AZZANON – NOBLE QUARTER, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
“We must alert the authorities,” said the Lotese wagon owner, his voice rising in pitch and volume as the adrenalin started to surge through him.
‘Azzanon, bringing excitement and adventure everywhere he goes. This man has likely never been in a situation as exciting as this. Something to tell his grandchildren about.’
“Agreed good man, but not yet. I wish to get my wife to safety first.”
‘I need to buy some time. Corruption is unusual in Klydorian circles, their love of Chivalry and all, but someone tipped the attackers that Gaebriel would be at this debutante ball. Which means I cannot involve the Klydorian authorities until I know who I can trust.’
Azzanon looked out the rear window of the carriage again as he considered his options. He saw in the distance a small group of horseman sprinting after them.
“We are not safe yet,” he warned. “They are after us on horse now.”
The stagecoach was moving along quickly, but the driver was staying on the same road that led away from the rich sector of town. This was not only making them easier to follow, but also taking them away from the ever-present Klydorian Guard patrols that frequented the wealthy area of town.
‘I wish I was driving the coach - I have had experience controlling vehicles at high speed, albeit while fleeing a crime-scene or some young lady’s place of residence. But it would be risky trying to climb up front while the wagon raced along like this. And besides, it is not in character for my dear Lotese noble. And we do not break character lightly.’
When the first of the pursuer’s arrows punctured the back wall of the stagecoach, the quality of his performance was irrelevant.
“Sir, I think it best if I drive,” he said to the wagon-owner, as he flung open the door to the stagecoach. Azzanon did not care for the response, as he was already halfway out the door and trying to climb on to the top of the wagon. As he pulled himself up, he could see that one of the riders had distanced himself from the others and was now only forty feet from the coach.
‘Great, we have a champion jockey after us as well. Well, I can’t throw my sword at him, and I don’t have a crossbow. So I guess our coach-owner will have to forgive me if I use his luggage.’
Reaching down, Azzanon undid the strap that held a series of boxes and trunks to the top of the carriage. Most looked like supplies cases and water barrels, but one of the trunks looked of a much finer quality. It probably contained something either valuable or personal.
‘Oh well.’
The boxes and trunks tumbled off the top of the coach and bounced into the path of the horseman. To his credit he avoided the first couple with a display of excellent horsemanship. But in the end there was nowhere to go. The horse stumbled as it trod on the water barrel, and fell, throwing the rider over its head and onto the street. He tumbled awkwardly and then came to rest on the cobblestone street, motionless.
‘Not always good to be the best rider, my friend. Perhaps settle for mediocrity next time.’
Azzanon turned, and crawled towards the front of the coach. Grabbing the rail that ran along the front of the roof, he somersaulted over it and landed on the padded driving bench, startling the poor driver. Azzanon grinned. He then parried the clumsy elbow thrown by Archibald a few seconds later.
“Relax, Archibald, it’s me, Lord Ackton” he waited for recognition to show on Archibald’s face, “Now old chap. If you do not mind, I will take the reins from here.” He could see Archibald was reluctant to hand them over.
“I know a short-cut,” he lied. Archibald smiled through yellow teeth and passed him the reins.
‘Happy to fire crossbows at moving targets, are you? The problem around here is there aren’t enough people still up and about. But are you foolhardy enough to keep firing bows at the coach once we are in a crowded street full of drunken taverners and other nightlife riffraff?’
‘We just have to find such a street, and I know just the place. Main Street heading towards the port itself. It is full of drinking holes, ladies of the night, and other nocturnal creatures.’
“Hang-on. We have some corners coming up!” Azzanon screamed to the two still inside the carriage.
The stagecoach was of good quality. It handled the corners wonderfully. And the horse team were also well trained, responding to the instructions from their driver quickly and efficiently.
‘Mental note - praise the nobleman on his excellent coach and horse-team after the chase. Also note – if we later need to steal a carriage, this will definitely be the one to take.’
