Drogov appeared just outside of the five-hundred meter gap, like a ghost. He had emerged from a veil of shadows that drowned an alley in darkness.
Faltering as his foot hit the pavement, he clutched at his chest and keeled over, pressing into the wall for support. It felt as if every breath was just shy of giving him the relief he needed.
He brought a hand before his face. Five fingers blurred into ten, then back to five as a dull thrum of pain pulsated through his skull. He closed his eyes, then pinching the bridge of his nose, drew in a sharp breath as he opened them again. They were clear. The pain was still present, but it was now just a prisoner in his mind.
It was time to move. Peeking his head out of the alley, he saw that the streets were clear. However, he was still in the rich district. A man like him would stick out like a sore thumb.
He figured most guards wouldn't care to approach him. The ones in this area were private. Their allegiance was to their lord, not to the Duke. Still, it was better to leave no trail. Despite every blade on his person, he knew that information was the most important weapon with which he did battle. He had to control its spread.
Drogov retreated into the alley, surveyed the height of the walls and surmised his method of escape. A hop and a skip. The alley was just narrow enough for these vertical monuments of stone to become his platforms, and within the blink of an eye, he was atop one of the walls.
He peeked over into the yard. It appeared small, cramped because of the monolith of Ashlar the nobles would call a manor. Guards patrolled the almost-courtyard, but Drogov wasn't worried. People rarely looked up, he had seen that earlier. So, he jumped, landing on a balcony before clambering up to the roof. He huffed as he planted his feet there.
He could see the roof of the next manor from where he stood. He stared at it, then looked behind him. A couple steps back for safety, then he ran and launched.
He barely caught it. Holding on with his arm and his midsection, he pushed himself over the ledge, then scanned for the next roof.
This scene repeated itself a few times as he made his way out of the rich district. He had just reached its outskirts when he had noticed something strange. Two guards, draped in the yellow tunics of Duke Wellis' men.
They stood in a street nearby, leaned against the walls of an Old Manor as they stared at another. They studied its doors, its windows and its gates from afar. It seemed they were planning something.
He passed by. That wasn't his business. Though he did wonder what could make Duke Wellis move on one of his own ilk.
Betrayal, perhaps? He mused. Or probably a woman.
He was back to in city. The roof tops were a lot closer which made traversal much easier. He would reach the Inn soon. He needed rest. The moon was also mostly through its arc, and there was something he needed to do before daylight.
Within minutes, he was back at the Inn. He didn't enter from the front, he came just as he left. From the balcony.
Entering the room, he quickly pulled the dragon key from his coat and closed his eyes. The pain from earlier pressed slightly, but he ignored it until he heard the 'click'. The hidden compartment opened, and he pulled out his sack. From it, he produced a small scroll and pulled a quill from his pocket.
'Mission failed.' He wrote. 'Bad Intel. I may have found where the crystal is being kept, but we need to talk. I need more information. Delay the transport for now.'
He folded the scroll, and set it down as he turned to a mass of shadows in the corner of the room. Waving two fingers, he muttered a phrase.
"Vishum." The pain flared as he uttered the words, and a hand shot up to support his head. Meanwhile, the shadows stirred, and out of the void came the figure of a bird, pitch black in its entirety.
It flew over, and landed on Drogov's shoulder. He peeked over with one eye, and using his free hand, he brought up the scroll he had set down.
"Carry this to Conrad." He instructed weakly.
The bird eyed the scroll, cocking its head left then right before grabbing it with its beak. With that, it flew off.
Drogov didn't watch it leave, instead, he stumbled over to the bed, swaying left and right as he approached. The world continuously spun in his eyes, and he fell. Then darkness. By the time he awoke, rays of golden light had pierced through his room, acting as decree to end his slumber.
He grimaced, shielding his face, but he could still feel their intensity.
Annoyed, he rolled out of bed and quickly drew the curtains. That was when he noticed it. The letter on his desk.
Quickly, he opened it.
'We meet at noon.Same place.' That was all it said.
Shifting the curtains slightly, Drogov looked outside. That was now.
He looked down. Silver gleamed across his frame. He had to change, and did so quickly, tossing his armor into his sack and ditching the cloak, for now.
All he wore was a black, long-sleeve surcoat, black trouser, boots and a belt to match. To finish it off, he wore his wide brimmed hat to hide his markings.
He would have been off with that, but felt uncomfortable without at least one weapon on him. He returned to his sack, stuffing three daggers into his shirt before placing the sack back into the secret compartment. Now he could go.
He made his way downstairs, through the moans, then down another set of stairs and Conrad was there. He sat at the same table he had the night prior, but this time he was with someone. It was another man, smaller in stature than Conrad, and pale.
He wore an eye patch on his right eye, and his hair was a spiky red forest on his head. He was dressed in a Burgundy houppelande with a gold trim. A clothing choice that didn't exactly blend in for a region like this. Though, that wasn't the most eye-catching detail, that was an honor reserved for his left hand. It was entirely mechanical.
"Greetings, Conrad." Drogov pulled a chair and sat down. "… Aamon." He spat as he acknowledged the other man.
"You're late." Aamon started.
"Overslept." Drogov replied.
"Getting lazy now, are we?"
"No, it's just that you get tired when you're actually doing work." Drogov responded coolly.
"Work?" Aamon scowled. "What work? You have nothing to show but failure."
"You would know something about that wouldn't you? Failure that is."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Your bad intel is half the reason I failed my mission. I basically went in blind. Do better."
