Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) (3 page)

“Now what?” he whispered.

She put her lips close to his ear. “The gate is barred from inside. I'll climb over and let you through. Don't worry if you hear nothing. I may have to wait for a patrol to pass.”

“And if I hear something?”

“Worry.” She flashed him a smile and sprang up the wall.

Conn was amazed to see a human climb like that. It was as though she skipped from foothold to foothold, her hands finding crevices that were simply not there. She was over in seconds with no more noise than the evening fog.

Conn waited. And waited. He'd had plenty of practice in the infantry, but never got comfortable with it. He noticed that the guard was breathing regularly. The powder didn't seem to have done any lasting harm.

Eventually, the gate swung open a few inches. He pressed his ear to it.

“Open only as much as you need to squeeze through.”

He did so, pushing the door open just a bit. It wasn't as much as it would have been had he worn any armor this night. It made him feel vulnerable, but the creak of leather and the jingle of mail would give them away even if the glint of light on steel did not.

Once through, he eased the door closed. The yard around the manor house was planted with trees and adorned with ornamental fountains and plantings of flowers. It was pleasant, and that was its purpose. It wasn't designed for defense, and that was fortunate. In the gloom of the courtyard Trilisean waited, crouched in the shadow of an ancient elm, scanning for patrolling guards.

* * *

“I was a slave. I grew up in the pens. I never knew my parents. I don't know if they were slaves, if I was captured in a raid as an infant, or if I was sold or taken to pay a debt. I grew up knowing my life was strange, but not what normal was. At around twelve, I'm not sure because I don't know the date of my birth, I found out what I was intended for. I was to be sold as a pleasure slave. All the glory of whoring without the pay. I wasn't having that.”

* * *

He crouched beside Trilisean. “Move when I move,” she breathed. “There are soldiers on the grounds.”

He waited, trying to steady his heartbeat, until she glided forward to another patch of cover. He followed quietly. While definitely less skilled than she, he was no amateur. Conn had fought a war of ambush in the forests and hills of Aeran. He had survived because he had learned to move quietly and patiently.

After several more bounds, they reached the wall of the house. The building was of stone, ancient and weathered. There were windows of real leaded glass, fitted within wooden latticework. It must have been costly at one time, but now the wood was beginning to show its age.

Trilisean crept to a window, and slid a small, supple metal pick in between the frames of the two halves.

After a moment, she swung the windows carefully open and climbed through. Conn followed.

* * *

“I escaped. I knew how to dance, and how to move lightly, so I managed to join a group of entertainers. I learned juggling, knife throwing, acrobatics. All of which were to prov…” she paused, seeking an appropriate word, then smiled, “useful.”

* * *

They found themselves in a neglected sitting room. A relic of grander days, it now served as storage. Furniture stood draped in cloth, and chests were piled in haphazard stacks. The air was thick with dust.

“We'll leave this room, turn right down a hallway. The third door is the stairway to the cellars. That's where our goal is,” she explained. “Nobody should notice this window unlocked, or scratches near the latch. Nobody comes in here.”

She paused at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They waited in silence for the sound to pass, but the steps stopped at the door. They heard muffled voices, and giggling as the handle was turned. With a stifled curse, Conn and Trilisean rolled under a large oaken table, the cloth over it hanging almost to the floor. Conn put his head on its side and peered under the cloth with one eye.

The door swung open. In the dim light from the hallway, he saw two pairs of feet, one large and booted and the other small, delicate and in the simple sandals of a servant girl. The newcomers made their way into the room with whispers and giggles, closing the door furtively behind them. The sounds of kissing and breathy murmurs soon replaced the giggles. The two pair of feet, now moving together, came to a halt beside the table. The table creaked as the couple leaned against it.

Conn, new to the role of voyeur, stifled a laugh and looked at Trilisean. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw her bite her lip to stop the laughter. Master burglar foiled by servants' illicit affair.

Above their hiding place, the couple grew more urgent. Soft moans accompanied the kissing sounds, and soon they heard the rustle of clothing sliding away. There was a grunt as the woman's feet were lifted away from the floor and the table creaked with her weight upon it.

As a pair of trousers slid down into view around the booted ankles, Conn bit his hand to keep quiet.

Soon, the table began to creak rhythmically to the accompaniment of soft groans both masculine and feminine. Eventually, the couple above reached the inevitable climax.

The noises above changed to soft endearments, and protests that he had to return to his post before he was noticed, and she swore to keep the secret. Soon the pair dressed and left, carefully pausing at the door to listen before exiting.

When the door closed, the thief and the warrior shook with silent laughter.

“Alright,” she gasped quietly, “that was an obstacle I hadn't foreseen.”

Conn wiped his eyes. “To almost be found by the enemy because the guards were neglecting their duty. What a bitter irony that would be.”

He grinned. “You'd think a gentleman would at least take his boots off,” he whispered.

She convulsed with quiet laughter and punched him in the arm. Raised eyebrows cautioning him to curb his sense of humor.

“And such a romantic location.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook for a moment. He leaned close and breathed in her ear.

“The enchanting beauty of musty dropcloths. The heady scent of dust that sets hearts alight…”

She breathed back, “Never will they smell mildew again without thinking of this tender moment.”

* * *

“I was happy, I suppose. Until the leader of the troupe told me if I wanted to go up, I'd have to go down.” The sparkle in her eyes was the cold glint off a sword's point.

