Chapter
3: Assassins
Two dark clad figures crouched
atop the flat roof of the inn.
Optimistically named the Luck of the Two Moons it was typical of the
finer establishments in the larger towns of southern Vedra, boasting a tavern,
a brothel, and a number of finely appointed rooms all connected to a walled
garden where guests could relax in quiet and private
surroundings. The two figures
had gained the roof of the in the middle of the night by first climbing the
wall and had waited until morning.
For the most part they had sat unmoving and without speaking, their
years of training having instilled within them a level of discipline that
would have been the envy of any monastic order, which to a certain extent
they resembled. However, as the
sun rose, promising a hot day and the potential of hours of torment in the
hot southern sun, the eldest of the two stirred.
“Are you certain she
in the one?” the man asked.
His voice was a carefully controlled whisper, impossible to hear beyond
a yard.
“Very sure, master,”
Ara answered. “There cannot
be two like her in all of Vedra.”
There was just the faintest hint of displeasure in her
voice. It was clear that she
did not appreciate the sense of doubt in the voice of the
other.
“And
you are sure of her habits?” the man prodded.
“As sure as I can
be. I have watched her for five
days and her routine has not varied.
She rises early, goes to the garden where she drills for two turns
of the glass, and then goes to the stable to check her
horse. After that she returns
to the inn for a bath and then strolls to the caravanserai to see if there
are any hirings. She then heads
to the bazaar before returning to the inn.”
“Then we will wait,”
the man said, settling back.
Of
course we will,
the woman
thought in exasperation.
What
else is there to do?
She had observed the tall
redheaded barbarian for almost half a moon and had a very good idea of the
habits of her quarry. For the
most part her routine was regular, making her an easy
target. However, there was one
aspect of her behaviour that made her less than an ideal target, and that
was once she left the inn she rarely took the same route twice, seeming to
wander through the streets almost
aimlessly. And then there were
her martial skills. She was certainly
the most highly skilled warrior Ara had ever
seen. In combat she would be
a fearsome opponent. However,
Ara and her master were not the sort to give anyone a chance at an even
fight. And that would go against
their orders in any case. The
woman was to be taken alive and then taken to a predetermined
rendezvous.
Ara had no idea what the
magnificent barbarian had done to warrant her kidnapping, nor did she
care. She and her master simply
followed orders. There would
be a generous bonus for delivering the redhead to the rendezvous and that
was all she had to know.
Considering the woman’s
habits Ara had determined that the best time and place to take the barbarian
was when she stepped into the garden for her morning
workout. The woman was entirely
focused on her routine. Indeed,
Ara had never seen anyone show such intensity in weapons training; not even
among the others of her order. She
had informed her master that the best time to strike would be just at the
end of the end of the barbarian’s training session when she would be
the most tired and least alert. She
had also noted that the garden was usually deserted at this time, which was
no doubt why the barbarian had chosen the early hour for her training
session. It now simply remained
to put the plan into action. But
now for some reason their target was
late.
At that moment the door
to the garden pushed open and Ara breathed a sigh of
relief. There was no mistaking
the flame red hair, now tied up in a long braid, or the powerful build of
the woman below them. “At
last,” her master muttered.
“Now we take her.”
Ara frowned, annoyed that
even now her master was ignoring her
advice. Instead of waiting until
the end of the training session, when the redheaded warrior would be most
tired and least alert, he was going to take her
now. However, she laid a restraining
hand on his arm as he shifted his weight.
“Wait, master. She
will be distracted by her exercises.”
There was a low sigh, but
her master settled back. Ara
frowned beneath her cowl, wondering how a man of so little patience had survived
so long in their profession.
As Ara had predicted the
barbarian began her routine. She
began as she always did by facing toward the rising
sun. Her lips moved in what Ara
supposed was some sort of prayer and then she discarded her light robe and
stood seminude in the sun. Without
weapons she began a series of slow movements, gradually increasing in speed
as she warmed up. Then she unsheathed
her twin blades from the sheaths she wore over her shoulders and began a
complex sequence of blindingly quick
moves. Ara had to admire the
woman’s graceful movements and wondered what she had done to invite
the attention of her order.
