by A. J. Smith
‘I think you look splendid, Kale,’ murmured Rham Jas. The Kirin had started walking behind Glenwood as soon as they’d entered the royal quarter. ‘I barely recognize you.’
‘Hopefully the watchmen on the gate won’t recognize me either,’ he replied.
‘I’m not an idiot, Kale. I checked before I came up with this cunning plan. The guards will be king’s men and Purple clerics – no one who’d have dealt with a small-time streak of shit like you.’
He glanced over his shoulder and saw an enormous grin on the assassin’s face. Rham Jas had discarded all his weaponry, leaving it locked in Glenwood’s brothel, and transformed his appearance simply by having a wash. He was still swarthy-looking, but, with his hair clean and tied back, and his face shaved, Rham Jas Rami looked completely different. Standing behind a noble, he’d be regarded as nothing more than a slightly exotic servant.
‘How exactly are you going to kill a woman that can’t be killed?’ Glenwood asked, turning a corner and approaching the knight marshal’s barracks.
‘Don’t know. I suppose I’ll improvise.’ It was not reassuring, but Glenwood knew that Rham Jas was not so reckless as to get himself pointlessly killed.
The streets of the royal quarter were lit by globed lanterns. The bottom level of the barracks was palatial, raised from the dusty training ground and approached by white stone steps. The title of ‘barracks’ was largely ceremonial and instead the building served as the administrative centre of the city, used by senior churchmen, knights and officials for conducting the daily business of Ro Tiris. It was also used for those occasions when formality required a sophisticated gathering of nobles.
Many bound men and servants could be seen swarming dutifully towards the barracks. Glenwood breathed deeply. As they came closer, he slowed his pace and began to sweat. Two Purple clerics were on guard at street level in front of the gates. Behind them, the white steps were flanked by ornately dressed king’s men, standing in gold and silver armour and looking bored.
Glenwood pulled the forged invitation from his waistcoat and puffed out his cheeks, hoping that his forgery skills, coupled with his appearance, would be sufficient to get them inside. The old longsword buckled at his side was the closest thing he owned for proof of his lineage, and as he looked down it appeared dull in comparison with the finely crafted weapons carried by the clerics.
‘Stop fucking worrying,’ whispered Rham Jas from behind, sensing the forger’s anxiety.
‘I’ll stop worrying when I’m back at home next to a warm woman,’ he replied. ‘What do I do while you’re running from the guardsmen?’
Rham Jas chuckled. ‘You just need to get me in, Kale. After that, I’d advise you to go and jump out of a window as quickly as you can.’
Glenwood glanced behind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that two hours ago? I’ve been thinking this whole time that we’d be running back to the Kasbah together.’
The assassin raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to stay clean, otherwise you’re of no use to me. Just make sure you don’t hang around. Once I kill the bitch, things might get a little... chaotic.’
Without really thinking about it, Glenwood said, ‘Thank you.’
The Kirin’s forehead creased up with confusion. ‘I’m not certain I deserve a thank you. I’m sure I’ll find a way to get you killed in Arnon... or Leith.’ The grin flowed back across the assassin’s face. ‘Get your noble face on, Kale.’
Glenwood plastered on his best fake smile and flicked his hair back extravagantly. He’d need confidence as well as a longsword to pull this off. Casually holding the forged invitation in his hand, Kale Glenwood stepped before one of the Purple clerics. ‘A nice evening, brother,’ he said with confidence.
The clerics said nothing, surprised that a guest should speak to them. The forger took the hint and maintained his smile as he walked confidently past. Beyond, guests were making their way up the white steps or milling around the entrance, talking loudly in cultured tones.
He breathed in deeply as he saw the well-dressed nobility on display. Men and women in immaculately tailored outfits glided around the marble floor of the entrance lobby, with fake smiles on their faces. The gathering had an air of well-practised formality that Glenwood knew would be difficult to fake. The men wore fitted jackets and tight trousers and most had ceremonial longswords sheathed at their waists. The occasional noble – from Leith or Haran, rather than Tiris – wore a rapier or other exotic weapon, clearly designed to be a conversation point. Many had body servants or bound men fawning around them.
