Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1)

by LeClerc, Patrick

  This is Conn's job, she thought. Where is he? She was certain she hadn't passed a brewery on the way from the wall.

  The man continued to struggle. Trilisean saw the opportunity to end the fight and snapped a quick kick into his crotch.

  The man gave a high pitched grunt of pain, but failed to collapse. Instead, he backhanded her across the mouth.

  It wasn't a very strong blow, surprising her more than hurting, but it was enough that he could pull his arm free and thrust with the dagger. Trilisean dropped to the floor and swept his legs from under him with a slashing kick. She jumped on him, pinning his arm to the floor with a knee and placed her own point at his throat.

  “Stop struggling and I won't have to cut you,” she said. She licked her swollen lip and tasted blood. “Probably.” The man beneath her went still. “Now, let's see how it is there's a crime boss I don't know calling the shots here.” Keeping the point of her dagger at his throat, she used her left hand to pull the hood from the man beneath her, and froze in surprise at the sight of a beautiful face framed by flowing auburn locks. A small star tattooed just above her left eyebrow marked her a harem slave.

  “Kerra's claws,” she said. “I think the Baron's been wondering where you'd gotten to.”

  The pretty face of the woman beneath her burned with hate. “I'm not going back,” she spat. “I'd rather you cut my throat.”

  “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Trilisean replied. “I have a minute tio listen. Tell me what you're after and we'll see what we want to do.”

  “Why would you listen to me?”

  “I’m eternally curious. I like to know whose plans I’m thwarting,” She smiled sweetly. “And I can always kill you later.”

  “I won't be used by that pig of a baron,” said the woman. “I won't serve his depraved desires.”

  “No reason you should,” Trilisean replied. “You were brought up a slave? Prepared to be a consort?”

  “Yes.”

  “I escaped a year after I grew breasts and figured what I was being trained for,” Trilisean said. “I wouldn't go back just to avoid a cut throat either.”

  The two women looked at one another a long moment.

  “I let you up, you talk to me, don't run and no more pulling knives?”

  “Agreed.”

  Trilisean used her dagger to cut an auburn ringlet from the young woman's head. “Insurance,” she said, then moved back, letting the other woman up. “What's your game here?” she asked. “I'm impressed at the scale and the effort, but I don't see the payout.”

  “It's time for a change. I want to bring that inbred, degenerate slug down.”

  “To be replaced by…”

  “It doesn't matter. We have roads to influence any of the candidates. But most important, that swine goes down. It's time we showed him it's not his city anymore.”

  “I won't say I don't sympathize with your vision,” said Trilisean, “but I'm not going to let you force regime change by wading through a sea of blood. Because it's not his city.” She smiled coldly. “It's mine.”

  “So you're not after me for a bounty?”

  “I'm stopping you because I'm convinced you need to be stopped. But I have no interest in bringing you back to the palace.”

  The woman's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “But you do need to disappear,” Trilisean continued. “How you do that is entirely your decision.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Leave town, change your identity, find a new line of work,” Trilisean suggested. “I joined a group of touring acrobats. Then I learned to pick pockets. I'm sure you could come up with something. Or you could draw a knife on me, or cross the Watch one time too many and the good sergeant could drop you in the canal. That's not the way I'd care to disappear.”

  The stranger's brow furrowed in thought. “You'd let me walk away?”

  “I need to know you'll walk far enough.”

  * * *

  Conn ran toward the carriage house, hoping the man hadn't had time to escape, or to prepare a nasty surprise. Sergeant Niath was a pace behind him. He felt conflicting emotions about having the sergeant along, and about the fact that Niath had left his men behind. More Watchmen could be a hindrance, but extra men could be a good thing in a fight.

  Both men paused at the door. Conn looked at Niath who nodded. Together, they counted to three and moved quickly through the opening then splitting left and right.

  Conn heard voices. Not shouting, but conversing normally. That didn't mean Trilisean didn't have a crossbow trained at her head. So long as nobody was threatening to drop a bag of gold into the sewer, the lass was unflappable.

  He crept toward the sound, the sergeant following. Rounding the corner he saw Trilisean talking to a beautiful woman in loose black clothes. He paused for a moment and wondered.

  “Well, well,” said the sergeant. “His Lordship's missing tart. Never would have thought to find you here. Thought I was chasing two cats when it was just one with two tails. Makes everything neater, I imagine.”

  “You're wrong,” said Trilisean. “This woman is just a servant. She won't be any trouble. Doesn't know anything.”

  Conn saw the sergeant's shoulders sag and watched him rock back and forth on his heels. He'd been lied to enough that he no longer felt the need to play along.

  “So the ringleader of a secret cabal, last seen fleeing duly appointed authority in this direction, is nowhere to be found. And that woman there, dressed like that known fugitive, and a dead fucking ringer for a missing concubine of the city's ruler, just happens to be a servant and the victim of coincidence?”

  “Funny old world, sometimes,” Trilisean replied.

