Avon lounged against the balcony post, his eyes tracing the view the height afforded him. He followed the streets with his gaze, watching them wind in an illogical tangle across bridges, through stone archways, along waterways, until at last they bled out into the sea. Being this high up felt almost dizzying. He glanced down and caught sight of a guard moving with a torch, so far below that he could make out little more than the flame itself and the faint outline of a helmet. The balcony belonged to one of the palace buildings, and like every structure of importance in the Tower of Azur, it stood atop a massive hill. That alone accounted for much of the staggering height.
Avon let his hand drift across the marble-clad wall behind him, fingers gliding over polished stone that felt a touch too smooth, a touch too perfect to have been shaped by human hands. From his perch on the support that braced the balcony to the wall, he tilted his head back to take in the ornately carved underside above him, and he considered the immense weight those slender braces held aloft. He could sense the magical currents woven through them, the forces that made such a design possible. Those currents mirrored the illogical weave of the streets below, flowing along the brace beneath him and curling up into the balcony overhead. As with everything else in the world, he saw a pattern in it, and it gave him a quiet sense of peace that so much of the world hung together by threads like these.
His eyes drifted back to the horizon, and he drank in the view. Night was closing in, and beneath a clear, star-strewn sky the darkness had long since claimed the streets. Across the city lay countless flecks of light from a thousand torches and lanterns, a pattern that flowed down and out into the sea, stretching toward the horizon. To the left, spires, towers and palaces fused together into something that struck him as massive. A merchant in the market had once remarked that no matter where you went in the city, the Tower watched over you with its relentless presence, and Avon could only agree.
His senses were at the present not entirely fixed on the city or even the view. His focus rested instead on the suite to which the balcony above belonged. He thought about his task, and the fact that he was here to guard what, in the minds of the people, amounted to a mythical creature. The thought tugged at one corner of his mouth, a fleeting smile. The owner of the suite was the famed Liora El Vanir, the heiress to the Vault of Thorns. Among the commoners she was known as the most beautiful woman in the world.
Earlier that day, Avon had warned her of a planned assassination attempt, and she had dismissed him, certain she was safe within her suite given the existing security. Avon reflected on how easily he had climbed up beneath the balcony under the cover of darkness. Only her door was well guarded. He was not convinced the assassins would choose this route and so he had carefully mapped every inch of the suite with his senses, watching for any movement. His position was strategic. From where he sat, no one could enter from the balcony, and if they managed to find another way in, he could move quickly and defend Liora.
He sensed movement in the suite but identified it as her, she was preparing for bed. The reminder of her drew his thoughts back to the meeting earlier that day. He had tracked down a woman, Inera, who could secure him an audience with Liora. The contact had been arranged through a jeweler with ties to the Vault of Thorns. Together they had passed through the bronze-clad gate set into the entrance of the palace where "the greens," a nickname for the members of the Vault of Thorns, resided.
Inera was a woman who walked with deliberate steps. As they moved toward the clerk who handled the registration logs, Avon had noted that every movement seemed measured. A scar set beneath her right eye ran diagonally across her face and ended just to the left of her mouth. He glanced once at her, then up to the painted dome above them, as they waited for the clerk. His attention caught on a dragon blanketing a mountain in fire, the flames mirrored in the scales of the beast. A hand at his side pulled him from the image.
"It is our turn now," Inera said with a sidelong glance, withdrawing her hand from his side. He turned toward the clerk, who was staring at them without blinking, leaving Avon to wonder if he had missed a question.
"How may I assist you," the older gentleman said, his voice carrying a faint tremor.
"We are here to see Liora El Vanir," Inera replied, and Avon sensed it was a sentence she had spoken many times in this setting. Her ease in this environment was something he noted the moment she stepped through the archway into the palace.
"Let me see if she is available." The clerk began rummaging through his papers, muttering, "Liora, hmm, L, hmm."
"We have an appointment," Inera said, a touch carefully. She stood leaning forward against the counter, fingers tapping a brisk rhythm up and down its surface.
"And if you do, then it will be in my rolls, you'll see, hmm, Liora, where do we have her, hmm." The clerk continued thumbing through his binders. Avon noticed they lay in complete disarray across the entire counter. Inera shot Avon an apologetic look, as if to convey that she had at least tried.
"Aha. Here we have her. She is occupied with a council meeting in her suite, but it should conclude shortly. You may wait outside, and they will call you in when it is done."
"Thank you, sir," was all Inera said, and she made a small motion meant to draw Avon along after her. The clerk returned to his books, and Avon thought he heard him mutter, "Everyone is in such a hurry, no one appreciates the value of proper records."
