Lost in thought, Wulfgar walked the short distance over to the open wall of the throne room. He looked to the sea. The winds had risen and the froth-tipped waves were restless and angry, much like the building conflict in his heart.
Given the length and complexity of the calculations, Wulfgar understood the risk. The installation of so powerful a Forestallment in his blood would be the single most painful experience of his life—probably even more excruciating than the injuries he had suffered at the hands of the wizards of the Redoubt. Once the process began there could be no reprieve, no turning back. Even considering the unusual strength of his blood, he couldn’t be sure he would survive it.
But these were risks he would simply have to take. He looked back over at the waiting consul.
“Very well,” Wulfgar said. He walked to his throne and sat down.
“You don’t wish to lie down, sire?” Einar asked, sounding concerned.
“Where? On the floor?” Wulfgar shook his head. “No. My throne will do.”
As the consul walked to his master’s side, the hovering text followed him. Narrowing his eyes, Einar caused the glowing numbers and symbols to rise to a place just above his master’s head. He placed one palm upon Wulfgar’s brow.
“Are you ready, sire?”
Taking a deep breath, Wulfgar closed his eyes.
“Proceed,” he answered. “And may the Afterlife watch over all of your gifts this night.”
CHAPTER XI
_____
AS SATINE WALKED HER GELDING DOWN THE NEARLY DESERTED streets of Tammerland, the city seemed gray and mournful. Dead bodies littered the gutters. Rain had recently fallen. It had soaked through her cloak, and the dampness caused her to shiver. Pulling the garment closer, she rode on.
She had been navigating the streets for the last three hours. Dawn would soon arrive. With so few people out and about, it sometimes seemed that she had the entire city to herself, a sensation that she did not mind.
After leaving Ivan, she had followed the winding tunnel to a cramped, windowless shed that opened onto an abandoned alleyway. From there she had made her way to the adjoining street and back to the still-closed archery shop, where she had reclaimed her horse.
Satine had two more stops to make before commencing her sanctions, and she was on her way to the first of them—a personal job, not professional, but one she meant to see through, despite the delay it would cause.
Satine rode the twisting, dilapidated streets until she reached the dead-end alley she had been searching for. She stopped her horse and jumped down. The place was deserted. Deciding to leave the gelding in the street, she tied him to a nearby rail. Then she unfastened the worn leather satchel from the back of her saddle and quickly entered the alley. After another look around, she slipped behind a pile of trash. She hurriedly began changing her clothes in the forgiving darkness.
The woman who emerged looked far different. Her usual leather clothing was gone. Instead she wore a close-fitting outfit of black cloth. On her feet were supple black slippers. Her black scarf was wound completely around her head and face, leaving only her watchful eyes showing. Black gloves covered her hands; her long braid she neatly tucked beneath her clothing. Cloak, bow, and quiver were left behind. Her only weapons were her sword, her four daggers, and her skill. If she was lucky, they would be all she would need. If she were unlucky she would soon be dead, and it wouldn’t matter.
She searched the length of the alleyway again. She was still alone. Hurrying to the other side, she flattened herself against the slick wall.
Praying it would hold, she grasped the rusty downspout with both hands and, like a spider, quickly climbed to the roof.
She took a few precious moments to look around again. Still, she saw no one. Turning north, she ran and jumped across the rooftops toward her target.
Satine knew the rooftop terrain well. She had been raised in this area of Tammerland and had played upon these roofs as a child. This night she was a child no more, and her task was deadly serious.
She knew that the sun would soon rise, chasing away her cover of darkness. If she did not reach her target in time, her chance would be lost. Once her sanctions had begun in earnest, there might never be another opportunity like this one.
Finally seeing the familiar roof up ahead, she took a flying leap between buildings and landed surely on all fours. Just as she had hoped, the nearby skylight emitted a soft glow through its frosted glass. Someone in the house beneath her had already risen, and she knew who it would be.
Moving silently to the skylight, she removed one of her daggers from its sheath and began to pry open the window. As it gave way its hinges creaked, and she winced. She replaced the dagger in its sheath, raised the window, and surveyed the room. Then she grasped the edge of the skylight, curled her supple body over it, performing a perfect forward somersault down into the waiting room below, dropping silently onto a table that stood against the near wall.
Before taking her first step down, she looked carefully around the room. Translucent paper filled the wood-framed panes that made up the four walls. The wall opposite her perch held a sliding door.
The foyer she had entered was small and unassuming. A single oil lamp glowed softly across the highly polished hardwood floor. Each of the interlocking floorboards looked perfect and smooth, just as she remembered them. But this floor held a secret.
She looked at the boards, trying to remember which of them were safe to step upon. They were each only the width of an average person’s foot. Only eight of them could be traversed without emitting a squeaking sound—an unobtrusive yet effective intruder alert.
Desperately hoping that the path of the boards had not been altered since she had last visited, Satine sat down upon the table and dangled her long legs over the side. She stretched forth a slippered foot and gingerly placed it upon what she remembered to be one of the safe boards. She stayed that way for a moment, wondering whether to put her full weight upon it. Finally, she did. Nothing happened.
