A quick pat of his hand to his head made sure the false scalp he was wearing was still in place. He had needed to shave his head and use a rather harsh kind of glue to make the disguise stick, but it seemed to hold up well even after assaulting the mark. The big, fake nose was much easier to grow accustomed to, as Wren employed many different nose styles in his line of work. He put on the man’s coat and took the burlap sack and roll of parchment.
“Let’s see if your master is in the mood for pheasant,” Wren said as he kicked the unconscious man’s foot out of the way.
The raven cawed atop the parapet at the end of the alley, giving Wren the all-clear signal. He moved quickly, not knowing how long the other man would remain unconscious. He rounded the corner of the alley and came out directly behind the main palace to find a small cottage made of river rock. Compared to the barracks, it was quite charming. A thatched roof and a big, oaken door rounded out the cabin’s appearance quite nicely, along with a window that currently had the shutters drawn closed.
Wren slipped into the building and took a quick look around. There was a formal entry room along with a pair of chairs around a small table, and to his right was the kitchen. He quickly bolted the door and then went in and placed the burlap sack atop the oven and then made his way down the hallway to a pair of doors. The one on the right was closed, but the one leading to a small office on the left was wide open. Inside, a single man sat behind a desk, pouring over an open book lying before him and entirely oblivious to Wren as the assassin entered the room.
Only when Wren reached the desk did the watch commander look up, and even that was only a mere half-glance and a wave.
“Did you know, Percy, that Manicus the Mild once raided the Gotchian territories with an army of only one thousand men?” the watch commander asked, shaking his head. “Remarkable.”
“A dagger, well placed, is worth more than a thousand wild arrows,” Wren said, quoting an old proverb written by Manicus the Mild.
“Quite right,” the watch commander commented. “I suppose one thousand soldiers, placed well and under the cover of night might have a similar effect, wouldn’t you say?”
Wren set the parchment down before the watch commander.
“Ah, thank you, Percy. I doubt there is anything exciting to read about in the reports, but one must fulfill his duty, no matter how boring.”
Wren pulled a brown feather with white spots from his pocket and set it atop the parchment, carefully scrutinizing the watch commander’s widening eyes. “Would you like things to become more exciting?” Wren asked.
The watch commander took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, careful to keep his hands visible as he folded them across his chest. “A wren’s feather,” he commented dryly. “How is that supposed to make things exciting?”
Wren smiled. He could see the recognition in the watch commander’s eyes. The officer knew precisely what the feather meant, but it was fun to play along anyway. “Did you know that the Calstinian Wren is quite a naughty bird?” Wren asked. “You see, it starts out small, building a nest for itself in one part of the forest, but as it matures it expands its territory. It wrecks the nests of competing birds and uses the scrap to build the defenses of his own nest. In time, he fashions several nests throughout his territory, killing the young of other birds and consuming their food until all others are forced to leave.” Wren raised a finger. “In fact, the Calstinian Wren, though small and not exceedingly strong, has been known to destroy the nests of eagles and falcons, breaking their eggs if given even the slightest opening to attack, and its targets aren’t limited to birds either. Did you know, that in the War of Gernold the Severe, the Calstinian Wren would attack the camps of either army? So fierce was the bird that eventually both armies learned to stay out of its territory for good, or else they would risk its wrath.”
“And I have angered the mighty wren, is that it?” the watch commander asked as he reached forward and took the feather in his hand. “This is my nest, little bird,” the man said. “If you break it apart, you will not leave this city alive. I assure you.”
Wren shrugged. “Whether I destroy your nest depends entirely on whether we are competing for the same food,” he said cryptically. “The one they call Sturgeon, where is he?”
The watch commander broke out laughing. “I think you will find Sturgeon is a bit too large for you to hunt, little wren,” the watch commander said. “Besides, I don’t know where he is. No one does.”
