Knight of Shadows, page 12
Rezkin followed.
Lightning lit the sky as Rezkin turned down the side street in pursuit of the witness. He could no longer see the man, but he caught a glimpse of the coat as the man rounded another building. Practicing with Azeria and Entris had helped Rezkin become faster, and he used that speed now to catch up to the witness. He darted around the building and narrowly escaped being impaled on the end of a sword for his efforts. He dodged to the side and drew Bladesunder as he did so. He brought the Sheyalin down to block a strike just as the man lunged. When the two blades clashed, they emitted a blue spark that flashed like the lightning above. That was when Rezkin noticed the blue swirls in the other man’s blade. He, too, had a Sheyalin. The man was a Swordbearer. But to whom did this Swordbearer belong? Caydean or the dead king Bordran?
Rezkin could not stop to ask as the man continued his assault. After bringing his blade up to meet an overhead strike, Rezkin dodged to the side and swept his own sword toward the man’s ribs. The man dropped his arm and met the attempt with a clang and flash of blue lightning. Rezkin was not deterred, though. He continued to press the enemy as much as the man was pressing him. Although the man was a skilled Swordmaster and his longsword had greater reach, Rezkin was faster as he dodged and blocked every attempt to end him. After several long minutes, the man began to slow. His sodden coat may have protected him from the rain for a time, but at that time it was only a hindrance. Rezkin had no such restrictions as he darted in to score the man’s side. On the next exchange, Rezkin drew blood from the man’s forearm. A moment later, he had stabbed the man’s shoulder. This continued for several more minutes. Each time Rezkin drew more blood but never enough to spill the man’s life into the street.
The assailant was bleeding profusely from numerous wounds when he stepped back and with a heavy breath said in Ashaiian, “Who are you? Who sent you?”
Rezkin said, “I would ask the same of you.”
The man growled with a clenched jaw and swung his sword down toward Rezkin’s head.
Rezkin dodged. “Why do you attack me? You do not know that we are enemies.”
“I don’t know that we’re not,” replied the man as he lunged.
Rezkin parried and pressed forward as he continued to inflict damage upon the man’s body. He stabbed the man in the shoulder above his sword arm, and the man abruptly lost use of that arm, dropping his Sheyalin into the mud at his feet. The man turned to flee, but his boots stuck in the mud. Rezkin took the opportunity to stab the man through the back. The man slid off Rezkin’s blade as he fell forward to collapse into the now bloody puddle in the road. Rezkin kicked the man, flipping him over so that he could see his face. He sheathed his sword and drew his serrated knife, which he held to the man’s throat as he knelt beside his head.
He said, “Who do you serve?”
“There is only one man to serve, and that is King Caydean. I do not believe you to be one of his. Was I right?”
“We serve the same master,” replied Rezkin. “You did not need to die.”
Blood burbled up the man’s throat to stain his lips as he released a pained laugh. “I s’pose it’s a fitting end for my miserable existence. At least I was killed by someone worthy and not by some wretch who just got lucky.”
Rezkin took a chance, “I have a message for our agents here, but I do not know where they are.”
The man coughed up frothy blood and sputtered, “No, you wouldn’t. They moved only a few nights ago. They’re in the old mill just outside of town to the east, where the road bends. Tell them Jeiro sent you.”
Rezkin started to move away, but the man caught him by the sleeve pulling him back. He wheezed, “Don’t forget the sword. The king will want it returned.”
“Of course, friend,” said Rezkin with a pat to the man’s hand.
The hand went slack as the Swordbearer released his last breath. Rezkin did not delay in removing the man’s sword belt and securing it over his own hips. He braced himself and his will as he grasped the handle of the Sheyalin. The enchantments preventing anyone but the user from using it did not activate, though. The Swordbearer was dead and so were the enchantments, apparently. After retrieving the abandoned Sheyalin from the mud, Rezkin dragged the man’s body into an alley and left him there.
By the time Rezkin exited the alley, the heavy rain had already diluted the blood in the road. Rezkin wished the body were so easily disposed of, but hiding it would have to do. No one would find him until the rain had abated anyway. Rezkin quickly made his way back to the stables to retrieve his mount. Then he retrieved his pack and Seena and headed back into the rain. Seena hid from the storm in his satchel, and Rezkin was amused that a dragon would be afraid of a little bit of lightning. She was a young dragon, though, so perhaps she would grow more accustomed to it with time.
Rezkin’s horse, too, was anxious though, and once again he wished he had Pride. He had not realized the depth of his attachment to the battle charger until he no longer had him. He briefly wondered if feeling a bond for one’s horse was a violation of the Rules. He was not exactly emotional about the steed, but he did long for his presence. He decided it was a grey area that should not require so much thought.
Rezkin saw no one in the streets as he made his way out of town heading east. He hoped the mill was easy to find for he did not relish the idea of searching in the rain and the dark for the remainder of the night. But it turned out it was just as the Swordbearer had said. He found the mill at the bend in the road, its sails spinning furiously in the wind. The plot of land was overgrown but free of trees close to the buildings. To the side of the mill was another building attached to a silo, and a barn was nestled beyond that.
