Simon Hawke - The Outcast

“Digon?”

“In the market, I think,” the Guardian replied to Trag’s question. “Yes, it must have been one of the traders in the market.”

“Trag did not seem to recognize my name,” said Sorak.

“No,” the Guardian replied. “He has not heard it before.”

“Then Digon must not have mentioned it when he came here to make inquiries,” said Sorak. “But at least he did as I bid him.”

“If he was obvious and clumsy, then he did not do you any favors,” Eyron replied. “This man Trag is clearly on his guard.”

“What sort of... contacts were you interested in making?” Trag asked, watching him intently.

“He is thinking that if we make our intent any more clear, he will ask us to leave,” the Guardian said. “He will say that the Alliance is almost a criminal organization, and that he knows nothing of such things, nor does he wish to know, for he obeys the law.”

“We have made this man uneasy,” Sorak said. “Perhaps it would be best for us to leave.”

“Good! I want to leave,” Kivara said. “This place is dull. I want to go back to the Crystal Spider and play some more games.”

“I had nothing specific in mind,” said Sorak, coming to the fore again. “I merely sought a drink of water and a bit of friendly conversation. However, as you seem to have no water, and there is little point to paying for wine I do not drink, perhaps I had best be on my way. It is getting late, in any case, and I am not, as you have correctly deduced, accustomed to staying up all night.” He put down another silver coin. “Thank you for your company.”

Trag pushed the coin back across the bar, toward Sorak. “Keep it,” he said. “You already paid more than enough for the wine you did not drink, and there is no charge for conversation.”

Sorak picked up the coin, not wishing to insult the man by offering it again. “Thank you.”

“Come again.”

As Sorak turned away from the bar, he once more passed his hand over the lower part of his face, then headed toward the door. He had no idea if anyone recognized the sign or not

“You think anyone saw?” asked Eyron as Sorak stepped into the street and headed back the way he had come.

“If they did, I saw no reaction” Sorak replied, allowing the Ranger to handle the task of getting them back through the dark and winding streets to the Crystal Spider. Lyric whistled softly as they walked. Kivara sulked.

That wasn’t any fun,” she complained. “It was not meant to be fun, Kivara,” the Guardian replied. “We have a task to perform. If you cannot contribute, then at least keep silent.”

“Why do I always have to keep silent? I never get to come out anymore. It isn’t fair.”

“Kivara, please,” said Sorak. “You will get your chance to come out and have some fun, I promise. But not now.”

“We are being followed,” said the Watcher, breaking her accustomed silence. “Who?” asked Sorak. “I cannot see.”

“There was a man sitting in the street, leaning back against the building wall when we came out of the wineshop” said the Guardian. “He appeared to be drunk.”

“And now he’s following us?” said Sorak. “Interesting. We may have made contact after all. We shall continue on as if we do not know we are being followed. Let him make the first move.”

In the darkness of the alleyway, Vorlak and Tigan waited patiently. Vorlak stood by the corner of the building, peering out into the street “Do you see anything yet?” asked Tigan anxiously. “The elfling’s coming. And Rokan’s right behind him. Get ready.” They both drew their weapons. “Take him fast,” said Tigan. “Remember what the templar said. The elfling’s dangerous.”

“He’s already dead,” said Vorlak, stepping away from the wall.

There was a whoosh as something whistled through the air, followed by a soft thud as something fell to the ground behind Vorlak and rolled to touch his foot

Vorlak glanced down. “Quiet, you fool! You want to...” His voice trailed off as he saw what had rolled up against his foot It was Tigan’s head.

He gasped and spun around just in time to catch a brief glimpse of a dark, shadowy figure standing behind him, and the last thing he felt was the impact of the sword plunging through his chest

Rokan tensed and swore softly under his breath. The elfling had reached the first alleyway. Where were Vorlak and Tigan? They should be rushing out to the attack. If those two had fallen asleep in there, he would slit their throats. His hand went to his own weapon, and then he saw Devak and Gavik come rushing out from the opposite alleyway, their weapons already in their hands...

What happened next occurred so quickly he almost couldn’t follow it. The elfling moved with blinding speed. His sword seemed to suddenly appear in his hands. Devak swung his blade, the elfling parried, holding his sword in both hands, and Devak’s blade shattered. It simply burst apart, as if it had exploded. In one smooth motion, the elfling brought his blade down from the high parry at an angle, and Devak was sliced cleanly through from the shoulder to the hip. He screamed as his body fell in two sections to the street. Without pausing, the elfling brought his blade up once again, parrying Gavik’s blow, and the same thing happened. Gavik’s blade broke on the elfling’s sword, erupting with a shower of sparks, and then Gavik was literally cleaved in two, from head to groin.

Rokan’s hand darted toward his sword hilt, and it was only that motion that saved his life. In reaching for his sword, he had turned slightly so that the crossbow bolt that came whistling out of nowhere struck him in the shoulder instead of in the heart. He gasped, stumbled, swore, and then turned and ran back the way he had come, clutching at the arrow that was buried in his shoulder.

The Watcher had cried out an internal warning when the two marauders rushed from the alley, then Sorak experienced that cold and dizzying, spinning-away sensation as the Shade came storming up out of his subconscious like a leviathan out of the depths. No more than a moment had passed, but it was a moment Sorak had not witnessed. Now, as the Shade retreated back to the subconscious depths from which he came, Sorak stood in the street, staring down at the grisly remains of his attackers, their blood making large, dark puddles on the hard-packed ground. For a moment, he felt disoriented, then he heard running footsteps behind him and turned quickly to face the potential threat. However, he caught only a brief glimpse of someone running down the street and ducking into the alleyway behind the Drunken Giant.

“Well, if that was our contact from the Veiled Alliance, then I fear we’ve scared him off,” said Sorak.

“Has it occurred to you that our so-called contacts from the Veiled Alliance might very well be these men, lying here before us in the street?” said Eyron.

“You think so?” Sorak replied. “But why would they attack us?”

“Because we were making inquiries in the wineshop,” Eyron said. “The Guardian sensed Trag was suspicious. If he thought you were an agent from the templars—”

“No,” said the Guardian. “Trag is not a part of the Alliance, and even if he were, he would not have had time enough to send a message to these men to ambush us. They were already waiting when we came out of the wineshop.”

“That is true,” said Sorak. “Besides, the Alliance uses magic. It would make more sense for them to launch a magical attack. These men were armed with swords and knives. The Shade is an efficient killer, but he does not pause to think. If he had left one of these men alive, we would know who sent them and why.”