Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) Page 2

  The pub was silent. The other patrons moved away slightly, but all eyes now fastened on the drama of the two mercenaries. This promised to be entertaining.

  Conn's eyes grew cold. He began to turn. Trilisean started to object, but the Aeransman held up a hand.

  “Remember that Jarving I told you about?” he whispered. “The one I speared?”

  She nodded.

  “He had ten times Donnough's intellect. This is no threat.”

  “But you're drunk,” she hissed.

  “No. I'm pleasantly warm. If I were drunk, I'd be twice as witty and thrice as handsome. Damned irresistible, I'd be.”

  He climbed to his feet. He looked the big man in the eye, which required some tilting of his head, and addressed him as one might a slow child.

  “I know your mother and the four or five chief suspects for your father didn't teach you manners, but don't insult a woman in my presence.”

  Trilisean looked from man to man. Donnough's face reddened, his muscles bunched. Conn stood seemingly relaxed, but to an experienced eye, he was perfectly balanced, weight slightly resting on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. She flexed her wrist to check the position of her dagger anyway.

  The big man finally seemed to control his anger. “Sorry, lad. I forgot how talk of whores upsets you. It must be tough having them charge you double. Out of repugnance, it must be. Me, I've always gotten half price.”

  “Donnough,” said Conn. “I'm so sorry. We all thought you knew. Is that why you thought – I mean, you never knew they charge by the inch?”

  The room erupted in laughter. The big man's face went crimson. He ripped his sword from its sheath and swung at the smaller man's head, his blade a silver blur.

  Trilisean's dagger was in her hand, reversed for a throw, but she never got the chance. Conn flowed out of the way of the cut. Trilisean had never seen a man move like that. He twisted sideways and leaned back gracefully. The blade sang past his face. His right arm whipped out, coiling around Donnough's wrist. He stepped in, punched the big man in the kidney with his left, and as his foe sagged, butted his forehead into the man's nose.

  “Drop the blade, lad,” Conn said gently, his left hand applying force to his enemy's elbow as his right held the wrist locked, bringing Donnough down on one knee.

  The big man struggled, but Conn increased the pressure, causing him to gasp and drop to his other knee.

  “You're gonna drop it anyway when I pop your arm loose from its moorings. Best for us all if you let it go now.”

  Donnough's fingers opened and the heavy blade rang on the floorboards. Conn stepped away.

  The big man staggered to his feet, rubbing his right arm. He looked uncertainly at Conn.

  “Go ahead. Pick it up. Then go.”

  Donnough tried to retrieve his sword, but his right hand wouldn't obey. He clumsily picked it up and sheathed it with his left. He glared for a moment, then turned and headed for the door.

  “Donnough,” Conn called.

  The big man turned back.

  “I'm enjoying a good drink and good company this night, so I didn't want to ruin it by spilling entrails all over the floor. Tell the captain that the next man he sends won't likely find me in so pleasant a mood.”

  Donnough walked out without another word.

  Conn resumed his seat. “Sorry about that.”

  Trilisean, her hands beneath the table, returned her dagger to its sheath. “Not at all. It was fine entertainment. If I’d known you could move like that, I'd never have tried to lighten your purse.”

  “Then I'm glad you didn't know, or we'd not have met. I’m not above drinking alone, but it’s better with company.”

  “Why didn't you draw your sword?” she asked. “He meant to kill you.”

  “If I'd drawn, somebody would have gotten killed. Probably him, but maybe me. I know Donnough. I know he favors the cut to the head for starters, and I know he'd be overconfident facing an unarmed man. If I'd had my blade out, he'd have been more careful, and it may have come out different.”

  “Well, I'm glad it ended as it did.”

  “As am I.” He tore another hunk of bread. “Now, why don't you tell me about yourself? You've heard and seen enough about me.”

  She smiled. “Not yet, I don't think. And not here.”

  “That's hardly fair, you know. You have me at a considerable disadvantage.”

