A stifling atmosphere reigned in the city garrison building a small fortress squeezed between the capital's mansions. Generals, their uniforms gleaming with medals for capturing impregnable fortresses, fidgeted on hard benches.
Their faces, furrowed with the scars of battles and the vapors of elite alcohol, expressed the utmost degree of embarrassment.
The reason was just one man, one single man, and the slippery bastard had been eluding them for almost a full day, making every second one of them want to sink through the floor, while the others were on the verge of a breakdown.
And presiding over it all was Guard Captain Markus the embodiment of icy calm. He sipped tea from a porcelain cup, studying the map of the slums as if perusing a menu in an expensive restaurant.
– Captain, sir, – began a gray-haired general with a crimson cheek, jabbing a finger at the southern quarter. – We can get him there! The slums are the last place he was seen. He'll try to leave via the sewer river under the wall! Everyone nodded, exhaling with relief.
In their minds, they were screaming. *"Finally, a plan!"*
Markus slowly raised his palm. The clink of the cup on the saucer sounded louder than a fireball explosion.
– Gentlemen, gentlemen... Don't be naive. We are dealing with one of the best assassins of the Kotto Clan. Do you really believe he will take the most obvious path? Like the lowliest thief?
The generals exchanged glances. A young chiliarch jumped up, slamming his fist on the table: – Then what do you suggest?! We don't have time! We can't keep the army on edge like a bowstring for long, there will be unrest! If I were in his place... I would have... – he faltered.
– Gone to ground? – Markus raised an eyebrow. – Where? The whole city has been turned upside down and soon our men will start the second sweep, and no one will help him the reward for information will break any loyalty. – He took a sip of tea. – I think you want to ask where he is heading..? I'm not certain, of course, but I assume... he will go... – his finger smoothly slid across the map from the south to the northern wall. – To where he is not expected. Where it's quiet and relaxed the Northern Wall…
Everyone nodded again, this time with fear. Markus stood up, checked a skull-shaped pocket watch.
– Work, gentlemen, and please. – His voice became firmer for a moment, – Post double guards on the northern side. – After that, he left, leaving behind a hum of bewildered murmuring.
…
Saigo watched the farce from the attic of a half-ruined house on the edge of the slums. The owner—a skinny drunk in rags—snored in a corner, saturating the air with boozy breath so strong it made your eyes water.
Annoying, but tolerable, especially when an entire city is chasing you; the company of an unwashed drunk is a mere trifle.
Down below, in the alleys, shouts rang out: – He's there! Behind the market! – and a crowd of guardsmen rushed in the indicated direction.
Saigo smirked; it only took a couple of shouts, and his lie was picked up with such force it was surprising, except perhaps to our furry friends.
You can't trick a dog with such a stupid trick, but there was a remedy against them too a pouch of black powder a mix of pepper, sulfur, and something indescribably foul this concoction never failed. Just a handful and your scent vanishes for any dog for a good three hours. Cheap and effective.
When the last patrolman disappeared from view, Saigo sighed. The silence after hours of chase seemed unnatural, ringing.
– Alright... Time.
He slipped out through the back stairs the drunk, of course, hadn't bothered with locks.
The yard was empty, and the street beyond it deserted, as after a plague. The wind drove scraps of dirty paper with the faded image of his face across the stones. Saigo froze in the shadow of a portal, listening. No footsteps, no clang of armor. Only the distant barking of dogs to the south.
– Emptiness... – he whispered. – It's been so long since I've seen you.
…
Markus jolted in the carriage, grinding his teeth. Outer calm—an icy mask he never removed in front of his subordinates—but beneath it, rage seethed.
*"If the kid gets away... I'll have to... MMM..."* The thought broke off, leaving a bitter taste. He imagined the heads of less fortunate generals, not bound by friendship to the Empress, already rolling on the cobblestones.
The carriage stopped at the College of Mages. Their abode rose into the night like a thin spire, as if stinging the sky. *"Impractical,"* flashed through Markus's mind.
*"But who am I to teach the greatest minds the basics of fortification?"*
At the gates, Marimed awaited him. The old man spread his arms, his shaggy beard shaking like a tangled web:
– Markus! Good to see you, my friend!
– You too, old man.
– Please, don't stand there, keeping a guest on the threshold is extremely inhospitable. – The old man deftly ushered him inside and shuffled after him with the gait of a clumsy bear.
His face—a collection of the finest wrinkles, a smile with five yellow teeth—loyal friends holding on till the end.
– I bet I know what brings you here! Ha! Katya found herself a groom, and you... became a matchmaker? A glorious career!
Markus winced: – Heh. Your guess... is very close to the truth.
The old man put a finger to his temple, his eyes twinkling slyly: – I can help. Come! Just distilled a new batch of moonshine with a taste of cured ham!
At his words, Markus's stomach betrayed him with a rumble. The Archmage's brew was famous even at court... and was a frequent guest even in the Empress's glass, though she called all spirits stronger than wine "swill" and couldn't stand the smell.
– Not now, but save the bottle. If we don't catch him—you'll open it at my funeral.
– Ah, youth! Always in a hurry! – Marimed sighed.
– Grandpa, don't mess around. Katarina is older than you, and...
– So what? A hundred years or a thousand—a foolish, unkissed maiden! She is as she was and remains – the mage retorted briskly.
