The King's assassin

does Meridian. We’re past the guards. They’re outside.’

The darkness was so complete that Berren had to hold his hands out in front of him not to walk into a wall. He took one careful step after another, dreading the moment he’d put a foot down and tread on a creaking board or a sleeping cat. But this was a castle, he told himself. The floors were made of stone; there wouldn’t be any animals roaming free at night, nor would there be plates, mugs, bowls or any of the other things his feet had found while creeping through people’s bedrooms.

I was younger then, he reminded himself. Smaller and lighter and with agile feet. And I didn’t have anyone with me.

He fumbled his way through the darkness and into another long hallway. There were more narrow windows here, letting in just enough starlight to see by.

‘The king will be at the far end,’ whispered Syannis. ‘The other rooms will be Meridian’s and the princess’s.’

‘Gelisya?’ The uncomfortable feeling turned sharp. He found himself thinking of Saffran Kuy. Saffran Kuy, who had his fingers all over Meridian’s little princess, whether Meridian knew it or not. ‘I’m telling you, this doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be so dark. If not guards then there should be pot boys. Maids. Night servants. Someone. And whoever comes this way at night would need some light.’

Syannis hissed between his teeth, ‘What do you suggest? We can hardly come back again another day, not now. No, they’re here. They have to be.’ He put his hand to the nearest door. ‘This one. These rooms were the finest. My father’s. Meridian will be here.’ He growled like a threatened wolf. ‘Then we take Aimes.’

Time slowed. Berren lunged for Syannis, trying to pull him away, but his legs felt as though they were made of treacle. Syannis lifted the latch and pushed and then everything Berren had been afraid of began to happen.

‘He’s here!’ shouted a voice behind the door. ‘He’s here! To arms!’

Old memories filled Berren’s head of all the times he’d nearly been caught as a boy. When all you could do was run and dodge, dart down the narrowest, darkest, least used alleys. Some place narrow where big men would be slow, some place high where they couldn’t reach, then some place dark where they wouldn’t see you. You hid, and you prayed.

He’s here? They knew Syannis was coming! They’d known all along!

‘The sun-chapel!’ snapped Syannis. He lunged with his sword into the darkness and roared. There was a grunt and a crash. Berren fled back to the chapel, but the archway was filled with men coming the other way now. Real terror gripped him — more soldiers, and they’d been lying in wait! He must have walked right past them without knowing!

‘Master Sy!’

In the darkness he couldn’t see how many there were. He had no idea even where Syannis was. He staggered. A hand clutched at his arm. He wrenched himself away.

‘Run, boy!’ The thief-taker’s voice. He was already ahead. Berren bolted, bouncing off the walls as he ran. He caught a glimpse of the thief-taker in the shadows of the Long Gallery. Other dark shapes were running through the far end of the hall. More soldiers!

Syannis skidded through the hidden doorway into the armoury. Berren skittered after him. There were guards only seconds behind him, coming from both ends of the gallery, but they were all behind him now, that was what mattered. After the armoury it was a quick sprint across the guardroom and then a long straight run all the way to the Pit and the sump and out with no one standing in their way. His eyes gleamed. They would get away!

He crashed into Syannis, who was fumbling at the guardroom door with a key. The thief-taker swore. Berren slammed the door into the Long Gallery shut behind him and put his shoulder to it. ‘For the love of the sun! Keep your exit open! First rule of thieving you daft bastard!’ The first soldiers crashed into the other side of the door and almost knocked Berren off his feet, forcing him slowly backwards. A sword stabbed through the gap, missing him by an inch.

‘Got it!’ Syannis had the other door open. Berren screwed up his eyes and leaped towards it. Soldiers sprawled into the armoury sending crossbows crashing all about. A hand caught his arm. The grip was strong, strong enough to spin him around before he broke free. He stumbled as he lurched out of the armoury.

‘Get him! Get him!’

Syannis was ahead, darting down the steps to the cellar. Berren flashed past the dead guards slumped at their table, soldiers pouring after him. He felt the air move as someone threw a spear and missed the back of his head by a hair’s breadth. He raced through the cellar, down the steps and round the corner towards the Pit. The soldiers’ armour and swords slowed them down. He was gaining on them.

Almost there!

He unbuckled his belt and threw it to the floor, sword and all, ready for the sump. With a bit of luck someone would trip over it. Syannis was right in front of him now, slowing him down. They reached the cave where Hain was waiting for them. Around the pit, Berren ran one way, Syannis the other. There must have been at least a dozen soldiers chasing him, but Berren felt like laughing again, because he knew they’d never catch him. He’d reach the sump and be in and they’d never-

Out of the darkness a figure stepped in front of him. Berren didn’t even have time to see who it was, but there was only one person it could be: Hain. They smashed into each other. Something hit Berren’s head. He stumbled a few steps, staggered into the low wall around the Pit, almost fell in, pushed himself away and then someone was on his back, bearing him down, pressing him into the ground with such force he could barely breathe. He thrashed and squirmed and watched, helpless, as Syannis reached the sump while more arms grabbed at his legs.

But the thief-taker didn’t dive into the water; he kept coming. The soldiers holding Berren down suddenly let go and scrabbled away, and then Syannis was among them, slashing and stabbing like a wild thing. They fell back from his assault and for a moment Berren was free. He didn’t pause. As soon as he was on his feet, he ran.

‘Go! Go!’

He didn’t have a sword any more, but even if he had there were too many guards. The last thing he saw before he hurled himself into the water was Syannis, backing after him, holding off half a dozen men, with more racing around the Pit to take him from behind.

The water was like ice. On the other side, he waited, dripping wet and freezing cold, but Syannis never came. Eventually, long after he knew there was no point in waiting any more, he left. The horses were exactly where Syannis had said they would be.

Hain. They’d all say it was Hain who’d betrayed Master Sy, who’d warned Meridian that the thief-taker was coming, the when and the how, but Berren wasn’t so sure. Just at the very end, he’d seen a face lying in the darkness. Hain’s dead eyes, open wide, staring at some unseen terror. And in that moment he thought he’d caught a smell of something that shouldn’t have been there. A whiff of rotting fish.

23

THE PRINCESS AND THE SLAVE GIRL

Berren galloped through the kingdom of Tethis. He stopped at a farm, helped himself to a barn for the night and was gone with the dawn. He rode through the countryside, skirted Galsmouth with its garrison of fifty king’s guard, crossed the river and entered Gorandale. For a few days he passed through rolling hills dotted with the occasional flock of sheep. He saw shepherds and a few quiet villages nestled in among the valleys, but little else. Syannis had left food with the horses. Hard bread, biscuits, dried meat and cheese. Enough to keep four men for two or three days; more than enough for Berren.

His head fluttered like a moth around Syannis’s flame. They’d walked straight into a trap. Syannis could have dived into the sump and saved himself, but he’d hadn’t and now he was probably dead. Berren had thoughts about selling the horses, about taking the money and finding a ship and never coming back. But for most of the time he thought about all the things that had happened since the day in Deephaven when they’d first met in a dingy alley