Imperial Traitor (3 page)

‘Come on! Come on!’ Shalidar urged through gritted teeth. ‘You can’t resist this, you old meddler.’

If the Emperor did not show within the next few seconds, Shalidar knew he would have to abandon the hit and move into a better position in order to escape the Palace unnoticed. The guard
commanders would not take long to collect their thoughts and come running.

. . .
DONG, DONG, DONG . . .

‘Damn you, Surabar!’ he swore under his breath. Time had run out.

Keeping to the shadows, Shalidar began edging away from the study. He moved slowly to avoid drawing the attention of the guards. As he did so, he could hear the sound of running footsteps
approaching along an intersecting passageway. They were still some distance away, but they were closing fast. Just then, the door to the Emperor’s study opened. The two guards turned to face
the Emperor.

It had worked, but the window of opportunity was very small if he was to strike and still make a clean getaway. Shalidar had never been one to play safe. He leaped into motion the moment the
door began to move. His target was in sight. The focus of the guards was away from the corridor. He was committed.

The sound of the bell brought Emperor Surabar to his feet as if he were propelled from his seat. His chair tipped backwards, but he spun and caught it before it fell.

‘What in Shand’s name . . .’ he began, his voice trailing off as the bell tolled a second time.

The bell tolled again and again, the sorrowful tones reverberating through the Palace. Instinct carried him around the desk and towards the door, but he paused before his hand touched the
handle. Was this a trap? Did someone want him to move from his study? On the other hand someone could be trying to draw the guards away in order to trap him inside. ‘Damned if I move and
damned if I don’t,’ he thought grimly. ‘Whatever I do is likely to be wrong.’ Maybe someone was playing a prank. It seemed unlikely. This had the feel of an assassination
attempt.

He raised his hand towards the door handle again. Once more he stopped. Should he open the door or barricade it? His desk was heavy. It would slow down any potential assailant. There were
weapons on the wall that he could wield if it came to it. ‘If I open the door, I would be a fool to do so unprepared,’ he thought. He went to the nearest wall and drew a sword from its
ornamental scabbard. He hefted it to test the weight and balance of the blade. It was a little heavier than he preferred, but it was a good weapon. ‘It will do,’ he decided.

The guards turned inwards towards him as he opened the door. They looked confused and worried. A movement to his left caught his eye. He recognised Shalidar instantly. The assassin was almost
upon the left-hand guard. Surabar opened his mouth to give warning, but the assassin struck before he had a chance to speak. A crossbow bolt flashed past him from left to right, missing his chest
by no more than a hand span. Before he had a chance to raise his sword more than halfway to the horizontal, pain erupted in his right side. His breath froze in his throat and he lost his grip on
the sword. The passageway tilted alarmingly as his legs collapsed from under him. His mind could not fathom what had happened. His perspective of the corridor was wrong. It made no sense. Shalidar
had been attacking from his left. What had hit him from the right?

Then Shalidar was standing over him. The assassin’s cold smile was more than he could bear. Fury burned within him, a white-hot hatred that spewed a string of curses to his lips. The
strange thing was he could not articulate them. His body was not responding. Nothing made sense. The world was spinning out of control. He was choking, drowning in a sea of fiery red anger.

Shalidar speared down the corridor with barely a whisper of sound to mark his passing. The Emperor saw him before either of the guards, but by then it was too late. The
assassin rammed his knife at the thin metal backplate of the nearest guard with his left hand. The ceremonial armour was not designed to withstand a strike of such force. The knife sliced right
through the metal. The man stiffened with shock and pain. At the same time Shalidar grabbed the guard’s right hand, which was holding the mini crossbow. In the blink of an eye, he had angled
the weapon up at the second guard and triggered the firing mechanism. There was a
thunk, thud,
followed by a short pause and then another
thunk, thud.

Shalidar shoved the dying guard forward and drew another knife, but his work was done. The first
thunk, thud,
sounds had marked the release of the crossbow bolt and the projectile
striking the second guard high in the chest. This second guard, thrown back by the force of the bolt, had then inadvertently squeezed the trigger on his own crossbow resulting in the second rapid
sequence of sounds. To the assassin’s delight, the stray bolt fired by the dying guard had struck the Emperor in the side of his ribcage. Fired at point-blank range, the arrow had penetrated
deep into his chest.

Both guards and the Emperor fell almost simultaneously, the Emperor’s sword clattering on the floor. The two guards were as good as dead before they fell. The Emperor’s wound was
also mortal. Blood flowed freely from the wound in his side, and frothed at his mouth and nose. The bolt had clearly punctured his right lung. Without a miracle, the Emperor would be dead inside
the next few minutes, most likely by drowning in his own blood. It was tempting to finish him, but Shalidar thought better of it. Chance had played in his favour. He would no longer have to worry
about the Guild subjecting him to truth serum. He had not directly killed the Emperor and he could say so in all truth.

Under the influence of truth serum no man could lie. There was a way to beat the power of the potion. He had done it once before. The method was not pleasant, but the stakes were so high, he
would have been willing to endure the discomfort, the feelings of violation and the risk of betrayal involved in allowing a sorcerer to meddle with his memories. Old Memison had already delved
through Shalidar’s memories once. He knew enough of the assassin’s past to see him executed a hundred times over. Whatever else the sorcerer might be, he had proved himself to be no
tattler.

Emperor Surabar was slumped in the doorway, neither sitting nor lying. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound made it past his lips. He coughed. More blood bubbled and dribbled from his
mouth. His eyes burned with hatred more intense than any Shalidar had ever seen. For the slightest moment he felt a cold shiver run down his spine, then a shout sounded behind him. A group of
guards were rounding the corner from a side corridor. The guard who had shouted was loading a crossbow. Shalidar did not hesitate. He hurdled the bodies of the guards and sprinted off down the
corridor.