She knew that in spite of
the woman’s formidable appearance and obvious skill with weapons she
had no chance against the skills she and her companion
possessed. As her master began
to move she knew that within a few heartbeats the unsuspecting barbarian
would be a helpless captive.
Shailaja had risen early
as was her custom, and headed down to the kitchen for her
breakfast. She preferred to eat
with the staff of the inn rather than mix with the other
guests. Although Quinto was a
city where people of many nations mixed freely her appearance still attracted
more attention than she cared for and after her adventure with Kaylan she
did not wish to advertise her presence any more than
necessary. Besides, she preferred
the company of the kitchen staff to that of the inn’s
patrons. They had gotten used
to her over the last moon or so and tended to accept her as one of them;
especially since she did not have the high handed attitude of most of the
inn’s patrons.
“Ye eat enough fer
a horse,” the cook exclaimed as Shailaja downed another stack of oatcakes
and honey.
“What I do uses a lot
of energy,” Shailaja grinned.
“But this will tide me over until I finish my
routine.”
“You ought to give
up that routine, girl,” cook
advised. “Put down those
swords and find a man to look after
ye.”
“I am afraid I have
had more than enough of men looking after me,” Shailaja
replied. “I prefer to look
after myself and I need my swords to do
that.” She got to her feet
as she finished speaking, took a last swallow of her tea and headed toward
the gardens.
She was a bit late this
morning, the cook having found a drowned rat in the porridge
water. There had been a delay
while one of the kitchen boys was sent to the well, but Shailaja had not
minded. A few hundred heartbeats
made very little difference to her daily
routine.
Thanking the cook for the
oatcakes, she left the kitchen. A
short walk took her from there to the doorway to the
gardens. She stepped into the
rectangular enclosure and drank in the perfume of the
flowers. The fact that flowers
bloomed year round was one of the things she liked about southern Vedra;
although sometimes she missed the snow of her
homeland.
As usual at this time of
day the garden was deserted.
Shailaja paid the innkeeper a little extra to keep it that way for
the first two hours of the morning.
She had no desire for an audience as she went through her routines;
she attracted enough attention in this land of short, dark-skinned people
as it was.
The garden was a pleasant
little refuge. Surrounded by
a high wall it offered privacy and the tinkling of a small fountain into
a peaceful lily pond was quite soothing.
She sometimes came to the garden to simply to relax for an hour or
so. This time, however, she was
here for practice.
She stepped forward and
discarded her modest covering, exposing her long limbs.
The outfit she wore was a simple
robe that covered her from her head to her
ankles. She wore it for two reasons;
one that it protected her from the hot southern sun, and the other that it
kept her from the continual gawking of the
townsfolk. From a distance she
appeared nothing more than a tall man and it concealed the twin blades she
wore over her shoulders. She
did not much care for the disguise, but it was preferable to the continual
stares and exclamations that followed her when she revealed herself to the
public, not to mention the small boys that liked to follow her wherever she
went.
However, she had not yet
found a hire that interested her.
She wanted one that headed to a city she had not yet visited, and
took her farther away from her disastrous meeting with Kaylan, and she had
yet to find one in that category.
As a result she hung on, spending more of her plentiful supply of
coin while tempted to simply mount up and ride out on her
own.
She had been living in Quinto
for several months following her adventure with
Kaylan. Following the death of
the Nahnian prince she had taken off after the caravan and its treacherous
master. It took her almost a
moon to catch up with Iznad’s caravan, but fortunately for her the caravan
was still on the road. The huge
procession of wagons moved only a few leagues a day at best, and the same
storm that had forced Kaylan and his men to halt had also halted the
caravan. With a good horse under
her it she eventually came within sight of the rear of the
caravan.
Coming upon the caravan
from behind she was not so easily spotted and she was almost upon the rearmost
wagon before one of the outriders spotted
her. He immediately gave the
alarm and within a few heartbeats more than a dozen riders were headed toward
her. Dressed in Kaylan’s
black armour, and riding his horse it was not apparent to those riding toward
her that she was not the Prince of Nahn until she removed her
helmet.
She allowed the riders to
approach to within hailing distance before revealing
herself. Removing her helmet
she shook out her flame-red banner, leaving no doubt who they
faced.
