by Mark Robson
‘Damn you! You have more lives than a cat!’ the assassin grumbled, drawing his sword. ‘Come on then, traitor. You’ve used your last. It’s time to die.’
From the way Firedrake approached, Reynik could see he had never fought against someone armed with a staff before – at least no one competent. His confidence rose a little. It was tempting to say something, but he knew it was better to remain silent. This was no time for taunting or gloating. Finish it quickly and get away, he thought.
The assassin swung his sword hard and fast. Reynik deflected it easily and jabbed the end of the staff hard into the man’s stomach. The blow deflated him, all the air rushing from his lungs in a single whoosh of expelled air. Reynik followed up by stepping back and whirling the staff around such that the other end struck his foe a mighty rap on the left temple. He fell like a pole-axed cow. Reynik hit him once more on the head for good measure.
He knew it would be in his best interests to draw his sword and finish the man off. For a moment he considered it. Then he dismissed the thought. Killing Lacedian in cold blood had tainted him in a way he did not want to repeat. He did not want another life on his conscience – even that of an assassin.
As he turned to walk away, Reynik caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone else was moving stealthily down the street towards him. There was little doubt it was another Guild member, for he was hugging the shadows and moving fast. Another one already, he thought, horrified. How were they finding him so quickly? Were the streets crawling with killers?
Knowing there was another assassin who had latched onto his position, Reynik began to use some of the techniques Femke had taught him for throwing off followers. He started by moving away quickly towards the city centre. It was impossible to ignore the fact that someone was most likely closing up behind him with deadly intentions, but he did his best not to look back more than would be normal for one walking the streets at this time of night.
It occurred to Reynik that it might be better to double back and confront the man head on rather than allow him a chance to strike without warning. He did not want to fight at all, but if he had to fight, then he would prefer to dictate the terms. Then he realised his thinking was based on an unproven premise. How could he be sure that the man he had just incapacitated was the person who had fired the crossbow back in the alley? He could not. If he openly turned back and the man now behind him was the archer, Reynik would become an easy target. An open confrontation was too risky. He would have to use guile if he was going to survive.
He lengthened his stride without changing his pace. The subtle acceleration took him swiftly around a corner and out of his pursuer’s direct line of sight. The moment he was sure he was out of the assassin’s field of view, Reynik was up on his toes and running as fast and as silently as he could.
There was an alleyway to the right. He took it. It did not lead towards the city centre, but he knew one of the arterial roads was not far away. By going this way, he knew he could intercept the main road quickly and then turn back towards his eventual destination. It was not yet late. There would still be a good amount of traffic on the main route through the city. It should be easy enough to blend in with the general mill of people and leave anyone attempting to get to him with a far more difficult target.
The alley was dark, forcing Reynik to slow down. He did not want to make any noise that might attract unwanted attention. Stepping carefully, he concentrated hard on using the techniques Femke had taught him for moving silently in dark places. The assassin, Viper, had seemed to glide through the dark on the evening Reynik had followed him through the back streets and alleys. Reynik had not mastered the techniques to such a degree, but he made a worthy attempt at duplicating what he could remember of Viper’s style of movement.
As he approached the far end of the alley, he could hear hoarse whispers. Looking towards the light at the end of the alleyway, he could clearly see the silhouetted outlines of three men bent over a fourth. It looked as if they were rummaging through his clothing looking for items to rob. Was the man dead, or were they holding him down?
Another dilemma! Should he tuck down in a corner and wait for them to finish their business, or help the unfortunate victim? If the assassin trailing him were to come this way, he might pass Reynik in the dark and be forced to tangle with the thieves in his stead. The assassin might even think Reynik the victim, and that the thieves had done his work for him. On the other hand, he might pause in the same place as Reynik to debate his own course of action. If he did, the killer would most likely find his prey within seconds.