But a carriage still struggles to outrun a man on a horse, and the horsemen were gaining on them. With a quick glance over his shoulder Azzanon noted that there were now fewer horses chasing them. His turns had at least lost some of them. But those that remained were now well within range, and their arrows were flying into and past the coach with greater regularity.
An unexpected benefit of Azzanon taking over the reins was that Archibald now had his hands free, and Azzanon noticed with great pleasure that he had pulled a small crossbow from somewhere and was preparing to fire it behind him.
‘Archibald. You are just full of surprises.’
Seconds after he fired it Azzanon heard a scream of pain from one of their pursuers.
‘Apparently, you are also a good shot. I am beginning to like you.’
He also heard a grunt of satisfaction from Archibald. Azzanon couldn’t help but smile at that.
Azzanon made the turn into Fishmonger Road, which ran along the harbour’s edge. Only one more turn to go and he was in Main Street. Archibald took another shot with his crossbow, but this time he missed. The riders were getting closer now, two in particular. Azzanon only needed another minute and they would be safe. But those two would be alongside the carriage well before then. If their aim was true both he and Archibald would be shot soon after.
They were now riding past the wharves, and among the lines of ships there were many sailors scattered around, some on boats, some on the docks, some just wandering the street. But all paid no attention to Azzanon or his current predicament. Anybody who did see the coach or the horses following it quickly got out of the way.
‘We need a Klydorian Guard patrol.’
The two riders behind him were eager to not give him the chance. They rode up behind and then split the carriage, one thundering up each side. Archibald was frantically trying to load his crossbow. Azzanon swerved the coach slightly, risking the wheels on the worn wheel ruts on the street, but forcing the rider on his side to slow up briefly.
They were nearly at the corner of Main Street.
The rider on Archibald’s side brought his bow up, taking a few strides to get his aim. Archibald finished reloading, but it was too late. The rider fired.
He hit.
Archibald grunted in pain and would have tumbled from his seat had Azzanon not grabbed the back of his tunic. But Archibald was not finished yet. Hanging there by Azzanon’s hand, he still had the strength to raise his crossbow and fire. The quarrel struck its target square in the chest and punched him from his horse.
“Thank you Archibald, you may have given us hope.”
Azzanon pulled Archibald back onto the bench. He could see the arrow was lodged somewhere in his chest, but Archibald was still moving. At least he was alive. Archibald slumped back onto the chair allowing Azzanon to put both hands back on the reins again. The second rider was now almost alongside the coach as well, and Azzanon could see him bringing his crossbow up to fire as well.
“A little bit of help perhaps, Lady Luck,” he preyed, pulling the reins sharply to take the turn into Main Street. Normally you would slow before a corner, but Azzanon had needed to surprise the rider on his inside. As such he was well above normal cornering speed.
‘The coach is good, but this is going to test it.’
The horses took the turn as commanded. The carriage followed, its wheels skidding over the cobbletone surface. His attacker, having momentarily let go off the reins to fire his crossbow had no chance to avoid the large wooden object that had now cut across his path. His horse stopped suddenly, but the rider was thrown over its head, slamming into the carriage door, before bouncing onto the hard stone street.
The combined momentum of the corner and the impact of the rider threw the carriage up onto two wheels as it completed the corner. Azzanon could hear the coach’s frame screaming under the strain.
‘This is either going to be a disaster, or a totally awesome moment. Please be awesome.’
The frame held, as did Azzanon’s luck, and the coach came back down on all four wheels again. He raced up Main Street. While there was plenty of night-life, there was not a Klydorian patrol in sight.
Azzanon strained to see as far up Main Street as the limited light would allow. While he was looking so far ahead, hoping to spot a Klydorian patrol, he missed two fools that came running out of an alley right in front of him.
Azzanon pulled on the reins in an attempt to stop at the last second. The horses responded. But there was no way they could stop in time. He had seen them too late. All he could do was brace himself for the impact.
