Perfect Shadow: A Night Angel Novella Read Free Page B

he identified a choke point that even a careful pursuer would have to pass through lest he lose his quarry. Acaelus hid behind the first good corner and waited. He gathered his Talent, ready to overwhelm his pursuer, capture him, hit him a few times to find out who had sent him. He waited –
    No, no, that wasn’t true. Prince Acaelus hadn’t had even that much subtlety.
    Hiding? Acaelus? Ha!
    No, Acaelus turned as soon as he became aware of his pursuer. Stopped in the open street.
    “I know you’re there! Come out! If you want a fight, I’ll give it to you. If you want to know where I’m bound, come ask. I am crown prince of the dead kingdom of Trayethell, and I’ll not have this mummery. Face me!”
    The spy fled. Acaelus heard the skittering of scattering gravel, zeroed in on the sound, and ran in pursuit. His Talent lent strength to his muscles. He ran faster. He drew his sword, rounded a corner that was too sharp for the speed he was running.
    He leapt, pushed off a wall, blasted the spy off his feet. The man tumbled head over heels, lay still.
    Acaelus approached the spy. The little man lay on his back, hooded and cloaked.
    At the last second, the spy convulsed. Two daggers flew through the air, straight for Acaelus.
    With preternatural speed, Acaelus’s blade swatted left, right, riposte. The daggers were batted aside and his sword was in the spy’s heart before he had a second thought.
    …And he learned nothing.
    Not that Acaelus had ever had second thoughts. Not that he would doubt his own actions.
    No, Acaelus had been a noble fool. His way would be a disaster. Rejected.
    Dehvirahaman Bruhmaeziwakazari would have – no, the Ymmuri stalker was a canny hunter, but he would have never come into a city. His leather pouches and camouflage cloaks had been perfect for his natural environs, but here clothes mattered in a different way. Rejected.
    Rebus Nimble. There was a life that might have had some success here. Rebus was a sneak thief turned folk hero for making several hundred pounds of a corrupt king’s gold rain in the streets in every market in town simultaneously. Rebus would have headed to the rough side of town. Here, the west side, the Warrens.
    Rebus took a circuitous route, as if careful of being followed but not aware that he actually was. Spies always like to think they’re good.
    If the spy were simply some lord’s or lady’s lackey, he’d get nervous and break off his pursuit as Rebus crossed the Vanden Bridge into the Warrens. He didn’t. That meant the spy had been sent by someone formidable. Rebus abandoned his apparent caution once he reached the slums, walking quickly, which always made his limp more pronounced.
    He limped down an alley. Took a left, a right, two lefts, followed a street so narrow his outstretched hands could touch both slumping walls to either side. And after three hundred paces with no outlet, reached a dead end. Dammit. These weren’t the slums of Borami, where he knew every bolthole. In fact, he might have just played right into his hunter’s hands.
    He turned. The spy stood there, dual longknives drawn. So, not a spy, an assassin.
    And two archers who looked like they knew what they were doing stood on either side of him.
    “Rebus Nimble ,” the assassin said, lifting his chin toward Rebus’s twisted right foot.
    “Irony?”
    “Older I get, the more I hate irony. But I was young once. I made it up when I started serious body magic. Making your arms and legs longer makes you clumsy as all hell for a while. I was hoping to make the name ironic eventually.”
    “I’ll guess we’ll see how that turned out.”
    Arrows streaked forward, burning holes in the night.
    More blood, more death, and no more answers.
    No, Rebus’s instincts were all wrong. Besides, in his fine clothes, Gaelan might get jumped by robbers in the Warrens before he even had a chance to get cornered by an assassin. Rejected.
    So Gaelan, those men you’ve been are no help to you. What