"Who sits on Liora's council?" Avon asked in a low voice.
"Her closest." Inera's reply was clipped.
Avon caught the restlessness in her answer and chose to continue their walk through the palace in silence. He let the sound of their boots striking the marble floor fill the empty space and returned to admiring the architecture and the tapestries hanging along the corridors. Reaching Liora's chambers required climbing several flights of stairs, but it was quickly done, and Avon soon found himself sitting beside a silent Inera in an antechamber adjoining Liora's audience hall. It was only a few minutes before Liora's chambermaid opened the door.
"You may come in now," she said in a careful voice as she waved them through. Avon followed the invitation and moved into Liora's audience hall, a rectangular and functional room, not grand or ostentatious like the halls of other prominent rulers he had visited. As he entered, his gaze was pulled straight to Liora. She wore a green dress, simple and elegant in its design, and a silver hairpin in her hair shaped like a dragon. He recognized the dragon hairpin from images of her sold at the market.
"That trade route is important to us. We will see to it that every caravan can move freely through the area. I will reach out to the rulers concerned and offer military support to restore order along the route," Liora said to an unknown man standing before her.
"We need to escort the caravans immediately. We do not have time to wait for replies from kings, princes, and dukes who, frankly, are not doing their jobs," the unknown man replied curtly.
"Marching military forces into other territories is an act of war, regardless of intent," Liora answered, finality in her voice, as her eyes met Inera's. "Ah, Inera, welcome back." Her gaze shifted to Avon, waiting for an introduction.
"Thank you, my lady. This is Avon, a merchant from the city. He has something he needs to speak with you about." Avon noted that Inera's voice carried a neutrality her body did not, her shoulders sat too high. His cover for the day was merchant, and he was not entirely satisfied with it. He would have preferred something that did not restrict his ability to convey information. Still, he had to admit to himself that he had been left with no real choice. The jewel merchant had brokered the contact with Inera, and Avon had needed to approach him with something they shared, something that could lay the foundation for trust. Otherwise, the introduction would never have been made.
"Welcome to you as well, Avon," Liora replied as she gestured toward her unknown councilor. "This is Gregori Al Dimori." She paused. "He…" she began, but Gregori cut in.
"What do you trade in? I have never seen you around the market," Gregori said as he offered Avon his hand in a firm handshake.
"I deal in carpets and silks from Tripolar. I am not often at the market. I deliver on commission," Avon answered.
"Interesting. What trade routes do you take? Tripolar, Tromtar, then the Tower? Surely you do not go overland from Malani?" Gregori sounded genuinely interested, and that was a problem Avon had not anticipated. The cover had been improvised on the spot to reach the jewel merchant, and time had been short. Details were dangerous, and when you built a cover, you usually laid down threads of truth. He had not had the time for that. Avon weighed whether to improvise his way through the conversation but judged the risk too high. Gregori clearly knew his way around trade and almost certainly had a wide network of contacts. The danger of contradicting himself was too real, and from that angle, breaking etiquette was the safer path than continuing down a road he could not see the end of.
"Most recently we have gone overland, but it depends on where in the world my clients are," Avon answered, then pressed on quickly before Gregori could break in. He turned toward Liora as he spoke. "But I am here on an urgent matter, my lady. By chance I have come to learn of a conspiracy against your life. I came to warn you."
Liora met Avon's gaze and held it for a moment before it moved on to Inera and then back to Avon. Inera met her gaze coolly, but Avon noticed her shoulders tighten and a watchfulness settle into her bearing.
"Thank you, Avon." She paused, briefly, almost imperceptibly. "We will take that information into account. It is not, however, the first time my life has been threatened. It comes with the position. We have a well-trained guard force accustomed to meeting such threats," Liora said, even as her gaze flickered briefly to Inera, who quickly looked away.
"You do not quite understand the scope of…" he began to explain, but she cut him off, not curtly, but calmly and with certainty.
“Thank you again” she held his gaze for a fraction of a second. ”I must move on to my next meeting." She turned and began moving toward a door deeper in the room, then faltered slightly in mid-step. "You shall of course be rewarded for taking the time to come here. Inera, see to it that he receives twenty gold coins. We are always grateful for loyalty shown." She offered a quick smile before turning and disappearing through the door. Avon followed her with his eyes while he worked to understand the pattern behind this meeting. Twenty gold coins was a considerable sum for any kind of information. The meaning of it was not entirely clear to him.
Avon turned the exchange over in his mind, but the pieces refused to fit. Why pay twenty gold coins for information you had already dismissed? He shook the memory off and let his gaze drift down to the ground from the balcony support, searching the darkness for any movement, but he found none. This could be a long night, but something told him the attack would come before dawn. He did not know where the conviction came from.