And then a strange looking, hooded figure appeared from the same alley and tackled both figures out of the way.
“Get them!” came a bellowed order from halfway down the street. Azzanon turned to see a large, armoured figure with a giant axe on his back. Gerard pointed his metal-clad finger at the three figures picking themselves up from the cobblestones of Main Street.
Azzanon’s mind raced trying to process all the information before him. There were only a few members of the Drasnian Musketeers that would knowingly speak to Azzanon. But these men, whom Azzanon listened too intently, had often told him that sometimes amidst chaos, there is a clarity of vision that shows you the only course of action. Azzanon had one of these moments now.
‘Three unknown but curious figures lay on the ground just to the side and behind my now stationary horses. They are incredibly lucky they weren’t trampled to death.’
‘Forty or so yards behind the wagon, we have a small group of horsemen just rounding the corner of Main Street. These men are intent on capturing the beautiful Gaebriel Jadesson, Princess of Drasak, and then probably killing her. They may also kill me, but only as an after-thought. Azzanon Klarence III’s death will not be an after-thought.’
‘In front of me is another small group of armed men, now calling out for the three figures on the ground underneath me. How many different things can I get myself into in one night?’
‘And eighty or so yards behind this 3rd group, I can see a small patrol of Klydorian Guard, who are just turning onto Main Street. Praise Faylen!’
“Get on. Quickly!” he called to the unknown three.
Mitchell still lay underneath the hooded figure whom had just saved him for the second time tonight. He tried to wriggle his way from under his mysterious benefactor, but to his surprise his hands pushed up against a pair of firm breasts. His hands instinctively pulled back in shock.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Before he could apologise the figure was no longer on top of him, having gracefully rolled back to her feet. She offered her hand to Mitchell, and with a strength that belied her slender frame, pulled him to his feet.
“Gaebriel, get the door!” yelled Azzanon.
The coach started moving again as Gaebriel swung the door to the coach open. With no hesitation all three ran for the coach, and in quick succession, Hawkin, Mitchell and their female saviour dived aboard. Gaebriel pulled the door closed behind them.
“Thank you,” called Mitchell as he landed face down in the carriage.
“Evening beautiful,” added Hawkin when he noticed Gaebriel standing over him.
By the time the coach reached Gerard and his men, it was already moving fast enough to easily trample anyone in its path. All they could do was dive out of the way as the coach sped past.
Gerard glared at Azzanon and the wagon. Azzanon couldn’t resist and saluted him on the way past. Azzanon could almost see the steam coming out of Gerard’s ears.
‘And for the final complication, I know that man! What are you doing here? Oh well. Just roll with it. He can’t kill me twice.’
“Evening, Gerard,” Azzanon called back cheekily.
And with that, Azzanon drove the carriage up to the Klydorian Guard patrol. As he hailed the lead rider everybody behind them immediately scattered, almost as if the street itself had swallowed them up.
AZZANON – THE STREETS OF PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Azzanon was aware that all the occupants in the wagon were intently listening to everything he was saying to the guards.
‘Here is hoping they are smart enough to shut up and let me do all the talking. I don’t their story yet, but if it involves Gerard, I suspect they won’t want the law knowing about it.’
“Please sirs, you must hurry. The Manor DeVillier has been attacked. All of the people attending the Ball have been captured. You must save them,” explained Azzanon, in his perfect Lotese accent.
“And who might you be, sir? How do you come by this knowledge?” asked the guard.
“I am Lord Ranzar Ackton the Third, of Lotan, and we were riding past the manor when we heard the screams of the nobles inside. One of their men then shot my brave driver,” Azzanon drew attention to the quarrel stuck in the chest of Archibald. As if on cue, Archibald groaned in pain. “And then they chased us on horseback all the way here. Had it not been for the bravery of my driver, and your timely arrival, Sir, we would almost certainly have been killed.”
