The first through the door were the upper middle class, local guild chiefs and wizards and merchants who arrived at Belgad’s mansion early in hopes of obtaining the best seats and the best food. They flocked through the entrance room in their best finery while nibbling finger fare and slurping expensive wines offered by the manor’s servants. Most would have gobbled down more, but they did not want to fill their stomachs before the main course.
“This way, this way,” Lalo called over the din of the throng as he motioned them toward the open doors leading to the main hall.
Belgad stood to one side like a king greeting nobility, shaking hands with those brave enough to approach.
“Thank you for coming,” the large, bald northerner said as he shook the hand of a litigator, then turned his attention to the wife of a knight who offered her fingers. Belgad leaned forward and grazed his lips on the woman’s wrist. “So glad to see you again, m’lady.”
From the main hall, Lalo pointed to the rows of tables and pillowed chairs ahead in the dining room. “Everyone find a seat. There is room for all.”
With a snap of the Finder’s fingers, servants carrying trays of food and drink began to make their way through the masses into the dining hall.
Belgad glanced to Lalo. “It’s going to be a long night.” The northerner only hoped Fortisquo’s plan would work to make all this worth his while.
***
Outside the mansion, carriages delivered wealthy passengers near the front door. Then the carriages lined up side by side on Belgad’s lawn. Knights in their finest silk shirts and jackets with slit sleeves held the hands of their ladies and pranced their way through the front entrance into the main hall. Some of the more well-to-do merchants followed suit as did a number of local politicians.
Randall and Markwood found themselves stuffed among this crowd, edging their way inch by inch toward the dining hall.
Randall raised his voice to speak over the chattering groups. “Everyone in town is here.”
Markwood merely nodded and proceeded to push toward a table.
Soon they were seated with other university professors whom Markwood and Randall recognized by face if not by name. Quick pleasantries were passed around the table while jostling servants placed silver plates of various steaming dishes before them.
Randall was hungry, having not eaten much, and feeling drained from his magic expenditures on Trelvigor, but he couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to try first. There was a platter covered with a dark green garnish upon which rested a basted hog. A goose smothered in a thin, orange gravy also caught the healer’s attention, as did a bowl of rolls with steam rising from its contents.
Markwood silently scowled as he reached for an apple among the many trays before them.
Randall supposed the wizard wasn’t glad to be there. Markwood had no love for Belgad and little patience for the types of characters who normally attended such public displays of opulence.
The healer decided to make the best of it. “The food looks good,” he said, piling sausages on his plate with an iron fork.
A voice boomed toward the front of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen!”
Randall turned his eyes to a wooden platform upon which stood Belgad.
“It is a night for feasting,” Belgad bellowed over those few still chatting, “but it is also a night for commerce. Please enjoy my hospitality, and in a small while we shall get down to business, mainly concerning the restoration project upon the Docks district.”
A clamor of applause greeted the host as revelers dropped their knives and forks to clap or hold up drinks.
For the first time, Randall realized how popular the northerner was. A foreigner and a ruffian Belgad might be, but he was a knight of the republic and held a major influence over the city and beyond.
***
One of Belgad’s guards spun upon spying a flash of movement. “Hey!”
The boy was too fast. He had hidden patiently among the line of those still making their way onto the grounds, then just as he reached the gate he darted away from the crowd and charged across the gravel parkway, scattering squawking swan behind him.
The guard moved away from the front gate, ready to give chase to the urchin. “Damn brat.”
Suddenly a man in the orange tabard of a city guard was before him.
“I know the boy.” Lucius stepped between Belgad’s man and the fleeing Wyck. “He doesn’t mean any harm, just mischievous. Let me go after him.”
Belgad’s sentinel glanced at the running boy who was nearly to the front entrance of the house, then back to the man in front of him. “It’s against the rules.”
“It wouldn’t take long.” Lucius nodded toward the street, then to the front of the mansion. “We’ve enough men on the road to cover my shift. Besides, it will save you from having to run in that heavy chain.”
