Night's Haunting (22 page)

"Vos is taxing me through the teeth. I don't
have
anything else!"

The scrawny man took a step back and stood up straight, rubbing a hand across his chin as if in deep thought.

"Well, that
is
a problem, and no mistake," he said. "I could quite easily see how a man might be ruined when he pays two masters, and neither of us want that, do we Mr Perner?"

Reinhardt shook his head dumbly.

"Seems to me that you can pay us or pay Vos. Hmm... Best you pay us, I think. It would be better for both you and your family. Yes, I am convinced, you are better off paying us. We'll take care of any nasty men Vos sends your way, just like we took care of that poor sad bastard lying on your floor. In the meantime..."

Plucking the dagger from the table in one heave, the scrawny man turned and grabbed the nearest sack of corn, slinging it over his shoulder. He put his other hand to his mouth and whistled. Another thief trotted in, carrying a lighted torch, its flames flickering as it passed through the threshold of the shop. As Reinhardt looked on, the thief began to dip the torch in amongst the dry sacks, then tossed it on to a bale of cloth stacked along a wall.

The scrawny man waved cheerfully as he left with the other thieves, ignoring Reinhardt's plaintive wail as the man rushed across his shop, trying desperately to extinguish the flames with his cloak.

"Think he got the message?" asked the thief who had thrown the torch as they began to walk up Lantern Street.

The scrawny one smiled. "Aye, I believe we did good work there."

"Didn't we just burn down his entire shop?" asked another.

"Nah, he'll put out the flames, if he moves fast enough. And I'll wager he will, men tend to be motivated when their livelihood is at stake. He'll lose a good portion of stock in the process though."

"Well, that will just make it harder for him to pay us later in the week, surely?"

"It will teach him that, between us and Vos, we are the ones that should be feared. Vos will just arrest him for non-payment of fines. We can finish him off completely." The scrawny man looked over his shoulder as thin trails of smoke began to pour out of the windows and door of Perner's General Stores. "Right now, that is what is important."

Leaning cautiously around the side of the tall wooden warehouse, Grayling watched the red-liveried soldiers of the Vos patrol march stiffly across the street junction a few dozen yards away. As always, they were right on time, their carefully planned misdirection using multiple patrols and rotating routes easily predicted by thieves who had watched them for days on end.

Pulling back, Grayling unslung her short bow and drew a single arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. She took one deep breath, then stepped away from the warehouse, in full view of the soldiers. Aiming for just a second, she let the arrow fly, and watched it thud with a dull smack into the chest of the rearmost soldier along the line.

To their credit, the soldiers reacted quickly, the sergeant shouting commands as his men unshouldered their spears and began to charge towards Grayling. Ice ran in the short thief's veins for a second as she watched the heavily armed and armoured soldiers start pounding for her. Keeping her bow in hand, she turned and ran back around the warehouse, raising her fingers to her mouth to whistle as she went, praying the others heard the signal.

Angry at having already lost one of their own, the soldiers flew around the corner. The sergeant, leading the squad, was run down in a flurry of hooves as another thief, riding a large grey horse, smashed into him. Throwing themselves to either side, the other soldiers managed to escape the horse's impact, but their formation was instantly scattered and, with their sergeant out cold and not giving orders, they split up. A handful continued the chase after Grayling, while the rest tried giving chase to the rogue horse rider, throwing their spears uselessly after him.

Seeing that she was still being followed, Grayling crossed the street and dived into a short dark alley between two more warehouses. A low, terrible growl faced her within the alley, and she kept to one wall, moving quickly but carefully. Lunging from the shadows, a large black mastiff slathered as it barked and strained against its chain to reach her.

Holding a hand out in a futile attempt to calm the creature, Grayling quickly passed it, and hoisted herself over the six foot fence crossing the alley. She heard the soldiers just steps behind her and unsnared the mastiff's chain from the hook on her side of the fence. The threatening growls changed into a roar from the dog and screams from the soldiers as the mastiff was unleashed.

