by CS Sealey
“Just one man?” Emil asked doubtfully.
“He can do the work of two dozen assassins and leave the scene as though he was never there. He is very thorough, impossible to outwit.”
“If you think he can be trusted, take us to meet him,” the queen said, also rising to her feet. “Where does he live?”
“He works out of a warehouse not too far from the markets,” Challan said, heading for the door. “Come. Even he should be awake by now.”
CHAPTER 64
Zoran Sable rubbed his eyes and yawned. He rarely showed his face before the temple bell sounded the tenth hour. Late nights roaming the streets and rooftops or drinking firewater with Hjorta in his private study normally caused – and often deserved – raging morning headaches. It was now midday and Zoran was sprawled upon the warehouse floor, soaking up the sun’s rays, which were streaming in through one of the few windows. Around him was business as usual. The young thieves and spikes, as Hjorta called his young killers, were making countless trips from the storerooms to the warehouse entrance, where a cart was waiting in the alleyway. The back was laden with crates of replacement tools, clothes, food, water, ale, and sacks of herbs and spices, which, unknown to the merchant, served as the ingredients to poisons. They were being careful as they passed Zoran, fearing hitting him with their loads and inducing his infamous morning rage. But despite the novices’ best efforts, a commotion caused the cart’s horses to shriek and rear up in their harnesses, pushing the wagon back and knocking one of the novices to the ground. Zoran leaped to his feet, his eyes taking only a moment to become accustomed to the gloom of the warehouse after the glare of the sun, and hurried over to the wagon.
The driver was fiercely pulling at the reins, trying to calm the beasts, and the novices were now bracing themselves against the wagon, trying to stop it from rolling over the top of their comrade, who was squirming beneath a fallen barrel. One of the older novices, Jak, broke away from the others.
“Master Sable,” he said anxiously, “the man, he just appeared out of thin air and made the horses – ”
“Hey, you there, driver! Keep your bloody animals under control! You could’ve killed someone! Just remember who paid for these goods! And, you two, leave the cart and help the boy up.”
“Truly, Master Sable! He was right – ” Jak looked around but whoever he had seen was now nowhere in sight. He turned back with a confused expression on his face. “He just appeared, sir. I swear it!”
Zoran looked at the boy dubiously and was about to hit him over the back of the head when he sensed a presence he did not recognize. His reaction was lightning quick, drawing both his knives so fast that their hidden sheaths ripped open. But when he turned, he saw nothing behind him but the empty warehouse. A frown formed on his brow.
“I know you’re there, I can sense you. Show yourself.”
There was a moment of uneasy silence, then a patch of air shimmered and a man began to take shape. Zoran heard Jak gasp and stagger backward. The assassin remained silent, rooted to the spot, and held up his knives protectively as the man’s form became solid. His hair was long and braided and stubble covered his jaw. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a dark brown robe similar to a monk’s. At his belt hung a long knife.
Zoran slowly lowered his knives, noticing that the magician had shown no immediate inclination to attack. In fact, his hands were hidden in his sleeves in much the same way a man of the cloth would stand. The two of them regarded each other for a while in silence before Zoran spoke.
“You startled the boys,” he said, gesturing to the situation behind him. “They’re not used to seeing such spectacles. Was that really necessary?”
“Whereas you seem to be quite calm.”
“This warehouse is private property and we don’t tolerate trespassers. Who are you and why are you here?”
The man bowed his head a little. “I am Emil.”
“Emil what?”
“Latrett. Am I right in assuming I address Zoran Sable?”
“Answer my questions and I may answer yours. I asked you why you were here.”
“I have come with a proposition for you,” Emil said. “I represent a certain individual who is in need of your…talents.”
“Who?”
“I am unable to disclose that information at this point.”
“Ah. Then you can get the hell out.” Zoran motioned over his shoulder. “The door’s back there.”
Emil appeared taken aback and a slight furrow crossed his brow. “She is Her Royal Majesty Queen Sorcha of the Ronnesian Empire,” he said, gesturing to the warehouse doors.
Zoran turned hesitantly, not willing to turn his back on the stranger. But when he spotted the figure of a woman silhouetted against the glare of the sunlight, he relaxed slightly. She moved forward cautiously, lifting her skirts as she crossed the hay-strewn floor. Another man appeared in the doorway and hastened to the queen’s side.
And Challan said he had been exiled, Zoran thought.
His eyes shifted back to the queen, who was removing the shawl she had draped around her head. Zoran watched as she revealed her striking red hair and pale but modestly attractive face featuring piercing green eyes. The queen patted down her dress before studying the man in front of her. From her expression, she did not like what she saw. She waited expectantly but Zoran did not give her the pleasure of any sort of greeting.
“I expect you are wondering why I am here,” Queen Sorcha said, her Kirofirth accent rich on her tongue.
“I suppose I’m a little curious.”
“News of the Ayon invasion hasn’t reached this city yet,” Emil said, “so I don’t expect you to have heard. The Ayon army has broken through our defenses, seized Te’Roek, and pushed us into hiding.”
“We are gathering forces together to regain the city,” the queen continued, “and we need your help.”
