Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) (5 page)

Eventually, the other patrons drifted out. Trilisean melted into a rack of cloaks hanging in a shadowed corner. Vaigh waited until the door closed. He swept the room with a trained eye. Trilisean held her breath, closed her eyes and willed his gaze to slide off her. The darkness which had so long been her ally did not fail her.

Fayl eased his bulk out from behind the counter and locked the door of the shop. He walked back, rubbing his meaty palms, “What'd you find, boy?”

Vaigh lifted his satchel onto the counter, emptying out several large gold objects. Trilisean stifled a gasp as Fayl lifted a heavy candlestick, ornately engraved and studded with precious stones.

“Nice,” said Fayl, turning his attention to a candlestick. “There a lot of this around?”

“Aye,” muttered Vaigh. “How much for the lot?”

“Well, it's all good, pure metal, pricy stones, nobody like to come lookin' for it. Fifty crowns.”

“Bollocks. It's worth a hundred and you know it.”

“It's not a style that's much in demand, friend. Plus, not many people are interested in this price range. I may have to break ‘em up, melt down some of the stuff. I've got costs, y'know. I’ll give you seventy”

“Eighty five.”

“Seventy five or try to fence ‘em yourself.”

“Done.”

Fayl began to count out coins as Vaigh scowled. “Can't believe I'm the one they call a thief.”

I can't believe you call yourself one either,
thought Trilisean.

“Supply and demand, my boy,” the fence replied serenely. “Market forces. No point fightin' it. A client of mine was wondering about a crystal. Round. About the size of fist. No chance you saw anything like that?”

“Didn't hang around long,” Vaigh mumbled, eyes downcast. “Wasn't safe.”

“No chance you'd want to make a return trip? There could be a few marks up front.”

Vaigh looked him straight in the eye and spoke more clearly and calmly than at any time before. “Not a fucking chance.”

“There's a lot of money in it.”

“Not for my weight in gold or your weight in submissive dancing girls.” He scooped up the seventy five crowns and dumped them in his pouch. “Treasure's nothing unless you live to spend it.”

Fayl unlocked the door and let the thief go. He shut the door behind Vaigh's departing back and sighed.

“You robbed him, you know.”

Fayl spun around with a speed that belied his corpulent frame.

Trilisean sat cross-legged on the counter, critically examining a chalice. “This is worth a hundred crowns for the jewels alone. And you wouldn't deal this way unless you had a buyer lined up already.”

“A man has to make a profit,” said Fayl defensively, walking over and snatching the chalice from her. “You're not going to lecture me on business practices, are you?”

“Actually, I'm just hurt that you gave this tip to a two farthing smash-and-grab amateur, instead of an artist. A name or two springs to mind.”

“Not at all. It just didn't seem your style.”

“And he works cheaper.”

“And he does work cheaper,” the fence agreed. “Look, it shouldn't have taken your talents. A client came to me with an old map. Said it was to a ruined temple deep in the forest. Three or four days south of here. Said there was supposed to be a few old relics down there that he'd pay a pretty penny for.”

“A pretty crown for, it seems.”

“Semantics. Anyway, it seemed more of a hump through the woods and some crowbar work. More Vaigh's style really.”

“So, tell me more about this map.”

Fayl fixed her with a stare. “Have you ever even be outside the walls of Laimrig?”

“My past isn't at issue,” she replied flatly. “But I do know someone who's traveled a bit.”

* * *

Conn parried a thrust with a downward sweep of his blade, then circled to Ioresh's right. The young man slashed with his short sword, but Conn blocked with his own sword and punched his shield into his student's ribs. The young man collapsed, gasping.

“Right, lad,” he said, extending a hand to pull Ioresh to his feet. “That's today's lesson. You keep thinking of the sword as a weapon and the shield as defense. Don't shackle your thinking. Block with whatever is convenient. Attack with whatever will surprise your enemy. The only rule of combat is that there are no rules.”

