The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (22 page)

“Many a life have I taken with this little pet.” The whoremaster mused. “But never did I expect to have use of it again!”

The man looked at Darryl with his cold fish-like eyes.

“Perhaps you are wondering how I came to owe my life to Noor-Balsam.” He said.

“Well, we have sufficient time to satisfy your curiosity. Once, long ago, I was employed as a military assassin by the old Prince of Calar during one of his bitter wars against the Saxmen barbarians. One ill-fated day, I was ordered to sneak into a Saxmen village and shoot a death-dart into the body of a chieftain who was becoming a particular threat to my master. Afighting patrol, commanded by Noor-Balsam, was ordered to follow on behind and wreak as much havoc as possible in the confusion that was expected to follow the chieftains killing. Unfortunately for me, I was apprehended and captured on the outskirts of the village by a Saxmen picket. I was put to the torture for the entertainment of the populace and that is why I sport a face uglier than an aged Hix female.

As I was suffering away the last few hours of my life, Noor-Balsam and his men crept up to the edge of the village, set fire to some huts, and rescued me under cover of the ensuing confusion. Noor-Balsam even avenged my pain, for he split that damned chieftain’s stomach open with a single blow from his ‘Gill.’And that stranger is how I came to be in debt to your armsmaster.”

The old assassin paused for a moment.

“The old prince of Calar was a decent man. He engaged a priest from the Temple of Dumteck to treat my wounds and he gave me a good present of copper when I left his service. I used this wealth to buy a string of girls, and that stranger, is how I came to be a whoremaster in the ‘Street of Women.’ “It was fitting, for hadn’t my father and grandfather been whore-masters before me?”

“Well, enough of my history.” He said, looking at Darryl with his dead-fish eyes. “It is now time to apprise you of my plan to rescue your comrade. He will certainly be held in the ‘Blood-spill’clan’s headquarters situated at the very top of one of the highest towers in the old quarter. The internal stairways are always heavily guarded and no access is possible from ground level. However, the building is adjacent to the city wall and the roof of the tower is almost exactly level with the highest ramparts.”

Ali paused and drew a deep breath.

“We must make our way along the ramparts until we are opposite the building that contains the ‘Blood-spill’ headquarters. Then we shall gain access to the roof by crawling over the intervening void by way of a long thirty hand-span ladder. We shall then enter a skylight, rescue your friend and return by the same route, if the Gods are willing!”

Darryl gasped at the sheer audacity of the scheme.

“Will the city guards not apprehend us once we step upon the battlements?” He asked.

“And surely the pirates will not have neglected to place some guards upon the roof of their headquarters tower?”

The old assassins ruined face twitched.

“The guards are already bribed and will be nowhere to be seen. As for the ‘Blood-spill sentries, leave them to me!”

Ali pulled the bundle completely apart and drew out two black hooded garments and a pair of brightly coloured cloaks.

“Put on this black creep-suit,” the assassin ordered, handing him one of the long black garments. “You will be almost invisible in the darkness and then put one of the coloured cloaks over the top. Folks will take us for a pair of evening revellers and that will be our disguise until we reach the base of the ramparts. The coloured cloaks will then be discarded having served their purpose, now hurry, for the precious hours of darkness are quickly ebbing away!”

The two men moved swiftly through a maze of side-alleys and back lanes, until they reached a portion of the city walls where a circular stairway led upwards to the top of the darkened ramparts. Darryl expected a soldier to emerge from the guard post standing at the base of the stair, but nothing moved and the two men began their ascent without being challenged. The walkway at the top of the ramparts was likewise deserted, although burning torches illuminated the guard posts that stood at regular intervals.

Ali, the son of Grom, took the lead and the two men moved along the walkway as silently as possible, cautiously flitting from one patch of dark shadow to another.

Finally, they came abreast of a tall tower whose roof was almost level with the walkway. A gap of about fifteen hand-spans separated the edge of the parapet from the flat roof of the tower and the void between the two buildings was terrifying to the imagination.

The assassin pulled the younger man back into the safety of a deep pool of shadow, then drew out his deadly perm and began to carefully scan the roof of the ‘Blood-spill’ headquarters.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and the boatmaster witnessed nothing. Then he noticed a slight movement behind the head of a rooftop ventilator, in the same instant he heard a faint ‘Phut’ from the assassin’s weapon and all movement on the roof ceased immediately.

Ali did not waste time admiring his marksmanship; instead he dived into a nearby guard post and emerged carrying a long ladder, which the two men pushed out across the void until it rested upon the very edge of the pirate’s tower. Ali crawled out along the ladder with the boatmaster holding it firmly. The old assassin soon reached the roof of the tower and then it was the boatmaster’s turn to cross the ghastly void. Inch by inch, Darryl forced himself to crawl forward until he too was standing upon the top of the flat roof.

