Imperial Assassin (7 page)

Reynik glanced across at the sword lying in the road, but realised that grabbing it would lose him more time. Duty and fatigue battled for supremacy in his mind. It was a swift conflict. Duty
won. He did not know what the man had been doing in tent city, but judging by his actions when pursued, he was unlikely to have been doing anything good.

Gritting his teeth and forcing his body onwards, Reynik took up the pursuit again. The side street was narrow and darkening fast. Dusk was already giving way to night. Reynik’s laboured
breathing, together with the echoing footfalls of their running feet, sounded loud in his ears. An alley cat yowled and ran to one side as the assassin approached it. It gave a spitting hiss at
Reynik as he passed by a couple of seconds later, clearly annoyed at being disturbed from its evening hunt.

The man turned right into a narrow alley between two rows of tall, overhanging terraced houses. Reynik once again took the wide approach to avoid another surprise attack, but the man had not
paused this time. He was progressively stretching his lead. There was nothing Reynik could do, but doggedly press on after him.

It was so dark in the alleyway that Reynik could no longer see the man he was chasing. It was a clattering noise followed by a frustrated curse that told him the man had tripped and fallen. The
noise brought a feeling of triumph to Reynik, though it was tempered with caution. He slowed his pace a touch as he approached the area where the assassin had tripped. The step that had caused the
man to fall almost caught Reynik as well, but he spotted it at the last second.

There was no sign of the assassin, so Reynik knew that the man must have got up and continued running. The alleyway curved slightly ahead and then opened into another side street. Reynik moved
forward cautiously, slowing to a walk as he approached the end of the alley. He could no longer hear the assassin’s footfalls, which meant he had either stretched his lead further, or that he
was hiding somewhere.

As he emerged from the end of the alley, his caution proved well placed. The man attacked from the right, lunging towards him with the long soldier’s knife. Reynik’s survival
instincts again served him well. He whipped his wooden pole around, connecting hard with the man’s knife wrist and deflecting it. As an extension of the movement, he continued to spin,
bringing his left foot up into a high kick, expecting to drive his boot into the side of his assailant’s head.

To Reynik’s surprise, his kick did not land. Instead his attacker blocked the kick with his forearm, throwing him off balance. There was a scrabbling scuffle as both men fought for
position. A rapid sequence of attempted blows followed. Each was blocked and counter-attacked by the other.

It quickly became apparent that Reynik’s wooden pole was the superior weapon, particularly as it was wielded with exceptional skill. In desperation, the assassin threw his knife. The throw
was rushed and not as accurate as it could have been, but despite twisting to avoid it, the blade sliced Reynik’s left upper arm as it passed. Again off balance and feeling the hot slice of
metal tearing through his flesh, Reynik was caught off guard as the assassin grabbed hold of his makeshift staff. There was a brief struggle for possession, as the two men wrestled back and forth
for control.

In a pure surge of adrenalin, Reynik yanked his attacker towards him with the staff and smashed his forehead down into the bridge of the man’s nose in a vicious head butt. The
assassin’s head snapped back and a plume of blood flew from his nose. He was given no time to recover as Reynik heaved his body backwards, rolling onto the ground and dragging the man
forwards – straight onto Reynik’s waiting feet. With a heave of his legs, Reynik flipped the assassin over his head, sending him crashing down hard onto the stone street.

This was too much for the hired killer. The wind rushed out of his lungs and he writhed on the ground in pain, letting go of the staff in the process. Reynik wasted no time. In a flash, he was
back on his feet and before his assailant had time to recover, Reynik dealt him a cracking blow to the temple with the thick end of the pole. The assassin went limp, completely out cold.

Reynik heaved a sigh of relief and staggered over to the wall of the nearest house. He let the wooden shovel handle fall to the ground and then he sat down with his back against the wall to
catch his breath. He touched his left upper arm where the assassin’s knife had cut him, wincing as pain lanced up through his shoulder. There was a rapidly growing area of dampness on his
shirt where the blood was flowing unchecked.

‘It wouldn’t do to pass out from blood loss,’ he thought dully. ‘I’d better bandage it before it gets too bad.’

His chest was still heaving from his exertions. First the run and then the fight had sapped what little resources of energy he had retained after his first week back in training. It was likely
that Sidis would give him a hard time for having ripped his shirt, regardless of the circumstances. Then it occurred to him that the assassin was wearing an identical shirt of a similar size with
no such rips.

‘Excellent!’ he muttered. ‘I might not come out of this so badly after all.’

He rested for a minute, applying direct pressure to his sliced arm the whole time, in order to restrict the flow of blood. When he had recovered his breath sufficiently, he grabbed his wooden
handle and used it as a prop to help get back onto his feet. His legs felt weak and his knees threatened to give way as he wobbled over to where the unconscious assassin was sprawled on the
ground.

Reynik prodded him gently with the pole, looking for any signs that the man was acting. There were none. He was out cold. Having established this, Reynik went and recovered the man’s knife
from where it had skittered to rest a little way down the street. He removed his shirt, wincing at the fresh pain as he peeled the blood-soaked sleeve from his arm. Looking at the wound made him
feel light-headed. It needed stitching, but he could not do it on his own.

Using the knife, he cut several strips from the back of his ruined shirt. The first he folded into a pad. Then he bound the pad of material over the wound with the second. It was not an easy
task. He fumbled for some time trying to get the bandage to take hold. Working one-handed made it all but impossible to get a suitably tight finish, but having managed to tie it off, he concluded
that it would do until he could get back to the Legion medics.

