Two of the advisors nodded and left the room. He waved to Kaltor and Selene. "You two will accompany my usual guards to the prison. We’ll assess the situation from there."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Kaltor replied, nodding respectfully. I’ve got to work on my sincerity. Who knows how many times I’ll end up at a noble’s beck and call, and some of them are not used to our levels of— independence.
The prince eyed Kaltor suspiciously for signs of sarcasm and then nodded in satisfaction. "You will await my orders and mobilize with the other two regiments if necessary. Send out riders to the dig site and see what force Master Gereth has been able to raise. Have them circle the northeast portion of the city."
If he even has a sizeable force, Kaltor thought bitterly. Getting Bandit Lords to work with the Battleborn they’ve been hiding from for years and, on top of that, protecting the city they’ve been thieving from— It’s not something I would bet my life on.
In moments, the prince’s guards were gathered, escorting them to the stables. Around them noblemen, servants, and messengers moved about their daily business. Kaltor squirmed uncomfortably as they walked. The prince is very sure he can keep things under control, he noted. He hasn’t even put the city on alert— just the town watch.
He recalled the plans from the prison, planning out a number of escape routes just in case something went wrong. Still, a prison is probably the best place for Melshek to have ended up. Perhaps this can be resolved quickly.
He recalled Jensai’s open eyes staring back at him, the throat ripped out. He glanced toward the prince and the guards surrounding them. Whether it’s over before breakfast or not, Melshek won’t live to see the sun set, he promised himself. No matter what plans the royalty have for him.
Selene walked next to him, neither of them trusting enough to give the other a clear view of his or her back. Bow and daggers, he thought. We do have very similar styles—
He glanced down at the throwing weapons strapped to his biceps. To a certain point, he corrected himself. She could be very useful in a fight, just because of those poisons, not to mention her agility. A faint tingle of jealousy ran through his mind unchecked as he recalled her attack, jumping from one wall to the other. It was a rather impressive maneuver, very unexpected.
He thought back to their last fight with Melshek. I wouldn’t trade her for Honmour, though.You can’t replace years of training together. He should be on his way back by now. He recalled Melshek’s black mist and incredible battle skill, and shuddered. Plus, he has a better idea of what we’re up against.
"You and Selene may borrow some horses," the prince called as they entered the stables. A dozen horses, already saddled and prepared to depart, were tied to posts just outside the building.
I wish I could just run alongside, Kaltor grumbled in his mind. I hate relying on an animal. He glanced down disapprovingly at the horse’s thick legs and hooves. But most soldiers here are Varadours. They have to conserve their energy for the fight. Not doing so would draw the wrong kind of attention to myself.
"Is there a problem with your horse, Kaltor?" the prince asked, and Kaltor realized that he was the only one not already saddled. Selene smiled a little too sweetly at him. One of the guards chuckled.
With a grunt of disdain he swung his legs up into the saddle. "Its fine," he said simply.
"I’ve heard Battleborn are afraid of horses," one guard whispered.
"Terrified," Selene added, winking the guard’s way flirtatiously.
Not afraid, just very aware of the fact that if this thing rolls over and dies, I’m trapped and broken beneath it. What’s wrong with traveling on your feet if you can match a horse’s pace, anyway?
He didn’t comment out loud on his situation, however, urging his horse to follow the prince, who was already working his way through the courtyard toward the main gate. The other nine guards and Selene followed behind him, whispering and chuckling to themselves. She appeared to be using her arms to illustrate the key events of their fight.
No doubt she’s leaving out the part where I gave her a concussion, he thought. And emphasizing how easily she could have killed me. That realization set his teeth on edge. His grip tightened on the reins until his mount mistook his tight hold for an order to stop, drawing additional laughter from the guards.
With a soft burst of skin vision, Kaltor glanced behind him and memorized their faces. I will remember to put you all on the bottom of my ‘to save’ list, should things get out of hand, he grumbled to himself. Then he turned his attention toward the prince and urged his mount a little closer. Just hope leaving Melshek alive as long as we already have doesn’t get us killed.
