The Complete Shadow Trilogy

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter

Facebook

My website

Join my VIP club mailing list to receive updates on future products, promos and special offers and a free ebook just for joining.

Blood and Shadows

By: Dayne Edmondson

Chapter 1: A Knife in the Dark

HOW MUCH BLOOD WILL I shed tonight? How many people will die by my hand? At least none will be innocent. Such thoughts went through the mind of the veiled assassin as she surveyed the tavern from down the street. The moon hid behind the clouds, as if it knew what was to occur, leaving only the seven stars high above to faintly illuminate her lithe figure in the dark alleyway.

By all accounts, her target was not going to submit to the authority of her master without a fight. It was a shame that so many talented killers would have to die, but such was the command of her master, and she would carry out his will.

BORIS LEANED AGAINST the pillar as he watched the merriment all around him. A warm wind billowed through the Maiden’s Tongue tavern as the door opened to allow more people to join the party. Boris could not understand what reason the people had to celebrate, but he wisely kept his opinions to himself. Sharing opinions in a room full of drunken assassins and thieves could cost a man his life. His job was to protect the assassins’ guild leader, Richard Slyth, from potential threats.

A dark spot in the crowd caught his eye. A woman emerged from between the revelers, cloak billowing about her shoulders. The cloak was intended to mask the distracting curves beneath, but it did a poor job of it. Her pace caused the garment to gape open, revealing the snug, black riding leathers beneath, and a body that had siren-sung many a young mark to his death. Her pale face was framed by a shock of thick, shoulder-length black hair. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and then fixed on Boris, and she made her way towards him.

Veronica Storm was no lady. But damn, she was a woman.

Hello Boris, she said, then followed his gaze to her ample bosom. She raised an eyebrow and waited. Her eyes were the color of obsidian, and about as soft.

Boris cleared his throat, meeting those eyes with an effort. Good evening, Veronica. He leaned back against the pillar. I thought you hated parties.

She smirked. You know as well as I that one does not refuse an invitation from the guild leader. She smiled, leaning in a little closer. Besides, she said, lowered her voice, I heard about the visitor yesterday. I thought I would stop in and see if anything comes of it.

He might have known. I suppose you'd like me to tell you what I know.

Veronica's smile deepened, and she breathed in a way that did very interesting things to her cleavage. If you'd be so kind.

Boris hesitated for a moment. Richard had told him not to speak of it, but this was Veronica, and the view was so nice. Well, Boris began, yesterday a messenger came to deliver a letter to Richard. The letter was from Lord Garik – you know, the man who's been reportedly taking over more and more guilds.  Richard read the letter, which included a threat if he didn't respond by midnight tonight, laughed, and ordered the poor boy slaughtered on the spot.

How terrible, Veronica replied as Boris ended his tale, though Boris saw no compassion in those dark eyes – only amusement. She had always been more brutal than he. Do you think that Garik will retaliate if he does not agree to his terms?

Boris shrugged. I don’t rightly know, but Richard has assigned extra guards tonight just in case. I urged Richard to delay tonight's festivities, but he insisted. Garik or his henchmen would be fools to come in here with violence on their minds tonight.

Perhaps, Veronica said as she glanced around the room, but I have heard some disconcerting rumors about Garik’s latest henchman. They say that his assassin strikes from the darkness, unexpected and unstoppable. Some men claim that he steps out of the shadows themselves, as if born from them, while still others claim that arrows and bolts fired at the strange figure go right through him, like he was made of mist. One thing all the stories agree on, however, is that whenever this mysterious assassin shows up, the leader of a guild dies by his hand or bends his knee to Lord Garik. Lord Borenzo, Lord Zeebron and Lord Maltkere have all died by her hands and their guilds now serve Lord Garik.

Veronica’s story sent a chill down Boris’ spine. Three of the most formidable guild masters to be found between the mountains would not have died easily. Do you believe the stories to be true?

In my experience, stories often embellish the truth. Do I believe that Garik has a deadly assassin in his employ? Yes. Do I believe that this assassin forms from shadows and no mortal weapons may harm him? No. I’m sure that he is just a normal mortal like you and I, and I look forward to making him bleed should he show his face here tonight.

You know what? she said as she placed a hand on his chest. I do hate parties. I think I'll retire to my room. She inhaled deeply, and his eyes were drawn downwards again. Care to join me?

There had been a time when Boris would have been glad for the kind of comfort Veronica offered. He'd found solace in her bed before, when he'd first come to Tar Ebon, leaving his family to wonder where he'd gone, whether he yet lived. He'd found comfort in Veronica's empty embrace when the loss of his sister, Sophie, had hollowed out his heart, and he'd wanted nothing more than the cold comfort of a convenient affair.

