Another Contract

By: Barnabas Posted on: March 20, 2005

The first hint of fog rose in tattered, hesitant little wisps from the recently flooded Sangre plains. Barely more than a steaming vapor in the noonday sun, it thickened gradually as the riders crossed the Urubamba river and waded through the marshes that a few weeks earlier had been farmland. As they neared the edge of the plains and began passing through the scattered villages that marked the beginning of Ashtan's protectorates, the clear blue of the sky gave way to slate gray, the clouds rolling in with unnatural speed from the northern coast. By the time the three riders reached the outer wall of the city itself, it was late afternoon and the fog was so dense that Koz didn't see them coming until one of them called to him.

"Excuse me, lord?"

He looked up, emptying a pipe that had been cold for a half hour; since then he had chewed with nervous fury at the stem. He stuffed it into his bag—a sailor's kitbag of a kind that anyone in Ashtan might carry. There were three horses in front of him. Or rather, two horses and a broad-shouldered pony carrying a tousle-haired Mhun. The pony's rider dismounted and walked toward Koz with an outstretched hand, a tentative grin on his face.

"Please, my lord?" the rider said. "You are Cosarius, yes?"

The speech was so distorted by a thick Moghedu accent that it took a moment for Koz to realize what the Mhun was saying. "Yes, I'm Koz," he said slowly, and though he looked at the newcomer's hand he did not shake it. "Who are you?" The Mhun seemed disheartened by Koz's brusque reply, and his smile faded as he lowered his hand. He was an easy head shorter than Koz, and one side of his face was marked by what Koz could only assume was some kind of tribal tattoo.

"We are sent to help you," he said. "I am Koru."

"Of the Serpentlords," said the second rider, who might have been Tsol'aa; Koz couldn't tell as she wore a long riding coat with a voluminous hood. The third rider was a human boy, no older than thirteen by Koz's guess.

Koz turned his head to one side and spat through his mustache. "You're the Serpentlord contingent?" The disgust in his voice was unmistakable.

Koru sketched a little bow. "We have this honor. These two are my comrades, and I will be assisting you personally."

"You?" said Koz incredulously. "You barely speak Achaean."

"Language is no obstacle to success." The Mhun smiled broadly.

Koz sighed. "It had better not be. How long have you studied with the Serpents?"

Koru frowned, thinking. "Perhaps a year, lord."

"Figures. Just like the Serpents—I request a decent assistant and they send me a be-damned novice. All their real killing talent is too busy administrating to actually spill blood." He looked up at the Tsol'aa. "If it weren't for the Naga, the Serpentlords would've been forgotten a long time ago."

The woman did not reply.

Koz spat again. "Well, you're here and I need your help. If we can cut down this target without any unforeseen difficulties, fifteen percent of the contract will go to you."

"Is not thirty more custom, lord?" said the Mhun, hesitating as he spoke.

"Customary, not custom. And yes, thirty's the going rate for what you'll be doing, but the Mark is paying a fat commission on this and it's not too dangerous. Fifteen will be more than fair. If you don't like it, tell the Serpentlords they can forget any future cooperation from the Naga."

Koru looked helplessly at the Tsol'aa. A foghorn sounded from the direction of the seaport, somewhere behind the high walls. The woman nodded slowly and said, "It's extortion, but we'll take it."

"These days," said Koz, "extortion is called commerce. It's a sign of the times. You two are hanging back here, then?"

The woman nodded. "We'll help to cover the escape. And we'll evaluate Koru's performance."

"Sartan's teeth," said Koz. "This is a professional contract; only the Serpents could treat it like a gods-cursed final exam." He breathed in deeply.

The air was heavy, and the cool vapor filling his lungs made him feel for a strange moment like he was drowning. The feeling passed, and he beckoned to Koru.

"Time to go, little man. Blood work tonight."

He threw the kitbag over his shoulder and set off on foot toward the city gates. The Mhun followed him, running to keep up with Koz's longer stride.

Koz took shelter behind a pile of stones just beyond the city gates. Peering around it, the crowds that struggled their way in and out of the city through the gate were visible only as points of light—merchants and tourists carrying lanterns and torches, here and there being inspected by the city guards.

"We do not want them to see us," said Koru quietly.

Koz nodded, watching the guards as they inspected caravans and anyone who looked like they were trying to get by unseen. "I wouldn't worry. The guards will be very busy this evening—there was an auction of some kind in mid-city today, and sales going on in shops all over the city. And two ships came in, and—"

"Very much fog," said Koru.

