Imperial Assassin (19 page)

‘There may be no unfair tactics in war, but that assumes the only parties involved in the conflict are those at war. I thought to do the unexpected; to fool the Guild by ordering something
they would never expect. Even if it were to succeed in the long run, I cannot deny my nature. I have to abide by ethics I can justify. I thought I could justify this, but I can’t. It’s
inherently wrong.’

It was too late to stop Reynik. Surabar had no way of contacting him now. If the young Legionnaire did kill Lord Lacedian, then Surabar would have to live with the consequences. Reynik might be
the arrow that killed the Lord, but it was his hand that had released the arrow from the bow. There would be no further attempts of this sort. If Reynik were not contacted by the Guild after this
hit, Surabar would put a stop to the mission. He knew what he had to do now. He had to get back on ground that he understood. It was time to call in the Legions. Causing discomfort to the civilian
population was one thing. Killing them was another. He would have the Legions dismantle the city stone by stone if he had to, but he would find the Guild headquarters.

‘I can’t help you this time, Reynik. You’ll have to make the hit alone. The Guild will have a constant watch on Lacedian, and I wouldn’t be surprised to
find that your target knows you’re coming as well. If I were seen, then you would be compromised.’

Reynik nodded and smiled at Femke. He hoped that the nauseous feeling in his gut was not transmitting through to his face. He did not want to give her the wrong impression of him. It was hard to
imagine how someone like Shalidar could live with killing again and again in cold blood. He did not want to be like his uncle’s killer in any way, but given the circumstances it was hard not
to envy the cold detachment of the man.

Just the thought of killing Lacedian turned Reynik’s stomach, but he did not want to show his weakness to Femke. He knew that she had coped with having to make kills in cold blood in the
past, yet she had found ways of coping with the feelings. Even knowing that she had killed, he did not think of her as a murderer. Why was that? What made her any different from Shalidar? Perhaps
it was that she had feelings about it. Shalidar would not think twice about killing someone if it furthered his interests. Femke had killed when ordered, but he knew from his discussions with her
during his training that she still struggled with her conscience over what she had done.

‘I know,’ he replied, trying to block the negative, distracting thoughts from his mind. ‘I anticipated as much. I’d appreciate your thoughts on a strategy for how to make
the hit, though. You’re so good at this, I feel like I’m still a bumbling amateur.’

Femke gave him a hard stare. He had progressed beyond the amateur level so fast it was frightening, but he needed a strong dose of self-belief. There were times when she wanted to hit him, and
others when she just wanted to kiss him. Damn it! Why did he have to be so likeable? What was it about him? He was young, but his features were already strong and handsome. Was it her imagination
that he was attracted to her? He had never shown any outward signs, yet she sensed if she initiated a relationship, he would respond. Her feelings for Reynik were growing, and there appeared little
she could do to stop them.

‘Reynik, you’re constantly putting yourself down. You cannot afford to do that. The more you tell yourself you’re no good, the more you’ll convince yourself it’s
true. Listen to me – you’ve picked up the skills you need to do this mission faster than I would ever have believed possible. You’re a natural at this. You can do it, Reynik. You
must believe in yourself. I believe in you. I really do. You
can
do it.’

‘Thank you. It feels good to hear you say so, but the proof will be in the head count, as they say. Where do you think I should make the hit? Shall I go for another daylight job, or should
I do this after dark?’

‘My initial instinct is to make this hit at night. He will have all his defences arrayed against you, but he’ll feel safe in his home. No matter how good his defences, there will
always be a weak spot. Also, it should be quiet enough that it will give the Guild a chance to contact you without worrying about getting the wrong person, or being seen. The trick will be to
circumnavigate Lord Lacedian’s defences and get out again with minimum conflict. Do you know where he lives?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not far from the centre of the city. It’s quite a big house, but not the biggest. From memory it looks like this.’

Femke walked across to her dresser and took out a piece of parchment from the top drawer. Placing the parchment on the top, she dipped her quill in the inkwell and started to sketch the outline
of a house. Reynik moved alongside her and watched with interest as her diagram took shape. Within moments, Reynik began to get a feel for the style in which the house was built. He had seen
several of a similar design in the richer parts of the city. The style was not uncommon. He did not know the history of the architecture of Shandrim, but he guessed the houses had all been built
around the same period, most likely by the same builder.

‘Lacedian is a widower,’ Femke stated, her voice slipping into her teacher tone. ‘He has no children, so if there are others inside his house, they are most likely either
guards or servants. Ideally, you don’t want to hurt any of these: the cleaner the hit, the better. But how to do it?’ Femke paused, running her right index finger from her lips down to
her chin, clearly lost in thought.

The motion attracted Reynik’s attention and his concentration on the problem of how to kill Lacedian evaporated as he became aware of her proximity. They were shoulder to shoulder, hunched
over the parchment. ‘Shand, but she’s lovely,’ he thought, watching with fascination as her fingertip drew her bottom lip down just fractionally with each stroke. The movement
electrified him. All of his awareness focused in on her lips. How he wished he could kiss them, and have that kiss returned with passion. His body tensed and his heart began to beat faster as her
closeness threatened to overwhelm him. The fresh scent of her filled his nostrils, its effect dizzying.

Suddenly, she pursed her lips. Reynik’s heart skipped a beat.

‘Hmm . . . it won’t be easy, but if I were you, then I would . . .’

‘How can I be thinking of such things now,’ he wondered. ‘We’re discussing how I’m to kill an old man in cold blood, for Shand’s sake! This is surreal. Damn
but you’re so professional, Femke! How do you do it?’ Somehow she managed to keep her feelings about the mission detached from the business at hand. He wished he knew how.

