Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1)

by LeClerc, Patrick

  Roaring in pain and anger, the officer drew his sword and waved his troops forward. They responded with a rush, all the strain and tension of taunts unanswered, of nerves stretched raw, of enforced inaction while city scum and criminals ran amok coalesced into action. Finally there was an enemy before them, just a dash away, and then there would be release and a hot, crimson accounting. The soldiers surged forward, blood high, pulses pounding in an exhilarating mad charge.

  Ioresh got one glimpse of their faces over his shoulder and found the energy to run faster, thinking that maybe Conn wasn't entirely wrong to try to steer him away from this life.

  * * *

  Conn waited impatiently as Trilisean scanned the street. Whatever she was looking for eluded him.

  After a time she nodded and motioned him close.

  “It has to be that house,” she whispered.

  “What does?”

  “There's no back way out of the house where they meet. And you never deny yourself an escape route. Not if you've survived to rise in the ranks of Laimrig's underworld. So there has to be a secret way. It must be a tunnel that leads to a nearby estate. Most of these are vacant, but that one has smoke from the chimney. It still looks abandoned, windows still boarded up, but there's hay on the cobbles near the gate, so someone is feeding a carthorse there, and the carriage house is intact. Once things go rotten, the leaders will leave through that house.”

  “So that's where we catch them.”

  “We'll scout it out, try to hold them while I get a message to Niath. If we're not getting paid for this, let's let him risk his own shiny dome.”

  Conn nodded and waited for Trilisean to take the lead. She crept noiselessly to the outer wall, hugging the shadows. Conn followed as quietly as he could. At the old wall, Conn peered through a gap in the crumbled mortar between the stones and saw a dim light behind one of the windows. He nudged the thief and pointed.

  Trilisean followed his gesture and smiled. “Nice to be proven right,” she breathed. “I'll be back in a bit. I have to get a message to Niath. You keep watch.”

  “Hurry back.”

  “I was going to say try to avoid any stupid heroics, but I won't.”

  “Because you trust my judgement so much?”

  “That must be it,” she smiled, vanishing into the shadows.

  * * *

  Ioresh paused, turned and loosed another shaft. The blunted head still buried itself in the surface of a soldier's shield. He and his companions were doing much more running than shooting now. The troops needed little goading after a poorly aimed arrow sunk into a sergeant's thigh, hitting him just below the edge of his hauberk.

  Ducking and scrambling through the dark alleys, heavily armed pursuit at his heels, his breath coming in gasps, the nearly empty quiver banging against his lower back with every step, Ioresh finally burst out of a tiny lane and saw his goal.

  The manor house was surrounded by a walled courtyard, just as Conn had said. Two guards outside the door looked up at the approaching sound.

  Ioresh nocked an arrow and sent it skittering off the wall near the first man's ear, then legged it into the nearest, darkest spot he could find.

  The guards drew weapons and banged on the gate, bringing more men to the top of the wall, who began scanning the night over loaded crossbows.

  Their careful scrutiny was rewarded when a band of armed soldiers thundered into the street, blades in their hands and blood in their eyes.

  Ioresh watched from behind a cart of decaying vegetables as two groups of armed men, nerves stretched to the breaking point, suddenly found one another.

  The crossbowmen on the wall, having been alerted to an attack, loosed their quarrels at the threatening rush of soldiers, who, taking more missiles and finally seeing a static objective before them, let out a battle cry and charged the manor house.

  The guards outside were more than qualified to beat sense into those who were slow to pay loans, or foolish enough to inform to the Watch, or sometimes they were even good enough to carry out or prevent the targeted killing of a member of a criminal organization. They were in no way prepared to face a charge by trained infantry. The wall of the manor had been designed for privacy, not to resist a siege.

  Ioresh watched the guards, then the gate go down before the rush of troops, who poured into the yard of the manor. Could have been you, lad, he thought to himself, his subconscious supplying Conn's accent.

  * * *

  Trilisean found him in the third place she looked. She slipped up behind the urchin, waited until his fingers were clear of the sleeping drunk's purse, then caught him and pulled him close. By the hair, not the collar. The boy was too good to hold by the collar. One twist and she'd have nothing to show but a threadbare shirt.

  He was also too professional to scream. He allowed himself to be led to a quiet corner of the seedy tavern.

  “How would you like to earn a silver mark?” she asked.

  “To do what?” he replied, any protest of her means of introduction forgotten.

  “I need a message delivered. You know Sergeant Niath?”

  “Big Watch sergeant?” asked the boy. “Shaved head?”

  “That's him. He's guarding the Victory Bridge tonight. The one with all the statues.”

  “Yeah?” The boy tried to squirm loose, but the thief's fingers, veterans of many's a nocturnal wall scaling and lock picking, were very strong and tangled in his unruly locks.

  “Tell him I've found the person he's looking for and that person will be at the old abandoned house halfway up Thatcher street in less than an hour. Can you do that?”

  “For two marks, I could just about guarantee it,” he replied.

  “Keep dreaming, boy.” She grinned. “But I like your confidence. I'll give you sixpence now, and a mark when you've done the job.”