"Exactly. All balanced, all planned. I picked today because it would be busy. The fog was just an extra touch, to be safe. There's a guild of warlocks that works out of Ashtan, and most of them are talented elementalists. If you know the right people, a good, thick fog isn't too expensive." He grinned down at the Mhun. "Remember that, little man. Anything can be bought, from wonders of nature to divine favor."

"Or lives of men," said Koru, his voice quiet as a torch-bearing guard passed close to them.

"Too bloody right," said Koz. "And a good thing. Means I can keep eating. Come on." The guard passed by, and Koz stepped out in the crowd, keeping close by a caravan of druids carrying herbs to store for market the next morning. Koru kept step behind him as they moved through the gates and into the city. The watch fires atop the city wall seemed to burn in pockets of crimson as the fog drifted in unstable spirals around them.

Beneath the starless gray dome of the sky, the inside of the city was alive with dancing golden light as lamps, torches and open windows did their best to penetrate the murk drifting in from the sea. The combination of fog and radiance threw crazed shadows among the crowd and through the streets. Koz turned and started down an alleyway, and as he did so nearly ran into a tall robed figure almost invisible in a shroud of fog and advancing night. He turned, startled and irritated, and raised his eyes to stare at a cold face half-obscured by a sable cowl.

"A statue, only," supplied Koru.

"I know that!" snapped Koz. "It's a shrine, you heathen sand-rat! It's Lord Sartan." He knelt, kissed his fingertips, and brushed them against the hem of the carefully-carved stone robe. He reached into his coat and pulled out three gold sovereigns, and deposited them almost furtively into a small fold cut into the stone to receive offerings. He stayed on his knees for a moment as the crowds milled past behind them and Koru looked on, curious.

At length he got up, brushed his knees, and proceeded down the alley, beckoning curtly to Koru. The two of them made their way behind the main road, using alleys to shelter themselves from the crowd as they worked their way past the Pillars of Ashtan and the statue of Zarathustra. The statue, ordinarily proud and triumphant beneath the light of day, seemed bowed and worried in the unnatural mist. Koz found a suitable place behind a row of shops looking out over the square where the statue stood brooding.

"This'll do," he said. Koru nodded but did not speak as Koz dropped to one knee and opened the kitbag. He pulled out a small bundle and began to talk as he unpacked it.

"The target, little Mhun, is one of the archons of Ashtan."

"An archon, yes…" said Koru, his forehead wrinkling. "Is like a king?"

Koz spat. "Not in Ashtan. There is no king. No king, no rule…all bloody freedom, no bloody order. An archon is more like…oh, I don't know. Who rules you in those little mud huts in Moghedu? You don't have anything like an archon. He's an important man; an administrator. You understand?"

Koru nodded.

"Probably not, but you don't need to. Anyway, he's very important to the city, and somebody over in Mhaldor has decided he's lived for too long. We've been engaged to remedy his unfortunate longevity."

Koru frowned. "This mean we kill him?"

Koz laughed. "There, it's not so hard to speak Man, is it Koru? Yes, we kill him."

"Will that not cause a war?"

Koz finished unpacking, wary of any approaching footsteps. "Sometimes, little man, the whole point of a murder is to start a war. That, however, is none of my business."

Laid out on the ground between Koz and the Mhun were a crossbow, a set of bolts capped in silver, and a few small round objects with no markings. Koz explained.

"The archon will have, at most, five or six bodyguards. I didn't like the idea of trying to take them all myself, so I've worked out a small diversion. The archon's name is Mornius. The council meetings end in about an hour, at which time he'll be headed home. He lives just off the square where that big statue of Zarathustra is, in a posh little villa. You're going to plant these little beauties"—he prodded one of the round objects with the tip of a finger—"round about the square. Not all of them, though. One of them you'll keep in your hand. Don't let anyone see you doing it. When the Mornius comes with his guards, drop the last one and step on it. All of them will go off at the same time."

"They are like…explode?" Koru looked perplexed.

"Something like that," said Koz. "Mostly, they'll make a lot of noise, smoke and flashing lights. Bought them from an old friend of mine—you'll see. Anyway, when they go off, your job will be to rush in and kill one of the guards, whichever one is closest. And make noise while you do it—scream, growl, hoot, or whatever you people do."

Koru nodded slowly, concentration tightening his face. "Make noise, kill guard. What do you do, lord?"

Koz smiled, and picked a crossbow bolt out of the bundle. "The illustrious Lord Mornius is an atavian, Koru. Have you ever seen an atavian?"

