Chapter Two ~ An Old Acquaintance
The street was dark and Alanna had to wait for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings. The moment they did though, she started on her way. She walked up the street, pretending to be taking a night stroll. They moon was full and she knew there would be a festival in the square; so she made her way there.
As she had known, the square was full of lights and people; venders called out their wares and shoved goods under peoples noses, yelling for them to buy. Alanna, masquerading a street girl, imitated the look of any poor girl who wanted something she couldn't afford. She thought she passed nicely, but she checked her weapons and purse every now and then to make sure they were still there.
Someone pushed her against a vender's stall. She bit her lips and drummed her fingers on the surface until she could get her temper under control. Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn't be her downfall; a temper was not something a good assassin should contain. The owner of the stall barked at her to buy something or leave, she ducked her head to avoid making eye contact; there wasn't many with purple eyes, and she had become an expert at avoiding gazes while in disguise.
She left, her face reddening with detained anger, she stopped and breathed in and out before continuing on. Her destination was an inn called the Trumpeting Swan. She opened the door and slipped in.
Bright lights and noisy chatter welcomed her; she walked up meekly to an empty table and sank into a chair. She stared at the table, waiting; she didn't know what for, but something told her to wait.
Her instincts didn't make her wait long; she was soon greeted by a familiar voice,
"Hello."
She looked up, not bothering to hide her eyes. A man stood their, his raven-black hair tied in a horsetail at the nape of his neck. His eyes shadowy, and his limbs seemed too long for him, making him look somewhat akward. She heard him suck in his breath as he saw the color of her eyes. "Alanna?" he whispered.
She glared at him. "Sit down," she told him under her breath. "And shut up while your at it, you know me as Mel, not anything else. Got it?"
The man nodded and pulled up a chair beside her. "Mel," he said, rolling the name testily on his tongue. Then he looked up sharply at her. "Is it true then?"
Alanna laughed softly. "What's true? Do you mean that I stayed in Carthak even after I was released from the University or the fact that I'm someone else now?" Her voice was barely audible in the din.
He shook his head, and said quietly: "So you really are a 'Hunter' now. The Hunter that everyone's been talking about? The one with the cold amethyst eyes who's never failed a job?"
Alanna nodded slowly, then looked him in the eye. "What does it mean to you, Arram Draper? Are you not happy anymore with becoming a black robe?" The man called Arram sighed, "It's true then. Why didn't you return to Tortall, where you belong?"
"I think what you really mean is why did I stay in Carthak and use my skill for assassin work."
He gave her a half grin, "You know me too well. And how did you know I'm training for a black robe?"
"You forget Arram, I know these things. After all, who else, other than you, has such a powerful Gift that they can even think about becoming one?"
He leaned back, resigned. "You came that day to the University, small, withdrawn. I sensed a hidden anger in you, of course. With your hair cut short, it was surprising. And then when you received that letter, some part of you seemed to die, the good part under all those suppressed feelings, and you kept on disappearing. You didn't have any friends, you wouldn't even talk to me that first time when I tried to make conversation."
Alanna nodded. "What good was it? I told you after didn't I? You know, you knew. Are you planning to tell anyone else? Or have you already?"
"No, I haven't. I don't plan to either. But really Alanna-"
"I said don't call me that."
"Sorry Mel." He looked around and waved for a serving girl. "Somewhere more private please." He requested.
The serving girl nodded, looking from him to Alanna. "If ye both'll follow me."
She led them to small room with a bed, Arram frowned. "We really don't need a bed."
The girl blinked, "We 'ave smaller 'n' cheaper 'ccomidations if you can't afford this sir."
Arram opened his mouth, realizing what she meant. "This is fine." He toosed her a copper to buy her silence. She caught it and hurried out of the room.
"I think she thought we were...You really shouldn't have hinted things like that." Alanna said when they were alone.
"Yes, but, I really didn't mean too."
Alanna smirked, "Of course. You're not really my type--if I had one--and you're too young."
"I should think so." He pointed at the single chair. "Take a seat, we have to talk."
Alanna obeyed. "We do not have to talk. I can walk away right now and pretend that I don't know you."
"You could, but you wouldn't do that to an old friend, would you?"