The gate guard looked down at his shirt of links and the sword strapped to his waist. It would be a lot of sweating and grunting to chase the boy down.
“All right,” Belgad’s man finally said, “but leave your orange here. I don’t want to get on Lord Belgad’s bad side because of you.”
“Done.” Lucius pulled the tabard over his head and dropped it near the gate. In his Asylum garb he could pass for any common citizen attending the festivities.
“And the sword.” The guard said pointed to the large blade Lucius carried.
Lucius unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it next to his tabard. “I want those back.” He pointed to his spilled goods before running off after the urchin.
***
Wyck dared a quick glance back as he reached the top of the marble steps to Belgad’s mansion. He saw the gate guard wasn’t in pursuit and decided to slow down. He might be dressed in rags, but he was small enough not to draw attention once inside if he didn’t run around like some fool.
Through the open iron-banded doors he found himself in a large chamber with more marble stairs on the sides of the room curving their way to a landing on the upper level. There were plenty of Belgad’s watchmen in this room, but there were enough adults milling about for Wyck to stay below eye level.
When a pair of guards turned away from one of the marble staircases, Wyck saw his chance and darted forward. He was fast enough and quiet enough to make it behind the guards’ backs and up the stairs without anyone taking notice. He saw no guards on the upper landing, and this was a good thing; it fit the plan he had worked out with Lucius. Wyck was to make his way upstairs, find a room to hide in temporarily, then work a path to the back of the building where the servants’ quarters likely were located. Once there, Wyck did not expect to have any trouble blending in with the servants, and he would have a chance to taste some of the fancy foods he had always wanted to try. Secretly, Wyck was also hoping he might find some decent clothes to trade for his rags.
At the top of the stairs, the boy turned to the first door on his left, a heavy portal of dark pine. He tried the gilded handle, found it unlocked and proceeded into the room.
What he found was a library. A monstrous fireplace at the far end of the chamber held a small flame that illuminated rows upon rows of shelved reading material.
“Books. What good are books?”
***
Once inside the front doors, it was an easy matter for Lucius to mingle with the crowd.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Wyck bounding up the marble stairs to the second floor. He grinned as he continued to make his way through the throng to the dining hall.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Lucius turned, ready to offer an excuse or to throw a punch.
It was Sergeant Gris. He did not look happy. “What in Ashal are you doing here?”
“A young boy snuck through the lines and ran indoors. I thought it better if I chase him down than one of Lord Belgad’s sentries.”
Gris nodded, grinning slightly. “You’re probably right, but that won’t save me from Belgad if he finds out one of my men has been inside his home.”
Now Lucius smiled. “What does he have to be nervous about? He’s a fine, upstanding merchant spreading a little cheer tonight.”
“Don’t be a smart donkey.” Now Gris couldn’t help but smiling outright. “At least you’re not wearing your uniform.”
Lucius scanned the crowd. “Do you want me to keep looking for the boy, or return to my post?”
Gris sighed. “Keep looking for the boy, but keep it on the ground level and out of any back rooms.”
Lucius saluted. “With your permission, I’ll be on my way.”
Gris waved the man on. “Be quick about it.”
***
Fortisquo hated to miss a good party, but he hated to miss a good challenge even more. From the mansion’s roof he stared down upon an atrium containing one of Belgad’s gardens, glass windows revealing the partiers in the dining hall. The tall, slender frame of the assassin-turned-fencing-master wore what he had once called his working clothes, a plain but dark shirt over black pants and soft leather ankle boots. On his head was a black bandana. On his hip was a plain rapier with a simple swept hilt, not the fancy weapon he carried in public. In Fortisquo’s left hand was a hollow reed nearly as long as he was tall that he carried lightly by one end,as if it were a cane.
Adara Corvus walked up behind her lover. “Do you think he will approach from the roof?”
Fortisquo turned in the moonlight so his attention was on the beautiful woman he had been training. “I know he’ll approach from up here. He prefers the shadows and has a fondness for rooftop work.”
“What is he going to do? Fly down from the clouds?”
