The Kaladin Chronicles

Prologue: The Set of Justice

Kiser Jhaeir brushed the tips of his fingertips together, listening intently.

Dreath Ghulmar spoke in the low, lilted voice of the people of Amn. His black turban was small and practical, and his dark beard and mustache could have passed for merchant as easily as prince. Like all the men in the room, he was dressed in blacks and dark, muted colors.

"I trailed all of them to Ophur and Denali, to the small building back behind the winery. After that, I lost them; there must be a secret passage back of the winery. But it was definately Osterus leading them."

The head of the table was a small man with shoulders wide from years of work. Tijel's dark eyes blazed in anger, but his voice was carefully controlled. "Be it known, then, that Osterus is marked. He has betrayed us thrice, now, I believe-" He held up a warning finger to Ghulvan Themet.

Tijel continued, "I believe. That incident at the bazaar could not have been a coincidence."

A pudgy man next to Kiser snorted, and said quietly, "Who ever heard of a camel stampede at a bazaar?"

Ghulvan Themet nodded, though humiliation burned in his face. Kiser Jhaeir covered his smile by partaking of a pistacchio nut upon the table. Ghulvan had taken into account every conceivable possibility save one -- someone frightening the camels. The assassin had spent the next two nights, sleepless, trying to set up another 'unfortunate accident' for his mark.

The chief assassin's anger abated somewhat, and then returned full-force in his eyes. "Kiser."

Kiser quickly swallowed the pistacchio, said, "Yes?" There were no titles at the table, but the unspoken 'my lord' hung in the air.

Tijel said, "Osterus is now your mark. Dispose of him as painfully as possible, and leave his corpse as a reminder to all other assassins that betrayal is a fool's option."

Kiser Jhaeir nodded, thinking quickly. "What of his family? He has a son of apprenticeship age. He shows the skill-"

The chief assassin made a slashing motion, cutting Kiser off. "No. Osterus' family must be made as an example, as well. Kill them all."

Dreath Ghulmar massaged his scalp under his turban, and wondered aloud, "What could push a man to betray us so? Surely he knew his family was forfeit from the moment he began smuggling our marks out of the city."

Kiser said nothing, merely glancing around the table. The other men did not envy him his task, for Osterus had been one of their most dangerous assassins. His name, in fact, meant dark stalker; a title he had earned quite quickly within the elite ranks of the Shadow Thieves.

Tijel ground his teeth together, and said, "By tomorrow night, Kiser. I have a meeting with Him two nights hence, and I do not want any -- inconveniences -- in my report."

Kiser bowed his head, and said, "It shall be done." Again, the unspoken 'my lord' hung in the air.

The chief assassin said, "If there is nothing else, then?" Without really waiting for a reply, he stood up, and the others stood up as well, ending the meeting of the guild's assassins.

* * *

Lightning flashed far overhead, and a moment later, thunder echoed in his chest. Kiser stood with arms crossed upon the roof of a building near the city's heart, looking off into the distance. He ground his teeth in frustration, until he felt part of a molar snap off.

Growling, he looked up to the heavens, as the first drops of gentle rain began to fall. The sprinkle became a deluge, and Kiser Jhaeir was forced to cast his eyes down, towards the streets below. For long moments, he stared at the people hurrying through the rain, without actually seeing them.

He belatedly realized he was still holding his enchanted dirk, and wiped the blood and rain off on his cloak, before sheathing it. Kiser turned around, and looked at his handiwork. Only the assassins of Athkatla would see the bodies, for only they mounted the roof tops in that area. The sigil written in magic runes would appear visible only to the assassins of the various guilds, and act as a warning.

Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the corpses of the Osterus family. A beautiful elven woman, her face locked in pain an anguish. Her unborne daughter ripped from her womb and blooded before her eyes, before she herself died. Osterus had taken the bait, and come to find his beloved. Osterus had been the better warrior, but he was so enraged by the gruesome deaths of his wife and daughter, he had been off-balance, and easy to kill.

The son, Kaladin, had thought to follow in his father's footsteps. Instead of rage, he locked up with fear, as his father ran headlong into his death. Kiser had thought for just an instant of violating Tijel's orders, and inducting the youth into the Shadow Thieves. That Kaladin had nearly passed out in fear, rather than turning to anger, had decided Kiser Jhaeir against the youth.

In the instant it took for Kiser's enchanted blade to kill Osterus, the son vanished.

