Belligt of Myrkheim was never seen, except when he meant to be. There was no one near to see him smile; the moonless night was deep and quiet, at least in this part of the vast city. If a chance passerby had come close enough to spy the spy, Belligt would have remained still and invisible... or he might have killed the luckless interloper. He was as skilled in silent murder as he was at stealth.
Belligt’s present assignment did not call for death but for theft, or more properly, kidnapping. Tonight’s abduction wouldn’t be the first babe he had stolen from its bed, though it certainly would be the strangest one he’d ever targeted. The child was the spawn of a traitor half-Jotunn and a hateful ljosalf, something even more revolting than the cross-breeds of giant and dvergr that were polluting Myrkheim lately. Belligt was himself pure dokkalf, with not the least trace of man or dverg tainting his line. He was midnight-dark and hauntingly graceful.
That he was working for one of those Jotunn intruders in his homeland was only an irony of business. War-Marshal Buri had good silver to offer, much silver for a difficult task, and it was a job perfectly matching Belligt’s talents. He was asked to cross a world-bridge to a distant realm, stalk his prey unseen, find the child, and return it to the Marshal. The brat was, after all, the giant’s grandchild.
Buri’s son, Nicklaus, was the half-Jotunn father, the offspring of a political union between the Marshal and a dverg princess, both of them already part-human mongrels. If their armies weren’t so useful, the dokkalfar should exterminate the whole disgusting lot.
Belligt had asked, why not simply slay the traitorous son? He had abandoned his kin, betraying them for a ljosalf whore, then shamed them triply by refusing to return when ordered home, destroying his sister’s honor in the process. Belligt had to agree with Buri’s answer, though. The Marshal would not allow his whelp the honor of a clean death, even at an assassin’s hand. He wanted his honorless son to crawl home, kneeling and begging, offering himself up to rescue his child.
And then?
Perhaps Buri would accept both offspring as thrall, allowing Nicklaus to scrape chamber pots once more. Perhaps the Jotunn would crush them both, infant first and then the father, having proven his power and suitably punished all insults. Belligt had not been told which would happen, and he did not much care. His orders extended only to retrieving the child, alive, and not killing the father. He could still injure Nicklaus if he had to, and the mother... he could do whatever he wished with her.
The dokkalf could imagine a dozen amusing indignities to visit upon a ljosalf woman... but he had been warned that avoiding the bitch was wiser. She commanded powerful fire magic, according to the few Jotunn mercenaries who had survived the initial attempt to retrieve Nicklaus. Many inhabitants of this strange, distant world, this “Rhydin”, were sorcerers, they claimed. From the wonders Belligt had already seen on his survey, they might be telling the truth.
That was precisely why Buri sent back a spy, not an army: to learn more about this place and to act subtly until the threat was better understood, perhaps even to avoid these trullr entirely.
Belligt did not fear sorcerers, individually. A knife in the back, unheard and unseen, ended most of them without trouble. Multiple spell-weavers, though, could be trouble, especially when working together. Fire magic was the worst of all. It cut through his shadow-working and wrought terrible damage on dokkalf flesh. No mistake, he’d rather this “Juniper” died, but if he could steal her baby without rousing the dam, that was safest... and taking her child was certainly a vicious wound to inflict upon a new mother.
He was taking no chances, casing the house carefully, checking for protections of any sort. There were no guards; no surprise, given what he’d learned of Nicklaus Burison. The former innkeeper was a soft-hearted fool, generous and thoughtful... the sort who would never have enough wealth for guards, nor would he ask another to risk themselves for his safety.
There were also no detectable wards, snares, or other hazards about the house. On the off-chance that the sorceress was subtle enough to hide protections from his sight, Belligt relied upon his natural resistance to magic, an inherent gift boosted by his study of shadow-work.
They really had no defenses at all. The couple wasn’t even in hiding. Belligt found their location through a simple public inquiry, his face masked by illusion. They owned a business, a brewery... how precious... and were a regular and noticeable sight in city society. Belligt filed away the thought a brewery is very flammable for later consideration, should Nicklaus prove too cowardly to follow his child back to Myrkheim.
