Imperial Assassin

by Mark Robson

  Easing herself inch by inch sideways, Femke edged her body silently out from under the bed on elbows and heels. All was silent – silent and dark. Moving slowly, Femke first sat up and then struggled to her feet. She took a moment to massage blood back into her posterior. The restoration of blood flow brought pain, but it was a wholesome pain, tinged with the relief of a return to normal. She flexed her thighs. They felt perfectly normal.

  There was no time to dwell on discomforts any further. She had to get moving. A doorway was visible in the darkness. Light was spilling around the edge of the door. She crept soundlessly across the room towards it and listened. She could hear nothing. If someone were in the adjoining room, then he was remaining very still. Femke waited at the door for at least two minutes, straining her ears for any sense of movement or sound on the other side. Still nothing.

  Reaching down, she drew a throwing knife from the holster at the top of her boot. Then, in one smooth, silent motion she opened the door and dived through it, tucking into a silent roll. Her acrobatic manoeuvre brought her back to her feet. She scanned the room. Nobody was there. The flickering light from three torches filled the living room. She took a moment to absorb a few details. The first thing she noticed was the predominance of spider imagery. She shuddered. Spiders had never been among her favourite creatures.

  Femke noted the lines of books, the richness of the furniture and the spider motif emblem over the onward doorway. Her eye was caught by the stonework around the door arch.

  The chambers had been carved from solid rock, but someone had clearly then tidied up the shape of the rooms by building in standard shaped doorways using cut stone. Whoever had made this doorway was a master craftsman. Femke looked back at the doorway to the bedroom. It had been made to a similarly high standard. There was something familiar about the way in which the stones had been fitted together around the doorframe that niggled at her memory. She had seen masonry work like this somewhere before . . . but where?

  Whatever the answer, it was not ready to leap straight to the forefront of her mind. She took a close look at the doorway to memorise the pattern in which the stones had been fitted, then she moved on. The door out from the living chamber was already open. Again there was nobody outside. Whatever Reynik had done appeared to have drawn all attention from his rooms. She pushed forward as fast as she dared, slipping along the corridor, ghostlike in her silence.

  At the end of the corridor was the doorway into the central chamber. Femke slipped into the shadow-filled stall that looked out into the meeting place of the Guild. As she entered, she heard someone else entering through another of the stalls. Ducking down as low as she could, she crawled forwards and crouched in the forward right hand corner of the little booth. Footsteps approached. Was it one set, or two? It was difficult to tell.

  ‘I’d rather be out hunting him, Guildmaster, but I’ll take the first watch. Sadly, I can’t see him being foolish enough to return here again. I’d like to have been the one to nail him. To be honest, I’m surprised he came back at all once he knew his disguise had been compromised. I can’t imagine what was so valuable that he felt he had to retrieve it. Fox is taking over from me? Good.’

  Femke listened to the man’s voice as he approached. It was not Shalidar. She would have known his rasping tones anywhere. It was clear the second set of steps she could hear was the Guildmaster’s. She silently prayed that he would speak so she would get a chance to hear the voice of the man whose identity the Emperor wanted so badly. It was not to be.

  A hand appeared over the gate at the front of the stall. Femke shrank back as far as she could into the corner. The man opened the latch and swung open the gate. It opened towards her, shielding her further from the man’s sight. He stepped into the booth and allowed the gate to swing shut behind him. As the gate swung shut, she could see the tall figure of the assassin in the dim light. For a second she thought he would see her, but he turned and exited through the back of the booth.

  Femke released her breath in a silent sigh of relief. The quiet retreating footsteps of the Guildmaster were audible, so she risked a peek over the rail of the booth. A figure in black was near the central podium. Even as she looked at him, he started to turn back towards her. She ducked back down, wondering why he was turning back. Had he forgotten to tell the other assassin something? Had he somehow sensed her presence?

  She waited silently for a few moments, but there was no sound of returning footsteps. After about a minute Femke decided to risk another peep over the rail. When she did, she found the central chamber empty. Curious, she thought. Where had the Guildmaster gone? She had not heard him leave the chamber, yet his footsteps had been clearly audible when he walked across the chamber to the centre. Did he have a transfer stone there somewhere? She decided to find out.

  With one final look around the chamber to make sure it was clear, she slid over the gate and crept across to the pulpit-like structure in the centre. When she reached it, she noticed the black hole in the floor. Walking closer, she realised that it was not a hole but a steep, descending spiral staircase. That was why the Guildmaster had turned towards her. He had to in order to step down onto the first step. It was good to find that this disappearance was not magical in nature.

  Did she dare go down? Reynik had told her the assassins all had chambers that were accessed through their relative booths. By the same token, it seemed likely that this stairwell led to the Guildmaster’s private quarters. If this were the case, then he was unlikely to be surrounded by guards. After all, this was a very secret headquarters with a unique entry and exit control system. She decided to risk it.

  As soon as Femke put her foot onto the first stair, she realised why she had not heard the Guildmaster descend out of the chamber. The stair had a small triangle of carpet attached over the central part of the step. The next was the same. She grinned. No doubt this was useful to the Guildmaster when he wanted to make a silent entrance. Used in reverse, it would allow her to descend without worrying about him hearing her approach.