He stared down into the streets, where the rain fell down, lit from below by shielded torches and muted lights within windows. The rain washed what little blood was on his face, off. Kiser knew Kaladin would return to the apartment he had shared with his parents, but would take his time arriving. Kiser's spells would alert the assassin the moment Kaladin attempted to enter the apartment. Until then, he could only wait for the fledgling thief to surface.

He glanced once more at the corpses of the Osterus family, and arranged one of the child's limbs artfully, to make the statement more boldly. Above the three corpses, Kiser's sigil burned with an unholy green light, warning all who would see it that such awaited the betrayers of the Shadow Thieves.

* * *

Kaladin shivered in a shadow, as the rain snaked down his neck, and into his clothing. His tears mingled with the cold rain, but he could not blink. The mud beneath his feet drained the heat from his body, but the heat in his soul grew hotter with each passing heartbeat.

Young and inexperienced, his mind raced with thoughts of rage and anger, but his body was as cold as the stones he leaned against. A crow cawwed, spreading its wings in the rain, before flying off into the storm. The orphaned thief neither saw nor heard the bird, and could have been cut down very quickly. He was locked inside a stewing cauldron of revenge, and he could not escape it.

"Well, what have we here?"

The voice belonged to a street urchin, barely older than Kaladin. He was dressed in poor robes and boots, and hefted a wooden cudgel. Rain dripped off of him, and the four other urchins backing him up.

Kaladin still did not register the five other youth, despite the harm they so obviously intended.

One shorter urchin said to the leader, the one with the cudgel, "It's raining. Let's go."

"Not before I have some fun." The urchin street leader stepped confidently forward with his cudgel, and wrapped it against several tombstones, trying to get a response from Kaladin. "Here, little boy. Let us have some fun, eh?"

He stood barely a foot away from Kaladin, and still the young thief had not moved. The urchin leader smacked Kaladin smartly on the shoulder, and stepped back in a defensive position.

Lightning flashed overhead, and as the thunder pounded their ears and their lungs, the unblinking Kaladin slowly turned his head towards his attacker. His anger had found a temporary focus.

The urchin leader twirled the cudgel in one hand, and then brought it back to swing heavily at Kaladin. Kal, for his part, leapt forward with his feet out, impacting on the other boy's knees. The knees bent backwards, and there was a crunching of bone and cartilage as the boy went backwards, screaming.

The other four urchins stared, stunned, before quickly sprinting off into the night and the rain.

Kaladin's adversary took a long, gasping breath, and then screamed with all his strength. Kal stood over him with an unblinking stare, and calmly stepped on his neck, collapsing his throat.

The boy grapped at Kaladin's boot, and then at his throat, as he struggled to get air into his lungs. His eyes bulged in the pouring rain, and he made a high-pitched, gurgling noise. Kaladin turned around, and left him there to die in the rain and the mud.

* * *

Kiser twirled one of his myriad daggers in one hand, thinking. The urchins had spotted Kaladin barely an hour before dawn. Their leader, a bully by the name of Bulgoth, had been found in the night by the priests of the temple nearby. Lathander's accolytes had been horrified by the nature of the boy's death, and had called in a paladin who happened to be in the city, to investigate.

The assassin was mildly impressed. Kaladin still showed great talent. Kiser Jhaein's spells on the apartment were still intact, and the boy had made no move to enter his home. Still, there was the matter of finding the boy, and killing him -- before sunset.

Kiser leaned casually against a building, in an alley near the temple of Lathander. The sun was high overhead, and its heat was already unbearable. The assassin wondered just how he was ever going to lure Kaladin into a trap. He had ensorcelled the bodies of his parents, so that the assassin would know if he returned there. The apartment where he had lived his life was off-limits, as well.

The dark-robed figure ran his tongue over his broken tooth. It still hurt considerably, but he knew it would be little compared with the pain and humiliation of failing the chief assassin, Tijel.

Kiser sheathed the dagger, and stroked his forehead with two fingers. He was running out of time, and the heat was not improving his temper. To make matters worse, the paladin of Lathander was starting to ask some interesting questions around the city. Questions that would eventually lead to answers.

The assassin was a master of his craft, and the first rule of assassination is to 'assassinate the assassin'. To survive as long as Kiser had in his trade required the protection of a powerful organization, such as the Shadow Thieves, and a well-honed sense of survival. More on instinct than anything else, Kiser spun to one side just as a dagger clattered against the stone where he had been. With sparks flying, the blade flew off into the street, where it plopped into a puddle of rainwater from the night before.

