Town of white on scorching night
Shifting blade shall now take flight.
In the middle of the dusty plains, a white town shimmered on a hill, like a ghostly mirage in the moonlight.
Freeroamers stood watchfully around their Guard House: two by the back door, two patrolling the verandah, and three circling the perimeter of the yard. They were almost invisible in the shadows, save the occasional glint of silver where their badges caught patches of starlight. A sliver of moon sat on the edge of the plains below. The night was still but far from silent; even this late in the evening, swarms of male cicadas sang their grating serenade in the trees.
The racket was beginning to irk the sentries.
So much so that one of the Freeroamers patrolling the boundary picked up a stone and hurled it at the big oak tree that leaned over the House. Several of the insects dropped to the ground, dead, but the rest just continued buzzing their tiny drums, oblivious.
"Gah, shuddup," the young Freeroamer muttered under his breath. "Can't hear meself think!" With a glare at the clicking, black-armoured tree, he turned and headed back towards the House. As he did so, he caught sight of Lieutenant-Commander Cairan on the verandah swing his great bow in the direction of the disturbance.
Quickly, the Freeroamer gestured to himself, making an apologetic sign. Cairan scowled and signalled for him to keep his eyes sharp for infiltrators. Then the Centaur disappeared around the corner of the porch.
At that moment, the stone that the sentry had just flung came flying back at great speed, striking him precisely in the back of the neck.
The Freeroamer dropped without a sound.
Swiftly and smoothly, a shadow detached itself from the oak tree and dragged the unconscious man into the undergrowth.
A minute later, the Freeroamer resumed his patrol, albeit with a slight swagger in his step.
In his cell, Nightwalker opened his eyes.
Turning his head, he saw a dark-cloaked figure standing by the bars, holding up something rather wonderful that glinted and jingled in the faint starlight washing in from the tiny slit window.
He smiled. "About time." He pushed himself up, swung his legs off the bed and stood up, yawing and stretching. "Got breakfast for me, too?"
"I've got better than breakfast," the figure teased.
Nightwalker sauntered up to the bars and leaned against them. "I thought they warned you not to come within arm's reach of me?"
"Oh, I'd prefer to be much closer than that." Moving close to the bars, she reached in and stroked his face seductively with the keys.
"Are the others in position?" he asked as Teska moved away to unlock the cell door.
"Oh yeah," she replied. "Toooo easy. And too much fun." As the lock clicked, she twirled in her cloak and opened the door for him.
Nightwalker swung out of his cell. "Too much fun," he murmured. Then suddenly he seized her and flung her against the bars in a passionate kiss.
She returned the favour hungrily, her hands running over his naked torso.
His own hand caressed the curves of her body, moving slowly downwards until it reached her thigh, where her knife was sheathed.
His fingers slipped around the hilt.
Teska's hand suddenly gripped his own, with a strength that belied her small stature. "Now what," she breathed against his lips, "would you need that for?"
Nightwalker held her gaze, eyes glinting. "You wouldn't want me to go unarmed, would you?"
Teska stared up into his eyes. "No, of course n–" She stopped as he laughed silently at his own dire joke. "That's not funny, Nightwalker!" But she was cracking up herself, now. She punched him in the ribs. "Stop it!"
"No, you're right," Nightwalker agreed, taking deep breaths, partly to get a grip on himself, and partly because her blow had slightly winded him. "You're right, it's not funny at all."
He rested his arm on her shoulder. "What will be far more amusing..." his lips found hers again, "will be the look on Flint's face... when I point that stupid crossbow... at his head..."
Teska wrapped her arms around his neck. "Can I have that crossbow when you're finished with it?"
Nightwalker shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he replied regretfully.
Teska frowned in disappointment. "Aww," she said. "Why n–" She gave a slight jerk, and seemed to be having trouble getting the rest of the sentence out. Her dusky skin went pale, her expression turning from confusion to fear and realisation.
"Because," Nightwalker sighed. "I don't need you any more."
