That he still lived, she was certain. What condition he was in, she did not know. Only that he lived. Warden must have survived whatever harshness the journey had to offer. After he had stolen her horse and abandoned her in a hostile city, she should have been more upset, but instead she felt sad for him. He had a chance at greatness by her side and he had thrown it away out of fear.
The sense of him came closer. So close, she could almost smell him. He smelled of drying blood and fear sweat.
"Where are you?" she murmured.
A few feet away, her captor leaned in to listen but she said nothing else.
She felt him running. His breath whistling through his nose. Suddenly, he sought upward. She went with him. The blow to his legs ached up her calf, knee, and thigh on her right leg. Her eyes squeezed as she forced away the pain. He stopped then began again. His hands held something, then nothing. They fell together.
"No."
The light flared and with it the darkness. Wings crowded from her shoulderblades and forced her hands apart. The bonds nearly held, but just when she thought her arms would break instead, they split. Shouts welled up around her as men ran for their weapons. She stood up. The campsite glowed from the ruddy light of the fire and the blue-white light of Leviana's curse.
Blades of Fate Page 17