Lazo
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It was dark, well-past the time the sun slinked down the horizon and bathed the city in shadows. At this time, street candles would have been burning from within their posts in the busier areas of the city, but near the old cemetery, only the moon and stars had been left to shine their precarious illumination over a single figure cloaked in brown cloth.
There were no other signs of life in the vicinity, the few houses and establishments that littered the path having long closed their doors, their occupants presumably having retired to their slumber some hours ago. The figure walked at a leisurely pace, silent and safe in the stillness of the night, until it reached a wooden shack, sectioned off from the rest of the neighborhood by a large cobble wall as if to shield passing eyes from the dilapidated structure within.
The shack was old and rickety, with all the tell-tale signs of age and decay in its weathered wood, all full of holes and cracks. In fact, it seemed to hold itself together through nothing but sheer stubbornness. It had once belonged to a keeper of the nearby cemetery. An unfortunate accident had cut his life short, and the plot was bought by an enterprising merchant, who had set forward to build a stone house for himself where the little shack stood. He ordered a wall built, large enough to contain a much vaster building, and used the shack as a warehouse while he gathered enough money to build a house proper. The merchant had eventually fallen into debt, unable to pay them until one day he found a knife in his back. The little house had passed through several hands after that affair, and played host to several misfortunes and accidents much like the first two. Eventually, the house was left alone, shunned even by the locals, who claimed it was haunted. Now, almost two generations after the fact, the shack went largely ignored.
A useful reputation for the squatter who prefers their business to remain unexamined.
Faint walked through the gate into the unkempt garden within, the added weight in her pockets shifting pleasantly with every motion. Shrubs and vines grew close to the stone walls, wrapping around it zealously, using it for support in their race upwards. The grass had grown tall and wild with time, except for a trampled path leading to the structure itself, the one clue that it was not as deserted as it seemed.
As she took her first step inside the walled garden, she caught motion in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head back, glancing at the wall behind her, but could see nothing beyond the outlines of the shrubs in the dark. When scanning her immediate surroundings did not reveal anything, she let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding.
Must have imagined it, she thought. Even the best of eyes are wont to be deceived in the dark, and I of all people have my fair share of reasons to be wary of shad—
Something squawked as she took a step forward, and a shape flew from in front of her in a flurry of feathers, making her jump. The raven landed on the edge of the wall, hopping about and glaring at her with beady little eyes. It cawed, as if reprimanding her for her carelessness.
Faint stared at the bird, heart beating in her chest like a drum, and couldn’t help but wonder at how strange it was to see a raven at night.
The thick arm came from behind, meaty fingers covering her mouth and pulling her back against a large body in a single, practiced motion. She grunted and struggled, one of her arms immediately reaching for one of the knives hidden in her person.
A cold weight pressed below her ribs, sending a jolt of pain up her spine, and she froze.
A pit formed in her stomach as she came to terms with her situation. Whoever it was couldn’t be here for the house. For all anyone knew, it was empty, and had been cleared of anything valuable years ago. The house was supposed to be deserted, so no one should have had any reason to wait for someone else to come in. Unless they were waiting specifically for her. The thought made her blood run cold, and her mind raced as she tried to figure out who was holding the knife. Had someone seen her during her nightly activities? Had a rival decided to eliminate the competition? Had one of her victims put up a contract for her head?
She had to withhold a panicked laugh at the thought that, soon, she might have her name added to the list of those claimed by the haunt of the cemetery’s shack.
“Quiet,” a deep voice rasped in her ear, close enough for her to smell the rancid breath accompanying the words.
Not that there is anyone around at this time of the night to hear, she thought, and even if there was, guards would bring their own set of problems with them. However, the curt order gave her pause. If the man had intended to kill her, he would have stuck her right there and then. The thought that she might yet escape with her life allowed her to regain some measure of composure.
Once the man was satisfied that she would not scream try to scream or struggle, he put his hand on her shoulder and began pushing forward towards the house. The knife’s edge pressing against her back was a constant companion in the slow trek. As they got closer, she noticed a detail she had not seen from the wall’s gate. The door was slightly ajar, the flimsy lock that had held it in place torn as if it had been kicked in.
The man reached around her and pushed the door open before herding her inside.
The single room was even darker than it was outside, but some light filtered in through the doorway outlining a single table settled in its center. Two chairs were fixed at each end of the table, and the one facing them was occupied by a dark shape.
“Ah, is this our host? Wonderful, wonderful.” An immaculate smile flashed like a white knife reflecting the moonlight. “Please, do let her sit.”
She was roughly shoved down onto the opposite chair. A fire was lit, the sudden light stinging her eyes, and a lantern was placed on the table. Her hood had slid down her head during the confrontation, leaving the light to fall on her features. Clear skin, auburn hair picked up in a tail, and squinting green eyes peered into the lit room.
“It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Faint. You do your name credit! It was quite the difficult feat to track you down.”
“Clearly not difficult enough,” she muttered. Faint found herself studying the man addressing him with a raised eyebrow. He was dressed in fine clothes, the silk evident to the eye even in the drab black and whites it was colored. The pale man was clean-shaved, and the black hair the peeked from under his hat was glossy and swept back.