Chapter 14
"Report!" the prince ordered as they rode up to the steps of the prison.
A dozen archers stood atop the walls with bows at the ready, facing the inner complex. Forty members of the town watch stood in small groups outside the prison’s entrance, carrying steel maces and wooden shields.
The keeper, a tall, bulky man of military bearing, snapped into a salute, fists together in front of his chest as he bowed in respect. His chipped but oiled weaponry and chainmail armor spoke of his experience on the battlefield.
I only hope the years behind a desk haven’t left you soft, Kaltor thought.
"Prince Tyran!" the keeper replied. "We have locked each prisoner in his cell, posted archers on every wall, and barricaded every doorway leading out of the main cell blocks."
They dismounted, leaving their horses tied to posts outside the prison. Its architecture suggested that it was once a small castle for a lower nobleman, with a few adjustments added over the years to better suit its newfound function.
"Are the prisoners in revolt?" the prince asked, hurrying through the prison’s thick oak doors. Kaltor let a few guards pass him as he glanced at the city streets, newly lit in the rising sun. That’s odd— there aren’t many people out today. It’s still early, but half the shops aren’t even open.
His Varadour senses couldn’t detect anyone using that power, and through the windows no Sight Seeker eyes glowed. Perhaps they’re all still asleep? The Keeper continued his report, forcing Kaltor to leave his worries, along with the sun’s warmth, and enter the dark, torch-lit fortress.
"I, too, thought Prince Melshek was not himself," the keeper admitted, leading them down the hallway to his left. A small, wiry messenger boy followed them, awaiting orders. "But I doubt we’ll be seeing any revolts today."
"Why is that?" the prince asked.
"All the convicts are sick, Your Majesty," the keeper said. "Every last one is still lying in bed, curled up under their blankets and asking for a healer. I was about to have one of the blockades removed and send one in, with your permission."
"May we see?" Kaltor asked. "I fought Melshek earlier—" He paused for a moment, debating how much to tell them. How much would they believe? All eyes turned to him, expectant and impatient.
"It could be a ruse to trick you into lowering your defenses," he said at last. The guards and even Selene nodded their agreement at the caution, but the keeper snorted in derision.
"These are thieves, murderers, and pick-pockets," he said. "Not a trained syndicate of criminals. They could never work together. Every escape attempt has failed because they’ve turned on each other when things got tough."
Turning right, the keeper pushed open another thick pair of wooden doors, walking behind his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. Coals glowed warmly in the fireplace. The messenger boy stood next to the open door, waiting.
Hurrying to the window, Kaltor took in the scene. Each prisoner was indeed hidden beneath a blanket in a locked cell. They could be hiding their transformation, he decided. The guards might lower the barricade to an epidemic, but not to black-blooded, berserking mad-men. Melshek is getting smarter, keeping his minions under control.
The prince walked to the keeper’s desk and started flipping through the various reports. He bit his lip and looked Kal
tor’s way. He tapped a finger against the papers, looking through the window at the prisoners. "Order a healer down over the wall," he ordered. "Send two guards with him, in case the prisoner he examines gets violent."
"It’s no trouble to lower a barricade, sir," the keeper said, his tone irritated as if struck by a small child he was not allowed to discipline. "The prisoners are contained in their cells," He sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "We can examine them one at a time without danger to anyone else."
"Melshek single-handedly destroyed his excavation site," the prince said, knocking the keeper’s feet off the table. He leaned forward, punching the wood emphatically. "Three quarters of the population died overnight! I am not giving this man even the slightest chance to do the same thing in my city! Send a doctor over the side and be ready to have him pulled up in a hurry."
The keeper almost fell out of his chair as he scrambled from his desk. "Do it!" he barked, sending the messenger boy scampering around the corner and down the hallway. As his footsteps echoed ominously in the distance, Kaltor turned to examine the cells and courtyard.
