Vendril: Midnight Excursions

Vendril watched the hooded figures slip across the rooftop, then stood up and followed, mimicking their movements as he slipped in among them. There were six of them, and for a moment he seemed a seventh. Then, with a light touch of silence and the quick flick of a blade, he left the sixth in the shadow of an enclosed stairwell and became the sixth himself. 

He'd come up to the roof because being in high places helped him relax and think. He hadn't intended to thwart an assassination, but as long as he had the opportunity...

Ahead of them, the roof ended at a low stone wall. Beyond that, it dropped to a lower roof, and from there to the training yards at the center of the temple. The intruders had come equipped with ropes and grappling hooks padded with strips of cloth to make as little noise as possible. It wasn't a bad approach; very likely nobody would have noticed if Vendril hadn't been standing on the roof already. 

He darted to one side and murdered another would-be assassin, leaving the corpse in a pool of shadow. The dagger was new, as was the bracer on his left forearm where it usually rested. It was an artifact in two pieces, the weapon and protection of the Shadow of the Clan. 

Five figures reached the inner edge of the roof at carefully-spaced intervals, and for all that his garments didn't quite match theirs, Vendril stood and moved as one of them. There was a momentary pause as they stopped to assess their course. Then the one on the end gestured-- and caught himself, realizing that one of his companions was missing. 

By then, though, two of the assassins were already over the wall and down, leaving behind ropes hooded to the stone wall. 

Vendril threw the dagger. It should have been an impossible shot, but the dagger was enchanted to fly further than an ordinary blade. It struck the leader and he staggered; the remaining assassin turned, silently drawing a pair of daggers. Vendril drew his rapier as the dagger returned to his hand. 

The assassins on the lower roof had realized something was wrong; Vendril could hear the faint scuffing as they came back up their ropes, but it was too late to matter. The rapier did its work, and the assassin in front of him fell: uncut, but too battered to move any further. That one would live. He ducked aside as a trio of darts flashed past him, probably tipped with something horrible, and used the bracer to make himself invisible as the other two scrambled over the edge and onto the upper roof. 

They were well-trained, and knew how to work as a team; they immediately formed a triangle, putting their backs to each other. 

Vendril took a moment to pick a target and judge his throw; then he put the dagger into the back of someone's neck. The assassin staggered and collapsed, and the other two turned on Vendril: attacking had made him visible again. 

He dodged another trio of poisoned darts, but took a dagger to the shoulder. Damn it. They moved in, trying to flank him, but he caught the leader with his rapier and he -- no, she --  fell. The remaining assassin attacked desperately, but he was scared now and it threw off his technique. Vendril took him down with the rapier as well. 

So: six assassins, three dead and three still alive. He could turn them over to Vigo, of course, but no. He remembered too well what that had been like. And there were other ways to get information. 

A healing potion took care of the cut on his arm, and a few minutes of careful searching relieved the assassins of their equipment. He used their own ropes to tie up the survivors, and their own hooks to hang them off the side of the temple. 

* * *

"You can't make me talk," said the assassin. The man was human, his face red as he hung upside down. "Kill me and get it over with."

Vendril leaned out from the wall, sitting comfortably in the rope harness he'd tied for himself. "No," he said. "That's not how this works. I know you'd rather die than tell me who hired you. I also know that given enough persuasion, you'll tell me anything I want to hear. But I don't have that kind of patience, and I don't enjoy that kind of work. So if you don't tell me what I want to know..." He nudged the man's shoulder with his boot, turning him so that he could see the other two captives. "...I'm going to drop him, just to show you that I'm serious. And then, if you still don't answer, I'm going to drop her." 

He was betting that would do it. The assassin might not fear his own death, but getting his companion and then his leader killed would be something else again. 

"You won't do it," the man said. 

Vendril laughed and kicked off the wall, swinging out and coming back in beside the next assassin. "No," said this man. "Please. Not like this."

Vendril took hold of the rope; the dagger was in his hand, its magically-sharp edge parting strands already as he touched it to the rope. Don't make me do this, he thought, but he let nothing but utter indifference show on his face. "Your call." He moved the blade, and the fibers started to part. 

"Wait!" yelled the woman. "Just-- just wait!" She was struggling against her bonds. Useless, since the best she could hope for would be to free herself and fall to her death. 

Vendril turned his head to look at her. 

"They can't tell you," she said. "They don't know. I don't know."

"What," asked Vendril, "do you know?"

"Jacqueline Bouvier," she said immediately. "That's who we were sent for. She's here in the temple somewhere, spying for her father."

Vendril decided not to argue over the details. "I know," he said. 

"Then you know we have to kill her. We're here to help the king, not to... not to kill him."

Well, that's a refreshing change. "I don't think the king will see it that way," he said thoughtfully. "He knows who she is, and he seems quite taken with her. And Giles Bouvier has been reconciled, and sworn loyalty to the Fontaine heir."

"He... what?" The woman struggled briefly, then settled again. 

"Someone's been feeding you bad information," Vendril told her. "Though I suppose the news wouldn't reach Brightland all that quickly."

The woman stared at him, and he knew he'd guessed correctly. "Benoit?" he asked. 

She nodded reluctantly. "Lara Benoit. That's how you should know we wouldn't..."

Vendril nodded. "Very well. Try to stay still. I'm going to fetch a couple of big, strong paladins to haul the three of you back up."

* * *

"We're in your debt," said Lara Benoit, looking at Vendril and then down at Brother Birno. Behind her, five other hired killers murmured their thanks. Three of them were still weak from resurrection, but they were all on their feet. 

"Properly," said Birno, who had done the resurrections himself, "justice should be done for your attempt at murder."

The woman flinched but didn't look away. "Then let it come for the one who hired us -- and who let us think that we were assisting the king's cause. The one who failed to mention that the Silver Fox was guarding this hen house."

Vendril raised his eyebrows. 

"Tabor saw your ring," she told him, then stepped forward and proffered a dagger. 

Vendril took it and looked it over. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, with Benoit carved into the guard. "If you ever find yourself in need of aid," Lara said, "present that blade to any of our people, and you'll have it. I won't say it was a pleasure, but..." She shrugged. "Sometimes it's good to meet your heroes."