‘Does he belong to you?’ asked a guardsman, standing at the top of the steps and pointing to Rham Jas.
‘Are you addressing me?’ responded Glenwood, raising his eyebrows and making a show of formality.
‘Indeed, my lord. Is that Kirin yours?’
Glenwood raised a hand as if to wave away the impertinent query and stepped past the guardsman. ‘He is my man, yes.’ He didn’t look at the man as he spoke and pretended to be scanning the lobby for familiar faces. ‘Tell me, sword-master, is Lady Annabel of Leith in attendance?’
The guardsman narrowed his eyes and scanned Rham Jas up and down. The Kirin had his head bowed and was playing his part well. After a moment of suspicion, the man simply shook his head. ‘I don’t believe the Lady Annabel will be here tonight, my lord. I understand that her husband is ill.’
‘Ah, that is a great shame,’ said Glenwood, still not looking at him. ‘We provincial nobles need to stick together.’ He contorted his mouth into a smug grin and chuckled. ‘I suppose I shall have to endure all manner of comments upon my character from these nobles of Tiris. Is that not right, Kirin?’ He turned his smugness on to Rham Jas and hoped that the assassin would think quickly enough to join in.
‘Absolutely, master,’ was his response. He was deliberately speaking with a pronounced accent and Glenwood was impressed at how unthreatening he appeared.
When relieved of his weapons and grimy exterior, Rham Jas Rami was a relatively short, slender man, with no sign of the bizarrely skilled assassin that lay beneath. The bound man averted his eyes both from the guardsman and from his own master, and Glenwood began to feel more confident.
Once through the enormous white arch that led into the lobby, they were confronted with a vista of ostentatious beauty. At least a hundred men and women of Ro stood in loosely clustered groups across the polished stone floor, chatting loudly, drinking wine from crystal goblets, soothed into a high-class trance by harp music. The white eagle of Tiris, woven skilfully into expensive fabric, flew from pillars and rafters. The women wore dark colours, with their hair either tied back or worn high on their heads – a sharp contrast with the rouged pieces of rough with which Glenwood usually consorted.
‘Right, you’re in,’ whispered the forger.
Rham Jas got as close to his companion as he could without arousing suspicion. ‘These are just the lesser nobles, knights and baronets. I need the big sharks, not the little fish.’
Glenwood frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know the layout of the place, so I’ll leave you to it, yes?’ It was a long shot, but worth attempting.
‘No, you will not,’ growled the assassin. ‘You see that staircase?’ He pointed to a set of grand, carpeted stairs leading upwards and arcing around the room to form high balconies that looked down on the lobby.
‘That’s where the high nobles are, we’ll never get close,’ murmured Glenwood.
‘Why did you think I wanted to come here, Kale?’ the assassin asked ironically. ‘The bitch isn’t going to be making small talk with random knights.’ He paused and looked up for the first time since they had entered the barracks. He scanned the lobby and balconies. Little could be seen, but the occasional peal of silvery laughter indicated that the Karesian woman was in attendance. ‘Why is it that her voice carries so?’ Rham Jas asked.
‘She’s an enchantress. I hear that just the sound of her voice can sway men to her will,’ Glenwood responded nervously.<
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‘Well, let’s shut her up then, shall we?’ said Rham Jas, with the slightest indication of a grin on his swarthy features. ‘When we get to the top of the stairs, you take a right and find a window to jump out of. I’ll get it done and meet you back at the Blue Feather.’ The assassin spoke confidently. ‘Oh, and you’ll be needing that invite to get up the stairs.’ The grin on the Kirin’s face was now back to its usual size and Glenwood glanced nervously down at his forged invitation. It was good work, but rushed, and he had little confidence that it would be accepted by the senior nobles.
Without further discussion, Glenwood strode across the lobby floor, pausing only to make fawning smiles and shallow bows to the assembled lords and ladies. A few regarded him with disdain, but most found the presence of a provincial noble a way of asserting their own superiority, thanking the One they’d been born in Tiris rather than Leith. Few people noticed the Kirin that walked behind him, and Glenwood was thankful that the high-born rarely so much as acknowledge the low-born.