He removed the knife from the back of her neck, hot blood gushing over his hand as he did so. Gently, he let her sink to the floor. He had severed her spinal cord, so that she could not move.
Crouching in front of her, he wiped her own knife on her uniform. "I didn't want to do that," he told her apologetically. "But if you're willing to betray the Freeroamers so easily, how can I trust you? Why wouldn't you double-cross me, as well, hmm?"
Blood spilled from Teska's lips as she choked, struggling to breathe. Tears slipped from her beautiful dark blue eyes like stars falling from the night sky.
"That's what got you into the Freeroamers in the first place, isn't it?" Nightwalker continued. "You told me yourself that you were thrown into the Royal Dungeons for treason. Selling Sirinese military secrets to the Darorian Army. Tsk, tsk." Lifting his knife, he stroked her cheek, catching her tears on the blade, watching them mingle with the blood. "I can't abide traitors," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
Watching her suffer was painful. His blade traced the line of her jaw and moved down to her throat. With a quick motion, he ended her horror.
When the light had gone from her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her one final time. "What a waste," he muttered, licking the blood from his lips. He stood up. "Damn, I need a smoke."
He walked over to the battered wardrobe standing against the back wall. Sticking his blood-streaked knife into the door, he opened it and retrieved his clothes. Unfortunately, none of them contained any smoking weed or weapons. Flint had discarded all those in the bush somewhere near Meadrun. Nightwalker was annoyed.
Don't worry, Flint, he thought as he tugged his boots on, awkwardly with one hand. I'll find you, and that creep sorcerer, too.
He shrugged his jacket on, not bothering with a shirt. Metal clinked as he did so. This jacket was his pride; it contained souvenirs of all the people he had killed. He smiled, looking forward to sticking some piece of both Flint and Lord Requar on it. He would make a special place for them.
Banging the wardrobe door closed, he pulled out his knife and started across the shadowy guardroom, then hesitated and walked back to Teska. Removing her badge, he pinned it onto his left sleeve, in the same position the Freeroamer's wore theirs. Satisfied, he went quickly to the small table in the middle of the room and unhooked the oil lantern hanging above it. He did not light the lantern, but instead carried it on the end of his knife towards the door.
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As he reached the wooden ramp, a movement to his right caught his eye. He spun, then relaxed. He'd forgotten there was another prisoner in here.
The kid scrambled up to the bars of his cell, wide-eyed in part horror, part excitement as he stared at Teska's body. "Nightwalker!" he hissed. "Let me outta here, man!"
Nightwalker looked at the ceiling, pretending to consider the youth's request. "Mmm, I don't think so," he replied. "You'll get in my way." He continued up the ramp.
"No I won't! I won't!" the youth pleaded. "I'll help you escape! I'll... I'll watch yer back!"
Nightwalker ignored him.
"C'mon, man! Please! Just unlock the cell! You can do whatever you want, an' I'll go my own way!"
Nightwalker paused at the door. Then he turned and walked back down the ramp. "Actually," he said, setting down the lantern, "there is something you can do for me."
"Anything!" the boy said, looking awed that the leader of the Bladeshifters was actually acknowledging his existence, let alone wanted a favour. "You name it!"
Nightwalker glanced up at the closed door of the guardroom, then sidled close to the bars. He raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to do this, kid? You're probably not gonna like it."
"As long as it gets me out of here, I don't care!"
Nightwalker grinned. "Fantastic. Ready?"
The boy nodded eagerly.
Nightwalker plunged his knife into the boy's eye. "Shut up."
Yanking the blade free, he twisted an earring from the boy's ear. "Much obliged," he said drily, giving a bow. Then he left the unfortunate prisoner staggering convulsively against the wall of his cell, leaking blood all over the floor.
Retrieving his lantern, Nightwalker moved back up the ramp to the door. There he paused, listening.
Teska had related detailed information on the movements, positions and shift changes of all the Freeroamer guards. The fools were all expecting the Bladeshifters to attempt to break in, so they'd sent most of their men to skirt the perimeter of the yard to stop anyone coming anywhere near the Guard House. There was also a second team further down the hill, no doubt to sweep in behind the Bladeshifters and block their escape route.