Rezkin secured his horse to a post outside the buildings. He left the Swordbearer’s Sheyalin with his horse but took Bladesunder and the black blade strapped to his back. Then he headed toward the building beside the mill where he could see the soft glow of an oil lamp through the window. He rapped on the door, and it opened quickly. On the other side were several sharp points of steel aimed at him.
Rezkin said, “Jeiro sent me.”
The blades lowered, but the men behind them continued to look at him with suspicion. “How do you know Jeiro?” said the man in the center. The man’s ears were a bit too large, his eyes were a bit too far apart, and his mouth was slack lending him a dimwitted appearance.
Rezkin partially slid Bladesunder free from its scabbard, “He and I have something in common.”
The center man sheathed his sword as did the stocky man next to him. Another put away his knives and a fourth turned to drop his cudgel on the table behind him. Then the four of them moved back to allow Rezkin entry.
Rezkin stepped into the small room, and a puddle quickly formed beneath him from his dripping clothes. A good-sized fire was warming the hearth to his right, and an oil lamp sat on a side table by the window. The rest of the room was occupied by a large dining table and six mismatched wooden chairs, two of which were occupied, one by a man with a beard and a severe expression, and another by a woman with a doll-like face but hard, angry eyes.
“Who are you?” said the dimwitted-looking man as he rounded the table and fell into a chair on the other side.
Rezkin said, “My name is not important. Only the message is.”
“Message? What message?” snapped the woman. “Why didn’t this message come through the usual channels?”
Rezkin met her anger with cool grace. “This message was too sensitive to risk the relay.” Rezkin’s gaze passed over the group, and he said, “Where are the others?” In truth, he did not know how many spies were in this sect, but he assumed they would not all be holed up in this little building at once.
Dimwit said, “Ignatio and Parvus are on assignment, and Trent had an unfortunate accident. He won’t be joining us.”
Rezkin gave him a sharp look. “He was discovered?”
“Let’s just say he got a little too close to the mark,” said the man.
Rezkin nodded as if he knew what the man was talking about or even cared.
The woman asked, “What’s the message?”
He stared hard at her, and his voice held an edge, “That depends on how things are going. I am not just a messenger. It is my job to decide how we proceed from here. What have you learned about the rebel forces?”
“Funny you should ask,” said dimwit. “We received intel on that traitor, Marcum. Apparently, he is to meet in secret with the three dukes—”
“Former dukes,” interjected the bearded man.
“Right,” said dimwit. “They’re to meet at Wellinven in three weeks’ time.”
“Atressian and Darning agreed to this?” asked Rezkin.
The woman chuckled, “I wouldn’t put it past Atressian to use the opportunity to assassinate Nirius.”
The bearded man said, “Perhaps this is a good thing. They can kill each other for us. Problem solved.”
“We’re not leaving it to chance,” said Dimwit. “General Ulessa has already sent someone to deal with them. They won’t be leaving the meeting alive.”
“You mean they won’t be leaving the meeting at all,” said the bearded man.
“That’s what I said,” huffed Dimwit.
“You said they wouldn’t be leaving alive, which implies they could still leave if they were dead.”
Dimwit said, “Why do you always do this? You’re always picking apart my words—”
“Enough!” boomed Rezkin’s voice over the nattering. “Tell me of this attack on Wellinven.”
Dimwit said, “Sorry, boss. That’s all we’ve got. It’s on a need to know. If you want more information, you’ll have to get it from Ulessa.”
“General Ulessa,” said the bearded man.
Dimwit lunged for the bearded man, and the others crowded around them, some calling for them to break it up and others shouting encouragement. Rezkin used the distraction as an opportunity to draw the black blade and plunge it through the nearest man’s back. As he silently slid from Rezkin’s blade, Rezkin dragged a knife across another’s throat from behind.
The woman screamed, but it took a few more seconds for the men to collect themselves enough to notice what was happening. In that time, Rezkin had brought the black blade around to slice a third man, who had been reaching for his cudgel, nearly in two. The last three managed to draw their weapons as they pushed back from the table and stood. Rezkin launched a throwing dagger at the woman, and it lodged itself in her shoulder causing her to drop her rapier with a clatter.
Dimwit lunged for Rezkin with his sword raised, but Rezkin easily knocked it to the side. Then he took the man’s arm off at the elbow. As the man cried out and fell back, Rezkin exchanged blows with the bearded man. With each clash of their blades, the black blade ignited with green lightning. Rezkin quickly disarmed the man and stabbed him through the gut. It was a fatal wound, but it would take a long time for the man to die. Rezkin sheathed his blade and reached for the woman. She kicked out at him, but he managed to wrestle her into submission with little effort. He pulled a length of cord from a pouch at his waist and wrapped it around her arms behind her back, then he secured her to the chair. Next, he tied up the other two men. He used additional cord as a tourniquet on Dimwit’s stump so that he would not bleed out too quickly.
Once everyone was subdued, he set to questioning them. When he was through with the interrogation, he made sure that none of them would ever speak again. Then he marked each of the bodies with a raven before dragging them out into the storm and lining them up along the front of the building. When that was finished, he led his horse to the barn where he found the spies’ horses stabled. The barn was sturdy and dry, so he shucked his wet clothes and hung them up before changing into a fresh set of clothes and settling in for the rest of the night.
