Prologue
"The Lord of Murder shall perish,
but in his death he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny.
Chaos shall be sown in their footsteps."
So Sayeth the wise Alaundo.
Darkness drowned the streets of Athkatla in their gloom. It was a blacker night than most upon the capital city of the Amnish nation. Whether it was clouds that choked the sky above or something else, it could not be said. It seemed as if the very stars themselves had been swallowed whole by some vengeful beast. But then the moon broke through, briefly. A soft, silvery light returned to the streets below, drifting through the rain. Very little moved down there.
There were few who would have disturbed that late hour. The dull gleam of lanterns hanging from the eaves of a rundown tavern or inn were all that spoke of any comfort in the dead of night. Most residents of the slums of the Amnish city stayed indoors after dusk. And, aside from the ghostly sounds of laughter that drifted out through the ragged doors of that sodden tavern, the streets assumed an all too familiar, eerie quiet.
Shadows abounded there beneath the moon upon the faintly-lighted paths, and one in particular caught the eye. It moved with steady purpose out and away from a dilapidated old house, striding almost self-consciously through the gloom across the cobblestones. It must have suspected eyes upon it by the way it kept its own darting every which way. It certainly did not feel wrong in thinking so. That city had far too many around each corner. The shadowed figure knew that only all too well.
But that was hardly the greatest of its concerns tonight. It found the place it was supposed to be easily enough. It settled there. And waited.
It did not have to wait long.
Eventually, another shadow appeared out of the dark to one side. It flitted toward the first, gliding through the driving rain. Then stopped.
The first shadow removed its hood hastily after a moment, despite the downpour. It formed into a man, his eyes fixed warily on that other form before him. That one did not show its face. It just stood there, still and silent in the street.
The man worked his jaw, blinking rapidly beneath the rain running down over his face. Eventually, he managed to find his tongue.
"You … you wished to speak with me?"
He seemed impressed with his ability to speak. It emboldened him, and he stood straighter. He even went so far as to notice that he had pulled his hood down. But he left it where it was.
The cloaked form before him did not answer, though. Not right away. It let the silence stretch on between them again, the steady pitter patter of rain on slate and thatched roofs all that could be heard. It seemed to be studying him. But it was hard to tell without seeing a face. That black void beneath its cowl was empty.
"What–"
"Good business to you, Lassal."
The man snapped his mouth back shut, as the other suddenly spoke. The sound cut him off so quickly. He swallowed in surprise.
But then he settled just a bit. A woman's voice. He had yet to meet one that he could not sell.
"Good business to you as well," he offered quickly. His cheek twitched just a little bit. A nervous habit. "This is certainly not the hour for it, though. Nor the place."
He glanced about toward the emptied streets. A beggar shambled off in another direction, cowering beneath whatever eaves would take it. There was no one else around.
"Oh, I beg to differ," the cowled form spoke.
Its voice was as cold as the soaking night air about. It sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. He didn't like that.
"It is the perfect place to do business."
Her tones dragged on like silk against steel. Something about the sound just made his teeth grind. He tried not to let it show.
"And what business would that be, then?" he asked. It was hard not to sound a little irritated.
"Oh … I think you know."
He let out an exasperated breath. He got enough of that double-talk back with the others. At times it could be amusing, even fun. But there … there in a drenched, black alley with a complete stranger …
No, it wasn't quite so tolerable. His patience was thin enough already. It had been ever since he had first received that message in his books. It had been written in blood.
"You are looking for a change, Lassal," the woman's voice cooed on at him. "Or else, you would not have come at all …"
He narrowed his eyes. That was what the message had said – tucked away inside the crease of his record books. It was mildly amusing. He had never thought to turn traitor before. He had never been so foolish. One did not get so far as he did by being overly so.
Yet, something about it all had intrigued him. His daily routine had grown quite stale of late.
His head bobbed ever so slightly. The other seemed to take that as a sign to continue.
"We are too. We wish to … employ you, of course," the cowled form said.
"… Employ me?" he baited.
"There is a monopoly in this city," she countered. Her tongue clipped each word ever so gently.
"We intend to break it."
He could almost feel the cold smile there beneath the hood.
"So I have heard," Lassal replied simply.
The rumors had been circulating quietly, and at their own peril. He had long since learned to keep an ear to them, especially in his line of work.
"Well then," he grunted, "what is it you want? And, more importantly …" He smiled. He lowered his eyes and his voice both. "What is your offer?"
If the woman beneath the hood had not been smiling before, he was certain that she was now. It sent another shiver down his back, and he shifted. But he kept that pleased look plastered across his face. He was all too eager for what was to come.
"We want you, Lassal."
"Well … of course." He gave the other a lop-sided frown. "Why else would you have asked me here? My services are quite valuable." He raised an eyebrow. "But you must still make me an offer first. I am not sold quite so easily, my dear."
"Our offer," the voice mused, "is one you cannot refuse."
He barked a laugh.
"I think I will be the judge of that, dear girl." He cracked another smile at her. "You are only as tall as your last deal. I am afraid that, if you do not tempt me properly, and soon," he warned lightly. "Well, then I will just have to be on my way back to my current employers."
The other had not moved an inch since she had first arrived. It almost seemed as if the cloak could have been suspended there by some sort of witchcraft. That disembodied voice echoed out from within.
"You misunderstand our summons, Lassal," it said softly. "You will not be leaving this place tonight without us."
"You do not give me orders!" he spat at her of a sudden, getting angry. His temper flared – not one of his more shining attributes. "Now, tell me your offer or be gone! I've had quite enough of this charade."
