Imperial Spy (2 page)

Once out into the streets, Shalidar slowed his pace to a stroll, blending his passage into the normal bustle of the city. Lots of soldiers were abroad, mainly in small groups of six to ten,
patrolling for signs of trouble. Shalidar chose his route to avoid areas of the city where disturbances were likely. None of the soldiers gave him a second glance as he ambled past their patrols.
Street by street, he moved purposely from the central area of the city towards the heart of the military district.

Normally, Shalidar would spend days planning a hit, but now he did not have that luxury. He knew the layout of his next victim’s residence intimately, otherwise he would have been forced
to abandon the kill. As it was, the risk involved was considerable, but that could not be helped. His current employer, Commander Vammus, knew too much about his recent activities. If the General
leaned on him, Shalidar knew the Commander would bleat. Vammus had done nothing wrong, but to Shalidar, he was redundant – a dangerous source of information to be disposed of before General
Surabar had a chance to reach him. There was no question of conscience, or regret. This was business. There was one small problem. The Commander was staying with the other top commanders in the
General’s residence.

There would be one fleeting opportunity for the hit. The audaciousness of what he was about to attempt brought a wolfish smile to his lips as he imagined how his fellow assassins would view it:
a hit with all the hallmarks of a legend. He pulled back his right sleeve and gazed at the stylised image of the dragon on his silver wristlet. Yes, he thought. It would be a kill worthy of the
dragon.

Shalidar knew no other assassin who would brave General Surabar’s house in broad daylight without prior planning, kill one of his commanders, and expect to get away with it. Yet Commander
Vammus had made this both possible, and almost straightforward. The Commander had arranged to occupy the room that offered the easiest concealed access to the house. He had done so to facilitate
secret meetings with Shalidar in a place that no one would expect conspirators to meet. If all went well, the Commander’s duplicity would now prove his undoing.

Shalidar approached the house along the alleyway that ran between the General’s residence and the adjacent house. There was no one in sight and the assassin quickly scaled the high garden
wall, being careful to peep over and confirm that the garden was empty before pulling himself onto the top. There was one small window on this side of the house and Shalidar knew that the chance of
someone looking out and seeing him during these few seconds were slim.

From the top of the garden wall, a narrow ledge that ran right around the house was one large step away, and in daylight the short jump was easy to judge. Shalidar jumped across without
hesitation, conscious that success now depended upon speed, silence and a moderate amount of good fortune.

As swiftly as he could, the assassin shimmied along the ledge and around one difficult corner to the back face of the house. Once there, Shalidar reached up and felt for the ledge below the
Commander’s window. His fingers found purchase and with a heave he pulled himself up, soundlessly transferring his weight onto the flat of one forearm once high enough.

Commander Vammus was alone, scratching away intently at a parchment with his quill. He was so absorbed in his work he did not notice Shalidar until the assassin quietly opened the window.

The Commander’s eyes went wide with surprise.

‘Sha . . .’ he started, rising from his chair.

Shalidar’s stare caused his name to die on Vammus’s lips. Leaping down from the window ledge to land silently inside, Shalidar placed a finger to his lips and then pointed at the
door. Just as he expected, Vammus unconsciously turned his head to look where Shalidar was pointing. The assassin used that moment to step up close and, with an expert grab and twist motion,
snapped the hapless Commander’s neck in one swift movement.

Shalidar staggered as he prevented Vammus from falling to the floor, cursing under his breath that the dead Commander had not kept in shape. Shalidar’s former employer was so overweight
that he would have struggled to lead men in an infantry campaign. It was amazing to Shalidar that a renowned General like Surabar would tolerate an officer like Vammus under his command. Fat and
incompetent, Shalidar thought with a grimace. If it weren’t for the information you held, Surabar might have thanked me for killing you.

Careful not to make any unnecessary noise, Shalidar heaved the dead Commander’s body to the door and opened it a crack. There was no one on the upper landing, but Shalidar could hear
voices in conversation emanating from one of the rooms to his left and further voices down-stairs. For a moment, Shalidar wondered if he needed to make the Commander’s death look accidental.
The General was unlikely to be fooled, so why do it? He could slip out of the window now and no one would be any the wiser, but the top of the stairwell was so near and Shalidar hated a sloppy job.
The body falling down the stairs would provide an excellent diversion, masking any sounds of his escape.

His resolve hardened. He opened the door and dragged Vammus swiftly to the top of the stairs. One powerful heave and the Commander’s body tumbled down the staircase with a series of loud
thumps and thuds, bringing exclamations and the sound of running feet.

Shalidar was fast. In a flash he was back through the door and had silently closed it behind him. Seconds later he was outside the window and lowering himself back down to the ledge beneath.

No one except Surabar would suspect that Vammus had done anything other than trip and fall down the stairs, but Surabar was still at the Palace. The commotion inside made Shalidar smile. The hit
had worked like a dream. The dragon had struck again.

‘. . . Very well, I’ll take the Mantle of Emperor, but I want it known that I’m only acting as Regent until a more suitable candidate presents
himself.’

‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ Femke said, curtsying deeply and bowing her head, ‘might I suggest you would be better not to announce your future intentions, or you’ll be
inundated with Noblemen, major and minor, all claiming to be suitable candidates for the Mantle. Why don’t you take the title, then bestow it on the most suitable candidate in your own time?
If no one knows your intent, you’ll be more likely to see them as they really are.’

‘Good, Femke! Your logic is sound. There are commanders I’ve worked with who could do with a dose of your powers of reasoning. So be it.
Go.
Spread the word that Emperor
Surabar is in control and things are going to change.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. With pleasure.’