Fortisquo gave the woman a sly grin. “I think this Darkbow is skilled enough to make his way past a few guards and over a wall.”
“What if he shows up as a guest? That would be easier for him.”
“That is likely what he will do,” Fortisquo said with a nod, “but he will have to come up to the roof at some point.”
“What makes you think so?”
“This.” Fortisquo used the reed to point to a corner of the large square hole that was the top of the atrium.
Adara spotted a package of black cloth. “What is it?” she asked as she approached the bundle.
Fortisquo stopped her with a hand on an arm. “It belongs to Darkbow. I found it last night.”
“He’s already been here?”
“He planted this.” Fortisquo again pointed to the bundle. “It’s just a cloak, gloves and shirt. The only weapons were some throwing darts. He’s a smart one, planning ahead like this.”
Adara appeared confused or unconvinced. “He’s going to sneak into the party, slip up here and change clothes?”
“He wants to make an impression. That’s why he’ll wear his black wardrobe.”
Then the swordmaster smiled at his student. “But you’re learning fast. I’ll make you a fine assassin yet.”
Adara spun on the man, heat in her eyes. “I didn’t sign on with you to be an assassin. I wanted you to teach me more of fencing.”
“I promised to teach you how to win. Sometimes that takes a knife in the back. Not all battles are won through chivalry. In fact, few are.”
Adara turned away so he could not see the disgust upon her face. She wasn’t a rapirist because she wanted to kill people, though she had done so on occasion when warranted.
Fortisquo placed a hand on her shoulder. “Darkbow will be arriving soon. We must be prepared. I suggest we conceal ourselves.”
***
Markwood drained the last of his wine, placed the empty cup on the table and turned to speak with Randall.
The healer’s seat was empty.
The old wizard glanced around the busy room, but there was no sign of the young man.
***
A table of sturdy oak had been placed atop Belgad’s dais next to his chair. Across the table was laid a dark red cloth upon which rested bowls and platters of the host’s favorite dishes, including baked quail, roast pig and plenty of red wine. For the night, Belgad would only sip the wine. He had no idea of Fortisquo’s plan, but he would be prepared for whatever would come. To that end, beneath the table lay Belgad’s most-prized weapon, a two-handed sword nearly as long as the Dartague was tall. He hoped he would have the occasion to use the large blade tonight. Darkbow had been enough of a thorn in his side.
Belgad finished a bite of bread, then stood and hammered a fist on the top of his table, jarring the plates of the others whom he had allowed to dine with him.
“Lords and ladies!” the big man bellowed.
The chattering throng quieted, all attention upon the host.
“I wish to thank everyone for being here tonight,” Belgad spoke to the assembly. “Each of you in your own way has added to my prosperity over the years, and I hope I have been able to do the same for you.”
There was a minor uproar of clapping.
“I wish to personally thank representatives from the see of the Western Holy Church.” Here Belgad waved a hand toward a group of clergy in purple robes assembled at the table nearest his raised platform.
The priests nodded their thanks in silence.
“I also wish to thank those members of the Western Ruling Council who have graced us with their presence.” Belgad nodding toward another table filled with men and women dressed in the finest fashions in the room.
With arms spread wide, the Dartague went on. “And a thanks to all the guild leaders and their constituency who are present tonight.”
The room erupted in applause.
Belgad soaked in the applause, a grin forming beneath his white mustache. “Last, but far from least, I want to thank the professors and staff of the University of Ursia who are with us.”
The clapping and hollering boomed again, but died as soon as Belgad raised his arms once more.
“Tonight is a special night,” the manor’s lord continued. “Most of you are aware of my recent misfortune along the Docks.”
A soft murmuring spread through the crowd. There was no telling the rumors running through the room.
But Belgad did not let that stop him. “These events gave me pause to think, to think about the condition of the Docks and the economic future of our fair city.”
The masses quieted again. Belgad was talking about money, a subject dear to most of their hearts.