The revelation brought them
to a complete halt and for a number of heartbeats they merely contemplated
one another. In the interval
one of the escorts rode back to the caravan and returned with the rest of
the escort, and finally Iznad.
Shailaja sat silently, waiting
for Iznad to make the first move.
Incredibly, in spite of the fact that the caravan escort outnumbered
her fifty to one, not a man made the slightest effort to approach
her. Finally Iznad
spoke. If he was surprised to
see her, his words did not show it.
“What do you want?” he
shouted.
“Three things,”
she called back. “The return
of my medallion and my dagger, and payment in full of the contract we agreed
to plus a bonus of fifty gold pieces for the difficulties I have
incurred.”
Of her three demands the
one that she knew would rankle most was the one demanding
payment. Thus it came as no surprise
that it was instantly refused.
“I see no reason to give you anything,” the merchant
replied. “Leave us now or
I will set my men upon you.”
Shailaja laughed loudly
at this response. She knew the
men who guarded Iznad and his caravan, and there was not one of them who
would risk an inch of his skin.
“Perhaps you should send Deltin against me,” she
taunted. “I am sure he will
see me off.”
She could see the man who
had taken her job hanging back among the
guards. Having faced her once,
he was not the slightest bit interested in facing her again; at least not
on his own.
“Get rid of her,”
Iznad ordered, convinced that fifty men should be able to see off one women
no matter how fierce her reputation.
To his outrage not a man moved.
“What, are you afraid
of one barbarian bitch?” he shouted.
“What am I paying you for?”
This outburst caused Deltin
to move forward. He had a number
other men backing him up, several armed with
crossbows.
Shailaja, however, was not
the least bit intimidated. She
was safe enough until the crossbowmen got within range, but such was not
the case for Iznad and his men.
Deliberately she took her bow from its case, strung it and then drew
back an arrow. This was one aspect
of her ability she had not revealed to Iznad, so he had no inkling of the
fact that the bow she drew was quite capable of speeding an arrow to where
he sat his horse. However, in
spite of the wrong he had done her she had no desire to kill the man who
was in a position to give her what she
wanted. Nor was she interested
in killing any of the rabble who posed as
guards. Instead she settled for
a simple demonstration. Releasing
the arrow she watched it speed across the gap that separated her from the
advancing guards. Her aim was
true and the feathered shaft struck the back of the rearmost wagon, only
yards from where Iznad sat his horse.
There was a flurry of movement from the guards as they dashed for
cover.
“The next shaft will
find flesh,” Shailaja warned.
“I will give you one turn of the glass to accede to my demands
and then the killing starts.”
“Kill her,” Iznad
ordered again, gesturing toward her and looking at his
men. Shailaja smiled as not one
of them made the slightest effort to place his life in
danger.
“One turn of the
glass,” she repeated.
“And then men start to die.
Send a single man on foot when you have decided to give me what I
want.” She sat her horse
as Iznad and his men beat a hasty retreat, removing themselves from arrow
range.
Iznad proved a bit more
stubborn than Shailaja had hoped, but eventually she got her
way. She had to send several
arrows among the guards before they turned on the caravan master and forced
him to do as she asked. It was
not something she particularly enjoyed, but there was the fact that none
of them had come to her defence when she was
betrayed. It was Iznad himself
that they forced out with what she
demanded. The caravan master
came on horseback, trembling with fear, but she had little more than contempt
for him. She took her payment
and her possessions and left him where he was, but not before giving him
a warning. “Consider yourself
lucky to have escaped so lightly.
Such treachery merits death and I will not stay my hand should we
meet again.” With that she
turned her horse and rode away, little suspecting that an episode of her
life she thought closed was just beginning.
She rode back toward Chen,
looking forward to a few months of
relaxation. She now had more
than enough coin to stay in the finest establishments and considered decided
that it would not hurt to take some time off after the events of the last
moon. She did not intend to remain
long in the Chen; only long enough to enjoy a few good meals and perhaps
take in a little of the town’s
entertainment. Shailaja’s
restless nature never let her stay in one place for long, which is why she
so enjoyed serving as a caravan guard.
It was a way of earning her keep and seeing as much of the world as
she could at the same time.
However, things did not quite work out the way she had
planned.
