by Mark Robson
He opened the door again with the small stack of gold coins in his hand. The old woman was still there, shuffling her feet and seemingly staring at the ground.
‘I want an idea of what you’re going to tell me before I hand this sort of money over, crone. What do you know? Is it just a name? I’m not parting with five gold sen for a name that could be false.’
‘I have a name, but not his. I know who his next target is.’
Toomas nearly choked. His mind raced. Did she understand what she had? He doubted it.
‘His next target? You’re sure? If you’re wrong, old woman, I’ll have you found and gutted. This is dangerous information.’
‘But worth five sen,’ the woman pointed out.
‘Very well – who is it?’
‘Lord Lacedian,’ Femke whispered dramatically from beneath her stinking disguise. ‘He’s going to kill Lord Lacedian.’
‘Damn it! I wish I’d never started this,’ Surabar muttered, scattering the papers on his desk with an irritated flick of his hand. ‘I can’t concentrate. I can’t think. It’s ridiculous!’ He got up and began pacing back and forth across his study. ‘As decisions go, declaring war on the Guild of Assassins has to rate highly on my all time poor judgement list.’
His eyes were distant as he paced and his mind churned back over the same old ground that had haunted him during the past few weeks.
‘None of this should have happened. I should have stepped down as Emperor when I got back from Mantor,’ he thought, his face grim. ‘I could have gone back to the Legions. The ethics there are so much more straightforward. If it hadn’t been for that blasted Shalidar’s meddling, I could have bestowed the Mantle on someone more suitable. None of these moral issues would then have surfaced. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Surabar, but it’s too late for a change of heart.
‘It should have been so simple: find the Guild headquarters and flush out the enemy. The tactics would have worked on a guerrilla group, or a dissident faction, but the Guild is like nothing I ever tackled with the Legions. Instead of scouts, I have spies. Instead of Legions, I have the city militia; and a fat lot of good they are! Of course I can call on the Legions to supplement the militiamen, but this is not a traditional war zone. There are the implications of my actions on the civilian population to consider.
‘Femke and her colleagues in the Imperial spy network are great, but they have their limitations. The Kempten ruse worked because with all the Guild assassinations of military commanders, no one had any reason to suspect that this hit was any different. There was no one watching closely enough to see through the deception. But for Reynik to get into the Guild, they will want to see a body. Someone must die for real.’
He stopped in his tracks.
‘Why should the death of one man – one traitorous man – make me feel so dirty of spirit? As a Commander I laid ambushes that led to the slaughter of hundreds of men, yet this feels repugnant in comparison.’
‘There are no unfair tactics in war, only winning tactics and losing tactics. The trick to being a good Commander is making sure that you use winning tactics.’
The quote from his old mentor rang in his mind. ‘So why is this different?’ The question hung in the air. He had been talking to himself more and more recently. He would have preferred to discuss his problems with someone, but it was a matter of trust. He had considered discussing them with Femke, but did not feel it appropriate.
The answer had been there all along. He began pacing again, this time striding back and forth with even more purpose.
‘The person who has to die is not a part of the same fight,’ he realised. ‘Lacedian might be a traitor, but he’s not linked with the Guild of Assassins. That’s why it feels wrong. It’s like mounting an assault on a nation with whom you’re not at war to get to your enemies. That nation might not be friendly, but they are not a part of the current fight. It contravenes the military codes of conduct.
‘There may be no unfair tactics in war, but that assumes the only parties involved in the conflict are those at war. I thought to do the unexpected; to fool the Guild by ordering something they would never expect. Even if it were to succeed in the long run, I cannot deny my nature. I have to abide by ethics I can justify. I thought I could justify this, but I can’t. It’s inherently wrong.’
It was too late to stop Reynik. Surabar had no way of contacting him now. If the young Legionnaire did kill Lord Lacedian, then Surabar would have to live with the consequences. Reynik might be the arrow that killed the Lord, but it was his hand that had released the arrow from the bow. There would be no further attempts of this sort. If Reynik were not contacted by the Guild after this hit, Surabar would put a stop to the mission. He knew what he had to do now. He had to get back on ground that he understood. It was time to call in the Legions. Causing discomfort to the civilian population was one thing. Killing them was another. He would have the Legions dismantle the city stone by stone if he had to, but he would find the Guild headquarters.
‘I can’t help you this time, Reynik. You’ll have to make the hit alone. The Guild will have a constant watch on Lacedian, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find that your target knows you’re coming as well. If I were seen, then you would be compromised.’
Reynik nodded and smiled at Femke. He hoped that the nauseous feeling in his gut was not transmitting through to his face. He did not want to give her the wrong impression of him. It was hard to imagine how someone like Shalidar could live with killing again and again in cold blood. He did not want to be like his uncle’s killer in any way, but given the circumstances it was hard not to envy the cold detachment of the man.
Just the thought of killing Lacedian turned Reynik’s stomach, but he did not want to show his weakness to Femke. He knew that she had coped with having to make kills in cold blood in the past, yet she had found ways of coping with the feelings. Even knowing that she had killed, he did not think of her as a murderer. Why was that? What made her any different from Shalidar? Perhaps it was that she had feelings about it. Shalidar would not think twice about killing someone if it furthered his interests. Femke had killed when ordered, but he knew from his discussions with her during his training that she still struggled with her conscience over what she had done.