Whatever he decided, Reynik knew he could not afford to dither. The man on the ground began to struggle. One of his assailants dealt him a hard, backhanded blow across the face that stilled him again. The fact that he was alive ignited Reynik’s sense of justice. He could not stand by and watch while the three thugs carried out their villainy. He had to do something.
Moving forwards with careful stealth, Reynik closed in on the men until he was almost on top of them. With no warning, he attacked. A vicious jab with the end of his staff struck just behind the ear of the first man, who went down without uttering a sound.
‘What the—’
The second man did not get to finish his sentence as Reynik whipped the staff around into a powerful sweeping blow that caught the man across the bridge of his nose so hard that it all but lifted him off the ground. The third man drew a knife, but got no opportunity to use it. A single spin of the staff and it cracked him across the wrist, sending the knife flying from his grasp. A jab to the groin, followed by an overhead smash to the back of the head, and it was all over.
Reynik checked the victim’s pulse. It was strong, and he was beginning to regain consciousness again. Reynik did not want to wait around. He could not afford to get further involved. His attack had only lasted a few seconds. As fights went, it had been remarkably quiet and efficient, but there had been some unavoidable noise. He would be surprised if his pursuer had not heard it.
At close quarters, Reynik’s weapon of choice would always be a staff. However, it was not a weapon in common use in the city. Fighting with staves was a pastime normally left to the country folk. Assassins were predominantly city dwellers, so they were unlikely to be well trained in the art of fighting with, or against, someone wielding a staff. This gave Reynik a distinct advantage in a hand-to-hand fight.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to hide a staff. Following the trail of bodies in Reynik’s wake, any assassin worth his fee would not now tackle Reynik at close quarters unless he had no other choice. The staff had to go, but he did not want to leave it here. It would be better for his tail to be looking for someone with a staff.
Reynik slipped out of the alley and into the street. It was not far from here to the main north road. He had to act quickly. On his toes and running again, Reynik raced down the narrow street. His senses strained to garner any signs of pursuit whilst he sought somewhere to dispose of the staff. He sensed nothing, nor found anywhere obvious.
He reached the main north road and slowed to an inconspicuous walk. It was not busy in the true sense of the word, but there were people moving both into and out of the city. Reynik crossed the street and turned towards the city centre. A wagon drawn by a plodding horse was not far ahead. Reynik quickened his pace and moved alongside. Straps holding the upper canvas to the wagon structure offered him the perfect stowage for his staff. He slipped it horizontally behind four sets of straps. It was tightly enough wedged that it was unlikely to fall out, he thought happily.
‘Where are you bound, friend?’ he called up to the driver.
‘To the Imperial Palace. I’ve a cargo of foodstuffs for His Majesty’s kitchen,’ the man answered.
‘Any chance of a lift?’
‘Well, it’s hardly far, but if you really want a lift, I see no reason why not.’ He halted the wagon. ‘Climb on up.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
Reynik t
hrew back his hood and climbed up onto the driver’s bench next to him. The driver immediately flicked the reins to get them moving. The horse sighed heavily, but leaned into the traces and they lurched forwards, rumbling and bumping across the cobbles.
As he looked across at the driver, Reynik saw a dark figure emerge from the side street out of the corner of his eye. The figure paused and looked around, scanning the people on the street for signs of his target. Reynik turned his head back to look straight ahead and laughed aloud.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I was just thinking your horse is about as enthusiastic about her work as I am about mine,’ he replied, keeping his voice normal, but low enough that it would not carry back to the assassin. All the killer would see would be two friendly wagoneers chatting to pass the time.
The driver chuckled too. ‘If you think the horse’s bad, you should meet the wife!’ he said. ‘Meera’ll tell you that keeping our eight children amused and fed should be considered work. Honestly! I don’t know what’s wrong with the woman.’
Reynik raised an eyebrow at the wagon driver, who chuckled harder at his quizzical expression.
‘Gaetan’s the name. And you?’
‘Reynik.’
