The Third Apprentice (11 page)

Clouds filled the
night sky, blocking out any light from the moon and stars above. No sounds
could be heard throughout the city, at least not from Taren’s location.
Somewhere in the night, a man was about to lose his life, and Taren had failed
to stop it. Though he would not be physically present, he still felt a degree
of guilt. How the La’kertan could kill without a thought and never look back
was beyond him. Visions of a weeping family and fatherless children filled the
mage’s head and invaded his dreams. Restless, he finally reached into his bag
to retrieve a sleeping draught. Zamna’s choices were his own, and Taren decided
he would not hold himself responsible. Taking two sips of the deep-amber tincture,
he fell asleep within minutes, his dreams no longer haunting him.

S
ilently in the
darkness, Zamna crept along the roads, his feet making no sound against the
stones. Approaching the tavern with caution, he observed his surroundings. Not
a single person was visible in the streets, and the only sound to be heard was
the yowling of a cat in the distance. Moving up to the tavern door, he
unwrapped a small set of lock picks that had been stowed in a secret pocket of
his leather shirt.

Sliding a thin metal pick into the lock, he tested
the mechanism for its complexity. Grinning, he realized it was a simple lock
with only two tumblers. The owner shouldn’t have bothered placing a lock on the
door at all. Within seconds, Zamna sprung the lock and stepped quietly inside.

All was dark except for the remnants of a dying
fire in the hearth. Though he did not know which room his quarry had gone to,
he distinctly remembered the man climbing the stairs as he and Taren were
leaving the establishment. If he had to search each room, he would do it. There
was always risk involved in a hired killing, but for fifty gold pieces, it was
definitely worth it.

His graceful movements allowed him to creep
silently up the stairs. The wood did not creak below the weight of his
well-trained feet. For years he had practiced the skill of moving unseen
through the darkness, and tonight he put those skills to good use. This job was
no different from the dozens of others he had taken over the years.

At the top of the steps, he crouched low, focusing
his ears on the silence inside the tavern. Pressing one ear against the first
door, he listened for the sounds of sleep inside. Cautiously, he turned the
handle, opening the door a sliver. With one yellow eye, he peered inside to see
a couple asleep in their bed. The man he sought was accompanied by two males,
not a female. This was not the right room.

He crept down the corridor, checking rooms on both
sides, but still his target eluded him. Finally, when he came to the fifth door
on the right, he heard an interesting sound. His lips curled slightly at the
edges as he pressed his ear to the door. Inside was the sound of snoring, and
it was coming directly from the other side of the door. Running a scaly hand
silently down the wood, he paused when his hand neared the floor. The weight of
the occupant inside could easily be felt pressing against the door. This was
the room. No other patron of this establishment would have the need for a guard
to sleep next to the door. The man knew there was a price on his head, so he had
hired someone to bar the door while he slept.

With quick but silent feet, Zamna moved along the
corridor and back down the stairs. Tiptoeing through the common room, he let
himself out of the tavern and back onto the street. Finding the city still
deserted, he moved casually around the side of the tavern. A row of wooden
supports rose up the side of the building near a row of windows. With one last
look at his surroundings, he grabbed onto the wood and began to climb. His
yellowed claws dug into the wood, helping him to lift his weight into the air
until he came to the second floor. Swinging his shortened tail, he leapt
through the night air, his claws digging into the wooden frame around the fifth
window.

Waiting to be sure no one had stirred, Zamna
lifted the window up an inch. The only sounds inside were those of sleeping
men. With the window open half way, the La’kertan flattened himself and crept
inside. Three men lay sleeping, one in each cot, the third wrapped in a blanket
and propped against the door. He observed the face of the man to his right,
only to find he was not the man on the poster. The man on the left, however,
matched the portrait perfectly.

Drawing a dagger from its sheath, he approached
the sleeping man, intending to slit his throat. Unbeknownst to him, a series of
magical runes had been etched into the floorboard just beside the bed. They had
no color or special glow about them. Instead, they blended into the darkness,
leaving the La’kertan unaware of their existence. When the claw of his right
foot touched lightly on the runes, a flash of green light erupted from the
floor. In an instant, he was trapped, unable to move a single muscle. His eyes
stuck wide open, and he could only watch as the men awoke and scrambled to
their feet.