He might still find comfort in that, and parts of him were already in agreement, straining against his breeches. But he had more important things to do. He shook his head. I’m sorry, Veronica, I promised Richard I would stand guard throughout the night.

Veronica pursed her lips in a mock pout and withdrew her hands. Your loss. You know where to find me if you change your mind. She turned to leave, but was stopped by a sudden gasp that arose from the crowd of revelers.

Boris stood up on his tiptoes to see what was going on. In the left corner of the room, near where the fireplace threw off deep shadows, a figure was forming, as if from a dark mist. Within moments, the transformation was complete and standing there was a figure wearing a black-hooded veil over his face, allowing only his eyes to show through, while a black cloak concealed his body. In spite of the concealing clothing, something about the way the figure moved put him in mind of Veronica. Could this assassin be a woman?

What is happening? Veronica demanded as she turned back to see Boris looking over the crowd’s collective heads.

Boris held up a hand to silence Veronica as the figure began to walk forward and came to stand in the center of the tavern, facing Richard’s chair. By this time, every person in the room was aware of the figure’s presence. Silence fell like a thick blanket on the tavern. The music ceased, no one spoke, and only the crackling of the large hearth fire filled the air.

Richard looked the figure over for a moment and said, Who are you to come before me?

The figure returned his gaze for a moment and finally spoke. Lord Richard, you have heard the words of my master, Lord Garik, and have chosen to defy his command to swear fealty. Do you deny this?

The voice was as androgynous as the rest of the figure, but now that he was looking for it, Boris was certain he could hear a feminine lilt in the words.

Interesting.

I deny your master anything that is mine, Richard replied.  If my message yesterday was not clear enough then I will send it again and again until he understands. He raised his hand and from the edges of the room came six guards wielding crossbows, the same as the day before. They took aim as they awaited the order to fire.

The woman did not even spare a glance for the guards. By the authority granted to me by my master, I hereby carry out your sentence. You are sentenced to death for treason against the true master of the shadows and for refusing my master’s gracious offer. Without further words, she began advancing toward Lord Richard.

Richard’s eyes widened but he dropped his hand decisively, giving the order for his crossbow-armed guards to shoot. The guards released their quarrels simultaneously.

Boris waited to see the woman bristling like a pincushion as the bolts streaked toward her. However, as the bolts touched her flesh, they went through her. The bolts, their momentum unimpeded by the mist they had passed through, struck various people in the crowd. Cries of agony arose throughout the crowd and bloodied bodies tumbled to the floor.

By the Founders, the stories were true! With a start, Boris drew his own daggers. He looked around to see the other members of Richard’s personal guard doing likewise. Boris began to move forward, shoving revelers and guild members out of his way as he tried to make his way quickly toward the assassin.

Distantly, Boris was aware of another figure at his side - Veronica. He spared a quick glance at her and saw a hard look in her eyes, tempered by something else. Could it be pleasure? She had just told him how she looked forward to making this assassin bleed. Veronica was no fool. She knew an opportunity when she saw it.

The female assassin stopped and turned. As most of the crowd ran from her, five of his fellow guardsmen and at least a dozen of the more sober assassins approached, including Boris, while the crossbowmen reloaded. She raised her hand and, for a moment, Boris feared they were dealing with a Tar Ebon-trained mage. Such mages were dangerous if they saw an assassin coming.

Instead of fire erupting throughout the room or an invisible force sending people flying backward, she undid the clasp of her cloak and let it fall to the floor, revealing a tight black outfit of tunic, trousers and boots. Attached to both legs at the thigh was a bandolier of knives. Removing a knife from each bandolier, the woman straightened, sending a knife flying from each hand.  The first knife took one of the crossbowmen in the throat and he dropped to his knees, clutching his throat as blood poured out. The second knife struck another bowman. Repeatedly she tossed out her throwing knives, moving faster than Boris had seen any assassin move.

Only a few moments had passed, but already five of the six crossbowmen were dead or wounded. The last man, seeing his companions fall, dropped his crossbow and turned to flee. The woman let the fleeing guard run and turned her attention to the closing assassins. Boris saw Leeroy fall with a dagger in the chest as he tried to throw one of his daggers at her. Sylviana also dropped as a knife took her in the eye. Others that Boris could not identify fell to a rapid succession of knives.

At last, the woman seemed to exhaust her knives, or perhaps the guards were getting too close, and she drew two long daggers from her waist and prepared to meet the assassins.

First was Aludra, a short, red-haired woman with a nasty scar across her cheek, wielding two daggers and running at the woman. The woman calmly sidestepped the wild stabs that Aludra made with both daggers. She swept out a leg to take Aludra off her feet. Aludra fell hard to the floor and the woman wasted no time dropping to a knee and stabbing through the soft area of Aludra’s throat. Blood spurted out as Aludra tried to scream. As her last moments came and the life fled her eyes, a glassy look replaced the wide-eyed panic.