What none of them had planned on was an attack from behind their very backs.
Turning the doorknob quietly, Nightwalker peered out into the hall.
A single oil lantern, turned down low, burned on the wall beside the guardroom door. To his left, the corridor turned a corner that led to the back door. To his right, it stretched away through an open door into a pool of blackness – the reception area. Halfway down the hallway between him and the reception was a flight of stairs leading upwards, and a closed door.
There was no one to be seen anywhere.
Nightwalker smirked. Spread your folks a little thin, haven't you, Cairan?
He considered the floor. Dusty, worn floorboards that probably creaked like hell. But there was no help for it.
Slipping out into the hall, he began walking as casually as possible towards the darkened entrance room. He'd guessed correctly: the floorboards complained with each step. He winced, but kept his pace measured as he passed the staircase. Hopefully, to anyone listening, he sounded like he belonged there.
No one appeared.
The knife in his hand started twirling.
He felt a sweat break out as he passed the closed door. He kept his ears sharp for any sound, especially the ominous clack of hooves. He wanted to avoid that big black Centaur at all costs. Those horse-folk could kick like murder…
He reached the entrance room with no sign of trouble. The main doors and casements were secured, leaving only faint grey slits to identify the closed shutters.
Nightwalker hesitated just inside the threshold, slipping into the shadows beside the door, relying on instinct to warn him if anyone else was hiding in the room. After a couple of minutes staring at shadows, he satisfied himself that the room was indeed deserted and moved over to the desk.
With a careful glance back into the hall, Nightwalker set his lantern down, unscrewed the top and lit it. Taking one of the papers from the desk, he set it alight and then shoved it in a copy of Equestrian Warfare Tactics as a bookmark. Then he opened the lantern's well and splashed the remaining oil across the table and the floor.
The distant sound of the back door opening sent his heart stuttering. He managed to duck behind the desk just as a Freeroamer came strolling around the corner at the far end of the hall.
Nightwalker did not panic, but remained crouching, still and silent, as the flames on the desk flared up with a whoosh.
The footsteps in the hall stopped. Then suddenly they became hurried. Nightwalker heard a gasp.
"What the…?"
The Freeroamer knocked the burning book onto the floor and stamped on it. A moment later, he collapsed with blood streaming from the back of his neck.
Moving swiftly now, the Bladeshifter snatched the dead constable's badge, closed the foyer door and moved over to the locked and barred main doors. As quietly as possible, he unlocked them with the keys he'd stolen from Teska – wincing slightly with the click – then silently slid the heavy crossbar aside.
But he didn't leave at once. Instead, he slipped over to the nearest shuttered window, with a glance over his shoulder at the room.
The flames were quickly consuming the desk. He had to get out of there, fast.
But not yet. He needed to wait…
On cue, Cairan turned a corner of the verandah. Peering through chinks in the shutters, Nightwalker held his breath as the Centaur's black bulk passed him. Fortunately, the Freeroamer was looking out towards the trees, and had not yet noticed the flicker of fire within the Guard House.
Keep moving, Nightwalker urged silently. That's it, you big ugly beast, keep clopping along…
Then the scuff of more urgent footsteps rounded the other end of the porch. Nightwalker crept over to the other window to overhear a sudden whispered conversation.
“…Bladeshifters have been spotted on the southern boundary."
"How many?"
“Three confirmed."
"There will be more than that. Most likely, they have us surrounded. Has there been any conflict, or anything else out of the ordinary?"
"Not as yet, sir."
"Good. Signal to the perimeter sentries to retreat as discreetly as possible. Form into tight patrol lines around the House. No one is to engage until I give the order. Is that clear?"
“Yes sir."
The subordinate Freeroamer moved quickly out of sight. Cairan remained standing at the western corner.