“What’s this?” one of them asked, poking a finger
at Zamna’s tail.

“A La’kertan,” the wanted man replied with a grin.
“It seems he came to claim the price on my head.” He knelt down next to the
still-paralyzed Zamna. “You should have stayed at home.” Flashing his yellowed
teeth, he grabbed one of the La’kertan’s arms while his hired guard grabbed the
other. Dragging him to his feet, they laughed at his inability to resist. The
runes had done a fine job of capturing the hapless assassin.

Zamna did not know how long the spells effects
would last. Unable to speak or move his eyes, he found himself entirely at the
mercy of the three men. Was this the same spell Taren had attempted on the
spiny hog? Who had cast it? Never before had he tried his skills against a wizard.
He might have thought twice had he known one of the men was a mage. With no
magic of his own, he did not know a way to protect himself from it, other than
staying out of the line of fire.

One of the men lit a small lantern to light his
path and opened the door leading into the hallway. He stepped out to make sure
the coast was clear before motioning to the second man. He stepped out as well,
while the third man placed a pillowcase over Zamna’s head.

“Can’t have you seeing where we’re going,” he said
with a laugh.

They lifted him between themselves and slowly made
their way down the stairs. Carrying his motionless form into the darkness, they
exited the tavern and walked along the streets for some time. Zamna’s sense of
direction failed him, and he had no idea where they might be taking him. What
good was he as a hostage? He expected them to kill him where he stood, not cart
him away to another location.

The La’kertan landed hard as he was tossed into
the back of a wagon. His head still covered, he could not determine what other
cargo resided with him. He could feel burlap against his scales, but he could
not move a finger to tell what might be inside the sack. The men did not speak
for the remainder of the journey. Only the sounds of the horse’s feet and the
wheel’s against the stone path found their way to his ears. Eventually the
sound of stone gave way to the sound of dirt. That they were heading away from
the city was all he could be certain of.

Zamna began to count, wondering how far away they
might take him. If he had any hope of escape, he would need to find the city
again once he was loose. When they finally came to a stop, Zamna guessed that
they’d traveled for about an hour. In which direction they had gone, he had no
way of knowing.

“He’ll be comin’ around soon,” one of the men
said. “Best tie him up.”

A second man dragged Zamna to the edge of the
wagon and secured his hands with rope. Leaving the hood in place, they led him
down a system of winding paths. Zamna could feel the effects of the spell
finally beginning to wane. He was able to wiggle his fingers and blink his
eyes, which brought him a small amount of relief. Soon, he could move his head
side to side, and the pressing sensation against his chest disappeared.
Coughing a few times, he made sure his voice was intact.

“Quiet!” one of the men shouted, slapping him
against the back of the head.

Zamna said nothing and continued to walk alongside
the man. Without warning, he was turned around and shoved into a chair, the
pillowcase lifted from his head. His eyes beheld the inside of a well-lit cave.
Through years of human usage, the cave walls no longer had their wet, living
surfaces. They were bone dry with rows of lamps affixed at long intervals. A
good portion of the floor was covered with water, and rope bridges were
suspended between sections of solid ground. Turning his head to each side, he
saw stacks of crates and what appeared to be a few different campsites. This
cave must be home to a considerable population of criminals.

“Tell us, reptile,” one of the men began. “Who
hired you to kill my friend?”

Zamna did not reply. A man with two bodyguards
already knew that someone had offered a price on his head. What did he need
with such information?

“Who was it?” the man screamed, bringing his face
close to the La’kertan.

Still, Zamna said nothing. If they were going to
kill him, they’d have done it already. It was obvious the man had displeased
more than one person, causing them to seek his demise. How else could he not
know who wanted him dead? In truth, Zamna had no idea who had offered the
bounty. All he knew was what was written on the poster he found at the inn.
Presumably, that was the place to claim the reward after the man was dead.
Zamna was not the sort to ask questions. In his line of work, questions could be
more dangerous than the actual killing. Instead, he accepted a job and
collected his payment rarely knowing the details of the hit. He wasn’t
interested in the politics of the game. All that interested him was the money.

