Night guild 2, p.9
Night Guild 2, page 9
“It really is huge,” Diana said in wonder as they approached the gate made of gold; it gleamed in the lamplight as its four guards stood alert at their posts. Ronan and Diana slowed their pace as the Brotherhood assassin strode confidently up to the gate, spoke to the captain of the guard, and was immediately admitted through the opulent gate.
“We’ll need to get in, and quickly,” Ronan said. “But there is going to be security all over the place. Come on.”
He led Diana to the right, along a path and then off through a stand of trees toward the wall. Here, under the cover of the wall, they took off their priest robes and stashed them under a bush. In their black assassin garb, they blended seamlessly into the shadows but were still able to keep their stealth fields active. The magic did not take much attention to power it, and they did not know the lay of the land here. They needed every advantage to keep themselves inconspicuous.
“We’ve got a good view of the wall from here,” Ronan said, “and it’s as I thought. There are guards everywhere.”
“They are patrolling the base of the wall,” Diana added. “And there are quite a few of them, too. There doesn’t seem to be much chance of getting past them. Our stealth fields are useful, but they don’t turn us completely invisible.”
“More’s the pity,” Ronan said. He breathed deep, keeping a hold of his impatience to get inside and keeping his mind clear, so that he could observe the situation and, hopefully, come up with a plan.
After a few minutes of watching, it became clear that though there were plenty of guards, this show of force was just that—a show. The guards were unwary, chatting with each other, walking aimlessly up and down, and sometimes some even stopped to lean against the wall where they would doze.
“They are not very alert,” Diana said thoughtfully. “I guess that it’s rare for them to actually have any threat to deal with.”
“Yes, I agree,” Ronan said. “And it gives me an idea. Guards like that will be bored—they never see any action, right? What if we cause a distraction—something dramatic that will grab their attention?”
“I think if we did that, the guards might actually leave their posts. What do you have in mind?”
“Let me see,” Ronan muttered, rummaging in his belt. “It should be something flashy, something that will make a noise and scare the civilians as well. That way, the guards will get engaged in interacting with the civilians as well as checking out the excitement for themselves.”
“A flash bomb,” Diana said with certainty. “That will do the trick, I think. I’ve got some of the small tactical ones here, but I’ve also got this…”
She pulled from her equipment belt a large ceramic ball that was painted with streaks of blue, green, and silver. She held it up and could not keep the mischievous grin from her face.
“What is that?” Ronan asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Something I’ve been working on—an adaption of the tactical flash bomb that makes a bit more of an…impact, while still not actually being dangerous unless you’re right next to it. These lines on the side are a mixture of certain special ingredients that—”
“Let’s save the technical discussion for later on, okay?” Ronan said, interrupting her. “We’ve not got much time.”
“Of course,” Diana said, becoming serious again. “I’ll go over there, near to the gate, and detonate this. That should give you the opportunity to get over the wall.”
Ronan frowned. “I don’t like splitting up like this, but I don’t suppose it can be helped.”
“Not unless you can think of some other way to create a distraction.”
He shook his head. “Not any that we can do in enough time. All right, let’s do it. You go over there and start the disruption, and I’ll get in and over the wall. I’ll meet you by that statue of the soldier down by the entrance to the park when I’m done. Do you remember it?”
“I do.” She reached out and slapped him on the back. “Good luck.”
Ronan nodded once, and she slipped away, her powerful stealth field and her black cloak making her almost invisible even to Ronan’s eye. He focused his attention on the section of wall where he aimed. The section appeared smooth and had no hand or foot holds even for a climber of his level of training and agility. Working quickly, he removed his grappling hook and attached rope from his belt, then unraveled the rope, the black metal hook held lightly in the fingers of his right hand.
The hook was light enough that he never felt it around his waist when carried but heavy enough that it could be thrown well and would grip an edge securely and reliably. He looked up the wall, estimating.
Thirty feet, I guess, he thought. My rope is fifty feet long. Assuming there’s nothing on the top of the wall to stop a grappling hook, I’ll be able to make it.
At that moment, he heard the loud bang of Diana’s flash bomb, and he shielded his eyes from the brilliant flash to his right. The guards by the wall immediately took the bait, shouting excitedly to one another as they sprinted off in the direction of the noise.
Ronan took his chance, sprinting out from the trees at top speed toward the wall of the Malachite temple.
Chapter 6
As he ran toward the wall, Ronan glanced to his right. The flash bomb that Diana had designed was certainly spectacular. It reminded Ronan of some of the eastern fireworks he had sometimes seen displayed at special events during his youth in the Twelve Isles. These were rare displays, but sometimes a wealthy guild would use them to mark a special festival or other occasions.
Not far from the gate, a bright, crackling fire sent showers of red, green, and white sparks out into the sky, each flash accompanied by a loud bang, followed by a crackling noise, and a popping sound, like a grumbling, gigantic pot rattling its lid on the boil. Ronan grinned as he reached the edge of the deserted wall. Diana would be rightly pleased with her invention after this.