The guard signalled for the majority of his men to move off and head towards the manor with urgency. Mitchell could hear the horses hooves on the cobblestones as they galloped off.
“Who else is in the stagecoach, my Lord?” asked the guard.
“Just my wife and some friends. But she is quite disturbed by the whole ordeal. I pray you let me take her now to somewhere safe, and that some of your men ride with us to ensure they do not attack us again. I understand that you must go so you may assist your men in ending this madness, but perhaps you could leave us the two brave soldiers that are to your left. In return, I will come down to the barracks tomorrow and tell you everything that I know and help in any other way I can.”
“Very well,” responded the guard. “Lassiter, Jenkin, take this coach to the Golden Unicorn, and then have the Master-at-Arms assign a bodyguard to their door for the night. And get a cleric for the wounded man.” He motioned for the other men to follow him.
“Let’s Go!” And he rode off to catch up with the rest of his men.
“May Faylen light your way,” Azzanon called after him. He then began helping Archibald down and into the back of the carriage. He opened the door to the stagecoach and took his first good look at the three people he had just saved.
‘One is obviously a warrior. I can see that from his well-muscled frame. Probably developed that body wearing all that ridiculous metal armour that Klydorians love so much. He also wears a small signet ring on his hand suggesting he is of noble birth. Also indicates he might be dumb, as he is still openly wearing it while out misbehaving.’
‘He has a well-made long sword on his waist. He is almost definitely either a young Knight Errant, or a would-be, striving to become one. This sort is quite common among the Klydorian nobility. Brought up on stories of chivalry and valour. Their culture is just like Drasnia except less elegant.’
‘The second appears to be a commoner, with nothing to particularly distinguish him. Well, except for that bruise that is rapidly closing over his right eye. He also has a strange sword on his waist, and from the look of the hilt it is not of Klydorian manufacture. Were it not for the boring crossguard, it could almost be a Drasnian blade. Perhaps the boy is a squire to the first man, although he is getting a little old to be a squire.’
‘The last is anyone’s guess.’
The final figure was enshrouded in a large green cloak, with a large hood which was only now being lowered. This act, however, would reveal no further information to the many eyes now staring, as beneath the hood this figure wore a perfectly smooth, curved silver helm, with a mirror-like face-plate that reflected back the appearance of any who looked straight into it. The long-curved scabbard on this figure’s side, the exotic helm, and the small slender frame, led Azzanon to an unlikely conclusion.
‘Before us is a Guardian, a rare order of warrior/protectors from the woodland realm of Elves. I know elves are common in the southern forests of Klydor, but Guardians are little more than legends. The Intelligence agency had vague tales of these people, but I may be the first of our agents to ever see one.’
And neither had any of the other occupants of the coach, judging from the stunned looks on their faces; including the other two who were with the Guardian.
‘My mission just got a lot more complicated. Damn my Drasnian curiosity. It gets me everytime.’
“Excuse me all, but I need to get this man a place to lie down.” Azzanon said, clearly loud enough for all to hear.
“I am sorry about the coach’s seats, my Lord. The blood may ruin them…Mr… what was your name again,” he said the last part just loud enough so the wagon-owner could hear him, but the Klydorian guards could not.
“Greaves. Mr Greaves. My family are wealthy merchants, but we have no titles. Not yet anyway,” came the reply from the wagon owner, also in a hushed whisper.
“Pleased to meet you,” responded Azzanon. “You are to be commended on your coach and horse-team. I once had the privilege to drive a royal coach, and I can tell you it was no better.”
‘I was being chased on that occasion too.’
People moved to make room for Archibald to be laid across one of the plush bench seats. Gaebriel sat so that his head was across her lap, and she could tend to him. While her dress was probably already ruined, it impressed Azzanon that she did not seem concerned about getting blood on it. From the way Mr Greaves had moved his silly hat he still had some concerns for his clothes. That really only left room for four others to squeeze onto the other bench, so the large Klydorian followed him back up onto the drivers bench up front. Azzanon motioned for their armed escort to lead on, and he started the coach moving behind them.
