Authors: Mark Robson
Lady Alyssa had been back in Shandrim for a few days, and everyone who was anyone knew about it. She had been up to all her usual tricks. Her trademark high-handedness and
imperious manner had brought quiet havoc back to the Silver Chalice
.
Versande Matthiason, proprietor of the inn, was not sad when the young Lady announced that she was returning home. He was flattered that she had returned to his inn, for she was notoriously
difficult to please. That she would choose to return spoke volumes amongst those who followed which establishments were in fashion. He was also happy to extract large quantities of the young
Lady’s gold from her seemingly endless wealth, but her visit had once again proved a trial to his normally imperturbable demeanour.
From the moment Alyssa had arrived, she had sent him an endless stream of demands. He had organised soirées in the inn’s private function room for the Lady’s chosen guests. He
had organised visits by perfumers, merchants of cosmetic paints, clothiers, merchants who sold ladies shoes, and had called on the services of Rikala, the dressmaker, to make another outfit for
her. He had been harassed about every little detail of how the private function room should look for each of her elitist gatherings. Florists, specialist food suppliers and artists – all had
been required to make the room ‘just so’. It had been exhausting.
As she left, Lady Alyssa, sweet as a rose, politely thanked Versande for his services. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a little picky,’ she said with a coy smile. ‘I do get a bit
carried away sometimes.’
‘You are always welcome at the Silver Chalice, Lady Alyssa,’ Versande replied, wondering how forced his smile looked as he clenched his fists behind his back. ‘Have a safe trip
home.’
Femke, consummate actress though she was, had a difficult time maintaining a straight face at Versande’s parting words. The man was a treasure – utterly professional and
wholeheartedly determined to uphold the reputation of his inn. How he had kept from cracking under the pressure she had applied over the last four days, she did not know. She had made sure he
earned every last gold sen of his outrageous fee for her short stay.
Playing the part of Lady Alyssa was always fun. This time had been no exception. As she rode along the Eastern Avenue, her servant led the baggage horse ahead of her. Mentally she compiled her
report for the Emperor. It had been a productive week. She had wined and dined many of the sons and daughters of the more influential Nobility of Shandrim. With a subtlety that few possessed, she
had pumped them for information about current affairs, attitudes to the new Emperor and the Assassins’ Guild. Asking anyone about the final subject was a risky business. If the Guild got to
hear of her enquiries, they might decide it would be in their interests to eliminate her. Femke had picked her guests with a great deal of care. She did not wish to inadvertently draw attention
from the wrong quarters. Had an interrogator watched her, he would have marvelled at the indirectness of her questions. She made the acquisition of useful information look to be an art form of the
highest order.
Although Femke’s activities had left her none the wiser about the location of the Assassins’ Guild headquarters, she had not really expected to get that lucky. Likewise, there were
none who speculated on the identity of the Guildmaster. Doing so would have been tantamount to inviting death to dance. However, the information she had gleaned would be interesting to the Emperor.
Attitudes were changing slowly amongst the Nobles. There had been a gradual, but positive shift of opinion over the few months since Surabar had taken the Mantle. He was winning them around with
his firm, but positive approach to ruling Shandar.
Lord Kempten had won some over during the Emperor’s trip to Thrandor. The fact that an old-school Lord like Kempten could be so won over by the ex-General’s abilities had given many
of his peers cause to reconsider. There was still a large cadre of Noblemen who were intent on replacing Surabar with one of their own. However, when Lord Kempten had sent some of their more
outspoken members to the gallows, the group had been forced to become a lot more circumspect about their activities.
Femke was still mulling over the information she had gathered when she and her servant left the eastern boundary of the city. Constant mental reinforcement of the names and other nuggets she had
gathered was vital if she was to retain every detail. Writing them down was not an option. To do so was dangerous in the extreme. With hindsight, she realised that she should have been paying more
attention to the road.
The sudden fizzing buzz of an arrow was followed by a sickening thud as it punched her servant from his saddle. He did not cry out as he fell. The arrow had caught him squarely in the chest.