  “You've had more to drink. And men are always happy to talk about themselves.”

  “You wound me.”

  “And I think we'd best be leaving. Your burly friend will tell his boss, and there'll be more people looking soon enough.”

  “You're probably right,” Conn sighed, tipping the last of his ale down his throat.

  “If you really have no plans,” she said, thinking of his value in a brawl, “I may have some employment for you. If you'd consent to a partnership.”

  “Sounds better than following a damnfool captain. Let's leave this charming venue and discuss it.”

  * * *

  Two nights later, as Conn walked through the city streets in the dead of night, he wondered if he really had made a wise career move. He wasn't risking his life for the ambitions of a petty mercenary officer with delusions of grandeur, but he was risking it at the request of an attractive woman.

  He thought back to the previous evening as he silently followed the shadowy form before him.

  * * *

  “So it's perfect. Don't you see?” Trilisean smiled triumphantly. Conn didn't see. He saw how her eyes flashed with an enthusiasm he desperately wanted to share, no matter how ill-founded his logical side felt it was. Her every gesture spoke of supreme confidence. He tried not to dwell on the fact that she hadn't succeeded in robbing him. “We steal the jewel, the clients get the information from it, we get a pile of cash and the slavers take the hit. It's absolutely brilliant!”

  It's madness. We're going to die, part of his mind screamed. He thought for a long moment about life and death, then drank in the look of childlike excitement in her smile, her sparkling eyes, and the stray wisps of her dark hair that escaped, catching the candlelight and making a halo around her face. We're going to die!

  “Well, I'm in,” he said.

  * * *

  A fresh sea breeze swept through the street. The clean air told Conn they must be in a wealthy section of the city, high on the hills overlooking the harbor. The sewers here were well maintained, and carried the filth downhill. Here, the wealthy could look down on the dubious panorama that was Laimrig, high above the stink and squalor. The city was almost pretty from this vantage, above everything but the Sollych. The ancient black spire loomed above even the loftiest residences of Laimrig, and even the mighty labored in its shadow. The Aeransman wondered what effect that would have on a city, always in sight of a monument whose purpose they didn't know, whose construction they could never imitate and whose form they could never destroy. It was a reminder of how far they had fallen.

  Conn wondered again why he was on this mission. The young thief made him feel alive just being in her presence. He hadn't been inspired in a long time. He felt like he had those first years, when he still cared what he fought for. The odds certainly weren't better then.

  * * *

  “So this employment opportunity is to rob the well-guarded mansion of the biggest slaver in the city? Just the two of us? I don't know why men aren't jumping at the chance.”

  “It's a risk, yes,” she persisted, “but it's a lot of money. And it's well within our abilities. I saw how you moved at the tavern. You're more than a match for any three of his guards. And I know I can get through the security he has. I've gotten full details on the house from the servants. I'm not some two farthing cutpurse.”

  * * *

  He was impressed with her ability to move noiselessly, to blend into the shadows of the street. She moved with the calm confidence of one who is in her own element. He had never seen someone so skilled. The rebels with whom he snuck
into Jarving camps to cut the throats of sleeping foes were nothing compared to her.

  * * *

  “Why so happy to rob from the slavers?” Conn inquired. “Not that I've any love for them, but you seem to harbor a special hatred.”

  Trilisean lowered her eyes and chewed her lip for a moment, as though wondering how much to tell him. On the one hand, he understood, as they had just met. On the other, she was asking him to join her in a very dangerous undertaking. If she could trust him with her life, she should be able to trust him with this information.

  She reached back and untied her scarf. She gathered her long hair and held it aside, then bent her head to reveal a small mark branded on the back of her neck.

  She straightened, looked him in the eye, as though daring him to make a comment. He remained silent, his expression the same gentle, inquisitive smile as before.