The city had been another curiosity Belligt could not spare time to explore. He’d actually seen other dokkalfar among the population, but they spoke strangely and seemed domesticated, stripped of their hereditary armor and engaged in frivolity. The realm did seem to have an admirable passion for personal combat and dueling, though; Belligt enjoyed watching lesser races slaughter one another for his entertainment.
Perhaps he would return, once the job was done. The bridge from Myrkheim to here was open to him, if few others. Someone had thought collapsing the portal and binding it closed was enough for safety. It was, if you were concerned only about Jotunn passing through. To a shadow-weaver like Belligt, though, the slightest gap was enough. He could transform into shadow, finer than smoke, and breach barriers of stone or magic with equal ease.
Intangibility, invisibility, and illusion were not even the extent of his art. From his vantage outside the house, Belligt worked charms of silence and suppression, binding any wards or alarms he might have missed. Last, he circled the homestead while chanting a glamour of befuddlement. Even if he somehow made a tiny noise or touched one of the sleepers, the sensation would never reach the slumbering minds of those within.
The couple and their child had already been asleep before he started; Belligt made certain of that. He’d taken an extra night and day learning the family’s patterns, waiting until the child was just settled into bed.
The eldest assassin was the one who took no chances.
If Belligt were only there to slay, he could have changed to shadow and slid between the window-gaps to enter. However, he would have a burden to carry on the way out, and his art did not extend to passengers. He needed a route of escape, and it was wiser to remain outside until he was certain which path he could use. He went to a window and studied it, cloaked by darkness, natural and otherwise.
A thin wire joined a device inside the window-frame to the wall. Belligt was not familiar with the specific art involved, but he knew a trap trigger when he saw one. He traced the line to its nearest juncture and inserted a thin, razor-edged wire through the still-soft, rubbery mortar that held the casing to the brick. A sharp tug, and the wire was snared and cut… but not separated. Some traps worked that way, with a lingering magical charge that triggered them when interrupted. Instead, Belligt’s own wire, a long loop of silver wrapped in silk, diverted and extended the contact. When he used another tool to unlatch and open the window, the trigger remained connected, though its gap now stretched wide enough to allow the lithe alf to squeeze through.
He’d learned all those tricks half a century ago, though rare was the job that required such anti-magic work. Sorcerers. No wonder Buri wanted the child. He might have thoughts of raising his own battle-caster. As much as Belligt hated the idea of giving the Jotunn warrior an asset to use against dokkalfar... even an enemy faction of his own people... he would complete the contract as agreed.
It wasn’t as if it was a difficult job, oddities aside. Cross worlds, find a traitor, steal his child, come back undetected. Simple to one of Belligt’s talent and experience. It was almost a waste, really. Buri should hire him to slaughter this world’s leaders and collapse its governments. Give the assassin a real challenge, for a change.
One job at a time.
Belligt flowed soundlessly across the gleaming wood floors, noting the skillful work shown there and in the carved bassinet he was approaching. The half-breed had art, be granted. Though done with crude materials, he showed much of the craftsmanship of his dvergr heritage. He was possibly worth preserving as a thrall, after all.
The child, though, was revolting. It was grub-pale, like most of the lesser races. To Belligt’s relief, it was not overly large, though still enormous in comparison to a dokkalf infant. A few strands of flame-red hair poked from its swaddling, the mark of its mother. All of Buri’s kin were either golden- or coal-haired.
With only a slight shudder, Belligt leaned down to gather the sleeping child. He cradled it with gentleness born of practical consideration, not care. Once they were beyond the bridge to Myrkheim, it could scream all it wanted, and may it be miserable, but for the moment, it was better comfortable and quiet. His spells should have had it nearly comatose, anyway, but again: no chances.
For those reasons, Belligt froze with shock when the child not only stirred, but opened its eyes, pale blue irises staring into his own shrouded face. Verdamnt, the child was resistant! Like the dokkalfar naturally suppressed detection magic, their ljosalfar cousins burned away obscurement. The part-alf child had apparently inherited that trait, strongly enough to shrug off Belligt’s shadow-sleep.