Koru nodded impatiently. "Birdman."

"Right." Koz twirled the bolt nimbly between his fingers. "Mornius will be surrounded by his guards. Put yourself in his place. You're moving through a dark street, there's fog everywhere, and even with torches you can't see the other side of the square. Suddenly, there are explosions on all sides, flashing lights, and your guards start to drop. If you're an atavian, what do you do?"

Koru smiled. "I fly."

Koz nodded. "Exactly what I'll be expecting him to do, which is why I'll be on the rooftop of this shop." He knocked on the wall of one of the buildings looming to either side of them. "I can see everything happening in the square. Mornius will panic when his man dies, he'll think he's got assassins on all sides, and he'll take to his wings. When he does…" Koz removed the silver cap from the bolt. Even in the dim light, the tip gleamed blackly, smeared with dark fluid. "This will puncture him before he gets too far. At that point, it's just a question of what kills him first: the fall, the bolt, or the venom."

Koru's eyes drifted across the assortment of objects laid out on the ground. "Lord Cosarius is a clever man."

Koz grinned. "Death always trumps politics, Koru. If someone wants Mornius dead, he'll die eventually. Doesn't matter if he surrounds himself with walls, guards, or divine favor. One of us will catch up to him. For Mornius, tonight is the night." Koz collected the small round objects and handed them to Koru, who secreted them quickly in a compartment attached to his belt. "Now," said Koz, "go and get ready. Our mark should be returning home within the hour." Koru nodded, stood up and stretched an odd little bow before dashing between the shops to one side and vanishing into the fog.

Koz loaded the bolt he had uncapped into the crossbow, carefully avoiding any contact with the envenomed tip. He laid the weapon aside, and gathered the remainder of his affairs back into the kitbag, leaving the rest of the bolts outside. He threw the kitbag over his shoulder, slid the bolts into a quiver concealed beneath his left arm and picked the crossbow back up. Cradling it in the crook of his arm, he grabbed hold of a low-hanging piece of masonry and hitched himself halfway up the outside wall of one shop. He twisted halfway around to face the building that provided the opposite wall of the alley. Hanging by one arm, he braced his feet against the shop wall and sprang up and out. He grasped the rain spout of the opposite wall, threw the crossbow onto the low-sloping roof and levered himself up after it.

He climbed to the ridgepole of the roof and straddled it, placing his knees carefully to give him a good firing angle from which he could hit any point on or above the square. On the rooftop, low as it was, the sounds drifting in from Ashtan seemed to multiply—bells sounding a fog warning to ships near the harbor, voices from the streets and taverns, city guards calling the watch. A few scattered people moved through the square beneath Zarathustra's imposing form, barely visible as slightly darker smears against the slate of the fog. Somewhere below, Koru would be moving, making ready.

Koz saw them coming long before they reached the square, a cluster of torches moving through the fog like the will o' the wisps said to haunt the Sangre plains at night. The council sessions would just have finished, and the Archons were winding their way home. Many would stop for a drink or a meal, but not Mornius. Mornius went straight home to his family.

"They'll wait for you a long time tonight, Archon," said Koz quietly as the procession of bobbing lights reached the edge of the square.

Koz knew they must be traveling at a brisk pace, but the torchlights seemed to advance lazily, disappearing momentarily as they passed out of view behind the brooding statue, only to reemerge closer to the rooftop. He could barely make out individual shapes carrying the torches, and one in the middle who carried none. They moved closer still, until they were almost directly in front and a little below Koz's perch.

"Anytime, little Mhun…"

The company slowed slightly as it approached the villa. Suddenly, Koz heard a voice, shouting loudly and clearly. It sounded like Koru's voice, but it spoke without a trace of accent.

"THERE! ON THE ROOF! QUISALIS!"

Sensing betrayal, Koz swore under his breath and struggled to get down from the ridgepole before he was spotted. "I'll offer that serpent's hide to Sartan!" He wobbled slightly, unsteady as he tried to take cover. There was a strange series of snapping sounds, and something hid him hard in the chest, almost knocking him off the roof. He looked down. His chest appeared to have sprouted feathers.

Several more snapping sounds followed. Koz had a moment to stare stupidly at the small vortices made in the fog by the passage of the arrows, then he fell backwards. The world went black just before his back slammed onto the hard ground of the alley below.