“Do I look like a recruit?” Zoran asked.
“Is there some place we can talk?”
The assassin felt his eye twitch uncomfortably and rubbed it, his mind working quickly. There was no doubt that this woman was the queen of the Ronnesian Empire, for he had seen paintings and heard accounts of her striking appearance and regal manner, nor did he doubt that Emil Latrett was a powerful mage or that these Ronnesians would be easily deterred. Zoran turned to Jak and placed a hand on his shoulder. He walked a few yards from the visitors and then bent low to speak in his ear.
“Find Hjorta, Feilon and Messnin and tell them to be ready outside the Red Room. Then clear all the novices away from that area of the warehouse, I don’t want any unnecessary casualties if this gets nasty. Got that?”
“Of course, Master Sable,” Jak said and scurried over to the cart.
Zoran returned to the visitors. “Follow me.”
He led them up a staircase, through the empty mess room, then down a long corridor with many closed doors. At the end of this windowless passage was another door, which Zoran opened. He crossed the room and threw open the shutters, spilling light down onto the floor. Emil came in first, followed by the queen and, lastly, Challan.
“Shut the door,” Zoran said, turning.
The former mayor grunted and closed it heavily.
In the middle of the Red Room was a table with a single chair on each side. Zoran took one and the queen took the other. Emil stood protectively beside her and Challan remained by the door, watching Zoran with wary eyes.
The assassin leaned forward and gazed across the table. “Welcome to the Red Room, where most of our contracts are heard. Not all assignments are taken and some conditions may be altered before they can be accepted, but once a contract has been accepted, it will be done.”
“This room isn’t red,” Challan noted.
“Do you wish it to be so?” Zoran asked, eyeing him. He returned his gaze to the queen. “You had a proposition for me.”
“Yes,” Sorcha said, shifting in her chair. “I do. But…is there any chance you would remove
your cowl? I prefer to see those I address.”
“No, no chance at all.”
“Must I remind you that you address the queen of the Ronnesian Empire?” Emil asked.
“I never reveal my face to any but my closest friends and my victims. You are not the former, and unless you displease me, you will be spared from being the latter. Don’t ask me again. I have a very short temper, as Challan can no doubt confirm.”
The queen glanced at Challan, who nodded quickly.
“As we have already said, the Ayons have overrun Te’Roek. Varren has taken the castle. We have gathered a sufficient number of men to retake the city but it will be weeks before they can mobilize.”
“I will give you none of my lads,” Zoran cut in.
“I did not mean them,” the queen said. “I have been told that you are the very best assassin there is.”
Zoran glanced at Challan and saw him look away, his mouth a thin frown. “I see.”
“And, for the right price, you are willing to accept almost any assignment.”
“Almost.”
“Where do you draw the line?” the queen asked.
“Surely Challan has already told you that.” He glanced at the former mayor and saw his face redden. “Ah…so you haven’t told your mistress you wished me to kill King Samian? Well, that is where I draw the line. Though I have killed monarchs before, I never take the life of someone I consider to be a good man. King Samian is just that, the last of the Mensor royal line and possibly a good man, and so I refused the contract.”
“Yes, he did inform me of that before we arrived,” the queen said stiffly. “In fact, I find your…shall we say, principles quite honorable.”
“More pfenns or tellams won’t change my decision. I will not kill the king.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” Emil said, folding his arms, “for he is already dead.”
Zoran’s eyes darted to Emil and narrowed. The man appeared to be telling the truth but there had definitely been a hint of satisfaction in the way he had said the words. “How?”
“A battle of magic,” Emil explained. “He was hit while unprotected and died instantly.”
“That had something to do with you, I presume.”
“Details of that matter are not important,” the queen said dismissively. “We came here to make a proposition and I wish you to listen to it.”
Zoran gestured for her to continue.
“I am offering you one thousand pfenns – or eight hundred tellams if you prefer – to aid us in removing Varren and his soldiers from my city.”
Zoran Sable raised his eyebrows in mock disinterest, though his mind was working fast. The queen of the Ronnesian Empire wished for him, an assassin, to travel all the way to Te’Roek to assist her men in overthrowing the Ayon general. Archis Varren was a name he had heard before but never in a military sense. As far as he could recall, he had been in law or tied closely with the king’s personal affairs. How could such a man rise so quickly to become the cause of so much grief and devastation? Had he become a tyrant king?
“If this general is in your castle, just go in there and throw him out, you…whatever your name is.”
“Emil.”
“Yes. I know you have the enchanter strand and, yes, I know all about the legends of your gift too. Why not just transport yourself inside and then do what you do? Bang! No more general. City’s back in your hands. Smiling faces and all that.”
Emil chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t know who Varren is, do you?”
“Never met him.”
“He is a sorcerer. The most powerful of the six strands you profess to be so familiar with, Sable,” he said curtly. “I don’t have the power to fight him alone. Even with another two mages, we cannot defeat him. He has used every waking hour of his existence to perfect his gift and is a formidable opponent.”
“And how am I supposed to help?”
