Cyriana twirled a handle and cranked the iron door ajar. Parchment sheets littered one shelf above riches glinting in dull moonlight spilling through a window. Unwilling to devote time needed to decipher one from another, she grabbed each scroll and codex and stuffed the documents into her satchel. Greedy hands thieved coins, jewels and precious gems, jamming the horde into every orifice on her jacket and pants once the pouch reached capacity.
Overburdened yet pleased, she shut Destiran’s vault and padded to the hallway, skulking past canvas paintings and tapestries. One further stretch adjoining another passage stood between her and stairs climbing upward. She moved cautiously on her tiptoes, halting outside one door coated in rich varnish.
Thudding footfalls echoed and Cyriana whirled, sighting a figure hurtling toward her chest. Anguish ripped through her lungs and she was thrown backward into the door, dazed by blackened spots littering her vision. Buckling wood ripped from its frame, spilling Cyriana in a heap beyond. She slewed atop shards and smacked into the balustrade overlooking a two-story library. Gloved hands grasped her jacket, hauling Cyriana upright and bashing her into the bannister. She kicked with one boot and ensnared an ankle, twisting her foe off balance. A fierce shove on the railing brought Cyriana around to face the female guard as an errant fist caught her jawbone.
Cyriana staggered backward and thrust out an arm to deflect the woman’s second punch. Her countering swing forced the guard to withdraw and Cyriana grasped the weighted haversack as though a mace.
She whipped her satchel, missing the woman high and striking a lantern. Rippled glass tore off decorative chains and pitched over the rail. A bony shoulder surged into Cyriana’s gut and she pounded one elbow downward, dislodging the nuisance with a startled grunt. Cyriana seized a studded doublet and the woman clawed at her grip, crashing into the wooden balustrade.
Frantic movement below caught Cyriana’s eye and she glimpsed a male sentry ascending circular stairs to the upper balcony. It seemed Salir and Ralir’s exterior distraction had not proved diverting enough. Each additional goon brought more frustrations she was ill-equipped to counter given her minimal weapons and standing no-kill order. Grappling to an advantage against the woman, Cyriana bashed her forehead into an inviting nose and flung the wilting body aside with a heavy thump. She pivoted toward the second watchman and lifted sore fists as he advanced.
Wavering orange spread beyond the shattered lantern and across flooring one story below. Shelves erupted in flames and disgorged fiery scrolls, bathing the library in an eerie luminescence. Destiran was a dangerous, unforgiving man, yet Cyriana had not meant to raze his estate. Remorse might be too strong a word, though she felt slight unease. The conflicting emotion was mitigated by the fact his overzealous guards were attempting to kill her.
Ignorant or uncaring, the man pursued her with single-minded focus. She arched beyond and beneath his attacks, parrying clenched hands with a slap whenever one brushed too close. Smoke distorted the chamber and brought a hint of moisture to her eyes.
“Why are we still fighting?” Cyriana shouted. “The whole damn place is on fire!”
Knuckles missed her chin by a hairsbreadth and she fell backward into a clumsy lunge. Cyriana whacked into shelves, tumbling tomes on either side. Spreading fires glittered along a knife in the guard’s hand and Cyriana snatched a codex as he thrust for her stomach. Leather and vellum halted an iron tip inches from puncturing her flesh. She pivoted, lashing the book across her adversary’s face. He toppled into the bannister and Cyriana hammered the tome against his skull again. Cracks traced over smoldering wood and the railing collapsed with a spray of splinters. A choked scream fled the man’s mouth as he plunged over and Cyriana scrambled in retreat. Fires glowed between floorboards under her boots, spreading through crumbling wood. Sweltering anguish tore through her scalp and Cyriana ripped the hood off as sparks ignited fabric. Flames consumed cloth before it even flopped in a heap.
She hauled herself higher using an intact doorframe and gasped for breath in suffocating air. Floating embers lifted above a carpet of writhing flames devouring the estate. She recovered her sack and turned to flee, though glimpsed the female sentinel lying prone nearby. Cursing her sentimental streak, Cyriana wrested the dazed woman onto her feet and into the corridor. A stern shake returned the guard to her senses.