He almost made as if to leave. It was all just a part of the game.
But then he stopped. Low laughter poured out from that vacant hood.
"You will not be leaving, Lassal," that voice told him once more. "Our only offer … is the sweet embrace of death."
He laughed. He took a step back, but laughed. His face twisted scornfully, and he had a hand on the hilt at his side.
"You think you can kill me, girl?" he sneered, putting space between them. "You think you can lure me out into the dark and butcher me like a piece of meat?"
"Yes."
"You fool!" he spat, a wall coming up at his back. He pulled that blade free. "Did you really think I would betray my master? Did you really think," he kept on, face cruelly twisting, "I would come alone?"
The woman had not moved. But the shadows behind her had. Lassal had watched them for some time out of the corners of his eyes. They took shape with daggers for claws, sweeping in. They pounced on that cloaked woman then.
There was a flurry of motion as he watched. Two men, hooded and cloaked in shadow, came at the woman from either side, blades flashing. He lost them in the suddenness of it. A pleased smile crossed his face at the sight.
It turned quickly into a grimace.
He would have nothing to show for that night. The thought stabbed at him painfully in disappointment. He would have nothing for all that wasted effort. Linvail would not be pleased. Not at all.
The ruse had been a sound one. The idea had been his – a clever way to see his way out of the suspicions he would have received upon being made so tempting an offer. And if they had truly given him a tempting one? Well, he might have even taken them up on it. His principles were not so strict. Indeed, it was laughable to think that they could be. But he had had a feeling that they might just leave him for dead. A pity. They should have sent someone more capable to do it. More than one. It was almost insulting.
He could take that spying wench alive, though. The thought had been in his head long before that meeting ever took place. He would bring home a small trophy at the very least.
The two other men knew what to do. At least, they had. It was somewhat even more disappointing then, when one of them abruptly hurtled past him.
The man tumbled away to the ground, and did not move. Lassal glanced back up, blinking in surprise. The other man closed again with the cloaked woman, slicing a dagger in for her throat. She wove easily about it, caught his hand in her own, and snapped the arm in two. The man cried out, collapsing down to his knees. She snatched his throat in the next instant, cutting him off. Then she crushed it in her hand.
That cowled form turned back on Lassal. As she did, a knife whipped through the space between them. It flashed under that hood, and stuck.
A smile lit his face. Perhaps their assassin had been capable enough after all.
The woman herself froze, head snapping back with the blow. She was dead. The thought was satisfying, but no more so than it had been any time before. She was not the first to try to kill him in the dead of night.
No, it had been far, far too long.
Her cowl slipped slowly back down.
He was staring at a beautiful woman's face then. He blinked. Blood trailed down along fair skin from where the knife had embedded itself into her skull. A heavy blow. Fatal. He had not lost much over the years. He waited for her to crumple into meat and bones there on the stone.
The body did not fall, though. Instead … instead that head tilted back down toward him.
He stiffened. Those dark eyes fixed with his. Then they flashed a brilliant red.
He snapped his head back. His lips twitched. Then he watched her reach a hand up and pull the knife free.
That was enough for him. He turned.
And fled.
He didn't make it a dozen steps before that knife was slicing down into his leg.
Lassal pitched forward with a cry and hit the cobbles. They slipped underneath him, the rain washing him along.
His knee sang out in jarring pain. He threw himself over. Then he stuck out his arms and started pulling himself haphazardly onward.
A few moments later, and he had reached the other side of the street, crawling on his elbows and stomach. He twisted back around, eyes darting toward the dagger jutting out of the back of his leg. He snatched it free with a sharp breath, and looked up.
That woman was gone.
He stared for a moment. Then he wrenched himself back away and ahead.
Someone was standing in front him.
Two hands snatched him up by the back before he could even think to move, hauling him up high into the air. He landed back down on his feet, pain stabbing through his one leg. He collapsed almost instantly, but the other held him fast.
It was the woman.
He looked up, spitting out a ragged breath through clenched teeth. The rain stabbed at his eyes. Hers fixed on him with unwavering intensity.
"You think we are afraid of you, Lassal?" she asked calmly.
He snatched at one of her arms. His legs were dangling out uselessly beneath him. He had lost his blade somewhere along the way.
The woman smiled down at him.
"The Shadow Thieves are more easily broken than you know …"
All at once, he was whirling up and over, whipping sideways through the night air. His back hurtled into a stone wall, and he hung there for a moment as the air shot out of his lungs. Time was swallowed up into breathless agony.
Then his heart started beating again. He plunged back down to the ground.
He lay there on his side for a few seconds, scrabbling numbly along the slick stone. His chest wasn't working, his lungs flailing. He just tried to breathe.
A set of boots clapped up in front of his eyes. He followed them up toward their master.
That woman bent down over him, crouching low. The hole in her head was gone. She smiled at him.
"You are not the first, Lassal," she cooed, rubbing a hand gently against his cheek. The flesh was like ice.
He reached a hand slowly toward her throat. She brushed it aside, though, and bent over, putting her lips to his ear.
"And you will hardly be the last."
He blinked, sucking in a trembling breath. His eyes were fixed, his teeth clenched tight.
Something tore in at his throat.
Lassal screamed. He screamed as loud as he could. But the sound died away to a whimper almost as quickly as it had come. The thunder above drowned everything out.
And he watched. He watched then as crimson dripped down his chin and throat and stained the running waters below. They flowed swiftly away down along the streets of Athkatla, and faded with the coming storm.