What’s his plan? he thought desperately. What was he doing yesterday? The scene at the vault was too violent for this to be his next step. What’s really going on?
With a groan of frustration he turned to Selene. "If you wanted to destroy a city from the inside," he began, then paused and started over. "If you wanted to throw the city into chaos, how would you do it?"
She glanced out the window. A few of the guards next to her followed her gaze, considering his point, but the rest waved his worries aside with inconsequential gestures. "A city in chaos is one without leadership," she said, stroking her chin worriedly. In the distance Kaltor felt a large number of Varadours drawing on their power, more than the citizens would use for simple morning chores.
"If you can wipe out the town watch and the military leaders quickly," one guard said, "the city falls into chaos, especially if they are about to be invaded," The Varadours among them grunted to each other, pointing southward toward the disturbance. The town watchmen, Kaltor realized. Most will be Varadours.
"Like, if most of the city leaders and half the town watch were wrapped around a prison built to keep people in, not out," the prince finished, drawing his sword and sprinting toward the door.
As if on cue, a horn sounded outside the prison, and to Kaltor’s enhanced senses came the chaotic rumble of an oncoming riot, like a large beast thundering ever closer. Above them along the walls the archers let fly a volley of arrows, hissing like a dozen angry wasps.
What in the Abyss has he done?! Kaltor thought, glancing toward the convicts before following the others out the door. The criminals stayed where they lay, feigning illness.
They reached the end of the hallway just as the mob tore open the doors of the prison. Men and women alike swarmed into the room, their black veins bulging in unison as if from one single heartbeat. The remains of their previous victims dripped from their weapons and teeth. The prince, his guards, and some of the town watch in the room paused in shock. The attackers paused for a moment as well, squinting in the dim light.
"Watch for children," Kaltor advised, drawing his bow. Selene followed his example. They both loosed arrows into the two largest attackers, causing a minor collision among their enemies as the leaders dropped to the ground, tripping those behind him.
"Stop them here!" the prince cried, drawing his Sage-forged weapon and leading his guards into the fray.
"The prince!" the attackers hissed gleefully, charging forward.
Through the open door Kaltor could see smaller groups surrounding members of the town watch, trying to use them as cover from the archers above. Tyran’s weapon cut through steel and bone alike, holding his opponents at bay while his guards prevented the Perversions from surrounding him. The hallway was so thin that only half of the guards could fight at one time. They rotated their positions with practiced ease, keeping their freshest men in front.
The assassins stood side by side. Their bows sang in unison as another volley followed, then another. High pitched cries filled the chamber and six children leapt over the crowd. Kaltor and Selene managed to neutralize two in mid-flight, but four of them knocked two guards to the ground.
The fighting was vicious, some of the attackers embracing their enemies weapons with their bodies to make way for their friends’ next attack. In moments, many of the guards were disarmed and giving way to the suicidal mob.
Something rumbled repeatedly within the prison like distant thunder, again and again. Behind him he noticed a dozen soldiers running down the hallway toward the noise. Looks like Melshek’s convicts are hard at work as well, Kaltor thought grimly. We have to finish off these before he breaks those barricades, or we’ll be surrounded.
In the distance, a Varadour drew on his power in a short-short pattern. Kaltor smiled. He glanced at Selene, nodding toward the thunder. "We have to finish this," he said.
"How good are you with walls?" she asked.
"Time to find out," Kaltor moved, tossing his bow and quiver aside as he pulled out the cane-sword.
Twenty black-blooded men and women still pushed through the hallway only wide enough for four men walking abreast. He and Selene sprinted forward, Varadour energy surging through their legs. They leapt above their allies, sprang off the walls, and landed behind their attackers. Kaltor fell a little too quickly, smashing into a large thug and drawing the attention of three others.
In a sweeping motion, Kaltor unsheathed his sword, simultaneously smashing its hilt into the first opponent’s head with all his strength, forcing the body to go limp. The other three leapt after him ravenously, forcing him to bolt out the door and to the left. Crowd fighting— what was it Master Taneth always said?