Turn the corner, Nightwalker willed. Come on…
He needed only a second to slip out the main doors. Once outside, the rest of his escape was already taken care of. His Bladeshifters knew what they were doing, unlike these blue-sleeved pansies. Perhaps he could make it while the Centaur had his back turned…
Cairan turned and started back the way he had come.
Nightwalker mouthed a vehement curse. Behind him, the flames were roaring, catching on hanging banners and licking the ceiling. Smoke swirled around the room. Anyone passing the windows could not now fail to notice the glare of fire between the shutters.
Darting back to the other casement he tensed, knife raised. His heart drummed as passionately as the insects in the trees. Exhilaration ran through him, fuelled him. Danger was what he lived for.
He felt like dancing.
The response came quickly. There was a brief clatter of hooves on the porch; then the doors burst inwards with violent force.
Nightwalker sprang.
Not towards Cairan, but out the window.
Despite his swiftness, an arrow missed him by inches, lodging in a verandah support.
Nightwalker fled around the eastern corner just as another Freeroamer rounded the southern end. Without hesitation, the Bladeshifter sprinted directly towards him. The young Freeroamer let out a startled cry, raising his sword.
Jamming his knife in his own mouth, Nightwalker spun, grabbed the railing with his good hand and brought his legs around in a sweeping kick to the Freeroamer's head, knocking him down and dropping over the railing himself in the same movement.
No sooner was he on the ground than he was running. Behind him, the verandah shook as Cairan pounded after him. Arrows grew out of the dirt all around.
Nightwalker ran for his life, aware that one mistake would see him with more bristles in his back than a ladies' comb. Behind him, desperate orders rang through the night. He could sense the Centaur sighting up at his back, and wondered if the drone of cicadas was the last thing he'd ever hear...
A Freeroamer raced out of the tree shadows in front of him, his bow already releasing its arrow…
Gasping, Nightwalker raised his knife, knowing it was already too late…
But the arrow sailed over his head, producing a sharp cry of pain from somewhere behind him.
Not looking back to see who'd been hit, hoping viciously it was the Centaur, Nightwalker kept running. As he reached the Freeroamer-disguised-Bladeshifter, the man gave him a thumbs-up and a gold-toothed grin.
Nightwalker grinned back in relief and nodded. His comrade gave a birdlike whistle and suddenly Bladeshifters were pouring out of the trees from every direction, screaming, howling and loosing arrows and all manner of projectiles at the Freeroamers.
Pandemonium erupted. Amid the confusion, the Guard House exploded into flames.
As he retreated into the cover of the forest, Nightwalker couldn't resist turning around to look. His glee was short-lived, however.
Longbow in hand, blood streaking from an arrow lodged in his shoulder and eyes burning fiercer than the fire backlighting him, Lieutenant-Commander Cairan thundered across the yard towards him.
"Crap," Nightwalker swore, and ran.
But he didn't run blindly. His escape had been carefully planned out beforehand. Teska had given him precise directions as to where to run. He just hoped fervently that he remembered them correctly…
The hillside was steep and treacherous, pockmarked with hidden gullies, depressions and ridges. Running down it in the dark was suicide, but Nightwalker was nimble and had rehearsed every step of the way thoroughly in his head. Locked up and bored in his cell, there had been little else for him to think about, except for ways of decapitating Flint…
A tree splintered close to his head, causing him to duck. Panting, he leapt over an inconspicuous dark patch of undergrowth that he knew to be a concealed death trap, landed on a slide of gravel, slipped and fell. He let the loose rocks and dirt carry him down to the base of a ridge, then hastily scrambled to his feet.
Cairan burst out of the trees above him, sighting him with his bow.
It was point blank range. There was nowhere for Nightwalker to go…
Then the Centaur's hooves caught the hidden tripwire.
He pitched forward spectacularly, flying head over heels off the ridgetop. He hit the ground heavily and tumbled away down the embankment, kicking up sprays of bracken and dirt as he disappeared from sight.
Gasping and panting, Nightwalker leaned against the ridge wall, but found enough breath to laugh.
He laughed and laughed.