The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (45 page)

Too slow, Cery’s twist did not bring him out of the way far enough or fast enough to avoid the knife pushing into his ribs. He heard Anyi give a little huff of triumph.

“Good,” he said, resisting a smile as he let go of her and stepped away. “You’ve got the hang of it now.”

She grinned and swapped the wooden practice knife back to her left hand.

“Though you aimed a little high,” he told her. “You’re used to practising with Gol, I suppose.”

“I’d have still cut you,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but your knife might have caught on my ribs.” Cery patted his lower chest where her knife had pressed. “Which is not one of the five weak spots. Eyes, throat, belly, groin, knees.”

“Sometimes it’s better to smash an attacker’s knees and run than try to stab him in the heart,” Gol said. “The heart can be hard to reach. Ribs might skew your aim. If you miss, he can come after you. If you get his knees, he can’t. And he mightn’t be expecting it.”

“A stab to the guts will kill slowly, too,” Cery said. “Not much fun, but enough time to try and get you back for it.”

“And you shouldn’t kill unless ordered to,” Gol added.

“I should get you practising with shorter people.”

“And younger ones,” Anyi said. Gol gave a snort, and she turned to him. “Come on. You’re both not as fast as you used to be, and if anyone’s gonna send somebody after you they’re not going to get some old assassin out of retirement to give you a sporting chance.”

Gol chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

A tapping came from the door and they all turned to face it. They were in one of the upper-storey rooms of a bolhouse Cery owned, known as the Grinder. It was a place where he could meet the people of his territory who had requested an audience. Business had to be maintained, and that meant making himself available now and then. As with all his places, there were plenty of escape routes.

Cery nodded to Gol, who strode over to open the door. The big man paused, then stepped aside. In the entrance stood a squat, solid man, who had worked for Cery for years.

“A messenger’s here to speak to you,” he said. “From Skellin.”

Cery nodded. “Send him in.”

Gol took up a position to the left of Cery, arms crossed in his typical protective pose. Anyi’s eyes narrowed, then she walked past Cery to stand at his right. As he looked at her, she stared back defiantly, daring him to challenge her. He smothered a laugh.

“Did I say the lesson was over?” he asked, looking from her to Gol. His bodyguard blinked, then looked at Anyi. “Get back to work,” Cery ordered.

He watched them walk back to where they had been practising. Gol said something, to which Anyi shrugged, then dropped into a fighting crouch.
Good
, Cery thought.
If Skellin’s messenger reports that I have a new, female bodyguard, I may as well have him report on her skills as well. I can’t hide her forever. If anyone picks that I’m keeping someone hidden they’ll assume there’s a reason and start asking questions.

Still, his skin pricked as a figure moved into the doorway. It was one thing to know one’s loved ones were in danger because of who you were, but quite another to actually put them in a position that involved no small amount of risk.

Skellin’s messenger was lean and tall, with the constant tense poise of a runner. His eyes met Cery’s and he nodded politely. Then his gaze snapped to Gol and Anyi, the latter having just launched herself in an attack. Gol countered it deftly, but she darted gracefully out of his reach.

As Cery had expected, a spark of interest lit the messenger’s gaze, but there was more than just professional assessment in his expression. Suddenly Cery regretted having Anyi and Gol return to practising. It took a great effort to keep his face composed and posture relaxed.

“You have a message for me?” he asked.

“You are Cery of Northside?” the man asked, though his voice held no doubt. It was a formality.

“Yes.”

“Skellin said to tell you that he has found the quarry and is setting a trap. If you bring your friends to the old butchery in Inner Westside when the sun sets tonight, they can take possession of their new pet.”

Cery nodded. “Thank you. We’ll be there. You may go.”

The man gave a slight bow, then left. Gol walked over to the door and closed it, before turning to regard Cery soberly. “You’ve only got a few hours.”

“I know.” Cery frowned. “And my friend won’t be at her place of employment yet.”

“They’ll send a message on to the Guild.”

“The Guild?” Anyi repeated. She gave Cery a hard look. “What is going on? Is this the thing you couldn’t tell me about yet?”