The assassin leaped up from the dying Aludra and parried the two short swords wielded by Roberto, a hulking man with the long beard and wild eyes of the Rovarkian Horse Lords. The woman held her ground against Roberto long enough to spin to the right, causing him to stumble forward as, suddenly, there was no counter-force. As she spun, her left hand streaked low and stabbed into his stomach. Roberto went crashing to the floor, swords dropping from his hands, where he rolled over and clutched desperately at his stomach, trying to stem the blood. Roberto was as good as dead without a druid or powerful mage to heal him.

Boris, Veronica and the remaining guards began to circle the assassin, planning their next move. Perhaps, if they all attacked at once, they could overwhelm her. Something beyond the unknown assassin caught Boris’ eye.

Standing at his chair was Lord Richard, sword drawn. Come face me, bitch! I will tear you apart!

Stupid fool, Boris thought. He should be running, not taunting this woman. Boris moved forward, trying to capitalize on her moment of distraction. He saw Veronica and several other guards moving forward also. Boris cried no battle cries and made not a sound. He was not one to distract himself with the sound of his own voice and thought his energy better spent on planning how to fight this woman.

The assassin spun, saw the ring of guards closing in and shifted. That was the only word that Boris could use to describe it. One moment the woman was there, the next she had become as faint as smoke, like an after-image from looking at the sun too long. The silhouette of her figure began to fade, and a few seconds later was gone. Boris and the other guards stopped, dumbfounded. Boris stepped up to where the intruder had been standing and waved his sword through the quickly fading cloud of mist, but it simply caused it to dissipate faster.

Lord Richard, who had been watching his guards close in, shouted Show your face, you coward! I will gut you where you stand! Is this the best that Garik can send against me?

Sudden movement near Lord Richard caught Boris’ attention. There, to the left of his guild master, forming from the long shadow of him cast by the hearth fire was the veiled assassin. Boris’ breath caught. He heard Veronica gasp beside him even as he opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was already too late.

Lord Richard, unaware of the newcomer, opened his eyes wide in shock as the figure sidestepped behind him and slit his throat with one sweep of her blade. A moment later he crumpled limp to the floor.

Only the veiled assassin remained, blood pooling around her boots.

The woman looked down at the corpse of Lord Richard and spoke soft words that Boris could not hear. She looked up at the gathered assassins. Her eyes scanned the crowd and Boris felt naked before her. At last, she spoke. Your master lies dead. All allegiances you had to him and this guild severed. You will all bow before me as the agent of my master, Lord Garik, and swear your loyalty to him. Any who do not will meet a similar fate, she said, as she looked down at the body of Lord Richard and pointed. My master will address you at midnight tonight. All who value their lives will attend.

With those words spoken, the woman shifted again and was gone.

Boris released his breath. He had not realized he had quit breathing. He looked to his left at Veronica and, for the first time in the ten years he had known her, saw fear in her eyes. He knew without asking what she would do tonight. She would swear allegiance, as would most of the others. Some would run, others would try to fight and die, but Veronica was a survivor. Having grown up on the streets of Tar Ebon as the daughter of an assassin, she had learned how to stay alive. Boris would swear also, mostly because swearing was the only chance he would get to one day see his family again.

Chapter 2: Screams

BORIS WOKE ABRUPTLY, both his naked body and the bed sheets soaked with sweat. His right hand gripped the knife that always resided under his pillow and he held it up in as much of a defensive position as possible while lying in bed as he looked around, heavy breath echoing in the small bedchamber. Seeing nothing, he tucked his knife beneath pillow and lay back down. Beside him, Veronica stirred but did not wake.

The nightmare had begun the same as it always did, with the night six months earlier at the Maiden’s Tongue playing repeatedly in Boris’ head. In his nightmares, the veiled assassin faded into a shadow that began to consume every person in the tavern. People ran in every direction, trying to escape, but it was no use. As the shadow touched each person, they turned to blood and splashed to the floor. The nightmare would end with Boris drowning as the tavern filled with blood. Tonight though, the nightmare was interrupted by a piercing scream from somewhere in the assassin den.

The scream came again – louder this time. When will he finally die, he thought with a sigh. Every other night it seemed the prisoner was tortured, sometimes for hours on end. The racket of the screams, coupled with the nightmares, left Boris sleep-deprived more often than not. On and on the screams went, for several minutes, as Boris lay trying to sleep. At last, he could take it no more. Sitting up, Boris swung his legs over the side of the bed and proceeded to dress himself. His clothing smelled of sweat and dirt, but there was no laundry service associated with their current accommodations in Henry’s Crossing.

