The Ragged Man - By Tom Lloyd Page 0,96

his feet were touching the roof, then braced against the wall to take the strain on the rope as Dirr came hand over hand down it.

Once they were both safe on the guardhouse roof Veil crept to the edge and peered over. None of the guards were in sight, but the door was half-open, spilling light into the street and illuminating the barred gate where Doranei would be waiting. Veil dropped, using the door and lintel to swing himself into the guardroom and he was on the ground and drawing his shortswords before the guards realised what was happening. There were three, all seated, and only one had a weapon close enough to grab, so Veil lunged like a fencer towards him, catching the man in the throat.

‘What — ?’ was all the next man managed before Veil turned and whipped both swords across him, slashing deeply into face and chest and sending him spinning over a table.

The third had more presence of mind. He grabbed a spear propped against the wall and had almost levelled it by the time Veil made up the ground, but it wasn’t enough. One shortsword got him in the stomach, the other pierced his lung from behind, and he fell with an abrupt cough.

Not waiting to check whether there was need, Veil turned back to the second man face-down on the table and stabbed him in the back. The guard arched up, mouth open as though about to scream, but Veil slit his throat and the only sound was his dying breath.

‘Gods, you really are fast!’ came a gasp from the doorway.

Veil spun around, weapons raised and already moving towards the newcomer before he saw it was Dirr. He stopped dead, but Dirr had already retreated, a look of horror on his face.

‘Get that gate open,’ Veil hissed, indicating the gate behind him with a flick of a sword.

Dirr flinched as blood spattered across his face, but he obeyed without hesitation and trotted over to lift the bars.

Veil was about to follow him when he saw a key hanging from a nail by the doorway. ‘That makes it easier,’ he muttered, pocketing the key.

The gate had a postern that could be barred but was usually only locked. If the Brother who was staying at this gate could find a way to blockade all but the postern, they could lock up behind them on the way back and perhaps win one more precious minute. Once the whole company was through Veil pressed the key into the hand of a King’s Man wearing the livery of the Byoran Guard.

‘Keep the postern open,’ he instructed. ‘You won’t get much traffic this time of night, but let ’em all through as wants to go; that should let you bar the rest and fix it that way.’

A growl from Coran indicated he was supposed to be off and he jumped to obey, trotting through the deserted night-time streets with Dirr and Telasin Daemon-Touch, who ran with his head covered and bowed as always. Instead of the rapier and dagger Veil had expected, Telasin carried a pair of brutal khopesh that looked custom-made, with basket-hilts and runes detailed in bronze on the forward-tilted chopping edge.

Coin was at its quietest, the cold wind and late hour ensuring the streets were deserted. Veil padded ahead of the rest so he could ignore the sound of their footsteps and scout the next section. The pace was slow and patient, his reward continued silence as he moved from one building to the next.

He reached a crossroad and crouched down to peer around the corner. The street was empty, and no lights shone from any of the houses as far as the near-invisible cliff of Blackfang that Coin backed onto. Veil couldn’t help but look up at the broken mountain ahead. The steep, impassable slope started its climb up into the sky barely four hundred yards away. Something about it made Veil shiver; the presence of that brooding, broken mountain made him feel vulnerable.

Footsteps in the street brought him back to the mission with a jolt. He looked around the corner and saw five figures walking towards them. In the darkness it was impossible to tell who they were, but as he frantically waved behind him he heard their voices carry on the night air.

Piss and daemons, Veil thought, gesturing again. They weren’t drunks on their way home from some bar but a Menin patrol.

‘How many?’ asked a strange voice beside him and Veil twitched

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