The Ascent (Book 2) Page 5

  Brynn, still scanning the immediate area, saw another guard on the roof approach Daryth’s side of the eave. He quickly drew his bow, waiting for the guard to reach the edge of the roof, and fired.

  The guard flinched, grasping the arrow that struck him in the chest. Without even a groan, he tumbled over the edge, landing with a small splash in the muck. Daryth jumped, turning to the Knights again, his hands raised in question.

  Brynn shrugged.

  “Good shot,” Wrothgaar whispered. “Bad timing.”

  “He would have seen Daryth below,” Brynn said. “I had to risk it.”

  Eamon clapped Brynn on the back. “It’s alright. No one was alerted. Let’s go.”

  The Knights quickly crested the ridge and made their way down to the swamp, being careful to avoid the deeper pools of brackish water. They met Daryth behind the shack and crouched in the shadows.

  “Good work, Daryth,” Eamon said. “Did you see anyone else nearby?”

  “No,” he replied. “But I didn’t notice the guard on the roof, either.”

  “Perhaps Brynn could keep his eyes on the rooftops,” Azim suggested. “His vision seems to be more acute than ours.”

  Brynn nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Alright,” Eamon said. “We’ll proceed into town, but stay off of the walkways for now. Once we get an idea of where all the guards are, we can take them out one by one. Daryth, lead the way.”

  Daryth nodded, and then turned to peer around the corner of the shack. When he was satisfied the way was clear, he signaled the Knights to follow. They crept along underneath the walkways, wading silently through the water. Brynn watched the rooftops, his eyes aided by the moonlight. As they approached another shack, Daryth signaled for them to stop.

  “Two guards,” he said. “I can take one, but someone else will have to take the other.”

  Wrothgaar scowled. “I can’t do it,” he said. “I’m about as quiet as an avalanche.”

  Azim stepped forward. “I will take the other one,” he said, drawing his dagger.

  Daryth turned, glancing around to make sure there were no other guards in the area. He then crept toward the two targets, Azim following behind. Daryth motioned for him to get behind the guard on the left, and then crept up behind his own target. The two guards were speaking in the tongue of Khem, and Azim held his finger up to signal Daryth to wait. He listened closely to the conversation.

  “I’m not looking forward to seeing the Enkhatar,” one of them said. “Fortunately, we’re on the West coast and won’t have to see them for awhile.”

  “Agreed,” the other said. “I feel uneasy around them. Vile creatures.”

  Azim turned to Daryth with a worried look. Daryth furrowed his brow in question, but Azim shook his head, not wanting to speak until the guards had been killed.

  “I hear the Enkhatar will be bringing new blood with them,” the first guard spoke again. “Something even more vile than the Defilers.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “I overheard Sultan Hadar tell the Sheikhs in Argan. They’re something familiar to the people here. Something from their legends that makes my blood run cold.”

  The guards then fell silent. Azim nodded to Daryth. The two stood, reaching out to grab the guards’ ankles. They pulled back in unison, causing the guards to topple backward. They each caught their targets, covering the guards’ mouths to silence them, and plunged them into the swamp, pushing their daggers through their backs.

  “What were they talking about?” Daryth asked, pulling his dagger from his target’s back.

  “Disturbing news,” Azim said, signaling the Knights to join them.

  Eamon and the others dashed across the swamp to regroup. When they had reached the walkway, Azim related the conversation.

  “The Enkhatar are coming,” he said. “And they are bringing something with them. I do not know what it is, but it is something from your legends.”

  “Who are the Enkhatar?” Eamon asked.

  “They are the dead, brought to life to fight for The Lifegiver. They were once men, mighty warriors of ages past, but raised from the dead to serve the darkness.”

  “Could these be the former Keynakin?” Eamon asked.

  Azim sighed. He had not considered that possibility. The Keynakin were the most trusted Knights of Imbra, and were considered divine warriors among the people of Khem. The Lifegiver had murdered them, and now Azim understood why they had never been buried. An eternity of undead servitude would seem a likely fate for such honorable warriors.