Femke’s mind raced. If an assassin had fired the arrow then she would have been the target. It was more likely to be the fame of Lady Alyssa’s wealth that was the motive behind this
attack. Assuming this was true, she knew there was a chance of getting out of the situation alive.
It was easy to let shock and horror flood her features. She let out her best ‘damsel in distress’ scream, the high-pitched trill cutting through the surrounding trees with an
intensity that would carry a good distance.
‘Stop that noise now, or the next arrow will stop it for you,’ ordered a deep voice to her left.
Femke clamped a hand across her mouth and loosened the knife up her sleeve in the process. She always had several weapons about her person. Whether she would attempt to use them would depend on
how many adversaries there were. If the odds were bad she would continue to play the pathetic, terrified Noblewoman until a suitable opportunity arose for making her escape.
‘There ain’t no one else followin’, boss,’ came a second voice from some distance behind Femke.
‘Good,’ the original, deeper voice responded. There was a rustling noise in the bushes by the side of the road. Two men emerged, both wearing self-satisfied grins. One was
barrel-chested with thick, black hair, a square jaw and strangely angular features. He was holding a sword as if he knew how to use it. At his side was a slimmer man sporting a bow. He was
sly-faced with lank, greasy-looking hair. Femke had no doubt that it was he who had just killed her servant. His proud glance across at where the unfortunate man had fallen was enough to confirm
that view. The third man remained hidden somewhere along the road towards the city.
‘At least three of them,’ she thought. ‘But they’re split, which helps.’ She remained seated on her horse, as if frozen in place by fear. The two men approached her
confidently.
‘Get down off the horse, Lady,’ the leader ordered, raising his sword until it was pointing at her. ‘We’d like to get better acquainted with you and your money, and we
can hardly do that while you are sitting up there shaking, now can we?’
Femke squeaked fearfully from behind her hand, her eyes wide. The two men glanced at one another and laughed. As was fitting for a Lady, Femke was riding sidesaddle. Her legs were towards the
armed brigands, which was undoubtedly their intention. They did not want her to use the horse as a shield and try to run away. As she considered her options, Femke decided that with only two of
them in sight she had more than a good chance of taking them by surprise. The third man’s last call was from some way away. She decided to discount him as an immediate threat.
‘You’ll r . . . r . . . run me through if I jump down.’
‘I’ll run you through if you
don’t
jump down! Get off that horse. Now!’
The man moved his sword to one side to encourage her. It was just the chance Femke was looking for. She did not hesitate, but pushed away from the saddle to bridge the gap between her and the
big man. Her jump carried her inside the natural arc of his sword and she twisted just slightly as she descended. Femke landed hard, driving her left heel down onto the man’s left foot. As
she compressed her knees on impact her right hand grabbed the handle of the knife in her right boot top, whilst another appeared miraculously in her left hand from her sleeve. The roar of pain had
barely begun to erupt from the big man’s mouth when it cut off. Femke, rising out of her crouch, threw the knife from her right hand straight into the body of the thinner robber. In one
smooth simultaneous action, she opened the bigger man’s belly with a twisting slash of the blade in her left hand.
The big man dropped his sword in shock. Femke did not wait for a further reaction. The man’s redoubled bellow of pain spooked her horse. It reared and galloped forward, frightening the
packhorse into a gallop as well. Luck and quick reactions favoured her. She was just quick enough to turn and grab a handful of her horse’s mane before it charged forward out of reach. Her
arm wrenched in its socket as the terrified horse dragged her away. She skipped twice, the horse pulling her far faster than she could run. Using her momentum, she kicked hard off the ground on the
second bounce, flipping herself back up and onto the horse’s back.
Pain lanced through her chest as her partially healed ribs were first stretched by the overextension of her arm and then battered as they connected with the pommel of the saddle. The pain
brought tears to her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and concentrated on staying on the horse’s back. Trees and bushes flashed past in a green blur as her mount stretched out into its full
gallop. The flapping of her dress against the horse’s flank did not help, as it served to perpetuate the poor animal’s fright. It took a few moments before she managed to gain a secure
seat. By the time she had, the main threat of danger from the robbers was behind her.
