Broken Rule | Chapter 2

This is the second chapter of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule. It seems like Steemit might be a good place to release content of this type, so I'm posting a few chapters here to see what kind of response it gets. If there's an audience for the book I can serialize the entire 56 chapter story, probably one chapter per post.

Previous chapter: Chapter 1

Lorne Barrowman huddled inside a wardrobe, breathing as quietly as possible, counting heartbeats until it was time to act. When he had presented himself at the front door of the house as the laundry boy with a bag of freshly washed clothes he was let in, but berated for not using the servants' entrance. This guaranteed that the guards who saw him enter had no expectation of seeing him leave. When he got to Proctor Soledad's bedchamber he simply emptied the clothes from the bag into a hamper, and climbed into the cabinet. With the bag covering his body, Lorne hoped that anyone who looked at him would assume he was just a pile of freshly washed clothes.

When he had gone through training for missions like this his teachers had glossed over this part, saying things like “wait there until midnight” and moving directly on to the next step. But Lorne was learning that hiding inside a stuffy cabinet and sitting perfectly still for hours on end was difficult work. It wasn't that it required back-breaking labor, great dexterity, or a great deal of thought. It was that his back was cramping up from crouching so long, his limbs kept falling asleep from lack of movement, and there was nothing to do but think, think about all of the ways the mission could go wrong.

His mission was a straightforward one. Lorne wasn't entirely sure what Proctor Soledad had done wrong, but somebody in the Eyes had caught him doing something, and now Lorne was here as the Hand of the Black Circle to exact the price. It was only his third such mission, and he wouldn't have to kill Soledad, just break his leg and deliver the message. Lorne touched the scroll case, to reassure himself that he still had it. Where could it have gone inside the cabinet? But he touched it again, to make sure it was still there.

As he crouched in the cabinet wondering if there was anything worse than waiting, he discovered that there was. Proctor Soledad decided to retire for the evening, and opened the wardrobe to put his clothes away. Nothing but the sack concealed Lorne, and he sat, his heart thundering, terrified of being discovered. Staying still when his instincts were telling him to either flee or curl up into a tight little ball was an ordeal, but any motion would give him away. He had to rely on his disguise, such as it was. Laundry didn't move on its own, so neither could he.

Eventually Soledad finished changing into his night clothes and closed the wardrobe. Again Lorne had to fight his instincts: Soledad couldn't see him now, but he would certainly still hear a sigh of relief if Lorne expressed one. Eventually Lorne heard Soledad move over to the bed and settle himself in. Lorne returned to counting heartbeats, knowing that he needed to give the man sufficient time to fall asleep.

---

The appointed hour came, and Lorne eased open the door to the wardrobe. He sat silently for a minute, waiting to see if anyone had noticed. Slowly, so slowly, he eased himself from his hiding place. He had hoped that his mind would stop cataloging all the ways he could fail once he had started to act, but now it was worse then ever. Some part of him clearly took perverse glee in predicting his own doom. Surely his joints, held motionless for so long, would crack and pop when he stood up again. They didn't. Surely, when he removed the scroll from its black case and placed it on the pillow next to Soledad's head he would jostle the man and wake him up before he was ready. That didn't happen either. He would do the deed, but would bungle the escape. That thought was especially frightening, so Lorne stopped for a moment to review his plan. Through the window and up. He just needed to go through the window, slip on the sill, and crack his skull on the patio below. No, through the window and up to the roof. Just keep your mind on the job and get it over with, he thought to himself.

Proctor Soledad lay on his stomach, his right leg stretched out to the side, near the edge of the bed. He couldn't have been in a better position had he been in on the plan since the beginning. Lorne knitted his fingers together behind the Proctor's ankle and held his foot up over his knee. Here we go, he thought, and stomped down with his foot and pulled the ankle at the same time. There was a crunching, popping sound, and the Proctor woke up screaming. Lorne turned to face him, pointed at the scroll, and said, “The Black Circle has a message for you.” Lorne was pretty sure that the Proctor's eyes were clenched shut in pain and that his words couldn't be heard over the Proctor's agonized screams, but this was the way it was supposed to be done, so this was the way he was going to do it.

Even over the screams, Lorne could hear people moving in the house now. They were coming here, which meant that he had to leave, in a hurry. He pushed open the shutters, and his vision of plummeting to the patio returned. Just do it and be done, he thought to himself as he climbed out the window and pulled himself up to the roof. When the opportunity for plummeting had passed, he let out a loud sigh, and then cursed himself for making noise. He climbed up, and wedged himself between the roof and the chimney. At night, none of the Proctor's guards would be able to see him there from the ground. Now he just needed to wait for the commotion to die down, and for the guards to relax their attention, and he could climb down. When he had originally prepared the plan this second period of waiting seemed like a trivial addition. Now he knew that he would be able to occupy his time by thinking of all of the things that could still go wrong.

