Chapter 2

“There’s just no way he’s getting in, Mom.”

“Explain.”

“Every route through the city is watched. High-level guards at all the doors supported by mages. I’m pretty sure every guard is on duty right now and the duke’s hired every merc in Wyere, I think.”

“Except for us.”

“Duh.”

“Don’t say ‘duh’ to your sister.”

“Did they spot you?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Wow, Chloe.”

“Yeah, I told them the duke hired us to test their security. I think they bought it. Mom, he’s not getting in. Not quietly.”

“He’ll get in, girls.”

“Mom, he was killed by a bus.”

“He’ll get in, I said. Our job will be to help him get out.”

No matter how many times he practiced it, falling scared the hell out of Ned. It was no different this time as he watched the duke’s castle grow bigger below him and the wind shrieking in his ears.

They’d started with falling out of trees, then taller trees, then from a high cliff into a river, then Hughie made a series of flights, each time pulling him from the bag that would have been his son’s nursery and Ned now thought of as his apartment, from heights that, they hoped, would be just short of fatal if Ned screwed up.

Maybe it was his magical training helping him with his extreme focus, but Ned had gotten it right every time. Well, except for that once when he’d turned his ankle on the second attempt, but that had been the worst of it. Of course, they’d never tried anything quite this high before.

There was nothing for it. It was the day of his one-man assault so there he was, spread-eagled against the sky, with homemade goggles on, dropping like a skydiver only without a parachute.

Clouds were wet, you know?

Sure, the wind dried him out pretty quickly but still.

From what Ned could tell, he was right on target. The top of the highest tower was rising to meet him and all he had to do was keep his concentration.

It was late in the afternoon on the second day of the Duke of Laggisport’s declared holiday and the duke had been receiving well-wishers and petitioners througout, eating and drinking with his guests, and whatever else he wanted to do, all without leaving the protection of his high walls.

Hughie couldn’t have dropped him much later than now. Ned had to have enough light to see. For example, the tower had a shingled roof and flagpole atop it. It was a spire rather than a battle platform and rumor was that the duke had moved his bedroom there.

Ned didn’t really trust that. As far as he knew, no one had figured out how he’d gotten into the count’s tower but they knew that he had. Ned figured, what? A thirty percent chance the rumors were correct but less than ten that the duke would actually be there.

He still had to check, of course.

It looked like the flagpole was going to miss him, thank goodness, and he was a little closer to the edge of the roof than he liked, but what are you going to do?

Beggars. Choosers.

Sure enough, the flagpole flashed by him at terminal velocity, a bright streak in his peripheral vision. Ned occupied his whole mind with the shingles. When it was time, he reached out a foot, tapped a toe on the roof, and shoved all that kinetic energy from his fall into the arrows in his bag, coming to rest soundlessly and safely on the windy roof of the duke’s tower.

There was a little more wind than he expected. A gust almost blew him over the edge, but he righted himself, shrugged, and looked over the edge.

Fifteen feet below him was the royal’s fancy balcony. He dropped down to it, once again absorbing all the kinetic energy and storing it, this time to keep from making any noise rather than any worry he might hurt himself. He turned to find closed and curtained glass doors preventing access to the duke’s rooms inside.

He didn’t see any lock and when he tried the handle the doors swung open with ease.

The duke’s purported bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the balcony doors, and heavy curtains blocked the light from the windows. Ned saw the impression of a canopied bed and the vague outlines of furniture before the rapid movement of silent shadowy figures garnered his attention.

He held up a hand, closed his eyes tight, and sent an intense strobe of light energy into the room, then he dropped and rolled toward the wall, draining all the light surrounding him until he was nothing more than an amorphous blob of utter blackness lost in the other shadows in the room.

“I can’t see!” said a scruffy fellow with an axe.

“Where is he?”

“Who’s got him?”

Ned stood and moved into the shadows by a large vanity. The vanity itself had nothing on it. No perfumes or jewelry boxes or lotions or anything. Not even a hair tie. Ned suspected it was empty. The Duke of Laggisport lacked a wife. This was a bit of staging. This was a trap.

Tucked in his belt was a new bag, red, modeled after his blue one. In it drifted a room a little larger than the other, a little warmer than the other, a little less homey than the other with no fireplace, a privy with two stalls, and lots and lots of hammocks swinging below a locked trapdoor.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

While the ambushers were still blinking, trying to recover their eyesight, Ned scooped up an archer in a fireman's carry and put him in the bag.

The process was simple. Pick the guy up to ‘take possession,’ intend to put him into storage like anything else, unlock the trapdoor with telekinesis, dump the guy in, and lock the door. He’d practiced it with Hughie until he could do it in his sleep.

An assassin type was next. He stood blinking furiously, a pair of wicked daggers in his hands. Ned knocked the air out of him with a punch to the gut, swept his legs out from under him with his leg, caught the guy by his collar and his belt, and then put him in the bag with his buddy.

Two down, one, two, three… six more to go?

The man with the axe was next. The room was big but it was dark and the fighting, when it started, would be at close quarters. That big clumsy axe was likely to hurt somebody so Ned stepped up to him inside his guard. Then, in one quick motion, Ned grabbed the man under his arms and threw his hip into the guy. The man was knocked off his feet — a classic judo hip throw.