  “That is possible,” he said.

  “My people have similar legends,” Wrothgaar said. “Dead warlords and their knights who walk among the living. They are called the Draugr, fearsome undead warriors that inhabit the tombs of kings.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Brynn said.

  “I have, too.” Angen added. “When I was young, I encountered one in the North. If these Enkhatar are similar, then we may be the only ones who could stand against them.”

  “Correct,” Azim said. “Their armor is nearly impenetrable, and even enchanted weapons do little.”

  “Where will they appear when they arrive?” Eamon asked.

  “I got the impression they will land in the East. The guards seemed thankful they were here on the opposite coast. But they were still fearful of what the Enkhatar were bringing with them. What, in your legends, could they have been referring to?”

  “I don’t know.” Eamon said. “We will have to consult with Jodocus, if possible, or perhaps Maedoc. I wish Erenoth were here to relay a message. We need to know the nature of these new beasts.”

  “There is nothing we can do now,” Azim said. “We should continue through the town.”

  Eamon nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Daryth, lead on.”

  The assassin crept through the streets of Faillaigh like a specter, his dark robes blending into the shadows. His years of experience had taught him to remain nearly invisible, and even the Jindala guards that came within only a few feet of him were completely unaware of his presence. To the world, he did not exist. He was a shadow; a deadly shadow with a mission.

  Though he had been ordered to eliminate Queen Maebh in Faerbane, the assassin had detoured to the smaller town of Faillaigh to take out another target; one whose words had a more immediate effect on the people of the South Kingdom. Governor Ferrin, sometimes known as the Mouth of the Queen, was Maebh’s formal advisor. It was he who convinced Maebh to allow the Jindala to take up residence in her cities. His motivation, as usual, would have been the prospect of filling his pockets with foreign gold.

  Ferrin was a man obsessed with greed, and that obsession was what corrupted Maebh from the day they were introduced. As a charismatic man, Ferrin had no trouble convincing the already petty and shallow sister of Siobhan to turn against her people to live a life of luxury. In a way, she was just as bad as Ferrin, if not worse. She was every bit her mother’s daughter, whereas Siobhan inherited the honor and strength of their father, Magnus.

  Despite these differences, however, the assassin was still apprehensive about killing Maebh. She was, after all, the twin sister of his love, Siobhan, and seeing the life drain from Maebh’s eyes would be nearly as heart wrenching as watching Siobhan die. He hoped that she no longer bore any resemblance to her sister, though he knew that her eyes would betray his wish. They would be Siobhan’s eyes.

  Garret stopped to rest near the town square, ducking into an alley and behind a stack of crates. Ferrin’s lavish mansion was near, and he could almost smell the man’s greed in the air. He would no doubt be surrounded by guards, or have guards posted at every door. In either case, the only way into the mansion would be through a high window. Luckily, Garret was equipped to climb.

  As he gathered the will to continue forward, voices began to echo through the nearby street. A small squad of Jindala guards was approaching, equipped with spears and small buckler shields. They marched in perfect unis
on, each man scanning the buildings around him for any sign of disobedience. Garret melted into the shadows as they passed, wishing that he could kill every last one of them. Caution stayed his hand, however, and he remained hidden and silent, waiting for the guards to turn the corner. He remained motionless as he watched them disappear into the night.

  He was about to dash across the street when he heard a faint whisper nearby. He stopped, scanning the darkness, his heart pounding rapidly. Near the rear of the alley in which he hid, a shadowy figure was crouched. He squinted to get a better look, seeing the outline of a cloaked figure beckoning him to approach. How this man had snuck up on him, he didn’t know, but whoever it was definitely had skill. Garret quietly approached the figure, his hand on his dagger, and his guard up.

  “Closer,” the figure whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Garret maintained a distance of a few feet from the figure. He was a male, in his early thirties, clean shaven with well-kept hair.