‘Good to meet you, Reynik. You chose a good night to ask for a lift, my friend. Normally I’d have told you where you could go, but tonight I’m in a fine and generous mood.’
‘I’m not sure whether I should ask why, but I’m going to anyway.’
Gaetan glanced across at Reynik again with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m going home tonight for the first time in several weeks,’ he said happily. ‘Meera’s always pleased to see me when I’ve been away for a while, if you take my meaning.’
‘Ah, yes!’ Reynik mumbled, colour rising to his cheeks. ‘Then I’m sure you’re in for a fine evening, Gaetan. Tell me, have you made plans for where you’ll keep more children?’
The wagoneer laughed again. ‘No need, young Reynik, no need. Meera’s already expecting our ninth, so I hardly need think beyond that one now, do I?’
They rode on into the centre of Shandrim. Gaetan babbled on about his wife and his brood of children with excitement and pride. Reynik lent a polite ear to his chatter, but all the while monitored the progress of the shadowy figure following on behind. He felt sure he had not been seen, but it looked as if the follower had a sixth sense. Despite his giving no indication that he had spotted Reynik, he followed along the main road behind them as if dragged by instinct.
They were not far from the Palace when Reynik decided that enough was enough.
‘This will be fine for me. Thanks for the lift, Gaetan. I would ask you to pass my regards to your wife, but I suspect that you will be somewhat distracted. I hope I’ll be able to return your kind favour some day. Take care.’
‘Goodnight, Reynik. Good fortune.’
Reynik leaped down from the driver’s bench and, while the body of the wagon hid him from the eyes of the man following behind, he retrieved his staff from where he had wedged it through the strapping. It was only a few paces to the dark shadow of a side street. Reynik stepped smartly across the short distance and slipped into the deepest shade of the corner building. There he turned and waited to see what his tail would do.
To Reynik’s relief, the hooded man showed no signs of noticing him. There was little doubt in Reynik’s mind that this was another Guild member. From the way he was walking, Reynik suspected it might be Cougar. Cougar had accompanied Reynik on his early sorties out from the Guild complex in order to ensure Reynik was not incapacitated by the disorientation caused during transfer. The man had been cold as ice the entire time they had been together.
Reynik watched as the assassin passed abeam his position and continued up the main street towards the Palace. The further along the street the man dressed in black went, the more relaxed Reynik felt. Content that he was safe to go his own way without fear of further pursuit, he was about to turn when a second figure, also dressed in a black, hooded garb stepped out of a dark shadow and greeted his original tail.
Heart in throat, Reynik watched as the second figure engaged the first in quiet dialogue. It would have been impossible to hear even a normal conversation at his range, but when the second figure pointed towards his current position, he knew his troubles were far from over.
‘Shand alive! Where did he come from? Have I got a big sign on my back saying, “Kill me. I’m the infiltrator”?’ he muttered angrily.
The two figures dressed in black set out towards Reynik’s position, both striding forwards with deadly purpose. He wanted to run, but he knew that fleeing now would do little good. He would have to confront them at some point. He was unlikely to shake them easily. They were too practised at trailing a target to be thrown off the scent by his repertoire of tricks. Taking on two assassins simultaneously seemed tantamount to suicide, but he was out of options. The first assassin he had faced had clearly been unfamiliar with the techniques needed to fight someone armed with a staff. Could this be a weakness he could exploit again? There was only one way to find out.
Reynik stepped away from the wall to ensure he had enough room to manoeuvre freely. He was still standing in dark shadow, but he had no doubt that the two assassins could see him. They were closing fast, so he settled into a defensive stance. When they reached a distance of about ten paces, Reynik whirled the staff in an experimental sequence to see if either of the men would show any signs of caution. They did not. There was no hesitation in their approach.