Markus frowned: – I ask you...
– Oh, come on! I meant no harm or reproach!
– And the "unkissed" part was too much.
– Well, I wasn't talking about the dog-like coupling she so loves to indulge in out of boredom and melancholy. – Finishing, the old man suddenly snapped his fingers. A pink shimmer in the shape of a heart flashed behind Marimed. – Love! That's what she lacks! Not a favorite, a sycophant, or a bootlicker an equal!
Markus recoiled, still under the impression of what he'd seen. The mage just laughed: – Don't be scared! A Light spell, slightly... modified... – Catching his breath, he said in a much more serious tone. – Alright, to business. I have an idea...
…
Saigo slid across the roofs of the slums like a seasoned baboon. Still, the capital was a stone anthill, and the distance between rooftops a child could manage.
But... there were difficulties. On every second roof stood a guardsman with a torch or a lantern. Shining like bright beacons in the night.
And everywhere there was this crackling of burning pitch, strained and sharp... so loud Saigo would have heard it even if blind.
**SWOOSH-SWOOSH!**
He sneaked between posts, using the shadows of chimneys, clinging to the ledges of sloping roofs. – At this rate, I'll be beyond the wall by morning...
– Yeah, right... – A voice arose behind him, quieter than the rustle of the wind.
Saigo turned like lightning. On the roof ridge, facing him, stood a man in gray. A baggy hood, clothing the color of a stormy sky with a half-mask of the same color—in a word, an unremarkable gentleman.
– Who are you?
– Me? – The man squared his shoulders. – Your... colleague.
– Gray mist veils the forest... – Saigo said automatically. The stranger shrugged:
*"Not one of ours, then."*
– Listen, why not come with me? Let's avoid the drama...
Saigo clenched his fists. The opponent didn't inspire fear. But his instincts screamed: he'd walked into a trap!
– Why would I?
– Because, – steel rang in the gray man's voice, – you Kotto guys have finally gotten to us! – His hand darted to his belt. A sword gleamed in the moonlight.
On the blade—familiar swirling engravings of two crossed hands. – The Capital Thieves' Guild.
Saigo froze. His internal count tallied four.
*"Not bad for a quick ambush. Must have a concealment artifact—otherwise I'd have sensed them earlier. By themselves, they're trash. But noise... That's the danger."*
Saigo glanced back briefly. The nearest guardsman stood just thirty paces away on the neighboring roof, currently lazily nodding off, snoring in time with the wind. Wake him and the entire guard from who knows where would converge on his soul.
– Maybe we can make a deal? – Saigo jingled a purse full of gold. A spark of hope to resolve this peacefully still smoldered in his mind?
The Gray, as Saigo mentally dubbed him, just shook his head, his face under the hood contorted in a grimace of hatred:
– You... vile idiots. You think gold solves all your problems? Think you're above everyone else?
Saigo shrugged, his fingers subtly sliding to the knife hilts on his back: – We have the right.
– And you have the right to frame respectable people too?! – the Gray hissed. The blades of his men gleamed in the moonlight matte, non-reflective, just for such occasions.
Saigo smirked: – Since when did gutter trash start getting respect? This is the third purge aimed at our heads. But they always catch your... good-for-nothings – He was deliberately stalling for time.
Far below, in an alley, hooves clattered. A mounted patrol! Perfect background for a small, quick scuffle.
– ...so what do you want? You can't kill me...
– Don't need to! – The Gray took a step forward. – We'll grab you, give you a proper beating to let off steam, and deliver you to the authorities on a silver platter, for your...
Without waiting for him to finish, Saigo lunged. Not at the Gray at the nearest thief, slightly to the left. The man didn't even have time to blink. Saigo's fingers—like steel pincers slammed into his Adam's apple.
A crunch and a quiet gurgle. The guy's body silently slumped, and the background noise of clattering hooves muffled the fall.
The second thief gasped, swinging his blade. Saigo dropped low, wrapped around his legs, and yanked him down; in the same instant, a locked hand under the jaw. A quiet snap and the neck broke.
Plus one more body on the roof.
The third and fourth rushed him together.
*"Too late."*
**SWOOSH-SWOOSH!** Two knives plunged under their diaphragms. Their mouths opened for a scream... but no sound came. Only a gurgle, thanks to a rare poison from the gray slopes of Hachi.
All four bodies froze in silent agony at his feet.
Saigo looked around; it was calm. The guardsman on the neighboring roof was still snoring.
*"Success."* He thought, and, satisfied, approached the still-twitching body of the Gray. A knife gleamed in the night.
– You are not people of the empire, – he whispered, cutting his throat. – No one will care if you live or die. And leaving those who tracked me...
*Swoosh…* – He repeated the procedure with the others.
– Idiots, you could have taken the money and lived on. Searching their pockets yielded nothing useful. – Purses, a couple of rings pathetic pennies, no papers with instructions, and a one-use artifact scroll, already crumbling to dust. *"What a pity..."*
But his luck was running out. Below, in the alley, the mounted patrol slowed. One of the guardsmen raised his head, pointing a finger at the roof:
– Hey! Is something... moving up there? Over by that chimney!
Saigo was already sliding into the shadows, dissolving into the night like a drop of ink in water. The path north was open again, bought for the price of four lives of local scum. Cheap, really, for a chance at freedom and life.