“Lord Ackton, I am Hawkin Aranson, son of Sarek. Thanks for coming to our aid back there.”
Hawkin held out his hand in greeting. Azzanon shook his hand warmly, bemused a little when Hawkin tried momentarily to crush his hand.
‘Nothing like a pointless test of strength to demonstrate one’s insecurities. But I have heard of his father and his name.’
“Think nothing of it. I would expect any good noble to come to the aid of another. Besides, I have heard of your father’s exploits,” complimented Azzanon. It would have been a great loss to the world were his son not alive to perform similar feats.”
“I thank you for your kind words of my father. But did you know who I was before you helped us?” Hawkin asked dubiously. There was a moment of silence as Azzanon contemplated his answer.
‘OK. The boy is not a complete idiot.’
“No. I knew one of the men who was after you. His name is Gerard. A Lotese wagon-captain I have run afoul of before. I figured helping you would annoy him. At the time that was enough for me”
‘Not entirely true. But it will do for now.’
“Well, I appreciate your honesty. Once you get your room in the Golden Unicorn we will be on our way,” replied Hawkin. “It seems you have enough trouble of your own. You do not need to get involved in ours as well.”
“Please, allow us to talk further when we get there. I still need to find out what is going on here, and to do that I will need to go and see my contacts. I will need someone to stay and watch the young girl that is in the coach. I do not know enough about Mr Greaves yet to trust him, so for now your little group is my best option. In return, if you tell me your story I will see what I can find out for you. Besides, wait till you see the rooms at the Unicorn. Staying there is hardly an inconvenience.”
“Ok…,” replied Hawkin, as he realised their own rooms really were quite plain. “are the beds comfortable?”
“The largest and most luxurious anywhere outside the noble quarter,” replied Azzanon with a smile.
“Do they have a bar that would be open late?” asked Hawkin, the grin on his face getting larger.
“They even bring drinks to your room if you ask them to,” replied Azzanon as he put his arm around his new friend, “Which I encourage you to do, as I think your King is picking up the bill.”
“I like this place already. Are we nearly there yet?”
INQUISITOR KHALI – NORTHERN GATES, MASCHERATA, DRASAK
[https://i.imgur.com/JSiGeDV.png?1]
9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Their simple horse and cart rolled through the gates of Mascherata, capital of Drasak. The cart had been rolling through the city for some time, with Mascherata having long ago outgrown the original city wall. The walls now separated the old inner city from a newer outer city, which was far more chaotic in the way it sprawled across the flat and verdant plains.
Mascherata was a very large city, and most of it had weirdly shaped buildings. Nearly every building was multi-storey, with sharp, angular and gothic architecture styles common. Most of the houses had flat rooves with small walls around the edges, creating a space that could be used as a room. And on nearly all the buildings for the common and poorer areas of the city, the ground floor was smaller than the upper levels.
‘Makes the whole thing look like it would fall over if you pushed on them with even a little bit of enthusiasm.’
‘Drasak. The empire of sin. Loose morals around sexuality, drugs, slaves and just about every other thing there is to have moral codes for. The perfect example of what happens when you let the darker side of society have control of your empire for a few hundred years. The people here sing about their additional freedoms… well, except for the slaves I suppose… but in reality, they are free to live in any way that the Assassin Guilds can profit from. And if you become a threat, or a dissident, to the Assassin Guilds, then things end real fast.’
‘I wonder if Faylen would care if I burned the whole thing to the ground.’
“I don’t think Drasak has been as bad as people suggest,” commented Ramirez, his eyes taking in the sights from what looked like an entertainment district, complete with scantily clad bodies waving from higher balconies, and criers standing in front of shops yelling out the day’s specials.
“The only part of Drasak we have been through so far is Guldan. I am not sure that counts,” pointed out Janus.