“The Docks have served Bond well over the years,” the big man said, motioning toward the room’s windows as if pointing out city beyond, “but to compete fairly with other cities and other nations, it is time we took steps to improve the Docks. It is time a full development plan was prepared to increase the safety, the conditions and the economy of the Docks district.”
The crowd remained quiet, hanging on each of the man’s words.
Belgad went on with a flourish of a hand over the gathering. “I understand such a proposal would require an endless, but necessary, series of meetings. After all, the taxpayers of our fair city do not need another burden upon their purses and their bellies.”
There were nods of agreement throughout the room.
“Thus, to save the city much time and effort and money, I am in the process of personally putting together a proposal for the city leaders, with full financial responsibility falling solely upon myself.”
All was quiet. No eye strayed from the northerner.
Belgad smiled broad enough to show teeth even to the those seated in the back. “I have this very day deposited fifty thousand gold into an account of the Western Ursian Treasury, with an attachment that proclaims the funds are strictly for improvement projects and ship building in the Docks district.”
The crowd went wild with applause. Fifty thousand gold was enough to build a small city, let alone reconstruct the Docks.
***
It was a simple matter for Kron to find his way to the roof. A set of creaking stairs led from a closet on the second floor to a door to the roof.
He stuck his head out the door and scanned Belgad’s rooftop. Everything was black and quiet, the only light from the moon above and lamps shining from the atrium's opening in the center of the roof. On his first visit to the rooftop a week earlier, Kron had been suspicious after finding no guards posted, but after watching for several days he concluded Belgad felt no need for guards on his roof. How wrong Belgad was, as Kron had proven by placing a package there two nights earlier.
Kron eased out the door, squatted low and made his way near the ledge overlooking the garden. He found his package easily enough and began to remove its contents. He was glad to have the throwing darts again; his sword and bow were out of the question for the type of work he had planned, but he had the darts and a dagger hidden beneath his belt and a trio of clay grenados stuffed in one pocket. It would be enough, along with his favorite grappling hook and silk rope he had wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t planning on combat if he could help it, his goal merely being to make Belgad look a fool.
Kron slung his cloak over one shoulder and pulled the hood down. No use anyone seeing his face.
***
From near the parapet overlooking the front lawn, a kneeling Adara nudged Fortisquo, but he would have none of it as he squatted and held the long reed to his lips. He had to wait for the perfect moment. Darkbow had not taken notice of them and Fortisquo did not want to ruin his chance at surprise. They were a good distance from their intended victim, at extreme range for the weapon at his lips, and he wanted his foe completely still before launching an attack.
They watched Darkbow uncurl a rope from around his waist and pull on the clothes from the bundle. Then the man in black appeared to be looking himself over as if he were going over a mental list of his weaponry and tools. He was still while doing so, his back to Fortisquo and Adara.
Fortisquo sucked in air through his nose and blew into the reed.
***
Kron was checking the throwing darts in the back of his left glove when he felt a tug at his shoulder. Looking back and down he saw a long, thin dart with a round ball of mud at one end sticking out of his hanging cloak mere inches from his arm. For a second he did not realize what he was looking at, then his training and instincts kicked in.
From out of the darkness came two charging figures, one tall and one shorter, each with lengthy swords pointed in Kron’s direction. Kron had only a moment to realize the tall figure was a foppishly-dressed man while the other was a woman who moved with grace and speed.
Kron would have none of their games. He had been surprised, but he knew how to extricate himself from such situations. He slung out his grappling hook, listened briefly for it to attach itself to the side of the roof, then dove head first into the garden.
Two jabbing blades missed him by inches.
***
“The man’s insane.” Adara watched the figure in black tumble through the air. The fall was only a little more than twenty feet, but the man had dove as if he were aiming for the ground.
“No, he’s not,” Fortisquo said, pointing with his sword.
Adara’s sight locked on the miniature grappling hook attached to a silk rope unraveling faster than her eyes could follow.
***
Kron knew he wouldn’t have long. The two above would quickly cut his cord.
He yanked on the silken rope as hard as he could, halting his plummet but sending him into a swinging motion.