“At first, I wondered the same,” Emil admitted. “We came here with the intention of convincing a number of mercenaries to aid us in our struggle. I was skeptical when Challan claimed you were worth a dozen hired blades, but now, I am inclined to believe him. You are more powerful than you appear.”
Zoran felt his skin prickle with unease. “Yes, well…Like this Varren fellow, I have spent most of my life honing my skills,” he said warily. “I’d hope that, after all this time, my efforts would not have been in vain. I quite enjoy my line of work.”
“Ah, but it’s more than that, Sable. You can sense the presence of others, like you did with me. Your reflexes are well beyond those of any ordinary man and, from what Challan has told me, you are much stronger than your physical size suggests. I believe you have a chance against Varren – because you are an elf.”
Zoran felt his insides turn to ice and knew that his face, though hidden as most of it was, showed his feeling of dread. Nobody knew his heritage but Hjorta, Feilon and Messnin. He had never removed his cowl for any other man or woman who was still breathing. Not even the many novices around the warehouse knew. Zoran felt the shaman’s eyes piercing his skin and knew he had not discovered this information via ordinary means. The three of them must have come looking for him based on his merit alone but Emil had discovered his most precious secret simply by reading his thoughts. That changed things.
“All right,” Zoran said, opening his arms, noticing the stunned expressions on the queen’s and Challan’s faces. “What of it? If Varren is as powerful as you say, I’ll be risking my skin for money I may never be able to spend. There’s little in it for me.”
“But you must help us!” Sorcha exclaimed. “This man is destroying my empire and my people! We have sent for reinforcements, but we simply cannot hope to overthrow him without considerable losses to civilians. We need someone of your skill! Please, I implore you to consider the proposal. You will be saving an empire from destruction!”
Zoran shrugged. “Perhaps it’s your time to fall. Can’t meddle with fate.”
Emil Latrett moved swiftly forward and slammed his hands down on the table, making the structure shake and causing an empty inkwell to wobble precariously before toppling to the floorboards. Zoran looked up at the shaman with narrowed eyes.
“This is not a game!” Emil yelled. “You have the opportunity to turn the tide of war! Don’t elves disapprove of mindless bloodshed?”
Zoran laughed drily. “Perhaps, but I left my traditions behind. I live by my own creed now, clearly.”
“But you are a mercenary regardless of your heritage,” the queen interjected. “You say you draw the line at killing good men. Varren has no good in him. He basks in the glory of death and has no qualms about killing innocent men, women and children!”
“So you say.”
“It’s the truth!” she insisted.
Zoran considered the woman. A moment before, she had been brimming with courage and determination but now, when she thought he would decline, she was desperate. Her eyes sparkled with premature tears and her cheeks were flushed with color as she continued to speak with passion about the plight of her people and her fears for their future.
Little by little, Zoran began to remember a time when he would have crumbled in the face of such a desperate plea. He became uncomfortable as the memories of his old life trickled to the forefront of his mind. Soon, they began to drown his thoughts – the compassion, the youthful ambition and dreams of glory. He stood, silencing the queen’s feverish speech. He put his hands down on the table and lowered his head with a heavy sigh.
“You have said enough,” he said, motioning them to the door. “I decline your offer. Leave me.”
Challan hurried forward. “But, Sable – ”
“I said leave me.”
“You can’t just turn them away!”
“Challan…” Zoran said threateningly.
“But I told them you would at least – ”
“Hjorta! Escort these people back down to the street.”
The door opene
d, revealing Hjorta, Feilon and Messnin standing in the corridor beyond. None of them knew who Zoran’s guests were but their eyes fell immediately upon the queen and stayed there. It was very rare, after all, that women came personally to ask for Zoran’s – or any of the others’ – services. Hjorta entered the room, Feilon and Messnin close behind, and moved to usher the visitors to the door. Emil fixed his eyes on Zoran and glowered.
“We will be staying in the Weary Walker for the next three days. If you have not changed your mind by then and sought us out, we will come back and plead our case once more.”
Zoran said nothing as the three were escorted out of the room. He followed them and stood watching their departure from the mezzanine above the warehouse main floor, his hands tightly gripping the railing. The queen paused before the great sliding doors of the warehouse and looked up at him. Challan had already moved into the alleyway but Emil stayed close to his mistress.
“I beg you to reconsider, Zoran Sable,” the queen called. “Your help would be invaluable to us.” Then she turned to leave, wrapping the shawl about her face.
“Three days,” Emil reminded him. “Three days, then we’ll return.”
“Get out.”
“I thought you better than this, Sable!” Challan shouted from the doorway. “For all your noble sentiments, you’re nothing but a – a sellsword and a coward!”
“Get out!”
Zoran took the stairs down to the warehouse and crossed the dirty, hay-strewn ground to the doors. Emil must have assumed Zoran meant to attack, for he placed himself firmly in front of the queen and raised his hands in defense.
“Go back to your comfortable inn!” Zoran said, pushing Emil away. “I do not take well to being insulted, as you should know, Challan.”
“Reconsider,” Emil said, resuming his position in front of Zoran. “You have the ability to aid us, and be richly rewarded!”