With a sigh of relief, she made her way across the room. Blessedly, each of the boards she chose proved to be the correct one. The final board lay just before the sliding door. That was when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall on the other side.
Satine froze. What mattered now was whether the person in the hallway would stop to slide open the door. Satine could move out of view to one side, but if she did, the boards would sound. If she remained where she was and the door opened, there would be no escape.
Holding her breath, she listened intently as the footsteps slowed to a stop directly opposite her on the other side of the paper door. As she stood there, she imagined that she could hear the other person’s heart beating. Steeling herself for what might follow, she curled and separated the fingers of her right hand. It would have to be done quickly, and without hesitation.
Silently, the door began to slide open.
Satine leaped into the hallway. Raising her arm, she used the claw of her readied fingers to take him by the throat. He instinctively tried to cry out, but no sound could come. She kneed him in the groin, doubling him over and eradicating his will to fight. She recognized his face, but she refused to let that deter her. Slipping quickly around him, she laced one arm under his throat and choked him unconscious. As she cradled him silently to the floor his eyes fluttered shut. The entire process had been silent, and had taken no more than a few seconds.
Satine placed the tips of her first two fingers to the side of the man’s throat. His heartbeat was weak but regular. He would soon regain consciousness and, no doubt, do his best to send out an alarm. From here on she would have to move quickly.
It had not been her intention to kill the man. If it had, he would already be dead. Stepping over him, she silently made her way down the narrow hall toward the next paper door.
She removed one of her daggers from i
ts sheath, and used it to make a short, vertical incision in one of the wall’s paper panels. Holding the slit open with the blade of her knife, she peered into the chamber just beyond.
In the center of the room, Satine’s true target sat cross-legged, his back to the door, upon a long, green mat. His shiny, shaved head reflected the light of the oil lamps. He wore a short white robe covered by a pleated black cloth skirt. Its ties wound around his waist and ended in a distinctive knot. He was barefoot and still, save for an occasional movement of his hands. A familiar scent drifted to Satine’s nostrils, and she realized that he was taking his morning tea. She moved away from the slit.
The most difficult part would be gaining entrance to the room without him hearing her do it. The door before her was the only way in. She slid it open just enough for her body to slip sideways through the opening. Reaching behind her back, she soundlessly unsheathed her sword.
She took two measured steps forward and then stopped. Lifting the blade over her head with both hands she crept forward again, stopping less than a meter from the unsuspecting man’s back. Intent upon taking his head from his shoulders with a single strike, Satine brought the sword down and around with all her strength.
The moment her blade began cutting through the air, the man leaped to his feet, faced her, and raised his hands. As the razor-sharp blade whistled around, he clamped his open palms down upon either flat side of it, halting it in midstroke. Helpless to retrieve the sword from his iron grip, Satine looked into the eyes of the man who had just bested her.
Then, smiling to herself behind her mask, she released her hold upon her sword. Just as she had been taught, she let her arms fall to either side. Her opponent smiled.
Suddenly, he tossed the weapon into the air. It turned over twice, its silver blade flashing. He caught it one-handed by the hilt. Turning it around, he handed it to her. After giving him a short, respectful bow, she took it. The man returned her bow.
“Hello, my child,” he said simply. The timbre of his voice was old, calm, and reassuring. “It is good to see you again.”
After sheathing her sword, Satine unwound the black scarf from around her face. “And you, master,” she answered back. “I am glad to see that your skill at blade-catching has not diminished.”
The old man embraced her warmly. “And had I not reacted in time, would you have halted your blow?” he asked.
“Of course,” she answered. “But we both know that has never been necessary.”
Smiling, the old man beckoned for her to sit with him. Satine lowered herself to the green mat.
She recognized the familiar blue and white tea service sitting before her. As the old man came to sit opposite her he offered her some, and she accepted. She took a long draft of the rich, black tea, then looked back into the wise eyes of the man she so loved and respected.
For many years Aeolus had been both her teacher and her surrogate father. Then had come that fateful day when she had finally decided to leave her post here at his school, and strike out on her own. It had been a hard decision, and she knew that the choice of her current occupation brought the old man heartache and worry. But he also knew why she had done it. In some ways, even he could not completely disagree with the dangerous path she had chosen.
The bald head that he shaved every morning glinted in the light, and his penetrating eyes regarded her calmly. The neatly trimmed gray beard was just as she remembered, and the still-muscular body that belied his eighty Seasons of New Life remained coiled and ever ready beneath the folds of his martial garments. Satine took another sip of the tea, then put down her cup.
“You heard me in the hall, didn’t you?” she asked. “When I rendered Morgan unconscious.”
“Truth be known, I first sensed your presence when you pried open the skylight,” Aeolus answered. “After all, who could take morning tea properly with all of that infernal racket? You made more noise than a thunderbeast! I taught you better than that!” Then he looked concerned. “I assume Morgan will suffer no lasting effects?”