  “And how'm I s'posed to know you'll be good for it?”

  “Trust,” she said.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn't,” she said. “You really shouldn't. But I trust you'll be greedy enough to come ask for it. I'll be back here in two hours. I'll take a table in back and stay for another hour. You come back with the sergeant's answer, you get your silver. Agreed?”

  “Once I have your sixpence.”

  Trilisean released the boy's hair, produced the coin, and made him repeat the message. Only then did she allow him to snatch it from her hand.

  She smiled again as he vanished out the door. The lad was maybe ten years old, but he was already a decent pickpocket, streetwise, cunning, calculating, dishonest and suspicious of any deal he was offered.

  He made her feel hopeful for the future of the city.

  * * *

  Conn crouched in the shadows, watching the house. With any luck, Trilisean would be back soon with the Watch, Ioresh and his companions would do their part and flush the leaders of this plot out of their hole, and the whole neat package would be handed over to the good sergeant, who would win accolades and show his gratitude with a blind eye.

  So any minute now, he smiled crookedly, I should be fighting a dozen men.

  He heard a growing sound of violence. The clatter of gear, the cries of anger. Ioresh leading his pursuers through the city. He felt a pang of concern for the lad. Just keep ahead of them, he thought. Don't try to fight.

  The noise reached a crescendo. Conn heard the sounds of wood splintering as the gate of the manor came down, and breathed a sigh of relief. The lad was probably clear if the soldiers were kicking in doors.

  His feeling of relief was short lived, as he saw a lantern appear in the carriage house before him. Too soon, damn it. If the leaders got clear, all this effort would come to nothing.

  He looked around for some way to stall them until help arrived. No need to be greedy, he thought, let the Watch get some fighting in.

  * * *

  The guard climbed onto the driver seat of the carriage. He checked that his sword was readily accessible, then flicked the r
eins, urging the horses forward. He glanced at the two other guards on the running boards. They'd need one hand at least to hang on, so they'd be slower to get a weapon out, but men outside were necessary to keep eyes out. Two more men inside the carriage would be ready, but would be blind without the others.

  The driver moved the horses forward out of the carriage house, toward the open gate. Once in the streets, they'd have the security of speed and mobility, and soon they'd be well away.

  It was going to work. Nice and simple.

  Everything seemed so easy until the pushcart slammed into the opening half a length before the horses' noses and burst into flame.

  * * *

  Conn scrambled over the wall, dropped softly to the cobbles and blended into the shadows. He took stock and drew his sword, thinking that you could never go wrong with a pushcart, some hay and an oil lamp.

  He watched the guards scramble, trying to figure how to clear the burning obstruction and scan for the coming attack, while the fire spoiled their night vision. A man leapt down from inside the carriage and looked around, crossbow at the ready.

  You first, thought the mercenary. He swiftly approached the crossbowman on his blind side, three quick steps and a lunge that put the point of his sword through the right side of the man's neck. Conn ducked behind the carriage before his enemy hit the ground, crossbow clattering on the broken cobbles.

  Circling around the coach, Conn spied a slender, cloaked man without a weapon and a massive one with a naked blade. Years of training told him one was a bodyguard and one the elusive mastermind. Best to take the boss alive, and best to eliminate the big man with the sword first.

  The man was a hired muscle. Probably a good one, Conn thought, but not used to fighting soldiers. And he was scanning the shadows in all directions.

  Conn waited until the guard was looking away and made his rush. Two quick steps and a strong cut and–

  The big man spun and blocked, moving his sword and his vast frame faster than he had any right to. He returned a cut with his short, broad blade. Conn dodged backward and the point tore a gouge in his leather jerkin.

  The boss, like a true nobleman, took flight, leaving his men to hold back the attack.

  Conn quickly sized up his opponent, hoping he could finish the man before his comrades who were trying to clear the gate came to his aid. The guard was a big man, strong enough, and fast. His sword was a broad-bladed, singled-edged weapon, suited for chopping, but it had a good point and was short enough to be useful in tight spaces. A good weapon for a brawl in a narrow alley.

  Tonight Conn carried a light cut-and-thrust sword. Longer and narrower than his enemy's, it still had enough weight to give a good slash, but it was balanced for quick parry and riposte. Conn stepped back and extended his point, keeping it in line with his adversary's chest.

  The man was aggressive, as Conn had anticipated. A hulking brute with quick hands and a cleaver of a sword probably didn't have to be a very cautious fighter in the streets of Laimrig. He advanced and made a vicious swipe to beat aside the Aeransman's sword.

  Conn dipped his point beneath the attack and slashed the man's wrist as it moved past. The man grunted and dropped his sword, stumbling back.

  Conn let him go. The leader was the one who mattered. If he escaped, he'd just replace any men he lost and go back to plotting. The whole thing would have been for naught.

  He took a step after the fleeing leader, but the two other guards gave up trying to clear the gate and moved to block his path. One bore a medium weight sword, one a long-handled axe. Conn slowed and faced them. He hated to let the boss get away, but he'd hate being cut down as he ran even more.

  * * *

  Sergeant Niath listened to the boy's tale and sent him on his way with a twopence followed by a cuff behind the ear when he pressed for sixpence.

