Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) Read online

  Rezkin had to plan the entire invasion without assistance, which was part of his Stealth Strategy and Tactics Skill. What made it even harder, though, was that in this particular exercise, he was not permitted to kill or even engage any of the guards. It was truly meant to test whether he could get in and out without anyone ever knowing he had been there.

  Rezkin slipped through the balcony door and closed and locked it after him. He would not be using the same route to exit, so he made sure to leave no trace of his presence. An unlocked outer door would be a dead giveaway. He had decided on this particular entrance because it was so obvious and open. If the inhabitants had not been aware of his intent to break in, he would never have taken this route. Since they were looking for him already, they would never assume he would choose such a vulnerable entry.

  Crossing the sitting room as quickly as possible, he crouched low just in case anyone glanced through the plethora of bright and open windows. Prostrating himself at the door leading to the corridor beyond, he pressed one hand and ear to the door. He watched the light that peeked through the slit at the bottom and felt for the slightest hint of a breeze. When he was sure no one was skulking on the other side of the door, he very carefully eased it open just enough to slip through. He looked up and froze, his heart beating wildly, his attention riveted on the armored guard standing stoically at attention across from him.

  Armor. He sucked in a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Full plate armor. None of their guards wore plate armor. This was just a suit. Never had there been a suit of armor decorating a corridor before. They had placed this here for the purpose of confusing or alarming him. He realized he needed to hurry. If they had placed this here, they had considered the chance he would choose this entry. There was no telling how many other things they might have changed to confound him.

  Rezkin knew he only had moments before the next roaming guard wandered down this corridor. He padded quickly and quietly to the end where it met a second corridor at a T-shaped juncture. This is where it got tricky. Thirty paces to the left, the second corridor ended at another corridor. A guard would pass by just as the roaming guard entered the corridor in which he was currently standing. He would have to slide into the second corridor at exactly the moment the second guard passed out of view or the first guard would see him. The guards were using time dials to coordinate their efforts. Rezkin did not have a time dial of his own, but he had been given a copy of the guard rotations two days prior to simulate the event that he had a spy in residence. He had memorized the guard patterns and relative movements to the point that he had actually dreamt about them the previous night.

  His ears perked. Was that a scuff? Rezkin strained to hear the eventual passing of the guard in the third corridor. There. He was certain he had heard a creak. Two more breaths would give the guard enough time to pass. He silently exhaled and peeked around the corner just as the brown hair disappeared. Jerking his body into motion, Rezkin thrust himself around the corner into the second corridor just as he heard a shuffle of feet in the passage he had just vacated.

  He listened a moment. No running footsteps. He let out another silent breath. The guard had not seen him. Luckily he did not have to worry about avoiding all of the guards since they were stationed throughout the fortress. If he could keep out of sight of the second guard and the standing guard near the target, he would be okay—at least until he had the object. Then, he had to get out before they knew he had trespassed.

  Reaching the end of the next juncture, he peered around the corner. The second guard was heading away from him. Rezkin did not have time to wait for the guard to vacate the corridor, so he would have to silently follow behind and hope the guard did not turn around. Twenty-five paces farther was an alcove that led to a supply room with an entrance to the disused servants’ passages. Of course, the fortress had no servants, but he had been told that long ago the fortress served some other purpose. No one had seen fit to tell him what that purpose was. It did not matter. Today, he would use those passages.

  Silently slipping along about fifty paces behind the guard, Rezkin suddenly felt a prickling on his skin, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. He knew someone was approaching from behind. He shot forward as fast as possible hoping he did not make any sound and slipped into the alcove. His heart pounded, and the sound of blood rushing through his ears was making it difficult for him to hear if anyone pursued him.

  Rezkin took several deep breaths as he reached into the pouch at his belt with shaky fingers. He quickly pulled out a small clay jar with a cork stopper. Digging into the jar, he drew out a clump of thick grease made from pig fat. With jerky movements, he slathered the grease on the old hinges of the storage room, replaced the stopper, and held his breath as he pressed on the heavy door. It swung inward with a gentle glide, and he let out a quiet sigh. He ducked through the door and closed it just as a booted foot came into view of the alcove. There was no guard scheduled to be there at that time, so it must have been Farson or Adona. He had to move quickly. If one of the strikers chose to investigate the storage room at this moment, he was done for.

  After greasing the hinges on the next door, he gave it a push, but it did not want to open. He realized he was going to have to put his weight into it, and he hoped it would not be so loud as to alert the guard. It took three tries, but finally the door burst open with a thud. Rezkin winced at the sound. Of course, he broke Rule 12 … again. That had to be the hardest one. Some of them were much easier, like Rule 156—Do not die.