Boris and Veronica had been many places since Richard’s death. The night of his murder, those surviving assassins had met Lord Garik for the first time. He had arrived through the back of the tavern, a mysterious blonde-haired woman at his back, and introduced himself. My name is Garik. You will call me Lord Garik. As you can see, your previous master has met his demise at the hand of my personal assassin. Lord Garik had gestured to the hooded assassin. A similar fate will befall anyone who tries to flee or fight. Now kneel before your new master and swear your fealty to my new world order.

Around the tavern, the assassins had gone to their knees. One of the men, Zachary, had looked around at those kneeling, eyed the exit, and turned to flee. The poor soul had made it less than five steps before he caught fire and was turned to ash before he could even scream. Boris, wide eyed, had looked back toward where Lord Garik and the two women were standing and noticed that the eyes of the woman to his right were glowing white. So one of his servants was a mage; that was a surprise. Though considering the power of the other woman, the hooded assassin, it should not have been. No one else had tried to flee that night.

Over the next several weeks, Lord Garik and his bolstered band of assassins had moved from town to town across the kingdom of Tar Ebon and to the neighboring woodland and desert lands, seeking to bring yet more assassins’ guilds under Lord Garik’s command. As with Richard’s guild, most guild masters refused, and met swift deaths at the hand of the veiled assassin or the mage. It seemed almost a game between the two women, as if they took turns executing the stubborn guild masters. In the case of one guild, the entire guild had been determined to fight to the death and had barricaded their building from the inside. Lord Garik had arrived with the two women and after consulting with the blonde mage had nodded in agreement, to whatever she said. Stepping forward, the mage had begun concentrating. At first, nothing happened, and Boris had begun to wonder what she was doing. But, suddenly, the air began to feel warm despite it being dark and in late fall. Moments later, the entire building was engulfed in flames and in less than a minute nothing but ash and bleached bones remained. The screams from those inside the building had been all too short.

By the end of their journey, word had spread through the underworld of the fate that befell those who resisted Lord Garik, and assassins’ guilds and their masters surrendered at the first contact from Lord Garik or his servants. The last guild on the continent had been assimilated into Lord Garik’s new world order two weeks earlier and Lord Garik and his personal retinue, which now included Boris and Veronica among others, had made their way to an inn named The Grey Mare in the town of Flintville to make plans. Boris and Veronica were not involved in the planning much – they served more as personal guards and Boris knew they were expendable.

As Boris finished lacing his boots, Veronica began to wake. She rolled over and looked toward him in the darkness. The clouds hid the moon so he could not see her eyes or much of her naked body, which was likely a good thing, for he would have been tempted to return to bed. Where are you going? she asked.

I’m going to check on the prisoner. I can’t sleep so I might as well go for a walk, Boris said.

You’re such a light sleeper. I did not even notice the screams. It’s the middle of the night, so I’m going back to sleep. She rolled back over. Wake me if you want to have some fun later, she said in a seductive tone.

Boris was not surprised that Veronica could sleep through a man being tortured to within an inch of his life. He, on the other hand, had not grown up in a place where such noises were common. On his parents’ quiet farm in the empire, he had awoken most mornings to the sound of the rooster crowing and was used to the sounds of cows and pigs and chickens during the day. He would fall asleep each night listening to the silence that came when he, his father, and brothers completed their work. He shook his head - if only life could have remained that simple.

Exiting the quarters that he and Veronica shared at the inn named the Gray Mare, Boris made his way down the hallway to the stairs, where he proceeded down to the main floor and on to the cellar. The sound of screaming grew louder as he descended. It assailed his ears like a physical force as he opened the door to the cellar that now served as a torture chamber. Steeling himself, Boris made his way down.

Hanging on the walls of the cellar were several torture implements, such as pincers, pokers, knives, hammers and nails. The sacks of grain and barrels of alcohol along the opposite wall looked out of place, given the circumstances.

In the center of the room, hanging from chains suspended from the ceiling, was the source of all the commotion. The man was gaunt and below average height for a man, with a thinning hairline and fair complexion. By the look of him, he was from the northern farmlands, northeast of Tar Ebon. Now he was stark naked, with his feet hanging an inch or two off the ground. He hung limp from the chains that bound his wrists and blood dripped down his arms where the irons chafed his skin. His body was covered in bruises, while his right eye was closed up due to swelling. He was missing three of the fingers from his right hand and the remaining fingers all looked as though they had been broken, joint by joint.

Standing in front of the man, with his back to Boris, was Bruno, Lord Garik’s master torturer. Bruno turned and broke into a lop-sided grin, which did not reach his cold, dark eyes, as he saw Boris. Just the sight of the man made Boris shudder. Though not tall or large, it was Bruno's skill with his tools that made so many fear him. One did not want to be on the receiving end of torture at this man's hands. Bruno had no friends that Boris knew of, for none wanted to be friends with a man who could, at the word of his master, torture them to death. Better to keep away from such a man than to draw undue attention and give him further information to use against oneself.