Mornius collapsed into the large chair, his wings settling around a high, wooden back specially carved to accommodate them. A large fire burned in the chimney, surrounded by expansive bookshelves. The lights of Ashtan twinkled through the fog behind a pair of large windows overlooking Zarathustra square, though in the darkness the statue itself was no longer visible. The firelight played over the furniture, the spines of the books, and was reflected in a highly polished hardwood floor, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere spoiled only by the corpse laid out just beside the hearth.

A large Horkval bodyguard stood over the cadaver, and was using a long knife to probe the inside of the assassin's mouth. A second Horkval stood by the large oak door, observing his colleague's cursory autopsy with dull curiosity. The Mhun stood in the doorframe, shifting nervously from one foot to another. "Please, young man, come in," said Mornius. "You have rendered a triple service today—to myself, my family, and the commonwealth of Ashtan. So great a servant of our city should not be waiting in the hall."

The Mhun nodded and stepped into the study. "Thank you, great lord," he said. "Lord Archon, look here," said the Horkval stooping over the corpse. Mornius rose from his chair with a grace that his great age had done nothing to impair. He approached his guard and peered down at the dead man, pulling aside long gray hair that had been somewhat disheveled as his guards had pulled him roughly into the house. The Horkval's knife was pointed at the teeth of the man's upper palate, which bore a pair of incurving fangs.

"A professional," said Mornius thoughtfully. He stooped, his dove-gray wings flattening against the hardwood, and opened the kitbag the assassin had carried. He emptied it onto the floor of the study, spilling a disparate collection of weapons, provisions and clothing. Amongst all this was a letter of commission, into whose broken seal were pressed the arms of the Quisalis Mark. Mornius stood up, reading the letter. "I should be dead," he said, and turned to the Mhun. "Young man, what is your name?"

"Koru, lord." Koru was two heads shorter than the Archon.

"Koru. Well, Koru, such attentive service as yours is deserving of a reward, wouldn't you say?" He placed a hand on the Mhun's shoulder.

"I serve only, great lord," replied the Mhun falteringly.

Mornius smiled. "Your great modesty notwithstanding, Koru, you deserve some compensation. Unfortunately it's not within my power to have a statue of you erected beside old Zarathustra in the square, but I'm sure we can find some way to repay you." Mornius turned and walked to the window to stare out into the city. "If it hadn't been for you, that Serpentlord parasite would almost certainly have ended me."

"Not Serpentlord," said Koru. "Naga."

Mornius turned to face the Mhun. "Naga? How can you tell?"

Koru shrugged. "A Serpentlord would have succeeded."

Mornius frowned. The Mhun's accent had vanished; he had spoken clearly and in perfect Achaean. The Archon was about to reply when Koru struck.

He moved so quickly that neither Horkval had time to react. With a single leap he landed a powerful kick to Mornius's chest, throwing him back against the wall beside the window. The Mhun opened his mouth wide and sank fangs into the Atavian's shoulder. Only then did the Horkval begin to move. As the one by the fireplace moved to stand, Koru pivoted and made a casual gesture in his direction, as though dismissing a servant. The Horkval fell backwards, his left eye pierced by a small glass dart.

The nervous Mhun had vanished; Koru's movements were pure sinew and energy, a terrifying orchestration of momentum. A second powerful leap brought his feet into sharp contact with the other Horkval's neck, crushing the shout that would have alerted the household. A pair of needlelike dirks came from nowhere, and before the guard hit the ground, one was planted in his thigh, the other under his arm.

Koru turned to see Mornius slumped lifeless behind his desk, wings splayed awkwardly behind him. A small trickle of blood was welling from one nostril. It was slowly turning black. The Archon and both his guards had died in the space of a few heartbeats. There had been almost no sound.

The Mhun turned to the oldest cadaver in the room and searched through his belongings. He removed a small medallion from his neck; Sartan's emblem flashed in the firelight as it was tucked into a small compartment on Koru's belt. He walked to the window and took Koz's commission from the Archon's rapidly stiffening hand. He paused to remove a large signet ring from the other hand, then climbed up and opened the windowsill. A cool breeze drifted into the silent room, carrying grasping tendrils of mist that enfolded the Mhun as he grasped the rain gutter above the window and swung up and out. Some time later, the door to the study opened, and a woman screamed.

The Tsol'aa was waiting for him beyond the outer limits of Ashtan, standing anxiously by the horses in brackish floodwater that reached her calves. She bowed as he emerged from the mist, relaxing her posture just slightly and removing her hand from the whip coiled at her belt. "Lord Kotaru," she said gravely. "It seems you were successful."

"Everything went exactly as planned," said the Mhun in elegantly precise Achaean. "The archon is dead." He held out the letter of mark he had taken from Mornius. The Tsol'aa pulled back her hood to reveal piercing, ice-blue eyes that scanned the parchment carfully.