"Don't insult me, I have no friends, and I'm happy without out them."
"Oh? Then what am I to you?"
"An aquaintance."
Arram raised an eyebrow. "Really, Alanna, I would expect differently from you. Do you also call your victims 'an aquaintance'? And what of your employees?"
"I don't call them anything."
He sighed. "There's really no talking to you like this."
Alanna gave him a skeptical look. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Back in Tortall--"
She held up a hand, "I don't want to talk about it."
"No, I want you to hear this out. Why wouldn't you want to go back? It's a good country, it's your home."
"Because my brother died there."
"I know that. It's why I'm talking to you about it. The prince, you see--"
Alanna interrupted again, "That is something else I don't want to talk about."
"Alanna, just listen. I know your brother died saving him, the world know's for Mithros sake! I was just thinking how the prince survived the sickness, even if your brother died saving him. And have you heard of the Desert folk? The Bazhir? It was said he went to the place their Demons reside in, and he left it, unscathed. Of course the demons' themselves are still there, but the point is he escaped."
Alanna looked sharply at him, "How do you know about this?"
"I make it a point to know these things. I advise you to return to Tortall and sort things out, don't live in the shadows and blood, Alanna. Listen to me for once." He got up from the bed where he was sitting and slipped outside.
Alanna was silent, but she too, pushed herself from the chair. But instead of using the door, she climbed out of the window and shrank into the night; her old aquaintance had made a point there, but she wouldn't take it.
Back at her 'hideout', she changed back into black clothes; carefully selecting shirt and breeches that were tight enough so that they wouldn't rustle when she moved. She pulled the wig out and took the pins from her hair. She bound the flowing copper locks into braids and wound it around her head. Pulling out a veil, she fastened it to place: it covered her hair, nose, and mouth, leaving only her eyes exposed.
She also slipped into her specially made boots, with the soles re-enforced, but flexible. They made no sound against most types of flooring; including stone. With nimble fingers, she fastened the amethyst necklace around her neck and tied on the sash with the Black Opal. The last thing she did was sling a bundle wrapped in strong, black silk onto her back.
Silently, the door opened and she slipped out again, retracing her old trail on the roof of the city. Thak's Gate, the capital of the Carthaki Empire, was never still, even at the darkest hour of night. Maybe that was why she chose this place to stay, not many were willing to hunt in a city that was never still. But there were some who did mainly for the profit, she did it for different reasons.
With silent steps, she arrived at the stronghold, or rather castle of Oaklam. As she expected, guards were placed along every wall and niche. Alanna studied the castle, it was surrounded on three sides by a thick stone wall, the fourth side was bordered by a river; no soldiers were there, only sentries in their high towers.
Alanna laughed silently, this was almost too easy. She followed the river upstream, where the current was fast and the water deep. Big boulders pierced the surface, an occasional tree growing on them where they could take root. She scanned the other side: a large hole directly across from her told her it was an opening into the castle, but that would be too easy, she needed a challenge right now.
Doubling back, she went to the side wall and took a coil of rope from the bundle on her back. She pulled out a sharp hook from up her sleeve and attached rope to hook. She measured the distance to the top with her eyes.
She heard the sound of footsteps as a guard marched past on lookout duty. The next time he passed would be her signal, for now she rested a hand on the cool stone. There were many indentions and cracks for her hands and feet, another advantage on her side.
She waited for a few minutes before the sentry went past again. As soon as she knew he was gone, she threw the hook to the top, sending with it a faint coil of violet. Her Gift reached the top first, spreading and stretching itself under her command to cushion the sound of the metal against stone.
When she felt the hum that meant the hook had reached it's destination, she tugged the rope to make sure it was taunt. Finding her footing in the hollows, she made her way up, as silent as a ghost.
On top of the wall, she ducked into the shadows as the soldier came past a third time. He didn't even glance at her; shaking her head at the poor security, she slipped through a door beside her.
The inside of the castle was easy enough to navigate; like all stuck-up folk, Oaklam's quarters were at the middle of everything. Heavy steel locks bolted the door from the outside, Alanna suspected that many more were also placed on the inside. Selecting a thin piece of metal from her boots, she stuck it into the uppermost lock and twisted.
