The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5) Read Free

twitching fingers guiding each man into the proper position for an organized assault.
    The assassin shouldered his small bow and moved back from the doorway, hands resting on the hilts of two short swords as he watched. Hopelessly outnumbered, the goal was not to defeat them here, only to buy as much time as possible—to at least give Berkeni and the other mystics a chance.
    The air around him seemed to change in an instant. It was vague and subtle to anyone else, but a clear signal to the assassin. He dipped his shoulder and performed a series of rolls as a flaming bottle came through the doorway. End over end it tumbled in slow motion, until it finally hit the far wall, exploding into a massive ball of fire. The man sprung back to his feet and assumed a low crouching position in the far corner. Other flaming bottles followed, spewing liquid fire with each shattering impact. He kept calm as the flames licked up the walls and slowly spread across the floor. Thick, greasy black smoke with its choking chemical scent rose to the ceiling.
    The assassin spread his fingers slightly and took a slight breath through his tightly covered mouth. Determining there were no sleeping agents added to the oils, he dropped all the way down, belly flat against the floor. He could probably make a long stand from this position before eventually being overwhelmed.
    S prawled across the cold stone, he slid the tiny bow from his shoulder. One by one he emptied his quiver of arrows, placing them at his side, inches apart. Looking through the curtain of fire as the dying flames began to calm, he calculated the most likely path for an assault: a path where the liquid blaze had died down the most. He notched an arrow.
    A series of crossbow bolts came streaking through the doorway. They sprayed the room, clacking harmlessly off the walls. It was apparent the men outside were just firing blindly, hoping to clear a few enemies before storming in. They didn’t know they were only dealing with one. The assassin possessed the patience of an oak tree, and would wait as long as needed. However, none of that stringent discipline would be necessary.
    Like demons desperate to escape their blazing underworld, men launched themselves through the flaming doorway. Each leather roared with exuberance, their twirling blades searching for flesh. Although a significant factor, not all of them were driven by promised riches. Many actually believed in this mission of justice and would have taken this assignment for free. After all, the vile mystics in this tower were doing the work of devils. Tampering with the balance of nature could only be perceived as black magic. And practitioners of black magic were to be stopped at all costs.
    The first three men that leapt through the wall of fire were greeted with an arrow each; eye, throat, heart—each was dead before thudding to the floor. Unfazed by the quick slaughter, other brutes rushed in behind. Several held small shields, making themselves slightly less vulnerable. The man in black fired off several more shots, hoping to remain unnoticed in the ensuing chaos. It worked for several seconds, an eternity in the heat of battle. But by the time the eighth mercenary fell, all eyes were set on him.
    Springing to his feet, th e killer abandoned his bow and unleashed his swords. The trusty weapon had done its job, but the element of surprise was no longer a factor. Steel was the only option now. Trying to keep them guessing, he rushed at the first and feigned a high slash to the head. When the mercenary raised his shield to block, the assassin tapped it lightly.
    There was no power behind the strike , but the man standing next to him grimaced, the assassin’s second blade sinking deep into his leg. The grimace became a howl when the blade tore free, leaving a large flap of skin to hang like a rag. The mercenary holding up his shield paused at his companion’s bloodcurdling shriek. The pause proved fatal, as the same blade