  * * *

  They stopped outside a walled villa. Trilisean froze, held up one slender white hand, and melted into shadow. The wall around the courtyard was ten feet high, of mortared stone plastered smooth. A single gate of thick ironbound oak controlled access to the cobbled streets. A sentry stood outside, leaning against the archway in a bored manner. Conn gave him credit for being awake at all. There was a bell and a pull rope for the man to sound an alarm or announce a visitor, but Trilisean assured him the man had no key. The gate could only be opened from inside. The owner saw to it that even bribing or subduing the guard would not gain entry.

  Conn himself wasn't sure how they were to get through. That fell clearly within Trilisean's duties. Like a good soldier, he stood as still and silently as possible and awaited instructions.

  Trilisean removed her scarf and doubled it, holding the ends in her right hand. She reached into the pouch at her belt and produced a small spherical object, which she dropped into the cup of fabric. A sling. She's been wearing a deadly weapon around her neck all along, he thought.

  “This should take him out,” she breathed in a tone softer than a whisper. “When it hits, rush up and catch the body. Don't let him hit the cobbles too hard, and by no means let him get a hand on the bell rope!”

  He nodded, afraid to even try to match her silence. How she expected a sling stone to strike quietly was her affair. He assumed she knew what she was doing.

  Trilisean whirled the sling and let fly. The missile arced out of the shadows and struck square on the guard's armor, two inches below his chin.

  Conn started forward with a swallowed curse, expecting the clash of stone on steel and the grunt of pain from the sentry.

  As the ball struck, however, it burst into powder. The soldier gasped, inhaling a mouthful. He tried to scream but no sound came. He staggered, reached out blindly, and then his legs were collapsing beneath him and he fell into Conn's arms.

  The former mercenary eased the unconscious guard to the cobbles, placing the body carefully in the shadows, propped up against the arch so that a casual passer-by would think the man had fallen asleep on duty. In some neighborhoods that might be an invitation to cut his throat and rob him, but at least the kind of people who'd do that wouldn't tell the Watch they suspected a burglary.

  “I have a good friend who's an apothecary,” she whispered, grinning like a child at play.

  “Now what?” he whispered.

  She put her lips close to his ear. “The gate is barred from inside. I'll climb over and let you through. Don't worry if you hear nothing. I may have to wait for a patrol to pass.”

  “And if I hear something?”

  “Worry.” She flashed him a smile and sprang up the wall.

  Conn was amazed to see a human climb like that. It was as though she skipped from foothold to foothold, her hands finding crevices that were simply not there. She was over in seconds with no more noise than the evening fog.

  Conn waited. And waited. He'd had plenty of practice in the infantry, but never got comfortable with it. He noticed that the guard was breathing regularly. The powder didn't seem to have done any lasting harm.

  Eventually, the gate swung open a few inches. He pressed his ear to it.

  “Open only as much as you need to squeeze through.”

  He did so, pushing the door open just a bit. It wasn't as much as it would have been had he worn any armor this night. It made him feel vulnerable, but the creak of leather and the jingle of mail would give them away even if the glint of light on steel did not.

  Once through, he eased the door closed. The yard around the manor house was planted with trees and adorned with ornamental fountains and plantings of flowers. It was pleasant, and that was its purpose. It wasn't designed for defense, and that was fortunate. In the gloom of the courtyard Trilisean waited, crouched in the shadow of an ancient elm, scanning for patrolling guards.

  * * *

  “I was a slave. I grew up in the pens. I never knew my parents. I don't know if they were slaves, if I was captured in a raid as an infant, or if I was sold or taken to pay a debt. I grew up knowing my life was strange, but not what normal was. At around twelve, I'm not sure because I don't know the date of my birth, I found out what I was intended for. I was to be sold as a pleasure slave. All the glory of whoring without the pay. I wasn't having that.”

  * * *

  He crouched beside Trilisean. “Move when I move,” she breathed. “There are soldiers on the grounds.”

