Shattering Dreams

by Catherine M Walker

  Kyle didn’t feel the shock or loathing he felt he should, that an average person would. Then again, he guessed he was not normal. How many others had been trained since they were a small child with the woman who had been The Shadow? As he was wondering about the kills, he caught the voice of his trainer whispering in his head through the veil.

  Yes, the kills were real Kyle—all of them. You know they deserved their fate. You followed them, assessed them, knew what they were into and what they were doing. Most were guilty of treason against the crown. For that alone, as a Lord of the Realm, it was your duty to take action. The girl was just the first kill that anyone could attribute to your name.

  Kat turned and looked back at him; reassured by what she saw, she nodded before continuing to lead the way on the pathways.

  Kyle considered the information that Kat had given him and realised that he still felt no remorse. He hadn’t just killed a man and woman in defence of the Realm. By his count he’d killed hundreds. He wasn’t just a master swordsman, he was an assassin. Kyle considered his options and spoke back to his trainer in the same fashion.

  The King needs to know. Alex needs to know.

  Kyle didn’t look at his trainer as they came out from the veiled paths, settling on the roof of a tavern in what appeared to be a small village.

  Alex isn’t ready to know yet, although when the time is right, I think you might find he is already aware. It’s likely the King already knows, Prince William as well. They both guess who you are already, Kyle. Kat gained his attention and gestured toward two men who had spilt out into the street from the tavern.

  Kyle frowned, and then his eyes narrowed as he recognised the men; both had been in The Tankard the night both he and Alex had been drugged and kidnapped. They had disappeared after their removal from the tavern, and no amount of searching by the Elite had discovered their whereabouts. Kyle stilled, pulling the veil closer to him almost by instinct, watching as the men staggered down the road. Standing, he moved from rooftop to rooftop, careful to keep to the shadows on the roof, always with his sight on the men.

  At first, he thought the men were drunk, but as they turned the corner out of sight of the tavern, after a furtive glance behind them, they straightened and quickened their pace, heading toward one of the last houses in the street. Kyle turned to ask Kat how she’d found them only to discover that she’d slipped away, as she often did once she’d pointed him in the direction she wanted. Snorting, he realised he was on his own. So much for an easy start.

  Kyle drew even more of the veil in and leapt from rooftop to rooftop until he was crouching on the roof of the house opposite the men. The house they were at was nondescript. It looked neither run down nor wealthy. It was just one house in a row of modest homes. As the door opened, Kyle drew a sharp breath only just stopping himself from swearing from a force of habit. Kyle recognised the man. He was Lord Minor Rathan Cartwright. He sometimes frequented the court, although his station was not high enough to have a suite at the palace. Rathan was also a snivelling little man who had been pestering Jess. Kyle remembered that he had also been at The Tankard the first night they met the girls who’d ended up trying to kidnap them.

  Kyle watched as Rathan looked down the street then ushered the men into the house. Kyle ran to the edge of the roof he was on and jumped to the ground below, using the power from the veil to soften his landing. He paused in the shadows, assessing the street, then pulling up the hood of his cloak and kept to the shadows he drew in even more of the veil. He used the power to mask him as he walked across the street to the house where the men had disappeared.

  Being careful not to make a noise as he walked one careful step after another, Kyle walked around the home until he found an unsecured window. Smiling, he pulled the shutters open and climbed inside. Hearing muffled voices, Kyle paused before pulling the door open and glancing out into the empty hallway. He moved from room to room and was relieved that they were empty except for some baggage in the last room. Moving quickly but quietly, he walked down the hallway toward the voices, pausing outside an open door that from what he could see was a sitting room. Rathan sat in a chair while two men stood; none of them looked happy, and from his vantage point he could hear their conversation with perfect clarity.

  “How could you be so sloppy? Now we’ve got nothing to show for all our efforts. How the hell did those drunken fools escape?” Rathan’s voice was high pitched and angry with a hint of panic.

