“I’ll take your word on it.”
Amani brushed her dark brown bangs behind her left ear as she smiled. “As much as I enjoy debating the philosophy of spellcraft, I’m sure that’s not why you’re here.”
Now it was Dancer’s turn to grin. “I’ve found him.”
* * * * *
The day following the assassination of the High Councilor had been a blur of meetings and briefings for Rjurik. So much so, that the veteran dwarf had not made it home or slept in the past day and a half. Nor had he had found the time to question Ronin. The monk had not seemed surprised to encounter the assassins. It was almost as if he had expected them. That was when he noticed it was quiet. Too quiet.
Rjurik shifted his gaze from the lukewarm cup of coffee to the young politician sitting at his desk. Rjurik tried his best to remember exactly what the official had said but could not. His brain was mush.
Rjurik shook his head. “That doesn’t matter right now.”
Silas jerked back and placed one hand on his chest. “The security of Asylum doesn’t matter right now?”
Rjurik was already tired of this pompous ass and decided it was time to teach him a thing or two. Thumping his stump on his desk for effect, he leaned forward slightly. “You weren’t talking about the city’s security but how this attack was going to affect the gold flowing into your coffers, no matter what words you were using. You will find that your silver tongue doesn’t work too well on me.” Silas opened his mouth to respond but Rjurik silenced him with a question. “Where were you yesterday morning?”
Silas was taken aback by the subject change. “Why? What does that matter?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I was at home having breakfast with my wife.”
Rjurik nodded and glanced down at a scroll on his desk. “And where were you last night during the attack?”
Silas was still confused but answered smoothly, “I was at home in bed with my wife.”
Rjurik shook his head. “That’s a lie. You were in bed, just not at home and definitely not with your wife. You were at Lady Jayne’s House of Pleasure on Canal Street until past the fourth bell.”
Silas’ face drained of all color. “What? Why are you spying on me?”
Rjurik leaned back in his chair. “That is not the point I was trying to make but since you asked I’ll enlighten you. I was not spying on you, well not only you. Every elected official is under constant watch from my men. If they are within the walls of the city, someone is watching them. Mostly we just watch since the politician haven’t asked or needed our protection…yet. I doubt that last night’s assassination will be an isolated event. To my mind, every politician is a target. I plan on being ready before the next attack and have already doubled the guards.”
Silas was livid but Rjurik ignored his discomfort and continued. “But that was not the point I was trying to make by my questions. The fact is that you have slept and eaten several times in the last day and a half.” Rjurik tapped his stump on the half-eaten bowl of stew on his desk. “This is all I have had in that same amount of time and nor have I slept. Therefore, as of right now I’m heading home to my wife and son and taking the rest of the day off. I suggest you return home or to Lady Jayne’s or to the casino, I personally don’t care. But I would suggest that you seriously contemplate your future dealings with me.”
Silas Silvertongue opened and closed his mouth several times but no words came out. Turning around, he stormed out of the dwarf’s office and almost ran over Rupert, the surly dwarf’s assistant.
Rupert was a young lad of questionable origins. Rjurik had caught him trying to cut his purse strings his first day in office. Instead of throwing him in chains or severing one hand, the traditional punishment for thievery, Rjurik had put him to work. First as an informant, then as an assistant who collected information from other informants. Within the first month of office, Rjurik had confiscated an old abandoned warehouse down near the docks. Officially, the warehouse was used for training purpose for the city’s militia but in reality, it became a safe haven for any and all street urchins, the discarded children of Asylum. He and Aleena made sure that the children had something to eat and a place to stay. But more than that, it gave the children hope and kept them away from more of the sinister options for their future.
As Rupert cleared away the remnants of the Captain’s dinner, he cleared his throat. “Pardon me sir, but why did you tell him that?”
“Tell him what?”
“That you have men watching all politicians.”
Rjurik grinned. “I don’t like useless people. Silas has never worked an honest day’s labor in his entire life. He has used people and his gift of gab to get what he wants. Now, I have him worried that the Guard is watching him and it might just keep him honest.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“It has been my experience that people in his position are always working an angle. They do not do anything that will not benefit them in the end. Period. No matter what he says, in the end, he is only out for his own welfare.”
Rupert furrowed his brow. “But he seems so nice. And he is very good to the Street Rats.”
Rjurik grimaced at the nickname the lost children of Asylum had adopted. “Nothing is free.”
Rupert shook his head. “I don’t follow.”
Rjurik was too tired to continue the debate and stood up. “Another time, I’m heading home.”
“Good night sir.”
Rjurik started to correct him but sir was better than master, which is what he had called him for the first two years. Rupert was very tight-lipped about his early years but judging from the scars on his back and his mannerisms, Rjurik surmised that he had been a slave for at least a few years. Where, when and how he escaped Rjurik did not know. He hoped that one day the young lad would open up about that time in his life but not today.
Rjurik gathered up his ever-present shield and headed home….finally.