  He thought for a moment. He wanted to keep this quiet, but having a few more watchmen at his back might be useful. On the other hand, he really didn't want men asking questions about his sources of information.

  Maybe just take a few of the dumbest ones, he decided.

  * * *

  Trilisean left the pub and rushed back to the house. With any luck, the Watch would be there before Conn felt obligated to improvise.

  She felt that hope fade with a sigh as she rounded the corner and heard the crash and saw the glow from the rising flames.

  She veered away from the gate, approaching the wall. It was an easy jump to catch the top and pull herself up just enough to take a look before committing to anything stupid.

  She saw Conn drop the first guard and engage the second. What caught her eye was the running man. Too slender to be a guard, and too quick to show his heels. That was the ringleader. That was the target. Conn could handle the guards, she told herself, she’d catch the big fish.

  She pulled herself up onto the wall, whipped out her sling and dug in her pouch for a bullet. One of the special ones she paid the apothecary for. She took aim on the running figure, spun the sling and loosed.

  It was an easy shot. Thirty yards against a target running directly away from her. The missile struck the fleeing leader on top of the head, the waxen sphere disintegrating and a cloud of white alchemical slumber.

  The thief's lips curled into a smile as the man stumbled right through the cloud, then inverted as he just kept running.

  That bastard apothecary owes me a gold crown for that bum pellet, she thought.

  * * *

  Conn shifted to his left, trying to keep the pair from flanking him. No matter how good you are, fighting two men in the open is difficult. Keep moving to the outside so they can't come at you from two sides and try to get a good wound on the one and then leave him and fight the other.

  Easier said than done. As he moved to the first man's right and cut at his leg, the other came around behind his comrade. Smart. Quicker than chasing around from the left.

  The first man parried the Aeransman's cut with his own sword and riposted with a thrust. Conn batted it aside, but before he could counter, the other man was upon him with a swipe of his axe.

  Conn dodged back from the cut, deflected another sword thrust and cursed. This was taking too long. Every moment he wasted with these men let the ringleader get further away.

  That thought merely brushed the surface of Conn's mind. Always give your concentration to the man in front of you with the sharp implements, he thought.

  Two on one is too many. And the swordsman too quick, the axeman too aggressive.

  Unless you use the aggressiveness against him. Conn started a move to his left, feigned a cut at the swordsman who pulled up and went for a parry. The axeman moved in from Conn's right, swinging. The mercenary abandoned the attack on the swordsman, darted back and right, letting the axe whistle past and cut at the axeman's right leg.

  The guard couldn't move his foot since his weight was on it, nor could he parry with the axe, since momentum had already carried it far out of line. The Aeransman's blade carved a slice across the man's thigh just above the knee and dropped him, cursing and bleeding on the cobbles.

  The remaining guard made a thrust. Conn put it aside, backing away, drawing the mobile enemy away from the wounded one.

  The man came on cautiously. Using the length of his weapon to make quick, probing attacks, not over committing. Conn made a few cuts and thrusts, but the man kept his defense tight, using his lighter, quicker sword, backing away and threatening with the point when Conn tried to get aggressive.

  Conn swore under his breath. This bastard was smart. He was just playing for time, giving his boss the chance to escape. He was fighting carefully, so Conn couldn't finish him swiftly, but neither could he ignore the man and chase after the real target.

  Conn circled, backing away, drawing the enemy toward the house, away from his comrades and the carriage. The man followed close but cautiously.

  “Put it down!”

  The man spun to his right to face the speaker and keep his eye
s on Conn.

  “Lay down the sword, lad,” said Sergeant Niath.

  The man made a swift lunge. The sergeant deflected the thrust with his buckler and brought his cudgel down on the man's wrist. As he dropped his sword and staggered back, the sergeant struck him on the side of his head. The man spilled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

  “Nice to see you, Sergeant,” said Conn. “The man you want ran off that way.”

  “Let's go,” he nodded to the mercenary. He turned to the pair of watchmen behind him. “You two men, guard these scum.”

  * * *

  Trilisean saw the man in black vanish through a door into the carriage house. Where was Conn?

  She hesitated for a moment. She didn't chase down possibly armed criminal masterminds on her own as a general rule.

  But the chance to stop this madness today was slipping way. The mind behind the chaos had just gone through a door and nobody else was near enough to give chase.

  She dashed along the top of the wall until she neared the building, then dropped, rolled up and sped after him.

  She paused and listened at the door, then rolled through, crossing the opening fast, small and low instead of walking through upright. A crossbow bolt whipped past above her. She came up into a crouch, saw the enemy toss the empty bow aside and run off. Her dagger was out, but he was around a corner before she could throw it. She cursed and ran after him.

  She caught up with the man as he struggled with a door. He was small, slender, quick rather than strong. His flowing cloak and hood slowed him down enough that the thief was able to catch him. She saw powder all over the hood. Probably what saved him from the knockout pellet.

  She grabbed his cloak. He spun, struggling to draw a long dagger, but Trilisean whipped her hand in a circle, wrapping the man's own cloak around his wrist. He swung a fist at her but she ducked it.