Captain Minluzir had the Rothgimil anchored some way off the cape of Umbar, as they had arranged. No inference was expected from the authorities, but the cunning old smuggler was taking no chances. The ship would await him for three days. No more. Minluzir owed Captain Naraal a few favours, but they were not worth his life or his livelihood.
And matters had gone well…initially. Tazakr had entered Jax Phanäl easily enough, and then taken a couple of hours to familiarize himself with the nooks and alleyways of the place. It was a moderate sized town, home to sea-captains and merchant traders for the most part. Wealthier than many communities, it was rather well guarded. But there was no military stationed there, only a few dozen well trained private guards. He who eluded the best pursuers of Umbar Baharbêl would have no difficulty in that place.
Now the merchant Ubraan had been visible at the small market that afternoon. Tazakr had also noticed his lady wife at the open window on the second story of their house. He had waited and watched, and pretended to doze a little in the sun. It was no hardship. He had seen what he assumed was a man-servant entering and departing the house several times. A middle aged man clad in ochre silk. A personal assistant, not a body guard. And he had mulled over his plan. Ubraan, his wife, a servant, possibly the boy? Was that truly all?
This was more a job for a thief than an assassin, he had thought from the start. No need to sneak up behind anyone and slit their throat. Perhaps no need to kill anyone? Not that Tazakr was averse to killing, but the fewer injured or slain people, the less likely a long and strong pursuit. And so he decided to make his move a little after midnight. Between one and two hours into the following day would see most folk abed, and not yet woken as they might be after three hours sleep. When the time came, and he had registered in the tavern as Ja’Mayel of the Shield Isles - Trader, he silently left his assigned room through the window, trod light of foot across the roofs of the houses until he came to the one that was home to Ubraan. There were a few folk out in front of the tavern. He crouched low, his cloak over his head and pulled up to cover much of his face. None showed signs of looking in his direction.
Carefully he lowered himself down from the parapet. He had a light but largish woven bag over his shoulder in which he would carry the armour to the bay. Then he only had to risk a rowing boat, or swim to the Rothgimil with it! No sounds came from within the house save a gentle snore from the nearest window. The curtains blew a little in the fragrant night breeze. He moved further along the ledge. The snoring came from that room. He heard the sound of a creak from an inner door. At the furthest window there was no sound, but it was fastened shut. Deftly using his small dagger, Tazakr managed to unhook the latch and pushed the window open.
He replaced his dagger and entered the room. There was no light, save that from the half moon and the stars in the sky. He crept towards the bed. It was empty as he had hoped. A guest room perhaps? He felt a small wave of relief. There would be three more rooms at the back of the house he would need to search. He took out his handkerchief from a pocket, on which he had recently placed a few drops of sleeping potion. Tazakr would have his favourite ‘tool’ to hand as he explored further.
Now where would that prized armour be stored? He had suspected somewhere where visitors could admire it, in the main room or hallways. But then again, he had heard it had been a gift for the trader’s son. Would that son want to keep it as a private treasure, only showing it to his favoured friends?
He crossed the room to the door, then listened very carefully. The soft snoring was coming from the one room. There was still the slow, rhythmic creaking. Slowly, he slipped out of the room, looked up and down the long landing, then crossed to the opposite door. A new sound of voices caught his attention. Two men, speaking soft enough to not wake the sleepers? That was four of the small household accounted for. He pushed the door open…and he was struck hard on the head!. For an instant he thought he would lose consciousness, but he didn’t. Blood was trickling down his face. Swaying on his feet he saw someone taller than him, fine of frame but around six foot in height with a marble figurine in one hand and a sharp dagger in the other.
The man opened his mouth to speak, and swift as a snake strike Tazakr had his own dagger at the man’s throat, only it glanced off the armour because he was wearing a gorget. The boy was wearing the armour!
Long-honed instincts saved the day, as Tazakr slid the cloth in his other hand over the boy’s nose. His greater strength allowed him to keep his opponent from uttering any sound until he collapsed on the floor. Tazakr eased him down the last foot, so no thud would be heard in the rooms below.
But now he had to act swiftly. The room was swimming before his eyes, the darkness almost impenetrable. They ‘boy’ would old be unconscious for five minutes at the most. He had to remove the armour. He was only wearing the gorget and chestplate, for whatever reason. The leg armour might also be in the room. He wiped the trickle of blood from his eyes. “Work fast!” he told himself.
The straps holding the armour in place were stiff, as he knew they would be on any almost new piece. His fingers were trembling. It felt like hours, but he managed to ease the leather, then push the boy onto his side, then back, and so retrieved the whole piece. It felt light as a feather to hold. Elven craft. There should be fewer Elves but more of their crafts in the land. He stifled a snigger.