Before leaving, Femke walked around the desk to recover her first dagger from the shoulder of the dead Sorcerer Lord, Vallaine. Even in death, Vallaine’s eyes emanated a disturbing evil.
Femke considered leaving the dagger where it was, but did not want to display her discomfort to the new Emperor. She bent and jerked the blade forcibly from the Sorcerer’s shoulder.

Blood pooled in the wound, but did not flow out; the final proof that Vallaine’s heart had stopped. The Sorcerer had shown surprising resilience to her poison during their struggle. The
thought had occurred to Femke that he might be using sorcery to fool her again, but there was no faking this. The Sorcerer was dead.

In the past, killing had always produced a profound guilt in Femke. The taking of another’s life was a terrible deed, and the young spy had often been haunted in dreams by those whose
lives she had taken. The list of her victims was not long, but there had been times when killing had been necessary. Femke had never ducked responsibility. Taking the life of Lord Vallaine,
however, brought no guilt. Looking at the twisted features of the Sorcerer, Femke judged that if evil could manifest itself as a person, then Vallaine’s was a fitting guise.

Vallaine’s devious plot to win ultimate power in Shandar had been clever. He and Shalidar had fooled the entire Palace staff with their deception. Shalidar had killed the real Emperor of
Shandar for Vallaine. The Sorcerer had then used his powers to alter his own wizened features so that he could replace the Emperor with no one the wiser. Where they had hidden the real
Emperor’s body was still not known. It had taken Femke months to piece together the puzzle and see through Lord Vallaine’s disguise, but today she had ended the Sorcerer’s evil
machinations and sent Shalidar running. With General Surabar taking the Imperial Mantle, the Shandese Empire could look forward to a brighter future. If anyone could tame the wild plotting of the
Shandese Court, it was the General, Femke mused.

As Femke left the Emperor’s study, Surabar was helping the conscious guard to his feet and telling him to mobilise the Palace guard force into a search for Shalidar.

‘Femke, could you send a medic to attend to this fellow?’ Surabar asked over his shoulder, indicating the unconscious guard. ‘He should be all right, but someone should look
him over.’

‘Certainly, your Majesty,’ Femke replied. With a sharp tug, she pulled her second blade from the wooden doorframe and secreted it back up her sleeve. ‘I’m on my
way.’

It was a very tired young woman who wearily pulled the blankets over her body that night. After the tense action of the morning, there followed an afternoon and evening of dashing around the
inner city, spreading the news of Vallaine’s deception and Surabar’s rise to power to the most effective gossips and rumour-mongers in Shandrim, Shandar’s capital. As
Femke’s eyes closed, her lips turned up in a gentle smile of satisfaction as she contemplated her day’s work. Everyone would believe the General had unmasked Vallaine’s evil
deception. Her anonymity remained intact and once again she would fade quietly into the background – the perfect place for a spy. Femke hoped that Emperor Surabar would employ her skills as
the last true Emperor had. She enjoyed her work.

The streets of Shandrim were buzzing with the news the next morning. There was just one topic of conversation, and Femke was pleased to note that few voices aired negative
views of Surabar as the new Emperor. Femke spent an hour wandering the streets, listening to the run of conversation before returning to the Palace.

The General was in the study where Femke had last seen him the day before, though the room was barely recognisable. The drinks cabinet had gone, and the recess in the wall used by previous
Emperors to conceal spies was now shelved and loaded with neat lines of books and scrolls. The desk had been moved so that it faced the door, forming an instant barrier to the person entering. All
other chairs had been removed, and previous pictures and decorations replaced with a selection of gleaming weapons, all mounted with exacting military precision. There was no doubting the
background of the room’s owner.

As Femke entered, she bowed, sparing a quick look around to absorb the changes before returning her attention to the General’s welcoming smile.

‘Well? What do you think of it?’ he asked with a sly smile.

‘To be honest, your Majesty, I feel like I’ve just walked into a Court Martial, and that I’m the one on trial,’ Femke replied with an apologetic shrug.

‘Perfect!’ he said firmly. ‘That is the general idea. It’s good to see you’re brave enough to be honest. I hope you’ll stay that way.’

Surabar’s eyes caught hers with a piercing look. The expression was easy to read – anyone close to him must be loyal to the last breath. Femke had started her relationship with the
new Emperor well, but she did not know how Surabar viewed spies. His dislike for assassins was common knowledge. If he had a similar view of spies, then Femke was out of a job.

‘Tell me, Femke, have you heard anything of Shalidar since yesterday?’

‘No, your Majesty. I’ve been too busy to worry about following up on him. I take it your men haven’t found him?’

Surabar scowled and tapped at his chin with a forefinger in irritation. He looked at her appraisingly for a second, his eyes taking in her slim build, straight stance and bright, intelligent
eyes. His own eyes narrowed as he wondered if the blonde, shoulder-length hair was real, or a very convincing wig. Probably the latter, he decided.

The girl was perfect spy material. She was clever, deft of hand and deadly in a fight. She was neither tall, nor short. Her nose was straight and unremarkable. Her cheekbones were not distinct
like a classic beauty, yet there was something of beauty in the symmetry of her features. This evenness made her features incredibly adaptable. A very useful tool, he realised.

‘Apparently he was seen strolling out of the Palace after his abrupt departure from our little meeting yesterday,’ the General said eventually. ‘Nobody has seen him since. It
appears he called on Commander Vammus in the early afternoon to pay his respects.’

‘I assume the Commander didn’t personally inform you of the visit,’ Femke observed, giving a slight wince.

‘Vammus suffered a nasty accident. Witnesses heard him fall down the stairs, but nobody heard him cry out. His neck was broken when he reached the bottom. I strongly suspect he was dead
before his body rolled down the stairs.’