He could not have painted a more different figure than the thug who had brought her in. The man had taken a step back, though he still remained at a watchful distance that made Faint wonder if she would have the time to pull out a weapon before he was on her. The man was large and muscled, with sunken eyes and tanned skin as though he was used to spending hours in the sun. He bore a dense beard that did not entirely manage to cover the lopsided feel to his mouth, as if someone had struck a powerful blow to the side of his face and it hadn’t settled correctly.
Different tools for different jobs.
“Why, yes indeed!” continued the one opposite to her. “Sometimes people in your profession seem to forget this simple fact. A well-known thief is not a good thief, after all.”
The one before her was a talker, and seeing as she was having a conversation with him, rather than the pointy end of a dagger, she assumed that there was a matter that needed discussing. She settled herself into the chair, adopting a calm posture and a stony expression. Whatever happened, she did not want to show the pair just how scared she was.
“What do you want?” she asked, bluntly taking control of the conversation.
The pale man’s eyebrows rose. “Patient, Miss Faint, I haven’t even introduced myself yet. It is not very gracious for a host to pressure his guests.”
“I pray you will forgive me if I feel as though you have not been the most civil of guests this night.”
The man sighed. “Yes, I suppose that is fair. Alas, I was ordered to find you, and people in your profession are a flighty kind, so when I caught wind of your location I chose to act decisively. Surely you can understand.”
I understand. Don’t have to like it, though. She was more interested in whoever might want her found. “Who sent you, and for what?”
At this the man smiled again, a smug, sharp smile that had Faint thinking of snakes. “Devan Coil, at your service,” he said, with a mocking flourish. She noticed no name was incoming from the thug. A nameless grunt to the end. “Master Kavros sends his regards.”
Faint sucked a breath, suddenly cold. Assassins. That left very little room for guesswork as to their motive. She had once taken something that was meant for this Kavros, the newest head of the Assassin’s guild after a bloody debacle that had left much of the organization a bloodied shambles. Even had Faint returned the item immediately, Kavros hold on the organization was shaky enough that any affront to his authority would have had to be met with lethal force. She had faked her death to escape them, but it was now clear Kavros had not been fooled.
And these fools can’t be here for anything else than to collect. Which begs the question, why am I not dead yet? “How did you find me?”
Another smile. “You will find that the Assassin’s Guild is a very different beast than it was years ago. The new Master is more… accepting of certain resources than his predecessors.”
Which doesn’t answer much of anything, does it now? Only adds to the questions. “So it would seem,” she said instead, nodding slowly as though she understood precisely what Coil meant. “Since we are having this conversation, I can only assume that your Master no longer wants me killed?”
The man shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, only a select few in the Guild know you are still alive. For all intents and purposes, your stunt achieved exactly what the Master set out to do when he sent for your head. His hold on the guild is much stronger now.”
“How fortunate for me,” she said dryly.
“Indeed. However, you are still very much indebted to him.” Faint caught a glimpse of the man behind her shifting, and her protests died on her throat. “Your move against the Master came at a very inopportune time, and could have jeopardized years of planning. He is not a forgiving man. However, he is well acquainted with the value of expediency.” At this, he leaned forward on the table, eyes shifting conspiratorially left and right. She suspected the man was having a great deal of fun with this assignment. “Tell me, Faint, does the name Vlade sound familiar to you?”
Vlade? They hold me at knifepoint in the middle of the night for that fairy tale?
“Used to be an old god from an extinct tribe that lived in this territory. Nasty character. Even the barbarians feared him. Now he’s just a boogeyman.”
“That’s the first time we hear such a story.”
“I’m sure you’ll get something similar if you care enough to ask around.” She glanced over her shoulder at the thug. Still looking mean and menacing, and not moving an inch.
“We have asked. In fact, the mere scope of the rumors is staggering, but we have reason to believe that whatever this Vlade is, it exists.”
Faint was quick to see where he was leading. Why else would they be talking to her? “You want me to find him.” Not a question, but she couldn’t keep a note of disbelief from entering her voice.
Coil nodded gravely, before producing a pouch from a pocket and placing it with a heavy thud on the table. He pushed it towards her, the contents clicking and clacking in a way that revealed their contents even before she opened it to stare at the gold within. There was a small fortune in that little bag.
She licked her lips, tempted, but there was still something off about the whole business. “Why me?” she asked. “Why not use these ‘resources’ you hinted at earlier to find him.”
“That is none of your business. Suffice to say that the Master has chosen to use someone unaffiliated to the Assassin’s Guild for this assignment. You are to investigate Vlade, and relay everything you know about him to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be in contact. If you can, find Vlade’s location, depending on what you find, you might be given further instructions. Do this, and not only will you be rewarded, but your debt to the Assassin’s guild will be cleared.” He gestured towards the heavy bag of coins. “Consider that a down payment.”