Cery and Gol exchanged a look. The bodyguard nodded once.

They’d discussed since the meeting with Skellin when to tell Anyi the whole story. If they told her about the rogue – and in particular that they suspected she was the Thief Hunter and the killer of his family – she’d want to come along and see the woman captured. If he ordered her to stay behind she would probably disobey him, figuring she’d wear whatever punishment he gave her for it. Assuming he discovered she had disobeyed him.

It wasn’t that she made a habit of defying him, but with something this big she’d make an exception. He would too, in her place.

He could, instead, simply not tell her about the rogue, but there was still a good chance she’d slip away and follow him just to find out. Again, it was what he would have done.

So he and Gol had decided their only choice was to involve her in the capture by giving her a relatively safe job to do. Once again she would be one of his shadow guards. This time she would have to know the nature of the quarry they were chasing. There would be no rushing in to fight this enemy if things went wrong. Fighting magicians with knives was pointless and suicidal.

“Yes, the Guild. It is time you knew what we’re dealing with,” Cery told her. “There are three things you will learn from tonight: even the most powerful Thief has limitations, it pays to have friends in high places, and there are some things best left to magicians.”

There was a long pause between when Sonea knocked on the door of Administrator Osen’s office to when it finally swung open. Osen’s gaze was slightly distracted as he ushered them in.

“Black Magician Sonea, Lord Rothen,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve called you here because Ambassador Dannyl and the Sachakans who have volunteered to help him are close to catching Lord Lorkin and his abductors.”

Sonea’s heart stopped, then lurched into a racing beat. She opened her mouth to ask him … what? What to ask first? Where was Lorkin? Did the Sachakans understand that they weren’t to kill him?

“How long until they do?” Rothen asked.

“Dannyl can’t say exactly. Half an hour. Maybe less. You had better make yourselves comfortable.”

Osen sat down behind his desk, and she and Rothen used magic to move two of the room’s armchairs to the front. Osen’s gaze slid to the distance.

He is linked to Dannyl by a blood ring
, she guessed
. What can he see?
She wanted to demand that he describe everything he saw in detail, but instead took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You said ‘abductor
s
’,” she pointed out. “Is there more than one?”

Osen paused and his gaze shifted to somewhere far beyond the office walls.

“Yes. Several Traitors. Unh thinks eight.”

“Unh?”

The Administrator’s gaze focused on her with difficulty. “A Duna tribesman. He’s tracking for them. Apparently he’s quite good at it. Wait …” His expression shifted and became eager. “They got a look at them. Just a glimpse …”

He was silent, staring at the desk without seeing it for a painfully long moment. Sonea realised she was gripping the arms of her chair. She forced herself to let go and folded her hands in her lap instead.

“Ah.” Osen’s shoulders dropped with disappointment.

“What?” Rothen asked. Sonea glanced at him. He was leaning forward, his eyes wide.

Osen shook his head. “He’s not there. Not in that group. They’re following the wrong trail – wrong people.” He sucked in a breath, held it, then sighed. “There were three trails, apparently. They thought he was with one of them, but they were wrong. They’re going to have to go back and try another trail.”

Sonea let out a sigh of frustration. Rothen groaned and leaned against the back of his chair. Silence filled the room. Nobody spoke. Osen’s gaze had shifted to the distance again. Rothen was rubbing his forehead.

Then all jumped at a loud knock at the door.

Osen waved a hand. The door opened and a Healer stepped inside. The young man looked at Sonea, smiled and hurried toward her, holding out a slip of paper.

“Forgive the interruption, Administrator,” he said. “I have an urgent message for Black Magician Sonea.”

She took the paper from him and nodded in reply as he bent into a shallow bow. He hurried from the room. When the door closed she looked down at the note, then unfolded it.

Your friend in the city says his friend has found the thing you’re after. You have to be at the old butcher’s building in Inner Westside by sunset. Bring your other friend.

If she’d been in a better mood she would have laughed at the vague and rather silly language. But this was the last thing she needed. How could she race off into the city to catch the rogue when Lorkin could be found at any moment?