At the base of the stairs stood two more Purple clerics. These were older than the men outside and, as the two intruders approached, Glenwood noticed that several nobles had already been turned away from the stairs. The churchmen stood beneath small banners displaying the purple sceptre of nobility, indicating that their church held almost as much sway in Tiris as the king’s family itself.
‘Show us your clay, my lord,’ said one of the clerics, a look of haughty superiority on his face.
‘Of course.’ Glenwood attempted to look casual as he handed over the counterfeit clay tablet.
The cleric studied the invitation between suspicious glances at the man of Leith. ‘Kale Glenwood?’ the cleric prompted. ‘Ward of the glen... that’s not a title I expected to see at the duke’s address. When did you arrive from Ro Leith?’
‘Earlier today,’ lied the forger. ‘I expected to meet the Lady Annabel here, but I’ve been told her husband is still unwell and I’m expected to represent Leith on my own.’ He let the nerves show on his face and hoped the story was believable enough, and his appearance unthreatening enough, to gain entrance. Name-dropping Lady Annabel of Leith had got him out of trouble in the past. The ploy was less likely to work on clerics than on the city watchmen, but currently it was the only trick in his arsenal.
‘And your bound man?’ the cleric asked, glancing up at Rham Jas.
‘I expected to see more Kirin servants, to be honest. They are quite the fashion in Ro Leith.’ He smiled smugly. ‘It pleases Lady Annabel to show our dominance over the lesser races of men.’ He spoke quietly and with a noble sneer on his face. ‘I suppose such shows of status are less necessary in Ro Tiris, yes?’
The clerics showed no sign of amusement and the forger realized that two other people were waiting behind him, also hoping to be allowed up the stairs. If the queue grew much bigger, he guessed that those above might become suspicious and things would go rapidly downhill.
‘We seem to be holding things up,’ the forger joked. ‘Could we hurry along? Our beloved ally in Ro Leith is eager to have her words delivered to the duke.’ It was a bold, and possibly foolish, plan, but he was running out of options.
The clerics looked up sharply, with surprise on their faces. ‘You are here with the Lady Isabel’s words?’
Glenwood made a show of wide-eyed astonishment. ‘Please refer to her as our beloved ally, my lord cleric, she dislikes having her name thrown around.’ He gritted his teeth and glared at the churchman.
His gambit seemed to have worked. After exchanging a look, the two clerics parted and motioned for Glenwood to ascend.
He held his breath for a moment and felt every muscle in his body tense as he climbed the ornate staircase. It was only when he heard the clerics talking to the guests who had been queuing behind him that the forger breathed out. ‘Fuck me, that was tense,’ he said to himself.
‘Did you even know her name?’ asked Rham Jas in a whisper.
‘Not until he mentioned it, no.’ He knew how reckless he had been and could not yet allow himself to be impressed at his wanton deception. ‘It got us in, didn’t it? Stop complaining.’
‘Wasn’t a complaint,’ replied the assassin. ‘You’re cleverer than I thought, Kale.’
‘Fuck you, Rham Jas.’
The Kirin didn’t respond.
The fact that the clerics knew his name and what he looked like made it unlikely that Glenwood would remain clean after Rham Jas had killed Katja. No other nobles had Kirin bound men and it would not take a great deal of investigation to deduce who had smuggled in the assassin. The forger did not particularly like Ro Tiris, but neither did he want to have to leave in a hurry with clerics and guardsmen after him.
At the top of the staircase, he glanced to the left. There were fewer people there, but they stood out more than those below. High-ranking Purple clerics resplendent in burnished plate armour stood toe to toe with gaudily dressed members of the house of Tiris and standing in the middle, the focus of much of the attention, was Katja the Hand of Despair. The Karesian enchantress was strikingly beautiful despite the distinctive wolf’s head tattoo on her cheek. She stood on the lushly carpeted balcony beneath ornate tapestries depicting knights in armour and scenes of glorious Ro victories. Servants moved swiftly from side to side, offering drinks and small items of food. Katja had a strange, euphoric effect on those around her. Even Lord Archibald Tiris, flamboyant in his regal coat and golden circlet, fawned over the enchantress as if she were all he cared about.
