by Ben Galley
Karnag nodded though his eyes remained upon the guardsmen. Fencress wagered her comrade had planned on killing one of them to create the deception their job required. She had no soft spot for soldiers, but always fancied artistry above brutality.
She threw back her cowl, pulled away her black gloves, then unbuckled the belt holding her twin blades in their scabbards. “Hold these and stay clear,” she said, shoving the belt and blades into Karnag’s hands. The big man nodded, then blended into the market’s motley crowd as best as he seemed able.
Fencress smiled. She’d tagged along with a troupe of actors for a year or more, earning only piss-poor wages for her efforts. They had taught her a thing or two, though, skills she’d learned to use in many a moment.
She dashed toward the merchant, exuberant with arms extended. “This is the hue!” she exclaimed, throwing hands toward the bolt of cloth. “This is the shade! I’ve searched half a dozen markets west of Riverweave trying to find the precise color for my curtains, and this—this!—is it.” She cocked a practiced brow and peered toward the merchant. “Have you any more?”
The merchant—gaunt and weathered and wrapped in thin robes—looked to her. He pinched a wrinkled chin then nodded. “I’m certain to have more tomorrow, m’lady. If you’d like to pay in advance I can hold it for you.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll take this bolt for now and pay for it, of course. As for the rest, perhaps I’ll send my attendant in the morning to see if it matches.”
“Why do we need all that?” asked Karnag, looking to the bolt of cloth in the shaded corner of the market. The sun had tilted toward evening, the stretching shadows giving the cloth the color of old blood.
“We don’t, of course,” said Fencress. “However, if I’d only asked the merchant to cut a red sash or two, what do you wager he’d think once news spread of our forthcoming deeds? This way, he’ll think nothing of deceitful assassins. Instead, he’ll pay the news only passing regard as he counts the crowns he’s earned to festoon my imaginary manor with his finery.”
Karnag gave a slight tilt of his chin and a slighter curl of his mouth. “Clever. I suspect you and I will be working together again.”
She smiled. “And when we retire it will be atop a mountain of coin.”
Karnag’s grin faded. “I do not do these things for coin.”
“Why do them, then?”
He didn’t answer, eyes turning to the market’s far end.
Fencress followed his gaze, spotting again the two soldiers lounging beneath the awning of a wooden storehouse. They sat atop barrels and leaned against the structure, eyes and postures lazy.
“We should acquire a weapon,” Karnag said. “One of theirs.”
“Leave that to me,” said Fencress with a smirk, fastening her belt and adjusting her scabbards. “You’ll need wait here but a moment.”
She tugged her black cowl overhead and set out. She’d been a performer, an acrobat, a gambler, and a thief. She’d excelled at all, and wasn’t about to be less than an excellent assassin. She and Karnag would slay this little lording and his entourage, have Rune’s soldiers blamed for it as the contract required, and leave none the wiser.
She pulled at her cowl again, slipping through a crowd that had thickened with the coming of evening. Most folk knotted about carts of food, about merchants twisting pork and poultry and whatever else on skewers above embers and flames.
She weaved around the tents and wagons, taking a wide and wandering path toward the guardsmen. Their eyes didn’t follow her, staying mostly on each other and any heaving bosoms straying nearby. They seemed to be enjoying libations, as well, passing between them a bulging wineskin, the contents of which painted purple stains upon their teeth.
She shook her head. These fools would be easy marks. Lickety-split, nice and quick.
She snatched an unattended, brown robe from a stall and slipped it over her shoulders. She stepped quickly, then, though not too quickly. She moved on light feet and made use of every shadow and cover. She ducked behind wagons and tents and groups of tittering women.
The soldiers seemed to notice her not at all, and within moments she stood a mere dozen yards from where they lounged on their barrels. One, a fat fellow with brown hair clipped too short, sat nearest. He sucked from the wineskin then seemed to admire a woman working a nearby stall, giving a low whistle. He’d loosened his belt, the thing sagging against the barrel.
And upon it rested a scabbarded sword and a dagger.
Just one will do.
She looked about and spotted a group of urchins, grubby, rag-clad children rolling a gourd between them in some sort of game. Fencress strode toward them and cleared her throat. They stopped and regarded her with narrow eyes.
“You children are making quite the racket outside my shop,” she said, gesturing to the closest tent. “Could you play your game somewhere else? Perhaps near those soldiers? They looked awfully bored and would certainly enjoy the show.”
The suspicion didn’t leave their faces and they didn’t seem inclined to move.
She dug a hand into a pocket and produced three silver crowns. “There’s coin in it for you, of course,” she said with a wink.
They snatched the coins and did just as asked, whooping and laughing as they rolled their gourd just before the soldiers. The fat one scowled, his view of the woman at the stall seemingly obstructed. He grumbled in annoyance for a moment before barking obscenities at the urchins.
And, in the meantime, Fencress slipped near and slid the fat man’s dagger from his belt.