Trotting out of the opposite end of the alley, Grayling looked up and down the wide road into the merchant's quarter of Turnitia, dominated on all sides by the long warehouses that handled most of the city's trade. A little further along, another thief was being hotly pursued by more Vos soldiers and, seeing the opportunity, Grayling whipped out another arrow and sent it flying. It buried itself in the back of one soldier's leg.

Realising that his squad was in danger, this sergeant barked orders, and one man split off from the rest, running away from the thieves and into the main part of the city. The others continued after their original quarry, leaving their wounded comrade in the middle of the street, writhing in pain as he clutched his wounded leg.

Grayling let the single runner go, knowing full well where the man was headed and how necessary it was to the thieves that he remain untouched, however tempting a target he might present. Instead, Grayling had already settled on her prey - news of the guildmistress' bounty on sergeants had swept through the thieves, and she intended to be the first to claim it.

Running after the fast disappearing squad, she tore past the wounded soldier, breaking her stride only to kick the man hard in the face. The tables had turned, and the forces of Vos were going to feel the wrath of the thieves.

The squad, fixated on the thief they were chasing, pursued him into a warehouse whose doors had been left wide open. As soon as the last soldier ran past the threshold, two thieves jumped from behind a wagon next to the warehouse. Moving swiftly, they flung the doors shut, driving a wooden pole through the handles to seal the entrance.

More thieves appeared from the surrounding area, armed with burning torches, and set light to spots along the walls of the warehouse that had been prepared with lamp oil. The flames took hold fast, and the thieves retreated, dooming the soldiers inside, and eager to move on to the next task. Grayling, however, slowed as she approached the warehouse and waited, pacing outside the building.

The flames clawed their way up the sides of the warehouse, and thick black smoke began to pour into the sky. After a few minutes, Grayling was ready to give up, presuming the men inside had already succumbed to the roiling smoke, if not the flames. Then she heard a crash from the opposite side of the building, and she sprinted around, readying another arrow.

A section of the wall splintered at about head height as she rounded the corner, then the thin wedge of an axe blade appeared as someone started to hack their way clear of the growing inferno. After a few more blows, smoke started pouring out of the gaps growing in the warehouse's wooden walls. The axe blows stopped and the wall thudded once, twice, then three times, as if something heavy was being thrown against them.

In a crash of splintering wood, the sergeant burst through the weakened wall, coughing and spluttering from the smoke as he fell to his knees. Grayling gave a low whistle that made the sergeant look up at her, straight into the point of an arrow. Releasing the string, Grayling smiled as the shaft was buried in the sergeant's throat, its bloody head emerging from the back of his neck. Stooping down, Grayling took the bronze sergeant's crest from the man's chest. The sergeant pawed weakly at Grayling, desperate for aid, but she pocketed the crest and turned, content to let the man die slowly in pain.

Wanting to see how other thieves were faring, Grayling retraced her steps but came to a sudden stop when she reached the main street leading into the district. The runner sent by the sergeant she had just killed had done his work.

Marching down the street, the Vos military had arrived in force. A dozen squads moved toward her in unison, brandishing spears, swords and shields, armed for a real battle. Grayling vowed that the thieves would give them one.

She sent an arrow soaring toward the assembled ranks, but the range was too great and the shot fell short. It was enough to catch the soldiers' attention, though, and two squads detached themselves from the main body to pursue her.

Grayling immediately retreated, diving back among the warehouses and locating a storm drain she had earlier marked as a point of retreat. Lifting the grate, she lowered herself inside quickly, slipping and sliding down the wet, moss-strewn tunnel into the sewers. Too excited to even notice the stench, she quickly got her bearings and headed east to begin the next phase of the plan. With any luck, they would soon have half the soldiers of Turnitia in the merchant's quarter, tied up and useless as they chased fleeting shadows.

Drawing his cloak around him, Lucius blew into his cupped hands to ward off the coming evening chill. Balanced on a ledge that wrapped around the spire of a chapel, he had a good vantage point over much of the city and, more importantly, the closest wall of the Citadel.

