Imperial Assassin (33 page)

The spider talisman made contact with the transfer stone and initiated the magical translocation. Reynik could have sworn afterwards that he felt the blade pass through his body, but it was most
likely his imagination.

As he entered the translocation in a dive, so he exited it, complete with all of his initial momentum. This made him doubly fortunate. He emerged in his flat out dive, crashing to the ground in
a most ungainly fashion. As he did so, however, a crossbow bolt smashed into the wall where he would have been standing. Whoever had fired the bolt had not waited for the telltale sparkling lights
to finish coalescing before loosing the shot.

Reynik scrambled to his feet and started running. The watcher must have arrived only moments after Reynik and Femke had made their transfer into his quarters. In a bizarre flashback he suddenly
recalled something his father had told him years before.

‘There are times when it’s better to be lucky than good, son.’

How right he had been!

It would take the archer a few moments to reload his crossbow. Reynik did not intend to be within range by that time. He sprinted out of the alleyway and into the side street. On instinct he
turned right. If he were to fight for his life, then he would do it in the heart of Shandrim. There would be regular patrols of Legionnaires and militia there. If his luck held, they might prove
useful.

‘Go! Wolf Spider transferred to his shared stone. If you’re quick, you’ll get there hard on his heels.’

‘Yes, Guildmaster,’ Cougar replied, but he hesitated as he reached the door. ‘But what about the watcher? He has orders to shoot any that emerge there.’

‘Duck. If you’re lucky, Firedrake will have enough sense to realise that it would be impossible for Wolf Spider to materialise twice in quick succession.’

‘Yes, Guildmaster,’ he responded through gritted teeth. ‘And guarding the rooms here?’

‘I’ll fetch someone else to do that. Young Wolf Spider won’t come back in a hurry. He knows we’ll be waiting for him if he does. Go!’

Cougar left at a run. ‘If Firedrake hasn’t been distracted along the way, the spy should be dead already,’ the Guildmaster muttered to himself. ‘Well, young Reynik, if
that really is your name,’ he added, addressing the transfer stone as if his words could somehow bridge the magical gap between them, ‘you seem to have a knack for getting out of tight
spots. Therefore I suppose it shows prudence to make sure. Firedrake’s waiting for you at the exit point, Cougar’s on his way there, and Dragon, Viper and Bear are all out in the city
looking for you. You won’t last long. One of them will collect the price on your head. They always do.’

Reynik raced to the nearest tavern and burst in through the door. People all around the crowded bar room looked round at the sound of his explosive entrance. The sound level
dropped noticeably for a few seconds as he instinctively paused in the doorway, panting, then rose again to a higher volume as people either returned to their conversations or fell to speculating
on the reason for the young man’s abrupt arrival. He assessed the room in a second and pushed forward, weaving his way through the people and tables, apologising at every other step but not
slowing.

When he reached the back door, he rummaged amongst the weapons in the large rack to the left of the exit. Bows, swords, staves and belt knives were stowed here as a matter of policy. The
Landlord was very strict about it. Anyone found in the main bar area carrying a weapon about his person was instantly banned. The no tolerance policy had served him well over the years, for damages
and visits by the militia had been kept to a minimum.

‘Got you!’ Reynik uttered with a triumphant note in his voice. He drew out a staff from the rack that end to end was about a hand span longer than he was tall. There was a sword of
his in the rack as well, but he was reluctant to take it, as it was hard to run fast with a sword strapped to your side whilst also carrying a staff. After a few seconds of inner debate, he decided
to sacrifice speed for weaponry.

From a cupboard to the right of the door, he drew out a mail shirt and leather jerkin. As he had decided to forfeit fleetness, it would be as well to protect his body as best he could. He was so
glad now that he had thought to pre-place so many useful items in public locations. The mail would offer some protection against thrown and thrusting weapons, though it would not save him from a
well-aimed crossbow bolt.