---

At sunrise, while the guards were changing shifts, he climbed down from the roof and made his way to the hayloft of a nearby stable. He wolfed down the bread and hard cheese that he'd stashed there the day before and settled himself in to rest. Keeping himself alert and yet perfectly still for so long had taken their toll on his body and he was exhausted. He relaxed into the hay for some sleep.

---

Lorne woke to someone shaking him, whispering “The Black Circle has a message for you.” He thrashed around in panic for a moment before he realized that the man who had woken him was now laughing at him. “You haven't done anything wrong, why should you fear a message from the Black Circle?” the man asked.

Lorne got himself under control and looked at the man. He had a large, unmistakable scar under his left eye. “Faber?” he asked, shocked. Faber was the one who gave Lorne his orders, but he hadn't seen the man's face for months. His instructions were always written down, left in the secret spot where Lorne knew to pick them up. As his panic settled down, his mind started working. If Faber was there to talk to him in person, it could mean only one thing. “Am I being raised to the second rank?”

“Yes, Lorne. Three missions, three successes. You've proven that you have what it takes, although if the rest of the Heart had seen how badly I scared you, they might have second thoughts,” he said with a smile.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“I was joking, Lorne. You need to lighten up a bit. Doing what you do can weigh down your soul, if you let it.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Well, I'm sure that you don't, but you'll either figure it out on your own or you won't. I have a new mission for you.”

“I'm always ready, sir.”

“Yes. Well, this one is rather unusual. Do you know anything about wizards?”

“Is there a wizard causing trouble in Old Harbor, sir? Does he need to be sent a message?”

“Not in Old Harbor, no. He's actually quite far away, down in Tarkannan. And he isn't exactly causing trouble, but he does need to be sent a message. He needs to know that we can get to him anywhere.”

“But if he's not causing trouble for us, why do we care? I joined the Black Circle because I love Old Harbor, not to keep order in Tarkannan.”

Faber smiled. “Personally, I agree with you. This mission seems like a waste of time and money to me. Which, to be honest, is why we're giving it to you instead of one of our more seasoned men. There are a few traditionalists in the Heart of the Black Circle who still take the affairs of wizards very seriously, so we can't cancel it completely. Remember that the Black Circle was formed by the spies and assassins who served Good King Nicholas during the War of Despair. Enforcing the First Law on wizards is our oldest tradition. It really hasn't been anything we've had to worry about for years, since before you were born. But the wizard we had to kill back then had an apprentice, and the apprentice is doing something suspicious. It's probably nothing, but he needs to be reminded that the Black Circle can act against him if we choose. You need to go down and give him a good scare. If he's too frightened to even think about crossing the line we won't have to waste Eyes on making sure he doesn't actually do it.”

“I'll do my best, sir.”

Faber laughed. “It's a crap mission, Lorne. You're allowed to complain about it.” His face turned more serious as he added, “As long as you do it.” He handed Lorne a bag of coins and the traditional black scroll tube. “The target is Jonas Terra. He is currently at Castle Thornwood, where he is part of the household of Duke Gavril. You're to wake him in the night, deliver the message, and break a minor bone to make sure he understands the gravity. Understood?”

“Which bone do I break?”

“That's up to you. A privilege of your new rank. Something minor. There's no call for crippling the man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“After you finish the mission, proceed to the Tarkannan capital city, Kubara. There are Eyes in Tarkannan. You'll get new instructions at a drop behind the statue of Saint Denisa in the main cathedral if the situation changes, or if there are further missions for you to undertake while you're down there.”

“Why are there Eyes in Tarkannan? Aren't the Eyes supposed to be watching out for improper activity here in Old Harbor?”

“Our Eyes do more than just hunt for criminals, Lorne. There are other dangers in the world that they need to watch out for. Wars, political maneuvering, trade disputes, plagues and blights. These things could affect Old Harbor, too.”

“I guess I didn't think of that, sir. I try to keep my mind on what I'm doing. I'll get started on the mission right now, sir.”

Faber nodded and casually made his way down the ladder and out of the stable. Lorne respected the calm way that Faber did everything, and suspected the man would be just as calm and cool if he were on a mission. Faber was too disciplined to ever break secrecy and talk about particular messages he had delivered, but his easy confidence and familiarity with the techniques proved that he had once been an exceedingly effective member of the Hand.

As Lorne booked passage on a ship, he thought about the mission in front of him. As Faber had said, it wasn't a mission he wanted. Punishing the wrongdoers in Old Harbor was what he wanted to do, but he supposed that it wasn't his place to question the whys and wherefores of missions. The Eyes of the Black Circle watched for crime, and reported to the Heart. The Heart of the Black Circle decided what to be done, and gave instructions to the Hand. And the Hand of the Black Circle, the organization to which Lorne proudly belonged, carried out its will. It was a good system and, as Faber had reminded him, had been in place since the days of Good King Nicholas. It was what made Old Harbor the greatest city in the world. So if the Heart decided that Lorne needed to go to Tarkannan, he would get the doubts out of his mind and get on with the job.