They disappeared into a hut and a moment of tense silence followed as all watched and waited, then Savara strode out followed by a handful of Traitors and the two women. She said something and the globe lights immediately dimmed to a faint glow.
“We must all leave immediately,” she said. Her eyes skimmed over the assembled faces and settled on Lorkin. “The magicians tracking Lord Lorkin are heading this way, and there are now six of them, including the Kyralian. Divide yourselves into three groups. Each will take a different route away from here. Tyvara, Lorkin and Chari, you should come with me.”
Lorkin rose and hurried over to her. “If I talk with Ambassador Dannyl I am sure I can persuade him to call off the search.”
She shook her head. “You may persuade him, but you won’t persuade the others if they think they might catch us this time. There is also a man with them – a tracker – who might succeed where others have failed.” She smiled grimly. “I am sorry. The offer is appreciated, but it is too great a risk.”
Lorkin nodded. Around him people were hastily picking up and packing away all signs of their presence. One began to sweep the ground, but Savara stopped her.
“There’s no point hiding all trace of ourselves. We want them to either split up or follow the wrong trail.” She looked Lorkin up and down. “Find someone with similar sized feet as his and get them to swap shoes.”
Soon the Traitors had formed three groups of near equal size. Savara ordered them to travel without hiding their trail until morning, then head for Sanctuary using the usual precautions. All murmured farewells to the other groups, then departed. Lorkin followed as Savara’s group began to climb the steep side of the valley, his mind shifting between wondering if his suspicions about Tyvara were true, itching to know what Savara’s decision would be, and worrying that Dannyl and the Sachakans would catch up with them.
And if they did, what would the Sachakans do? What would the Traitors do? Would it end in a fight? He didn’t want anyone dying because of him. Well, anyone else, he amended.
If it came to a fight, what should he do? Would he have to choose between joining Dannyl in order to prevent a battle and siding with the Traitors so he could help save Tyvara from execution?
Too slow, Cery’s twist did not bring him out of the way far enough or fast enough to avoid the knife pushing into his ribs. He heard Anyi give a little huff of triumph.
“Good,” he said, resisting a smile as he let go of her and stepped away. “You’ve got the hang of it now.”
She grinned and swapped the wooden practice knife back to her left hand.
“Though you aimed a little high,” he told her. “You’re used to practising with Gol, I suppose.”
“I’d have still cut you,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but your knife might have caught on my ribs.” Cery patted his lower chest where her knife had pressed. “Which is not one of the five weak spots. Eyes, throat, belly, groin, knees.”
“Sometimes it’s better to smash an attacker’s knees and run than try to stab him in the heart,” Gol said. “The heart can be hard to reach. Ribs might skew your aim. If you miss, he can come after you. If you get his knees, he can’t. And he mightn’t be expecting it.”
“A stab to the guts will kill slowly, too,” Cery said. “Not much fun, but enough time to try and get you back for it.”
“And you shouldn’t kill unless ordered to,” Gol added.
“I should get you practising with shorter people.”
“And younger ones,” Anyi said. Gol gave a snort, and she turned to him. “Come on. You’re both not as fast as you used to be, and if anyone’s gonna send somebody after you they’re not going to get some old assassin out of retirement to give you a sporting chance.”
Gol chuckled. “She’s got a point.”
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.