Ah, Boris! Come, come, and see the prisoner. Bruno gestured at Boris to step forward, closer to the prisoner. The prisoner is close to breaking, aren't you, Victor? He sounded excited by this fact. The prisoner only moaned in reply.

Boris took a step closer and then a few more as Bruno tugged at him. As he looked closer at the prisoner, he saw that the initial observations he made had only been a small portion of what had been done to this man. To start, his right eye wasn't just swollen with bruising – it had been plucked out. His left ear had been sliced clean off and his nose was so crooked that it almost ran parallel with his face. Boris surmised that the only reason the man still had a tongue was that he hadn't yet told all his secrets. Boris cringed as his eyes looked downward and saw the man's genitalia. He had been made a eunuch, having been castrated. That this man still lived was a testament to the extraordinary skill of Bruno.

What information are you looking for? Boris asked.

Bruno picked up a hot poker. I am looking for information on the king, who sent him here to spy on us. I want to know about the supposed secret passages that lead into the palace. Garik is very interested in seeing the king die as part of his plan and a sneak attack when the king least expects it is what he wants. However, Bruno poked the man in the stomach, eliciting a grunt beneath clenched teeth, this spy is being very tight-lipped. At first, he remained silent, then he would only tell us his name and now all he does is scream and remain silent. Nevertheless, rest assured, he will tell Lord Garik what he wants to know, sooner or later. Why did you come down here, Boris?

I came because of the noise. I could hear the man screaming all the way upstairs in my chambers. Isn't there a way for you to muffle him?

Bruno placed his hand on his chin. I could shove a rag in his mouth to gag him, but I relish the screams too much. His screams are like music to my ears. Better than sex even. No, he will not stop screaming until he talks or I kill him.

Boris nodded in understanding. It had been worth a try. He might have known the sociopath would get great pleasure in the suffering of others. So be it. I will leave you to your work then. With one more baleful look at the prisoner who, out of loyalty for the king, was enduring such great suffering and, in turn, giving Boris sleepless nights, he turned and ascended the stairs. Perhaps the prisoner would pass out from the pain soon so that Boris could get some rest. Then another thought came to him. Perhaps he would take Veronica up on her earlier offer.

Chapter 3: A Task

THE NEXT MORNING, BORIS and Veronica descended the stairs of The Gray Mare together, seeking to break their fast. They found that, despite the early hour, the inn was already quite busy. Boris assumed that this was due to the fact that Lord Garik traveled with a large retinue of retainers, the likes of which included assassins, hangers-on such as prostitutes and even some thieves. Until recently, thieves had kept their distance from assassins.

The innkeeper, a scrawny, balding man with gray hair and a bent back, and his wife, a plump, unappealing woman in her middle years, scurried around, eyes lowered and steps quick. Three younger women at varying ages ranging, Boris guessed, from fifteen to early-twenties, also moved quickly through the inn, attempting to avoid the grasping hands of lecherous-eyed men who thought it would be funny to have some fun with the innkeeper’s daughters. One of them, a tall, brown-eyed girl with brown hair pulled back, reminded Boris of his younger sister Alisa.

Located at the center of the inn, surrounded by his highest-ranking cohorts, including the blonde mage and the cloaked woman, was Lord Garik himself. The blonde mage was in her typical blood red, low-cut dress that left nothing to the imagination regarding her bosom. The cloaked assassin was dressed much in the same way she had been that fateful night of Lord Richard's death and every time he had seen her since – dressed all in black, with a cloak draped behind her chair, her hood up and a veil covering all but her green eyes.

Lord Garik, noticing Boris and Veronica, motioned them over. His eyes seemed to linger on Veronica longer than was proper, though proper was a term seldom used among assassins.

Sit, sit, Lord Garik said, as he gestured toward two open chairs. My lieutenants and I were just speaking of you both.

I hope you were speaking good things about us, My Lord, Veronica said in her most sultry voice.

You could say that, he replied with a grin that reminded Boris of a wolf eying a chicken. I have a job for the two of you.

A job? During the past six months, Boris and Veronica had followed Lord Garik and his retinue around in their travels, but they had never been given any specific task other than Get in there or Stay out of her way as the two mysterious women accompanying Lord Garik, the mage and the veiled assassin, took center stage and did the hard work. Boris thought this was backward - a general typically sent in his expendable infantry first, but thinking back to the incredible displays of power and skill shown by the two women, he had come to realize that there was no risk involved to either woman during any of their previous operations.

What sort of job, my Lord? Boris said.