  “Who are you?” Garret asked.

  The man pulled aside his cloak, revealing an amulet emblazoned with the symbol of the Thieves’ Guild. “I am Adder,” he said. “Leader of the Thieves’ Guild in Faillaigh.”

  “What are you doing out here?” Garret demanded. “Why are you following me?”

  “I know who you are,” Adder replied. “And I know why you are here. Tell me, who is your target?”

  “My target is my business,” Garret warned. “And how do you know who I am?”

  Adder laughed. “Everyone knows you,” he answered. “You are the Scorpion. The deadliest assassin in Eirenoch.”

  Garret remembered the name. He had been given the moniker as a young man in the service of King Magnus. It had been years since he had heard it, and was surprised that a man of Adder’s age even knew it.

  “We all know of you,” Adder said. “You’re an inspiration to all of us night stalkers and thieves.”

  “I am no thief,” Garret said. “I am a member of the royal court, and always have been.”

  “Call yourself what you will, but we are with you.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Garret said. “Go about your business, and stay away from me.”

  Adder smiled. “Don’t worry, my Lord,” he said. “We won’t bother you. But we will be watching.”

  Adder turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Garret to contemplate the brief encounter. If the Thieves’ Guild was aware of his presence, then his mission may be in jeopardy. Nevertheless, he would continue. For the sake of the kingdom, Ferrin and Maebh must die.

  He returned to his hiding place near the street, seeing Ferrin’s mansion on the next block. It would be a mad dash across the street, he knew, but it was the only way.

  With one last look at the area, he chose a good, dark alley on the other side of the street as his destination. He snuck quickly across, his footfalls landing softly and silently on the cobblestone, barely making a sound. He immediately crouched in the alley, blending in with the darkness and taking another look around. There was no activity or any sign that he had been spotted.

  Satisfied, he turned and sped down the alley toward Ferrin’s mansion. The buildings in this area were becoming more lavish, and Garret knew that the guard presence would be doubled, so his caution would grow as he neared. When he finally reached Ferrin’s block, he stopped to scan the area.

  Several Jindala guards, in groups of two, were on patrol around the mansion itself. They were spaced about fifty yards apart, he calculated; a good enough distance from each other to pass through or take them out group by group. He decided that simply sneaking past was the best plan, as he did not want to alert them to the absence of any of their comrades.

  Garret gazed at the mansion, looking for any sign of movement on the grounds around it. There were guards randomly strolling among the trees, but no large groups. Apparently, the Jindala were confident that their mere presence would thwart any attempts at rebellion. This was good, Garret knew. With the death of Ferrin, the people would be more willing to rebel, and the city could be easily retaken when the Knights finally arrived.

  He crossed the street along the shadow of a tree, barely visible in its cloaking darkness. When he reached the other side, he leaped over the stone wall that surrounded Ferrin’s property, and stopped to rest behind it. Fortunately, the trees cast shadows everywhere, and his presence within the mansion’s grounds would go unnoticed with little effort on his part.

  He eyed the nearest guard, a well armored swordsman with a black tunic and turban; likely belonging to a special unit assigned specifically to guard Ferrin. Garret pulled his dirk, pulling his cloak tighter around him, and crept closer to the guard. His heart pounded with anticipation as he drew nearer. It had been decades since he had killed a man in silence, having only fought in open battle. Nevertheless, he continued, coming within a foot of the guard as he patrolled the grounds.

  When the guard reached the shadow of a large oak, Garret reached out, placing his left hand on the man’s right shoulder and spinning him about. The guard barely had time to groan as Garret plunged his dirk into the soft flesh under his chin. He stiffened, falling limp. Garret cradled his body as it fell, resting it gently on the ground. He then wiped the blood off of his blade on the man’s tunic and rushed to the shadow of another tree.

