All this had come between breaths. Rallick's gaze cleared. Lady Simtal and Councilman Lim stood at the door. The woman reached out to slide the panel to one side. Rallick swerved his crossbow an inch to the left, then squeezed the trigger. The blackened iron rib of the bow bucked with the release of tension. The quarrel sped outward, so fast as to be invisible until it hit home.
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A figure on the balcony spun with the quarrel's impact, arms thrown out as it stumbled. The glass door shattered as the figure fell through it.
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Lady Simtal screamed in horror.
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Rallick waited no longer. Rolling on to his back he reached up and slid the crossbow into the narrow ledge between the cornice and the roof. Then he slipped down the outside of the wall, hung with his hands briefly as shouts of alarm filled the estate. A moment later he dropped, spinning as he fell, and landed cat-like in the alley.
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The assassin straightened, adjusted his cloak, then calmly walked into the side-street, away from the estate. No more indolence for the Lady Simtal. But no quick demise, either. A very powerful, very well-respected member of the City Council had just been assassinated on her balcony. Lim's wife - now - widow would certainly have something to say about this. The first phase, Rallick told himself as he strode through Osserc's Gate and descended the wide ramp leading down into the Daru District, just the first phase, an opening gambit, a hint to Lady Simtal that a hunt has begun, with the eminent mistress herself as the quarry. It won't be easy: the woman's no slouch in the intrigue game.
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'There'll be more blood,' he whispered aloud, as he turned a corner and approached the poorly lit entrance to the Phoenix Inn. 'But in the end she'll fall, and with that fall an old friend will rise.' As he neared the inn a figure stepped from the shadows of an adjacent alleyway. Rallick stopped. The figure gestured, then stepped back into the darkness.
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Rallick followed. In the alley he waited for his eyes to adjust.
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The man in front of him sighed. 'Your vendetta probably saved your life tonight,' he said, his tone bitter.
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Rallick leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. 'Oh?'
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Clan Leader Ocelot stepped close, his narrow, pitted face twisted into its habitual scowl. 'The night's been a shambles, Nom. You've heard nothing?'
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'No.'
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Ocelot's thin lips curled into a humourless smile. 'A war has begun on the rooftops. Someone is killing us. We lost five Roamers in less than an hour, meaning there's more than one killer out there.'
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'Undoubtedly,' Rallick replied, fidgeting as the damp stones of the inn's wall reached through his cloak and touched his flesh with chill. As always, Guild affairs bored him.
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Ocelot continued, 'We lost that bull of a man, Talo Krafar, and a Clan Leader.' The man snapped a glance over his shoulder as if expecting a sudden dagger to come flashing at his own back.
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Despite his lack of interest Rallick's eye-brows lifted at this last bit of news. 'They must be good.'
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'Good? All of our eye-witnesses are dead, goes the sour joke this night. They don't make mistakes, the bastards.'
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'Everyone makes mistakes,' Rallick muttered. 'Has Vorcan gone out?'
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Ocelot shook his head. 'Not yet. She's too busy recalling all the Clans.'
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Rallick frowned, curious in spite of himself.
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"Could this be a challenge to her Guild mastery? Perhaps an inside thing, a faction—"
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'You think we're all fools, don't you, Nom? That was Vorcan's first suspicion. No, it's not internal. Whoever's killing our people is from outside the Guild, outside the city.'
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To Rallick the answer seemed obvious suddenly, and he shrugged. 'An Empire Claw, then.'
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Though his expression bore reluctance, Ocelot nevertheless acknowledged agreement.
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'Likely,' he grated. 'They're supposed to be the best, aren't they? But why go after the Guild? You'd think they'd be taking out the nobles.'
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'Are you asking me to guess the Empire's intentions, Ocelot?'
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The Clan Leader blinked, then his scowl deepened. 'I came to warn you. And that's a favour, Nom. With you wrapped up in this vendetta thing, the Guild's not obliged to spread its wing over you. A favour.'
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Rallick pushed himself from the wall and turned to the alley-mouth. 'A favour, Ocelot?' He laughed softly.
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'We're setting a trap,' Ocelot said, moving to block Rallick's way. He jerked his scarred chin at the Phoenix Inn. 'Make yourself visible, and leave no doubt as to what you do for a living'
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Rallick's gaze on Ocelot held steady, impassive. 'Bait.'
'Just do it.'
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Without replying, Rallick left the alley, climbed the steps and entered the Phoenix Inn.
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'There is a shaping in the night,' Crone said, after Turban On-had left. The air around her shimmered as she assumed her true shape.
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Baruk strode to his map table, hands clasped behind his back to still the trembling that had seized them. 'You felt it too, then.' He paused, then sighed. 'All in all, these seem the busiest hours.'
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'A convergence of power ever yields thus,' Crone said, as she rose to stretch her wings. 'The black winds gather, Alchemist. Beware their flaying breath.'
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Baruk grunted. 'While you ride them, a harbinger of our tragic ills.'
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Crone laughed. She waddled to the window. 'My master comes. I've other tasks before me.'
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Baruk turned. 'Permit me,' he said, gesturing. The window swung clear.
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Crone flapped up on to the sill. She swivelled her head round and cocked an eye at Baruk. 'I see twelve ships riding a deep harbour,' she said. 'Eleven stand tall in flames.'
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Baruk stiffened. He had not anticipated a prophecy. Now he was afraid. 'And the twelfth?' he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
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'On the wind a hailstorm of sparks fill the night sky. I see them spinning, spinning about the last vessel.' Crone paused. 'Still spinning.'
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Then she was gone.
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Baruk's shoulders slumped. He turned back to the map on the table and studied the eleven once Free Cities that now bore the Empire flag. Only Darujhistan remained, the twelfth and last marked by a flag that was not burgundy and grey. 'The passing of freedom,' he murmured.
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