As Reynik finished his sequence of twirls, he ended it with the staff upright and gave an explosive ‘Ha!’ sound in an effort to show confidence. By freak chance, as he barked out his defiance a knife that Reynik had not even seen thrown, impacted the staff right in front of his face. The point erupted through the wood just above his handhold. For a split second his eyes crossed as they tried to focus on the point no more than a hand span in front of his nose. It was a miraculous chance of luck, but to the approaching assassins, it appeared deliberate. He would not have been inducted into the Guild if he had not been an efficient killer. For the slightest instant, their confidence waned.
Reynik seized the initiative and leaped forward. One man had drawn his sword while another throwing knife was in the hand of the other. There was too much ground to cover for Reynik to engage the knife thrower before he threw again. He was too fast. The second blade launched towards Reynik, this time directly at the centre of his body. Reynik managed to turn slightly, though he could not avoid the blade altogether. It impacted his chest at an angle and was turned aside by the chain mail armour under his cloak.
The assassin did not get a chance to throw another. Reynik deflected the sword of his partner, and hit the knife thrower hard in the chest with a stabbing jab of the staff. He fell back, clutching the impact point.
The swordsman assassin was fast. Worse, he clearly had experience in facing men skilled with the staff. Although Reynik had deflected the man’s initial swing, defending against his blade during his subsequent sustained attack proved increasingly difficult. The knife stuck through the staff did not help. The extra weight on one end made the staff feel unbalanced and unwieldy. Compensating was difficult, but for the next few seconds, Reynik’s mastery of the double-handed weapon enabled him to cope.
The second assassin was recovering. Reynik knew that if he allowed them both to mount a simultaneous attack again, then he would die. In a daring manoeuvre that cost him his staff, he launched himself at the swordsman. The assassin’s blade impacted the centre of the staff, breaking it in the middle but not cutting clean through. Even as his momentum carried him forward, Reynik twisted the tangled mess hard, wrenching the swordsman’s wrist. The twist completed the break, the staff becoming two sword length pieces of wood with splintered ends outward.
The swordsman had been staggered by the wrenching of his wrist. Before he could move to defend himself, Reynik jammed the splintered end of one piece of staff into his face. He scream
ed and fell to the ground, his hands clutching at the wound.
Reynik sensed movement behind him. He spun, in-stinctively clubbing aside the blade of the second assassin with one piece of wood and smashing him across the side of the head with the second. The killer did not go down, but he was stunned. The follow-up spinning kick finished the job. Both assassins were at his mercy.
Breathing hard, Reynik paused. Now he was faced with a worse choice than before. He had already left one enemy alive. Here were two more. Could he really afford to leave them here in the full knowledge that they would come after him again as soon as they were able? He drew his sword and walked over to where the first assassin was writhing on the ground clutching his face. Killing him would be easy. It was the safe option, but no matter how sensible it was, Reynik could not bring himself to do it.
‘Get up!’ he ordered harshly, kicking the man hard on the thigh. ‘Get up, or by Shand I’ll run you through and be done with it!’
Without taking his hands from his face, the man contorted his body until he first got to his knees, then to his feet.
‘Who are you? Which icon do you carry?’
‘Cougar. I’m Cougar,’ he moaned.
‘I thought so. And your friend?’
‘Viper.’
‘Ah, perfect!’ Reynik said. But he was not talking about the identity of the second assassin. A patrol of Legionnaires had rounded the corner a little way up the street and was marching towards them. Assuming he could convince the lead soldier to do as he asked, Reynik now had a third, more palatable option.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Femke was boiling with fury, the like of which she had never known. Lord Ferdand, her mentor, was Guildmaster of the Guild of Assassins. How could he do it? After all his lectures to her about only killing as a last resort, here he was, the next best thing to death incarnate!
So intense was her anger that for a moment she lost track of the conversation on the far side of the door. Had her concentration held firm, it would have been obvious that once Ferdand had confirmed he was ready for his meal, the servant would be quick to go and get it. It was a shock for both Femke and the servant when the door suddenly opened. For a moment they simply stared face to face.