Free Mountain of Daggers by Seth Skorkowsky

dodging traffic and ignoring the shouts of guards. His legs faltered. His breath came in raging gasps and a burning pain shot through his side. He stopped and slouched against a shop front and sucked air in heavy gulps. As the red haze faded from his vision, he forced himself to look around.
    A wooden sign creaked in the wind on rusted rings. ‘Spielder’s Mercantile.’ Konrad smiled; he was almost home. He dabbed the sweat now coating his face and bald head and began walking toward his house.
    He made it a block before a familiar tingle danced up his neck. He jerked his head around and glanced over his shoulder to see a lone cloaked figure walking down the street behind him. Red shadows hid the figure’s face, but the determination in his pace rejuvenated Konrad’s fear. He cut through an alley and hurried across a small square, then risked another glance behind. He was still being followed. Konrad’s heart pounded faster and he dodged into the maze work of alleyways.
    #
    After some minutes, Konrad skidded around a corner and came face-to-face with a dead end. He spun around to double back, but stopped. The steady sound of boot steps echoed from the alley walls.
    Trapped.
    He swallowed and looked frantically around, then ducked into a door niche. Pressing against the door, he struggled not to pound on it and draw his pursuer’s attention. He held his breath and prayed not to be seen, listening as the footsteps came closer. And closer. And closer. Then stopped. Konrad gulped, straining to hear anything in the sudden silence.
    “Mister Amkire.”
    Konrad nearly screamed. He slowly turned his head and forced himself to look. A dark-haired gentleman stood in the alleyway, his rich parchment clothes now hidden under a dark cloak. “Count Eichefurt.” He forced a slight chuckle. “You surprised me.”
    The count nodded, but said nothing.
    “Count,” Konrad’s voice shook. “I think someone’s following me. A…a…cutpurse or some brigand. Can you look back to make sure no one’s there?”
    The count didn’t move. “There’s no one back there. We’re alone.”
    “But I heard him!”
    The count nodded. “You did. The fact remains, we’re alone.” He let fall a long black feather. It drifted down and settled at Konrad’s feet.
    Konrad’s gaze lifted from the feather to the count’s face. The count narrowed his eyes. Konrad bolted. The Black Raven’s cane cracked against Konrad’s knees as he fled past. He stumbled and fell, sprawling onto the filthy cobblestones. The cold brass tip of his attacker’s cane pressed into the side of his throat.
    “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”
    “It was Helmuth,” Konrad sputtered. “He tracked you down. It was his idea. I had nothing to do with it.” Tears streamed down his face. “Have mercy. Please.”
    “You went along with it,” Ahren said, his voice cold.
    “I’ll pay you,” Konrad blubbered. “Whatever you want! Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything!”
    Ahren shook his head. “Miss Khamleir and I have an arrangement, and I am a man of my word.”
    “Please, I—”
    The Black Raven twisted the round knob of his cane and a slender stiletto point sprang from the tip. The pick-like blade jabbed into Konrad’s neck.
    Blood gurgled into his throat and out his mouth. He clutched the wound, trying to staunch the pulsing flow of silky blood pouring between his fingers. Gulping like a fish, he tried to scream, but only gurgled. His killer stood above him, watching with apathetic eyes. Coldness crept in, the world dimmed and faded to nothing.
    #
    Ahren let out a sigh as Konrad’s twitching body fell still. He pulled back on the knob, retracting the blade into the shaft, then locked the mechanism before pushing the handle back to its normal position.
    Stepping around the pool of dark blood now filling the narrow lane, he picked up the black feather, and tucked it in the dead man’s doublet. A satisfied smile grew along his lips as he