‘Wrong direction, Kale,’ whispered Rham Jas. ‘You go to the right and I go to the left... and stop looking at her, she’ll twist your mind if you let her.’
‘She’s surrounded by armed men, Rham Jas. I know you’re hot shit, but this looks pretty much impossible. How about we forget this business and go have a drink?’
He felt the Kirin’s hand on his arm. ‘Let me worry about killing Katja. You find a window to jump out of. Once she’s dead, events will move quickly, so you’d better get going.’
Glenwood took a last look at the nobles surrounding Katja before turning sharply and walking in the other direction, leaving Rham Jas alone at the top of the stairs. No guests stood on the other side and Glenwood was not interrupted as he walked towards several doors that led from the balcony. He was only a couple of storeys off the ground and he hoped that any random window would allow him to escape. A breeze came through the first door and he turned into a storage area for wine and silverware. The room had a large window which was slightly ajar and, after a quick look around, he was sure he wasn’t being observed.
He moved to the window and paused. He disliked Rham Jas – hated him even – but leaving him alone to get killed made the forger feel bad. He was not a good man, far from it, but he hated these puffed-up nobles even more than he hated the Kirin assassin. With strained resignation, Kale Glenwood, wannabe mobster of Ro Tiris, returned to the doorway and peeked out.
He couldn’t see the Kirin and his eye was again drawn across the carpeted balcony to the figure of Katja. She was tall, with a lush figure, and drew all eyes to her as she spoke. As before, her voice carried and each phrase she uttered was met with fawning approval and laughter from the nobles. Archibald Tiris stood next to her. The new duke’s bearing was much less impressive. He had the high forehead and receding hairline common to the king’s family and a look of vacuous euphoria on his face.
Just as he was beginning to think that Rham Jas had left after all, a slight movement caught his eye. Ironically, the presence of the enchantress worked in the assassin’s favour because it meant that those normally observant men were sufficiently distracted to let the Kirin get close. He’d ghosted his way along the far wall, keeping away from the balcony’s edge and making sure to stay behind the armoured Purple clerics. Glenwood knew how much Rham Jas hated the churchmen of nobility and he wondered if the Kirin would be tempted to kill more than one person before he left.
It was difficult to see Rham Jas now
because he had hidden behind one of the tapestries. Then, through the throng of nobles, a hand reached out to a discarded drinks tray and took two crystal goblets. No one had seen this and Glenwood held his breath, waiting for Rham Jas to make his move. The man of Leith had one foot tapping nervously on the floor and he glanced back to assure himself that the window was close. He knew he should have left already, but curiosity had the better of him and he waited a moment longer.
Rham Jas appeared again, crouching behind a low drinks table. He lobbed one of the goblets into the air in such a way that its trajectory took it over the balcony’s edge to smash loudly on the stone floor below. No one had seen where the goblet came from, and the nobles on the upper floor reacted with surprise before moving to investigate. Glenwood smiled. The duke and most of the knights and clerics left Katja’s side to look down to the lobby. The enchantress herself appeared equally surprised by the sound but was far too demure to investigate what was, after all, merely a glass breaking.
When the assassin moved, it was with lightning speed. He sprang from cover with the second goblet in his hand. Two men either side, who had not gone to the balcony, saw the Kirin move forward but were helpless to react as he wrapped an arm round Katja’s neck and rammed the goblet into the side of her head, just above the wolf’s head tattoo. The glass drove into her temple and a high-pitched scream sounded out. Katja was thrashing around in pain, but Rham Jas didn’t let go. He twisted the goblet, driving the jagged glass further into her head, until her eyes rolled back and the screaming stopped. Blood ran freely over her tattoo to fall on her limp shoulders.
Everything froze as the high nobles stared at the Kirin assassin and the dead body of Katja the Hand of Despair. A strange haze flowed over the assembled nobles and many of them involuntarily closed their eyes as months of enchantment waned in an instant. The haze was quickly replaced by murderous anger directed towards the assassin. Glenwood’s hands shook and he was breathing fast, his feet now willing him to run for the window.