The pair stepped over the corpse of the guard, whom Ali had slain with the poison tipped perm dart and searched until they found an open skylight with a ladder leading down into a deserted attic room.

The son of Grom took the lead and quietly climbed down the ladder until he reached the floor of the room. He crept over to a single door and listened intently for a few moments, before gently easing it open just sufficiently to take a quick look outside.

The door, it transpired, opened out into a dimly lit corridor and the assassin was just able to make out the indistinct silhouette of a guard who was stationed at the far end of the passageway. Ali eased the muzzle of the perm through the crack in the door and shot a single dart into the man’s leg. The ‘Blood-spill’ guard uttered only a single strangled gasp as the deadly nerve toxin took effect and a second later his lifeless body slipped noiselessly to the floor. With the killing accomplished, the assassin safely entered the room with Darryl at his heels, holding his razor sharp ‘Gill’ at the ready.

It quickly became clear that the two intruders had successfully found the pirate’s prison complex, for a number of cells, each equipped with a heavy wooden door, lined the sides of the passageway, which they had just entered. Darryl whispered his friends name outside several of the doors before George replied in a gruff voice and the boatmaster was relieved to know that his young comrade was still alive.

Darryl threw aside the bolts and the rather dishevelled boat hand stepped out into the passageway. However, George’s whispered greeting quickly turned into a shouted warning, for the cell-door opposite crashed open and a second ‘Bloodspill’-guard, who had been apparently disturbed whist taking an illicit nap, appeared with his heavy war-axe raised and ready to strike. Fortunately, Darryl reacted with the lightening speed of a trained fighter, spinning upon his heel, he instantly laid the man’s midriff open with a single stroke from his ‘Gill’then decapitated him with a second blow.

Unfortunately, the man’s brief cry for help brought a shouted response from the floor below and the thunder of feet could soon be heard upon the lower stairs.

“Quickly, back onto the roof.” The assassin ordered, but his instructions were interrupted by a shout from one of the cells.

“In the name of all the Gods, don’t leave me here to die. Take me with you and I swear that I will be your man forever!”

The plea for help came from a cell lying close by and Ali cursed furiously as George disobeyed his orders and darted to the man’s assistance. He grasped the battle-axe from the dead guards hand and smashed open the door of the cell with a single blow. He pushed the occupant of the cell into the attic-room and towards the base of the ladder leading to the roof and he ordered the man to climb for his life.

Combat with the ‘Blood-spill’ clansmen, who were streaming up from the floor below was now inevitable and Darryl immediately ran to the head of the stairs and cutting down the first of the pirates to emerge. Ali joined him and quickly launched three poisoned darts down the stairwell in rapid succession, whilst George turned from his mission of rescue and lifted the body of the boatmaster’s first victim above his head, and hurling it downwards amidst the attackers attempting to ascend the stairs.

“Come now,” the old assassin cried, as the press momentarily slackened. “Back onto the roof whilst we still have a chance of escaping.”

Ali then ran back into the attic room, with his companions in close attendance and jammed the door shut with a chair.

“Back onto the roof and across the ladder to the battlements,” he yelled, diving for the skylight. “And hurry if you value your lives, for that door won’t hold for more than a few seconds.”

The men obeyed and quickly reached the sanctuary of the battlements, although the man whom George had rescued from the cell fainted at the very moment he reached the roof of the tower and had to be dragged bodily across the groaning ladder.

“Push the ladder into the void!” The assassin cried, as the last man reached the ramparts, but a darter projectile struck the edge of the walkway as George attempted to obey the order, but he was forced to join his companions in the shelter of one of the deserted guard-posts as a veritable hail of darts followed the first.

The situation was now becoming critical, for some of the pirates were attempting to cross the ladder, heedless of Ali’s poisoned darts that picked of two of their number; when help suddenly arrived from an unexpected quarter.

A wind that was no product of nature howled across the battlements and shook the guard-post were the party were hiding from the darter projectiles. It grew in strength and picked up the ladder and flung it, together with its burden of doomed pirates, downwards into the terrifying void. The wind grew in strength until it screamed across the old quarter of the city and plucked the remaining darter marksmen from the roof of the tower, as though they were ripe fruit hurling them to their deaths in the streets below.

At the same instant - an irresistible mental command exploded inside the boatmaster’s brain…

“Run… Escape now… Whilst you have a chance!”

The other members of the party had presumably heard the same command, for they all bolted from the guard-post withAli sprinting in the lead. On they ran, along the walkway and down the spiral stairway, until they reached the safety of the street.

Yet even as Darryl fled in near panic he spared a single second to glance over his shoulder. Standing upon the battlements and silhouetted by the light of a single torch, he spotted the solitary figure of a man who was wearing the dark robe of a priest. And the man’s right hand was still pointing towards the roof of the tower where his magical powers had wreaked such havoc. The boatmaster did not venture a second look, he simply ran like a man possessed.