  “We don’t know how they did it, Rathan. The girls gave them the drug you supplied. It didn’t work. The guards found the house and both the Prince and Lord Kyle, according to all reports, walked out. Lady Jessalan wasn’t seen leaving, but she wasn’t there and Oliver was located dead. Jana is dead as well, her neck snapped. We guess it was one of the Elite and Kelly was taken in by them, to all reports alive when she was taken but executed by the King for treason. We have to get out of Vallantia. I can’t believe the King’s men didn’t pump her for all the information she had before they killed her.” It was the bigger of the two men who spoke; his voice was low, but he sounded panicked.

  The second man, a little shorter than his companion and stockier, with dark greasy hair, spoke in a gravelly voice.

  “We’ve got a death sentence over our heads for this if the guard ever catches up with us. Rathan, you told us it would be easy, the King would pay up and that he hated his youngest son who was a drunken embarrassment to the throne. Well, it seems the King didn’t quite see it the same way.” The man looked around before turning his attention back to Rathan, although he looked like he wanted to bolt for the door.

  “Well don’t look for any more money, I don’t have it. That was the idea behind taking the Prince to embarrass the King so he’d pay us money to keep quiet about Prince Alexander’s exploits.” Rathan licked his lips and looked from one man to the other. “You need to lie low and stay out of sight for now. The King is likely to forget soon enough. Before you go, where are you staying?”

  Both men opened their mouths then closed them, looking at each other, seeming to agree. The taller man reached out and poked Rathan in the chest, underscoring his words, his tone contemptuous.

  “I suggest you find the money, Lord Minor Rathan, or your father will find another heir. You’ve got two days, get money to us at the Crown and Kestrel down the road. It’s a dive, but they had rooms for the right price.”

  Rathan stumbled back, a look of alarm crossing his face as the men turned and headed toward the door. Kyle stepped back down the hallway away from the main door, pressing himself into the dark corner near a cupboard. Neither man noticed him as they stormed out, slamming the door behind them.

  Kyle grinned, although it wasn’t the kind of smile anyone would want to see. It was the expression where if you had any sense and you saw it directed at you, you’d run in the other direction.

  Kyle waited a moment to give the men time to walk to the end of the road and out of earshot in case the Lord Minor called them for help, although Kyle judged that was unlikely to happen.

  Hearing movement in the room, Kyle walked toward the doorway where he’d stood moments before and saw that Rathan had slumped into a chair, cradling a drink in his hand with a panicked look on his face.

  Kyle walked into the room. Rathan stood in alarm, his glass falling from his nerveless fingers as Kyle grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, his dagger moving to the now quivering Lord’s throat.

  Rathan spoke, his voice high-pitched. “You can’t kill me, I’m a Lord. The King will come after you for this.”

  Rathan tried to straighten imperiously but failed miserably.

  Kyle laughed, low and menacing. “I know well who you are, Rathan, and the King will not come after me; you gave up your life when you involved yourself in a plot to kidnap the Prince.” Kyle threw back his hood and smiled as the man’s eyes widened in recognition.

  “Please, Lord Kyle, I can explain, I needed money, no harm would ever come to you or the Prin
ce …”

  Rathan stopped talking as Kyle’s blade pressed firmer into the skin against his throat, enough that the sharp blade cut into the skin. A thin trail of blood trickled down Rathan’s throat.

  “You’re lying, Rathan. I was there. The blonde one was about to plunge a dagger into Alex’s chest right before I came in and snapped her little neck. Tell me who is controlling you, Rathan, who suggested this little enterprise?” Kyle hauled the quivering Rathan forward and shoved him back into his seat. Seeing Rathan’s eyes flick toward the exit, Kyle laughed.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’ll be dead before you reach the door. Now talk.” Kyle’s eyes bore down into the hapless lordling, who squirmed.

  Rathan licked his lips. He looked up at Kyle, unable to look away.

  “You will kill me anyway, won’t you?”

  Kyle felt nothing but contempt for the man but saw no point in denying the likely result of this encounter.

  “You are guilty of treason, and I am the Shadow that protects the Fourth; it’s my duty.” Kyle saw no reason he couldn’t use the damn legend to his advantage. “Still, there are easy ways to die and hard ways. Which way it ends for you is in your hands. Either way, before you die, you will tell me what I want to know.”