“Run you bloody halfwit!” Cyriana hollered. “Or die standing here!”
Hesitant eyes stared at her above a bloody nose, perhaps contemplating a violent response, until the woman scowled and left. Loyalty to your own life was always a better policy than loyalty to an employer. Cyriana exemplified the notion.
Tightening the satchel looped over one shoulder, she raced for a flight of stairs. Cyriana emerged on the third floor, tore down deserted hallways and reached steps rising to the roof. No chance she was scaling a wall while the manor charred to ash. A quiet escape using the balcony she entered was out of the question. Cyriana ascended stairs at a sprint, one upraised arm shielding her mouth from inhaling smoke. A lone entry barricaded her path to fresh air and she fumbled to unlatch its lock in near blackness. Dark miasmas enveloped her until a blessed clank sounded.
She pitched the door ajar and flung herself atop tiled roofing amid a haze. Hoarse coughs and spittle vented from her throat. Scrabbling on hands and knees, Cyriana struggled upright and sprinted through swirling smoke until she smacked into a carved parapet. One leg hurled over while she clipped her carabiner into place and found purchase on the ledge. Cyriana glimpsed hungry flames spewing from balconies beneath while perspiration poured from her sweltering face. She seized the rope and heaved, struggling to brace her ankles above the shuddering line. Murky clouds drifted upward, obscuring stars stretching across the sky.
Pain blossomed in her exhausted limbs, yet she forced quavering arms to continue pulling toward the quiet Caelii house and its relative sanctuary. Damp hair flopped before her eyes and she paused, trembling under the swaying rope. Tilting her head confirmed the halfway mark still remained some distance away.
A foul stench more pungent than mere fire tickled her nostrils. Cyriana hefted higher and craned her head beyond boots coated in grime. An incandescent orange streak fueled by pitch crawled closer with relentless abandon. “Oh gods.”
One aching hand scrambled farther while she yanked a dagger from her belt. Cyriana touched a serrated edge to tarred rope and sawed. “Don’t worry, it’s drenched with pitch, she said. It’ll be invisible. I’m going to punch Aelina in the mouth if I survive this.”
Iron chewed through splitting fibres and Cyriana felt herself lurch as the tension lessened. Scalding heat licked her feet through smoking leather boots. She gritted her teeth, wrapped one arm around sagging rope and whispered a hasty prayer to whatever god might be willing to smile on a thief. Cyriana severed final strands and air was ripped from her lungs as she plummeted. Rope tangling one arm snapped taut, wrenching her flailing body like a pendulum toward the balcony one story lower.
She smashed through shutters and bounced across carpet in fitful tumbles covered with splinters. Skidding to a halt, Cyriana lay on her back and coughed. Agony lanced through her bruised body and bloodied saliva spewed from dry lips. She stomped simmering boots and crawled onto hands and knees, inhaling breaths through a parched throat. Moist shards of wood were expelled from her mouth with every wretch. Cyriana raked her hands over carpet, scooping fallen coins and jewels back into burdened pockets.
Rubbing a sore neck, she climbed upright and stared through broken shutters at the inferno. Flames and churning smoke belched from gutted windows, raining masonry onto grass beneath. What a bloody disaster this turned into. It would not be long until Decius learned fires engulfed a certain manor, and Cyriana had no intention to hang around for the Draugan officer’s less than cheerful reply.
She limped toward the bedchamber door, snatching a jeweled necklace and silver ring from one tabletop. There was still space in her satchel alongside pricey documents, and it w
ould be a shame to depart the Caelii estate without souvenirs. The entry whacked ajar before she reached it, revealing a stooped man lit by gentle candlelight. Eyes widened when he sighted her approach and the servant shrieked.
Cyriana planted palms on his chest and hammered him into a wall. “Get out of my way.”
She strode past the cowering man and descended steps to the ground floor. Servants and Caelii house guards scurried amid the foyer, likely awakened by an inexplicable conflagration consuming their neighbor. Stunned faces soon noticed her trespass and voices cried out.
“Don’t mind me,” Cyriana replied. “I was leaving.”