“Why not?” asked Ramirez, who had spent whatever spare time he had in Guldan taking advantage of most of the lax moral standards. “I liked Guldan!”
“Because the Drasak King is trying to convince the world it is safe to come here. So he has banned all Guild activity in Guldan. Hence what you saw wasn’t the ‘real’ Drasak,” replied Janus. “The people were less scared, the visitors were less suspicious, and everyone was just a little more normal.”
“I am not sure what you are expecting, but Drasak isn’t just assassins running around killing people in the streets,” interjected Khali, having been here several times before. “On the surface Drasak doesn’t seem that different to anywhere else, except for its fondness of gothic architecture, shadows everywhere, and some strange aversion to colour. Drasak has made a fortune from trade, even despite being a touch scary to most honest folks, simply because of its central location. Most trade going east/west across Driax comes through here. And most trade going north/south into or out of Cthrag Merlo also comes through Drasak. From a trade perspective it is probably in the best position of any empire in Driax. So it is in everyone’s interest to keep the darker aspects of Drasak society out of the common view.”
“So why the ban on the Guilds in Guldan?” asked Ramirez, his face adorably showing he understood very little of what was being said right now.
“One, the King doesn’t rule Drasak, so the ban isn’t real,” explained Khali. “Activity in Guldan is kerbed at best. But the decree is being partially honoured because the Lotese were talking about building a new road from Heshan to Mari-Kye that would have gone north of here, and bypassed Drasak entirely. Neither the King nor the assassins want that.”
“The working girls said a bit more than that,” added Janus. “They said things between the King and the assassins are real tense right now. And the noble families backing each are being forced to choose sides. They think it will get bloody real soon based on what they hear from their drunk patrons.”
‘She always gets so much good intel from the ladies of the night. I guess it helps to have been one. It still amazes me how much stuff idiots will brag or reveal to their lady either during or at the end of their paid services.’
“Well, I wouldn’t put too much stock in what people say drunk. Mostly all piss and wind,” offered Ramirez.
“I disagree,” said Traviston, in his spooky, whispery voice. “What people say drunk is usually their real truth.”
“I would still use flame to make sure it was the truth, just the same,” replied Janus wickedly.
“Well, remember, we aren’t looking for a good time. Ramirez, are you listening?” she glared at the big man. “What we are looking for is any links to the Lotese merchant Ronardo, with a family name mostly likely to be Nathoman. Or a westerner named Anders, with a family name or perhaps a father of Hightower. Although anyone who is a follower of Razilin’Tera would be worth a chat I suspect. Remember we know what they look like. Hopefully that, combined with their accents will get us somewhere.”
“Ramirez, you find us somewhere for the cart and us to stay,” commanded Khali, hoping to limit just how much trouble he could cause. “Do your thing people. We meet at the northern markets, which were just outside these gates, around 5 for our evening meal. From there we can decide how many of us go to the ‘Eternal Watchman’.”
“Try to pay less for the room and stables than it would cost to buy the entire bar,” advised Janus mockingly.
“That was not my fault last time,” protested Ramirez. “She looked like she worked there.”
“And her tits just screamed, ‘hand over all your money’, right?” Janus continued with the mocking.
“They were a distraction now that you mention it,” replied Ramirez sincerely.
“Get moving people,” ordered Khali. “You can continue taunting Ramirez at dinner tonight.”
The Inquisitor turned and walked confidently back towards the northern markets.
“I will check the bars and look for mercenaries and off-duty guards,” grunted Ramirez with enthusiasm, even though nobody had really asked him what he would be doing.
“Try to get arrested. You only slow the rest of us down,” jibed Janus, as she walked away from the cart, her large backpack of assorted make-up, wigs and clothes across her back.
“That’s not true. I can run faster than you,” Ramirez retorted back, stopping to stare at her back. Then her ass.
“Thank you for proving my point,” was Janus final point before she was lost in the crowd.