He looked up just in time to see he was swishing through the air straight for a gigantic glass window. Through the glass he spotted crowds of people feasting at long tables.
***
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Belgad said to the masses before him, “without further talk of economic plans and hard work, it is time for the festivities.”
The large northerner waved a finger at Lalo the Finder seated upon the dais at Belgad’s own table.
Lalo stood, moved away from the table and stooped behind it.
“To show my appreciation for the beauty of this city,” Belgad continued, “I have some beauty of my own, shipped in from the south, which I wish to share with all of you.”
Lalo lifted a door on a small cage of reeds.
The three white swans lifted to the air, free from their confinement. They soared overhead, looking for an escape route, while the crowd below clapped and whistled.
Then one of the large glass windows looking upon Belgad’s garden exploded.
***
Shards of glass danced on the air before crashing to the tables amidst screams of surprise and fear.
Kron’s rope snapped at the edge of the window, and the man in black found himself tumbling through the air with the shattered glass. He somersaulted and landed on his booted feet in the center of a table.
People screamed and charged for the doors. Women with ribbons in their hair fainted into the arms of their escorts. Men wearing swords for show backed away from the black figure who had suddenly, explosively appeared among them. The few guards found themselves swamped by the running and frightened masses.
Kron faced the front of the room where an astounded Belgad stood with his mouth hanging open.
“Well met at last, Lord Belgad.” Kron’s evil smile revealed itself beneath the shadow of his hood. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kron Darkbow.”
“Kill that man!” was Belgad’s response.
***
Markwood was as surprised as everyone else when the man in black came crashing through the window, but unlike most, the wizard was not afraid to act after his moment of shock.
He said a few magic words and waved a finger in the air. The falling shards of glass slowed, floating to the ground as if feathers upon a wind.
Before he could act further, Markwood was shoved from behind and tossed into the fray of the panicked party-goers trying to reach the exit. He tried to get off another spell to escape the madness, but the quarters were too compact to loosen a proper incantation.
In the mass of bodies that shoved him toward the door, Markwood kept an eye out for Randall, but he saw no sign of the healer.
***
Wyck had been using a bent fork to pry at the locked drawers of the desk in the library when the hubbub downstairs reached his ears. He darted to one of the library’s doors, popped his head out and heard the confusion before he saw it. A second later an entangled lump of legs and arms poured into the entrance room below the stairs. Guards tried to keep control as best they could, but quickly found it no use and threw open the doors to allow the frightened gentry of Bond to flee with their screams.
Wyck pulled back into the library and closed the door.
He told himself he wasn’t leaving empty handed as he dropped the fork.
The boy glanced around trying to find something worth taking. He had had some little while to study the library, but the only portable items he had found were books. Wyck knew some books could be quite valuable, but he also knew he did not have the resources to sell such items on his own without drawing attention to himself.
His eyes finally landed on a silvered mug with the words “Belgad of Thunderclan” engraved on its side.
“That’ll do.” Wyck snagged the item.
As he ran for the door, he wondered how he could melt the mug down to make a profit. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and sell it on the market with Belgad’s name written across it.
Out the door, Wyck charged down the stairs, dived into the exiting crowd and hurried away from the home of Belgad the Liar. Not once did he look back to see if he was pursued.
***
Kron found himself in a position difficult to escape. The obvious exit was full of screaming rich people and guarded by anxious men hefting big swords. The path by which he had entered still held possibilities, but he knew his attackers on the roof were waiting for him if they weren’t already sliding down his own silken cord. The opposite side of the room held more windows to another of Belgad’s precious gardens, but there was no easy way out of the garden except climbing to the roof. Toward the front of the room, Belgad screamed and kicked over a table from beneath which the large, bald man pulled forth a gigantic sword.
Kron knew he’d quickly have to chose the right exit.
With a wave of a hand and a deep bow, his cloak surging wide behind him, the man in black motioned toward Belgad. “I apologize for not staying longer, Lord Belgad, but it seems I have made my point and overstayed my welcome.”
