The assassin headed toward a small village in Sitia’s Moon Clan lands. Surrounded by farms, the village contained one inn and a single tavern, which Tam entered. Valek circled the building. Only one exit. He waited a few minutes before going inside.
Animated conversation filled the tavern. A joyous mood rippled through the crowded room and it wasn’t long before Valek heard snatches of the stories.
“Fourth Magician, Irys Jewelrose…”
“Ten children!”
“Kidnapped from us. Taken north…”
“Fourteen years!”
“Rescued from right under the Commander’s nose…”
“Soldiers chased them across the border…”
“Fourth Magician saved their lives!”
“Returning them home…”
Already exaggerated, the stories failed to mention the Ixians’ help or that a rogue Sitian magician had started the trouble in the first place, but the gossip did reveal Irys and Yelena’s next stop—Fulgor, the Moon Clan’s capital.
Traveling with a large party, Yelena’s progress would be slower than that of a single person. They had left yesterday morning, and it would take them two days to reach Fulgor, where they would probably stay and search for families who had lost a child.
It appeared the assassin was in no hurry to catch up. Tam remained at the bar until nightfall, talking with a few locals and drinking ale. Valek paid his bill, and waited outside to avoid suspicion. When Tam left and checked into the inn, he seemed relaxed and showed no signs of being aware of Valek’s presence.
Valek managed to get the room next to Tam’s. He would have liked to do a little investigating, but couldn’t leave Tam alone. During the long hours of the evening, Valek wished he had brought Ari with him.
Eventually he dozed in a chair by the wall he shared with Tam. Each slight noise roused him from sleep. In the middle of the night, Valek woke on his feet. He crouched with his sword in hand without any memory of moving. All was quiet. He sheathed his weapon.
“Hel…” a muffled voice sounded outside.
Valek glanced out the window in time to see four men drag a woman from a house. The men carried the struggling victim down the street.
He paused for an instant. At one time in his life, he would have ignored the woman’s plight and stayed focused on the assassin. But not now. Not since Yelena entered his life. And never again.
Valek opened the window and shimmied down the drain pipe. He pulled his sword and raced after the four men. They cut down a small side street and entered a warehouse on the left. A few shrill screams escaped before the door shut, the click of the lock audible in the sudden silence.
Peering through a dirt-streaked window, Valek saw the men lift the woman onto a table. Just enough moonlight reached inside to glint off a knife held above the victim. No time left to consider all options.
Valek yanked his picks from his breast pocket and popped the lock in seconds. Rushing into the building, he grabbed the nearest man and flung him to the ground, knocking him unconscious with his fist.
The three remaining men drew their swords; ringing steel echoed. The woman jumped to her feet on the table, brandishing a long knife. Triumphant smiles spread on all their faces.
Ambush.
Valek looked over his shoulder. Six more armed men sidled behind him. When his gaze returned to the original group, there were two more. Twelve against one. Bad odds, but not impossible. Crates and equipment littered the room, ropes and pulleys hung from the ceiling and broken windows could all be employed for his purposes.
“You’re under arrest,” the woman said.
“On what charge?” Valek asked.
“Espionage, assassination, trespassing. Take your pick.”
Valek considered. If arrested, he could escape later when he had better odds.
“Will you surrender?” she asked.
Chapter Three
A fight against twelve would be impossible in normal circumstances, but the littered and uneven terrain of the warehouse tipped the odds in Valek’s favor. Plus the delay of having to escape from jail if he surrendered could put Yelena in greater danger.
He sheathed his sword. The ambushers surrounding him relaxed slightly. Good.
“No,” he said to the woman. “I won’t surrender.”
Valek jumped onto the table. The woman—who had played the part of victim so well—stabbed her long knife at his chest. He grinned as he turned sideways, letting the blade go past him, then grabbed her arm. Knife fighting was his forte, but he wouldn’t have time for a proper match. Pity.
Instead he twisted her wrist. The knife clattered to the table. Valek spun her and dropped her onto the men who crowded around them. He leaped and seized a rope hanging from the rafters then swung over to a pile of wooden crates.
His plan had been to climb down the crates and dive through the broken ground-floor window, but the other men rushed to intercept him. The attackers swarmed like bees. They yelled and called to each other. Too many. Valek knew it was only a matter of time.
Change of plans. He reached for the rope and pulled himself above the swordsmen’s range. The rope ended at the underside of a catwalk near the ceiling. Valek grasped the edge of the walk and hauled himself up. He lay on his stomach and surveyed the situation.
The building was only three stories high. A wooden staircase clung to the back wall of the warehouse. Boots pounded and dust fogged the air as the ambushers rushed up the stairs. Four men remained at the base of the rope. Smart.
Valek crawled to the edge of the catwalk and hopped down to the third-floor landing. He ran to the closest window, hoping for a way down. Otherwise he would have to surrender.