shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to make sure neither fell asleep. She lay atop a nearby home, having stalked the troops across the rooftops ever since they left the castle grounds.
She could barely see the front door, but she had long learned to analyze everything about a man, from what he wore to the way he walked, to help identify someone from a dark perch on an even darker night. Little of that skill was needed, though, for when the man stepped out of the door, his hood flapped in the wind, revealing the scarred face of Gerand Crold. He held a hand against his forehead as if he had been wounded. Suddenly he realized the mishap with his cloak, glanced about as if worried, and then pulled it back over his face.
Good luck finding me. Kayla smiled. Now this was something she could sell. Every week she met with a squat little man named Undry who ran a small shop specializing in perfumes. She would whisper to him what she knew, and then he would give her a garish over-sized bottle of what looked like perfume, though inside was filled with silver and gold coin. From there the information traveled upward until reaching Laurie Keenan, the wealthiest of the Trifect.
Kayla heard shouting. Shifting her weight, she watched as a boy leapt through a window, hit the ground with a roll, and then darted away. A single soldier was in sight, startled by the broken glass and sudden burst of movement mere feet away.
Before she knew she had reached a decision, Kayla was already moving. Her hand slipped into her belt, where over twenty thin daggers were clipped tight. Based on the shouts and frantic searching of the soldiers, they clearly wanted the boy. Whoever he was, he was valuable, and Kayla would not let such easy money slip through her fingers. If Undry would pay for rumors of newly hired mercenaries and extra-large shipments, how much might he pay for the blood relative of a Trifect, or perhaps a bastard son of the king?
She threw her dagger. The shadows might not be a second skin to her, and silence only a friend, but when it came to throwing the blade, she knew of no better. Before the soldier could give chase, a wickedly sharp point pierced his neck and ruptured his windpipe. He collapsed, unable to cry out to the others. Sheathing the second dagger she had grabbed in case she missed, she looked for the boy.
Damn, he’s fast, she thought as her breath quickened. If the boy hadn’t been so panicked, he easily would have heard her clattering across the rooftops. He darted through alleys, cutting back and forth as if to lose a pursuer. His path remained steadily east, however, regardless of how crooked and curved. Once she realized this, Kayla needed little time to catch up.
Where are you taking me? she wondered. A great cry rose up all around her. She stopped and crouched, feeling a bit of worry crawl up her chest. It seemed like the soldiers had given chase after all, but not just the few that had surrounded the home. Hundreds rushed up and down the streets in small groups.
“The boy!” they shouted. “Hand us over the boy!”
They pressed into homes, swarmed over alleyways, and pushed aside any they wished. Slowly, systematically, they were sealing off the entire eastern district.
“Shit,” she muttered.
Kayla wasn’t exactly the most wanted lady of Veldaren, but she was no friend of the law, either. A guard in a pissy mood could easily take away her daggers, and if any should make the connection to her and the fallen comrade of theirs…
“Up, down, and sideways,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten herself so messed up. She hurried from side to side, taking in the positions of the soldiers. Frantic, she ran back to the north edge, realizing she had taken her eyes off the boy. If he’d made a sudden turn, or jumped through a window, then it would be the soldiers who found him, not her.
She did know this: Undry would not be the one paying her for capturing the child. Anyone worth having the entire city guard give chase deserved a nice ransom. A king’s ransom, in fact. When she spotted the boy, she let out a soft sigh. He was a walking bag of gold, and she never would have forgiven herself if she had let him slip away.
He was limping now, though she wasn’t sure why. He was also veering to the right, and she felt a mix of feelings when she realized where. It was an old abandoned temple to Ashhur, stripped of all its valuables when their elegant white-marble temple farther north had been completed. The doors had been boarded shut, but those boards were long broken. Kayla smiled, for she knew there was no way out. She also wanted to strangle the boy, for if the guards searched inside, well…there’d be no way out.
She looked down the street, seeing no near patrols just yet. She shimmied down the side of a home. Without pause she ran across the street, kicked the door open, and rushed inside.
Where there had once been painted glass were now thick boards with even thicker nails. Where there had once been rows of benches were now splinters and grooved ruts on the floor. The entire place stank of feces and urine. She paused just inside the door to look for the boy, and that was when he struck her.
She felt a fist smash her temple, followed by a swift kick to her groin. As she staggered to one knee, she couldn’t help but smile knowing the boy had assumed a man chased after. Another punch struck her nose, but she caught his wrist before he could pull his fist back. She was not prepared for the sudden maneuver he made. His fingers wrapped around her own wrist, his body twisted, and then she was down on both knees, wincing as the bones of her arm protested in pain.
Any delusions she had of him being a normal boy vanished with her shriek of pain. Her fingernails clawed his skin, but he seemed to not care. Eye to eye they stared, and if she expected to find fear or desperation, it was not there. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and as the boy let go of her wrist and tried to kick her chest, she realized he was enjoying himself.
She ducked under the kick, spun around him, and then jabbed his throat with her elbow. When he collapsed, he rolled his body, avoiding the next two blows from her foot. He caught her heel on her third kick and then shoved it upward. She somersaulted with the push, snapping his chin with her other foot. As he staggered back, she landed lightly on her feet, drew two daggers from her belt, and hurled them across the room.
They stabbed into the wood at his feet, barely an inch at either side.
“Soldiers give chase, you stupid boy,” Kayla said. “Do you want to get us both killed?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Kayla drew two more daggers, twirling them in her fingers. The boy was smart, she could see that. He had to know he was beaten, yet the fact that she held back the killing blow surely should earn her some measure of trust.
“Your name,” she said. “Tell me, and I’ll hide you from them.”
“My name…” He was not at all winded from the run or their tussle, though he spoke low as if embarrassed by the sound of his own voice. “My name is Haern.”
“The Haerns are simple farmers,” Kayla said. “Stop lying to me. We both know you’ve never bent your back in a field or soiled your clothes in pig shit.”
“Haern is my first name,” the boy said, his eyes sparkling. “You haven’t asked for my last name yet.”
She glanced toward the door, expecting soldiers to come barging in at any moment.
“And what might that be?” she asked.
“Felhorn.”
And then it clicked. She would make no money from this information, nor from the ransom. Only a fool would dare ransom a child of Thren Felhorn and expect to live another year.
Unless they delivered the child to Thren himself.
“Thren’s your father,” she said flatly.
Haern nodded.
“Good. Listen to me, we don’t have much time if I’m going to get you to…”
And then the doors opened, a pair of guards with swords drawn standing at the entrance.
“Here!” one shouted, the last word he ever spoke. A throwing dagger speared his left eye. The other guard swore, and then another dagger sailed through his open mouth and jutted out the back of his neck.
“Follow me,” Kayla shouted as she grabbed Haern’s shirt. He did his best to follow, but she noticed his limp had returned.
“The door,” he said, nodding to where the dead guards lay.
“No time,” she said. “They’ll be there soon.”
On the opposite side of the temple she reached a boarded window and yanked on the boards. The wood was old and weather-beaten, but she was not the strongest of women. She tugged and pulled, but the wood refused to break.