  Conn stepped surreptitiously back out of range of the watchman's truncheon. He poised lightly on the balls of his feet and flexed his fingers, testing his grip on the handle of his sword.

  “Don't be stupid,” Niath told the thief. “You're many things, but stupid isn't one of them.”

  “Sorry, Sergeant. But she walks.”

  “That woman is endangering the city.”

  “And if that were all, I'd hand her over with a bow on,” said Trilisean. “Right now, if I thought for a heartbeat that she was going to the lockup, I'd live with that. But we both know that when you haul her in, she's going back where she was. And I won't force that on anyone who doesn't want it.”

  “That's touching, lass. Really, my heart goes out, but she crossed a line. And that line is what keeps us from the brink. Nobody endangers my city.”

  “She won't,” said Trilisean. “I've taken precautions. She tries anything, I'll know about it and I'll find her.”

  “That's just not good enough.”

  “I think it'll have to be, Sergeant,” said Conn. “Otherwise, we have to fight.”

  The sergeant looked at him.

  “Trust me. I've seen her like this. She's not changing her mind. And I'd rather not fight you,” Conn shrugged. “One of us might get hurt.”

  “I have two Watchmen outside.”

  “We both know that by the time they get here, it'll all be over.”

  “I don't like threats,” Niath growled. “You both know that.”

  “And you know that this isn't a threat,” Conn said evenly. “It's a simple statement of fact. This isn't your first dance. You can walk away knowing this is over, or it's down to you and me. You're good. Don't know if you're as good as me. I don't have any pressing need to find out.”

  “Last chance for you two to see reason,” said the sergeant. “Or you'll be going to a worse place than his Lordship's bedroom. You might still get some rough love in the lockups, without the silks and fine meals.”

  “Not going to happen,” said Trilisean.

  The sergeant was fast. If Conn hadn't adjusted the distance his sudden strike might have landed. The extra step gave Conn a chance to sidestep and bring his sword up.

  “Watchmen!” bellowed Niath. “To me!”

  Damn, thought Conn. It jus
t might be me gets hurt.

  Conn's first counter glanced off the watchman's buckler. The man made a quick swing in reply, but didn't overextend, fighting smart. He didn't have to beat the mercenary, just keep him here until his men arrived.

  “Still time to pack it in,” said the sergeant. “My men will be here soon. The ladies have already done a runner on you. You're alone, and when I need a man to take the fall, you might be wishing you had company.”

  Conn saved his breath for fighting. The watchman was good, but the man was playing for time.

  Conn noticed movement in the shadows behind the sergeant. He made a quick feint and lunge, forcing the watchman back in that direction. Niath gave ground, blocking with his buckler.

  The watchman brought his truncheon up for a swing when a swath of black cloth sailed in from the shadows and covered his face. He gasped and tried to shake it off, but Trilisean leapt on him from behind, holding the cloth over his face.

  The sergeant snapped his head back, his shaven skull connecting with Trilisean's head. She slacked her grip, sliding off him. Niath tried to free himself from the cloth but Conn was on him.

  The mercenary could have thrust his point into the sergeant's chest while he struggled, but knew it was a bad idea to kill a watchman if there was another option, and he thought he might know what Trilisean was planning. He knocked the man down, pinned his weapon hand and held the coth over the man's face until his struggles ebbed and he went limp.

  Trilisean staggered up to him, clutching her head. “Powder on the mask. That’s why it didn't stop the boss on the run. Niath'll be out for a few minutes.”

  “So let's get out of here before his men get in,” Conn panted. “Then you can explain why we decided to make such an exciting new enemy.”

  * * *

  “Congratulation, Sergeant,” said the Commander. “It looks like you closed the bolt hole and wrapped up this little cabal.”

  “Seems like.”

  “Impressive list,” the Commander continued. “A major crime boss. Two of the Baron's advisors. A handful of powerful merchants. You're sure this is all of them?”

  “I am,” the sergeant replied. “My new informants found the bolt hole and we sealed it up. The troops overran the hideout and we kept them from getting out. We can call this one over.”

  “Nothing on his lordship's missing concubine?”

  “My sources think she's long gone,” the sergeant said. “They think she's been sold out of the city.”

  “You think they're right?”

  “I think we've seen the last of the young lady,” he said, running his fingers over the lock of hair. He'd come around with it pressed into his hand, discreetly, beneath the grip of his buckler.

  “Pity,” said the Commander. “Still, good work. I trust you are pleased with your new informants?”

  The sergeant smiled. The expression surprised his superior, who found it more disturbing than the man's usual scowl.

  “I'm sure I'll be speaking to them again very soon.”

  * * *

  Conn refilled Ioresh's mug and poured a glass of wine for Trilisean.

  He tousled his young apprentice's hair. “How'd you like your first experience as a soldier?”

  “It had its moments,” the young man said. He wore the big, stupid, exaggerated grin of a man who had just faced death and walked away. “But I think the life of a fencing master might be a better path.”

