So, Malcolm was in danger and once again needed their aid. It was not the first time that he had undertaken mad tasks in that man’s name. Gabriel leaned back in his seat and remembered…

Ten Years Earlier

He reached Carrick Town just before dusk.

The castle loomed large from where it was nestled on the hilltop, dominating the skyline and casting an ominous if vaguely protective shadow over the town, and Gabriel studied it for a long moment before flicking Cometes’ reins. With an annoyed exhalation, the charger started forward, though thankfully at a nice sedate pace instead of his usual breakneck speed. There were a few liveried guards patrolling the streets of Carrick Town and Cometes received more than a couple second looks, but none of them moved to stop his entrance.

By the time he reached an appropriate inn, Gabriel had identified at least three different skulkers shadowing him. One was clearly just a thief, but the other two were operating more like scouts, which he took to mean that they were Silver Hand operatives. So … his arrival had been noted. That would make things easier. Or more difficult, depending upon their true allegiances.

He flicked the stableboy a silver penny and offered a few warnings about the charger’s temperament, before carrying his gear into the inn. From the sign outside, Gabriel took the inn to be the Silver Pony, which he figured was close enough to White Horse to satisfy Cometes’ strangely picky tastes. He wasn’t sure how the horse could tell – or how it was even smart enough to care – but somehow, any time he did not pick a suitable inn, the charger would throw a fit and be altogether unreasonable. Once, he’d kicked down every stall and caused such a ruckus that the innkeeper threw them both out, and all because the inn had been named the Black Ox or Dark Cow or something. Damned horse. Clearly, this craziness was the elves’ fault.

The innkeeper was fat, which was a good sign, and Gabriel did not even bother trying to pretend he was a wealthy if bored nobleman. Instead, he simply ordered a room, handed over the requisite silver, and retreated to wait. If the Silver Hand were as competent as rumor said, he would not be alone for long.

“My lord?” The voice that appeared at his door long minutes later was an unfamiliar one – it did not sound anything like the innkeeper or any of his servants – and Gabriel smiled. They were faster than he expected. His door creaked as it opened, revealing a commonly-dressed young man whose eyes glittered with intelligence. He took in Gabriel’s stance at the far wall and how casually he stood, and all hints of deception fell away. The young man straightened and offered a nod. When he spoke, his voice was firmer and more confident. “You know who I represent?”

“I have my suspicions,” Gabriel replied. “I am merely a messenger,” he added. “No harm is intended toward your charge.”

“It matters not,” the man replied. He narrowed his eyes. “You are Wallace’s man,” he began, his expression turning into something almost alien. Their eyes met.

And without warning, both struck at the same time.

The agent’s hand flashed up, a deadly-looking knife in hand, but Gabriel was faster. He drew his rapier in a smooth, practiced maneuver and slid forward with deceptive speed. Mongoose Takes a Viper came automatically – he feinted hard, then radically altered the direction of his thrust the moment his foe moved to defend. The blade sank home, piercing the Silver Hand agent’s chest with lethal results; the man had just enough time to gasp in surprise before the pain set in. He staggered back, trying to draw breath to cry out an alarm, but Gabriel flowed forward again. Kissing the Viper sliced through the agent’s torso and then punctured his other lung. The man crumpled, unable to maintain his tenuous grip on consciousness, and Gabriel froze in place, his body poised to fall into any number of forms. He heard nothing apart from the normal sounds of an inn, though, and relaxed fractionally. Grabbing the unconscious and critically wounded man, he dragged him into his room, kicking the dropped knife deeper in as well. There was not much he could do about the blood in the hallway – fortunately, there was very little of it thanks to his precisely placed thrusts, but anyone looking would certainly notice – so he pushed his door closed and turned his attention back to the man on his floor.

As he feared, the agent’s back bore the unmistakable signs of a Controller, though the Vasar itself was not present. From the newness of the wounds, though, the loss of the creature was relatively recent, which was troubling. The Chalice and that wishing spell was weeks ago, and if he had to wager a guess as to when these injuries had occurred, he would say days. The knife also was an issue; at a glance, he could tell that it was poison-tipped. Gabriel exhaled in frustration. He had hoped this would not be the way he had to do this.

No one observed his departure from the inn and he ghosted into the shadows between two large structures. It had been a long time since he’d visited Carrick Town, but Caithness men were almost as resistant to change as elves, so he found the building he was looking for soonenough. There were four guards visible, and another three in places of concealment. Gabriel smiled and chose boldness over caution.

“You’re far from home, stranger,” one of the guards said as he drew near. This man was pretending to be a stablehand for the inn that bore no sign or plaque.

“That I am,” Gabriel agreed. “I am seeking the Brotherhood,” he said simply. When the man drew breath to speak, likely to insist that there was no such thing in Carrick Town, Gabriel spoke again. “I bear a missive for the king from Lord Wallace and mistrust the Hand to deliver it.” The guard’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and Gabriel smiled. “I can wait as your superiors are consulted.”