Shailaja’s first inkling
that that something was wrong was when she was overtaken by a party of heavily
armed men. They were in a
considerable hurry and thanks to the fact that the weather was dry she spotted
them coming a long way off.
Shailaja had learned to
be aware of what was going on around her, especially when travelling
alone. She had just crested a
rise and chanced to look back the way she had
come. Several leagues behind
her was a plume of dust that could only have been raised by a large number
of riders. Placing prudence ahead
of audacity, she decided it might be wise to move off the road and observe
those who were in such a hurry.
She quickly found a place
of concealment in a thick stand of fir that was situated on a small rise
and allowed her a good view of the road.
Dismounting, she tied her horse to a tree and then proceeded to a
good vantage point.
The riders numbered more
than a score and were unmistakable in
appearance. They were Nahnian
warriors and the fact that they were on the same road as she was so soon
after she had caused the death of their prince seemed more than a
coincidence. Determined to discover
what they were about she followed them, keeping well back and being careful
not to raise any dust.
She had no trouble following
them. The mountain road had few
places where it branched off and their trail was
clear. She came upon their camp
just after nightfall and made use of the darkness to steal close to their
camp.
Evading the sentries was
easy enough. The Nahnians were
trusting to their numbers and their fierce reputation as formidable warriors
to keep anyone away, so they had only two men keeping watch, more to make
sure that their horses were kept safe than anything
else. As a result she was able
to creep to within a few yards of their main fire and listen in on their
conversation.
She soon learned what she
had immediately suspected. These
were the same men that Kaylan had led, and they were bent on avenging their
leader. She was not certain how
they knew where to look for her, but she guessed that they had first gone
the same way Iznad and his caravan had gone and had gotten the information
from the caravan master. No doubt Iznad had taken some delight in putting
the Nahnians on her trail. She
also learned that there were several groups of Nahnians looking for her,
one led by Kaylan’s sister, no doubt the girl she had heard conversing
with him on the first night she had been taken
prisoner. It seemed as much as
she found her brother’s action lacking in honour, she was not above
avenging him.
Whatever the case, she concluded
that the best course of action for her was to distance herself as much as
possible from those who sought her blood.
To that end, she crept back to her horse, found a safe place to camp
and then headed the opposite direction from her pursuit.
It galled Shailaja to have
to run, but skilled as she was in the arts of war she could see little point
in attacking her pursuers. Nahnians
were known for their skill in war and although Shailaja was probably more
than a match for any of them; even with the element of surprise she could
not be certain of killing all of them.
And even if she did, what purpose would such an action
serve? She would have killed
a score of brave warriors, but she had little doubt that more would simply
be sent after her, and it was demanding too much of the gods to expect that
they would continue to smile upon her when faced with such overwhelming
odds. The best strategy was to
flee to a region of Vedra where she would be beyond
pursuit. As a result she had
travelled by a rather roundabout route to the city of
She had experienced heat
and damp before, but she learned from the local people that the condition
endured year round, actually becoming ever hotter and wetter in high
summer. As a result she regularly
checked the caravanserai to see if there was anything heading for a destination
she found interesting.
There had been a few caravans
leaving for the south, but that would take her to a region that promised
to be even hotter. As a result
she waited for a caravan that was heading
north. She would check again
today as soon as she was finished her
routines. She danced forward,
executing a complex series of movements with her blades, the sweat flying
from her body and her long braid standing straight out from her
head. It was then that she sensed
the attack.
Perhaps it was the slight
rustle of the net as it fell, or the departure of several of the brightly
coloured birds that inhabited the garden or it might even have been the sudden
movement of a butterfly as it swerved across the
garden. Whatever it was she detected
the attack less than a heartbeat before the net found
her.
She hurled herself forward,
the weighted net catching the edge of her foot as she dove toward the
lawn. She executed a perfect
forward roll and came up with her swords at the ready just as the first of
her assailants dropped from the roof of the building to the top of the
wall.