The Bear and the Honeybee seemed a fine place, at least at night and from this dark vantage across the narrow street. Through its steamy windows could be seen tables set with fine meats and cheeses and the patrons of a stately sort sipping daintily at their soups and tilting their cups with little fingers extended. And there, in the midst of things, sat the little lordling from Tallorrath, a yellow-haired youth in furs wearing more gold rings than he had fingers.
“He’s there,” she said, “and he’s barely more than a boy.”
“No one chooses the time or manner of their ending,” rumbled Karnag from his place in the shadows. “Tell me of the others.”
“Three men squeezed about him, chainmail peeking from their clothing. Looks as though they’re playing deadman’s dice. Dead gods, if I could have a turn with these halfwits I’d make a fortune before midnight.”
Karnag offered little more than a grunt. “That’s all?”
Fencress shook her head. “There’s another armed fellow at a table nearby, as well as an older advisor or what-have-you in fine clothing. All of them drinking wine. The noble’s yawned three times in the last few minutes, and even the armed men appear bleary-eyed.”
Karnag slipped from the shadows, his chiseled features catching the light thrown from the inn and the moon above. “Sounds like little trouble for the likes of us. You’re certain of their rooms?”
Fencress looked to the inn’s second story and nodded. “Mostly. That room there has the largest windows. It also appears to be the largest in the inn, and a little lordling would want nothing less. I’d wager his entourage has the rooms adjacent, but I’ll make sure of it before they head upstairs. Join me when I give the signal.”
Karnag nodded. “Rope?”
She took the coiled rope and looped it on a shoulder. “Give me a lift,” she said with a nod toward the upper floor, “and I’ll reach those windows in an instant. I’ll toss it down when I can, and hopefully we can find a place to wait quietly until they fall asleep.”
Karnag glanced about the street before knotting his big hands together to form a makeshift step. “Go.”
Fencress pressed a foot on her friend’s hands then moved upward. She soon found the edge of slight overhang between the first and second floors. She hoisted herself upon it, found her balance, a
nd looked to Karnag. “Shout if they start moving upstairs before the rope is down.”
He nodded then sank into the shadows on the street’s opposite side.
She steadied herself on the sloped overhang then crept along with gloved hands pressed upon the wood of the inn. Soon she found a darkened window and eased open its slatted shutters to find the glass divided into two panes bound by a latch. She drew one of her blades, pressed the point between the panes, and disabled the latch with a practiced flick of her wrist.
And then she was in.
The room, lit only by the streak of silver from the moonlight beyond the window, held two bunks with ruffled blankets, a few travel bags, a chamber pot, and a small table with a sword upon it.
She crept ahead, feet soft and silent on the wooden floorboards, and came to the door. The knob turned with only minor protest and revealed a hallway lit by sconces of flickering candles. A half-dozen doors lined its sides and a threadbare rug stretched down its length toward a descending stairwell.
Fencress slipped to the door immediately opposite—the room she reckoned would house the little lordling. This door was locked. She tried her sword in the keyhole but couldn’t manage to turn the tumbler.
Noise sounded from down the hallway.
She tensed.
Laughter. “Another bottle!” someone yelped in a high, clear voice.
The little lordling.
She eased out a breath then pressed a hand into one of the pockets of her cloak. She found the pouch holding her lock-picks then a long, iron pick within. She eased it into the keyhole, gave it a turn, and heard a satisfying click. The door opened with ease.
The room—dimly lit by a low-burning candle—was just as she’d expected. An ornate, smallish traveling cloak was draped over a chair. Satchels and sacks bearing an embroidered crest were neatly arranged against a far wall. A large, puffy bed stood between two large windows and a small pallet with a thin mattress and neatly folded blankets lay beside it.
Fencress wagered the noble and his old advisor shared the quarters.
Just aside the door stood a large wardrobe, one of its doors hanging open. Fencress inspected it, finding it empty but for a set of fresh linens.
More noise from the hallway. “I fear he’s finished!” came a gruff voice. More laughter.
Fencress retreated from the room and tiptoed toward the stairs. She heard the lordling’s voice, though it sounded soft and wavering. She wagered she had little time before his handlers sent him to sleep.
She found the door closest to the stairs and quickly picked the lock. The room was empty save for a bed and a few other items. She darted across the floorboards to the window, undid the latch, then threw the window and shutters open.
“Karnag!” she hissed.
He pressed forward from the shadows, grasping the hilt of the massive sword strapped upon his back.
“Soon,” she said.
More noise from the stairs and Fencress eased toward the door to hear it.
“Boy’s passed out! Best not tell his father, you old codger!”
“No need to worry!” wailed a withering voice. “Prince Tallmard would be livid at the boy’s weakness! He shows no stomach for the seas.”
More laughter.
Fencress dashed back in the room, unshouldered the coil of rope, then tied an end about the bedframe. She tossed the rest of the rope out the window. “Very soon,” she said to Karnag. “Wait an hour after the candles are snuffed, then let’s finish this.”
He tested the rope with a tug then nodded. His eyes turned to the window below. “They’re coming up.”
Heavy boots thundered up the stairs. Fencress danced down the hall as they did, paying no mind to the few squeals and groans from the floorboards as she did.