"You!" Aamon's face went red as his scowl deepened. "You dare lecture-
"Ahem." Conrad interrupted, taking a quick glance around the room as a reminder. "And the other half?" He continued.
Drogov looked over at him, then at nothing in particular.
"The tribesman." He started. "He's dangerous."
"You met him?" Conrad frowned.
"Yes, but he didn't meet me." Drogov nodded. "Still… he knew I was there… I don't know how, but he was able to track me through the castle, even when I shadow jumped."
The frown deepened. "So, he's definitely one of us." Conrad mused.
"What of the crystal?" Aamon questioned. "You said you may know where it is being kept."
"Yes." Drogov nodded. "The servant's quarters. I found a stairway leading underneath, but I didn't pursue it. Too many guards and low mana."
"Yes, a bad combination." Conrad twirled his mustache. "So that's the information you need?"
"Precisely. We need a new map drawn up." Drogov leaned back in his chair. Both his and Conrad's gaze were now focused on Aamon.
He grabbed his chin with his mechanical arm, tapping slightly as he looked off to the side.
"All the 'loose ends' were almost purged once our first scout was discovered," he started, "but there should be one or two left in the servants' quarters. If I remember correctly, there was a dungeon beneath it. I'll get whoever is left to map it out and send over the details by tonight."
"The dungeon, huh?" Conrad folded his arms. "It seems Lady Annora kept it on her person. It's like the Duke doesn't know-
Suddenly Conrad's face hardened as he stopped speaking.
Drogov raised an eyebrow and turned to see what Conrad was looking at. A group of men had entered the tavern, dressed in that familiar yellow tunic draped over chainmail and behind them was a tall, muscled man with dark skin. His hair was parted like a grid and he wore a sand-colored robe with orange accents. The man looked down as he entered, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor before continuing his stride.
Drogov's eyes narrowed as he watched them cross the room.
The crowd parted and the tavern was dead quite. The Duke's men did not approach him and his posse, instead they went straight up to the counter, stopping in front of Big Bess.
"We need the records of your most recent guests." One of the guards demanded.
"Excuse me?" Big Bess cocked back. "We don't do that here."
"We know very well what you do here." Another guard interjected. "Normally, the Duke would turn a blind eye. He's fond of… the other services your business provides. But someone entered his castle last night. An example needs to be made."
Big Bess's eyes quivered. Drogov could see her visibly fighting to prevent her neck from turning towards his direction.
"Listen Darling, I don't know what you're talking about." She shook her head.
"Woman! Ce-
"Enough talk." At that moment, Vancu spoke. "Burn it all down. We'll see what rats scurry out."
The guards hesitated. Exchanging glances, for a moment it seemed they wouldn't do it, but then the first guard moved. He grabbed a lantern from of the wall and slammed it into the ground. Immediately, the fire spread, chairs screeched across the ground and tables fell over with a bang as the crowd filtered out.
Drogov, Aamon and Conrad moved with the panic, hiding themselves behind the erratic movements. Conrad and Aamon, moved towards the exit, but Drogov moved up the stairs.
He sprinted as the sounds of broken glass and the woosh of fire disappeared behind him. Cutting through the halls of moans in record time, he reached his own floor, and stepped into his room.
He grabbed his overcoat and sword and had just channeled his mana into the dragon key when he heard a lantern crash against his door. Immediately, smoke and fire crawled in through the gap underneath. He grabbed his sack. The balcony it is.
He hopped out and flung himself onto the roof, just like the night before, but what he didn't expect were the guards on the adjacent ones. All armed with crossbows.
"There's one of the rats!" One yelled.
"Shoot him." Hollered another.
Drogov launched himself, barely landing on another roof as arrows quilted the space he was before. He didn't stop, rolling into a sprint as he cleared another gap.
The guards were on him. They weren't as fast, but their weapons had more reach and his connection to the void was weak. The sun hung high in the air,and the rain was a moderate drizzle, not enough to block it out.
There were no whispers to warn him, not until nightfall, and no safe haven to return to. Was this mission destined to be a failure?
He didn't think about it. He couldn't. Arrows swept past and grazed by as he hopped from building to building. No destination in sight, only survival in mind.
There was one thing he could do. He glanced up at the sun as he thought about it. Its rules would be changed and its results would be random. It could either make him safe or worse off.
He didn't have long to ponder. In fact, he had no time for as he stepped near a ledge, he felt a sudden pressure in his left shoulder that cause him to stumble. His hat flew away, the sack fell from his hand, and he was in freefall.
His eyes widened as the pain from the arrow spread across his back, but he quickly stuffed it down. Instead, he focused on the ground that was becoming imminent, watching his shadow grow as he drew near.
Mere inches away, he said it.
"Seki!" The last letter had left his mouth as he made contact, and his shadow swallowed him.
This time, he didn't fall into the void. He only felt the world shift as the inertia sent him sideways, crashing him into a wall. He groaned and coughed, but didn't stay down, scanning the area as he got to his feet.
He recognized this place. It was the outskirts of the rich district. He was on a rooftop nearby, and could see the cloud of black smoke in the distance rising to meet the clouds of rain.
He had escaped. For now. But he needed to hide. This mission had ended in failure, and his plans for retirement were shot. The organization would need compensation, and they would look for it in service.
He scanned the area again, searching for any abandoned buildings or crumbling houses, but couldn't help but be drawn to a particular manor nearby.
He had passed it on his way back last night, and as he remembered the circumstances around it, a plan came to mind.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.