The lord of the manor roared as he hefted his sword in both hands above his head and charged down wooden steps.
Kron spun on his boot heels and dove out the window he had recently busted through. Landing on spongy green plants, he stood and looked up to see the two on the roof still waiting for him there.
Kron removed one of the clay balls from his pocket and without looking tossed the grenado into the dining hall.
This time flame did not erupt from Darkbow’s favorite weapon. Instead, a dense, ebony smoke poured forth, blocking the view of all inside the dining room.
Kron grabbed the rope still hanging where he had left it and hoisted himself up several feet, fully expecting his enemies above to cut the line at any moment. When they did not, he dared a glance upward.
The tall man and attractive woman still peered over the ledge watching him.
Straining, Kron glowered at them. “If you’re not going to finish me down here, make yourselves useful and pull me up where you can kill me proper.”
Fortisquo sheathed his sword and yanked on the rope with Adara’s help.
Within seconds the dark figure was hanging on the edge, overlooking the atrium. Dark smoke had filled most of the garden below, but screams of fear and yells of anger could still be heard.
Fortisquo offered Kron a hand.
Kron grabbed the swordsman’s wrist.
Fortisquo grinned. “I could fling you back into the nether.”
“And I could pull you with me,” Kron answered.
The sword master nodded and pulled his foe over the ledge onto the roof.
Adara drew her sword.
“I have no weapon.” Kron held up his empty palms for the two sword fighters to see.
“I doubt that,” Fortisquo said, his grin thinning to evil, “but it does appear you are without a sword. That is your bad luck.”
Adara scowled. “We can’t kill an unnarmed man.”
“This is what we are paid to do,” Fortisquo said aside to the woman without taking his eyes from Darkbow, “but if you feel so strongly about it, Adara, give the man your weapon.”
The woman took a step nearer the two, but did not offer her sword. “Are you insane? I’d never turn over my sword, especially to a man who is supposed to be my enemy.”
With the tip of his blade and his eyes remaining pointed at Darkbow, Fortisquo turned his head to the woman. “You said you wanted to be a fencer. Let this be another lesson.”
Adara fumed. She knew better than to hand her weapon to an opponent. She still had a main gauche sheathed on her back on her sword belt and a smaller dagger on her right hip, but those were defensive weapons. Her rapier, a sword special to her because it had been a present from her father, had been her savior on more than one occasion.
“Do as I say,” Fortisquo ordered with gritted teeth.
Adara looked to Kron and held the sword up so the narrow blade was between her eyes and pointed to the stars. “If this weapon does not return to me, I will spend every waking second of my life hunting you down.”
The man in black smirked. “Aren’t you already doing that?”
Adara sneered and tossed the weapon.
Kron caught the fancy-hilted pommel with one hand and wrapped his forefinger around the quillon. He studied the blade with his eyes and hand, noting the near perfect balance. “Not my traditional weapon, but it will do.”
Fortisquo backed several steps and went into a fencing stance, his left arm out to his side and his right hand holding his rapier low with the blade tilted up slightly to aim at Darkbow’s eyes.
“On your guard,” the fencing instructor said.
“On yours.” With great speed Kron dipped the end of Adara’s sword to the roof’s edge and caught his small grappling hook on the end of the weapon. Flicking the blade at Fortisquo, he launched the hook and its trailing cord at the sword master.
Fortisquo had not expected the move, but he sidestepped the miniature missile with ease. Another thing he had not expected was a full charge from Kron Darkbow.
The sword master brought up his blade to impale his attacker, but Kron knocked his opponent’s weapon aside with Adara’s rapier.
The men would have tumbled into one another if Fortisquo had not spun away on the balls of his feet, his weapon held over his head with the point always aimed at Kron.
The fencer came to a stop shaking with rage. “That was overly dramatic and foolish.”
“If you didn’t like that, you’ll loathe this.” Kron flung Adara’s weapon at the sword master.
The woman screamed. She held little regard for Fortisquo’s