WEALTHY MAN drove his wagon up the hill toward the keep. This keep was actually a single, reddish stone structure, half of it underground, the other half in the form of a single tower.
It is a common misconception that those in the House of the Athyra have no doors into or out of their homes—the idea being that if one doesn’t know how to teleport, one doesn’t belong there. This is almost true, except that they don’t require their servants to know how to teleport. There is almost always a door or two for deliveries of those goods the wizards and sorcerers of the keep consider too demeaning to fetch for themselves. Trivial things such as food, drink, and assassins. These items are delivered by wagons to a special receiving area in the rear, where they are received, each in its own way.
Of course, the assassins aren’t usually expected and, one hopes, not noticed. Theirs is a sad lot, to be sure, with no servant within who knows to announce them. Nor, in fact, are they able to announce themselves, being hidden in a cask marked “Greenhills Wine, ’637.”
They are most certainly not going to be announced by the very wealthy and equally terrified Teckla who delivers them and who, presumably, wishes to live to enjoy his newly acquired wealth.
No one was around to witness the various indignities I suffered during theunloading and storing process, so I shall refrain from mentioning them. It is sufficient to say that by the time I was able to break out of the stupid cask I was, fortunately, neither drunk nor drunk, if you take my meaning.
So . . . out. Stretch. Check my weapons. Stretch again. Look around. Do not make any rustling noises by getting out the floor plan, because you have it memorized. You
do
have it memorized, don’t you? Think now—this is either
that
room or
that
room. Either way, the door lets out into a hall that leads . . . don’t tell me now . . . oh, yes. Good. Shit. What, by all the gods of your ancestors, are you doing here, anyway?
Oh, yeah: money. Crap.
“You okay, boss?”
“I’ll live, Loiosh. You?”
“I think I’ll live.”
“Good.”
First step is getting the door open. Loraan may not be able to detect it when someone uses witchcraft within his keep, but I’m not going to bet
my
life on it; at least not unless I have to.
So I pulled a vial of oil from within my cloak, opened it, smeared its contents on the hinges, and tested the door. No, it wasn’t locked, and yes, it opened silently. I put the oil away, sealing it carefully. Kiera had taught me that. This, you understand, is how assassins are able to sneak around so quietly: we cheat.
There was no light in the hall, and there shouldn’t be any random boxes, either, according to Kragar’s source. My favorite kind of door (an unlocked one) guarded the room where I chose to spend the remaining hours until the early morning hour I had selected. More oil, and I was inside. There was about a ten-to-one chance against anyone disturbing me in this room. If anyone did, Loiosh would wake me up and I’d kill the intruder. No sweat. Assuming no trouble, Loiosh would keep track of time for me and wake me at the right hour. I spread out my cloak, closed my eyes, and rested. Eventually I slept.
T HE CITY OF A DRILANKHA is most of County Whitecrest, which is a thin strip of land along the southern seacoast. The name “Adrilankha” means“bird of prey” in the secret language of the House of the Orca, which no one speaks anymore. The story is that the mariners who first sighted the area along the red cliffs thought it looked like such a bird, with bright red wings held high, head down at the sea level where the Sunset River cut through the land.
The low area around the river is where the docks were built, and the city grew up from it, until now most of the city is high above the docks and a long way inland. The two “wings” of the bird don’t look much like wings anymore, since the northern wing, called
It is a common misconception that those in the House of the Athyra have no doors into or out of their homes—the idea being that if one doesn’t know how to teleport, one doesn’t belong there. This is almost true, except that they don’t require their servants to know how to teleport. There is almost always a door or two for deliveries of those goods the wizards and sorcerers of the keep consider too demeaning to fetch for themselves. Trivial things such as food, drink, and assassins. These items are delivered by wagons to a special receiving area in the rear, where they are received, each in its own way.
Of course, the assassins aren’t usually expected and, one hopes, not noticed. Theirs is a sad lot, to be sure, with no servant within who knows to announce them. Nor, in fact, are they able to announce themselves, being hidden in a cask marked “Greenhills Wine, ’637.”
They are most certainly not going to be announced by the very wealthy and equally terrified Teckla who delivers them and who, presumably, wishes to live to enjoy his newly acquired wealth.
No one was around to witness the various indignities I suffered during theunloading and storing process, so I shall refrain from mentioning them. It is sufficient to say that by the time I was able to break out of the stupid cask I was, fortunately, neither drunk nor drunk, if you take my meaning.
So . . . out. Stretch. Check my weapons. Stretch again. Look around. Do not make any rustling noises by getting out the floor plan, because you have it memorized. You
do
have it memorized, don’t you? Think now—this is either
that
room or
that
room. Either way, the door lets out into a hall that leads . . . don’t tell me now . . . oh, yes. Good. Shit. What, by all the gods of your ancestors, are you doing here, anyway?
Oh, yeah: money. Crap.
“You okay, boss?”
“I’ll live, Loiosh. You?”
“I think I’ll live.”
“Good.”
First step is getting the door open. Loraan may not be able to detect it when someone uses witchcraft within his keep, but I’m not going to bet
my
life on it; at least not unless I have to.
So I pulled a vial of oil from within my cloak, opened it, smeared its contents on the hinges, and tested the door. No, it wasn’t locked, and yes, it opened silently. I put the oil away, sealing it carefully. Kiera had taught me that. This, you understand, is how assassins are able to sneak around so quietly: we cheat.
There was no light in the hall, and there shouldn’t be any random boxes, either, according to Kragar’s source. My favorite kind of door (an unlocked one) guarded the room where I chose to spend the remaining hours until the early morning hour I had selected. More oil, and I was inside. There was about a ten-to-one chance against anyone disturbing me in this room. If anyone did, Loiosh would wake me up and I’d kill the intruder. No sweat. Assuming no trouble, Loiosh would keep track of time for me and wake me at the right hour. I spread out my cloak, closed my eyes, and rested. Eventually I slept.
T HE CITY OF A DRILANKHA is most of County Whitecrest, which is a thin strip of land along the southern seacoast. The name “Adrilankha” means“bird of prey” in the secret language of the House of the Orca, which no one speaks anymore. The story is that the mariners who first sighted the area along the red cliffs thought it looked like such a bird, with bright red wings held high, head down at the sea level where the Sunset River cut through the land.
The low area around the river is where the docks were built, and the city grew up from it, until now most of the city is high above the docks and a long way inland. The two “wings” of the bird don’t look much like wings anymore, since the northern wing, called
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