  He could clearly see the mansion’s windows now, and scanned them all, looking for the most likely window to Ferrin’s bedroom. He crept from tree to tree, closing the distance to the walls, still seeking the right window. When he reached the rear of the mansion, he spotted a small balcony, complete with a stone railing and double doors leading inside. Garret smiled, knowing this was the most likely entry.

  He glanced around for guards, seeing nothing, and then dashed to the stone mansion wall underneath the balcony. A wooden trellis was fixed to the stone, leading all the way up to the balcony and continuing upward to the roof. Garret chuckled to himself as he studied it. How easy Ferrin had made it to penetrate his personal home. Foolish.

  Garret grasped the trellis and began his ascent. He silently climbed, avoiding the prickly vines that grew along the trellis’ length. Even in the moonlight he was barely visible, appearing as nothing more than the shadow of a swaying branch cast against the lavish stonework.

  He climbed one handhold at a time, careful to test the strength of the lattice work as he did. There were places where the wood was slightly decrepit, but no serious weathering. After a minute or so of climbing, he safely reached the level of the balcony and waited. No one was in the area that he could see, but he would not take any chances. If he were caught, the mission would be over and he would have to flee, his target forgotten and allowed to continue his treachery. Garret could not let that happen.

  He extended his leg to the right, placing his foot on the railing. It felt sturdy enough to hold his weight, but its surface was somewhat slick. He would have to be careful not to put his full weight on it, lest he slip and plummet to the ground below. It was at least thirty feet to the grassy surface and a man his age would likely be seriously injured from such a fall.

  Putting those thoughts aside, he let go with his left hand and moved closer to the railing. Just as he was about to shift his weight, he suddenly heard voices approaching from beyond the double doors. He changed his plan, backing into the shadows and grasping the hilt of his dirk.

  Ferrin stepped out onto the balcony, a Jindala noble at his side. The two were dressed formally, which was unusual for this time of night. They must have been in a meeting of some sort and had stepped out for a breath of fresh air. If Garret was to succeed in his plan, he would have to kill them both. The Jindala noble, being armed, would have to die first. However, Garret could not see into the doors and had no idea whether there were guards inside. Grudgingly, he decided to listen to their conversation and wait for the opportunity to strike.

  “I understand your concern, Sallah,” Ferrin said. “But I can assure you that I have the situation under contro
l.”

  “I have already received word that Gaellos has been attacked,” Sallah replied, “and the soldiers there have been killed.”

  “It’s of no consequence,” Ferrin said. “This Onyx Dragon is just a man. Queen Siobhan’s son, at that. Our forces will have no trouble stopping his crusade.”

  Sallah sighed. “He has already defeated our forces in the North,” he said, “and has even killed Tyrus. He was our most powerful sorcerer.”

  “Surely The Lifegiver will send more troops,” Ferrin assured him. “If he wants to rule this land, then he will send everything he has.”

  “I fear what he will send,” Sallah remarked. “The Lifegiver has the power to animate the dead, among many other things. If this rebellion continues, he may resort to the unthinkable.”

  “I am not sure what you mean, Sallah, but we will take care of the problem before that happens.”

  Sallah said nothing, but folded his arms across his chest in concern. Ferrin stepped forward, placing his hands on the railing. “Fear not, Sallah,” he said, turning back to the Jindala noble. “The problem will be resolved.”

  Garret watched wide-eyed as Ferrin reached behind him, silently drawing a small dagger from his belt. The Jindala turned to walk back into the mansion, oblivious to Ferrin’s plans. Suddenly, Ferrin struck, plunging the dagger into the man’s back, twisting it and drawing it in and out to ensure its lethality. The Jindala struggled, squirming and groaning in Ferrin’s grasp.

  Garret stepped onto the balcony, making no secret of his entrance. “Ferrin,” he whispered.

  Ferrin turned quickly, bringing the dying man with him. His eyes widened as he saw Garret’s black assassin’s robes. He recognized him immediately. Garret pulled his dirk and finished off the Jindala with a quick stab to the heart. Ferrin let the man down slowly, keeping his eyes on Garret.