Its eyes scrunched from unrecognition and fear. As it opened its mouth to squall, Belligt quickly wove a powerful sphere of silence, wrapped tight around the child. He could see it scream and redden, but none of its noise escaped. He gave it a nasty grin in return. It might have caught him off-guard for a moment, but no babe of less than a moon old had a chance against his magic.
The child wasn’t just reddening from anger, though. As he gathered it closer, Belligt realized that it was glowing, emitting a red light. Annoying. He’d have to dampen that, as well. And that heat... heat. Heat?
No doubt now, the baby was getting hotter. As he hurried toward the window, Belligt felt his bundle growing uncomfortably warm. He paused at the threshold. How far would the temperature rise? Could he safely carry the child? Wouldn’t it eventually tire and extinguish?
He made his decision when it grew too hot to hold. Wincing as his fingers singed even through his leather gloves, Belligt hurried back to deposit the damned monster back into its bed. He’d have to retreat and try again later, with more thorough protections.
He stepped back and was horrified to see that the child was not only growing hotter and brighter, the radiance from its body was stripping away his cloak. It was also starting to unravel his other charms, even his sphere of silence. By the Van, what was this creature?
Belligt backed away, preparing to run if necessary. He still needed to retrieve his tools, though, else the parents would know someone had been inside. His work would grow even more difficult if they were alarmed. They might go to ground, requiring a chase. Entertaining, but a waste of his time.
Flames burst from the bassinet, rising and then coiling about like serpents. The intruder had only a moment left for thought. He spent it thinking not a fire-sorcerer, you idiots... an elemental... and struggling to focus enough to shift to his shadow form to escape faster.
Fast as thought was, it was slower than fire. A licking lash of flame, propelled by a growing conflagration, swept through the cloud of darkness that was Belligt’s immaterial form. He was intangible but not inflammable. If anything, the particulate cloud was even easier to catch aflame, fueled further by the dokkalfar weakness to fire.
Belligt perished without another thought.
*****
The wailing did not take long to penetrate even the shadow-muffled minds of Nicklaus and Juniper. Where their daughter’s cries were concerned, the slightest sound was enough to rip them from sleep... for better or worse.
Juniper was first to the nursery, shouting, “I knew we should keep her with us. She sounds miserable!” Her protests were drawn up short as she arrived and saw the scene inside. The arcane flames were dying down but still flickered within the bassinette like a hearthfire. Her daughter’s screams made it seem like she was burning alive within, although the fire wasn’t touching the wood. Juniper also knew better, from experience. Still, Inara’s tantrums had never been this volatile before.
Her enormous husband caught up quickly. He shouted from the hall, “I can smell that smoke. That’s why she doesn’t sleep with us... I’m burnable, even if you aren’t.”
He, too, was silenced by the sight within. Inara was calming as her mother drew near, so the fire was almost gone. Only a lingering glow spoke of her fading distress.
Juniper was wholly focused upon her daughter, but Nicklaus was able to look around and take in the full room. He saw the scattering of ash on the floor, just starting to swirl around in the cold winter breeze. What had burned, when the timbers, the bassinet, even the blankets were unharmed?
For that matter, why was the window open?
Nicklaus went over and inspected the frame and found the severed wire, joined together by a tool of silver and silk. He closed the sash carefully and disconnected the burglar’s friend, roughly splicing the wire and relocking the window. He looked thoughtfully over the ashes on the floor, drawing a foot through them. Despite the awful conclusions he was reaching, he gave a slight smile at the thought of the fool who had tried to harm his family.
He would learn more later. For the moment, his family was more important. Nicklaus turned to comfort his sobbing daughter and worried wife. Once they were calmer, he and Juniper would spend the night checking the wards, rebuilding them where necessary and reinforcing them, on Inara’s room in particular.
They would take special care to include detectors for shadow-work. Nicklaus could recognize dokkalfar craft when he saw it.
Too bad this one wouldn’t be able to take back a warning: don’t disturb this family. Don’t accept contracts against them.
And never, ever upset Inara Fae Nicklausdottir.
Next Story: Fairy Stories