The Ambassador's Mission

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 ‘abductors’,” 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