"It is wide enough to descend two abreast," Wigg said. "I suggest that I go first, followed by you and Celeste. Then the rest of the warriors follow behind you, two by two, with Alrik bringing up the rear. Agreed?"
Tristan nodded. He looked over at Celeste, who smiled at him and drew her sword.
Tristan reached behind his right shoulder and drew his dreggan from its scabbard. The warriors in his party did the same.
"Are you ready?" Wigg asked.
"Is there any other choice?" Tristan answered.
Turning back toward the stairway, Wigg took a deep breath. With careful, measured steps, he began to lead them down.
CHAPTER XXV
When she heard the shout, Satine bolted upright from her bed.
She threw on a silk robe, quickly tied its sash around her waist, and grabbed the razor-sharp sword lying on the nightstand.
She ran to the other side of the room and tore open the door. Without hesitation she ran in the direction of the wailing that resounded through the night. The screaming voice sounded like Aeolus. As she ran, armed students of the Serpent and the Sword joined her.
Rounding the corner, she realized that the cries were coming from an already open doorway.
She skidded to a stop and took a deep breath. Then she raised the sword over her head and launched herself in.
A single candle lit the room with a soft, even glow. Aeolus sat on the bed, cradling the head of the man that lay there. Fresh, sticky blood was everywhere.
When the stricken man saw Satine enter the room, he smiled. For the briefest of moments, the light returned to his eyes. But it seemed to take all the life he had remaining. It was as if after seeing her this last time, he could finally allow himself to die.
A decisive rattle escaped his lungs, and his head slumped to the side. Satine saw that his throat had been slit from ear to ear. She looked at Aeolus, but all her master could do was shake his head.
Satine lowered her sword. She started to kneel down. Then she heard the sound of rapid footfalls on the rooftop above.
Turning quickly, she pushed her way past the others and tore down the hall. A trail of blood led her to another room. Raising her sword, she rushed in.
There was no one there. Looking up, she saw that the skylight in the ceiling was open. Its handle dripped fresh blood.
Then she heard the footfalls again-faster, louder, closer. She ran across the room and leaped atop the same table the assassin had used in his escape. She jumped up and hoisted herself through the open skylight. As she stood on the roof, the magenta-colored moonlight glinted off her blade. The night wind snaked coldly between her skin and the folds of her robe. Looking around warily, she could detect no movement or sound in the inky night.
Suddenly, there he was.
A figure swathed in dark cloth ran furtively ahead of her. Carrying a sword, he leaped from the roof she stood on and landed nimbly upon the next. Knowing she hadn't a second to lose, Satine ran to the edge of the roof and launched herself into the night.
As she flew through the air, the distance between the two rooftops somehow grew longer. It was as if the buildings were moving away from each other. Terror gripped her as she realized that she wasn't going to make it.
Tumbling helplessly toward the ground, she looked up and saw the assassin looking down over the edge of the far building. He smiled wickedly at her, his teeth glinting in the moonlight.
With a scream Satine tore off her covers and launched her naked body from the bed. She was shaking and bathed in sweat. Looking to the window, she saw that it was nearly dawn.
She got to her knees, then sat back on her heels and wrapped her arms around herself. She fought back the urge to vomit. She looked to the other side of the room. The small set of carriage bells she had tied to the door handle had not rung. It was a crude device, but effective: No one had tried to violate the sanctity of her chamber. For that much, at least, she could be thankful.
The recurring nightmare of her father's death always rattled her to the very core. Tonight had been no exception. When they had first begun, she had wondered how long they would persist, and what it would finally take to make them go away. Only as the years went on did she come to understand.
The only way she would ever be free of them would be to find her father's killer, and to see him die slowly, painfully. Only that would erase her shame at failing to catch him that horrible night on the roof of the Serpent and the Sword.
She rose and stood on shaky legs and lit a pair of candles. She carried one of them to the washstand on the other side of the room. In the mirror, the face that stared back at her was stark white, her hair matted to her sweaty skin.
She splashed some water on her face, dried herself with a cloth, then ran a hairbrush through her hair.
In the candlelight her reflection showed the tattoos on each of her upper arms. They were the twin marks of mastery from Aeolus' schooclass="underline" the image of a coiled serpent on her right arm, a sword on the left.
She touched the sword tattoo gently. She was proud of these markings, for few had ever attained them both. They would be with her until the day she died.
Uncoiling a little, she walked over to the window of her room in the Rooster and Finch and looked out. She had returned from Valrenkium yesterday after a hard two-day ride. Tammerland would be waking up soon, and she needed to be on her way again.
She now had everything she required to begin her sanctions, and it was time to get to work. She went to the weather-beaten wardrobe, opened its doors, and removed her clothes and weapons.
As the light of the morning sun crept over the lone windowsill, she began to dress.
"This is all the information we have for you regarding the whereabouts of your first target," Bratach said. He handed Satine the parchment. "It should be enough for someone of your talents."
Satine took the parchment and read it, quickly committing it to memory. She handed it back to him, then watched as he placed one of its corners into the flame of the candle on the table between them.
Bratach, Ivan, and Satine sat in the subterranean sanctuary of the archery shop. After leaving the Rooster and Finch, she had walked her horse past the shop to see whether a message might be waiting for her. When she saw the "open" sign hanging by the parted doors, she pulled her gelding up short. The words were red.
Once she had gone in, Ivan had closed the shop and led the way down the back stairs, where Bratach had been waiting.
Flicking the last cinders from his fingertips, Bratach leaned back in his chair. "So you choose to be known as the Gray Fox," he mused. "Appropriate, I must say."
He picked up a half-full wine bottle and poured himself a glass. After pouring one for Ivan, he held the bottle out to Satine and raised one eyebrow.
Satine shook her head. "I never drink once a sanction has begun."
Bratach nodded. "So much the better." He looked at Ivan and then back at Satine.
"You dropped out of sight for a while," he said, his tone a bit darker.
"We were beginning to worry. One hundred fifty thousand kisa is a great deal of money. We wouldn't like to think that you might cheat us by running away. Our master and his forces will be here soon. We shall need to know that your tasks have been completed."
"I told you that I had things to do before I could begin," she shot back. "I told your master that once I accept a sanction, I always see it through. That is exactly what I shall do."
"Good," Bratach answered.
Casting her gaze down at the ashes on the table, she decided to take a risk. "Who is your confederate inside the palace?" she asked. "How did you slip him by the wizards without detection? And how does he communicate with you?"
"Don't worry," Bratach said mockingly. "The information you receive is genuine. Finding your first target should be simple. Just follow the trail, so to speak." He leaned back again. "We shall require proof. When the job is done, bring us the head."