Wren snuck out the back of the building and then left the camp in the darkness of night. The guards out front never thought to question a man wearing a courier’s uniform. Why would they?
Within minutes he was headed toward the forests in the east, on his way to pick up his next mission. By the time he reached the dead drop, the sun was nearly up, throwing its light across the top of the forest and just breaking through the lush canopy.
“I see you have been faithfully waiting,” Wren told his loyal raven.
Wren fished a stale cracker out from a small pouch hanging from his belt and tossed it into the air. The bird spread its wings and soared downward, snatching the cracker with its beak and lighting upon a hollow stump a few feet in front of Wren
The spy moved to the stump and reached down into the hollow center. He pried a bit of dead wood free from the bottom to reveal a note sitting atop a cloth bag. Wren set the note to the side and then opened the bag hastily. A wide smile spread across his face and he nearly laughed aloud
“Funny thing,” he told the raven. “I just finished playing a courier for the north. It appears I am going to impersonate a courier for the south now.” He rummaged through the bag and ensured everything he needed was there, including his payment. Wren opened the note, his mouth moving silently along with the words as he read them. “Well, looks like we are out to kill another brute,” Wren said. “Some poor Kresthin captain has done some very nasty things.” Wren folded the letter and set it on the stump. He pulled his tinder kit and set fire to the note, then grabbed the bag of equipment and trudged farther into the woods.
Soon he came to a small house set in a grove of oak trees. Hemlock bushes grew around the outside, their white flowers bursting open and stretching upward toward the sunlight breaking through the trees above. The house itself was small; a two room cottage made of stone and hidden away from the world. The door presented a wooden front, but it was reinforced with iron strips across the interior, and boasted a special lock of Wren’s own design that bolted securely into the door frame as well as the ceiling and floor for good measure.
He pulled a key from a chain in his left pocket and twisted it exactly seven times to the left. The lock only required four turns to disengage the bolts, but the traps set into the door necessitated another three turns in order to be disarmed. He then looked up into the top right corner of the door, watching as he pushed the door inward. A barely visible white hair fell from the doorway.
Wren smiled, knowing that no one had entered his home in his absence. Unlike the safe house in Astyr, there was no underground tunnel or back door leading into this building. The floor was made of stone and mortar, intentionally built three feet thick to prevent tunneling in. The walls were equally thick, as was the ceiling. The wooden roof that peaked over the top of the stone building did well to shake off the snow and rain, but Wren wouldn’t trust himself to something as flimsy as shingles made of cedar to protect him from would-be assassins. Even the windows were made for defense, being little more than arrow slits in the stone walls that on the interior had additional wood shutters to seal them off.
Wren entered the cottage and waited for the raven to soar through the open door before sealing it up and locking it once more. The bolts screeched as they slid into place. Wren left the key in the door this time, arming the trap as well as sealing the door. Anyone who had the skills to pick the lock would find very quickly that they had made a fatal error.
He turned and lit a small candle on a desk. He then poured himself a drink and pulled out the contents of the cloth bag. The uniform was slightly worn, but in good condition. The official satchel was intact as well, which would add to the authenticity of the look. All Wren had to do was supply the letter for the target, a Captain Ratts who had apparently developed a reputation for turning his soldiering business into a slavery racket, selling captives off to the highest bidder for various purposes. Beyond that was evidence of a very violent crime involving a pair of young women north of the Serpent Tongue River. Wren was not one easily unsettled or moved by emotions, but this particular target would be a pleasure to eradicate. The only question remaining was how to do it.
The easiest way would be an arrow through the heart, or perhaps into the skull through the eye socket, but why should a man like Captain Ratts have a clean death? No. Someone of his repute deserved something… different.
Wren smiled and went to work forging a set of orders for the captain to receive. Careful not to make anything too suspicious, Wren simply stated that each patrol needed to have an additional two men, and urged caution when scouting along the Serpent Tongue River, citing recent dangers such as the kidnapping of the governor’s daughter in Astyr, and suspicions that a spy might be in the region.
It was always fun to skirt close to the truth.
When he was done, Wren reached down for a wooden box at his feet. Carefully, he set it on the desk and unlocked the lid. He pulled it open and saw several bottles inside. Each of them would cause death, but in their own individual methods and timeframes. It would have to be something special for Captain Ratts. Wren reached down and pulled a purple bottle from the group. He carefully pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves and then opened the bottle. There was no odor, unlike so many other poisons at his disposal, but breathing was the least of his concerns. This particular poison was distilled from the venom of a crab-rider, a spider known in the islands in the western sea. The bite of a crab-rider was a terrible way to die, as the skin around the bite often turned necrotic within four hours of being bitten. From there it was a slow and painful death as the necrosis spread and the blood turned septic. This particular distillation was different, however. It was so powerful that simply touching it with your fingers would be fatal as the poison would be absorbed through the skin, and begin working its deadly magic. First there would be nausea, followed by vomiting and dysentery, then the kidneys would stop working and the victim would develop a severe case of jaundice. It wasn’t a pleasant way to die, but save for a spell from a very powerful wizard, it had no antidote.