It took no time at all for another man to be summoned and, at a glance, Gabriel knew he was standing before one of the Brotherhood’s guild-masters. The newcomer was stout without being fat, and his right hand was gone. He bore the scars of a failed hanging upon his neck and one of his eyes had long ago been clawed out. Gabriel gave him a nod of greeting while instinctively falling into Cat Crosses the Courtyard to maximize his sense of alertness reaction time. It was a dangerous choice – those unfamiliar with the forms might perceive it as an arrogant saunter – but the one-eyed man grunted in recognition of the implied compliment.

“I don’t know you,” the man said flatly. “Why should me and mine help?” Gabriel gave him a smirk.

“For gold, of course.” With his left hand, he withdrew one of the small pouches Lord Wallace had given him and tossed it to the guild-master. The guard Gabriel had spoken to first reacted with surprising speed – his hand flashed out, snatching the purse out of the air before it could reach his master – and the one-eyed man barely blinked.

“We can get gold at any time,” he said. His eye flickered over Gabriel. “You are dragon-mark or near enough,” he added, which caused each of the guards present to tense, “but even you cannot kill us all should we decide to take the rest of your gold.”

“Not an hour ago,” Gabriel said by way of reply, “I slew a man of the Silver Hand.” That caused nearly even more consternation and even the one-eyed man’s poise faltered briefly. “He had marks on his back that came from a Controller.”

“The bugs,” someone murmured. The men shifted with discomfort but Gabriel did not take his eyes off the guild-master. The one-eyed man studied him for a long moment before finally nodding.

“What do you need?” he asked.

**

For three days, Gabriel watched the king.

With the Brotherhood’s assistance, he gained entrance to Carrick Castle without detection. There were more than enough servants and guardsmen in the keep for him to adopt a disguise, but instead, Gabriel located the great hall and managed to secure himself in the highest rafters, concealed by shadows and distance, where he observed the goings-on within the king’s court. By the end of the first day, he no longer trusted Lord Wallace’s oft-stated opinion on Conall VI – the king was no would-be tyrant or even a ruthless schemer, but rather a foolish romantic who had idealized views on the nature of his position. He was charming if a little dense at times, who was both a hard-worker and an overzealous manager of all things, even when things would run more smoothly without his interference. He also appeared to prefer beer over wine, but Gabriel wouldn’t hold that against him, not since Rainald did the same.

By day two, he had identified the currents within the court from simple observation. The captain of the guard, for example, loathed the exchequer, who was involved in an almost overt struggle for dominance with Archbishop Siccius in regards to influence with the king. Two of the lordlings inside Conall’s inner circle were contemplating treason, while a third was manipulating them both in what appeared to be a calculated attempt to gain further power for himself. The king was not completely oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him, though he paid less attention to them than he did to the baroness of Durham whom Gabriel found more handsome than attractive.

On the third day, there was an assassination attempt.

The would-be murderers were the two lordlings Gabriel had observed skulking in the periphery of the court, and they had managed to secret a handful of men-at-arms into positions throughout the great hall. When they struck, they found both the king and his knights ready for them, and no mercy was to be found. Conall, it turned out, was not entirely incompetent with a blade, though he was as married to the sword and board style as Rainald was. The assassins were dealt with and then, just as quietly disposed of.

In the chaos, while all eyes were distracted, Gabriel made his move.

He made his stealthy descent from the rafters quickly, dropping the last few feet soundlessly and then darting toward an open servant’s door partially hidden from sight by tricky arrangement of banners and furniture. If his calculations were correct, this hallway would lead directly to the king’s quarters, which were currently empty. The sound of footsteps warned him of an approaching servant, but the walls here were smooth so there were no nooks or crannies to lurk in. He glanced up – the ceiling was high – and then used the narrow walls to scramble up. It was an awkward position – he was pushing against the walls with his legs and his arms to keep from falling, and if anyone looked up, he was terribly exposed – but the rushing servants seemed to pay him no mind at they hurried about their tasks.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, though he was rather surprised at how directly the great hall connected to the king’s room. Did Conall use this to secret in lovers? Or perhaps to sneak out from time to time? Gabriel half-smiled at the mental image of that ox of a man dressed like a commoner and trying to blend in with the smallfolk.

To his great surprise, the little door leading to the king’s suite was not even locked. Pulling it open slowly, Gabriel verified there were no surprises waiting and then crept in. He glanced around quickly – there were the usual adornments on the walls, but the number of books and scrolls surprised him – and located an unobtrusive corner where he could wait. Before he settled in, though, checked the two large windows, and then ensured an emergency escape route was prepared should this go ill. It would not do to be captured here.

