Porcupine

For the fourth Solday in a row, Martel and Eleanor went to The Golden Goose. This time, he was able to better pay attention; he kept up with the story and even laughed on occasion. He would not claim it had been a pleasant evening, but tolerable, at least. Having slept properly in the last few days helped his mood as well.

Once the performance had ended, Martel and Eleanor moved through the crowd to enter the back of the theatre, as they had done on previous occasions. Shortly after, a pair of hooded figures left the tavern through the back entrance, walking the familiar route back to the fortress.

This path took them through a particular dark alley that barely allowed light from streetlamps or the moon to reach it. They were walking at a leisurely pace when whistling sounds pierced the air. Three arrows released from archers in hiding, all aimed at the taller shape. Before they had landed, another three followed.

A battlemage's shield would serve to save their life in a critical moment or buy them a few moments of time; it could not withstand this number of attacks. Six arrows, all of them striking unerringly against the head of the hooded figure, spelled death for anyone – except a mageknight, whose magical shield could easily withstand this and more. As if stopped by an invisible wall, every projectile fell to the ground.

"Now!" a voice called out. Mageknights appeared at the other end of the alley. Meanwhile, the target of the assassination renewed his magical shield while drawing his sword, and his companion did likewise. Trapped, the archers turned their arrows on the newcomers with no more effect than their first attempt. Within moments, they had been slain.

***

Theodore, prefect of the second cohort of the Tenth Legion, removed Martel's cloak and looked at the arrows. "Stars damn me, those runes are no jest! They all went for my face."

Next to him, Florence of the seventh cohort removed Eleanor's cloak. "This was amusing. I hope the captain lets us do this again."

Theodore scowled at her. "Amusing for you, maybe. You were not the intended porcupine tonight. Why did I have to be the lure for these assassins?" He picked up one of the arrows and stared at the Tyrian mark.

Valerius appeared next to him, craning his neck. "You are the only one as tall as the captain. They would have guessed something was up if it was me."

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"Cursed by nature's gift," Theodore sighed. "Hey, you think these arrows still work?"

Florence nodded towards the captain and the legate, examining the bodies. Curiously, a small shape accompanied them. "Who do you imagine wants the captain dead?"

"Probably lots." The taller of the mageknights shrugged, running his thumb over the tip of an arrow.

Next to him, Valerius held up his blade, trying to examine it for nicks in the sparse light that reached them from the street. "And we will kill them too if they try."

***

Martel knelt next to one of the bodies, turned it over, and looked up at Weasel. "Well?" he asked.

Nearby, Lara milled about, looking uncomfortable with what looked to be a young thug sharing the company of her captain, perhaps especially in the light of what had just transpired. With five mageknights surrounding him, Martel figured he was safe.

"Yeah, that's one of Kerra's. Not her minion, mind you, but part of a gang she uses for work she doesn't want tied directly to her," the chief explained.

Much like the Night Knives, Martel considered. In another life, this could have been him, lying on the ground.

"All of them archers from some legion or another. Good skills for killing, not much else, so this is the work they could get," Weasel continued. "Good thing you lot brought so many soldiers to this city. I hear you're planning to let them all leave the legions and roam the streets?"

"I pay you for your eyes, not your tongue." One day, Weasel's need to share barbed words would get him in trouble, Martel fully expected, but given the success of his trap tonight, he felt sufficiently magnanimous to let it slide.

"Still waiting on that gold, now you mention it."

Martel deposited a small purse into the boy's waiting hands. "Ten crowns. I suggest you return home and make sure all your people are indoors and staying indoors."

"Wouldn't dream of anything else, chief. I knew this was going to be a night." The boy smiled as one hand ran through the contents of the purse. Satisfied, he disappeared into the dark.

Eleanor returned to him, carrying their cloaks, and she handed him his. "What is the verdict?"

"Arrows inscribed with runes. Cutthroats from the copper lanes. Not that I had any doubt beforehand, but evidence is always nice," Martel said.

"I take it we make our move, in that case?"

"Yes. Kerra must be waiting anxiously to hear how it went. We shouldn't keep her in suspense." He turned towards Lara, who had been examining the other bodies. "Is the cohort ready?"

"It left the fortress a while ago, sir. They should be in position by now."

"Give us a moment to get ahead," he commanded, "before you send them in."

"As you say, sir." She cleared her throat. "Is it necessary for you to go alone, sir? Someone just tried to kill you."

"Exactly. I'm the safest I can be right now." Martel smiled sardonically. "It'll take a while before the next conspirators can get into position and try their luck. Besides," he added, looking at Eleanor, "I have all the protection I need."

"Very well, sir. I shall convey your orders to the prefect."

Martel clasped his cloak around him, pulling up the hood. "Ready?" He would have to get a new one before people started to recognise him just by the colour of his cape.

Eleanor followed his example, providing herself with as much concealment as the hood could offer. "Ready."