Chapter 11. Fey Alliance

week of careful surveillance had brought her no closer to entering the compound than when she had started.  The service entrance had seemed most vulnerable.  There, fresh food was carted in and rubbish carted away.  Her first plan had been to stow away on one of those carts, but it quickly became obvious to her that the people surrounding Master Bei were protective of him.  Each cart was meticulously searched before entry and unloaded in the yard immediately.  Large barrels and hampers were opened to confirm their contents.

She had also considered presenting herself for employment as a servant and had stopped one of the lowlier members of the household in the marketplace to question her how this might be done only to watch the girl run screaming back toward the compound.  They were on high alert, which suggested that attempts had already been made on their leader’s life.

Bribery had also been a consideration.  In her experience, evil men and women bought the loyalty of their servants and once the price was established it was simply a matter of outbidding them.  Disguising herself as a young male assassin she had attempted to buy her way in late one evening only to be attacked and chased off the premises by five angry warriors, an elementalist, a monk and a necromancer.  The cook she had attempted to bribe had taken up the rear of his summoned retinue bearing a cleaver and shouting profanities.

The high walls were worked with protective runes.  Climbing them set off an alarm and a particularly vicious fire trap awaited an invader should they persist and continue to climb over.  The gates were too well guarded.  None of the interior buildings were close enough to the walls to be reached in any event.

So she had to assume this was why she had been called in.  Her jobs were always difficult and took an exhaustive amount of time and preparation.  There had to be a weak point in Master Bei’s armor.  No one was invulnerable.  Sighing, Crescent Blade leaned back against the icy tiles of her rooftop perch gazing angrily upon the distant activity of the Crystal Palm compound.

“Of course he has a weakness,” said a woman’s voice behind her.  Startled, Crescent Blade slipped and narrowly avoided sliding over the eaves with a kick of her bladed boot.  Scrambling back up to her former perch, she stared at a pale figure resting peacefully on the roofline.  Clearly she was a ghost or spirit, a fact that caused Crescent Blade to shudder as a faint otherworldly chill flowed from the figure’s icy form.  She was terrible and beautiful, her flesh the color of freshly carved ivory and her silver hair piled atop her head in plaits and skewered with jade and coral.  She wore a sea foam gown ornamented with tiny pearls and a striking necklace bearing a bejeweled key rested at her throat.

“Who are you?”  Crescent Blade whispered, “Where did you come from?”

The strange woman gazed at the waning moon swathed in icy clouds near the western horizon, her almond eyes a perfect match for its faded silver.

“I am the spirit of the Jade Sea,” she murmured, “That which I warded is dead.”

Crescent Blade instinctively bowed to the strange woman, knowing her words to be true.  All the natural wonders of the world had such guardians; it was an accepted part of Canthan folklore.  There was no doubt some poor unhomed spirit of sundered Echovald wandering the remnants of its petrified woodland.  Such beings were neither good nor evil.  They could be driven to violent acts and often took a perverse interest in human affairs, thus it was good to treat them with kindness and respect.

“It is good that my people remember to honor me,” the spirit said quietly, “I have missed the flowers that drifted upon my waves and your earnest prayers.  I have longed for the young bodies that danced in the surf.  But my sea is dead and I am alone.”

Crescent Blade recalled the tales of her elders, the rowdy and often bawdy accounts of nature spirits hungering for the pleasures of the flesh and carrying away pretty young sailors to have their way with them.  She had thought these little more than adult stories used to pass the long winter evenings once the children were abed.  Now she was not so sure.  There was a raw hunger emanating from this creature and her pale eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the compound, her fine white fingers eagerly stroking the key at her throat.

“I seek one who hides within the walls of that warded place,” the spirit continued, “His master will not let him come to me, and he is very protective of his master.”

“The fox-haired man?”

“Yes, he belongs to me.  I need him.”

“What do you propose?”

“Pendaran is endangered.  Where he goes, his master will follow.  I will take you there and a means of gaining access to Master Bei will be made clear.”

Crescent Blade opened her mouth to speak only to discover empty air where the woman had once been.  Then, gazing down onto the street she saw the ghostly figure drifting silently over the empty cobbles, beckoning her away from the compound with a raised hand.

Folklore also spoke of the fey nature of such creatures.  They were neither friend nor foe, but at times they could appear to be both.  With no other options available to her, the assassin climbed lightly to the street and followed warily.