As he sat on the fresh hay cleaning and drying his weapons, he recalled the last time he had done such a thing. A little tortoise-shell cat had groomed his hair as she cuddled up to him. Rezkin wondered what Cat was doing now, and he found himself aching for her company. He spied the little dragon occupying the hay next to him. She was sprawled on her back with her wings spread wide and her hands and legs sticking into the air. Her tail was curled around her body, and her head at the end of her long neck was turned toward him. Her lips turned up in a semblance of a grin as she blinked at him lazily with icy-blue eyes.
In his mind, she said, “Sleep?”
He nodded, “Yes, sleep now. Tomorrow we will go.”
Chapter 9
Azeria arrived in the human city of Krellis just as the sun was setting. Her first impression was one of confusion. There were few permanent structures in the city as it seemed most of the people lived in tents or huts constructed of reeds and grass. She could not imagine living in such rudimentary conditions all the time, and she wondered what drove these people to live in such a way. She had no one to ask, though, since Mage Wesson had stayed behind in Kaibain. She wrinkled her nose as she focused on her surroundings. The area near the docks smelled strongly of fish, and that, mingled with the heat beneath her hooded cloak, made her stomach queasy.
She stopped to ask a merchant for directions to the city’s news office, if it had such a thing, which it did, and then she moved quickly through the throng. She passed stall upon stall selling fish and other goods as she made her way toward the city’s center. She found the place easily enough. The news office was located on the first floor of one of the few buildings that occupied the street. Outside the office hung a large board to which many notices were nailed. She scanned it for any information on the Raven. It was not easy for her. Although she had learned to speak the human trade language of Ashaiian fluently, she had not been the best student when it came to reading the language. Still, she managed well enough to find what she was searching for. One notice offered a reward for any information that led to the capture of the Raven.
She snagged the notice and entered the news office. A woman was sitting behind a desk just inside. Her hair was tied in a tight bun at the back of her head, and she wore a pair of spectacles low on her nose. She was so engrossed in perusing some missive that she did not immediately notice Azeria standing before her. When she finally glanced up, she yelped with a start as she leapt to her feet.
“Oh, my dear, you startled me! I didn’t hear you come in.”
Azeria said, “I apologize for startling you.” She held up the notice she had taken from the board outside, “I have some questions about this man.”
The woman gave her a knowing look, “You aren’t the only one. Are you interested in the reward? It’s quite the sum, now, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I would like to know anything you know about him.”
As she plopped back into her seat, the woman said, “Honey, I know that’s a lot of money, but if you want my advice, you should steer clear of that one. He’s known all over Ashai and even Channería for being a brutal criminal overlord. In fact, just last week he killed a general right here at this garrison. A general! Can you believe it?”
Azeria pursed her lips as she considered the information. She said, “How do you know it was him?”
Pointing to the rough sketch of a raven scrawled across the notice, she said, “He leaves his mark on his victims.”
“I see,” said Azeria. “But it could have been anyone, could it not? Perhaps someone else killed this general and left the raven’s mark to throw off suspicion.”
The woman blinked at her several times. “Well, I suppose that’s true. I hadn’t thought of that. But the general was killed in his own bed in the middle of the garrison, and nobody saw anything suspicious. Whoever it was, they are very, very good.”
“Was there any indication of where this Raven may be headed next?”
The woman shook her head. “None that I know of. His mark is all the evidence he left behind. We don’t even know why he killed the general.”
Still unsatisfied with the lack of information, Azeria thanked the woman and turned to leave. She stopped as the woman called out, “Hey, do me a favor and hang that back up on the board before you leave.”
Azeria did as she was bade then headed back onto the street. She was heartened that she seemed to be on the Raven’s trail but a little disappointed that there was no indication of where he was headed next. He had been going east, though, just as the guildmaster in Kaibain had said. This was good news considering the task she had been given by the guildmaster. Azeria was to deliver a small box to someone in the Channerían capital city of Serret. While Azeria held no love for the Raven’s guild, she was as good as her word. She had said she would deliver the item, and she would. Hopefully she would find the Raven in the process.
She had no intention of staying in the city, so she steadily made her way to the edge of town where she found a horse trader. She used the human currency she had obtained in Cael to purchase a mount, a saddle, and tack then headed east past the garrison. She noticed a plethora of guards stationed about the fort and assumed the precaution had to do with the general being killed right under their noses. Azeria had no idea why the Raven had killed the man, but since the general had served Caydean, she conceded that, at least in this, the Raven had been on her side.
The journey east to Channería was marked by few merchants heading in the same direction, and even fewer passing in the other direction. After several days, one such merchant pulled his wagon up beside her.
“Hi, ho! Greetings to the traveler,” the merchant said. He had a strong accent that Azeria had come to know as being Channerían in nature.
She did not stop but politely returned his greeting. “Greetings to the traveler.”
“Where might you be headed, dear lady?”
Azeria gave him a sidelong look, wondering why he was talking to her at all. Her answer was clipped. “East.”