  With her knife held firmly in her right hand, she stepped down into the darkness. After half a dozen steps, she discovered a handrail to her left, which allowed her to steady herself with her left hand, whilst still keeping her blade out in front.

  The staircase was narrow and steep, but the stairs were flat and well cut. After roughly two full spirals in total darkness, a dim light shone up from below. Step by step, she continued to descend, crouching down and leaning forward so that she could see as far ahead around the spiral as possible. The bottom of the stairwell came into view. Femke stopped to listen for signs of movement. To her horror, the sounds she did hear were not coming from below, but above. Someone was coming down the steps behind her, and he was not far above.

  There was no time for caution. She fled silently down the last few steps and found herself half-way along a lit corridor. Left or right? It had to be an instant decision. She opted to run right, sprinting forwards silently on her toes, her heart hammering in her chest. A little way along the corridor there was a recessed door on the right. She ducked into the recess and pressed her body back against the door.

  Her every muscle was taut. Despite the adrenalin and the after effects of the sudden sprint, she held her breath to listen. At first all she could hear was her heart pumping. Then she could no longer hold her breath against her straining need for air. Slowly – ever so slowly – she exhaled and drew in another lungful. Relief. The quiet sounds of retreating footsteps were as music to her ears, giving her leave to begin breathing more normally again.

  Femke decided to risk a quick look along the corridor. The retreating figure was dressed in a set of brown robes. Must be a servant, she thought. Was this the servants’ level? That didn’t make sense. Why would the entrance to the servants’ level be in the middle of the assassins’ meeting chamber? No, it was more likely that the servant was on his way to do something for the Guildmaster. With a little luck she might discover where he was. If she c
ould just steal a look at the Guildmaster’s face, she would know if Reynik’s assertion that he was a member of the Nobility was correct. Femke knew all members of the Nobility, major and minor, by face and name. It was required knowledge for one in her profession.

  The servant went all the way to the far end of the corridor and knocked on the door there. He must have received a response, for he entered. Femke wasted no time. She raced out from her hiding place and down the corridor to listen at the door. There were sounds of movement within, but no talking. Come on, come on, she urged silently. Say something!

  ‘Will you be wanting your meal soon, Guildmaster?’

  There was a pause. Femke’s anticipation reached fever pitch.

  ‘Thank you, Jurre, that would be wonderful. What’s on the menu today?’

  Femke’s jaw dropped and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. For a moment the urge to scream ‘Traitor!’ was overwhelming. There was no longer any need to see the Guildmaster’s face. She would know that voice anywhere.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Reynik took Femke’s weight as she slumped. He was ready for it. Had she come through that first transfer without passing out, he would have felt most inadequate. There were so many things that Femke was good at, he was pleased to see that she reacted to this situation in the same way he had. He was ready to drop her if there were anyone present in the room, but all was quiet. It seemed the Guild had not yet set a watch on his quarters. He doubted they had long before someone thought of it.

  Dipping to sweep up her legs, he lifted Femke into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. She was completely out cold. He guessed it would take a good few minutes for her to come around. He could not afford to wait that long. It would be better if he created a diversion to draw attention away from his rooms and out into the streets of the city. Then, when Femke awoke, she should stand a chance of looking around the complex without having to wade through a line of assassins to do it.

  Gently, he lowered her to the floor. For a moment his eyes lingered on her peaceful face. Her lips looked soft and inviting. The temptation to lean down and brush his lips against them was huge. Why had she kissed him? Did she feel something for him after all? He had assumed she was only friendly because they were working together. Did it go further than that? Had she begun to feel a romantic bond?

  It was not easy to slide her under the bed. In the end he had to be quite forceful. He tried to be careful of her damaged ribs, but it was not easy to find other suitable areas to push on. If she suffered bruising as a result of his rough handling, he would find it hard to forgive himself – especially after that kiss.

  ‘Snap out of it, you idiot!’ he chided himself, in a whispered growl. ‘Grow up and concentrate. This is no time to be thinking about such things.’

  He pulled the blankets down so they hung to the floor on the near side of the bed. No one would see Femke now unless the room was searched with purpose.

  A noise drew his attention back to the door. Someone was coming. He had to get out fast. He ran to the door. Voices were approaching the door on the other side of the room. Reynik decided to make a run for the transfer stone. It was not far, but the door on the other side of the room opened at the same time as he broke into a run across the room. It was the Guildmaster and one of the other assassins. He did not know which one. Whoever it was reacted very quickly.

  Ripping the spider talisman from its leather cord, Reynik dived for the transfer stone at the same time as the assassin drew and threw a knife. Out of the corner of his eye, Reynik saw the spinning blade cutting through the air towards him even as his hand stretched out with the talisman. He gritted his teeth as he waited for the blade to bite, but the anticipated pain never came.

  The spider talisman made contact with the transfer stone and initiated the magical translocation. Reynik could have sworn afterwards that he felt the blade pass through his body, but it was most likely his imagination.