The man he had intended to kill stepped forward
and grinned. With a stroke of his hand, he slapped Zamna’s face, eliciting a
hiss in response. The man laughed. “You thought you’d get yourself some easy
gold didn’t you?” he asked, still laughing. “No assassin can best me.” Turning
to his guards, he said, “Take him to the pit with the other.”

One guard stepped forward and pulled Zamna’s
daggers from their sheaths. Checking his shirt for more weapons, they
discovered the lock picks hidden in a small pocket and tossed them in the pile
with his daggers. They took his pack as well, tossing it to the side to be gone
through later. Then, the two men grabbed him by each arm, forcing him to his
feet once again. They led him deeper inside the cave to a poorly lit area where
the floor was damp and slick. A metal cage surrounded a low impression in the
cave floor, and a single figure stood inside.

“Stand to the back!” one of the guards yelled at
the man inside. He obeyed, moving himself to the back of the cage. The guard
placed a key in the sizable lock affixed by a chain to the cage door. Swinging
the door open, he shoved Zamna inside before securing the lock. They walked
away, their footsteps growing fainter in the distance.

Zamna observed the man who sat at the back of the
cage. He was broad-shouldered and shirtless with the ash-gray skin of the locals.
His feet were also bare, but he wore a pair of tattered black pants. His dark
hair fell in tangles upon his shoulders.

“Sit,” the man said, patting the ground next to
him. “It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”

Zamna took a seat next to the man and asked, “Who
are these men?”

“Drug runners,” the man replied. “They’ll be happy
to have you. It’s hard to keep workers around here.”

“Workers?” Zamna wondered. Apparently these men had
a job in mind for him.

“Mining,” the man replied. “There’s a rare mineral
in these caves, but you have to search deep inside to find it. The walls can
become unstable in a second and come crashing down. We lost five yesterday.”

Zamna shook his head. He had no plans to work for
these men. As soon as his bonds were untied, he would kill every man in his
path. A fight to the death was better than life as a slave.

“Don’t think you’re going to fight your way out of
here either,” the man added.

“Why not?”

“One of those men is a mage,” he explained. “He
draws traps on the ground that are invisible.”

Zamna nodded slowly, realizing that was what had
happened to him. Those men had been sleeping when he entered, and none of them
had sat up to cast a spell. He must have stepped on their trap, causing it to
flash and wake everyone inside. A careless mistake may have cost him
everything.

“The men usually surround themselves with those
traps so you can’t get to them,” the man continued. “We killed a few of them,
but they always manage to round us up and get us back in here.”

“How long have you been here?” Zamna asked.

“At least five months now,” he replied with a
shrug.

“What brought you here?” Zamna wondered, fearing
he already knew the truth.

“Same as you,” the man said. “I wanted the bounty.
Fifty gold would have changed my life.”

Zamna stared off into the darkness. The bounty had
been a scam all along. Knowing he was constantly protected by a mage, the man
had placed a bounty on his own head, setting the price too high for an average
criminal to resist. Their “interrogation” had just been for show. Zamna could
not believe his stupidity in falling for such a ruse. Here he was trapped in a
pit, thanks to his own greed.

His mind filled with regret as he sat in the
darkness wishing he had followed Taren’s advice. Ailwen’s tomb probably held
riches beyond his wildest dreams. Now he might never see it. Taren would expect
to meet him in the morning, but how long would he wait? Zamna had no way of
knowing when he would be presented with the chance to escape this place. There
was no guarantee he would succeed either. With invisible traps hidden throughout
the cave, he might kill the men only to kill himself on the way out.

Zamna sat back in the darkness searching his mind
for a solution. His best bet was to play along at first, until he was familiar
with his surroundings. Perhaps he could find a way of detecting the traps.
Taren would surely be long gone before Zamna found the way out, but maybe he
would make it to the tomb on his own. Once the door had been opened, it might
still be possible for Zamna to get inside. He hated the thought of coming so
far only to fail now. Closing his eyes, the sight of treasure piled high in the
tomb invaded his mind. For a chance at fifty gold pieces he had thrown away the
opportunity to find an immense fortune. He chided himself, wishing he had taken
the sensible route for once.