Through his skin vision he could see his opponents clawing at the walls and floor for additional speed, drool spraying from their lips as they pitted their enhanced abilities against his physical conditioning. Kaltor dove around a column, envisioned their approach, and leapt back around the corner.
His blade caught the leader in the throat, spraying the other two in his blood and slowing their pace just enough for him to resume his escape. That’s it, Kaltor recalled. Take them one at a time, especially when outnumbered. Arrows sliced through the air to his left, and he heard his pursuers hit the stone floor hard, groaning in pain.
"I see you’ve been busy," a familiar voice called.
Across the street, Honmour and four other Stunts worked with the archers on the opposite rooftop, dropping the attackers in the street from both sides. The surviving town watchmen headed for the front entrance, where Selene rolled through the open door and bolted into the street. Two women and a particularly savage-looking man scrambled after her, but were perforated once they left the safety of the prison.
"Save the prince!" Kaltor called, running back toward the door. A handful of watchmen and Selene met him at the doorway. Three other bodies lay convulsing on the floor, foam oozing from their mouths. Guess she can handle herself in a fight, he thought, glancing toward Selene’s bloody daggers. Got to remember to avoid the red-handled ones.
From both sides they assailed the last of the frenzied attackers. The last woman, veins thickest in a spider web shape around her mouth, shrieked angrily and bolted toward Kaltor. Her eyes were fixed on the door behind him, the rest of her comrades following like a flock of birds, turning at once at some hidden signal.
Drawing his throwing blade reflexively, Kaltor threw six inches of steel into her face at point blank range, sending her corpse sliding to a stop at his feet. Finally managed to get that attack to work! he thought in satisfaction.
The other attackers froze, eyes glued to her corpse, grasping their throats. Their howls for blood turned to ones of agony as they crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. Before his eyes he watched their blood stop pulsing through their veins, turning hard and jelly-like.
Wait, he thought. They died the moment I ki
lled the web-mouthed one? That’s odd.
They entered the main hall and surveyed the carnage. Three of the prince’s bodyguards lay dead, four wounded beyond combat capability. The prince himself limped badly on one bleeding leg, but he smiled with relief, wiping his sword clean on the tunic of his shirt.
"I didn’t expect you two to work that quickly," the prince commented. "We should have you assassins work together more often."
"We weren’t alone," Kaltor huffed defensively, gesturing over his shoulder as Honmour and a few Stunts entered the prison. Some of the new recruits looked rather nauseated, but Honmour simply soaked in the scene with the same grim determination he’d acquired after Jensai’s death. In the distance, shouts of battle rang deeper in the prison from the east entrance, and the west still resonated with the sounds of thunder.
"One of the barricades is down," the prince observed. "Gather your friends and the town watch. Head for the west entrance," He nodded toward his surviving guards and Selene. "We will head for the eastern door," Without another word they hobbled down the hallway.
Honmour patted Kaltor on the shoulder. "We have much to discuss, my friend, but I suggest we save it for the battle’s end," He called the Stunts over. "Keep your bows," he ordered. "With the barricade still up you might be able to pick them off before they get through."
"Good idea," Kaltor agreed, waving for a few of the town watchmen still holding intact shields. "You there!" he called. "You’re coming with us, just in case."
Having heard the prince’s orders, the men nodded, following them down the other hallway toward the barricade. One jumped at every small noise, while the others gazed down the hallway with no expression at all.
Great, Kaltor thought sarcastically. More Stunts.
As they hurried down the hall, Kaltor and Honmour leading the way, he leaned over to his friend and whispered, "I don’t think we should let the town watchmen fight, if possible. Some of them look like they’re about to break."
"I agree," Honmour said. "Can’t say I blame them, though. A few of them mentioned they knew their attackers. Having the woman who nursed you as a child try to rip your throat out can mess with a man’s mind," The other Stunts gulped, looking around nervously, bows drawn.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 16