Wren lifted his left foot and planted it onto the officer’s desk. “Very well, let’s dispense with the games, shall we?” The assassin pulled a folded letter from his boot and tossed it to the officer. “Read it, for there you will find proof that I have evidence in my possession that you personally have dealings with the Merrynian spy known as Sturgeon. I don’t have to kill you to wreck your nest, Eryd Rikker. All I have to do is send along my evidence to the governor. Sturgeon will abandon you, knowing that his cover is blown, and you will go to the gallows as a traitor.” Wren put his right hand to his chin as if deep in thought. “I wonder, will the governor take care of your wife and children after your execution?” He snapped his fingers and shook his head. “Oh, that’s right. Your pension is forfeit in the event you are convicted of treason. They’ll be stripped of their home and left on the streets.”
“Why would you do this?” Eryd asked.
“Don’t speak as if the consequences for your actions are my fault,” Wren said. “You are the one who got into bed with the wrong ally.”
“I can’t, he’ll kill me.”
Wren shrugged. “So will the governor. The only real difference is whether your family survives.”
Eryd slammed his fist on the desk and glanced across the room to where his sword was propped in a corner.
Wren pulled a mini-crossbow and tut-tutted as he shook his head. “You’ll never reach the weapon. I think you should look at the larger picture here.”
“You’re one to speak of honor and consequences. I heard about you. I know who you are, and I know which army you used to work for.”
Wren snickered. “You know nothing, least of all who I am, or what my reasons are. Now, are you going to tell me where Sturgeon is, or do I put this crossbow bolt through your left shoulder and turn you in for the traitor you are?”
“If I tell you, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll kill him, and then your family will live.”
“And the governor?”
Wren shrugged. “Doesn’t need to be bothered with your crimes… yet.”
“You’ll hold this over me forever, won’t you?” Eryd asked. “It makes no difference how many times I cooperate. You will always have this to blackmail me with.”
“That’s the general idea, though I do tend to call in favors extremely rarely. If it will help assuage your conscience, you might save a few lives beyond those of your family if you cooperate.”
Eryd nodded. “Very well.” He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “You better be as good as they say you are.”
“I’m better,” Wren affirmed.
“He and I were supposed to meet at the Black Boar, it’s a pub down on Seventh Street.”
“What time?”
“Eight o’clock,” Eryd said.
Wren nodded. “Thank you.” He fired the mini-crossbow at Eryd’s chest. Eryd’s mouth went wide as he tried to dodge, but there was no way he could escape at that distance. Fortunately for Eryd, the bolt was made of soft wood and tipped with a brittle head of graphite. The bolt shattered against Eryd’s chest and emitted a green gas. Eryd took in a breath of relief and rose to launch a counter attack, but the gas put the man down in the blink of an eye. Wren smiled and put away his weapon. Unlike the man in the street, who might wake up any second, the gas would put Eryd down for roughly thirty minutes.
He used the time to quickly ditch his disguise. The fake nose he put into Eryd’s left hand and Percy’s coat he set upon the desk. He then went to a large
wardrobe and rummaged through it until he found a city watchman’s uniform that would fit him. The steel cap helmet covered the fake scalp he was wearing well enough, and the rest of the uniform would allow him access to the battlements along the castle wall.
He exited the cottage and walked briskly through the alleyway, casting a wry smile at the snoring Percy and then slowing down once more once he reached the open air market stalls and mingled with the citizens there. Some of the people paid him no mind whatsoever, while others would see him and then make discreet exits. The town guard in Kyt had that effect on many people. Wren casually brushed past a group of people gathered at a rug stall and then turned to find the stairs leading up to the battlements. He began patrolling along the wall and working his way back toward Eryd’s cottage so he could wait for Eryd to wake up.