Lord Garik’s eyes turned to Boris. You are to go to Tar Ebon and retrieve a shipment of very valuable cargo shipping from the north. This cargo comes at great expense, so failure is not an option. Do you understand?

Boris returned Lord Garik’s gaze without flinching. Showing fear in front of Lord Garik was one of the fastest ways to end up being retired from the assassins’ guild, which almost always meant death – if you were lucky. I understand.

Why us, My Lord? Veronica said.

Because the two of you are both skilled, have been loyal so far to me. Also, you are expendable if captured or killed in the event you fail in your mission.

Out of the corner of Boris' eye he could see Veronica nod her head in acceptance. Very good. We won't let you down. Her voice was steady, but had lost its seductive undertone.

Are you scared? a feminine voice came from Lord Garik's left. It was the veiled assassin.

Me? Scared? Veronica scoffed. I fear nothing and no one. The glare she gave the veiled woman would have made lesser assassins look away or stammer an apology.

Her gaze did not have that effect on the veiled woman, however. She kept her gaze firm, searching Veronica's eyes and face, then darting to Boris' eyes, before nodding.

That's settled then, Lord Garik said with a hearty laugh. You are to meet up with the ship named The Black Blood in Tar Ebon. She is expected to come into port five days from now. You are to leave immediately on a merchant boat we've hired to take you to Tar Ebon, named Sylvia's Pride so as to be waiting when the ship arrives. Once the ship arrives, you are to collect the cargo, put it on a wagon, and go to Henry's Crossing. You may requisition additional men to protect the cargo from among the crew of the Blood. Once you have returned, take the cargo to the forest east of town, unchain the package, and leave if you want to live.

Why not have The Black Blood port here, at Henry's Crossing? It would be simpler, Veronica said.

"Because, my dear, despite our increasing hold on this city, the king has placed his own personal guards near the docks. Our attempts at bribing them have so far been unsuccessful and killing them would be too obvious. The king will not expect this cargo to come from the north and he will not expect it to arrive in Tar Ebon, the very heart of the kingdom.

Now go, break your fast and be ready to leave at noon from dock ten. Do try to dress inconspicuous. I wouldn't want to have to find two others to do this job on short notice after the guards at the docks slew you.

Boris gulped. This was going to be a very interesting journey.

Chapter 4: Waiting

LORD GARIK GAVE US a mission, Boris. Don’t tell me you’re going to back out now. Veronica's voice had become like steel.

No, Veronica, I’m not saying I am. I was commenting on how it would be so easy for us to catch a boat for Valnos and head east over the ocean toward Imperial lands. We could start over, free from the grasp of Garik and his agents.

Listen, Boris, Veronica whispered in a fierce undertone, I am not leaving until I get revenge for the death of Richard. If that means that I have to bow and scrape and kiss that fool Garik’s feet then so be it. I will have my revenge on Garik and his little pet bitch.

I understand. Forget I said anything. Come on, we have to get to the docks. Standing up, Boris left a generous tip on the table as compensation for the glares the poor serving woman received from Veronica every time she came around, and headed for the door.

As Boris and Veronica departed from The Gull Tavern, Boris noticed a city watch patrol, consisting of six men, making their way toward the tavern from the north. Grabbing Veronica's arm, he steered her in the opposite direction, not looking back.

What are you doing, Veronica said as she looked up at him, though she was going along with him and speaking in a fierce whisper.

City watch, Boris replied. That was all that needed to be said. Assassins didn't quite fear the city watch, for they were under-trained and underpaid, but they were a nuisance to be avoided when possible. Although the city watch members lacked skill, they did possess coordination, and, just as a pack of hyenas could take down a lion, so too could a large enough squad of city watchmen take down a pair of highly-skilled assassins.

Boris and Veronica had dressed to blend in on their journey to Tar Ebon. Boris wore a typical pair of workman brown trousers with a faded green tunic, while Veronica had packed up her dark leathers and knee-high boots in favor of similar clothing, for she had refused to wear a dress.

Each wore a tattered brown cloak at their backs, as most people in this region did if they were traveling. A cloak was one of the most valuable tools available to a traveler. It would act as shelter from rain, a cushion from the hard ground when an inn wasn't an option, a margin of warmth during the colder seasons and could serve as camouflage in the dark.

Boris did not look back, as he knew that would look suspicious. He let go of Veronica's arm and reached instead for her hand. She was reluctant and began to pull away, but then realized why he was doing it and allowed him to grip it. Holding hands would make them seem more like a couple, just a workman and his woman out on the town, going about their business.

The ruse seemed to have worked, for when the two stopped at a fish vendor along the docks, Boris looked northward to survey The Gull Tavern. As he watched, the entire squad entered the inn one-by-one.