His face was concealed by
a black scarf that covered his face below the eyes and a hood covered his
head. But Shailaja was much more
concerned about the small crossbow he carried in his right
hand. At the same time she was
aware of another figure dropping to the wall on the opposite side of the
garden. A quick glance revealed
that there were just two the two opponents, but Shailaja had no defence against
the crossbow and it was already raised toward
her. She reacted instantly, leaping
toward the ornamental pond. It
was shallow, barely half a yard deep and offered no protection against a
crossbow, but on the other side was a flowering bush capable of deflecting
a quarrel and she crashed through it just as the dart from the bow flashed
through the air.
Her tactic worked and the
dart missed its mark. Shailaja
whirled and rushed toward the man wielding the bow, knowing that she could
close with him before he could reload.
Her assailant knew it too and tossed aside the
bow. He was still atop the wall,
but Shailaja was tall enough for her blades to reach him there, and he dropped
to the floor of the garden. To
her surprise he drew no weapon she recognized, but instead seemed to be holding
a number of flat discs. Before
she knew what he was about he flicked them toward her with blinding
speed.
She had a vision of whirling
edges, each as sharp as a razor and had less than a heartbeat to
react. Her twin blades flashed
out, deflecting the discs before they reached her and sending them spinning
across the garden.
The man in front of her
hissed in disbelief. “What
are you?” he muttered. But
Shailaja noted that his hands were already moving, almost certainly reaching
for another weapon and she charged across the garden, unwilling to give him
another chance to attack her.
He flicked his hand and
miraculously a light chain appeared in
it. In spite of its almost harmless
appearance Shailaja had little doubt that it was another weapon and had no
intention of giving him a chance to use
it. She closed the distance in
two strides just as he struck toward her with the chain.
It was another strange weapon
measuring some three yards in length and tipped with several needle sharp
points. But this was something
Shailaja had fought against before.
She did not like flails as weapons, but she had learned how to use
them and how to defend against them.
Her twin blades were perfectly suited to fighting such a
weapon. The sword in her right
hand caught the chain and with a flick of her wrist she wrapped it around
the blade. The action should
have played into the hands of her opponent and it would have if Shailaja
had not possessed a second blade.
She jerked on the chain and the man holding it was foolish enough
not to let go. He was pulled
into her second blade and with a twist of her wrist at the end of her blow
she took off his head.
All of this, from the crossbow
attack to the decapitation of her opponent had taken so little time that
the second of her assailants was still only halfway across the
garden. Shailaja turned to meet
her next victim.
Ara watched in shocked
incredulity. She had never seen
anyone move with the speed and precision of the redheaded
warrior. The events that had
unfolded, from the seemingly miraculous avoidance of the net to escaping
the crossbow dart left her barely able to believe her
eyes. As her master fell to the
warrior’s blade she stood stunned by the sudden turn of
events. This was not supposed
to happen. Her master was one
the most skilled members of her order and he had been defeated and killed
in a matter of a few heartbeats.
And now the warrior was turned toward her, those deadly twin blades
at the ready.
Everything had gone horribly
wrong, but Ara’s poise did not desert
her. She was one of the most
adept members of her order and would succeed in spite of the failure and
death of her master. She flicked
out her weapon and waited as the towering warrior
approached.
Only a single opponent remained
and Shailaja wasted no time in moving toward
her. Who knew what strange weapon
this second adversary might possess.
But as she neared the hooded figure she
hesitated. It was the first and
last time in battle that she wavered in the face of an enemy and it had nothing
to do with fear. As she stood
ready to do battle she realized that her opponent was a
woman.
The sex of her enemy should
not have been a factor. She had
known women warriors before and women thieves as well, which is what she
supposed this one was. There
was no reason for her indecision, but for some reason she stopped and stared
at her opponent. Her foolishness
almost cost her life.
The woman moved her hand
and something snaked outward.
Instinctively Shailaja raised her blade to deflect it and a strange
metallic cord wrapped around the blade.
The end of it touched her hand and there was a flash of excruciating
pain followed by a feeling of utter numbness that rapidly spread up her
arm. With a cry she dropped the
sword from her left hand, but had the presence of mind to strike hard with
her right. The woman ducked,
but Shailaja’s reach was such the movement was an instant too
late. The tip of the blade cut
through the muscles joining her neck to her shoulder and she went down with
a scream, her life’s blood spilling into the green grass of the
garden.