  Rezkin started down the corridor and came to a sudden halt. He looked behind him and suddenly realized he had made a mistake. Another Rule broken. Rule 10, again. Do not leave evidence. The floor of the corridor was covered in dust, and he was leaving footprints. Considering his options, he decided he had only three. First, he could try to find a way to cover the tracks, which would be difficult and time consuming. Second, he could clean the entire corridor, which would erase his tracks but could potentially alert people that someone had been here recently. That method was also time consuming, not to mention he did not have a broom. It would also be noisy. The young man decided the third option would have to do. He would continue on and hope that the disuse of the corridor would suffice for the purpose of the test. It was unlikely anyone would come through here and find his tracks.

  The servants’ corridor turned several times and branched off twice before Rezkin stepped through another door into a privy. One inhale set him to gagging, and he realized that this particular privy needed some attention. Rezkin absolutely did not want to be the one to do it. He cracked the door of the privy open and peered down the corridor. The target room was only ten paces to his left on the opposite wall. The masters had not set a guard directly outside the room because that would have made the test impossible. Instead, a roaming guard would pass by the room every two minutes.

  Rezkin pushed the door closed as a guard came into view around the corner. It would be so much easier if he could just kill the guards, but that was not the assignment. He waited several tense moments for the guard to pass and then counted to fifteen before checking that the guard had turned down the other corridor. Closing the door behind him, Rezkin silently rushed to the target room. He pressed the latch, and of course, it was locked. This was not a problem for a lockmaster, and he had the door open quickly, but almost not quickly enough to avoid the next guard.

  Once he slipped into the room, he sighed. No one would enter this room for another twelve minutes. He would have liked to have made it inside the room immediately after the last check so that he could have the full twenty minutes to exit the fortress and return to the master, but they would be looking for him to be near this room right before or after a check. Thusly, he decided to enter the room late and give up a bit of his escape time.

  The masters had not told him what to expect upon entering the room. He thought he might have to search for the object, but to his relief, it was displayed on a stand atop the dressing table. It was a
necklace with a fine silver chain and a green stone the color of fresh leaves in spring. Rezkin held the necklace up to the light. He appreciated the shimmer and reflective qualities, which could be useful for signaling a partner during a mission, but otherwise he saw no purpose in the item. He understood from his studies that some people decorated themselves with jewels in an attempt to appear important or desirable. He did not see how putting metal and rocks around your neck could improve your quality. Perhaps they had some hypnotic affect. He had learned in survival training that one could use shiny objects to lure fish, so he decided it was possible this necklace had the same effect on people.

  The young man shook his head and stuffed the necklace into a pouch at his belt. He frowned as he glanced down at the empty stand. It was obvious something was missing. He surveyed the room and had a sudden inspiration. He would have to move quickly since he was running out of time. Reaching the bed, he selected a long tassel of braided silver thread. He pulled out a few strands and twisted them together as he crossed to the side table. Upon the table was a decorative oil lamp with multicolored glass beads dangling from the top. He tilted the lamp so that he could remove a green glass bead from the back and threaded it on to the silver strands as he moved back to the dressing table. He hung the counterfeit jewelry on the stand and stepped back toward the door. A close inspection would reveal the necklace to be a fraud, but if the guards simply peered into the room, they may not notice the necklace was gone. The ploy could give him extra time if he was too slow in his escape.

  Pressing his ear to the door, he listened carefully for the guard to pass and then flew out of the room. He rushed down the hall in the opposite direction from which he had come and, after a brief inspection, darted around the corner. He had planned for time to hunt for the item, so making the replacement had not really put him behind. He was still pushing the limits, though, because he now had only eight minutes to get back to the master before someone checked on the object.

  Twice more the young man had to wait for guards to turn corners, and as he entered the solar, he was preparing himself mentally for the most daring … or reckless, but certainly the most dangerous part of his plan. The windows in the solar were already open, so he approached with caution, knowing that he still had no idea where Farson and Adona were located. Hiding in a shadow, he peered out into the garden below. He saw no movement or manlike shapes. Taking a necessary risk, he stuck his head out of the window and examined the rooftops above and around him and again saw no one.

  Stepping onto the windowsill, he examined his escape route. It was thirty feet to the ground, and he was not sure the fates would allow him to survive another such fall. The garden was surrounded by a ten-foot stone wall, atop which stood a five-foot high iron fence. At twelve years old, he stood at just over five feet tall, so if he hung from the windowsill, he would drop only ten feet to the iron fence. The top of the iron fence, however, was lined with foot-long metal spikes, so he would have to land with his feet on the crossbars between the spikes, and he could not crouch too far in the landing, or he would be impaled. Additionally, the crossbar was a little more than an inch wide, so it was going to be a balancing act.

  Maneuvering himself into position, Rezkin dangled from the windowsill, and without hesitation, let himself fall. He immediately regretted his decision. He struck the iron fence and produced a muffled clang that reverberated along its length. Rule 12, again. While he managed to land his feet on the crossbar as planned, one of the spikes caught in his pant leg and sliced into his calf. Rule 6 broken. His arms pin wheeled as he wobbled before regaining his balance, and then he dropped to grab hold of the crossbars. Once he planted his feet on the stone wall, he released his grip and caught himself once again on the lip of the wall. With one final release, he dropped to the ground in a crouch nearly tipping forward when his calf screamed in pain.