  Kyle once again marvelled at his cold detachment, knowing every word he spoke was true. He watched Rathan as he continued to squirm in his chair before slumping.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. It came up in conversation when I was at a bar in Vallantia. Everyone was laughing and drinking. I was telling my friends I was running out of money and my father refused to give me more. Jon and Caleb—I presume you were here while they were. Well, I owe their boss money.” Rathan licked his lips again, his chin quivering, looking for all the world like he was about to cry.

  Kyle said nothing. He continued to stare at the man. Waiting, patient, knowing he would continue. His type always did.

  “I was at The Tankard waiting for you and the Prince to show up. I knew you both frequented the place, hoped I’d run into you both and we’d become friends. Then Jon and Caleb’s boss wouldn’t dare to touch me if I was a friend of the Prince.”

  Rathan’s words had been tumbling out of his mouth one after the other, to the point that Kyle had to concentrate to make out what the man was babbling about. He also wondered where the story was going.

  With a quick glance at Kyle for permission, or at least a sign he would not kill him, he reached over to the nearby table and pulled a bottle of cheap-looking alcohol toward him and a fresh glass, pouring the dark liqueur to the brim. He took a long gulp and sat there for a moment, lost in his thoughts.

  “There was a man. I didn’t recognise him, but he laughed when he heard of my troubles and suggested I abduct the Prince and Lady Jessalan—and you. Well I think he suggested you and Lady Jessalan because you’re always with the Prince.” Rathan contemplated his drink once more, taking another swallow of the cheap but potent brew.

  Then he laughed. “He said ‘the girl shouldn’t be a problem’. Yet she somehow killed Oliver and escaped. He suggested the drug that could contain all of you, and Jana, Kelly and Oliver from The Leaf and Feather could help keep the three of you entertained until the King paid the ransom. The first night it all went wrong. You, you intervened and the bottle with the drug in it smashed on the floor. Lady Jessalan ended up with that other man. I was relieved. I thought it was over.”

  Kyle watched and waited; he knew Rathan wasn’t finished.

  “Then you all showed up again—they knew you would. They had to scramble but the plan rolled out, this time it was working. He said I’d only have to keep you all in the house for a few days and I’d be rich beyond what I could imagine, that I’d never need my father’s money again.” Rathan’s voice shook; his voice trembled as he spoke, seemingly lost in memory. “I don’t know what came over me, what the man said just kept playing on my mind. Then it was all in motion; you, Jess and the Prince showed up. It was going so well, then it all went wrong. I was ordered to keep you both there for two days; instead it was only a night.” Rathan sobbed, biting his lip hard enough he drew his blood, before taking another drink.

  Kyle contemplated the man, trying to make sense of his rambling story.

  “Did the man say the King would pay a ransom or just that you would be paid well for abducting and drugging us, for keeping us at the house?”

  Rathan looked up at him, confusion written all over his face.

  “Well, he didn’t mention the King but who else would pay?”

  Kyle gritted his teeth, willing patience. “How were you to get the money?”

  Rathan blinked, took a quick drink before replying. “Baine, the man, called himself Baine, he said he’d get the money for me. That I’d be rich.”

  Kyle wanted to curse but restrained himself. “How did Jon and Caleb come into this whole affair, what was their part?”

  “Jon and Caleb tracked me down. Their boss wanted his money, but they heard the conversation and wanted in on the whole thing, said they would help, be the muscle. Said I’d get my cut of the money, they’d take theirs and give a portion to their boss to pay off my debt. It sounded like a good deal, so I agreed. I don’t know why I did, but I did. Then I left. Jon and Caleb stayed at the tavern talking to Baine.” Rathan slumped back into his chair; he looked defeated.

  “The man, Baine. Have you ever seen him at court?”

  Kyle’s mind was racing, trying to work out who Baine was, but he didn’t hold much hope that Rathan knew anything else and, as he expected, Rathan just shook his head.

  “How was he dressed? Rich, commoner, merchant, sell sword?” Kyle knew from what Rathan said the man he needed was Baine. He was the part of the thread—if he got the end and pulled, he could unravel this whole thing.

