A river at his back, Kron Darkbow knelt on the ledge of a warehouse rooftop as he stared at the city stretching below. For blocks were hundreds of smaller buildings, some with glowing windows and others remaining dark.
The night’s wind stirred, bouncing the edges of his cloak in the air. The minor tumult brought him to his senses once more. After dealing with Trelvigor he had been running on instinct, but it was time to act on the plan he had put together since discovering Belgad the Liar and not the burned wizard had been responsible for the deaths of those he would avenge. Kron did not know why Belgad had had Marcus and Aurelia Tallerus put to death, but words from the wizard Trelvigor had been enough to convince him Belgad was his primary target.
Dealing with Stilp and his three guards had been a simple matter of watching Belgad’s fortress in the Swamps. He had noticed Stilp leaving with the others, and all he had had to do was follow by rooftop. He only hoped the Docks guild had not suffered for his actions.
Seeing no one on the streets below, Kron eased a small grappling hook from a pocket of his cloak and latched it to the edge of the roof. Connected to the hook was a spool of dark silk which Kron promptly tossed over the edge. He was quickly over the side and sliding down the cord as fast as his arms and legs would allow.
As soon as his boots touched cobbled stones, Kron jerked the rope and watched the grapnel twitch, jump off the ledge and fall into his waiting gloved hand.
He eased into a shadow provided by the warehouse and glanced around.
There was still no one on the streets.
Kron slid from the blackness and trotted to his left toward another warehouse and the darkness it provided. He wound the silk cord into a tight ball and returned it and the hook to a hidden pocket.
It had taken a good bit of coin for Kron to study Belgad the Liar. The man had his hands in everything legal and illegal within Bond, but he had little real property other than his mansion fortress and whatever gold and silver he kept locked away. The only exception Kron had discovered were three sailing vessels tied up at the Point, the eastern most portion of the Docks where the North and South rivers ran into one another to form the Ursian River. From drunken sailors in several taverns, Kron had learned Belgad rarely used these ships but wanted them for personal reasons. Apparently those personal reasons involved smuggling.
Darkbow drifted into another shadow and paused, again keeping his eyes on the street. His fingers walked over his body to assure him his weapons and tools were in place. The bastard sword was slung on his back, as was his bow and a soft leather quiver filled with arrows. A dagger was stuffed into the front of his belt and another sheathed deep within his right boot. Three small throwing darts hid in the back of his left glove and another three in a leather pouch at his waist. Attached to the back of his belt was a small satchel holding various tools he had found useful. Hidden among pockets of his cloak were the grappling hook with rope and his favorite weapons, three flame-spewing grenados of hard clay.
Everything was in place.
Kron eased out of the shadow and stared further east to a point between a pair of smaller warehouses. He could make out a wooden quay with three small sailing vessels tied to it. There were no torches lit, but the moon showed some movement on the dock. Belgad wouldn’t leave his only ships unguarded.
The man in black trotted across an open area to one of the smaller warehouses near the ships. The moon splayed its light across his side of the warehouse, giving him little room to hide, but he flattened against the building as best he could and hoped his dark garb would blend in well enough with the graying wood of the building.
He paused to listen but heard no cries of alarm or marching feet. Sensing no threat, he stole across the front of the warehouse to a corner and spied around the edge.
His brief glimpse told him there were three guards chatting among stacked barrels on the dock. None appeared armored but one wore a heavy sword on his hip while the other two had iron clubs stuffed into their belts. There was no sign of anyone aboard the ships, but that wasn’t anything Kron would count on.
He strained his ears again, hoping to hear what the three men were saying, but the slight breeze was blowing the wrong direction.
Kron worked to control his breathing. Excitement and tension had been known to kill more than one man. He had not had as much time as he would have liked to form a proper plan to destroy Belgad, and now he was faced with going ahead or backing off.
Kron Darkbow was many things, but patient was not one of them.
He slid his bow and two arrows from their places on his back. One hand gripping the bow and an arrow, he laid the other bolt against the bowstring.
He took a step around the corner of the warehouse and let the arrow fly.
A voice went up. “Archer!”
The arrow thunked into a guard’s chest, dropping him.
The other two dove behind barrels.
Kron put his second arrow to his bowstring and sauntered forward. The two foes he had left appeared to have no weapons of distance. He did not need to hide from them. And if there were others aboard the ships, they would make themselves known soon enough.
Sure enough, soon there were the thumpings of running feet from a vessel. A man appeared at the top of a gangplank.
An arrow took his life.
Kron took another arrow from his quiver and placed it against the bow.
The two men behind barrels were talking again, but Kron could not make out what was being said.
Suddenly, one of them took off at a sprint for the gangplank.
Kron turned his aim toward the man.
From behind the barrels, the other guard sprang up, a large crossbow in his hands pointed at Kron.
The man in black had no place to hide.
Kron’s mind turned to foreign men he had known, men who had brought the philosophy and fighting styles of their faraway homelands to Kron, who had studied under them and learned much. It was to one of those lessons he turned now.
His eyes closed and his mind tuned out all his senses except hearing.
There was a twanging and suddenly something was rushing at him. It whistled as it sliced through the wind.
Kron lashed out with a hand.
When he opened his eyes he saw he was gripping a short arrow.
“That's impossible.” The guard with the crossbow stood nearly dumbstruck.
The other guard whimpered as he lay on the ground trying to yank Kron’s arrow from the back of his left calf.
The man in black dropped the crossbow bolt and slid another arrow from his quiver.
The crossbowman tugged on his weapon, but its pull was too strong to reset an arrow quickly.
Kron walked forward slowly, aiming at the man.
“Run or die.”
The guard stared at his dark foe. His hands stopped fussing with the crossbow.
“I give you my word no harm will come to you if you leave now.” Kron’s aim was straight and true. There was no way he could miss his target. “And take your friend. He needs healing.”
The guard glanced back at his hurt companion.
“I’ll give you until the count of three, then I’m killing you both.” Kron raised his arrow so it pointed at the standing man’s head.
Both guards’ eyes locked on the man in black.
“One.”
The crossbowman dropped his weapon and ran for his wounded companion.
“Two.”
The man with the bad leg was tugged to his feet.
“Three.”
Both men shuffled away from the dock, the injured one nearly dragged by his fellow.
Kron lowered his bow and watched until they disappeared down an alley across the street.
Once he was sure they were gone, Kron took his time examining the dock and the ships from a distance. It was unlikely there would be anyone left on board after the tumult that had just taken place, but he did not want any surprises.
The only persons he saw were the two men he had killed.
He put away his bow and arrow and made his way to the ships. He paused at one of the barrels to flip its top open to reveal its contents.
It was oil, barrels and barrels of oil.
The grin on Kron’s face would have done a demon proud.