“I'll remember that.”

“My own fault. I been teachin' you dueling. Fencing instead of fighting. Your basic bladework is good. Your footwork is alright. But your mind is too channeled into expected paths. Predictable will get you killed.”

“So I'd never last as a soldier.”

“Och, dry your tears,” said Conn. “You'd beat most new recruits without breakin' a sweat. They all learn the same techniques, and you practice more than most. A real veteran would beat you. Because they've seen all the techniques. They know what's coming, so they can stop it. You have to not let them know what's coming next.”

“How do I do that?”

“Easiest way is for you not to know what's coming next.”

“Sir?”

“Sit,” Conn commanded, pulling up a chair for himself, dropping his mask and shaking out his sweat-soaked hair. “Don't plan your fight. Don't fall into the habit of the same combinations of parries and attacks from practice. Open your eyes. See what your enemy is doing. Where he leaves himself open. Then open your mind. When you see the opening, hit it. With whatever has the best chance. Cut, stab, kick, punch, head-butt, whatever. Just hit him. Most killing is done with the blade, but a lot of the set up for the kill isn't.”

“So, the secret to being a great fighter is to not know what to do next?”

Conn sighed. He took a moment before explaining.

“The secret is to know every technique, but not to choose one until the right moment. Then to choose without thought, by instinct.”

“So,” Ioresh said slowly, chewing over his words. “You actually win by knowing all that and calling it out when you need it by pure instinct?”

“Me? Gods, no! If I could do that I'd have conquered my own bloody kingdom by now. I just told you that's the secret. I have my moments, mind you, when the fight just flows, when I just feel what to do. I don't know that anybody can do it all the time, but that's the secret. The more you strive for it, the more often and more easily it'll come.”

“I suppose,” said the boy doubtfully.

“Trust me.” Conn clapped Ioresh on the shoulder. “Get yourself home. Be here tomorrow morning and we'll do some more practice before the students show up.”

The young man took his leave and Conn set to closing up shop. He replaced the practice swords in their rack and turned to gather up the mugs.

“So not knowing what to do is your secret? I never realized it was intentional.”

Conn whirled around and saw Trilisean seated at his small table. “I let myself in,” she smiled.

Conn looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Somethin' not natural about you, woman.”

She walked up treated him to a hug and kiss, “Nice to see you too.”

“Oh, I'm thrilled to see you,” he returned the embrace. “I haven't been in fear for my life in months. What've you been up to? Stealing hearts and heirlooms over on the good side of town?”

“Oh, if only there were a good side,” she sighed. “You seem to be doing alright.”

He waved dismissively. “Teaching highborn brats how to wave skinny swords. Keeps me in ale. The lad who works for me is a good one though. He'll be a better teacher than me someday. Assuming I can con him into this life instead of marching off to seek glory and dysentery in the Free Companies.” He rummaged in a cabinet and returned with a bottle of wine. “Kept some of this around in case you stopped by.” He spent some time looking for a pair of clean glasses, eventually succeeding.

She accepted a glass. “Thanks. I didn't think you drank wine.”

“Just a dram to keep you company. You shouldn't drink alone.” He dropped into a chair and flung a boot up on the table. “What brings you to my humble place of business?”

“I have a lead on a job.” She leaned forward, grinning over the rim of her glass.

Conn noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “Let me guess. Very dangerous but a chance at a lot of money?”

“Correction,” she said. “A
whole
lot of money.”

“But dangerous.”

“Where's your sense of adventure?”

“I dunno,” he chewed his words. “I've a good respectable business now…”

She leaned in closer, her grin positively wicked. “Where's your sense of
greed
?”

Conn felt his grin widen despite himself. When Trilisean talked about stealing, her eyes lit up like a child on Midwinters' morning. “Yours scared it off,” he joked. “Well, I'm drinking and you're pretty, so why don't you just tell me what's going to happen.”