The assassin darted into the first side passage to his left. As he did so a crossbow bolt ricocheted off the wall behind him, missing him by no more than a finger’s width. High on
adrenalin he raced down the passageway and turned again, this time through an unmarked door that led to a service stairwell. It was well that he knew the Palace intimately, for without such
knowledge, escape would be unlikely.

The bell would have put the guards on full alert at all the outer gates. They did not normally check people exiting the Palace, but under the circumstances it was unlikely that he would get past
them without being stopped. That left two options. He could hide within the Palace, or he could exit the Palace by a route that the guards would not be watching. The latter option was preferable.
Once the guards got organised, they would search the Palace thoroughly. Shalidar was sure that some of the hiding places he knew would fool the guards, but there was always the chance that one of
them might get lucky.

Foregoing the obvious exits, he turned left and climbed up the stairs. With feather-light footsteps he raced up a floor, taking the steps two at a time. The stairwell was square with the steps
turning at each corner. He reached the landing area and opened the door into the top-floor corridor system. A smile touched his lips briefly as he paused in the doorway, for he could hear his
pursuers clattering downwards and away from him. ‘So far, so good,’ he thought.

There were folk gathering in the corridor and there was a buzz of speculation. The bell was still tolling its mournful message. Kalheen must have done a good job of barricading the door,
Shalidar realised. The guards would certainly be trying to get into the tower by now.

Twice people tried to question the assassin as he passed, but he brushed them aside by frowning and claiming important Imperial business. His purposeful stride and officious manner were enough
to prevent bystanders impeding his progress.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he turned right and then immediately left into the drawing room there. Nobody was inside. Shalidar closed the door behind him. There was enough light
from the windows that he did not need to light a torch. He crossed the room to the window nearest the left corner. It opened easily. He looked out across the Palace grounds and over the outer wall
to the cluttered hotchpotch of buildings that crowded around the Imperial stronghold. It looked almost as if the city buildings were bustling around the Palace, pushing and shoving one another to
try to get as close as possible.

Shalidar’s eyes swept downwards to the area below the window. It was a long way to the ground, but he had made the climb safely before on several occasions. The descent was not difficult
for a talented climber, but there was always a risk of falling, no matter how slight.

Shalidar switched his focus back inside for a moment. He reached up and twisted the right-hand end stop from the curtain pole. The curtain was easy to remove. The heavy material had hung from as
high as he could reach to the floor – a useful length. He rolled it into a bundle and leaned out of the window to see if he could see anyone moving about in the Palace grounds below. There
did not appear to be anyone around. This was not a surprise. The guards were most likely concentrated around the gates. He dropped the bundle and watched as it descended to the ground. The thud as
it landed was clearly audible despite the tolling of the bell. He waited for a moment to see if the noise aroused any interest. No one came running.

With one last look around, he climbed out of the window and eased along the ledge to the nearest corner of the building. The fancy stonework that decorated the corners of the Palace buildings
offered plenty of handholds. The only disadvantage was that descending a corner made him more visible against the night sky. His silhouette would stand out far more readily than if he descended a
flat wall.

He descended quickly, making the fancy cornerstones and gargoyles appear much like a ladder as his hands and feet found purchase with ease. No more than two minutes later he was back on solid
ground. There was plenty of deep shadow in the Palace gardens. His black cloak, leggings and boots made him feel all but invisible. He scouted the ground under the window and retrieved the curtain
bundle.

‘Hey, you! Stop where you are!’

Instinctive reaction made Shalidar glance up. It was a mistake. His face reflected the moonlight, giving a clearer target for the guards to aim at.

‘How in Shand’s name did he get down there?’ a voice exclaimed from a second window. The assassin’s face split into a wide grin at the comment. ‘Let them
wonder,’ he thought. It was unlikely that the guards would follow his path down the side of the building. He exploded into a sprint across the gardens.

His muscles automatically tensed at the
thunk, thunk
sound of two crossbow bolts being released, but the shots were wild. He did not even hear the bolts land. The crossbows used by the
guards were not renowned for their accuracy. There was always the chance of a lucky shot, but they were more for short range and deterrence than for use as a precision long-range weapon. As soon as
he had run a reasonable distance from the main building, he knew he was in little danger from those in the upper-floor windows.

He reached the outer wall of the Palace gardens. The wall was high, more than twice as tall as he was, and topped with iron spikes. The creamy-coloured stone had been rendered smooth. There was
no way of climbing it without a rope . . . or a curtain, Shalidar thought with a grin. He unrolled the material with a flick and then whipped it up towards the spikes on the top of the wall. His
first attempt failed to snag anything, but his second tangled on two of the iron spikes. Working quickly he twisted the material until it became like a thick rope and then, with one final tug to
ensure it was secure enough to take his weight, he began to climb.

A crossbow bolt clattered against the wall about three paces to his right. To get an arrow that close was a good shot considering the range, but close was not good enough. He walked up the wall,
pulling hand over hand as he climbed the makeshift rope. The cloth began to rip as he reached the crown of the wall, but the hem acted as a stop point for the tear. The ascent took seconds. Pausing
a moment to fasten the curtain material more securely, he stepped carefully over the spikes and flipped the trailing end over to the other side of the wall.

With a last glance back at the Palace, he took a double handful of cloth in preparation to begin his descent. As he did so there was a sickening thud combined with an explosion of pain in his
right thigh. The shock and pain took him by surprise. In what seemed like slow motion, Shalidar lost his balance and toppled off the wall.