Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Forty Nine: A Mission

"Have you got everything you need?" Marick's eyes had pierced him through the gloom. It had been the first time Arlen had seen his employer in days.

"Yes sir."

"Is the boy ready?"

"As ready as he'll ever be."

"Good." Marick gave a rare smile, but his eyes had darkened. "I'm sure you won't fail."

Arlen ran over the exchange again in his head as he hurried through the Orthanian quarter with Silas on his heels. Something about it had rubbed him the wrong way, though he wasn't sure what it was that made him think Marick was keeping something from him. Something about his expression and the way he spoke; but Arlen couldn't have put a finger on it if he tried all night. He needed his mind focused on the task ahead, all of it. This was the biggest job he had ever done, with higher stakes than he had ever faced. He couldn't afford to waste energy complaining that he'd had to bring Silas on such a complicated, time-sensitive mission.

The Orthanians weren't back from the Hallow dinner when they reached the temple, but the guard had been doubled and they were actually doing their job, which meant Eril knew he might be in danger. The priest wasn't going to make it easy to catch him alone.

Arlen had been at the scene of countless deaths, most of them by his hand. Marick commissioned him to kill men who owed too much money, who were trying to escape a contract, or who actively challenged Marick's dominance over the criminal underworld. Out of necessity, Arlen had had to kill castle guards, beggars, and civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had killed from all levels of society, more names and faces than he would ever remember, but he had never been scared to do what needed doing. Most of the men and women he had killed mattered in their own circles, but none of them had sent shockwaves through the whole of society, not like Eril's would.

Arlen was scared this time.

Silas had been sick several times on their journey, and Arlen regretted that he had such a strong stomach – he'd have liked to quietly throw up in a gutter as well, to purge some of the nervousness from his body. Instead it sat like a boulder in his gut and ate at him.

"You remember the plan?" he grunted, during a lull in the retching behind him. He crouched behind a chimney overlooking the temple courtyard. The guards were less likely to spot them against the sky if they blended with the roofline. "Keep it together, kid. Someone'll find us just by following the puke."

Silas gasped for breath and spat one last time. He straddled the roof like a horse, his balance worse than Arlen's.

"I can't do this."

Arlen only spared him a glance before returning to his watch. "Then Marick will kill you."

Silas made a strangled noise. "There has to be some other way to pay the debt."

"When you're in Marick's debt, you pay however he tells you to," Arlen murmured. The guards outside the temple door were fidgeting, which meant they expected the house contingent back from the castle soon. The whole courtyard was rune-warded; the entire quarter was, in fact, including the roof Arlen and Silas sat on. It was the only area of the city where it was safe from demons no matter what time of day it was, but the guards, who were from other quarters, were visibly agitated at being outside for so long. Arlen wished they'd stop checking the sky for Marrowhawks. Every glance increased his chances of being spotted.

"I'll say it again," Arlen said. He withdrew from his vantage point for a moment to fix Silas with a scowl. "Do you remember the plan?"

Silas pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line and nodded.