* * * * *
As soon as he walked into the Inn of Quiet Repose, Anasazi knew that something was wrong. There was the faintest odor in the air. It was acrid and seared his nose hairs. He recognized it as the residue of a powerful spell and it was enough to put the ancient shaman on high alert. However, everything seemed normal. The Inn was actually full. They always had a variety of patrons from the poorest sailor to the richest noble. Everyone was welcome in the Inn of Quiet Repose. He could see that Aleena was behind the bar, all smiles. The reason quickly became apparent when he spied Rjurik standing right beside her, serving drinks and laughing. Oddly enough, there was a young man in grey robes that he was unfamiliar with running tables. He was bald and moved with sublime grace, even while carrying an armful of trays.
When Anasazi heard the music, he turned to face the minstrel and immediately recognized Rhea Nightingale. The tune she was playing had a kind of spring and lilt to it that was completely indescribable in words. But more than seeing her in the Inn was seeing who was sitting right next to her, Tallon. He was playing a bouzouki, a type of mandolin, and was keeping perfect time with the renowned bardess.
“He has the makings to be a great bard,” came a familiar voice from behind him, “if he survives, that is.”
Anasazi turned find an old blind man leaning on an ebony staff and ‘looking’ at him. The ancient shaman studied him and searched his vast memory for who this man could be. He had that nagging suspicion that he should recognize him but did not. Suddenly, it was almost as if the visage of the old blind man slipped away and Anasazi finally recognized him for who he was.
“Father!”
The old man moved forward and placed one hand on his child’s shoulder. “I am known as Mithra or Master Pau for now. Come wayward one, we have much to discuss.”
Rhea Nightingale glanced up from her lessons with Tallon and smiled when she spied the trickster being led off into the back rooms of the Inn. One more piece of the game was being moved into position.
Soon
it would be the time of the Nine. When the Chosen One would break from the darkness and embrace his destiny. It was not time, not yet but soon.
Chapter 31
It had been two days since they had returned from their mission and the assassins had learned a lot about the other failed attacks. There had actually been six assassinations scheduled and only theirs had gone off without a hitch. Well, there had been a minor snag in the fact that the orcs who had been directed to attack the inn had disappeared without a trace but their failure had not affected their mission.
One other team had completed their assassination but had been completely wiped out in the attempt. However, since the Minotaur king had perished from the poison one of the Sicárii had managed to infect him with, the fallen assassins received credit for the kill and with that, brought honor to the Dôminus. The King of Krantos had survived his attempt but rumors had it that he was critically injured in the attack. According to those same rumors, two Sicárii had been captured but had both committed puputan, a ritual suicide taught to them in the Lüdüs for just such an occasion and again, their actions brought honor to the Dôminus. Of the other attempts, all three teams had been decimated before they even reached their marks. Actually, four Sicárii had been captured and were being interrogated. The rest of Gray’s team had been sent to dispatch these weaklings. Kralm had made sure that everyone knew that all four of them were recent graduates of the Lüdüs and had received the Kingslayer’s personal seal of approval.
As Gray and Galvorn entered the cavern, they blasted with a wall of hot air. Not uncomfortably warm air but sweat pouring heat. The Scriptorium had been under a constant state of construction for the past five years and each time the assassins passed through it, they took note of the changes.
In the early years of Lalith’s reign, three gnomish brothers who were brilliant engineers but ostracized by the gnomish community due to their outlandish concepts approached her. Each of the brothers took turns pitching their projects. The eldest brother was put to work immediately designing and building a fleet of ships that would revolutionize naval combat. However, it was the middle brother’s idea that she was the most interested in. His concept was relatively simple. He wanted to create a series of gates that were both magical and mechanical in nature that would transport anyone using them from one gate to the next, no matter the distance.
Lalith immediately recognized the logistical advantage this would give the Dark Alliance if it worked, and had approved the program. There had been three major problems that Bathath the engineer had to immediately overcome for construction; it was expensive, very energy intensive and slightly unpredictable. Lalith had not cared about the cost and even helped in tweaking the gnome’s original idea.
To solve the energy problem, Lalith had directed the Scriptorium be constructed overtop an active volcano. The heat and light from the lava below would provide power to the gates and were shunted to the gates via pipes and tubes. Bathath had foreseen how the Scriptorium could grow and had constructed his platform in the shape of a huge wheel that constantly turned slowly.
Then, there was the unpredictability factor. Technically, the gates were bridges between two specific points via the Shadow Realm. As a person stepped through one gate, they had to walk a short distance through the unpredictable plane before exiting at another gate. Each path was clearly marked and everyone was warned not to step off the path. Inevitably, someone would use the gates that were easily distracted and they would disappear into the nothingness.
Gray and his team had used the gates many times. He and Galvorn seemed to be completely unaffected by the transition through the Shadow Realm but that did not hold true for everyone. Mouse and Falcon in particular hated the gates and dreaded anytime they used them.
Gray had often wondered what the third and youngest brother’s idea had been, since he was the only one that Lalith had not approved of and no one ever talked about him. Galvorn had thought it foolish to even think such thoughts, not in the fact that Grim obviously disagreed with his mother but more that it was strange that he would wonder about such things.