In seconds, she heard the satisfying click that meant the lock was now currently useless. With several similar twists, she undid the other locks, but the last one was a bit of trouble. The moment her pick slid into it, it turned red-hot and melted. She pulled away quickly as the deformed lock pick fell to the ground, steaming.
She should have expected as much: sorcery, or rather bought magic. But that was nothing, for hadn't she gone to the University for eight years? The lock turned a glowing purple and melted to the ground next to the similarly melted metal.
She ran her hand over the door and felt the magical aura of the bolts inside. In the blink of an eye, those locks began to shine with the same violet light and unbolted themselves. She smiled at her handiwork and opened the door.
Once inside, she let the door fall close with a small creak. Her night eyes made out the forms of a bed, a desk and a large wooden chest. The figure of a slave lay huddled at the floor of the bed, another, larger figure slept on it [the bed]. The slave woke instantly and sat up, her eyes wide with fear.
"It's alright," she whispered. With the prodding of her Gift, the slave fell back into deep slumber.
The man did not wake as easily, she had to walk up to the side of the bed before he gained consciousness. He sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. When he could finally see, he found himself staring into cold amethyst eyes.
Alanna smiled bitterly, "Hello Oaklam. Very sorry, but I've been hired to kill you."
Oaklam shrunk against the end of his bed. "Please, I'll give you anything--gold, diamonds, jewels, slaves! Anything! Just don't hurt me." Then he blinked as he realized, "You're a lady? You talk like a noble!"
Alanna snorted softly, "Of course, but know that you know, I have all the more reason to get rid of you. And you should know better than bribe me. You've heard the tales I suppose?"
The man nodded.
"Well, a good lot of them aren't true, but some contain grains of the real thing, and one of them is that I never fail a job. So, any last words?"
"P-p-please don't hurt me."
Alanna raised an eyebrow, "Can't you do better than that?" She drew her knife and within a minute, the man was dead and she was gone.
The next morning, the guards found the slave gone from the room along with all evidence of Lord Oaklam's assassin--But everyone knew who it had been.
Word traveled fast throughout the city and a elegant man who was traveling through it found it hard not to listen to the local gossip. It wasn't local exactly, but the man listened all the same. He asked around for 'the Hunter' and received the Sign against evil everywhere.
By noon, he was thoroughly frustrated and annoyed. Not to mention hot and sweaty; as a man from the North, he was not used to hot and humid temperatures of Carthak. He felt someone tug his sleeve and he whirled around. An old beggar sat on a mat in the alleyway of a small, dank street.
The beggar gave a thin smile, "I 'ear ye be lookin' fer her. What do you want her for?"
Stranger (since we do not know his real name, we'll just call him Stranger) frowned at the begger and grimaced in disgust. "What do you want filthy beggar? I am not looking for some girl. It's an assassin I'm sent to find."
The old beggar gave a hoarse laugh. "But da one you be lookin' fer is a She. The Hunter's da one ye be finding, tisn't it? She's the only one they be lookin' fers now a days. I can tell ye where she be if ye wants." He paused and added, "Fer a price of course."
Stranger stood up straighter at the last sentence. But to think of relying on a dirty old beggar! Automatically, he reached down and brushed the spot where the beggar had touched him, trying to get the invisible grim off. He made another face, "Well, tell me then," he demanded.
"Every time after she kills, da midnight afta, she be waitin' at de Dark Bar. Everytime, she be there, never failed once. If no one comes, she leaves and at da next week, midnight she be waitin' theres again." The beggar opened his hand for the money.
Stranger handed him a single copper and the old man poked it intently. "I be needin' more fer me service nows."
Stranger scowled at him, "I'll give you more later. First, you tell me where this dark bar is and how I can tell if it's really the Hunter."
The beggar crackled again. "Ye be a smart one, dressed on in a finery as ye be! Da Dark Bar ain't hard ta find. Underneath ta Fount' Square tis be. To da vender of da daggers ye be wantin' ask 'im for de bloody knife, ye says 'I be wantin' de dark blade'. He'll take ye down then. I'd be wantin' me pay nows." He extended his hand for more coins.
Our elegant Stranger dropped two silvers in it and left to wait for midnight.