“Whup!” said Scruffy Axe Man as he disappeared into the bag.

Ned stifled a curse at the noise and retreated into the shadows beside the bed.

“Sound off,” said a tall man with two short swords.

“Here,” said an archer.

“Here,” said a man with a hammer and shield.

“Here,” said a woman twirling two daggers.

“Here,” said another woman with her hand outstretched and a longsword at the ready.

There was a long beat as they waited for more replies that didn’t come. The silence became absolute and Ned watched them scan the room for him or any sign of their companions.

Two Swords made a series of hand gestures and the remaining five began to canvass the room. They moved with care, in utter silence. The archer was edging toward one of the windows and the woman with the daggers approached the other. The woman with the longsword backed toward the door that led out of the room and, presumably, to reinforcements.

Dammit, why couldn’t the duke have been in here waiting for him? Why couldn’t the world just give Ned a break and make the fucker just lay down and die? Ned didn’t want to kill these people and he’d try not to. The duke had set this up with these mercenaries here and didn’t mind if some or all of them died so long as it brought an end to Ned. It was wrong and it pissed Ned off.

He put his hand on the bedpost beside him, infusing it with enough kinetic energy to send the frilly monstrosity spinning, knocking the archer, the hammer guy, and the woman with the daggers up onto the bed while Ned charged the longsword.

She thrust at him and then slashed, but Ned batted each attack aside with his gauntlet. His last block sent the sword up above his head. When she brought it back down, he grabbed her wrist, ducked and spun, throwing her over his back and thus into the bag.

An arrow flew at him only to disappear into Ned’s inventory. It was a difficult shot to make when tangled with two other people on a bed and Ned was impressed.

There was a roar behind him and Ned turned to find Two Swords charging him in a fury. No doubt he thought Ned had put his friends into a regular bag of holding, killing them, or driving them irretrievably insane. Well, now wasn’t really the time to explain.

Ned blocked a thrust, then a slash.

More light flooded into the room from either window as the archer and Daggers threw open the curtains. Ned kept absorbing the light anyway, even as his shape became more distinctive. Being a black blot in the shape of a person tended to freak people out.

If it affected these people at all, Ned couldn’t see it.

Hammer was circling behind him.

He saw the archer taking a deep breath, presumably to call for help.

Ned called an arrow and shot him in the stomach.

Ned saw the hammer about to hit him on the shoulder. Ned let it, reaching out a hand to touch the swordsman. He redirected the kinetic energy of the hammer blow into Two Swords’s chest and the man went flying into the wall.

Ned threw an elbow into Hammer’s throat, ducked to clutch the big man’s legs, lifted, and turned.

Daggers was able to check her attack, just barely, and after she had done so, and everybody was safe, Ned put Hammer in the bag.

While Daggers was still off balance, Ned gave her a nudge, causing her to topple. He picked her up by her belt, and then she also disappeared.

Two Swords looked over at his archer who was down, bleeding out on the floor.

“They’re all okay, you know,” Ned said. He patted his red bag. “They’re in here and they’re fine.” He nodded at the archer. “Each hammock in here has a first aid kit with a healing potion inside. Let me get him and —.”

“Are you insane?” asked Two Swords, his face a rictus in fury.

“No,” said Ned. “Ill, certainly. A bit.” Ned tapped his head.

Two Swords charged.

Ned closed his eyes, strobed his gauntlet again, side-stepped, and stuck out his foot. Two Swords, eyes blind and streaming, tripped and went flying. Ned got a hand on his pants leg and into the bag he went.

Ned squatted beside the archer who lay gasping. “Sorry about that,” said Ned.

The archer lunged as best he could with a long knife.

Ned took it from him. He tossed it on the bed.

“Inside,” he said to the archer who was looking down at his belly and the arrow sticking out of him. The man wasn't listening. It was hard to blame him. “Hey!”

The archer looked up at him.

Ned patted his red bag. “Inside are your friends. Any of them have any kind of medical training?”

The man looked at him. He blinked his eyes. It was the slow blink of a dying man in great pain.

“Any of your friends have healing experience?” Ned said, enunciating.

The archer nodded.

“Inside each hammock is a first aid kit, healing stuff, bandages and things, right? And a healing potion.”

The archer nodded.

Ned was careful not to move him too much but lifted and the archer disappeared.

Ned rolled his head on his neck and moved his arms like he’d just completed a portion of his workout and was getting ready for more.

“A trap?” asked Hughie from the balcony.

“Yep,” said Ned. “They were good. Didn’t have great intel though. Two archers.”

Hughie nodded.

“You see anything? The duke?”

Hughie shook his head. “No. He might be in the throne room though. And they’re building some kind of platform in the courtyard.”

Ned came to the balcony and looked out.

“You can’t see it from here,” said Hughie. “There’s a bunch of people in and around the throne room though. Lots of activity through the service entrances. Food and drink deliveries for the feast later.”

Ned looked at the sunset. “Not much later.”

“No. An hour maybe.” Hughie checked his friend over. “Did they get you at all?”

“Nope,” said Ned. “I was lucky. They were good. Came at me all at once. No trash talk. All business.”

“How many?”

“Eight. One of them had a big axe.”

“A what?”

“Axe. A big, sharp axe.”

“Oh.”