This sounds good. Entirely too good. Where’s the caveat? She stared at the gold inside the bag for a moment longer before closing it. “What would happen if I were to… refuse? Or fail to find anything worthwhile?”
Pale Coil flashed another of his glinting smiles at her. “Why, Master Kavros would be quite displeased. In fact, the debt would have to be settled in a more… unfortunate fashion. To you, at least.”
She paled. “I see.”
The man laughed as he made to stand up, heading for the broken door, thug in tow. “Take heart, Miss Faint! I have faith in you. Besides,” he added as he crossed the threshold, “I have a feeling that, once you set out, we’ll be the least of your worries.”
Once upon a time, the prospect of so many people gathered together, all of their attention focused on one point, far away from her, could have been likened to a bountiful harvest. But those had been desperate times, when simple pocket change would have made all the difference in the world.
It struck her that these were desperate times as well, but no amount of coin was likely to save her. She was safe in the crowd, the tingling, sorcerous veil around her a heartening reminder of that. Still, her encounter with the assassins was still fresh in her mind. She recalled the weight of the blade pressed against her back and Coil’s sneering smiles. Most of all, their proposal still echoed in her ears.
She had worried after the encounter that, even should she honor her part of the deal and find Vlade, her head would end up served to Kavros in a platter regardless. She had considered fleeing the city again, but that had not stopped them from finding her the last time. There were probably safeguards set in place so that she would not flee this time, she had concluded, and she did not wish to test these new resources the assassins had hinted at.
Now, the possibility that she would be double-crossed seemed remote – and not because of any trust she shared with her new patrons, but because she could simply find no tangible evidence that this Vlade so much as existed.
She could almost feel the noose tightening around her neck.
She had spent the past few days looking for clues and leads to Vlade, and it had turned out that Coil had not been exaggerating when he spoke to her about her target. She had been subjected to a staggering number of wildly different, bizarre stories each more nonsensical than the last. She still recalled the man who claimed that Vlade was a demon from another realm posing as her widowed neighbor’s cat, and that was one of the milder ones.
The one thing that remained relatively constant between interviewees was the slight tone of dread that entered their voices when they spoke of this entity. It baffled Faint that the populace had not even shrugged off the strangeness, just another passing fad, but to join in a public outcry against some anomalous entity no one could put a finger on, simply assuming its existence.
She thought that, perhaps, the Prince’s response to the people’s worries might reveal something she had missed, but it quickly became clear that the poor royal sod was just as lost as everyone else. The young Prince claimed Vlade’s identity would be investigated, but Faint doubted his words would ever amount to more than a calming gesture for the public. Why waste resources when you don’t even know if something exists? Never mind where to start looking for it.
Her attention strayed from the speech itself and rested on the crowd. Quiet murmurs rose here and there, but beyond that, most were entirely focused on the young Lord and his speech. It would be over soon, she could tell from the slowing, winding pattern in the Prince’s voice. Whatever else Prince Orrin was, one could not deny he must have been a skilled orator to hold onto these people’s attention with such drivel.
Eventually, the Prince was escorted away, followed by his many admirers. Faint stood there, watching the crowd pass her by for a few moments before beginning to turn. Just as she did so, something caught her eye. Here and there, she could spot people cutting through the crowd in different directions. At first, she thought nothing of it. Some people had duties that came before planting their lips in his Royal Eminence’s derriere. Then, she caught sight of the objects occupying all of their hands.
She frowned, her curiosity piqued. These did not seem like the Prince’s men. Royal messengers tended to be of a much more flamboyant stock. What, then, had she caught a glimpse of?
Silently, she selected one of the messengers, still cutting through the mass of people. She glided forward, dodging through the gathered people with practiced ease, until she was close enough to touch the messenger. Glancing down, she picked one of the courier’s items and slipped it out of his grasp. A surprised cry came from the man, but by the time he turned to find the thief, Faint had already vanished back into the crowd.
Slipping out into an empty alleyway, Faint dismissed her charm and glanced at her prize. A letter returned her stare.
“What do we have here…” she muttered to herself as she broke the seal and opened the letter. She was not two sentences into the message when a chill went down her spine. She read it three more times before she found the wherewithal to look away from the paper.
Our sources have told us that you have become very interested in the individual known as Vlade. The words echoed in her head.
She had stolen the message. So why did it seem as though the letter had been written specifically for her? She glanced out to the plaza, trying to catch sight of another messenger, but all she could see were the leftovers of the former mob.
A part of her wondered if she had been tricked into taking the letter, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She could not accept that someone had played her like that. Still, her wary eyes fixed on the open letter, as though it might bite her if she was not careful.
Why does it seem as though I’m not the one in control of my life lately?
Still, it was the best lead she had come across so far. Quickly making her mind, she headed off towards the indicated street. She knew she was not the only one to have found herself in possession of one of these letters. The number of messengers combing the crows had attested to that. Still, she knew nothing of these people’s intentions, or whether or not she would be accepted into this meeting if the letter had not been meant for her.
Caution was the better part of valor. It would likely be best to snoop around for a good place to eavesdrop, then wait for others to appear. With luck, she would never need to show herself.
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