Shailaja staggered as the
deadening sensation spread up her arm to her
shoulder. Whatever poison was
on the cord that had struck her, it was deadly
effective. She dropped to her
knees as debilitating pain swept through her and a scream of sheer agony
burst from her lips. Somehow
she did not faint from the pain, instead, gritting her teeth she forced herself
to her feet and staggered over to the woman she had cut
down.
Amazingly, the woman was
still alive, although just barely.
Fighting back the pain and paralysis, Shailaja knelt beside her and
raised her head. It was easy
to see that she was near death, but she might live long enough to tell reveal
something of who had hired her.
Ripping off a part of the
woman’s dark costume, Shailaja used it to staunch the bleeding, but
she knew that without skills that far exceeded hers, the woman had not long
to live.
She opened her eyes as Shailaja
held her. She was young, probably
no older than Shailaja and had the fine dark hair and dark eyes typical of
the people of the south. She
stared up at Shailaja and gasped out a few
words. “How did you survive
the klamma? It should have rendered
you helpless.”
Klamma.
The name of the poisonous plant explained what had been done to
her. Shailaja was still in agony
from its affects, but she ignored the question and asked her
own. “Who sent
you? Why did you try to kill
me?”
“Not kill,” the
woman gasped.
“Capture. Don’t
know who wanted you just
followed….”
At that moment the woman’s
eyes rolled up into her head.
Her breathing was so shallow
that Shailaja knew she had only a few moments more to
live. She lowered the woman’s
head and a rolled up the sleeve on her right
arm.
As Shailaja had already
guessed she bore the mark of the Society of Seekers, one of the infamous
assassin guilds. As the woman
gave a last sigh and then died Shailaja moved to the man she had
killed. He too bore an identical
tattoo. Other than that there
was nothing on either of them that revealed the slightest bit of information
about them but it was enough. The
woman’s words had revealed that Shailaja was still a hunted
woman. The Nahnians still seemed
bent on vengeance due to the death of their
prince. Assassins were expensive
and Shailaja had just killed two of them.
She knew that she could no longer remain in
Quinto. If she had been found
once she could be found again.
Her plans for the day
drastically changed, she returned to the inn, taking care to wear her cloak
in order to hide the bloodstains on her
clothing. She had pulled the
bodies to one corner of he garden and placed them where they would not
immediately be noticed. She had
little time to explain things to the town authorities and guessed that they
would figure out for themselves the origin of the slain
assassins.
Getting to her feet, she
used her right hand to pick up her other
sword. Her left was still so
numb that it could hold nothing, but at least the terrible pain of the klamma
had faded. By the time she reached
the baths a little of the normal sensation had
returned. To her relief she found
that the baths were deserted at this time of day and she quickly washed
herself. She did not linger long,
simply making sure she was clean; then she returned to her room, gathered
up her few possessions and left the inn.
Her arm still tingled as
she headed to the stables, but she was able to saddle her horse and then
ride to the horse market where she traded in her horse for one that suited
her better. She did not get as
good a price as she would have liked, as she was in a bit of a hurry and
did not have time to shop the warhorse
around. She wanted an animal
that was suited to travelling long distances and was less distinctive than
the magnificent beast she had taken from Kaylan.
She cursed her luck as she
left the town behind her. For
all her fortune in battle it seemed that the gods took a perverse delight
in playing with her. She had
won her freedom from Kaylan but at the cost of constantly looking over her
shoulder. Whoever wanted her
was willing to pay a considerable amount of gold in order to get
her. The Society of Seekers was
not cheap. More disturbing, however,
was the fact that the Nahnians wanted her
alive. She could well imagine
why and the thought of being the centrepiece of a public execution or perhaps
subjected to torture before being allowed to die was something she did not
look forward to.
She realized that she must
find a place where her distinctive appearance was unknown and to that end
she headed for one of the few places she thought might fit that
requirement. At the very southern
tip of Vedra was a city Shailaja had heard spoken of only as some sort of
a legend. It was said to be the
greatest city in the world, but was so isolated from the rest of the continent
that few people travelled there. It
was also said that its wealth was built upon an abomination she detested;
that of slavery. However, it
seemed to her to be her best chance and she turned her horse in that
direction. She headed south toward
the dry lands of southern Vedra and a place where she hoped that she might
finally find peace.
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