A movement inside the suite set his senses on edge. He climbed swiftly from the balcony support up onto the balcony itself, through the archway, and into the room. A large stone had been pushed out from the wall and two men had crawled through, with a third on his way in behind them. The first was so close to Avon that they nearly stumbled over each other. The assassin's eyes widened as they met Avon's, and he lunged awkwardly, his body not quite in an optimal position for the movement. Avon blocked the strike, hand moving before the thought formed, and drove his own dagger straight into the assassin's chest. A second shadow vanished toward the bedchamber, swallowed by the dark before Avon's thought of a firebolt could take full shape. He followed, silent across the rugs and through the archway separating the rooms.
The moonlight shone through a window beside the bed, making it possible for him to see the attacker. Avon caught him just beside the bed, throwing himself forward and seizing the arm that held the dagger. The motion sent them both tumbling across the bed, over Liora, and down to the floor. Avon shifted his body so that he landed beneath the assassin, compressing his legs so the assassin's body landed under his feet. Using the force of the fall he rolled backwards and, straightening his legs, hurling his enemy out through a nearby window.
"Guards. To me." Liora’s voice was a command, not a plea and without fear.
Avon ignored her and ran out toward the room with the balcony. The third assassin was handling Liora's guards without much trouble, but Avon was kept from helping, because a fourth assassin had made his way inside and was closing on him. Once again too near for magic. Avon blocked an attack and made a strike of his own, which was blocked in turn. He adjusted his motion and tried to take his enemy down to the ground, but the man danced lightly aside. Avon did not recognize their technique, though he had to admit to himself, between the blows, that they were skilled.
The assassin's mistake was a simple one. His lunge ran a fraction too long, and Avon exploited the small overextension to its limit. He slipped past the strike, caught the outstretched arm with one hand, and locked it against his body while driving his own thrust toward the man's stomach. The assassin blocked it, but by then Avon was close enough to sweep his leg out and bring him to the ground. Once down, the assassin's fate was sealed.
Avon rose and saw the third assassin, who had just finished off the guards. This time there was room for magic, and he hurled a firebolt at his opponent. It struck the man square in the chest. The firebolt dissolved into nothing and left Avon baffled. At the same moment, Liora entered the room, a magic user as well, and fully intent on ridding herself of the intruders. The last assassin raised his hand, meaning to throw his dagger at her. Avon's mind worked fast. The man had to be carrying an amulet that shielded him from magic to some degree. Such amulets were expensive and rare, but they existed, and if he carried a medallion, the dagger might be forged from the same material. He could feel Liora preparing a shield to deflect the blade. It would not hold. As those thoughts raced through his mind, he moved his body in front of hers, and the thrown dagger sank into his left shoulder.
She stepped around him and threw a firebolt at the assassin, but she did not aim at his chest. She aimed at his legs. The firebolt exploded and left the enemy with only his upper body remaining, dying quickly from the loss. Liora ignored the dying assassin and moved swiftly to Avon, who was about to fall. She caught him and helped him down onto a chaise longue.
"Poison," was all Avon managed to say as Liora's chambermaid came into the room. He heard Liora say, "Fetch the healer," and then everything went dark.
Liora studied Avon's face as she felt his forehead. The fever had already claimed him, and his skin burned against the back of her hand. She noted his sharp jawline, a strong nose, and thick eyebrows. His beard was kept just short enough, and his hair was pulled into a short braid that ended above the nape of his neck. Looking at him now, she guessed he hailed from Varangia, the style of hair and that nose were telling. Earlier that day his hair had hung loose, and the resemblance had not been nearly so clear.
She took careful hold of the dagger lodged in his left shoulder and drew it out. Healing magic was not her strongest art, but she could at least close the wound. The poison would require more competent hands. She let the magic flow through her, guiding the currents into his wound, which slowly closed beneath her touch. Her fingers wandered absently across the new scar. Exhaling, she straightened, taking him in one last time. There was nothing more she could do for him until her chambermaid returned with the healer.
She had heeded his warning. The wards she had laid around her chambers should have alerted her the moment any living creature crossed their boundary, but they had not reacted to the intruders, nor to Avon. She moved from his side to the nearest assassin to confirm a suspicion. She loosened the man's collar and found a medallion hanging around his neck. The metal turned ice-cold the moment she touched it, a biting chill that called to mind the deepest of winter nights. That explained why her wards had ignored the assassins. Their medallions had short-circuited the magic. She studied the pattern on the medallion intently but could not discern what it represented. Symbols she could not place. A geometry that did not belong to any tradition she knew.