A hand passed before her eyes and plucked the message from her. Her heart skipped, but it was only Rothen. He scanned the note, looked at her and narrowed his eyes in thought.

“How long until they backtrack to where the trail split?”

“A few hours,” Osen intoned, his gaze still fixed on far-away things.

“And then a few more before they travel as far down the next one. Shall we leave you to follow their progress, and return later?”

“Of course.” Osen snapped out of his trance and looked at them in turn. “I’m sorry. These blood stones are remarkably involving of the attention. I should have Dannyl take off the ring until he is close to finding Lorkin again.” He waved a hand. “Go.”

Rothen rose, then looked at Sonea. She stood up reluctantly.
How can I leave now? But it’ll be hours before they catch up with Lorkin. I can’t sit here waiting while the rogue escapes. And if we don’t turn up and Cery confronts the rogue by himself, he might get hurt.

She forced herself to move, following Rothen to the door, then out into the corridor. Long shadows striped the Guild grounds outside the University doors. The Healer was waiting for her, smiling nervously as she noticed him. Rothen beckoned to the man.

“Has anyone contacted Lord Regin?” he murmured.

The young man frowned and shook his head. Rothen turned to Sonea. “Sunset is not far off. You had better go now. I’ll find Regin and send him to meet you at the hospice.”

Hospice. Of course. I can’t go straight to Inner Westside. Must maintain the ruse, in case this doesn’t work. That means we
really
don’t have much time …

The urgency of their mission seized her at last, and she shooed Rothen away. “Tell him to go straight there.” She turned to the Healer. “Did you come by carriage?”

He nodded. “It’s waiting outside for you.”

“Good man.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go, then.”

I
t was Unh who had noticed the scatter of stalks beside the road, which he said might be feed that had spilled from a cart when it had stopped there. The local Ashaki hadn’t wanted to investigate, eager to chase after the cart, but Achati had sided with the tribesman, jokingly reminding them that Unh hadn’t been hired so that they had someone to ignore.

The tribesman found the tracks of three people wearing slave shoes – a man and two women – leading away from the road.

“I see this print at the last place,” Unh told them, pointing to a slight depression in the sandy ground. “The shape is longer and thinner than Sachakan foot, and there a hole under the heel.”

They had all been impressed with Unh. Now, hours later, they were not so pleased with him. After finding the tracks, they’d sent the carriages and horses on to the next estate with Achati’s driver, and continued on foot. At the tanner’s huts, they’d followed one of the three clear trails leading away. They’d been in a hurry because the sun was dipping toward the horizon, but it had made the tracker’s job harder. Long shadows, then twilight, made it difficult for him to make out the finer details of the footprints and other signs he was following. The Sachakans resisted creating a light for him, as it would make them visible from a distance in this exposed landscape. Nobody had been concerned, however, as the trail was still clear enough for them to follow it.

It was with a surge of triumph that Dannyl had spotted the figures in the distance. But the feeling hadn’t lasted long. It turned to dismay as he realised Lorkin was not among them.

Much cursing had followed. The Traitors they’d tracked were too far ahead to be caught and questioned, because doing so would take too much time, so Dannyl and his Sachakan helpers had hurried back to the huts. By then it was night, and creating a light for the tracker was unavoidable. To direct the light where he needed it they had to follow closely behind Unh, and several times they wound up trampling the signs he was looking for. It made the process of picking up the trail slow and difficult, so when Unh had lost the trail completely a few hours later, Achati decided they should camp for the night and continue after the sun rose.

The slaves dropped their burdens with obvious relief. But though they were obviously exhausted, their masters were more demanding than usual. The Ashaki groaned and complained, and had their slaves rub their legs and feet. At first Dannyl was puzzled, then he remembered that the one kind of magic the Sachakans didn’t possess knowledge of was Healing. While he had been soothing away the aches and pains and blisters of walking, they had no choice but to suffer.

I hadn’t realised how much of an advantage it is to us. It could be a significant one, if our countries were ever to fight each other, or another enemy. If we both have to trek to meet our foe, the Sachakans will be the only ones sore and tired from the effort.