Almost thirty minutes on the dot, the front door of the cottage was yanked open and Eryd came out with his sword in one hand and a crossbow in the other. Wren smiled as he watched from the top of a nearby tower. Even if Eryd looked up directly at him, from this distance Eryd would only see the bright yellow on Wren’s stolen uniform. Eryd put away his sword and crossbow, and then disappeared inside the cottage for several minutes. When he next emerged, he had ditched his yellow uniform in favor of a black cloak. He drew the hood over his face and hustled through the alley.
Wren kept pace along the battlements, nodding to the two town watchmen he passed, but saying nothing as they continued along their own patrol route. Down on the ground, Eryd stumbled upon Percy and gave the man a hefty kick that made Wren laugh. It wasn’t easy for men like Eryd to feel powerless and out of control. That was part of what made it all so fun.
The assassin followed along the wall for as long as he could, reaching the southern gate and watching Eryd continue on the main street below. So as not to lose the man in the crowd by going back down the stairs and then trying to find Eryd again, Wren opted for a much more flamboyant means of getting down from the wall.
He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then he climbed out between the merlons and fired a large crossbow that was fitted with a grappling hook. The grappling hook sailed sixty feet out and hooked onto one of the columns in a church’s bell tower. Wren quickly wrapped his end of the rope around the merlon to his left and secured it. Next he tested the rope, then he removed his yellow cloak and wrapped it around the top of the rope before twirling it to make it stronger. With a great push off, he sent himself down toward the church, letting go of the cape at the last moment to grab onto the side of the bell tower. Instead of climbing up, he descended the side of the tower and then ran across the roof before jumping to the adjacent building on the southern side, which was not only on the other side of a six foot wide alley, but also built about ten feet lower than the church.
Wren somersaulted across the roof to absorb the impact and then continued along until he regained sight of Eryd, who was still walking through the street, headed south. After jumping to several other buildings and keeping a low profile while tailing Eryd, he couldn’t help but smile when the watch commander turned westward, glancing behind himself to see if he was being followed.
“Shame shame, Eryd,” Wren commented. “The Black Boar is to the east of here.” Wren had, of course, suspected treachery in the first place and that was why he had waited for his sleeping gas to wear off. Trusting a spy like the Sturgeon was never smart business. Trusting his associates was even more treacherous.
Unable to soar across the street to another roof, Wren had no choice but to climb down. He went down the back side of the building he was on and casually walked through the streets. Dressed in everything but the cape, he still had the look of a town watchman, and the people treated him accordingly. Wren maintained his distance from Eryd, but when Eryd suddenly turned around three blocks down the road, Wren continued walking straight toward him while watching the rest of the crowd.
He was still too far away from Eryd to be recognized as an imposter, and without the big, fake nose he didn’t really look anything like Percy anymore either. As he had figured, Eryd soon turned around and continued on his way. Three buildings away, Eryd went to the door and knocked. While he waited, Eryd glanced up and down the street. Wren maintained his pace, pretending to scour the crowds as he walked. After a moment, Eryd leaned toward the door, then it opened and he went inside.
Wren walked until he was on the far side of the building beyond where Eryd had gone inside, and then he turned to the alleyway. He had seen just enough of the building as he had walked by to know that it was likely where the Sturgeon was truly hiding. Even if the Sturgeon wasn’t there, someone would be who knew where he was.
The assassin stopped at the corner of the building and slowly peeked around to scan the alley behind. A pair of men were smoking pipes and talking nearby, but it was impossible to know if they were innocent bystanders or enemies. The Sturgeon could easily have agents working for him to help keep an eye on the safe house. Wren had to decide how to proceed. Though he was never averse to the use of force, he tried to limit collateral damage if possible. The idea of killing or seriously injuring two innocent men was not the most appealing to him.
Wren then smiled as it came to him. He reloaded his mini-crossbow and then took a breath. He began forcing himself to pant, as if he had been running for a long time, and then he rounded the corner.
The two men stood rigid as they caught sight of him, but neither moved for a weapon.
Wren ran straight for them. “Help!” he said as he approached. “Someone’s after Commander Rikker. They are coming here.”
