Free The Assassin's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Page B

business?” said Mara. 
    They stepped back into the sunlight, the Forum bustling around them. 
    “Oh, we do,” said Jager. “You were trying to kill me, which I admit is unsettling.”
    “I don’t…” started Mara. 
    “The wax sphere filled with poison,” said Jager. “As I recall, it is a favorite trick of the Red Family. You see, this might shock you, but despite my irresistible charm and rugged good looks, lovely women rarely walk up to me.”
    “I was walking past,” said Mara. 
    “They don’t do that, either,” said Jager. For just a moment, a hint of bitterness entered his deep voice. “The proud lords and wealthy men of Andomhaim mustn’t contaminate themselves with a haughty halfling who doesn’t know his place, oh, no. That would be unthinkable.”
    “Perhaps you are misnamed, sir,” said Mara. “Perhaps you should have my name.”
    Jager blinked, and then laughed. “Perhaps I should at that. But, you see, I must object to being murdered, even by a pretty young woman. I suspect you have the poison on your person, so if you will oblige me by accompanying me to the barracks of the city militia, then…”
    Mara spun and drove a foot into his instep. Jager saw the move coming and twisted like an eel to avoid it, but by then Mara had already ripped free. She turned and sprinted for the alleys behind the Sheathed Sword, her skirts flapping around her legs. Jager turned and pursued her. He was fast, and unlike her, he was not encumbered by a long skirt.
    Her mind sorted through potential courses of action. Killing him in the street was not an option. For one, she would be arrested. More importantly, the Matriarch had commanded that Jager’s death was to look accidental, and Mara knew better than to cross the Matriarch’s will. She supposed she could scream until someone came to her aid, but she was carrying the poison. 
    No. It was time for a different course of action.
    Mara darted into the alley, just a few paces ahead of Jager, and ducked into a doorway.
    And then she drew upon the shadows within her. 
    They were the gift and the curse of her blood. Her mother had been a freeholder’s daughter, kidnapped by orcish raiders and dragged to the Nightmane Forest as a slave. Her father had been the Traveler, the dark elven lord of that Forest, and from him Mara had inherited command over the shadows. 
    She had also inherited a curse that would eventually destroy her, but mastery over the shadows had its uses. 
    They rose at her command, wrapping her in darkness, and Mara went motionless.
    An instant later Jager burst into the alley, looking around. Mara held her breath as he looked in her direction, but his eyes passed over her. He craned his head, examining the roofs and the windows and the doors, but he didn’t see her. All trace of his charm had vanished, and he looked hard and tense and wary, ready to flee or fight as the situation demanded.
    She would not have expected such a reaction out of a wealthy merchant. 
    “Damn it,” he muttered. “Why do the pretty ones always try to kill me?”
    Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mara smiled at that.
    Jager turned and strode out of the alley.
    Mara waited and counted to a thousand, but Jager did not reappear.
    She released the shadows, left the alley, and went to report her failure to the Matriarch of the Red Family of Mhor.
     
    ###
     
    Cintarra was centuries old, and the Matriarch had hidden herself in the city for almost as long.
    Mara did not know the truth of the Matriarch’s story, not all of it, but the Matriarch liked to talk, and sometimes she seemed to forget that anyone else was there. She had once been a wizard and a noblewoman of the dark elves, one of the rulers of this world, a mistress of both fell sorcery and countless slaves. Then the urdmordar had come and overthrown the kingdoms of the dark elves, the surviving dark elves becoming slaves to the great spider-demons. To avoid that fate, the Matriarch had murdered