At this time of night, the palace was still and quiet. Relam made his way to the entrance hall without any trouble and slipped across the open space without anybody noticing him. He hesitated at the massive front doors, then pushed one open just a hair and squeezed through the narrow gap. Outside, he flattened himself back against the door. There were still guards on duty out here, concentrated near the front of the porch. Relam moved to his left, crouching to avoid being seen, and went to the far end of the porch. Peering over the railing, he measured the two-meter drop, then swung himself up and over, landing with his knees slightly bent to absorb the impact.
Almost immediately he was on the move again, striding purposefully towards the River Road and Oreius’ house. The old warrior would know what to do, Relam was sure of it. He had helped him hide Narin, after all.
The River Road was also nearly deserted, only a few dark figures moving from building to building. Thieves perhaps, or maybe night watchmen on their way home. A few staggered drunkenly, and once Relam was startled as the door to a bar flew open and a patron was ejected forcibly, landing in a heap in the road. Other than that minor incident though, there was no sound and no cause for alarm or worry.
Relam kept moving, passing the black bulk of the Citadel. On the far side was a narrow alley, half concealed in shadow. The young prince continued on, knowing he had to get out of the city before it was put on lockdown, then stopped as a voice reached his ears. A horribly familiar voice.
“You failed me?” the man hissed.
“No, no, I succeed,” another voice protested in accented common. “He dead, I promise.”
“Really?” the first voice hissed. “Forgive me, but I doubt that is accurate.”
“I swear it! You can freely take over now, there is no one to oppose you with the heir dead.”
“Really? And if the prince is not dead, what then? What if, despite your assurances, he returns?”
“He will not-”
“What if he has put the flames out, what if he escaped them? Fire is an unreliable ally at best, assassin.”
The voices were coming from the alley, echoing and rebounding strangely. Relam guessed that the men were several meters back from the road and unaware that their conversation was echoing down the narrow passage. Cautiously, the prince inched closer.
“Wait for morning, the news will be everywhere that the heir is dead and the kingdom leaderless. I promise!”
“I hope you are right,” the other man hissed. “In any event, I no longer have need of your services.”
“What did you say?”
“Surely,” the first voice continued, “You realized that I would have to kill you whether you succeeded or not. After all, you know far too much.”
Relam heard a whisper of steel against leather, probably the assassin drawing a dagger. “Just you try it, my lord,” he snarled. “I will not be the one to die tonight!”
“How wrong you are,” the first man replied.
Relam heard a sword being drawn quickly, then a series of short impacts of metal on metal, followed by the skittering sound of a dagger skating across the rough stones that paved the alley. A moment later, there was a gasp of pain and a weak cry. Then, finally, a wet squelching noise as a blade was withdrawn.
Relam began moving backwards, creeping away from the entrance to the alley. There was a recessed entrance to a store a meter back. If he could make it there, maybe he could see at last who was behind the assassinations, if the hissing man came out to the River Road.
Relam had hardly hidden himself before a tall, shadowy figure emerged from the alley, slender sword dripping on the road. The hissing man took a long look around, his face hidden in the shadow of his cowl, then turned abruptly and headed for the Citadel. Relam watched in amazement as the man went right up to the guards there, spoke with them briefly, then entered the ancient stronghold, the gates booming shut behind him.
Relam gaped at the now sealed doorway. How could this be? The master of the assassins was connected to the Citadel? How could they all have been so blind?
The young prince lingered a moment longer, then turned and ran quickly to Oreius’ house. He slipped around the side to the back, into the winter-blasted gardens. The fountain was fully frozen now, and the water no longer danced and splashed merrily. Everything was eerily quiet.
Relam ghosted up to the back door and knocked tentatively. In the midst of the silent night, the small sound was deafening. He waited, hoping that the slight noise would have been enough to draw Oreius or Narin to the door, but nothing happened. Relam tried again, knocking louder this time. Still, there was no answering sound.
Frustrated, Relam beat on the door forcefully, shaking the portal in its wooden frame. This time, he heard rapid, impatient footsteps, moving quickly in his direction. A moment later, the door was flung open, and Oreius glared out at him.
“Do you realize what time of night it is, boy?” he demanded curtly. Then, he frowned, noticing Relam’s charred cloak and the distinct stench of smoke. “Have you been burning something recently?”
“You could say that,” Relam muttered. “I’ll tell you everything, I swear, but I need you to let me in. Even now they may be hunting me.”
“Fabulous,” the old warrior grunted. “Now I’m sheltering two refugees.” But he stepped aside and let Relam enter. The old warrior peered about outside a moment longer, then slammed the door shut and shot the bolt home.
“Follow me,” he growled, stumping along the central hallway to the front room. Relam, shivering slightly, followed him through the