It was also one of the few poisons that was entirely undetectable.
Wren used a cotton cloth to smear the poison all around the back of the parchment, and then along the border of the front side as well. Even after the poison dried, it would remain toxic for several days. Once the liquid had dried on the paper, Wren folded it and then sealed it into an envelope with hot wax and the appropriate stamp. He then closed up the bottle of poison and replaced it in the box before burning the cloth with the poison on it.
He set the sealed envelope into the satchel and then burned the gloves he had used in his fireplace. One could never be too careful when dealing with this particular concoction.
Wren gathered a few more items he would need and placed them into a small backpack. He wasn’t just going to kill this Captain Ratts, he had something special planned for the whole camp. As for the orders, he would find a way to warn the escapees not to handle them, but if any soldier under Ratts’ command happened to accidentally sentence themselves to death by handling the falsified orders… well then they shouldn’t have been complicit in Ratts’ dealings in the first place.
The spy dug into the bottom of the bag he had found in the stump and pulled out a long, wand-like device. It was made of metal, with a grip at one end and a long rod of copper extending out the other. A single, small gemstone sat at the tip of the device, clear and sparkling.
“I have been looking for you a long time,” Wren said, marveling at the wand. He moved to a bookcase and pulled out a large book with blue binding. He undid the leather clasp and then opened the front cover to reveal a blank page. Wren waved the device slowly in front of the book. The gem began to glow and Wren chuckled to himself. “So it’s true,” he said to himself. Words began to appear on the page in front of him and he laughed aloud. He turned the first page tentatively, stretching his arm out all the way and leaning backward to shield his face just in case. As the paper flipped, not
hing happened. There was no spark, no crackle of lightning, and Wren was unharmed.
This was quite different from the first time Wren had tried to open this particular book. After pulling it from the stump in the forest, he had opened it immediately upon returning to this safe house, which proved to be a mistake. He had been lucky to escape with his life the first time, for as soon as he opened it, a bolt of lightning had slammed into his left shoulder, leaving him unconscious for at least a day. Now, however, he was able to dispel the wards that kept the book’s secrets safe from prying eyes. He flipped through the next couple of pages, and then stopped as words came to the page.
I shall be in the normal place within the next several days. I plan on staying for at least three weeks, if all goes well. I have the formula we discussed, and I shall be eager to try it out on any willing volunteers you have been able to find as we previously discussed. If the concoction is half as nasty as I suspect, then you shall have quite the weapon to use on whomever you wish.
I should also inform you that I received the first payment. This looks like it will be a promising venture for both of us.
Sincerely,
Master Driscal, High Wizard of the Fourth Order
“Formula?” Wren said aloud, his eyes glued to the words on the page. What kind of formula would Driscal weaponize? Wren started to close the book, but then thought better of it. He realized that he needed to answer Driscal, else the wizard might suspect that his messages weren’t getting through to the intended recipient, or that perhaps they were being intercepted.
Wren picked up a quill and began to write upon the pages, but he didn’t use any ink. The book would translate his motions into words without anything quite so mundane.
I am pleased to hear about the formula. I look forward to the final results. Let me know when we can meet and arrange a demonstration.
Wren didn’t sign his message, knowing that the intended recipient of Driscal’s would never do such a thing, for it would take away plausible deniability of her involvement with the unscrupulous wizard. He waited a few moments until the words disappeared. Shortly thereafter, Driscal sent another message affirming that he would make contact once more when he was ready to meet.
“Excellent,” Wren said. “He has no idea that I have the book, and now I have the Mage’s Key. I can already pick any metal lock, and now this little beauty will open up any magical barrier for me.” He glanced to the door. If Captain Ratts’ death was the payment required for the Mage’s Key, then Wren was by far getting the better end of the bargain. If only his client knew how much it meant to him. His whole body filled with a feeling as warm as fire, and his fingers trembled with excitement. He now had nearly everything he needed for his final mission. Soon, after Captain Ratts was dealt with, Wren would rid the land of the worst man ever to set foot in either kingdom, and he would lay his own ghosts to rest before setting sail for the sunny isles in the east, never again to be bothered with the wretched business of death.
Chapter 9
Liden tapped Knell on the arm and nodded for her to look up ahead. The plains spread out in front of them so they could see for miles, and they could see some wildlife, but most of the animals ran for cover, or disappeared into holes when they were still a ways off. Now only fifty yards ahead of them a good-sized groundhog stuck its head up and sniffed the air. Knell clicked her tongue and the others in the group knelt down to the ground and stayed silent.
The small animal ducked back under ground and Knell darted forward silently on her soft leather boots, closing in on the hole in the ground while she drew an arrow. They had been watching the creatures pop up and down for the past three days while they hiked east, and their pattern was becoming more predictable. Up once to sniff the air. Up twice to look around again. Then they always ducked down and stayed under until the group was well past them. Assuming the little vermin didn’t catch their scent, the second pop up was Knell’s chance to get them some fresh meat.