  “Baine? He was well dressed, not a commoner or merchant but no lord either, otherwise I would have recognised him. Dark hair shaved close to the skull, a tattoo down his right arm, a trail of skulls from his neck to his knife hand. Oh, and a scar. He had a bad scar trailing down the line of his left jawbone.” Rathan took another swig of his drink, emptying the glass, then poured himself another.

  Kyle took a deep breath, pushing down his anger through sheer willpower. He didn’t want to kill the man. Yet. The man Rathan had just described, Baine, with the shaved head and skull tattoos trailing down his right arm, belonged to the League of Skulls. Assassins, thieves, blades for hire. There was nothing they wouldn’t do if the price were right. Still, they rarely went after members of the Royal Family; that ended in all-out warfare with the Crown—history showed that didn’t pay so well.

  Kyle thought for a moment more and asked one final question. “Who was the man you lost all your father’s money to?”

  Rathan was almost insensible now with the amount of arak he’d had but took a moment from drinking to look up at him.

  “Lord Creswell Vannen. He owns half the illegal gambling houses in Vallantia.”

  Kyle paced two steps forward to Lord Minor Rathan, his face blank, calm. “Sleep well, Lord Minor Rathan. May the veil grant you rest and return to this world to redeem the life you failed.”

  With those words he moved behind the insensible Lord, wrapping his arm around his throat and cutting off his air supply until he slumped, unconscious. Satisfied, Kyle pulled his head back, extending his neck, and sliced his dagger across the man’s throat before letting him go. The former Lord Minor slid forward out of the chair, crumpling in a lifeless heap on the floor, blood pooling around him. Kyle walked around his crumpled victim toward the door, his face calm, almost dispassionate, and he left without looking back.

  Kyle examined the house, but other than the travel bags from the late Lord Minor Rathan, there was nothing of interest. Exiting the home, he gathered the veil around him, using it to assist in hiding him from casual observers. Still he kept to the pools of shadow as he walked down the street, backtracking to the Crown and Kestrel.

  Kyle paused o
n the opposite side of the road and watched the main doors from the sad and rather run-down looking pub. Even though from what he could see the clientele were not the ‘who’s who’ of society, Kyle knew he’d be remarked on and remembered. Especially when the publican found two dead bodies in his rooms when he checked them after the men failed to pay for their room. Kyle grinned to himself. Then again, if the thugs had paid up for a few days, then it was likely the publican or his cleaning girls wouldn’t check the rooms until the men failed to leave. Then they would go to the chamber to either get more money or kick them out.

  Moving at a steady pace, Kyle walked to the side of the building, scanning his surroundings as he went. Once in the shadows out of direct sight from the road, Kyle jumped, catching a ledge on the second floor, hauling himself up with a graceful ease.

  One glance through the window assured him that while the room was occupied, no one was in there right now. He guessed they were down in the tap room—lucky for them, at this point. Kyle assessed the room and, as he guessed, it belonged to the publican, cluttered with possessions that no itinerant traveller would have with them, and it had a private washroom. That was unlikely in most rooms in a pub as run-down and small as this one. He listened at the door to the chamber before easing out into the empty hallway. He could hear the noise from the tap room below and was satisfied that it would mask any indiscreet noise that might be made by the men.

  Kyle looked down the dark, narrow wooden hallway, lit by one lamp halfway down. There were only six other doors besides the one he’d come out from. He dismissed the smaller one down the end of the hall as likely being the communal washroom for the other guests that the pub might house; he’d leave that to last. Besides, if either of his targets was in the washroom, killing them there was not the best option, since they’d be found quicker.

  Working smoothly, he systematically checked the rooms; three of the five rooms had occupants; however, the room down the hall near the washroom had two small narrow beds with bags at their feet. The other two had single occupants, one of which was a woman, if the clothing was any testament, who had an impressive assortment of fine weapons. What she was doing here was an intriguing mystery. If he weren’t already occupied, he’d take the time to find out who she was and what she was up to. It was a sign that he would have to show caution, if the mystery woman was even half as good as the weapons indicated she was.