The two Sicárii hopped in line behind three spellcasters and two warriors that were waiting to use the gates. Technically, they had the authorization to skip to the front of the line but they rarely used it. It was another one of Gray’s oddities but Galvorn had seen the value of being polite. The simple fact of waiting their turn and saying thanks to the gate operators had helped them develop an unlikely friendship with the Chief Engineer.
Bathath had let slip one time that he had figured out a way to expand the travel to non-secured locations but at the moment, it was too energy intensive and shut down the portal for several hours after every use. According to the guidelines set by the Dark Lady, that was unacceptable except in extreme emergencies. Right now, Bathath’s primary goal was to make the gates viable for two-way travel. Not that the gates in the remote strongholds couldn’t be used to send someone back, they could, but to do so required the life force from three sentient beings to open the bridge. The eccentric gnome hoped to make the gates more cost efficient.
A familiar voice cut through the silence. “By the black blade of Nox, Shadow and Stalker waiting in line.”
Both Sicárii looked up with their hands on their weapons and paused when they recognized the speaker. Darnac was on one of the catwalks that spanned the molten rock. He was dressed in his traditional black chainmail vest, black leather pants and boots and a wearing a two-sided traveling cloak with the grey toward the inside and of course, the black side out.
Galvorn shouted. “Darnac!”
Gray simply bowed his head in greeting. “Kënnári.”
As the three warrior-assassins exchanged greetings, they pointedly ignored the stares and glares they received from those nearby. Every member of the Dark Alliance knew of the Sicárii, the elite assassins that the Dark Lady relied on to do the most dangerous missions. Many had heard of Shadow and Stalker but everyone knew of the Blademaster of Avaris. His exploits were legendary.
Galvorn beamed as he asked, “Where are you off to?”
“Your mother has me investigating the failed assassinations.”
Gray cocked his head to the right. “Why? Isn’t their failure obvious?”
Darnac shrugged. “Could be. I agree that these new Sicárii are vastly undertrained when compared to your class but I would rather be certain than to just assume. There could be other variables that have more ominous overtures.”
Galvorn asked, “Such as?”
Darnac rubbed his chin. “Why did every distractionary attack fail? Were the targets just that lucky or was it something more? For that matter, if the failure of the new Sicárii is the fault of the Kingslayer then how does that affect the secondary forces? They had nothing to do with the lesser Sicárii in training or out in the field. So how are they connected?”
Gray nodded. “Good point.”
Darnac looked around to make sure that no one was in earshot before speaking in hushed tones. “There has been a rash of failures and defeats in every campaign that the Dark Alliance has been involved with and there are no common threads. Different areas, different commanders and even different meetings. I can only think of two reasons that fully explains the situation but neither bode well for the Dark Lady’s armies.”
Galvorn furrowed his brow for a moment as he thought about it but could not come up with an answer that fit the problem. So he asked, “And they are?”
“Someone leaked the information to our enemies or…”
“Or somehow they knew we were coming,” interjected Gray.
Galvorn asked, “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Darnac shook his head. “No. The first option would be bad but the second option would be worse, much worse.”
Galvorn chewed on his lip for a second. “I don’t understand.”
Darnac gazed at the young half-dark elf. He loved the young warrior as if he was he own son but it was times like this that he realize
d how sheltered a life he really had lived. The Blademaster glanced at his other student and raised one eyebrow in a silent acknowledgement.
Gray nodded. “The first option implies a traitor in the Dark Lady’s camp but for them to know as much as they did about all of the operations in different campaigns, then he or she must be high in the command structure. This is bad, real bad.”
“But you said the second option would be worse. What could be worse than a traitor?”
Darnac locked eyes with Gray before responding. In that one moment as the Blademaster studied the storm grey eyes of the half-elf, he knew that his student was a true believer and had been brought up to revere the Dyhana just as he had been.
Darnac nodded and turned his attention back to his favorite pupil. “There are forces in this world that are more powerful than even Clotho. Typically, they let us mortals blunder through life unassisted and blind to their involvement. But occasionally, the Gods take a more direct approach or should I say a more hands on approach.”
“Seriously? You think the Dyhana are helping our enemies? Impossible. My mother has told me time and time again that the gods are trapped in another dimension.”
“We all have our own beliefs.” Darnac shrugged. “I believe that the gods are not as helpless as Clotho would have us believe. But then, that’s a part of my faith. I’m not asking you to believe. You asked for a reason, I can only ask that you consider the possibility.”
Galvorn nodded slowly. He was having a hard time picturing the deadly Blademaster as a follower of the Dyhana. He had been taught his entire life that Clotho was the true goddess of Terreth and all the prophecies concerning her fall were nothing but lies, told by the peasants to perpetuate their false religion. But if Galvorn was completely honest with himself, he knew what his teacher was saying to be true. He had never bought in to the savior story of the Spinner but then, he had not really believed in the tales of the gods either.
Darnac discerned that his Onus was having difficulty with the current subject and knew that it would be best not to overwhelm him…at least not yet, so he changed the subject. “I understand that you two are enroute to the Lüdüs to test the Kingslayer’s latest class.”
Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) Page 28