"And Cosarius?" she asked at length.

"Right up to the end, he never suspected a thing." Lord Imgil Kotaru, guildmaster of the Serpentlords, reached into his sleeve and pulled out a plain oaken pipe. He filled it from a pouch on his belt, and leaned forward for his assistant to light it for him. The sickly-sweet smell of skullcap drifted upward with the smoke which mingled into the fog. "It will take the Naga some time to discover that his death was a contractual arrangement rather than a mere accident. Do you have the other letter?"

The young woman reached into her cloak and produced a length of parchment identical to the one she held in her hand. She handed both back to Kotaru. One letter bore the Archon's name; the other identified the target as Cosarius of Mhaldor. The Mhun refolded each carefully and tucked them into his belt. "I'll deliver these personally and deposit the funds tomorrow morning. Where is the boy?"

"I took the liberty of sending Reth to cover your escape. He just learned illusions; this will be good practice for him."

Kotaru chukled. "That would explain why the guards were looking for me by the docks, in the park and on the Radiant Path; I never went past the Archon's house. I wonder how many different versions of me are running around the city…" He blew a long stream of smoke in the direction of the city walls, lost in fog and distance. "Dangerous work for a novice, don't you think, Enuri?" "Did we not just send a novice to kill an archon of Ashtan and a professional from Mhaldor?"

Kotaru's smile faded. "For all either of the targets knew, yes. No matter; Reth is doing dangerous work, and a personal service to me. If he makes it back alive…"

"He will," said the Tsol'aa with quiet certitude.

"I want him rewarded; I realize the guild coffers are light at the moment, but give him at least a small percentage of tonight's commission. And move up his promotion. Talent like that deserves to be in the administration." He puffed meditatively on the pipe.

"My lord," said Enuri at length. "May I ask…"

"Why we hired an assassin out of Mhaldor to kill an Archon in Ashtan, then hired ourselves to kill the assassin?"

The young woman nodded gravely. "This will almost certainly start a war. I don't mean to question your judgment, but…"

Kotaru waved a hand impatiently. "Sometimes the whole point of a murder is to start a war. At this moment, the Archon's family is swearing revenge against the leaders of Mhaldor and the heads of the Naga. Eventually, Mhaldor will figure out that Cosarius' death was by contract, but by that time the Naga will already be on the move against Ashtan's ruling council. Another month or two and the hostilities will be open."

"But why?" The Tsol'aa shook her head. "Eventually the Naga will be able to trace the commission on Cosarius back to us. That will start a guild war that we can't afford to fight."

Kotaru nodded. "We can't afford it now, no. But when Mhaldor and Ashtan squabble, Hashan licks its lips. The next few months will bring a flood of lucrative contracts to Hashan, along with demands for supplies, weaponry and espionage. Our wilting economy will thrive, the bank accounts of the Serpentlords will overflow, and when the Naga finally figure out what happened they'll already be embroiled in a war with Ashtan. By the time the guild war starts, the Serpentlords will enjoy nearly unlimited resources while the Naga will be divided between two conflicts. Do you know what stimulates commerce better than a war?"

"No, what?"

"Nothing," said Kotaru gravely, and extinguished his pipe. "Now, are there other matters I need to tend to tonight?"

Enuri shrugged. "There's a merchant in Delos who wants a rival dealt with—he requested you personally."

Kotaru frowned. "Give the job to a secretary. I have to two wars to prepare for and I need to get back to Hashan; I don't have time for another contract. The next few months will see much bloodshed." He waded over to his pony through water that came to his knees. He swung up into the saddle and looked up at the moon. "Before he died, Cosarius said that death always trumps politics. Do you think that is a correct statement?"

Enuri pulled her hood back up over her head. "I'm no philosopher, Lord Kotaru. It seems an odd thing for an assassin to say. For us, I think there is no difference between the two."

Kotaru nodded. "That, I think, is a truer statement. Cosarius didn't understand it, and I think his ignorance killed him. Ah, before I forget, use the last of the available funds to erect a shrine to Sartan somewhere in Hashan."

"Why to Sartan?"

"We killed one of his practitioners tonight; war is difficult enough without an irritated deity fighting for the other side. Meet me back in Hashan in three days; there is much to be planned."

Enuri bowed gracefully. Kotaru turned his pony and trotted away over the Sangre Plains toward the east. The floodwaters closed over his tracks, and he vanished as the fog closed in behind him.