One of the big men spat on the ground, nearly hitting Wren’s foot. “What’s it to me if a guard gets in trouble?”
The other man laughed and took a puff on his pipe.
Wren put a hand on one of their shoulders as if to steady himself and bent over, making a big show of panting. “No, you don’t understand, they know he’s working with the Sturgeon!”
“What, no one’s supposed to talk about that!” one of them said as he choked on his pipe.
“What’s your Commander Rikker been saying?” the first man asked.
Wren had heard all he needed to hear. These two brutes were guilty. Wren came up hard, angling the back of his head for the first brute’s face. Just as he collided with him, Wren aimed his mini-crossbow from the hip and fired at the second. The bolt went straight into the man’s throat. A stream of blood ran over the man’s flesh as he fell to the ground, sputtering and writhing as he slowly died. Wren then pulled a knife and plunged it into the first man’s neck, ending his life before he could sound an alarm.
From here Wren had no time to waste. Any moment someone could come around the alley and see what had happened. One scream and the Sturgeon would likely slip out of his fingers.
He ran to the building and assessed the back door.
Reinforced hinges, perfect. Wren hadn’t really expected anything less, but it meant things would be a bit tricky from this point. He looked at the two brutes and then raised a brow. Could it be so easy? Wren reached for the door knob and gave it a quiet turn. The door opened. Wren kept his distance, half-expecting a hidden crossbow to fire at him, but nothing happened. The door swung inward until it collided with the wall.
Then there were footsteps from the left. Someone was coming.
“Holsfer, is that you?” a voice called out. “You bring me back the wine like I—”
Wren leapt in through the open doorway and drove his dagger straight through a man’s throat. He then cradled the body and helped it make a silent landing on the floor. The assassin closed the door as quietly as he could and then set the locks. An open hallway led the way before him, and a solid wooden wall closed off a kitchen to his left, where this particular man had come from.
And this is why I don’t employ others. Wren thought. Other people are stupid.
He went into the kitchen and found a fire already burning in the oven with a pot of soup over the top of the
cooking surface. For half a moment he thought to burn the place down and be done with it, but that lacked finesse. It also presented more danger than it was worth. He had burned his safe house down in Astyr because it was far enough away from everything else not to pose a threat. Even the tavern in Astyr had been just far enough away from other buildings not to start a disaster. This tinder kit of a house would only cause a major fire. Wren reloaded his mini-crossbow and walked down the hallway. He found an empty room with a long table and two benches. Beyond those was a set of stairs leading up.
The assassin ascended the stairs and slipped through a doorway that lead to a small bedroom that doubled as an office. Eryd sat upon a green armchair, while a tall, broad-shouldered man stood near the front window pouring a brandy. Immediately he knew the man pouring the drink was the Sturgeon, for he matched the description given to him for the contract.
Without hesitation Wren fired his crossbow and then dodged back out the doorway. In the half second it took for the crossbow bolt to reach its target, the Sturgeon had managed to drop the liquor and fire his own mini-crossbow. The Sturgeon’s bolt slammed into the wall next to the stairs, and there was a heavy thump in the room.
“Let me out of here!” Eryd squealed.
Wren reloaded his final bolt and then peeked around the doorway once more. The Sturgeon was sitting on the floor, both hands grabbing at the crossbow bolt in his right shoulder.
Eryd was darting for the window. Wren aimed and fired, putting his final bolt into Eryd’s skull and dropping the traitorous guard captain on the floor.
“I never thought I would get caught by a town watchman,” the Sturgeon said as he grimaced and yanked the bolt free of his shoulder. He then slumped over to the side and put his left hand to the wound in an effort to stem the blood. “I should congratulate you, but alas, you made me drop my liquor.”
Wren stepped into the room, studying it very carefully for any sign of traps that could be triggered. “I’m not a guard,” Wren said. He pulled out a brown feather with white spots and held it up with his left hand.
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