They waited in silence, all eyes staring at the place where they had last seen the small creature. After a minute, maybe two, Knell drew her bow back, and held it taught. Debir had been complaining since their first day out of Astyr that they needed to get more food from the wild. After that point, they largely ignored Kaves’ advice and turned their course north to follow the Serpent Tongue River where there was more natural vegetation and wildlife. They had gathered a little, but having a fresh kill would boost the morale of the entire group, and perhaps keep Debir quiet for a couple hours of hiking the next day.
The groundhog popped up his head and Knell released her already drawn bow with a perfect shot. She leapt to her feet and closed in on their next meal. “I think this calls for an early night,” Hunlok said hopefully despite Debir’s immediate head shaking.
“Moving closer to the river like this is already adding another day if not two onto our trip. We need to keep moving.”
“Not even for a lunch break?” Sarta asked, stepping closer to Hunlok when she took his side in the argument.
Liden stepped in, shaking his head. “You know we can’t do that. If we stop to make fire and cook, that’ll cut into our travels. Debir is right. We need to keep moving.”
“I’ll just field clean it,” Knell said, pulling out her knife. “Might as well get comfy, this’ll take a minute or two.”
They set their bags down and Liden pulled off his boots to rub his feet. “Eww!” Sarta waved her hand in front of her nose. “Why you got to do that near the food?”
“And when my mouth was open,” Knell added, blowing out a breath like she was dying.
“So nice to have the two of you getting along again,” Liden commented as he pulled off the other boot and waved it around in the air toward them.
Hunlok took the boot from the ground and put it opening down into the groundhog hole. “What are you doing?” Liden asked, reaching out to take the boot back.
“Just wait,” the larger boy replied with a grin. “If there are any other groundhogs left in there, they’ll be sure to come running out. Maybe I can lasso one for you.”
Liden grabbed his boot back out of the hole. “Give me that!” He swatted Hunlok’s hand away and shot a mock annoyed look at Sarta. Although it wasn’t the most fun he had ever had in his life, he really was enjoying the trek with his friends. It was the freedom he’d longed for when he was trapped in Ryr. They’d had some setbacks, but if they kept at this pace they’d reach Freyr soon and eventually find themselves far east in the city of Zulholm. He laid back in the grass and closed his eyes, stretching himself out as he breathed in the fresh prairie air.
Suddenly, hands grabbed him violently, spinning him over so his face was pressed into the dirt. He thought that the rude awakening was his friends playing some kind of cruel trick on him until an unfamiliar, gruff voice commanded. “Don’t move!” He tried to squirm a little so he could see what was happening, but whoever it was that was pressing on his back intensified his efforts, pinning him down completely. “I said don’t move!”
There wasn’t air left in his lungs to even squeak a reply. To his right, there was a small shuffle and a few choice words of protest from Sarta, then all was silent. Slowly the pressure was released from his back and he was hauled up to standing. He took a quick look around to make sure his friends were okay. Hunlok had some blood flowing down his nose and Knell was being held with both hands pinned behind her back, her bow snapped in half and thrown at her feet. Debir and Sarta were both being held with their arms at their sides by soldiers in hard leather armor, leather gloves, and helmets that were open in the front so their faces could be seen. The soldiers’ armor bore a crest depicting mountain peaks on a field of blue. They were soldiers from Kresthin. Liden relaxed a little and released a breath. They were the good guys. Then he was hit with another thought, they were soldiers from near the border of the two kingdoms. Were these the men who were looking for Debir and Hunlok? He exchanged a glance with Debir and the other boy looked scared.
> “Who are you?” the soldier behind him asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the tight circle.
“I’m Liden, this is Hunlok, Debir, Knell, and Sarta. We’re from,” he hesitated, not wanting to say Ryr. When the hands that gripped him did not loosen, he finished, “Kresthin.”
“Private Marks, find their charter,” he barked the order. It seemed the Captain did not like his vague response.
“Yes Captain Ratts.” A soldier from behind him began rummaging through their belongings.
“We don’t have a charter,” Liden said. “We didn’t think we would need one to walk between Astyr and Freyr.”
“So are you now saying you’re from Astyr?” Ratts practically growled in his ear.
Liden exhaled slowly in exasperation, knowing how guilty he probably looked right now. A group of five youth, traveling along the war-torn border with no charter. If he hadn’t yet realized they were the runaways from Ryr, the man probably had them pegged for spies. He made a quick decision. It would be better for the Captain to know he was from Ryr than to think he might be a spy. With any luck, word might not have come out this far about them yet. “Do you know Powell? He’s a soldier from Ryr. See Debir over there? His dad led the cavalry charge to retake the lands south of Kraltys when the Merrynians crossed the Serpent Tongue River. We’re loyal citizens of Kresthin just on our way to Freyr. If you would let us go, we can prove it.” Captain Ratts scrutinized them all while his men searched through their belongings. In a way he wished the soldier could tell by his accent and clothing where he was from like the tall man at the bakery had.
“The only proof I’m interested in is your charter. Everything else sounds to me like a well-planned backstory.”
“It obviously wasn’t that well planned,” Liden retorted, earning himself a sharp jab in the ribs.
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