The passage reached many of the rooms. Gathrid checked each and found it innocent. The hidden way ended in a cellar accessible both from the kitchen and an alley. The horizontal, hatchlike alley door was a rough, weathered lumber with wide gaps between time-shrunken boards. Through these Gathrid spotted a watcher on a nearby rooftop, crouched beside a pot-topped chimney.
How to approach him? The detailed planning of the attack suggested that all exits would be watched.
There had to be a way to trace the principal. Mulenex? Nieroda? Ahlert? Hildreth, trying to frame Mulenex? Or some local entrepreneur trying to obtain Daubendiek for his own use? Torun had an underworld replete with famous names.
The watcher drifted away for a moment, pacing in boredom.
Silent as a weasel, Gathrid slid into the alley. He took cover in a shadow out of view of the roof. He listened for evidence of a trap.
"You're becoming another Rogala," Aarant chided good-naturedly. "It's safe. The sorcery was likely bought."
A dog with an odd bark spoke from the far side of the inn. A cat yowled above Gathrid. A moment later a rope dropped and the watcher clambered down. He kept glancing around and muttering to himself as he stole to the cellar door. He grabbed a nearby keg, knocked its bung out, started splashing liquid around.
Some sort of combustible, Gathrid realized. The assassins had been written off. The backup plan was to burn the inn with everyone inside. "That's getting a little carried away," he whispered.
Aarant agreed.
Gathrid sprinted toward the arsonist. The man just had time to look surprised... . Another ignorant hireling.
Gathrid raced down the alley, into a side street, then round front, where he found another arsonist at work. A warning hooted from a rooftop. An arrow burred behind Gathrid's head and thunked into the inn wall.
So. Bowmen to prevent escapes through the windows. Very thorough.
The arsonist ran like all the imps of Hell were after him. Gathrid chased him a few hundred yards, then doubled back. He hoped to pick up the director of the team.
Luck ran with him. He crossed the trail of a vagrant who gave himself away by moving with too much speed and suspicion. He glared at every shadow. Gathrid narrowly avoided betraying himself.
The man led him to a small, neat house guarded by dogs. The animals fled from him without a whimper. He listened at the one window revealing a light.
The vagrant reported to an underworld chieftain whose name, Suftko, Gathrid had heard in faraway Kacalief. In Torun he was as powerful as any prince. Once the vagrant guaranteed his unnoted escape, he took the failure of his agents philosophically.
A short time later the crime baron took to the streets. Four bodyguards accompanied him. He led Gathrid to a large church. There he met briefly with another man. The bodyguards made it impossible for Gathrid to eavesdrop. The meeting ended. Gathrid had to make a choice of pursuits.
He chose the paymaster, reasoning that if another attack had been ordered it would find Rogala wakened and on guard.
His man went on to another church, a tiny chapel hugging the skirts of Torun's royal citadel. His stride was confident, his attitude bold. He was not concerned about being tailed.
In the chapel he met an early-rising monk.
Who was no monk. Gathrid recognized him instantly. He was Bilgoraj's King, Kimach Faulstich. The Kimach Faulstich he deemed responsible for Gudermuth's destruction. "How did it go?" this makebelieve monk asked.
"Failed. The Swordbearer didn't respond to the sleep spell."
"Damn!"
"Suftko is willing to try again. For another fee."
"The man is greedy."
"He has his uses. He'll keep trying till he succeeds, till you go broke or there's a shortage of blades. He's got pride. But he won't risk his own people."
"Alfeld, there's gold in the sacristy. I'll send more down if it's necessary. Just get it finished before noon tomorrow. That's when we finalize the agreement."
"It went through, then?"
The King fiddled with a chalice. "It did. Don't ever forget. When Sartain is mine, Torun is yours."
"And the Contessa?"
"Of course. I have no other use for Hildreth's brat."
So, Gathrid thought. Kimach was plotting to usurp Emperor Elgar. Sartain was going to grow crowded with all the pretenders. And this cousin Alfeld was to receive the Bilgoraji crown for his part in the treachery. Meaning he had an eye on the Imperium himself. Elgar had no natural heir. He had declared Yedon Hildreth his successor. The Count's claim would descend through his daughter, the Contessa Cuneo, Fiona Hildreth.
"Is Suftko suspicious?"
"No." Alfeld snickered. "He's convinced we're working against Ahlert. He wouldn't have helped otherwise."
"Patriotic blindness has its uses, too. Pay him. And don't stint. Light a fire under him. I need those people dead."
Kimach turned to the altar, knelt. Alfeld fetched a sack from the sacristy, hurried into the night.
Kraljevac was dead on target, Gathrid thought. He eased out from under the pew where he had hidden. There was a sellout in the script. Though Ahlert probably had other prospects, a great treachery could be smothered in its cradle here. And Gudermuth's demise could be counterbalanced a caratweight.
Kimach glanced up from his prayers as the blade fell.
He died before he fully realized that he had placed his bet and lost.
How very vulnerable they become when they get sneaky, Gathrid thought. Had Kimach remained faithful he would have been surrounded by so many bodyguards even Daubendiek could not have reached him. To play foul he had to venture out on his i?wn, baring his neck... .
Gathrid swallowed Bilgoraj's politics in one great, sticky, sour, disgusting lump.
There would be hell to pay in the morning. He wished there were some way to make the Red Order look responsible.
He ran into the street, toward the gangster's home. He overtook Alfeld four blocks from his destination. The royal cousin was strolling along whistling. The sack he bore had, mysteriously, lightened by half. Gathrid cut him down and took what was left.
Despite the cumulative gruesomeness of this night's work, he chuckled. It was a sound as fell as any ever to issue from the mouth of Theis Rogala. He was changing. There were moments when he enjoyed his role.
He was delighted with what he learned from the dead man. Neither Kimach nor Alfeld had been honest with his cohort. Kimach had used Alfeld so he would have a convenient scapegoat. He had had no intention of delivering the promised crown. Or the Contessa, whom he had earmarked for a favored son.
Alfeld had had his separate arrangement with Gerdes Mulenex. It had promised him kingdom and Contessa in exchange for the life of his cousin.
Gathrid's loathing of politics grew stronger.
There was Suftko yet. The gangster had tried murder, yet seemed clean by comparison. Maybe he could be manipulated.
Again the dogs did not challenge the youth. He eased to Suftko's door, gave the knock the pseudoderelict had used.
The guard within sensed trouble. He opened the door a crack, then shouted.
Gathrid drove his blade through wood and flesh, withdrew it, hacked at the chain holding the door.
As he entered, attacking in a whirlwind of steel, he realized that he had made a tactical blunder.
The house was dark. He could not see his foes. They could see him silhouetted in the doorway.
His weapon knew where they were. In seconds it was over. Three lives had been devoured. Gathrid pushed on to a lighted room from which panic sounds came.
He found another three men. One was Suftko, another was a bodyguard. The third was a renegade Brother. Gathrid slew the bodyguard and was closing with Suftko when the magnitude of his peril struck Aarant. "Behind you!"
Once again he dodged the aim of a golden rod. A beam sliced furniture and scarred walls. Gathrid ducked and dove forward.
The sorcerer was nimble. His weapon was one the younger sword could not negate. It took all the youth's borrowed skill to survive the next minute.