‘I know,’ he replied, trying to block the negative, distracting thoughts from his mind. ‘I anticipated as much. I’d appreciate your thoughts on a strategy for how to make the hit, though. You’re so good at this, I feel like I’m still a bumbling amateur.’
Femke gave him a hard stare. He had progressed beyond the amateur level so fast it was frightening, but he needed a strong dose of self-belief. There were times when she wanted to hit him, and others when she just wanted to kiss him. Damn it! Why did he have to be so likeable? What was it about him? He was young, but his features were already strong and handsome. Was it her imagination that he was attracted to her? He had never shown any outward signs, yet she sensed if she initiated a relationship, he would respond. Her feelings for Reynik were growing, and there appeared little she could do to stop them.
‘Reynik, you’re constantly putting yourself down. You cannot afford to do that. The more you tell yourself you’re no good, the more you’ll convince yourself it’s true. Listen to me – you’ve picked up the skills you need to do this mission faster than I would ever have believed possible. You’re a natural at this. You can do it, Reynik. You must believe in yourself. I believe in you. I really do. You can do it.’
‘Thank you. It feels good to hear you say so, but the proof will be in the head count, as they say. Where do you think I should make the hit? Shall I go for another daylight job, or should I do this after dark?’
‘My initial instinct is to make this hit at night. He will have all his defences arrayed against you, but he’ll feel safe in his home. No matter how good his defences, there will always be a weak spot. Also, it should be quiet enough that it will give the Guild a chance to contact you without worrying about getting
the wrong person, or being seen. The trick will be to circumnavigate Lord Lacedian’s defences and get out again with minimum conflict. Do you know where he lives?’
‘No.’
‘It’s not far from the centre of the city. It’s quite a big house, but not the biggest. From memory it looks like this.’
Femke walked across to her dresser and took out a piece of parchment from the top drawer. Placing the parchment on the top, she dipped her quill in the inkwell and started to sketch the outline of a house. Reynik moved alongside her and watched with interest as her diagram took shape. Within moments, Reynik began to get a feel for the style in which the house was built. He had seen several of a similar design in the richer parts of the city. The style was not uncommon. He did not know the history of the architecture of Shandrim, but he guessed the houses had all been built around the same period, most likely by the same builder.
‘Lacedian is a widower,’ Femke stated, her voice slipping into her teacher tone. ‘He has no children, so if there are others inside his house, they are most likely either guards or servants. Ideally, you don’t want to hurt any of these: the cleaner the hit, the better. But how to do it?’ Femke paused, running her right index finger from her lips down to her chin, clearly lost in thought.
The motion attracted Reynik’s attention and his concentration on the problem of how to kill Lacedian evaporated as he became aware of her proximity. They were shoulder to shoulder, hunched over the parchment. ‘Shand, but she’s lovely,’ he thought, watching with fascination as her fingertip drew her bottom lip down just fractionally with each stroke. The movement electrified him. All of his awareness focused in on her lips. How he wished he could kiss them, and have that kiss returned with passion. His body tensed and his heart began to beat faster as her closeness threatened to overwhelm him. The fresh scent of her filled his nostrils, its effect dizzying.
Suddenly, she pursed her lips. Reynik’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Hmm . . . it won’t be easy, but if I were you, then I would . . .’
‘How can I be thinking of such things now,’ he wondered. ‘We’re discussing how I’m to kill an old man in cold blood, for Shand’s sake! This is surreal. Damn but you’re so professional, Femke! How do you do it?’ Somehow she managed to keep her feelings about the mission detached from the business at hand. He wished he knew how.
The moment had passed. Business called. This was life or death – his life or death. He knew he had to concentrate on the job at hand, or his fanciful daydreams would never have a chance of seeing fruition. With a silent sigh, he forced his attention back to Femke’s sketch.
‘The Fox wishes to see you, my Lord Guildmaster.’
‘Now?’ he replied wearily. ‘What time is it?’
‘It is shortly after the second bell, my Lord.’
The Guildmaster sighed heavily. It had to be important for her to disturb his rest at this time. Shantella was one of the most intelligent women he had ever known. His mind was fogged with sleep, but he knew he could not ignore her request.
‘Very well. Please inform Brother Fox that I’ll be along to see her in a few minutes,’ he said, unable to control a yawn as he spoke.
He stretched briefly and swung his legs over the side of his bed. It only took him a few moments to dress, but before he left his chambers to climb up to the main level of the Guild complex he took time to splash his face thoroughly with cold water. Drying it with a soft towel, he felt much more alert. His body still protested its tiredness, but at least he felt fully awake now.
The Guildmaster climbed the spiral staircase into the Guild meeting chamber. As he walked he pondered what news Shantella bore. He traversed the chamber and entered through the gate sporting the fox emblem. It must be news of the mystery assassins. Had she found them? Were there two, or just the one?