  He waited, trying to steady his heartbeat, until she glided forward to another patch of cover. He followed quietly. While definitely less skilled than she, he was no amateur. Conn had fought a war of ambush in the forests and hills of Aeran. He had survived because he had learned to move quietly and patiently.

  After several more bounds, they reached the wall of the house. The building was of stone, ancient and weathered. There were windows of real leaded glass, fitted within wooden latticework. It must have been costly at one time, but now the wood was beginning to show its age.

  Trilisean crept to a window, and slid a small, supple metal pick in between the frames of the two halves.

  After a moment, she swung the windows carefully open and climbed through. Conn followed.

  * * *

  “I escaped. I knew how to dance, and how to move lightly, so I managed to join a group of entertainers. I learned juggling, knife throwing, acrobatics. All of which were to prov…” she paused, seeking an appropriate word, then smiled, “useful.”

  * * *

  They found themselves in a neglected sitting room. A relic of grander days, it now served as storage. Furniture stood draped in cloth, and chests were piled in haphazard stacks. The air was thick with dust.

  “We'll leave this room, turn right down a hallway. The third door is the stairway to the cellars. That's where our goal is,” she explained. “Nobody should notice this window unlocked, or scratches near the latch. Nobody comes in here.”

  She paused at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They waited in silence for the sound to pass, but the steps stopped at the door. They heard muffled voices, and giggling as the handle was turned. With a stifled curse, Conn and Trilisean rolled under a large oaken table, the cloth over it hanging almost to the floor. Conn put his head on its side and peered under the cloth with one eye.

  The door swung open. In the dim light from the hallway, he saw two pairs of feet, one large and booted and the other small, delicate and in the simple sandals of a servant girl. The newcomers made their way into the room with whispers and giggles, closing the door furtively behind them. The sounds of kissing and breathy murmurs soon replaced the giggles. The two pair of feet, now moving together, came to a halt beside the table. The table creaked as the couple leaned against it.

  Conn, new to the role of voyeur, stifled a laugh and looked at Trilisean. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw her bite her lip to stop the laughter. Master burglar foiled by servants' illicit affair.

  Above their hiding place, the couple grew more urgent. Soft moans accompanied the kissing sounds, and soon they heard the rustle of
clothing sliding away. There was a grunt as the woman's feet were lifted away from the floor and the table creaked with her weight upon it.

  As a pair of trousers slid down into view around the booted ankles, Conn bit his hand to keep quiet.

  Soon, the table began to creak rhythmically to the accompaniment of soft groans both masculine and feminine. Eventually, the couple above reached the inevitable climax.

  The noises above changed to soft endearments, and protests that he had to return to his post before he was noticed, and she swore to keep the secret. Soon the pair dressed and left, carefully pausing at the door to listen before exiting.

  When the door closed, the thief and the warrior shook with silent laughter.

  “Alright,” she gasped quietly, “that was an obstacle I hadn't foreseen.”

  Conn wiped his eyes. “To almost be found by the enemy because the guards were neglecting their duty. What a bitter irony that would be.”

  He grinned. “You'd think a gentleman would at least take his boots off,” he whispered.

  She convulsed with quiet laughter and punched him in the arm. Raised eyebrows cautioning him to curb his sense of humor.

  “And such a romantic location.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook for a moment. He leaned close and breathed in her ear.

  “The enchanting beauty of musty dropcloths. The heady scent of dust that sets hearts alight…”

  She breathed back, “Never will they smell mildew again without thinking of this tender moment.”

  * * *

  “I was happy, I suppose. Until the leader of the troupe told me if I wanted to go up, I'd have to go down.” The sparkle in her eyes was the cold glint off a sword's point.

  “I'm not a prude or an innocent. But I won't be used that way. I'll sell my skills, but not my body. If I choose to please a man, it's because I want to. Not because I want something from him. I ran again. Only this time I was prepared. My old teachers learned very soon that I would not be trifled with. I could get into places that everyone thought were secure, make a knife appear from thin air, and vanish into the shadows.”