Moving swiftly, Ronan spun his grappling hook round three times in the air and let it fly. He had practiced this maneuver a thousand times, and watched with slight anticipation as the hook sailed up through the air, carrying the strong and thin, black rope behind it. He caught the end of the rope, pulled back, and was rewarded with the satisfying tension that told him the hook had found a grip at the top of the wall.
He leapt up the wall and began to skitter up the rope, using his feet to push himself up the wall as his hands on the rope took his weight. In moments, he reached the top.
He quickly gathered up the rope while looking over the wall to see what came next. Just as he had read during his research, a deep moat filled with black water waited on the other side, and then another wall of equal height.
No problem, he thought, gathering up the rope and hook for another throw. He glanced back, establishing that the guards were still involved in investigating the loud bangs and flashes near the gate, before flinging the hook across the gap between himself and the other wall.
The hook caught.
He gathered the rope up until it was tight in his hands, then he swung from the first wall to the second, clearing the moat and landing lightly with his feet against the second wall. Again, he skittered up the wall until he gained the top. He crouched low and gathered up his grappling hook and rope once more, before folding up the grappling hook and attaching it to his equipment belt.
No sign of any guards on the inside, he thought as he scanned the area below him, an open space at the foot of the wall with a broad, paved area that gave way to a cluster of small buildings that looked like dormitories. He saw no one in sight.
The inside surface of the wall was not as smooth as the outside surface. A rough stone façade gave Ronan ample handholds and footholds to climb down the wall, and he swung over the edge and made his way quickly to the ground.
Keeping low to the ground, he darted across the paved area and slipped into the shadows between the buildings, then kept moving, making his way deeper into the Malachite temple complex.
As he moved, he reached out into the shadows around him and began drawing their energy toward himself to gather it. He then projected that collected energy into his stealth field to increase its power. His footsteps were silent as he approached a larger building that looked more official than the others. In many of the windows, the lights were still on. He decided to let instinct guide him as he leapt up and caught a window-ledge before skittering up the side of the building.
If this Silent Brotherhood assassin is here to meet with someone, I’m going to bet on it being someone important. The High Vizier himself, even. If I can find the most opulent quarters, that will be a good place to start, Ronan thought as he climbed higher. He paused at each lit window he passed and peered inside. His theory proved correct—the higher he climbed, the more extravagant the rooms became, until he found himself looking into a grand room that looked like a large chamber with a suite of opulent apartments. He chose an empty room with a slightly open window. A single candle dimly lit the room.
Moving smoothly and silently, Ronan slipped his fingers under the window frame and raised the window just enough to slip through. He landed softly on the thick, emerald green carpet below. He glanced around at the red wall hangings and saw a gold plate and goblet sitting ready for someone on the side table. Dark wood paneling glowed warmly in the light of the many pillar candles that gave off the heady scent of sandalwood. In one corner there was a bed, surrounded by dark red velvet curtains; a bright fire burned in the grate, despite the warmth of the evening outside. In another corner, a generous wardrobe sat half-open, packed with richly-colored garments in beautiful fabrics.
There were two doors. Ronan found that one led into a small ante-room, probably for the use of a personal servant, and as he approached the door of the other room, he heard a murmur of voices coming from within the room behind the door .
Ronan moved closer, pressing himself against the wall to better hear the conversation. One man’s voice sounded low and conciliatory, and judging by the man’s tone, he was most probably a servant. The other man had a rich, strident voice that sharply interjected over the servant in hurt tones.
“Oh, why do they come at such late hours, Gelden, I ask you?” the strident voice complained.
“It really is most vexatious, my lord,” the voice of the servant, Gelden, answered. “But he emphasized the absolute urgency of an audience with you. He really was most insistent.”
“But you said he did not give his name?”
“No, my lord, but he told me some strange words that he said would be useful to you.”
“Strange words?” the strident voice said, his tone becoming a little more wary and interested. “What words?”
“Lord High Vizier, he said that I should say these words to you: Nitimur in Vetitum.”
After the servant spoke those words, the silence stretched so long that Ronan wondered if the two men had left the room, but that would have been impossible. He had heard no movements, and they could not have exited the room without making a sound.
Just as he was considering taking a look around the doorframe, the voice of the man that the servant had addressed as Lord High Vizier spoke again.
“And do you know, Gelden, what those words signify?” His tone had changed completely. The half-amused, half self-pitying tone had been replaced with one of introspection.
“My Lord,” Gelden replied cautiously, “I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Well, that’s as it should be,” the High Vizier said, and he sounded like he was smiling. “It’s the best for you, I suppose, but I’ll tell you what I think they mean anyway. They mean trouble, Gelden. Trouble for us all.”
After another discreet pause, the servant spoke again. “Would you like me to send the visitor in, my Lord, or shall I prepare the meeting chamber?”
“No, no, I’ll see him here. Curse the man…though I don’t suppose any curses from me will make a difference to him now. Run along now, Gelden, and tell my esteemed visitor to come in. Bring wine, if you would. These people do not take it, I don’t think, but I believe I shall need it before this night is through.”
