An elegant moon hung in the sky, and starlight picked out the watchtower in the distance. In the dark, Gildo tossed his bottle of spirits to the floor and rose with a click of his tongue. He took the sword beside his bed and left the room.
“There’s no end to them, is there? Was it this bad before we came?”
He wished they’d take a day off for once—though he doubted they were working for the same people as the last lot. He moved through the estate, closing in on the newest wave of assassins: amateurs who couldn’t hide nearly as well as he could. He may not have had mana, but he was built like a fortress and skilled even by mercenary standards. Though he preferred fighting head-on, he was just as good at taking out the sneaky sort.
Both below average, with only a slight difference between them. Better than what we got the other day, but still not much of a threat.
A few days earlier, he’d fought an assassin who was truly bottom-of-the-barrel. The one before that had been better, but still below average. Gildo had to wonder if there were any half-decent assassins left.
He closed in on the more capable of his two targets, unheard and unseen. By the time the man reached for his weapon, it was already too late—a brawny arm cinched around his neck, snatching his consciousness away.
Gildo pivoted toward the second assassin, but this one caught his approach. The mercenary sprang into the air as three daggers flew at him from the bushes. The intruder must have realized he couldn’t stay put; he burst from cover, a fourth dagger clenched in a reverse grip.
Poisoned, huh? How thorough.
Gildo could tell from the blade’s shape. Whether it was lethal or paralytic didn’t matter—it would never so much as graze him.
“Whatever.”
He smirked, drawing his sword like a wolf baring its fangs. The flicker of hesitation in his target’s eyes was all he needed. He surged forward, and the assassin swung on reflex—exactly as expected. Gildo dropped low and aimed a sideways kick at the man’s legs. The assassin dodged but lost his balance, leaving himself wide open. Gildo slipped behind him, seized his dagger-wielding right arm, and wrenched it up behind his back.
“Agh!”
The assassin’s shoulder popped from its socket. Gildo held him still with one hand, took the dagger with the other, and sniffed its tip.
“Paralytic, eh? So with one little prick, you’d go all numb on me?”
“Let...go...!”
“I’m half tempted to test it out.”
The assassin gritted his teeth in pain, glaring over his shoulder. Gildo tossed the dagger aside.
“Don’t be too rough with him,” said a voice too high to be male. “We need him to talk, remember.”
“Well, quit standin’ there and help me,” Gildo snapped, turning to Olga. She had been watching from the shadows.
“You were better suited to dealing with him. Where’s the other one?”
“In the forest. Won’t wake up for hours,” Gildo said, his mood improving a notch when he saw the ropes in her hands. He used one to bind the assassin quickly. “You realize they’re probably not gonna talk, right?”
“We have to try, for the sake of our reports. You have been writing yours, haven’t you?”
Gildo averted his eyes. “I’ll just lump ’em all together.”
Olga heaved a long sigh. She had no intention of doing his paperwork for him. He’d caught the assassins, so he would need to write about them. Gildo knew it too, so he didn’t even bother protesting as he retrieved the other attacker and locked them both up. Before returning to his room, he swung by the kitchen for another bottle of spirits.
“Other nobles don’t have this many assassins after them,” Gildo muttered with a frown as he rummaged through the drawers. He didn’t have much experience guarding noble estates, but he knew mercenaries who did, and none of them spoke of danger like this.
The slow tread of footsteps broke the silence. Gildo looked up, instantly alert—then relaxed when he saw who it was.
“Oh, it’s you,” Mikal the stableman said as he stepped into the kitchen. He had a plain face and the build of someone used to physical labor. “What’re you doing here this late?”
Gildo cocked an eyebrow at the shovel in the man’s hand. Surely that was stranger than looking for a drink. He raised the bottle he’d just found and announced, “Wanted a new one.”
Mikal chuckled. “You drink too much for a guard.”
Gildo had met Mikal on his first day working at the estate. The stableman had struck him as odd at first, but Mikal wore a knowing smile, and they quickly realized—without even having to say much—that they had plenty in common. They had been on good terms ever since.
“It barely has an effect on me,” Gildo said. “Want some?”
“Nah. I’m not a musclehead.”
Gildo didn’t mind not sharing. He bit down on the cork, yanked it free in one smooth motion, and took a hefty swig.
“Just had to give some unwanted guests a warm welcome,” he said. “How come you get so many assassins here? Even for one of the three big houses, this is too much.”
Mikal shrugged, adjusting his grip on the shovel. “That was why Old Man Kenneth sent me with Marianne—to guard the girls. Marianne never seems to get targeted, mind you, and the last guards did a good enough job protecting the young lady that I almost never had to act. Which was good, because protecting people isn’t my specialty. You’re right, though—I’ve got more and more work these days.”
“I don’t like where this is going...” Gildo muttered. “You know who’s behind it?”
Mikal shook his head, then said so quietly that even Gildo had to lean in to catch it, “The duke has a lot of enemies.”
“Figures.”
Assassins were mere subcontractors—they rarely knew the full scope of an assignment. Still, if he didn’t resolve the matter quickly, it could cut further into his sleeping and drinking.
Mikal gave the mercenary a knowing smile. “If you want answers, you won’t get far without a contact in the underworld.”
Gildo snapped his head up in realization. “Oh, right. I’ll keep that in mind when I follow up on this.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, so creased it was nearly unreadable, though he remembered its contents well enough. Grinning, he added, “Thanks, buddy.”
“I’m not sure what for, but I’m glad I could help.”
After a parting wave from the stableman, Gildo returned to his room with his bottle of spirits. His thoughts drifted back to the note: Liliana’s request that he investigate the merchant frequenting the Tanners’ marquessate.