AZZANON – DEVILLIERS MANOR, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM

The elegantly dressed man glided across the floor of the Debutante Ball, his eyes fixed on his target. The young and eligible children of Klydor’s richest and most powerful families surrounded him, reveling in a celebration of their coming of age.

‘Music – Not the worst I have heard. Carries a rhythm well enough for dancing, but I feel confident I could play at least two of the instruments better than this band are.’

‘The meal – Surprisingly good. The chef even managed to avoid burning the venison into charcoal. Unusual in the extreme in this area.’

‘The wine - was even passable as such. But some of the wine was Drasnian after all. Often imitated. Never duplicated. Careful. Do not let Drasnian pride blow your cover.’

He stepped a little more lightly, and smiled even more affectionately, as he reached his target.

“My lady, your beauty is like that of the reddest rose…” he began, addressing the stunning young girl before him, “…Sweet and delicate, yet bold and undoubtedly exquisite. Even from across the room I felt compelled to come nearer and marvel at how resplendent you appear.”

The glint in a young lady's eye whenever she is paid a unexpectedly beautiful compliment was one of life’s greatest joys for Azzanon Klarence Thibaut III.

‘With such simple words one can accomplish so much, winning favour and trust in only a few precious seconds. They've also landed me in trouble just as quickly, but I'm fairly certain this enchanting redhead isn't married.’

The lady, momentarily lost for words, blushed deeply. The group of women around her tittered with barely contained excitement.

“My name is Lord Ranzar Ackton the third, of Lotan,” Azzanon lied, aware that the real Ackton would never be this well dressed, or this suave, “And I would be honoured were you to give me your name.” He waited patiently, his most charming smile in place.

‘I actually have no idea what name she is going by here.’

“Gaebriel,” came a faint whisper, the slightest tinge of a blush colouring her beautiful face. “Gaebriel Curzik.”

‘Using her real first name. A little lazy, but it does ensure a more genuine reaction if her name is called. I guess we can’t all be professionals.’

The young girl with stunning long red hair and pale blue eyes had taken the bait, and now it was time for Azzanon to reel her in.

‘And the best way to do that will be to get her away from these more vigilant chaperones; obviously here to protect her from creatures not all that different to myself. I dislike pretending to be Lotese, but it is unlikely that the entourage of this young girl would respond so warmly to my true identity.’

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me in the next dance?” he asked, the smile still plainly apparent and his hand now held out to her. With a simple nod she placed her own hand within his and made to stand up. But before she could do such, Azzanon made a great spectacle of gently kissing the knuckles on the proffered hand. With a quick wink directed at the nearest of the chaperones, Azzanon led Gaebriel away from their influence and onto the dance floor.

It turned out that Gaebriel Curzik was a delightful dancer, easily performing some of the more complex and glamorous movements with a grace which was beginning to draw attention to them.

‘I do not think this a good thing. Under normal circumstances I would like nothing more than to show off and be the centre of attention, but the close scrutiny of an audience will make my mission much more difficult. Perhaps we should tone down the fancy dance moves.’

Gaebriel however, seemed to take delight from the attention and began to lead Azzanon into more and more complicated steps.

‘Taking the lead? How bold.’

Azzanon was more impressed than annoyed, and did little to stop her. The results were hushed whispers and gasps of amazement as the two twirled around and around the dance floor. Gaebriel determined to push her newfound partner to his limits. Azzanon’s ego required that he prove he had none.

Azzanon did make a few covert attempts to end the dance after each song, but each time Gaebriel held his hand tightly and requested one more. With the crowd focus on them Azzanon did not want to humiliate the girl by walking away, and it was hard enough for him to refuse a beautiful woman anything at the best of times. And he had not lied about that - Gaebriel was beautiful.

‘If I am to have any chance of successfully completing what I have come here to do, I have to get the young Gaebriel away from the other guests and on her own. Just exactly how I might accomplish that is currently alluding me.’

He was still looking for a solution when his time ran out.

The first warning was the alarmed shriek from one of the guests at the front of the hall. This was followed by the guests at the top of the stairway starting to scurry down the stairs and onto the dance floor in what seemed more like panic than enthusiasm. When the sounds of smashing glass rang out from the raised dining area which overlooked the bar and dance floor, the music stopped.

‘Now what, genius? You danced instead of running. Now, all the exits from the room will be covered. Well, I could get a bottle of that wine, and watch a room of Klydorian’s finest descend into chaos and panic. I wonder if there are any Knights here on a night out?’

Four figures clad in skin-tight black garb, with fashionable masks concealing their identity, muscled their way into view up on the balcony. All on the dance floor froze and looked up at them.

‘Ahh, our new hosts. I don’t think the theme for tonight was black skin-wraps. The masks are nice though. I will grant you that.’