“No,” she answered. “Although I doubt he will be pleased when he wakes up. What will you tell him?”
Aeolus smiled. “Only that upon my orders he was being tested by another student, one who shall remain nameless. Besides, his shame at having been bested will probably overcome any curiosity he might have about who it might have been. Serves him right! He should never have been caught off guard like that. Still, I suggest that you use the front door next time. It makes things so much easier.”
She smiled again. “True,” she answered. “But not nearly so interesting.”
Aeolus’ mood became more somber. He put down his cup. “You have not visited here for more than a year,” he said. “Then you suddenly appear in your combat garb, and clandestinely enter my school through the rooftop. It is apparent that you want your visit to be kept secret. Why are you here? And why do you seem so burdened?”
She took a deep breath. “I have come to tell you some things,” she began. “And I need to ask for your help.”
Aeolus shifted his weight and stared at her. Realizing he was not going to respond, Satine chose her next words carefully.
“After the successful completion of the sanctions I have recently accepted, I will be retiring from this life,” she announced.
Looking into Aeolus’ eyes, she expected to see joy at her news. She was well acquainted with how much he disapproved of her profession. Instead, she was surprised to see a look of increased concern cross her master’s face.
“I would prefer that you retire now,” he said quietly. “This very day,in fact. My opinion on this issue had not changed. But you also know that as long as I draw breath, you will always have a home here.”
“Thank you,” she responded. “But this last mission is far more dangerous than any I have ever accepted. The sum I demanded reflects that. With this money I can finally retire, and spend the rest of my life pursuing my other goal.”
Aeolus’ face darkened. “This personal vendetta of yours will never bring your father back,” he said to her. “Even if you find the man who killed him. I loved Jacob as though he was my own son. You know that. He was not only my finest instructor, but also my best friend. But he’s been gone ten years. You must let it go, if you are to have any semblance of a normal life. I would have thought that your years here at the Serpent and the Sword would have taught you that.”
Satine looked down at the floor. “Apparently I was never destined for a normal life,” she answered. “Surely you, above all people, can see that. I simply cannot rest until I find Father’s killer—even if you have somehow made your personal peace with it.”
Memories of her childhood flooded her mind. Her mother had died giving birth to her, but her father had worked tirelessly to make up for the loss.
Jacob had been Aeolus’ head instructor at the martial school known as the Discipline of the Serpent and the Sword. The serpent represented the various skills of hand-to-hand combat, and the sword stood for the arts of armed combat. Satine was a master of both. As a widower, Jacob had been forced to bring his young daughter to the school with him every day. The school had quickly become her second home.
When Satine was twelve, Aeolus asked her and Jacob to move in with him full-time—a common practice in Eutracian martial arts circles. At that point, Satine began her formal training. It had even been discussed that one day her father would inherit the school from the childless Aeolus, and Satine would then become her father’s head instructor. Sadly, none of that had come to pass.
In a fit of jealous rage, one of the lesser students who had been passed over for the title of head instructor killed her father in his own bed. At the time it was rumored that the murderer had been under the influence of a mind-altering drug designed to enhance one’s enlightenment. He had then run away, using his considerable skills to become one with the night. Satine had given chase
, but to no avail.
Satine had been twenty-five years old at the time, and her father’s murder had forged within her an intense need both to find his assailant and to make the man suffer mightily before she finally killed him.
She knew that to find her father’s killer she would need money, and lots of it. To acquire money, she would need a trade. The only skills she possessed that might generate such sums were her combat arts. When she made the decision to defy Aeolus’ teachings of peace and serenity, she reluctantly left the school and she began selling her skills to the highest bidder.
And so she wandered Eutracia, searching for both her next sanction, and the vile monster who had killed her father. Her reputation grew quickly. Soon, rather than having to search for work, she was being sought out. In between commissions she used up every kisa of the money she had earned. She knew her quarry’s name; once she had missed him at a local tavern by only a day. Since then she had not been so fortunate, and it often seemed to her that the vermin she chased had somehow disappeared from the face of the earth. But her determination had not flagged.
She looked back at Aeolus. “There is something else you need to understand,” she said haltingly, unsure quite how to tell him.
“And that is?” her master asked.
“My new sanctions are to be political killings,” she said. “Given how much you always supported both the monarchy of Nicholas I and the Directorate of Wizards, I thought this was something you should be aware of. You know that I have no such political leanings. But I would like to ask that, should it become necessary, I can come here to hide. Now that you have been told, if you wish to dismiss me from your life forever, I will understand.” Her gaze went to the floor.
“It’s true that I once favored the monarchy, and the wizards who helped to guide it,” Aeolus answered. He rolled his teacup between his palms. “But times have changed. It is widely known that the prince killed his father, and that he is in league with the very winged demons that butchered so many. It is also rumored that he has caused some manifestation of magic to go about Eutracia, destroying everything in its path, and that the surviving wizards gladly serve his purposes.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “You have no doubt seen the bodies in the streets?” he asked. Satine nodded.
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