“Halt!”
She paused and glanced over one shoulder. Only two sentinels advanced, wearing quilted jackets and wielding truncheons. Simple enough. Cyriana lifted both arms and waited for a telltale footfall to sound behind her. She whirled and seized a bludgeon in one hand, wrapping her other around the man’s wrist. Jerking his limb, she tore the weapon from a weakened grip and cuffed his forehead with one end. He crumpled and she swept the cudgel low, striking the other guard’s thigh.
Cyriana sprang beneath a countering swing, pounded the handle into his sternum and kicked out one ankle. The sentry collapsed to his knees, yet still struggled to snag her clothing with one hand.
“I’m not supposed to kill tonight,” Cyriana affirmed, lashing bruised knuckles into his face. “Stop making this harder for me.”
Tossing the baton aside, she paced for the exit but seized a servant’s collar and hauled her close. “Forget I was here. Though stay alert in case errant flames creep toward your masters’ house. Hope you have some buckets on hand.”
A nervous nod greeted her words and Cyriana stepped outside, thrusting one arm upward to shield the scorching heat. Destiran would be livid when he learned what befell his home. Holding her haversack and precious cargo in one hand, she strode along the avenue and found refuge in a vacated passageway. Though it smelled similar to stale feces, any air not inundated with smoke was fresh after this ordeal.
Chapter 5
Cyriana eyed a darkened silhouette approaching through the vacant alley mouth and shoved off one wall. Greasy black hair fell to shoulders clad in a hardened leather jacket like strands of coiled rope. Unshaved bristles of a matching color dotted his jawbone and throat, scarcely discernible as the courier strode through weak morning light descending to where she awaited.
Recommended through a mutual acquaintance, this one was not a typical courier shuttling missives between giggling lovers. Only the wealthy hired a man of his talents, adept at completing jobs where legalities were fuzzy notions and secrecy paramount. Errands promising danger necessitated a sharp-witted messenger swift with a blade.
The courier halted with one cracked rawhide glove clutching a sweat-stained grip strapped to his hip. “There is nary a soul more dangerous or destructive…”
“Than one who wholeheartedly believes in what he is doing,” concluded Cyriana.
His threatening stance softened, though did little to hide the stiffness inherent in his mannerisms. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, friend.”
“Pretty esoteric, using a quote from Endrir the Elder as your phrase.”
“An underappreciated mind. Give me what you wish delivered.”
Cyriana handed him the ledger wrapped in oilcloth and bound with twine. “A simple manuscript.”
“Those who seek to employ me rarely dabble in the simplistic.” The ludicrously valuable package vanished into a haversack hitched around one shoulder. “Who are you eager to avoid entanglements with?”
“The Empire, along with potentially pissed off bounty hunters. I don’t fool around when it comes to earning enmity.”
“Fortunate for you I’ve dealt with both. Where’s it to be sent?”
“Down the Honeywater River to Ercora.”
The courier licked amber teeth. “Several days’ sail from here. Won’t be a cheap venture, given distance and your knack for attracting the wrong enemies.”
“Didn’t imagine it would be. I’ve the funds on me.”
“Five silver upfront, plus another three on completion. Imperial denarii or Asdori suns makes no difference.”
“I had something else in mind.” Cyriana slipped her hand into one pocket and fished a gold brooch studded in diamonds. “I’m regrettably short on coinage these days. But it seems wherever I go items like this are carelessly left lying around.”
He accepted the jewelry and examined it within a shaft of sunlight trickling into the alley. “A suitable compromise. Though this only provides for my upfront payment. I still expect compensation on completion.”
“You’ll have it. Once in Ercora find the Hundred-Year Door alehouse near the waterfront. The proprietor is a man named Wither. Place the bundle into his hand yourself. Give it to no one else. He’ll pay you an additional three silver for your services.”
“Have a message for him?”
“Tell Wither Tala sends her regards and a promise for reimbursement.”
“Consider the package delivered.” The courier made no allowance for decorum, merely withdrawing with neither a word nor backward glance.