He knocked at the door to her private chamber and her melodious voice called out for him to enter. He opened the door and found her reclined on a small couch, glass of red wine in hand. There was another on the table, clearly meant for him. He would not touch it, of course. One did not accept food or drink lightly from a known assassin – even if you were their Guildmaster. In some cases he did not accept it because he was the Guildmaster. There was very little chance that any of the other assassins would know who was in line to be the next leader of the Guild, so the odds were always against a person killing the Guildmaster to take his place.
The Fox was quite a woman. She teased him mercilessly with her body. Her long, slim legs were clearly visible through the split in her casual robe.
‘Welcome, Guildmaster. Have a seat,’ she purred, shaking her head slightly to settle her auburn curls on her shoulders.
‘Thank you, no, Shantella. You didn’t call me here to talk pleasantries at this time of night, so what do you have for me?’ he asked, keeping his tone businesslike. ‘Have you found the mystery assassins?’
‘Assassin, singular, apparently – though I’ve not confirmed the fact beyond doubt,’ she corrected.
‘Well, that’s a start. Who is he . . . she?’
Shantella pouted slightly at the Guildmaster’s cold manner, though her voice remained silky smooth as she answered.
‘I don’t know who he is . . . yet,’ she admitted. ‘But I do know that he’s accepted another contract.’
‘Another contract? Who? And who employed him?’ the Guildmaster asked, his voice betraying his eagerness for the information.
‘The employer remains a mystery. As to who he is going to kill, word on the street is he has a contract on Lord Lacedian.’
‘Lacedian! An interesting character. I wonder who wants him dead. He’s old school, but not really in the race to become Emperor should they manage to get rid of Surabar. Thank you, Shantella. You’ve done well. I’ll arrange to have a team of our people watch Lacedian night and day. I don’t want to miss the opportunity of catching this mystery man and bringing him here for a chat. I’ll arrange the surveillance. In the meantime, I’d like you to find out who employed him. This man is clearly operating in the upper echelons of society here in Shandrim, but who trained him? Where did he come from? I need to know more about this man, and fast.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘Tremarle! Tremarle! He’s coming for me. It’s all over town. He’s coming for me.’
Lord Lacedian burst into Lord Tremarle’s drawing room with none of his normal decorum. Tremarle looked up at his friend, taking in his pallor and trembling hands without allowing his own cool, unruffled demeanour to crack. Inside, however, his heart leaped. What was his friend talking about? Who had frightened Lacedian enough to get him into this state?
‘Calm down, old friend. Calm down,’ Tremarle replied, keeping his voice low and soothing. He rose smoothly from his chair and crossed the room to a drinks cabinet. Taking out two glasses, he poured generous measures of brandy from a crystal decanter into each and handed the fuller of the two to Lacedian. The old Lord accepted it with both hands, gripping the glass tightly in an effort to prevent his shaking from spilling the spirit on the expensive carpet. ‘Take a seat, Lacedian. Calm down and tell me what has you in such a fluster.’
Lacedian took a large pull at the brandy and closed his eyes for a second as he attempted to regain his composure. He made a move as if to sit down, but changed his mind at the last second. Instead he began pacing up and down the drawing room, his mind clearly racing as he organised his thoughts to speak.
‘The man who killed Kempten is coming for me next. A tattle tout came to me this morning and sold me the information. I was tempted to ignore it as scaremongering, but another came this afternoon. The second was annoyed that he was not the first to reach me with the news. Someone has deliberately fed the news to the touts. The only thing I can think is the killer wants me to know he’s coming. What sort of sick sadist is he? Did he torment Kempten like this?’
‘Don’t be too hasty, Lacedian. I doubt that Kempten knew he was the planned target of an assassin, or he would
have increased his personal security. From what I hear, the man walked into the Civil Court and threw a knife at him. There were no guards on Kempten’s door. He was not wearing any sort of protective armour. Nothing. Also, this may just be a hoax. Have you annoyed anyone enough recently to warrant them putting out a contract on you?’
Lacedian stopped pacing and looked pointedly at Tremarle.
‘No one apart from the obvious,’ he answered.
‘Surabar! Ridiculous! He’s in the middle of purging the city of assassins. Can you imagine what it would do to his image if he were found to have contracted a killer during such a campaign? Such hypocrisy would see him handing over the Mantle before he could blink twice. The man is too strait-laced for such an action. No, I would forget any idea of it being Surabar. If the killer you hired to kill the Emperor had talked, you would be hanging from the gallows now – with me alongside you, most likely.’
‘But the assassin I hired was caught. Surabar must know that I tried to have him killed. The man was not of the Guild. He would not feel the same constraints about revealing his employer that a Guild member would.’
‘That still doesn’t make it any more likely that Surabar would order you assassinated, Lacedian. You’re being irrational.’
Lord Lacedian started pacing again. ‘But if it’s not Surabar, then who’s hired him? I’m not in the running to take over if Surabar steps down as Emperor. I’ve not done anything to annoy, or insult, anyone sufficiently to warrant sending an assassin after me. Is it all a hoax? Or is someone really going to try to kill me?’
Lord Tremarle did not answer for a moment or two. He watched as Lacedian paced restlessly back and forth along the drawing room carpet.