The temperature was dropping as the darkness of night deepened, and Reynik shivered as the cold fingers of the evening breeze stroked his back. Again, he was cautious as he approached the man.
The last blow he had struck with the wooden pole had been hard and accurate. Looking at the man’s face closely, Reynik began to wonder if he had hit him too hard. Judging by the damage to his
left temple, it was possible that he might never regain consciousness. Stripping him would not help his cause, but Reynik was not about to freeze for this man’s comfort.

The task of removing the unconscious man’s shirt was not an easy one. It took several minutes of manoeuvring and tugging awkwardly at the fabric, but Reynik finally held the shirt in his
hands. He donned it swiftly, ignoring the pain as he forced his wounded arm into the sleeve. The fit was not quite perfect. It was a little on the loose side, but that was all to the good under the
circumstances.

Having regained a degree of comfort, Reynik bent over the man to take a closer look at something curious he had discovered underneath the man’s shirt. It was a sort of pendant. A leather
strap around the man’s neck sported a most unusual talisman. As Reynik looked more closely, he realised that it was a silver replica of a wolf spider. He had never seen a live one, but his
father had an artist’s impression of one in his study at home, so he identified it immediately. As a boy he had asked his father about it, and he vividly remembered what his father had
said.

‘The wolf spider is an amazing predator, son. It is not like other spiders. It doesn’t weave webs with which to trap its prey. It hunts like a wolf, running down its victim and
killing it with a venomous bite. Nasty creatures, wolf spiders.’

‘Nasty creatures, wolf spiders.’ The words echoed in his mind like a prophecy. He shivered again, but not from the cold this time.

Thinking to take a closer look, Reynik lifted the leather necklace over the man’s head and walked a short distance down the street towards the nearest oil lamp. As he walked away from the
man, the necklace began to tingle in his hand. The sensation was strangely alien, and Reynik’s instinct was to drop it immediately.

As it struck the ground the spider glowed briefly with a sparkling energy that was not natural. Then it dissolved to nothingness, leaving the leather thong as the only evidence of its existence.
At the same time, the man laying on the street suddenly convulsed and groaned as if in extreme pain before going limp and deathly pale. Reynik did not have to check his breathing to know that he
was dead.

‘What in Shand’s name . . . ?’

Assassins, he could cope with, but this weird magical stuff was a totally different prospect. The supernatural was something he had always left well alone. Had he killed the man by hitting him
with the handle of the shovel, or was there something more sinister at work here? The silver wolf spider talisman had clearly been more than just a decoration, but what had its purpose been? It was
a mystery that he suspected would not be easily solved.

It took Reynik a long time to drag the man back to the guard post at the end of the South West Avenue. He had not realised they had run so far. When he got there the entire Legion campsite was
in uproar. Fortunately, the two guards who had failed to help pursue the assassin were still a part of the group on duty. They were quick to relieve him of the body without too many questions.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘I’m guessing all the activity is due to our friend here, but who was his target?’

A Legionnaire with File Leader rank markings on his sleeve answered the question. ‘Our Legion Commander has been murdered. If this is his killer, then you’ve done well. None of the
others have been apprehended.’

‘I’m afraid he won’t be answering any questions, File Leader. He didn’t want to come quietly and I inadvertently rapped him on the head too hard. He’s dead. You
mentioned others, File Leader. There were more victims, or more assassins?’

‘Three other Legion Commanders died this evening, aside from our own. I can’t imagine this man was responsible for all four deaths. It would be impossible for one man to travel that
far in such a short time. It’s been a disastrous night for the Legions.’

The File Leader’s information brought a bitter flood of bile to Reynik’s throat. ‘My father is a Legion Commander. Do you know the names of the dead?’

The File Leader returned Reynik’s gaze apprehensively. ‘I don’t know all of their names,’ he said warily, ‘but I do know which Legions they commanded. Which Legion
does your father command?’

‘The Third Legion.’

‘Then as far as I know, your father still lives.’

Reynik heaved a grateful sigh and sank to the ground as his body flushed warm with relief. For a moment, he had felt sure that he was about to hear the worst possible news. His mind was racing
with memories of his uncle’s murder. Assassins were the worst kind of killers, he concluded: cold blooded, and motivated solely by monetary reward. It was good that the Emperor had declared
them
anaethus drax.
Now the assassins had given their response. It appeared that the Emperor had instigated a war of sorts. The assassins had fired the first volley, making sure it was the
military that took the casualties. It would be interesting to see how the Emperor would respond.

The File Leader thought it impossible for a single man to kill the four Legion Commanders, but an image of the disappearing talisman gave Reynik reason to doubt. This too sounded impossible, but
it had happened. He was certain of it. Was there a connection? If there was, then new lines of reasoning could lead them towards any one of a myriad of unlikely possibilities.

‘Are you all right? I can see you’re bleeding. Do you need the medics?’ The File Leader squatted down next to him.

Reynik looked at his arm and saw that blood had seeped through the bandage and stained his sleeve again.

‘I could do with a few stitches. He sliced my arm pretty badly when we fought. I bandaged it with my torn shirt and took his since he didn’t need it any more. I’ll live, but
I’d appreciate getting it seen to before it turns bad.’

‘Looks like you could do with a hand getting there. Hey! You and you,’ he called, pointing at two nearby soldiers. ‘Help this young Legionnaire . . .’

‘Reynik.’

‘Help Legionnaire Reynik to the nearest medic’s tent. I’m sure that someone will want to debrief you on how you caught this man. There is bound to be an inquiry. Who is your
File Leader?’

‘Sidis.’

‘Sidis, eh?’ A slight sourness in the File Leader’s tone gave Reynik the clue that he was not fond of Sidis either. ‘Well, I’ll speak to File Leader Sidis later. Go
and get seen to by the medics, then you’d better get some sleep. I think you’re going to need it.’