Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 13 of 57

Damian slipped through the open gate. Rolo pulled it shut behind him. Inside, the yard held six men in dark coats. Some sharpened blades. Some drank at a fire. Any one of them could command the masked killer. Or none of them. Damian did not know which. He gripped the cane at his side and forced himself to wait. To strike now was to gut a stranger who never touched his mother. "Keep your face down," Rolo whispered. She led him along the wall, quick and light, still bouncing on her toes even here. "You're a buyer. Act rich and bored." "I need to know who gives the orders," Damian said low. "Not just soldiers. The one who sends him." Rolo's grin faded. She scanned the yard the way she read roads. "Then we watch. Men obey with their eyes before their feet." Damian leaned on the cane and studied the men. Five glanced, when boots crossed the yard, toward a door under the far tower. A tall man stepped out. The five went still. They straightened. One hid his cup. The tall man wore a token on a cord, iron, marked like the one from the ravine. "There," Damian breathed. "They fear him." The tall man crossed toward the fire. He passed close. Damian saw his right hand. A fresh scar cut the knuckles, half-healed, three months old at most. Damian's throat tightened. He knew that wound. He had put a blade through the masked man's guard and drawn blood that same day. This was not the killer. But this was the hand that held his leash. Damian's fingers whitened on the cane. Rage rose, hot and fast. He remembered the master's drill. He breathed. He let the yard blur, then sharpen. He would not draw the runed sword now, not against six, not blind. He needed the man alone. The tall man barked an order. "Rider's late from the way station. Someone go find him." Two men rose and moved for the gate. Damian's stomach dropped. The rider he had bound in the trees. When they found him, the fortress would know a hunter stood in their yard. His window was closing again. He turned to Rolo. "That one's the master. The scar proves it. But they'll find the rider soon." Rolo nodded once, all business now. "Then we take him tonight, before they know. I'll get you close. You do the quiet work." She touched the cane in his hand. Damian looked at the tall man by the fire, laughing now, unhurt except for that one knuckle. His enemy's master had a face and a name in this yard. The blind striking was over. Damian had his proof. But the two men were already at the gate, torches lit, walking toward the trees and the bound rider. Damian counted the minutes he had left. Not many. He tightened his grip and stepped into the yard.