The two men in the middle of the road were both badly wounded. Femke did not know if they would live from the injuries she had dealt them, but the knowledge that their partner in crime would get
to them quickly salved her initial pangs of guilt. If they lived, she doubted they would be so quick to attempt robbing Noblewomen in future.
A short way up the road, she managed to pull alongside and catch her servant’s horse. Then, with both horses and all of her belongings still intact, she continued to her pre-arranged
rendezvous point. When she arrived, her contact was waiting. Femke changed quickly into nondescript clothing, warning her agent of the ambush that had awaited her outside the city. The man’s
expression was grim on hearing the fate of his fellow operative, but he did not ask for more information. He knew that this was not the time for chatting. The man put Lady Alyssa’s travelling
clothes into her bags with all of the rest of her belongings, took her two horses and left. Femke mounted her fresh horse, turned it away from the road and set off across the open countryside to
circle around to the south of the city. There was little chance of her being attacked twice in one day, but she took the precaution of switching some of her less accessible weapons to where she
could get to them quickly should the need arise.
A glance at the sun told her she was running ahead of schedule. ‘Just as well,’ she decided. ‘It wouldn’t be good to keep the Emperor waiting.’
When she arrived at the door to the Emperor’s study later that afternoon, she was surprised and delighted to find Reynik also waiting in the corridor. After their adventures together in
Thrandor, it was like an unannounced visit by a brother. He greeted her with a very gentle hug, clearly mindful of her healing ribs. Having crunched them against the pommel of her saddle earlier
that day, Femke was very glad of his thoughtfulness.
‘What brings you here today?’ Femke asked in a whispered tone, noting that Reynik looked embarrassed after their brief embrace.
‘Emperor Surabar summoned me. He probably wants to talk to me about the assassin I caught last night,’ he replied with an offhand shrug.
‘You caught one of them? Do you know who it was? Has he given up any information about the Guild?’ Before Reynik had a chance to answer her excited barrage of questions the study
door opened, cutting short their talk. The Emperor was standing in the doorway looking grave. He waved them both inside.
‘He won’t be talking about anything,’ Reynik whispered in her ear as they moved to comply. ‘I killed him.’
Femke’s head turned sharply to look at the young soldier’s face as they walked forward, but he hid any emotion well. In the Emperor’s presence, Reynik was every inch the young
soldier. He marched forward smartly and came to an abrupt halt in front of the Emperor’s desk, making Femke feel positively slovenly in comparison. A guard positioned outside the door closed
it behind them.
‘At ease, Legionnaire,’ Surabar ordered. He sat down behind his desk, rested his elbows on the table and steepled his hands. His eyebrows drew together in a strange expression,
halfway between a frown and deep contemplation. ‘It seems that I cannot keep you two out of things even when I want to. I want reports from both of you, but as we are likely to be here for
some time, you had better pull up chairs. Do the honours, please, Reynik.’
Reynik immediately went and fetched a chair for Femke. He held it for her in his best courtly fashion as she sat down, though he felt awkward doing so. Then he fetched another and sat down next
to her.
‘Thank you. Now, Femke, let’s start with you, shall we? I asked you to do some quiet information gathering, yet I have been hearing nothing but tales of your lavish little gatherings
at the Silver Chalice. I thought I was quite clear about what I wanted you to do.’
‘You were, your Imperial Majesty. My orders were to gather information about the loyalties of the Nobility without drawing attention to the fact that I was doing so. I was further to
ensure that I minimised any personal danger. That is exactly what I did. Nobody would suspect Lady Alyssa of being a spy. The gentry are far too caught up with her outrageous behaviour and her
lavish lifestyle to think beyond the façade. I can assure your Majesty that there was no one at any of my little parties who suspected for one second that I was information
gathering.’