We're clear, Boris said at last, releasing Veronica's hand and beginning to move southward along the avenue again. Better to continue the way they were going than to pass the inn again and risk drawing unnecessary attention. Veronica turned and followed.

They had arrived in Tar Ebon on the third day after their meeting with Garik. Since then, they had acquainted themselves with the city, learning about the docks and surveying the level of security at each of the gates leading out of the city as well as spending some personal time together at the local inn, drinking in the common area and partaking in late night activity in their room.

They had learned that the ships from the north docked, logically, in the smaller North Harbor, while the ships from the south docked in South Harbor. The only thing that separated the two harbors was the large Celestial Lighthouse, which was attached to the customs building. When ships arrived, they were to dock at any open dock and await a customs official to come and check their manifest and inspect their ship.

In terms of gates, the north gate was the least trafficked and therefore the least-guarded. The guards appeared lax there, seldom checking the carts of the farmers and local artisans entering or exiting the city. If Boris and Veronica could disguise their package as something a farmer or artisan would be leaving the city with, they should have no problems.

Boris and Veronica continued south a ways, until The Gull Tavern was no longer in sight, before cutting up a side street and heading north again. Today was the day the ship was to arrive, and they intended to be there as soon as it docked. Their best chance would be to unload the important cargo prior to the customs officials arriving, hence reducing unwanted questions.

As they walked north, Boris thought back to the conversation they had been having at the tavern. It was clear that Veronica was not about to consider leaving the assassins’ guild and fleeing to Imperial lands until she had her revenge. Perhaps I'm homesick, Boris thought, but I miss my family. He considered for a moment leaving on his own, but could not bear the thought of leaving Veronica all alone. Who knew what Lord Garik would do to her if Boris defected? It was likely he would inflict on Veronica the same punishment Boris would have received. Boris was not about to have that on his conscience.

At last, they arrived in the area directly parallel from North Harbor. They chose a vantage point on a wooden bench near the water's edge where they could watch all of the ships come in. It was a busy day as usual, with carts pulled by horse or oxen moving up and down the avenue behind them, vendors hawking their wares and street urchins running amok. Customs officials passed them several times on their way to inspect ships as they came in to port, but spared them a only a brief glance. To the outside observer, the two would look like another working-class couple out to admire the Tar Ebon harbor.

The day wore on and, as dusk neared, Boris began to wonder if the ship had not passed Tar Ebon by and decided instead to make for Henry's Crossing. At last, illuminated by the final rays of the sun, a medium-sized cog arrived in the harbor and made its way toward North Harbor. Nudging Veronica, who had begun to doze off, Boris stood up and made his way toward the dock where the ship was going to tie up.

Behind him, Veronica grumbled about being awakened, but he could hear her moving off into the darkness. It was her task to fetch the cart from the nearby warehouse. They had paid for it for the day and ordered the warehouse operator, in very clear terms, to keep the horse and cart ready to be used at a moment's notice.

Ho, are you The Black Blood? Boris called out as the ship came alongside the dock and sailors threw ropes from the ship to tie it down.

One of the sailors, who had leaped onto the dock, replied Aye, it is, before continuing his work of tying up the ship.

Boris waited as the ship slid alongside the dock. Behind him, he could hear the clop-clop of horse hooves and turned to see Veronica riding atop a wagon, the wagon operator at her side steering the animals. Veronica gestured and the man brought the wagon alongside The Black Blood.

The gangplank was lowered from the ship and Boris moved to ascend.

Hold where you are, a stern voice commanded from atop the ship. State your name and business here.

Boris looked up toward the ship and found several men pointing crossbows at him, while one of the largest, most muscular, men he had ever seen stood watching him, arms folded. The man was olive-skinned by the look of it, most likely from the southern lands of Tar Ebon or from the region of Caladon in the southwestern Imperial lands.

My name is Boris. I have been sent at the command of Lord Garik to collect the important cargo you hold on your ship.

Do you have some proof of this? the large man said.

A blur streaked past Boris to his right and struck the wooden railing beneath the man. Any other questions? Veronica said from behind, in a menacing tone.

The man grabbed the dagger from the railing and studied it. Boris knew he would find the symbol of the Assassins’ Guild on it. Lord Garik had given it to them before they left, to present as proof that they spoke the truth. At last, he laughed and stuck the knife in his belt. My, aren't you the fiery lass? He raised a hand, palm outward, and the men that stood along the railing lowered their crossbows. My men are preparing the package for off-loading as we speak.

Thank you, sir, Boris replied. We will require the services of several of your men to accompany us on our journey to deliver this package. Can you spare some?

The man was silent for a moment before replying. Aye, I can spare five men for you, but no more. This may be important cargo that Lord Garik wants, but I will not leave my ship defenseless.

That will suffice, Boris said.