True to the Old Beggar's words, Fountain Square was not hard to find. But it took some time to find the seller of the daggers. His stall was backed up in the shadows, and the place as dark as night, except for a single candle in the middle of it.
Stranger walked up to him and pointed to the only Blood Covered Knife hanging on display. "I want the Dark Blade."
The seller, a large man with a bald head nodded and motioned for him to follow. He lead Stranger to the back of the stall and to a door in the back. "Down you go."
Stranger narrowed his eyes at the hole, but went down the steps anyway.
Once below, he had to stop to wait for his eyes to adjust to the even dimmer light of the room. Small candles were place on every table, but that was the only light. A few men talked at a nearby table; he knew they had nothing to do with the person he had come searching for.
He scanned the room for other signs of life. He saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye. He turned, beside him, a woman in all black had draped herself gracefully over a chair. She was veiled and all that showed was a lock of flaming hair and icy violet eyes. In her hands, she played with a sharp silver dagger, twirling it on her fingers.
"Looking for me?" She asked, her voice showed no emotion. Stranger shivered despite himself.
"Are you the one they call 'Hunter'?"
"I might be. Who's asking for me?" This time she let a drop of amusement show--just a drop.
He bowed slowly, keeping his eyes on her and the blade. "I was sent by--by my employer. He wants to hire you."
She waved the dagger impatiently through the air. "And?"
"He wants you to assassinate the Crown Prince of Tortall. Do you know who he is--"
"Of course I know who he is," she snapped. In a calmer voice she stated: "What will your 'employer' pay?"
Stranger smiled and reached inside his cloak and pulled out a large bag of gold coins, waving it in the air in front of her. He expected her to drop her cool and make a grab for it. Instead, he was surprised when she didn't even glance at it.
"You think I'll just lunge for it like some street urchin? A man like you should know better than that," she told him, wagging her dagger disapprovingly. "Now, does this mean I'll have to go to Tortall?" Stranger opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand.
"No, don't tell me. I know the answer, I'm not stupid you know. Now, you must have heard my-dislike-for the country. I don't especially like it's Prince either." Stranger thought he heard a bit of malice in her voice each time he heard her mention the Prince. "So, do you know what that means?"
He nodded elegantly and a sly smile found it's way to his lips. "Of course. You'll be ready by tomorrow, I take?"
She nodded, then looked him square in the eye. "I expect you to provide transportation for me and all my belongings."
Stranger frowned, "All of you belongings?"
She smiled coldly. "Of course. I figure I might stay there for some time. Carthak is starting to bore me. And who knows? There might be more of a challenge for me there."
He nodded; he really didn't like the way she said challenge. He took the bag and tossed it at her. She looked at it and threw it back. "I'll take it later."
Stranger caught it in surprise and stared at her. She shifted so more of her was in the light of the candle; he saw that she had a good figure. She glared at him. "You can leave now," she said icily.
He nodded and walked away. "Here then," he called over his shoulder before he left. The men talking at the table became quiet. Stranger reached into his cloak again and pulled out some papers. He tossed the bundle along with a smaller bag of coins at the Hunter. She caught it gracefully, not even having to leave her seat. He admired her for that, but he was much better at other things. "It's for you."
A slow nod was her only answer.
After the man had left, Alanna continued to play with her dagger. It was her favorite one, made of the finest metal, and always kept sharp. It cost her a lot too. She thought about their conversation and smiled. Well Arram Draper, I guess I took some of your advice after all; I'm going to Tortall and leaving Carthak, aren't I?
Okay, this is a longer chapter. How do you like it? Please Review!!! Does it make sense to you? This should make up the long wait, it's pretty long.
Here's the answers to some questions I received (I rephrased some of them):
Question: Since Alanna's a girl, shouldn't she be called 'Huntress'?
Answer: No, because remember, most people do not know that she is female. And I don't think people would have called her huntress even if they knew she was female.
Question: How old is Alanna at the time of this story?
Answer: Good question. Right now, she's Eighteen years old. She was sent to the University when she was almost eleven, and then some time after that, Thom died.
Anymore Questions? Send them in with your reviews, because I know this story is-um-kind of different from most fanfics and it might be confusing...
~Reaya