The moment had passed. Business called. This was life or death –
his
life or death. He knew he had to concentrate on the job at hand, or his fanciful daydreams would never have a
chance of seeing fruition. With a silent sigh, he forced his attention back to Femke’s sketch.

‘The Fox wishes to see you, my Lord Guildmaster.’

‘Now?’ he replied wearily. ‘What time is it?’

‘It is shortly after the second bell, my Lord.’

The Guildmaster sighed heavily. It had to be important for her to disturb his rest at this time. Shantella was one of the most intelligent women he had ever known. His mind was fogged with
sleep, but he knew he could not ignore her request.

‘Very well. Please inform Brother Fox that I’ll be along to see her in a few minutes,’ he said, unable to control a yawn as he spoke.

He stretched briefly and swung his legs over the side of his bed. It only took him a few moments to dress, but before he left his chambers to climb up to the main level of the Guild complex he
took time to splash his face thoroughly with cold water. Drying it with a soft towel, he felt much more alert. His body still protested its tiredness, but at least he felt fully awake now.

The Guildmaster climbed the spiral staircase into the Guild meeting chamber. As he walked he pondered what news Shantella bore. He traversed the chamber and entered through the gate sporting the
fox emblem. It must be news of the mystery assassins. Had she found them? Were there two, or just the one?

He knocked at the door to her private chamber and her melodious voice called out for him to enter. He opened the door and found her reclined on a small couch, glass of red wine in hand. There
was another on the table, clearly meant for him. He would not touch it, of course. One did not accept food or drink lightly from a known assassin – even if you were their Guildmaster. In some
cases he did not accept it
because
he was the Guildmaster. There was very little chance that any of the other assassins would know who was in line to be the next leader of the Guild, so
the odds were always against a person killing the Guildmaster to take his place.

The Fox was quite a woman. She teased him mercilessly with her body. Her long, slim legs were clearly visible through the split in her casual robe.

‘Welcome, Guildmaster. Have a seat,’ she purred, shaking her head slightly to settle her auburn curls on her shoulders.

‘Thank you, no, Shantella. You didn’t call me here to talk pleasantries at this time of night, so what do you have for me?’ he asked, keeping his tone businesslike. ‘Have
you found the mystery assassins?’

‘Assassin, singular, apparently – though I’ve not confirmed the fact beyond doubt,’ she corrected.

‘Well, that’s a start. Who is he . . . she?’

Shantella pouted slightly at the Guildmaster’s cold manner, though her voice remained silky smooth as she answered.

‘I don’t know who
he
is . . . yet,’ she admitted. ‘But I do know that he’s accepted another contract.’

‘Another contract? Who? And who employed him?’ the Guildmaster asked, his voice betraying his eagerness for the information.

‘The employer remains a mystery. As to who he is going to kill, word on the street is he has a contract on Lord Lacedian.’

‘Lacedian! An interesting character. I wonder who wants him dead. He’s old school, but not really in the race to become Emperor should they manage to get rid of Surabar. Thank you,
Shantella. You’ve done well. I’ll arrange to have a team of our people watch Lacedian night and day. I don’t want to miss the opportunity of catching this mystery man and bringing
him here for a chat. I’ll arrange the surveillance. In the meantime, I’d like you to find out who employed him. This man is clearly operating in the upper echelons of society here in
Shandrim, but who trained him? Where did he come from? I need to know more about this man, and fast.’

‘Tremarle! Tremarle! He’s coming for me. It’s all over town. He’s coming for me.’

Lord Lacedian burst into Lord Tremarle’s drawing room with none of his normal decorum. Tremarle looked up at his friend, taking in his pallor and trembling hands without allowing his own
cool, unruffled demeanour to crack. Inside, however, his heart leaped. What was his friend talking about? Who had frightened Lacedian enough to get him into this state?

‘Calm down, old friend. Calm down,’ Tremarle replied, keeping his voice low and soothing. He rose smoothly from his chair and crossed the room to a drinks cabinet. Taking out two
glasses, he poured generous measures of brandy from a crystal decanter into each and handed the fuller of the two to Lacedian. The old Lord accepted it with both hands, gripping the glass tightly
in an effort to prevent his shaking from spilling the spirit on the expensive carpet. ‘Take a seat, Lacedian. Calm down and tell me what has you in such a fluster.’

Lacedian took a large pull at the brandy and closed his eyes for a second as he attempted to regain his composure. He made a move as if to sit down, but changed his mind at the last second.
Instead he began pacing up and down the drawing room, his mind clearly racing as he organised his thoughts to speak.

‘The man who killed Kempten is coming for me next. A tattle tout came to me this morning and sold me the information. I was tempted to ignore it as scaremongering, but another came this
afternoon. The second was annoyed that he was not the first to reach me with the news. Someone has deliberately fed the news to the touts. The only thing I can think is the killer
wants
me
to know he’s coming. What sort of sick sadist is he? Did he torment Kempten like this?’

‘Don’t be too hasty, Lacedian. I doubt that Kempten knew he was the planned target of an assassin, or he would have increased his personal security. From what I hear, the man walked
into the Civil Court and threw a knife at him. There were no guards on Kempten’s door. He was not wearing any sort of protective armour. Nothing. Also, this may just be a hoax. Have you
annoyed anyone enough recently to warrant them putting out a contract on you?’

Lacedian stopped pacing and looked pointedly at Tremarle.

‘No one apart from the obvious,’ he answered.

‘Surabar! Ridiculous! He’s in the middle of purging the city of assassins. Can you imagine what it would do to his image if he were found to have contracted a killer during such a
campaign? Such hypocrisy would see him handing over the Mantle before he could blink twice. The man is too strait-laced for such an action. No, I would forget any idea of it being Surabar. If the
killer you hired to kill the Emperor had talked, you would be hanging from the gallows now – with me alongside you, most likely.’