“Greetings esteemed and honoured guests. Please excuse the interruptions but your gracious host has stepped out for a minute and he asked me to run things until he returns. Now what I...” The man's instructions were drowned out by the shocked sounds emanating from all over the hall. The voice coming from the lead figure was calm and serene, with an arrogance that made Azzanon want to strangle him. It was tantalizingly familiar but he could not place a name or face to it. After several moments of increasing noise and outrage from the gathered nobles, the figure motioned to the similarly clad form on his right.

“Quiet!” barked a deep masculine voice. About half of the crowd went silent, but Azzanon recognised that control of the audience was on the verge of being lost.

‘Congratulations. Half of your audience are now too scared to be rational. These are the rich upper classes. They do not take surprises such as this well, and they certainly are not used to feeling powerless and being told what to do. This could get really ugly.’

People started to panic, and Azzanon could sense they were about to start bolting for exits. The first figure gestured to his right again and the response was immediate. Without hesitation the man raised a crossbow to his shoulder and fired. His target, a young man trying to calm his emotional date, slumped to the ground as the quarrel punched into his back. The crowd erupted into hysterical screams and people tried to run but found their paths blocked by more of the dark clad forms. More crossbows went off.

‘Amateurs. But this is our best chance to escape.’

Azzanon pulled Gaebriel close and held her tight to prevent her from doing anything to draw attention to herself. She resisted only slightly before allowing herself to be drawn into the embrace.

“Stay low and quiet. If we keep our cool, we will be fine.” Azzanon whispered encouragingly.

He then ducked down low to avoid being seen amongst the panicking crowd, and started pushing his way towards the kitchen entrance, holding Gaebriel’s hand tight to ensure she followed. Around him the screaming continued, but with the severe nature they were dealing with the crowd, Azzanon could tell these men would soon have it all back under control.

‘There will be much mourning amongst the Klydorian nobility by daylight tomorrow. And then the demand for justice will begin. The fallout from this will be monumental. I would not want to be one of the parties behind this for all the money in the world, either as a sponsor or a participant.’

As he neared the kitchen, Azzanon could see only one figure left guarding the door.

‘One of the band! Explains a lot.’

Two others who had been nearby were now rushing to help their colleagues hold the crowd back from the main entrance. With a quick glance Azzanon could see that a small group of the young men had rushed the main door, and the guards were struggling to turn them back. Much of the crowd’s attention was also momentarily diverted.

‘I have often thought it better to be lucky than good.’

He used a large overweight man with a bright red robe and a ridiculous beard as a screen. This allowed him to get within 3 paces of the barely adequate lute player. He let go of Gaebriel’s hand and lunged. The lute player started to bark a command at the old man to move back, but never even saw Azzanon until his right fist smashed into the side of his head.

‘That is for crimes against music.’

The man, stunned by the blow, offered little resistance as Azzanon tackled him through the kitchen door. The sound of his crossbow hitting the floor was concealed by the din in the other room, as was the sounds of Azzanon’s fists impacting the guard’s head twice more. Azzanon waited a second to ensure the guard was unconscious, and then retrieved both his crossbow and the small sword from the man’s side.

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‘This is why in Drasnia, we are allowed to wear our swords all of the time.’

Noise from the back of the kitchen alerted Azzanon to the fact that his attack had not gone totally unnoticed. He ducked behind the large central counter that ran the length of the kitchen, as two similarly dressed men in full black bodysuits entered from the kitchen’s rear door. The two swords they had drawn left little question as to their intent, and from their short lean builds, and the thin curved nature of their blades, Azzanon guessed they were probably Drasak thugs. If they were, there was sure to be at least one Drasak assassin around as well.

‘What was it my superiors said? ‘No Drasak clan will dare to perform a hit on Klydorian soil.” I do tire of being right all the time.’

Azzanon silently slid a large carving knife off the counter and continued to creep forwards. He had moved halfway through the room before the first of the men walked around the counter and into view. Knowing this was the only element of surprise he would get Azzanon threw the knife at this target. Before even waiting to see if it hit, he then rose up, planted his left hand on the counter, and vaulted across to the other side, towards the second man.

Azzanon extended his right foot and caught the man just underneath the chin, knocking him off his feet and onto the still burning hot-plate behind him. The man reflexively recoiled from the hot plate, but not before his hands were badly burned, and he dropped his sword. Azzanon ended the man’s suffering seconds later when he drove his own sword deep into the man’s chest. Azzanon then spun towards the first figure in time to see him collapse into a large pile of dishes, still clutching the knife embedded in his chest while knocking several pots and pans noisily to the floor.

‘Well, what do you know? You can throw a butcher’s cleaver. May need to rethink those expensive throwing knives.’

Then the door behind him opened.