He threw off his cloak and slipped on the tunic. There was no time for fancy lacing. He ran the laces through a couple of the holes and tied them off. The mail shirt went over the top, followed
by a bright blue cloak from a nearby peg and he was off again – out into the night and away from the vicinity of his transfer stone.

The narrow street with its dim oil lanterns and crooked overhanging houses felt hostile. Menacing shadows loomed everywhere. The hairs on the back of Reynik’s neck prickled with nervous
fear. The road was pocked with potholes and missing cobbles. A dangerous surface for running in such dim light, Reynik thought grimly. Well, he was not about to run again just yet. Running would
only draw attention. Let the assassins get in close to properly identify him before attacking. Armed as he was now, he felt a lot more comfortable about confronting members of the Guild at close
quarters.

Heading in towards the city centre, Reynik walked with an air of purpose. He did not rush, but lengthened his stride to cover ground at a good pace. He had not gone far before the first assassin
caught up with him.

There was no warning. The first awareness Reynik had of his assailant was a knife striking him square in the middle of the back. With the protection of the chain mail and the leather, it felt as
if someone had punched him hard. He stumbled forward as the blade fell harmlessly to the ground and skittered across the cobbles.

Firedrake was already moving forwards, knowing in the moment he released his blade that the throw was good. His move was premature. Had he remained in the shadows, he would have been able to
make another throw before being seen. Reynik picked him out instantly. With his balance quickly restored, he moved to intercept.

‘Damn you! You have more lives than a cat!’ the assassin grumbled, drawing his sword. ‘Come on then, traitor. You’ve used your last. It’s time to die.’

From the way Firedrake approached, Reynik could see he had never fought against someone armed with a staff before – at least no one competent. His confidence rose a little. It was tempting
to say something, but he knew it was better to remain silent. This was no time for taunting or gloating. Finish it quickly and get away, he thought.

The assassin swung his sword hard and fast. Reynik deflected it easily and jabbed the end of the staff hard into the man’s stomach. The blow deflated him, all the air rushing from his
lungs in a single whoosh of expelled air. Reynik followed up by stepping back and whirling the staff around such that the other end struck his foe a mighty rap on the left temple. He fell like a
pole-axed cow. Reynik hit him once more on the head for good measure.

He knew it would be in his best interests to draw his sword and finish the man off. For a moment he considered it. Then he dismissed the thought. Killing Lacedian in cold blood had tainted him
in a way he did not want to repeat. He did not want another life on his conscience – even that of an assassin.

As he turned to walk away, Reynik caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone else was moving stealthily down the street towards him. There was little doubt it was another
Guild member, for he was hugging the shadows and moving fast. Another one already, he thought, horrified. How were they finding him so quickly? Were the streets crawling with killers?

Knowing there was another assassin who had latched onto his position, Reynik began to use some of the techniques Femke had taught him for throwing off followers. He started by moving away
quickly towards the city centre. It was impossible to ignore the fact that someone was most likely closing up behind him with deadly intentions, but he did his best not to look back more than would
be normal for one walking the streets at this time of night.

It occurred to Reynik that it might be better to double back and confront the man head on rather than allow him a chance to strike without warning. He did not want to fight at all, but if he had
to fight, then he would prefer to dictate the terms. Then he realised his thinking was based on an unproven premise. How could he be sure that the man he had just incapacitated was the person who
had fired the crossbow back in the alley? He could not. If he openly turned back and the man now behind him was the archer, Reynik would become an easy target. An open confrontation was too risky.
He would have to use guile if he was going to survive.

He lengthened his stride without changing his pace. The subtle acceleration took him swiftly around a corner and out of his pursuer’s direct line of sight. The moment he was sure he was
out of the assassin’s field of view, Reynik was up on his toes and running as fast and as silently as he could.