  As he entered the translocation in a dive, so he exited it, complete with all of his initial momentum. This made him doubly fortunate. He emerged in his flat out dive, crashing to the ground in a most ungainly fashion. As he did so, however, a crossbow bolt smashed into the wall where he would have been standing. Whoever had fired the bolt had not waited for the telltale sparkling lights to finish coalescing before loosing the shot.

  Reynik scrambled to his feet and started running. The watcher must have arrived only moments after Reynik and Femke had made their transfer into his quarters. In a bizarre flashback he suddenly recalled something his father had told him years before.

  ‘There are times when it’s better to be lucky than good, son.’

  How right he had been!

  It would take the archer a few moments to reload his crossbow. Reynik did not intend to be within range by that time. He sprinted out of the alleyway and into the side street. On instinct he turned right. If he were to fight for his life, then he would do it in the heart of Shandrim. There would be regular patrols of Legionnaires and militia there. If his luck held, they might prove useful.

  ‘Go! Wolf Spider transferred to his shared stone. If you’re quick, you’ll get there hard on his heels.’

  ‘Yes, Guildmaster,’ Cougar replied, but he hesitated as he reached the door. ‘But what about the watcher? He has orders to shoot any that emerge there.’

  ‘Duck. If you’re lucky, Firedrake will have enough sense to realise that it would be impossible for Wolf Spider to materialise twice in quick succession.’

  ‘Yes, Guildmaster,’ he responded through gritted teeth. ‘And guarding the rooms here?’

  ‘I’ll fetch someone else to do that. Young Wolf Spider won’t come back in a hurry. He knows we’ll be waiting for him if he does. Go!’

  Cougar left at a run. ‘If Firedrake hasn’t been distracted along the way, the spy should be dead already,’ the Guildmaster muttered to himself. ‘Well, young Reynik, if that really is your name,’ he added, addressing the transfer stone as if his words could somehow bridge the magical gap between them, ‘you seem to have a knack for getting out of tight spots. Therefore I suppose it shows prudence to make sure. Firedrake’s waiting for you at the exit point, Cougar’s on his way there, and Dragon, Viper and Bear are all out in the city looking for you. You won’t last long. One of them will collect the price on your head. They always do.’

  Reynik raced to the nearest tavern and burst in through the door. People all around the crowded bar room looked round at the sound of his explosive entrance. The sound level dropped noticeably for a few seconds as he instinctively paused in the doorway, panting, then rose again to a higher volume as people either returned to their conversations or fell to speculating on the reason for the young man’s abrupt arrival. He assessed the room in a second and pushed forward, weaving his way through the people and tables, apologising at every other step but not slowing.

  When he reached the back door, he rummaged amongst the weapons in the large rack to the left of the exit. Bows, swords, staves and belt knives were stowed here as a matter of policy. The Landlord was very strict about it. Anyone found in the main bar area carrying a weapon about his person was instantly banned. The no tolerance policy had served him well over the years, for damages and visits by the militia had been kept to a minimum.

  ‘Got you!’ Reynik uttered with a triumphant note in his voice. He drew out a staff from the rack that end to end was about a hand span longer than he was tall. There was a sword of his in the rack as well, but he was reluctant to take it, as it was hard to run fast with a sword strapped to your side whilst also carrying a staff. After a few seconds of inner debate, he decided to sacrifice speed for weaponry.

  From a cupboard to the right of the door, he drew out a mail shirt and leather jerkin. As he had decided to forfeit fleetness, it would be as well to protect his body as best he could. He was so glad now that he had thought to pre-place so many useful items in public locations. The mail would offer some protection against thrown and
thrusting weapons, though it would not save him from a well-aimed crossbow bolt.

  He threw off his cloak and slipped on the tunic. There was no time for fancy lacing. He ran the laces through a couple of the holes and tied them off. The mail shirt went over the top, followed by a bright blue cloak from a nearby peg and he was off again – out into the night and away from the vicinity of his transfer stone.

  The narrow street with its dim oil lanterns and crooked overhanging houses felt hostile. Menacing shadows loomed everywhere. The hairs on the back of Reynik’s neck prickled with nervous fear. The road was pocked with potholes and missing cobbles. A dangerous surface for running in such dim light, Reynik thought grimly. Well, he was not about to run again just yet. Running would only draw attention. Let the assassins get in close to properly identify him before attacking. Armed as he was now, he felt a lot more comfortable about confronting members of the Guild at close quarters.

  Heading in towards the city centre, Reynik walked with an air of purpose. He did not rush, but lengthened his stride to cover ground at a good pace. He had not gone far before the first assassin caught up with him.

  There was no warning. The first awareness Reynik had of his assailant was a knife striking him square in the middle of the back. With the protection of the chain mail and the leather, it felt as if someone had punched him hard. He stumbled forward as the blade fell harmlessly to the ground and skittered across the cobbles.

  Firedrake was already moving forwards, knowing in the moment he released his blade that the throw was good. His move was premature. Had he remained in the shadows, he would have been able to make another throw before being seen. Reynik picked him out instantly. With his balance quickly restored, he moved to intercept.