Azzanon spun, sword raised, and prepared to defend himself. Much to his surprise it was the devastatingly beautiful face of the young Gaebriel that greeted him.

‘This pleases me for several reasons. One, it shows the young girl has the spirit to follow me on her own. And second, it stops me having to go back in after her.’

“Did anyone see you come in here?” Azzanon asked.

“No…” she hesitated for a few seconds as she stared at the bodies lying on the ground at Azzanon’s feet, and the bloodied sword in his hand. Azzanon snapped his fingers to get her attention again.

‘Stay with me.’

“No. They were watching the fight at the front,” she continued, her natural Drasak accent breaking through her thin façade.

“Good then we must get you out of here right now.” Azzanon grabbed her hands and began to lead her out through the back of the kitchen and towards the rear of the manor. She initially struggled to keep up because of her shoes, but she quickly kicked them off and was then able to run much faster.

‘Excellent. The girl is practical too.’

“Where are all the servants?” Gaebriel asked. Azzanon had already seen glimpses of a few as he moved around.

“Dead, or unconscious. We must move quickly or we may soon join them.” Azzanon braced himself for her reaction.

‘It is possible, given her background, that she may have become accustomed to death, but it is more likely that her family have shielded from the murder and assassination that is rampant in her homeland.’

“Dead…” fear began to creep into the young woman’s voice, and she began to slow, forcing Azzanon to try harder in his efforts to drag her on.

‘Right again! She has been shielded.’

“Princess Jadesson,” he waited for his words to sink in before he continued, “these men are here for you. I am here to rescue you. Now you must be brave, and try to keep up with me.”

“But…how do you know…” the young Jadesson was now stammering, and her body language was of someone quite unsure of herself.

‘Who you really are? Because the Drasnian Intelligence agency knows everything. Helping Drasaks, our hated rivals, is new though.’

“That is not important, but I do not wish a Drasak Princess to fall into the hands of the Drasak Assassin Guilds.” Azzanon could see all the questions and emotions playing across her face.

‘Use this uncertainty to make her more malleable. We have to keep moving.’

Azzanon grabbed her hand again, and hurried through the kitchen. This time she did her utmost to keep up.

Azzanon could see a stagecoach through the rear windows of the manor. It had a full team of horses at the ready, making it an inviting target, but the two dark-clad, mask wearing guards posed a problem. With too much of a chance that there would be even more guards out that way, Azzanon decided to head through the door and corridor that lead to the servant’s quarters instead. Here the previous opulence of the furnishings was quickly replaced with far more functional furniture and fittings.

They raced past lines of simple beds, and through a very plain meals room, before coming to the double wooden doors that lead outside. If Azzanon had remembered the layout of the manor right, this should put them only a small distance from an orchard that ran all the way to the front wall of the manor. Behind them he could hear the sound of people tearing up the kitchen, and raised voices out near the stagecoach.

‘They have found our trail.’

Azzanon opened one of the double doors and peered outside. The lights from the house, and those on either side of the main pathway lit up most of the far side of the front gardens. Fortunately the orchard was relatively dark. There was little movement other than two figures moving around the front gate. From here Azzanon could see their white tabards, and the purple dragon symbol of the Klydorian Guard displayed prominently on their chests. But from the stealthy way they walked, and the small Drasak size of their frames, he doubted that these men were in the employ of the Klydorian throne.

Keeping low, he stepped out of the doorway. With a quick glance to ensure there were no unwanted eyes watching, he brought Gaebriel out into the pathway and began to move quickly towards the orchard. They covered the distance quickly, and then began to sprint through the well manicured rows of fruit trees and beautiful rose bushes. Azzanon heard the faint exclamations of pain as some of the dry twigs and rose thorns stung Gaebriel’s now bare feet, but the young girl held the pain in, barely missing a step as they rushed towards the front wall.

‘She is tougher than I anticipated.’

The front wall of the manor was ten feet high, with solid stone base of five feet. It also had square columns every forty feet, and ornate metal-work spanning these gaps. Because of the flowery nature of the pattern, the top of the metalwork was similar to a series of blades, and was extremely difficult to climb over without risking potential injury. While Azzanon was sure he could climb this with ease, he had serious doubts that the young Jadesson could navigate the metal-work safely.

‘Ending the rescue by impaling the princess on a flowery blade is not what I had in mind. But the column may be far more manageable.’

Azzanon could hear the sounds of coaches moving through the street on the other side of the wall. There was clearly more activity among the nobility than just this party tonight.

‘Once we cross that wall we will be in the open. It is important that we find a faster form of transportation quickly. We will need to time this just right.’

