The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power by Craig Halloran

Author:Craig Halloran [Halloran, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two-Ten Book Press, Inc.
Published: 2018-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 51

Later that night, in the confines of a dark alley, the roughnecks who tried to rob Finster earlier lay dead in pools of their own blood. All three men’s throats had been cut open. Their eyes were frozen stares transfixed toward the moon. Their slayers cleaned the blood on their blades on the dead men’s clothing.

A man entered the alley. He lowered a hood, which hid his face. “Alexandria,” the man said in a soft voice. “The targets have made much commotion. They have very brazen ways. They are in the king’s castle. We should have struck earlier, in the midst of the crowd. It would have been easier.”

“Nothing will be easy about killing these two,” she said to the man. She wore a nondescript cloak similar to the other assassins in the alley. The members of the Circle were amazing at blending in. If one were to pass them, they wouldn’t think them any different than any other traveler in the city. Alexandria, slender-faced with hard, penetrating eyes, gave a nod. The small group of assassins closed in on the man who was speaking. Their daggers pierced his body. Gasping, he sank to the ground.

“Don’t ever question my decision-making,” she said to the dying man. “There is a reason I am the guild master of the Circle. I’ve never failed. Sink them in the river.”

Alexandria departed. She walked the streets, getting a feel for things. For two decades, she’d killed from one kingdom to another, never missing the mark. She was good, very good, and she took her time about things. Now, she spent time gathering information about Finster and Moth.

She slid into a bar, took a seat, and ordered wine. The patrons couldn’t stop talking about what transpired in the Gauntlet. Though some of the stories were as bloated as their bellies, it became clear that the savage had powers beyond comprehension. Either that or the sorcerer was aiding him. As for Finster, she’d been sizing him up by pumping information out of the thugs he crossed earlier. She needed to understand as much about him and his powers as she could.

“Master of the inanimate,” she said, sipping her wine. The heavyset barkeeper glanced her way. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No,” he said, rubbing his rag inside of a mug. “I didn’t see you talking with anyone and thought you were talking to me, shipman.”

“I assure you, I wasn’t,” she said in an amiable man’s voice. “Just recollecting my crossings.” She pushed the sleeves up over her arms and wiped her nose. The robes she wore disguised her as a sailor—average age, height, and build. The deception blended in with the rest of the patrons just fine.

“Just let me know if you want me to keep them coming. I’ve got plenty of that Herclon wine I need to unload. The Herclons are mad that their Gauntlet lost. I wish I’d seen it.” The barkeeper chuckled. “Herclons pouting. Never thought I’d see the day.” He moved on, taking other patrons’ orders.

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