While Boris waited, he heard a commotion behind him. Coming along the dock were several men, illuminated by lanterns. It appeared the arrival of the ship, and the resulting activity orchestrated by Boris and Veronica, had caught the notice of the customs officials.

A few moments later, a squad of a dozen customs officials, their swords drawn, approached. Veronica and Boris eyed them but did not draw their concealed weapons. Better to act innocent for as long as possible. It would be a challenge to take on a dozen men without the aid of those aboard The Black Blood, and the sounds of fighting would draw more officials, perhaps even the city watch, making it more difficult to extricate their package from the city.

What are you doing with this cart? The lead man, obviously the squad leader, demanded.

We are off-loading cargo, Boris replied, keeping his voice calm.

Perhaps you're new here, Imperial, the man said as he approached. He had judged Boris based upon his accent, which was Imperial despite his years in Tar Ebon. The ship does not unload until we have inspected the manifest and compared it to the cargo aboard.

Boris was about to make a witty reply about how they should have been faster to get out there, and could see that Veronica was about to start stabbing people, when the large man once again spoke. Perhaps I can clear this up, squad leader, he called out. Turn around and return to your headquarters. Tell your commander the Black Captain Rogerio is at his docks. He will know what to do.

The squad leader's eyes had gone wide at the mention of Rogerio's name. Clearly, the man had a reputation here on the docks of Tar Ebon. Y-yes, I-I will do that, he stammered, inching backward. The man looked as though he was about to pee himself. When he felt he was far enough away, he turned and motioned for his squad to turn around. They left at a brisk walk, to save some face, but Boris had a feeling they would not be back.

Rogerio confirmed his feelings. Their commander and I have an arrangement. He leaves my ship alone and I don't kill every one of his family members. We won't be bothered again tonight.

Very impressive, Veronica said, stepping up beside Boris. Lord Garik's little pet must have had a tough time bringing you into Garik's new world order.

I may be a brute, lass, but I ain't stupid, Rogerio growled. Better to live to fight another day than die for such a foolish reason. If only the other guild leaders had understood that simple lesson we'd already control this land.

After the squad of customs agents had faded from view, the cargo rose from the cog and settled onto the cart. The cargo was heavy, for the suspension on the wagon strained to keep the wagon bed from rubbing against the wheels. Perhaps we'll need more horses, Boris thought as he counted in his head how much of the coin Lord Garik had given them remained. There was enough left to purchase several dozen strong horses, in addition to a squad of mercenaries if necessary.

Once the cargo was off-loaded, five of Captain Rogerio's men trudged down the gangplank, travel sacks over their shoulders, and fell in around the cart without a word. These are your men, Captain Rogerio called from the deck. They will serve you until the cargo is delivered or I'll have their heads.

Boris nodded in understanding and approached the wagon driver, who had not moved from his seat. We need another horse. Where can we find one?

The man scratched his beard nervously. I have a horse back at the warehouse, sir. We can use that one.

Good, take us there. Without further words, Boris began walking down the dock and in the general direction of the warehouse. Veronica returned to her seat next to the wagon driver. She would be assurance that the man did not attempt anything duplicitous.

Arriving at the warehouse, the second horse was hitched to the wagon. As the wagon driver turned back to his seat, Boris stepped up to him and placed a hand on his chest, halting him. You're not coming, he said. You will remain here and keep quiet about what happened. Do you understand?

B-but, that's my only wagon and horses, the man protested pitifully. How am I to make a living without them?

That's not my problem, Boris said, and turned to mount the wagon. You'll have your life, be grateful for that.

Better to be dead at this point, the man sobbed.

Be careful what you wish for, Boris thought. He looked up and caught Veronica's eyes. He gave a brief nod and she withdrew one of her throwing knives from the pouch at her belt. Without a word, she threw the knife at the wagon driver. It took the man in the throat, and he clutched at it soundlessly in disbelief.

Boris snapped the reins and the wagon, with its precious cargo and the company of five mercenaries, began to depart the warehouse, leaving the wagon driver to flounder on the floor as his life drained quickly from his throat. Before they made it out of the warehouse, Boris heard the thump of a body hitting the floor. He had hoped to avoid bloodshed this night, but having no witnesses left to wag their tongues was convenient.

Making their way toward the north gate, they met no other interruptions, though they did stop at five inns along the way and steal a horse from the stables of each for the mercenaries. They needed to make haste, and being mounted would expedite the travel to Henry's Crossing. Fortunately, the grooms they encountered possessed more wits than the wagon driver and said nothing when a silver mark was given to them.

The gates of Tar Ebon were unique in that they never closed. In many smaller towns or cities with walls and gates, the gates were closed after dark to all but those on official business of the lord or lady of that city. But due to the size of Tar Ebon, it was difficult to make