Nearly an hour passed before he heard the noises of men approaching. Gathering his cloak around him, Gabriel arranged himself in his little nook and concentrated. The instant someone pushed at the door, he murmured a soft word in Elven, triggering the magics built into the wondrous cloak. It did not make him invisible – which was unfortunate; he would like to be invisible some day, just to see what it felt like – but through some arcane means he did not comprehend, it made men’s eyes look past him.

“Yes, I understand your concerns,” Conall was saying as he entered his suite. A pale, skinny man with big eyes and an even bigger nose followed him. “If this assassin is in Carrick Town as you say, I have faith that your agents will ferret him out.”

“He slew one of my best men, Highness,” the other man said sourly. “And then, he escaped from the inn without my watchers seeing how.”

“Then they were not very good watchers, were they?” The king smiled as he tossed his heavy cloak toward a chair. “I will not close Carrick Town because you cannot find a single man.” The pale man frowned.

“And if he means you harm, Majesty?” he asked doggedly. Gabriel smiled – there was no better moment, he suspected.

“He does not,” he announced as he mentally dismissed the magics of the cloak. As he expected, both the king and the pale man jumped in surprise, though the spymaster reacted more quickly, instantly baring a knife and placing himself between the king and Gabriel. “I come bearing a missive from Lord Wallace,” Gabriel announced as he held the folded letter forward with his left hand, ensuring that the seal was present. “No harm is intended toward you, Majesty.”

“You are a bold one,” Conall said with something like a chuckle. He dropped a hand on the spymaster’s shoulder and nodded toward the table that was between them. “You killed one of my Hands.”

“He attacked me with a poisoned knife,” Gabriel replied as he placed the letter onto the indicated table. “I defended myself from a fool.” He glanced to the spymaster. “If that man was your best,” he remarked wryly, “then you are in dire straits, my lord.”

“Bold, brash and arrogant.” The king pursed his lips. “I see no hammer, nor bow, nor hunchback. The brother would not act thus, so you must be the one they call Gabriel.”

“The assassin,” the spymaster hissed angrily.

“I am named thus,” Gabriel replied, directing his words to the king while seeming to pay no attention at all to the spymaster. He flashed a smile. “You are well informed, Highness.”

“Wallace’s activities are a matter of some importance to me,” Conall said, “and those he surrounds himself are as well.” He glanced at the packet. “You know the contents of this letter?” he asked. Gabriel nodded.

“I was present when it was dictated, Highness.”

“Then speak plainly Wallace’s words. I have no patience for flowery speech in matters of state.” Gabriel smiled. He knew it was wrong – Wallace had knighted him, which made the man his liege lord – but he found himself liking this king.

“He wishes to march against the Vasar in their places of power,” Gabriel said, “but he does not alone possess the might to do so. Thus, he would treat with your highness to form a Caithness expedition to punish these creatures for the damage they have done to this kingdom.”

“Where and when?”

“Harkwood,” Gabriel replied. “Ten days time. The elves of Sylvilara have already pledged to march with us should we come to terms.”

“Majesty,” the spymaster began, but Conall waved it off. He was silent for a long moment before finally grunting.

“Inform Wallace that we shall send an envoy to treat with him under a banner of truce.” Gabriel bowed his head slightly. The king half-turned toward the main door. “You would be well advised to make your escape,” he said as he pulled it open. “Guards!” The spymaster’s smile was malicious, but Gabriel paid it no mind as he sprang toward the already prepared window. He threw it open with a quick gesture before flinging himself out. The rope line was waiting and he slid down the length of the tower, friction rapidly heating up his gloves. He felt the rope quiver – it would be the spymaster, cutting it free – but he was already away. Letting the line go, he dropped the last bit of distance, landing lightly atop the square roof that likely housed the castle chapel. Rolling to kill his momentum, Gabriel sprang up and sprinted toward the edge. He jumped, using the wall of the castle as a springboard to extend the breadth of his leap. As he landed upon another rooftop, he could hear the armcry being raised and flashed another grin – by God, he had forgotten how much fun this could be!

A small host of guards thought to cut him off as he scrambled down to the outlying building that looked out over the lake, but they were too slow, too encumbered to do more than watch as he tumbled over them and sprinted forward. The building’s lip drew near and without hesitation, Gabriel threw himself over. He knifed into the river below long moments later and, with powerful strokes, reached a small fishing boat moored a hundred yards away. The boatman eyed him as he clambered up.

“You’re late,” the smuggler mumbled darkly. He glanced toward the castle where even now, chaos was reigning, and scowled. “And if I knew you’d be raising such a hue and cry, I’d have charged you double.” Gabriel laughed.

“Get me to my horse before the sun is gone, good sir,” he said, “and I shall pay you that double.” He leaned back and smiled.

Today had been a good day.