Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

Damn it! This damn cold! I began rubbing my hands against each other more strenuously, but the tips of my fingers still refused to get warm. It’s a good thing that this really wasn’t the middle of cruel winter. Otherwise I would have already dropped dead.

I cautiously looked out onto the street. And cursed again. It would be fully dark in half an hour but the target was still nowhere to be seen. She was an hour late. The bell on the Overgate Tower of Hightown (the oldest part of Al’sgara; it was built on the Cliff, as that part of the city used to be called, around which the rest of the city subsequently expanded) rang twice. It was nine o’clock. Damn it. Where is she? Where? I realized I was getting nervous.

It’s no wonder. The purse Layen and I had scored for this was rather large. Fifteen thousand sorens in denominations of five-hundred-soren gold Imperials—an insane amount. That kind of money had never been offered for just one person’s head. Not even for a Viceroy. Such a contract was worth all the possible consequences. We decided to risk it.

True, we’d have to take care of today’s business and disappear forever, but with that kind of money (which, incidentally, had been paid up front), we wouldn’t have a care in the world.

When I had told Layen about the proposal, received from an unknown client, she did not bother trying to dissuade me from the risky venture. She realized that I’d already taken the bait. She heard me out without speaking and then stood up just as silently and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. She returned after an hour. I do not know where she was that whole time. By her reddened eyes I could see that she had been crying but it would not do to ask her about it. She hated it when someone witnessed any weakness in her. So I pretended that I didn’t notice anything.

Layen sat down at the table, took me by the hand, and nodded. My sun was still with me. And that meant that we could take on the job. Without her participation the contract wouldn’t be worth a Blazog’s empty eggshell. They’d drag me out feetfirst.

The view from the attic was dreadful. I couldn’t see much, only a small space just in front of the exit from the square and what was located directly below the window. I knew that I would have to shoot from this extremely awkward position. I’d barely be able to see the target.

Anyone who had even the slightest understanding of archery would say that constructing a “nest” in such a place was absurd. That’s precisely why I chose this spot. When the chaos starts, all the attention of the security will turn to the bell tower and the house of the wealthy nobleman standing opposite it—you could arrange a truly excellent ambush there. And it would be very convenient. But it wasn’t worth sitting in such an ambush because you could only leave it in one direction, and that led to the cemetery. And in my opinion, I’m still too young to be sent there.

Ness?

Layen had been silent for more than an hour and her voice resounding in my head caused me to flinch.

I’m here, I answered her mentally.

The target isn’t. I’m worried. If she doesn’t arrive within the next fifteen minutes I think we should leave.

I see.

I frowned in vexation. She was right. The chance of missing the shot in the dark was far too great. And I couldn’t miss. It needed to be a clean shot. A single shot. There simply wouldn’t be time for a second.

Warmth ran along my spine in a tender stream and I relaxed my tense muscles. I exhaled gratefully and leaned against the wall. My mate, who was located at the far end of the street, knew when to comfort me.

Layen possessed the Gift, although she was neither an Ember nor a Walker. She had the ability to speak over a distance with anyone. But this was not the limit of her abilities, even though no one knew about most of Weasel’s other talents besides me.

How she had been able to kindle her “spark” without the help of the Walkers—this was something I did not understand. I did not want to ask about her past, and she never initiated such conversations. It is possible that it was too dark, and that it would do no good for me to crawl into her soul. I swear with everything I am, that it didn’t matter to me who she had been before. So I simply told myself that it was an established fact—Layen has the Gift and that’s that. I knew that I loved her and that I could trust her. We were not just friends and partners, but also family. No one but Mols had any idea about the latter, but he never asked about it as he wasn’t one to pry into other people’s private business.

She’s here! I see her. Get ready.

I calmly took off my warm gloves and tucked them into my belt. I put on the ones I used for shooting. Then I picked up my one-hundred-and-eighty-pound (the draw weight of the bowstring) bow. Resting the bottom limb to the ground, I leaned on the upper limb and, holding my breath, forced the string into place. I had shot this monstrosity over a week ago and easily managed to pierce an oak plank from a distance of two hundred yards. It’s too bad that I’d have to leave it behind. But after the assassination it would be utter stupidity to walk about on the street with it.

I’m ready.

They’re coming down the street. Quickly. They’ll be near you in a minute.

Got it.

On my signal.

I nodded and then immediately realized that Layen couldn’t see me.

She’s got six with her. Two Embers and four of the Viceroy’s Guards. Two have crossbows.

I’m more worried about the Embers.

A warm wave once again rushed through me.

Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I chuckled. Layen had the most difficult job—she had to overwhelm the sorceresses, to take away the protection they afforded the target. Not for long. Just for three, perhaps even four seconds. Just enough time for me to take the shot.

Suddenly the falling snowflakes swirled. A moment later their speed and direction changed. The northwest wind had replaced the north wind. This was not good.

The wind changed . Layen was also keeping track of the changing conditions. Northwest. Gusts. A quarter of a finger.

A quarter of a finger. That’s even worse. I’d need to aim slightly off and pray to Melot that when I shot the fickle elements did not act up. It’s a good thing the bow wasn’t weak, and that the arrow was heavy.

I see. I’m aware. Thanks.

Twenty seconds. They’re near the treasurer’s house. Walking toward you.

I tried to even out my breathing. Exhale, inhale. This is a normal shot. Nothing more. I’ve been shooting with a bow for as long as I can remember. I spent the war in Sandon. And in war everything is far more complicated. At least here no one would run at me with a sword. I just needed to sight, aim, and do what we had been paid for.

Grabbing the arrow that had a white arrowhead made of some material I was unfamiliar with, I quickly examined the fletching. Was it crooked?

The client’s man had given me the arrow along with the compensation. When Layen saw it she refused to pick it up. All she said was that such devices were created to kill the foundation of the Gift in people, to extinguish their spark and to destroy the very soul of the mage. I’d felt uneasy about this “present” from the beginning. But using the arrow was a nonnegotiable term of the contract. I had to clench my teeth and accept it. But I had no idea how it would behave in flight.

We’ll meet in Haven (a neighborhood of Al’sgara next to the sea), where we agreed. If I don’t come after an hour, leave without me.

You know very well that I won’t go anywhere without you!