“I'm not a prude or an innocent. But I won't be used that way. I'll sell my skills, but not my body. If I choose to please a man, it's because I want to. Not because I want something from him. I ran again. Only this time I was prepared. My old teachers learned very soon that I would not be trifled with. I could get into places that everyone thought were secure, make a knife appear from thin air, and vanish into the shadows.”

* * *

Soon they made their way to the door to the cellar. It was locked, but that proved no real challenge. As he followed the thief down the stairs, Conn began to wonder if he were necessary at all. He was happy just not to have tripped over anything and brought the whole household down on them.

When they reached the bottom, Trilisean walked purposefully through the wine cellar to a shelf, then motioned Conn to her. “Help me slide this section over.”

He grasped the stout shelf and leaned into it. The section moved aside fairly easily, revealing a stone door cut into the wall.

* * *

“And you need me…why?” he asked.

“It's a two person job. I need a good man in a fight for this part right here.” She pulled a scroll and unrolled it. It was a careful floor plan of the house, with copious notes inked in various colors indicating guard routes, locks, alarms, hours of use of various rooms. Conn had to admit it was quite impressive. He followed her gesture to a central room.

“I can beat this lock,” she said, “but when I do, alarms will go off and bring the garrison down. I need you to hold them off and buy us the time to get through.”

“How long do you need?” he asked, sipping at his tea.

She smiled her most innocent smile.

“Not a clue.”

* * *

Conn shoved some shelves aside to make a crude defense. He set them to make a triangle, with the wall and door at his back and an opening at the point to channel their assault. The guards would only be able to come at him from one direction. Better to leave a path open and decide the enemy's approach for him than to block the whole area and let them devise a plan. The guards would rush at the opening.

He strapped his small, round leather shield to his left arm, then took his dirk in his left hand, holding it so the point jutted some inches beyond the bottom edge of the shield. He drew his sword with his right, flexed his wrists, stretched his legs and took up position just inside the makeshift fort. He turned to her and nodded.

Trilisean took out her picks and set her attention to the lock.

* * *

“I made my way as a thief. I worked small at first. My needs were modest,” she smiled with the phrase. “I got to know a fence. He would filter gossip to me. Things clients wanted. When I would produce them, he cut me in for a better share than usual. That's how I found out about this job. It's not really a contract, just a statement that so and so would pay a lot of money for such and such. I took the jobs I wanted.”

* * *

All hell broke loose. Bells rang in the house above as the thief worked at the lock. Conn waited patiently, the tightness in his throat and the racing of his pulse fading as he directed the rush of energy into a disciplined defense. He had learned early that a warrior must master his emotions, not serve them.

Within moments, the door at the head of the stairs was thrown open and guards boiled down the steps.

Conn saw about a half dozen in the dimly lit cellar. Most wore some armor over their heads and torsos and carried long, slashing swords and small shields. They held up for a moment, seeing the defenses the Aeransman had arranged.

One of the guards carried a short-handled axe. He studied the scenario carefully.

Conn didn't want to give him time to come up with a good plan, but each moment gave Trilisean more time with the lock. The man gave directions to the others to fan out. “Take the girl alive. Kill the man if you have to.”

The man hurled his axe and shouted “Now!” whipping out his sword. The guards surged forward.

Conn batted the axe aside with his shield. He didn't catch it on the face of the buckler. If it stuck, it would unbalance his left arm, and the handle would provide a grip for someone to pull his shield aside. He squared himself to face the onslaught.

The first guard cut at the Aeransman's head. Conn deflected the cut and slashed at the man's sword arm. His heavy blade cut to the bone. The man screamed and dropped his sword, clutching the bleeding gash. Conn didn't strike again, as the wounded soldier was in the way of his comrades.

As the wounded guard staggered aside, another tried to forced his way in. Conn blocked a cut on his shield. The guardsman blocked Conn's counterattack on his own buckler and stepped in close, trying to shove him back away from the entrance so that more guards could push through and overwhelm this invader.

Conn ducked, bringing his shield down quickly at the man's leg and slicing across his foe's thigh with the point of his dirk. As the soldier's leg buckled, the former mercenary punched with his shield, shoved the man off balance and jammed the point of his sword into the guard's ribs. His enemy crumpled and fell to the floor, coughing and choking.

A comrade seized the wounded man's arm and dragged him out of the way. The remaining guards stood back, warily considering their next move.
Hurry up with the damn lock
, Conn thought.

The next man aimed a cut at Conn’s head then switched to a low slash at his shin. Conn just managed to snap his leg up over the blade. The enemy were using the greater reach of their long swords to try to wound him, cut away at him and then overwhelm him when he weakened. Conn was trained and armed for close quarters fighting, excellent in a tight infantry formation or in the narrow confines he had created, but his reach was less than his enemies'. His thoughts came in a desperate rush. If he fell back, they'd drive through the opening in the shelves and he'd have to fight two or three. If he pushed forward to bring his own weapon into reach, he'd have to face their numbers. If he stayed and fought a defensive fight, sooner or later, one cut would land, then another until he weakened and died beneath their rush.

He decided on a risky tactic. When his foe slashed at him, he turned sideways as he parried with his shield and lunged forward on his right foot, driving his sword into the man's chest, just below his throat. The guard staggered back, coughing blood, but his sword glanced off the edge of Conn's shield and drew a shallow cut along his left shoulder.