The chapel was a new construction, one of several that had sprouted up around the city as the Final Faith spread its influence. There were plenty of rich nobles and wealthy merchants who were keen to curry favour with Vos officials by demonstrating their piety in commissioning their own chapels, and these places of worship were quickly filled by less well-off citizens who had their own reasons to attend the regular Mass.

The whole western end of the city, from the Five Markets to the harbour, was in chaos. Fires raged in both shops and warehouses, each carefully targeted by the thieves, and soldiers ran in the streets from disturbance to disturbance with little direction. Columns of smoke rose across the city, the black fog gathering into a great cloud above the streets that smeared across the face of Kerberos' giant sphere; an unintended consequence, but a welcome one.

Their plan was working, that much was clear, Lucius decided as he turned his gaze to the Citadel. Though the fortress was too vast for him to see as a whole from the chapel, he could see the nearest facing wall was undermanned, the few scattered soldiers on its ramparts peering over into the city, wondering when they would be called to rougher duty. Several dead soldiers had already been carried into the gatehouse, nestled in the belly of one of the Citadel's giant towers.

In the shadow of the great wall, Lucius saw other forms moving. The assassins of the thieves' guild had gathered in force for the strike they planned tonight; all the disruption enacted by the other thieves was merely the prelude to unbalance the forces of Vos and give this attack the best chance of success.

The assassins had already begun swarming toward the wall, taking up their final positions before they launched the assault. Some stayed on the ground, using alleys and walls for cover, while others gathered on rooftops. Together, they spanned one great wall, the furthest moving up past the great tower to the next wall.

Shifting his position, Lucius took a couple of steps around the ledge until he was behind the spire, hidden from any spying eyes on the Citadel's wall. His eyes adjusted to the gloom as he looked into the alleys below. He spotted the form he was looking for and gave a short wave. There was a flash of a toothy grin as the young boy below waved back and ran off. Within minutes, the boy would reach Ambrose, and the Pontaine rockets the veteran thief had acquired from a friendly trader the day before.

"So, it begins," Lucius muttered to himself, as he clambered down the side of the chapel, the stepped stone construction of one of its buttresses aiding his descent. He dropped down into the chapel's grassy grounds, and trotted into the empty market that sprawled before the great tower. Moving quietly, he took his place behind a tall wooden stall, its tenant having long since disappeared after the day's trade. Two assassins waited patiently for him.

After glancing to check it was Lucius who approached, Elaine turned from him to look pointedly at the skyline.

"Ambrose is late," she said, gesturing at the empty, smoke-filled sky.

"No," Lucius said coolly, not wanting to start an argument just before the assault began. "There is still time."

The assassins had split into three-man teams, the better to support one another on what would be a very difficult attack. Lucius had seen Elaine's face when she realised that everyone else had simply presumed he would be on her team, and he knew she had not been comfortable with the idea. It frustrated him in turn to think Elaine would not trust him on a mission, regardless of their own personal issues.

He found the third member of their team, Heinrich, harder still to deal with. He was a typical stone-cold killer, the archetypal assassin who killed without thought or conscience for silver. He had taken a dislike to the man instantly, and this was only magnified as he watched Heinrich and Elaine make their final preparations for the assault. Lucius knew Elaine trusted the man and might even call him a friend, but it was not until he saw Heinrich reach over and adjust the scabbards holding Elaine's twin swords on her back that it occurred to him that they could be sleeping together.

That darkened his mood, as he continued to watch them out of the corner of his eye, noting every point of physical contact they made.

He checked himself, then smiled self-consciously. Was that jealously he was feeling? Lucius sighed. The noise pricked the ears of both Elaine and Heinrich, and they threw irritated glares at him which he waved off dismissively.

The hell with it
, he thought,
Elaine can sleep with whomever she likes
. He really did not give a damn any more. There were more important things in his life than in whose bed he lay.