Take out the mark, retrieve the scroll, and avoid getting killed by his protection detail of Black Guard mercenaries. That was the job. Simple enough, or so the Assassin Without a Name thought, until he finds himself smack in the middle of three org...
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MY PROFESSION IS ALL ABOUT finesse and skill. But sometimes, it's about running—or in this case, sprinting—across rooftops, with a near-moonless night overhead and an angry host of Black Guard mercenaries giving chase. It's one of those situations where you wonder how the hell you got into it until you remember you signed up for this, knowing full well the Guard's reputation for vengeance. You see, they don't like it when you kill someone under their protection. They like it even less when you do it right under their noses. I understand they have a reputation to maintain, but it's not my job to help them maintain it. Nor is it to make this an easy chase for them. Hindered by their heavy armor, the distance between us was growing with each step. It didn't help their cause that I knew these particular rooftops better than I knew the streets because I'd spent weeks studying and planning for this job. I knew which gables were hidden from the eyes of sentries. I knew which rooftops were no more than a leap away. I knew—
—when someone was about to crash into me. Too bad I realized it too late. If the Black Guardsman was trying to bring us both down, he succeeded, tumbling us across the slanted rooftop and guaranteeing that our momentum was going to carry us right over the edge unless one of us did something. The Guardsman didn't seem to have the first inkling of an idea, so I took it upon myself to detach my grappling hook from my belt, snap the prongs open, and scrape it along the cedar shingles until it stuck fast. Too bad my assailant didn't have the sense to hold onto me. He kept sliding, right over the edge and into oblivion. I got myself up and started running again long before he'd hit the ground.
"Stop right there!" yelled a Guardsman from too close behind me.
Not likely.
I sprinted across the rest of the rooftop and, with the mad scramble of booted feet in pursuit, jumped. The next rooftop was too far for me to reach. The mercs must have known that, for they let out a litany of curses, not out of concern for my safety, but because they thought I'd just committed suicide rather than face their tender mercies. I'd as much interest in the one as the other, and so I'd timed my jump to land precisely on an adjacent balcony instead. Easy enough to swing over the railing from there and lower myself to the next balcony below before the Guardsmen could look down, get over their surprise, and realize I was escaping.
I was almost to the ground when I heard one of them land with a crash on the balcony above me. Black Guardsmen don't lack courage, I'll give them that. But they do lack agility, for I was already on the ground and in an alley before the first of them had figured out how to even swing himself down one story.
There were three ways out of this alley. I started along the easiest, which just happened to be straight ahead until I saw a pair of Guardsmen scramble into view. The Guard must have cast their net wide to get men in front of me already, so I wondered if I'd have any better luck with the other two ways out. I didn't with the second, as I spotted more Guardsmen coming. That left the third route, which was a narrow offshoot I wasted no time diving into. It was clear, but only until I took the first turn and almost ran right into a Guardsman so burly he'd barely managed to squeeze himself into the alley's narrow confines. He was turned at an angle by necessity, which limited his reaction to my sudden appearance. I leaped at him—but not to attack—as I grabbed hold of his arm, stuck the toe of my boot onto his belt, and hoisted myself up and over. I hit the ground running, not looking back to see if he was pursuing or taking a moment to consider how I'd gotten around him.