  “A longer one, probably,” Trilisean offered, carefully sipping her wine. Her lip was swollen on the right side and she had a lump on her forehead that promised to turn a variety of exciting colors over the next few days.

  “So, why don't you explain exactly what we accomplished?” Conn asked. “We managed not to get any credit, I'll grant you that, and you got battered instead of me this time – thanks for that, by the way– but we also managed not to get paid, and probably got on the bad side of a very violent and determined sergeant of the City Watch. Which we seem to have done in the service of the very architect of the disaster we risked so much to thwart. For free. Not that it wasn't fun.”

  “Don't worry about Niath,” Trilisean said. “And don't worry about the girl. I took care of both of them.”

  “How'd you do that, lass?”

  “In addition to taking the beating that I thought we had agreed was your half of this partnership, I took a little something from the Baron's runaway slave and gave it to the sergeant.” She paused, swirled the wine in her glass, looking at the candle flame through the liquor. “This is a good vintage. Whoever talked you into buying it knows wine.”

  “What was it you gave the watchman, miss?” asked Ioresh.

  “I cut a lock of the woman's hair, and told her I could use it to track her down if ever she tried to disrupt the delicate balance of power here in my city. I put it in Niath's hand while he was unconscious.”

  “Could you track her with her hair?” Ioresh asked.

  “No, of course not. It's just a superstition. It doesn't work.”

  “So why would she believe you?”

  “Because maybe it does work. Plenty of strange things out there. I certainly wouldn't want to take that risk. And I settled for a lock of her hair when I could have cut her throat and made absolutely sure she'd never trouble us again, and why would I do that without some credible hold? I offered her her freedom, so long as she stayed away, when I could have taken her life.”

  Ioresh blinked in confusion. Conn thumped him on the shoulder. “It takes some time to get used to the dark, twisty way this one's mind works. She's usually right, though, when it comes to understanding another nasty suspicious mind. So tell us why we shouldn't worry about the watchman.”

  “He, having what you blunt, honest soldier types would call a nasty suspicious mind, will understand the hold that lock might have on the woman. He also knows I could have left him with a cut throat. That would have caused problems for us, but it's still something he has to consider.”

  “But why risk everything for a runaway slave who was trying to topple the baron?” Ioresh asked. “I don't know how many people did die in the chaos, and if she'd succeeded, it would have been more. Why let her walk away?”

  “Because I have some limits,” Trilisean replied. “If I'd had to kill her, so be it. If she would have wound up in the cells or even on the gallows, I'd have been able to live with that. But if she felt so much hate for a man who bought her to use as a plaything for his jaded entertainment, so much that she thought the city was a small price to pay to see him destroyed, well, I couldn't live with myself if I'd sent her back to that.”

  The young man sipped his beer in silence for a moment. “Still seems a shame that the Watch got all the glory. Saving the place should count for something. Key to the city or something.”

  “It’s always been my city,” said Trilisean. “Having the key would take the sport out of it.”

  About the Author

  PATRICK LECLERC MAKES GOOD USE of his history degree by working as a paramedic for an ever- changing parade of ambulance companies in the Northern suburbs of Boston. When not writing he enjoys cooking, fencing and making witty, insightful remarks with career-limiting candor.

  In the lulls between runs on the ambulance -- and sometimes the lulls between employment at various ambulance companies-- he writes fiction.

  You can find more of it at http://inkandbourbon.com/

  Also by Patrick LeClerc

  Out of Nowhere

  Healer Sean Danet is immortal — a fact he has cloaked for centuries, behind enemy lines and now a paramedic’s uniform. When Sean heals the wrong man, he uncovers a lethal enemy who holds all the cards. And this time he can’t run. It’s time to stand and fight, for himself, for his friends, for the woman he loves. It’s time, finally, for Sean to face his past — and choose a future.

  In Every Clime and Place

  On the ragged edges of civilization, Corporal Michael Collins has lived those words, taking on riots and evacuations, reb
els and terrorists. Asteroid belt patrol is just another deployment. But soon the platoon of Marines find themselves entangled in the threads of a conspiracy of corporate greed, government corruption, piracy, and a band of war

  Time to earn that combat pay, Marines. Welcome to the Suck.

  Advancing on Paris

  Some 200 years before he became a paramedic in the Boston area, our immortal hero has hidden himself in plain sight in the ranks of Napoleon’s army ... stumbling backwards from the smouldering ruins of Moscow with his musket frozen to unfeeling hands and only hunger keeping him awake as the Cossacks swoop down from the unforgiving countryside to slash at the column's flanks and cut down stragglers.

  Patrick LeClerc takes all the sharp wit, wry humor and intelligence of his urban fantasy back in time. Wounded and cut off from the rest of the army, our hero must rely on quick thinking, fast reflexes, natural charm and poorly accented Russian to survive a brutal winter in a hostile country.

  Either that, or face a long, cold, lonely walk home.