Finding no better concealment, she rushed to the little nobleman’s room. She pulled open the door and locked it behind her. Her eyes darted about the room and, seeing nowhere else to hide, she tucked herself within the large wardrobe and pulled shut the doors. She squeezed shut her eyes for an instant, hoping chance was with her. Hoping dearly the lordling and his old advisor wouldn’t find a need for fresh linens.
More noise. More boots.
Doors creaked open and slammed shut.
Then the door to the lordling’s room did the same.
“To bed, m’lord,” came a muffled, lilting voice.
Through the crack between the wardrobe’s doors Fencress could see the glow of candlelight shifting through the room.
“Your father will be here tomorrow evening, and you must be well-rested upon his arrival. Perhaps you stay away from the wine tomorrow.”
“Fuck my father,” came a slurred, youthful voice. “I’ll have all the wine I want.”
“Of course you will. But after a good night’s sleep, of course.”
“Sleep… Yes…”
Shuffling. Linens being pulled and shifted about. The sound of clothing being tossed aside.
“Goodnight, m’lord.”
The candlelight vanished and the room fell to near darkness.
Fencress remained still, quiet. The wardrobe was a cramped space but she wagered she could manage it long enough.
Fencress kept her breaths steady, though her crooked knees and back ached terribly. She’d been curled up in the wardrobe for at least an hour, likely longer, and still the little lord’s attendant droned away, speaking what sounded to be lullabies. His voice had become steadily softer, though, as had any noise from the common room.
And then the voice faded to silence.
Shortly after came his snore, a guttural noise that seemed to rattle the inn’s timbers. But the little lord’s gentle breathing remained undisturbed.
Fencress waited a few minutes longer then eased open the doors of the wardrobe. The wood did no more than whisper.
The old advisor lay swaddled in woolen robes on a low pallet. Fencress crept near then knelt aside his bed. The gray-haired man snorted and sputtered with his breaths.
Fencress slipped a sword from a scabbard and made quick work of the old man, pulling the blade across his gullet in a swift movement. The old man’s eyes popped open and he gasped but his scream was silent.
Easy enough, she thought.
Then came a clamor from the hallway. Men shouting. Swords drawing and clashing.
Karnag.
She moved to the bed and drew her other sword, holding both above the young Tallorrathian noble. In the moonlit room the boy seemed no more than twelve. He slept peacefully.
Fencress held her blades steady for a moment. She watched him sleep. She watched him breath.
Then she gritted her teeth and shook her head. She’d never forget that moment when she’d been sold for a handful of silver—as a child, no less—and she’d had no choice in the matter.
If my life could be sold, she thought, then I’ll be damned if this little bastard or anyone else is any different.
She jabbed a blade into the boy’s throat—into the jugular. He gasped and gargled and soon fell quiet after making a mess upon his bed.
Fencress looked to the boy’s face for a long moment. He seemed innocent—childish, even. Her stomach churned and she felt like retching.
Just then the room’s door opened.
There Karnag stood, blood upon his massive sword. “They’re all dead.”
Fencress withdrew from the bed. She swallowed hard. “Scatter about a few swaths of red cloth.” She then jabbed the soldier’s dagger into the youth’s chest. The sternum broke with a snap and she scowled.
“Anything else? If not, let’s get clear of this place and collect our bounty. Then we’re done with it.”
She turned away from the corpses. “Dark work, indeed.”
Head to davidbenem.com to discover more stories by David Benem.
15
The First Thread
Alec Hutson
The screams were terrible.
They came clawing up from Consort Wei’s swollen belly, ragged with pain and fear, each cry a knife-blade stabbing at Jhenna’s heart. She crouched in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest, watching in cold dread as midwives in olive robes scurried back and forth. Some held silken sheets stained bloody; others carried silver bowls slopping over with pink water.
Something was very wrong. Jhenna had witnessed a dozen births out on the steppes, beneath the Great Sky, but never had any lasted this long. It seemed like an eternity since she’d watched fingers of pink dawnlight crawl across the floor. Now that same stone was bruised purple by twilight, and servants had hung lanterns from the ceiling, though they had not yet lit the candles within.
Then it was finished. As terrible as the screams had been, the silence that followed was worse. It clotted in the room like milk that had gone sour. Finally, when Jhenna thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, a trembling, age-spotted hand pulled back the moon bed’s gauzy red curtain. The Autumn Warlock of Shan emerged blinking, his face slack, his arms stained red up to his elbows.
The head midwife approached respectfully, her face lowered.
“The child, my lord?”
“Dead,” the warlock murmured, shaking his head slightly, as if having trouble focusing on the matronly woman standing before him. “And the mother as well.”
Scattered gasps came from among the gathered midwives. Coldness swelled in Jhenna’s chest, and she had to bite down on her knuckles to stifle a sob.
The midwife bowed her head. “It was Heaven’s will, my lord,” she said, but the strength in her voice faltered. Jhenna thought she saw a tear fall. She rubbed at the wetness on her own cheeks; she had no memory of having cried.