There was an alleyway to the right. He took it. It did not lead towards the city centre, but he knew one of the arterial roads was not far away. By going this way, he knew he could intercept the
main road quickly and then turn back towards his eventual destination. It was not yet late. There would still be a good amount of traffic on the main route through the city. It should be easy
enough to blend in with the general mill of people and leave anyone attempting to get to him with a far more difficult target.

The alley was dark, forcing Reynik to slow down. He did not want to make any noise that might attract unwanted attention. Stepping carefully, he concentrated hard on using the techniques Femke
had taught him for moving silently in dark places. The assassin, Viper, had seemed to glide through the dark on the evening Reynik had followed him through the back streets and alleys. Reynik had
not mastered the techniques to such a degree, but he made a worthy attempt at duplicating what he could remember of Viper’s style of movement.

As he approached the far end of the alley, he could hear hoarse whispers. Looking towards the light at the end of the alleyway, he could clearly see the silhouetted outlines of three men bent
over a fourth. It looked as if they were rummaging through his clothing looking for items to rob. Was the man dead, or were they holding him down?

Another dilemma! Should he tuck down in a corner and wait for them to finish their business, or help the unfortunate victim? If the assassin trailing him were to come this way, he might pass
Reynik in the dark and be forced to tangle with the thieves in his stead. The assassin might even think Reynik the victim, and that the thieves had done his work for him. On the other hand, he
might pause in the same place as Reynik to debate his own course of action. If he did, the killer would most likely find his prey within seconds.

Whatever he decided, Reynik knew he could not afford to dither. The man on the ground began to struggle. One of his assailants dealt him a hard, backhanded blow across the face that stilled him
again. The fact that he was alive ignited Reynik’s sense of justice. He could not stand by and watch while the three thugs carried out their villainy. He had to do something.

Moving forwards with careful stealth, Reynik closed in on the men until he was almost on top of them. With no warning, he attacked. A vicious jab with the end of his staff struck just behind the
ear of the first man, who went down without uttering a sound.

‘What the—’

The second man did not get to finish his sentence as Reynik whipped the staff around into a powerful sweeping blow that caught the man across the bridge of his nose so hard that it all but
lifted him off the ground. The third man drew a knife, but got no opportunity to use it. A single spin of the staff and it cracked him across the wrist, sending the knife flying from his grasp. A
jab to the groin, followed by an overhead smash to the back of the head, and it was all over.

Reynik checked the victim’s pulse. It was strong, and he was beginning to regain consciousness again. Reynik did not want to wait around. He could not afford to get further involved. His
attack had only lasted a few seconds. As fights went, it had been remarkably quiet and efficient, but there had been some unavoidable noise. He would be surprised if his pursuer had not heard
it.

At close quarters, Reynik’s weapon of choice would always be a staff. However, it was not a weapon in common use in the city. Fighting with staves was a pastime normally left to the
country folk. Assassins were predominantly city dwellers, so they were unlikely to be well trained in the art of fighting with, or against, someone wielding a staff. This gave Reynik a distinct
advantage in a hand-to-hand fight.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to hide a staff. Following the trail of bodies in Reynik’s wake, any assassin worth his fee would not now tackle Reynik at close quarters unless he had no
other choice. The staff had to go, but he did not want to leave it here. It would be better for his tail to be looking for someone with a staff.

Reynik slipped out of the alley and into the street. It was not far from here to the main north road. He had to act quickly. On his toes and running again, Reynik raced down the narrow street.
His senses strained to garner any signs of pursuit whilst he sought somewhere to dispose of the staff. He sensed nothing, nor found anywhere obvious.

He reached the main north road and slowed to an inconspicuous walk. It was not busy in the true sense of the word, but there were people moving both into and out of the city. Reynik crossed the
street and turned towards the city centre. A wagon drawn by a plodding horse was not far ahead. Reynik quickened his pace and moved alongside. Straps holding the upper canvas to the wagon structure
offered him the perfect stowage for his staff. He slipped it horizontally behind four sets of straps. It was tightly enough wedged that it was unlikely to fall out, he thought happily.