* * *

Two days later, miles outside the city, the pair walked along the trail, eyes and ears tuned to the forest around them. Golden spears of late afternoon sunlight occasionally pierced the canopy in long, slanting beams that broke up the even dimness, throwing everything into vivid contrast, making the shade darker.

They were in the forest proper now. As Laimrig had shrunk in size and importance, outlying farms and villages had been swallowed by the woods. After a day of travel through increasingly smaller and less prosperous farms, they found their way through abandoned fields overrun by swift growing pines and a few new, green hardwoods that stood hardly taller than a man. A few roofless stone buildings, rotten doors hanging drunkenly from rusted hinges, and barns littered with corroded tools were all that remained of the farms which once supplied the busy bakeries and breweries and markets of the city when it was a great port, before the harbor became too shallow and dangerous for large vessels. The people who could leave, did. Even the fish seemed to seek better prospects.

As demand for goods to ship fell, and demand to feed ships' companies fell, the farms died off, the farmers heading to the city to compete for the

dwindling work, and the forest reclaimed the land.

Seeing the outskirts after so long at the center, Trilisean felt that the barony was dying as a leper dies, from the outside in. She shivered at the thought.

Conn hitched his pack higher on his shoulders. He had packed as lightly as he dared and as thoroughly as he could. Dried salted meat, cheese, hard tack, a bag of nuts and dried fruit and a bag of tea leaves were stuffed into a small pot, which was rolled up in a set of warmer clothes which was in turn rolled in a blanket and the whole bundled into a square of waxed canvas, bound with ropes and slung over his back with two wide leather straps. He had agonized over which sword to bring, finally settling on a medium length cut-and-thrust sword. Heavy enough to give a good slash to an unarmored man, but light enough to change direction in the attack, balanced well enough for defense and with a good, serviceable point. It was a solid, all purpose weapon, chosen because he was unsure what they'd find. A dirk hung at his right hip, and a long- handled axe, as much tool as weapon, beside it. His small round shield was secured to his pack, and he bore a six foot spear in his right hand. You never could underestimate the value of a walking stick and pole, especially when you had eight inches of sharpened steel on the end of it. A waterskin completed his load.

It was a light enough burden by infantry standards. He found himself settling into the long accustomed quick march without thinking on it. He looked to Trilisean. She kept pace easily. Her pack was smaller than his, although he noticed a crowbar jutting from it. Apart from a simple utilitarian dagger, she appeared unarmed, but Conn was certain that was misleading.

As they walked onward, through the bright sunlight and deep shadow, Conn began to rely more on his ears than his eyes. He let the normal sound and rhythm of birds and beasts insinuate itself into his senses and took note of any change.

Trilisean followed Conn, surprised at how lightly he could step. Not as lightly as she, but she'd made a career of it. Out here, far from her element of twisting alleyways, she placed her trust in the Aeransman's skills. She recognized what he was doing, sorting the common background noise, sights and scents from the dangerous ones, as she did so effortlessly in the slums of Laimrig.

She tried for a while to take note of each noise, but there were too many and they were too strange. After the third time she half drew a dagger at the sound of an assassin's footstep which turned out to be a squirrel, she gave up trying to read the forest and concentrated on reading Conn. If he were not concerned with sounds, she would not be. If he stopped or cocked his head in uncertainty, she would prepare herself for action.

Suddenly, Conn tensed, flinging up a warning hand. Without a thought she dropped into a crouch, slipping her arms out of her pack straps. A club tumbled through the air above her head. A flick of her wrist and a dagger dropped from her sleeve into her right hand.

She turned to her left and saw half a dozen ruffians burst from the undergrowth. The three rushing toward her hefted club or saps, probably intending to capture her rather than slay her outright. Those approaching Conn bore steel. The first to reach Trilisean made a grab for her, but she ducked under his arm and darted past him, burying her dagger under his breastbone.