  Rezkin took in a deep breath through his nose and drew a strip of cloth from another pouch at his belt. After wrapping his calf, he scanned to see if he had left any noticeable blood behind. Satisfied that he had not broken Rule 10 again, he crossed the garden, looked for guards, and then passed through a gate. He darted across the yard toward the stables then ducked behind a hedge only to run into a massive wall of flesh. Dark eyes peered down at him above a cruel smirk. Striker Adona. Rezkin’s heart skipped a beat just as a meaty fist connected with his temple and all went black.

  “Method 16?” queried Master Peider.

  “A thin blade, such as a stiletto, directly to the base of the skull in an upward thrust. If done properly, it causes instantaneous, silent death with little blood. The blood and wound can be hidden if the target has long hair or bulky garments. Most effective if left in a position and situation appropriate for feigning sleep,” explained Rezkin as another arrow came hurtling toward his face. His blade flashed up, snapping the arrow in two and turning it aside. The rest of his body remained still so as not to spill any of the water in the bowl balanced on his head.

  They had been at this for over two hours already, and Rezkin was getting tired. Master Peider had required him to recite the list of deadly and harmful poisons and had moved on to kill methods. The strikers shot arrows at him randomly, sometimes several at a time and then with long breaks in between. Then there was the water, which could not be spilled.

  At seventeen years of age, he knew better than to protest. To do so would mean breaking Rule 17—Never complain and Rule 43—Fight off fatigue, which did not mean he could force his body not to need rest. Rather, it simply meant that he should avoid becoming fatigued in the first place through rigorous training and planning ahead. If he became fatigued under dangerous circumstances, he was supposed to push through until he was safe. Of course, he also had to observe Rule 258—Obey your masters. Rezkin had managed not to break a single rule in three days, and he was not going to start now, especially for something so mundane.

  “Good,” said Master Peider, “you may stop. You have a task to perform.”

  Rezkin nearly sighed but just managed to stop himself before he broke Rule 14—Do not revel in success. That was an important one he had learned the hard way. If one became overly satisfied or relaxed after a success, it could lead to disaster. Master Peider quirked an eyebrow at him as though he had read Rezkin’s mind and knew he had almost broken the Rule.

  Rezkin sheathed his sword then poured the water into the fountain before returning the bowl to the bench for later use. He followed Master Peider to the main courtyard where Striker Farson stood over a kneeling man. The man was filthy and wearing rags covered in blood. Master Jaiardun stood off to one side examining a lengthy scroll.

  He glanced up and asked, “Method 32?”

  “No,” replied Master Peider. “He performed thirty-two yesterday. He has not yet performed sixteen.”

  “Very well,” grunted Master Jaiardun.

  Master Peider turned to Rezkin and explained, “Rezkin, this man has been found guilty of multiple crimes including robbery, rape, and murder. He has been sentenced to death.”

  Master Jaiardun rolled his eyes and huffed, “He does not need to know all that. Just tell him to do it and let us move on. I have other things to do today.” Rezkin had to agree. He was tired, and he did not need to know all of the details. They needed to tell him what to do so he could be done with this task, but Master Peider always insisted that Rezkin possess all of the information, so he listened carefully.

  Master Peider scowled and turned back to Rezkin. “You will carry out his sentence using Method 16. Remember, one quick thrust upward.” He handed the young man a thin, silver blade. Rezkin took it and walked to the criminal. He had used this type before for Methods 14 and 27. It was optional for several other methods, but it was not his weapon of choice. His favorite for close-range attack was a broad, slightly curved, double-edged dagger with a hook catch on the back side near the hilt that could be used to tear flesh, disembowel, or simply catch and lock an opposing blade in a fight. It was a highly versati
le weapon that would have been utterly useless for this task.

  Rezkin grabbed the smelly man’s hair and jerked his head forward.

  “No! Please!” The man lurched as he cried out.

  Rezkin ignored him. He pressed the tip of the stiletto into the man’s neck. “Yes, that is correct. Right there,” stated Master Peider who was watching closely.

  “Wait!” begged the vermin at his feet. “H-How can you be so cruel?”

  Master Peider stilled Rezkin’s hand. “Cruel?”

  “Y-yes, you talk about killing me like it’s just another job. I am a man, damn it!” The man struggled against his bonds but stilled when Rezkin pressed the blade into his flesh.

  Rezkin frowned in confusion. “Master, what is cruel?”

  Master Peider shook his head, “No, Rezkin, we are not cruel. Cruelty is when one takes pleasure in the pain and suffering of another.”

  “Ah, I see,” Rezkin said as he felt his face relax. Then he jerked the man’s head back by the hair and spoke clearly as he looked into the terrified man’s eyes. “Cruelty is how you felt when you raped and murdered your victims.” He shook his head. “No, I do not feel pleasure in this. I feel nothing.”