Having concluded her business, Cyriana tucked hair still dusted in soot behind an ear and journeyed toward the Wayward Crook for a conversation with Aelina. She traversed infrequently trod pathways where the ascending sun had not yet reached. A woman hunted by the Draugan Empire and criminal factions needed to be sensible after all.
Daylight had a tendency to depopulate alehouses, serving as an unwelcome blight in the bloodshot eyes of perpetual tavern clientele. Naturally this was a boon to someone with wits to spare. These dingy locales were ideal for clandestine meets in the hours after sunrise when its most recent patrons had shambled home and few others resided within. She planted a palm on faded paint and shoved the entry ajar, stepping through to discover an almost empty chamber redolent with the musty scent from an evening’s revelry. Serving staff busied themselves cleaning floors and rearranging furniture, either not noticing or not caring Cyriana had entered.
She surveyed the dim interior and strolled for a table nestled amid the far corner. Movement snagged her peripheral vision and she turned to glimpse the other woman slip out from behind a wooden pillar.
Aelina walloped Cyriana on a shoulder, pitching her into one wall. “Are you insane?”
“What are you babbling about?”
“You torched a dangerous man’s estate.” Aelina jabbed a finger against Cyriana’s forehead. “What is wrong with you?”
She batted the offending digit aside. “Plan didn’t go as planned. I improvised.”
“You’re a walking dead woman. All because you couldn’t pilfer some parchment without turning into an arsonist.”
Cyriana sat while Aelina claimed her own chair. After a moment she groaned to discover her trousers had adhered to an unknown sticky substance, before shifting her focus to Aelina once more. “This is even better.”
“You have lost your mind.”
“Destiran doesn’t know what I stole. He’ll probably figure the ledger burned to a crisp and isn’t likely to take precautions. Meaning he’s vulnerable. A man’s weakest when he thinks he’s safe. Time to exploit.”
“You were seen last night, Cy.” Aelina sipped wine and wiped a droplet from her lips with one thumb. “Never a good thing.”
“That ungrateful woman,” she murmured. “Probably the guard. Even after I saved her ungrateful life.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Who knows? The frigging room was smoky as hell. I didn’t have the wherewithal to conduct a proper risk assessment. Maybe I threatened her before. I’ve bullied my fair share over the years. This is what I get for a moment of misguided compassion.”
“And for being known in thieving circles. I always reckoned your reputation would be the death of you. Destiran is keeping quiet, but word’s gone out to the right folks. There’s a bounty on your head.”
&
nbsp; “Not surprising. Might be wise if I slipped town then.”
“You think?” She wrinkled her nose and swallowed another mouthful. “You smell like a damned fire pit, by the way.”
“I haven’t found the time for a bath.” Cyriana stood, depositing a leather purse into Aelina’s hand. “I’m trusting you to share this with Carin and the creepy twins. Whatever you think their part is worth.” She withdrew a necklace wrapped in cloth, placing it alongside. “This one is yours. For the crap I put you through. Should fetch you plenty.”
“And your deal with the Draugans?”
“Screw them. They offered my freedom, which I’m already enjoying. I can find others who’ll pay gold to blackmail Destiran. I aim to see how much.”
Aelina clasped her hand around Cyriana’s. “It was nice knowing you while still alive.”
“Hush. This isn’t a death sentence. Not if I’m careful.”
“When are you ever?”
“I’ll make this a first.” Cyriana smiled and turned to depart. “Stay safe, Aelina.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I usually don’t. But it hasn’t proved fatal thus far.”
*
Cyriana grunted in pain as her skull smacked into a brick wall. Garlic exuded from the burly man with a hands-on philosophy regarding threats. A wiry female stood beyond his shoulder, while one male companion waited a few yards distant. Draped in the alley’s shadows, none looked personable or keen to converse.
The man shoved his forearm into her throat, pinning Cyriana in place. “Damn stupid choice. Might even prove fatal.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she panted. “And here I am still standing.”
“Not this time. You’ll wish you never tried running.”
“I was on my way to see Decius.”
“On the opposite side of the city from his office? Nearly a stone’s throw from the northern gate? You must think us fools.”
Starwatch Page 42