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

“For that matter, I'm pleased that I didn't taste my own dirk. Not that dying in a pub would surprise any who know me well — ”

“That may yet happen, you reptile!”

Trilisean turned to see a tall, burly man standing a few feet away, dressed much the same as Conn. His meaty hand rested on the hilt of his sword and there was a clear challenge in his voice.

“Donnough!” Conn said with a cheery smile. “What're your lips doing here? The captain's arse must be miles away.”

“You know well I've come to bring you back. You can walk or be carried, makes no difference to me. Desertion in the face of the enemy is serious, boyo.”

“Your mother named you well, lad. You dunna what you’re talking about, and you dunna grasp simple concepts. What enemy?”

“There's a war on.”

“There's always a war on. I'm done. Go back to your boss. I'm sure his bed's getting cold without you.” Conn turned back to his ale.

Trilisean saw the big man's brow wrinkle in anger, then confusion. He obviously didn't expect verbal abuse and was unsure how to proceed against Conn's turned back. As she watched, his expression changed slowly, like snow breaking up on a mountain. She assumed it must be the heat generated by his thought process.

“Alright, lad,” Donnough – his name did sound like ‘dunna’ she realized – said with a leer. “I see you're with a lady.” He placed enough emphasis on the word that all within earshot understood that he spelled
‘lady'
with a silent
‘whore.’
“So I'll give you ten minutes upstairs. Then you can come quietly.”

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.