“Wait Here. I will help you up in a moment,” he instructed, having already decided it best if he went up the wall first. With a short run-up, he launched himself off the wall and tried to grab the top of the column. Standing only five and a half feet tall, this was no small feat. But his fingers got a firm grasp, and he pulled himself up onto the column. He could see a stagecoach heading in this direction, and from the look of the heraldry, it was a Lotese Merchant.

‘Praise Faylen. This could work out perfectly.’

Aware that he was now in the half-light from one of the street lanterns, Azzanon had to hurry. He lay down across the column and lowered his hands back down to Gaebriel.

“Come on… jump and I will grab your hands.”

“I don’t know if I can make it…” she replied hesitantly.

“Of course you can, I will grab you. Please Gaebriel, we do not have a great deal of time here,” Azzanon pleaded.

‘You have shown great spirit so far. Please do not lose your nerve now.’

Azzanon was relieved when she prepared herself to run at the wall. She sprinted hard and launched off the wall, in an emulation of Azzanon from only moments earlier. But her jump was poorly timed. Her bare feet got little traction on the wall, resulting in her missing his hands by several feet. She looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

“Try again Princess! You can do it.” She hesitantly took a few steps back and prepared to try again. But Azzanon could see the defeat in her eyes.

“Princess, I can see those strong and beautiful legs beneath your dress. Lift the dress a little as you run, and you will easily hurdle this small fence.” The young princess nodded and calmly did as suggested. She looked up at Azzanon and his bright blue eyes gazing back at her and then she looked at the wall again, this time with determination.

She lifted her dress a little to allow her legs more range of movement, and ran at the wall, pushing off hard this time. The impact of her feet on the stone wall hurt her, but she easily reached a height sufficient for Azzanon to grab her hands. He then quickly pulled her up the column, using her as a counter-weight, and lowering himself down the other side.

‘Being dragged across the stonework will do a great disservice to both of our outfits, and I fear the young princess’ dress may be beyond being saved.’

He could hear the fabric starting to rip as he finished hauling her to the top of the column.

‘She will have to be content with being alive.’

Letting go of her hand he now dropped safely to the path on the other side. He reached up to assist Gaebriel in climbing down, who was now sitting on the column facing him, preparing to jump down feet first. As he looked up at her she quickly pulled her dress back up to cover her now exposed breasts.

‘Thank you for that beautiful gift, Faylen.’

She gasped only a little at the unplanned exposure, bringing a chuckle from Azzanon. Recovering quickly, she jumped towards him. She was lighter than Azzanon expected, her dress making her petite form seem much more full figured. But her dress, now torn in several places, got tangled around him, and they both crashed to the path, Gaebriel landing firmly on top of him and pushing his face firmly into her recently exposed parts.

‘Please can we lie here just a little longer.’

Azzanon heard raised voices coming from the manor, and he could hear guards now running towards the front gate.

‘We have been seen. Playtime is over.’

Azzanon apologised as Gaebriel struggled to regain her feet, but it was now she who was laughing. He waited until she was fully standing before he arched his back and flipped back to his feet. He was a little embarrassed at having failed to catch her, but he would have to wait until later to make amends to the girl and his ego. For now he had to get that stagecoach to stop, which was now almost upon them.

Azzanon jumped into the middle of the road, waving his hands frantically at the rapidly closing horses, and their now stunned driver. The horses were reined in, and they came to a stop, inches from his face. At that range Azzanon could even smell the horrid breath of the lead horse. Knowing his opponents were even now getting to the gate of the manor, he had to make this happen quickly.

“Dear Sir, please assist us. The manor has been attacked by thieves and they are chasing myself and my beautiful wife. I am Lord Acktar of Lotan, and I can pay handsomely for your services.” This speech was directed at the occupant of the coach more so than the driver. It was designed to maximise the chance that the man would assist them. The Lotese were reknowned for their love of money and in his short speech he had appealed to both patriotism and greed.

‘Either will do at this point. We just have to hope none of them have ever met the real Lord Ackton, or this could get embarrassing.’

“Quick Archibald, get them onboard,” he heard the coach owner call from inside. Responding immediately, Azzanon led Gaebriel towards the now open door of the coach, and into the well-appointed interior. Inside he found a single middle-aged man dressed in a fancy robe, and with a fancy hat sitting on the chair next to him. He regarded the man curiously for a second, his innate sense of fashion and style offended by the clash of colours and lack of taste in this man’s clothes.

But then he returned his focus to his pursuers. Out of the small window in the back of the coach, Azzanon could now see a small group of figures running towards them.

“Quickly Archibald, they are coming,” called the coach-owner. Seconds later, the wagon started moving again. Azzanon was greatly relieved once the wagon was moving faster than the people behind it. His level of relaxation grew as the distance between the carriage and its pursuers increased.

“Those Klydorians sure know how to throw an exciting party!” Azzanon joked.

Nobody laughed back.