Ronan heard a rustle of movement and inched forward to get a wider view of the room. He caught a glimpse of the servant leaving. Gelden was a tall, thin man dressed in a dark jacket with silver brocade on the sleeves and dark trousers. The servant’s bald head gleamed in the candlelight.
Leaning out, just a little further, Ronan saw the back of the High Vizier of the Malachite temple. An enormously corpulent man in the extreme, he had many chins and his mighty belly was swathed all round in robes of brightest scarlet and trimmed with golden thread. The High Vizier sat at the side table, the plate and a goblet in front of him, and sighed, shaking his head.
“Nitimur in Vetitum,” he muttered. “Yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard those words. They will bring trouble to us all.”
Ronan pulled his head back round the corner as he heard the click of the handle being turned and the outer door began to open.
“The visitor, my Lord,” Gelden announced. Ronan strained to hear the soft steps approaching and risked one more glance round the doorframe to confirm that the man meeting with the High Vizier was indeed the Silent Brotherhood assassin. Ronan caught a glimpse of the tall, gray-robed man with a thin face. As the assassin entered, his dark eyes were fixed upon the High Vizier. He was followed by the servant Gelden, who carried a gold tray bearing a dark, gleaming bottle. Without doubt, this man was the member of the Silent Brotherhood assassins that they had been tracking.
Ronan withdrew into the empty bedroom and set himself to listening. He heard a clink of glass on gold and a slosh of liquid as the servant replenished his master’s cup.
“Thank you, Gelden,” the Vizier said. “That will be all. I’ll ring the bell if I need you.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the servant said; a moment later the door clicked shut behind him.
“Well, my good fellow,” the High Vizier said. “Will you sit? I understand that your brethren do not normally take wine, but you are welcome to the second goblet here, if you would like to stretch a point. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
The assassin gave a low laugh and then spoke in a thin, reedy, nasal voice. “My Lord, I would be glad to,” he said. “I have had a long day and a difficult few weeks. I think the prohibition on drink is not as strong with me as it might be for some others of my brethren.”
The High Vizier chuckled, and the clink and slosh of wine told Ronan that he served the man with his own hand.
That must be quite an honor, he thought. I wonder if the assassin recognizes the fact. I wonder if he’s wary of the Vizier. The Vizier did not seem particularly pleased to hear of his visit. Then there were those strange words…what does that remind me of?
He dismissed his musings as the Brotherhood assassin sipped, swallowed, sighed with pleasure, and then began to speak.
“My Lord High Vizier,” he said, “I will be as direct as I can be. I have come to you seeking aid. My name is Mordon, and I am an agent of your allies in the faith, the Silent Brotherhood of Ghennet.”
“You sent me the words of the Brotherhood as your passphrase, Mordon, so I know who you are. I will be honest with you, too, Mordon, and confess that Nitimur in Vetitum is a phrase that I had hoped never to hear again. The Silent Brotherhood worship Mala, and I am the head of Mala’s temple, so it is true that they are my allies in faith, as you call them. I admit I feel some responsibility to them because we are devoted to the same God, but there is little more than that shared between us.”
“I understand,” Mordon said. “We of the Silent Brotherhood of Ghennet are Malachites, but we have our own mission, and we respect the desire on the part of the high temple to remain apart from that. I have come to you only as a last resort, and I’ve kept my identity a secret from your guards and servants as a token of respect for your desire not to be associated with us.”
“I appreciate that,” the High Vizier said. “What do you need from me?”
The Silent Brotherhood assassin sighed. “Money, my Lord. Money to help us get on our way back to Ghennet. Our mission has fallen to treachery, and I have no option left but to return to Ghennet and report to the Brotherhood at the Temple of the Silent. We have brought with us a—”
“My good Mordon,” the High Vizier broke in hastily. “Please, do not trouble yourself to tell me of whatever you have brought with you. The less I know of your mission, the better for us both. You say you need money—I can provide you with that and will do so, happily. Write down how much you need on this piece of parchment, and I will provide it for you.”
There was a pause, and Ronan heard the scratching of a pen on paper.
A moment later, the Vizier spoke again. “And you want this in gold ducats?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Very good. I shall have my man Gelden see to it. It will take a little while to get this amount together, but I will send my servant to you tomorrow morning with the gold. He will meet you…where?”
“The dock at Port Fero is where we are based for the moment,” Mordon said. “There is an inn there called The Broken Pearl. If your man can go there just after sunrise, I will be there. With this money, we’ll be able to charter a boat and get ourselves back to Twin Mountain City on the coast. From there, we travel inland to Ghennet. We should be there in about three weeks. When I get back, I will go straight to the head of the Brotherhood and inform him of your generosity, and we will pay the money back with interest.”
“There is no need for that,” the High Vizier said quickly. “I have no desire to be offensive, Mordon, but you will make me happiest of all if I never hear of this incident again.”
“My Lord,” the Silent Brotherhood assassin said solemnly, “you have my sincerest thanks. You have asked me not to tell you more about my mission, so I will not, but I will just tell you that in helping me you have helped a great work. I am forever grateful to you.”