Crawling now, he mostly felt his way around the room. The greaves and poleyns had to be somewhere.
The boy moaned and twitched.
‘Work fast!” he told himself again. His head had begun to ache as if it had been used by someone as a drum.
And there was cold metal, atop the bed. Swiftly and thankfully Tazakr grabbed the leg armour and put it also in the bag. It was light, but awkward in shape. With a little maneuvering it fit inside. He headed to the window. It was open, and the edge of the roof was almost within reach.
Tazakr could not reach it, not with the bag. He tried to swing the armour onto the roof, but it was too unwieldy and threatened to pull him out of the window.. The boy moaned again and rolled onto his side.
“Stop! You demon, that is mine!”
He flicked out with his dagger so the boy clutched at his throat. A deep enough wound to stall any ‘rescuers’ rather than a death they might run past, he hoped.
The talking downstairs stopped. There was a footfall on the stairs.
There was nothing for it. Tazakr swung the bag containing the armour out of the window into the garden below, then climbed onto the sill, and jumped.
The jolt of landing travelled right through him, every bone feeling suddenly wrenched out of place. There was the sound of a man running from the downstairs rooms, and others would be alerted. There was nothing for it. Tazakr swung the bag of armour over his shoulder and headed to the nearest alley.
There were calls for aid, two voices now, and a woman was crying in anguish. “Guards, guards…!” but he was on his feet and away down the nearest turning. No stopping, he had to keep up his movement or he would fall. Along one alleyway, down some twisting steps. He hugged close to the walls of the houses, then there was the main gate..and for some reason the two guards were not there? He threw himself out of the gate and stumbled down the steps to the beach. Turning to look back for pursuers, he had to rub his eyes, for all he saw was a short man in a blue cloak with a small, recognisable cur by his feet.
He plunged into the water, cool, but not freezing. It revived him somewhat. And he swam away from Jax Phanâl, away from the rowing boat he had planned on taking. His arms were heavy, his legs even more so.
‘Where are you, Minluzir?’ he thought. Though the Captain of the Rothgimil had no reason to suspect he would be swimming.
The half moon was better than a full one, even so, it gave considerable light. Tazakr could hear men assembling on the beach behind him. Archers? Perhaps they were manning small boats?
‘Minluzir…’ He did not think swimming was such a good plan. Although it was not easy for any pursuers to see him, he was wounded, exhausted, and unusually out of his depth. For an instant his thought went to the blue cloaked man. The same one he had seen watching him in Umbar Baharbel? The small dog was a give away….he turned in the water, too tired to swim, too tired to think, and floated on his back…
Then a shape loomed up, dark in the darkness. There was a small swell and swoosh of water as a ship neared him.
“No, don’t throw ropes, get down there and pull him and his cargo up,” came a hushed voice.
There were two sudden splashes, and he found himself being dragged to the side of the Rothgimil and safety.
They sailed north for two weeks. His head wound slowly improved.
The ship’s healer, a rough oaf with gentle hands, had cleaned and bound his cracked skull. “Yer lucky to be alive. No sudden movements for a good while yet, or yer may reopen it. Head wounds are unpredictable.”
Tazakr had been offered a tincture of the healer's own making to lessen the pain. He used his own as well. He slept a lot, but was woken from time to time to drink water or weak ale.
Minluzir visited him, ‘cabined’ roughly in the store room at the stern. “You got it then, and a pretty enough couple of pieces it is. I hope you are well rewarded.”
“I could have got it without any of trouble, had time not been so important. Have you looked at it? I almost feel like running away with it myself.” Tazkr said hoarsely.
“You wouldn’t fit into it any more than I would.” The Captain patted his broad midriff and grinned.
Tazakr was nowhere near as broad as he. But neither was he an Elf. He would have to be blind to not want such armour, but he knew well such a unique piece was not for the likes of him.
“Where will we dock then? Back at that Trader’s Wharf?” he asked. If they were going there he had best hide the armour. Not many crews, and certainly no Breeish brigands, could be trusted with it.
Minluzir nodded. “Same as usual. We do a fair enough trade there. Decent food from the Shire-rats, pipe-weed, some fair ale and cheeses. Sometimes slaves. Just don’t go wandering off in your rush. I will get you a good horse to ride north on. One that will feel no challenge from carrying that heavy load of yours. You can tell Naraal my debt is repaid. ”
They both grinned. The armour was priceless, but it was not too heavy a burden.