Kiser arched one eyebrow, and nodded to Kaladin. "I should have known, that you would come looking for me."

Kaladin snarled, and flung himself forward in a feeble attempt to attack the assassin. Kaladin was fast, but Kiser had years of training and experience. The youth advertised every move he was about to make, and the assassin simply blocked every punch or kick, until he grew tired of it all. With one quick strike, he backhanded Kaladin across the cheek, and sent the man-child sprawling into the gutter.

The youth tried to regain his feet, but was too exhausted; his rage and revenge had left him.

Kiser smiled. "You see? Rage and emotion are useless. Revenge requires cold stamina, and careful attention." The assassin drew back a dagger of his own, and threw it.

Kaladin gasped, as the blade sank deep into his thigh.

Kiser's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "You see, I have many daggers, but I prefer more... arcane thrills." The assassin slowly began to encant a spell, and Kaladin's eyes went wide.

Deep in his heart, Kaladin knew he was about to die.

There was a thundering in his ears, as his heart tried to leap out of his chest. But the thundering was real even to Kiser, who paused in his spellcasting to turn around, and then leap to one side.

A massive gray charger flashed past the assassin, its steel-shod hooves barely missing the man. Upon its back was short and powerful man wearing chain mail and steel shoulder and leg greaves. He shouted, "Heyaw!" as he expertly picked up the befuddled Kaladin, and hauled him across the saddle.

The charger was reined in, in the narrow alley, and spun around to face Kiser Jhaein.

The assassin spat upon the ground, and said, "He is mine, old man."

"I am Astus of Kalparim, paladin of the Morning Lord Lathandar. Your quarrel with the boy ends here and now, you vile monster. Prepare to die." The paladin dropped Kaladin gently down into the alleyway, the dagger removed, and the wound already healing. Astus drew forth his longsword, and blue runes along its length began to glow in the midday sun of the alleyway.

Kiser snorted. "Do not be absurd." The assassin drew his enchanted dirk, and drew a cutlass from behind his back.

Astus practically leapt out of the saddle, landing heavily on his feet. The two men eyed one another for a moment, and then rushed headlong. The paladin's longsword was swift, leaving an arcing blue blur in the eyes, but the twin blades of the assassin were just as swift, and scored a number of glancing strikes against Astus' chain mail. The mail, however, held against the cutlass, and the paladin was swift enough to keep the dirk far away.

The sheer evil of the assassin kept the paladin locked onto him like a lion on a lamb. The assassin, however, was interested only in the boy. When Kiser lost sight of him for a moment, he drove Astus back with a viscious combination, using his dirk to lead against the more massive longsword, and his cutlass to slash against and again at the man's sides and chest. Kiser maneuvered the paladin back to where the boy could be seen, but he was not there. Glancing up, the assassin saw the boy quickly climbing the sides of the alley in an attempt at escape.

Astus glanced up as well, and the faster Kiser swept the paladin's longsword aside with his cutlass, before striking deep with his enchanted dirk. The evil enchantments of the dirk punched through the chain mail, forcing its tiny links apart, and attempted to poison the wound with vile spells. The paladin ignored the one wound, for the more serious issue at hand -- survival. He brought his gauntlet down full upon the assassin's unprotected head, and then sent him reeling with a strike from his longsword.

Blood flowed from Kiser's nose and ears, and he could feel nausea overcoming him.

The paladin pulled the magical dirk from his chain, and gasped. He whispered several prayers to the Morning Lord, and tossed the vile creation away, into the gulley.

Kiser made a leap for the dirk, and would have caught it before it rolled into the gutter, had not a wave of nausea overcome him in mid-jump. He wretched feebly into the gutter, almost spent.

Astus slowly advanced, blood still flowing from his wound. He was a strong man, and it would take much more than even the assassin's cutlass to take the paladin down. The paladin said, "In the name of Lathander, I shall turn you over to the locals for justice."

Kiser Jhaein snarled. "Not today, paladin." He veritably spit the word out, and whispered a spell. There was a flash of light, and a puff of smoke, and then the assassin was gone.

The paladin cast about, trying to find Kiser, and could not. "Damned. Lost him." He looked around one last time for the boy, and sighed. "Lost em both."

Astus looked down into the sewer drain, where the assassin's enchanted weapon had falled. There was no sign of the weapon, and the residual aura of energy on the blade was already fading.

The paladin of Lathander gathered the reins of his mount up, thinking as he walked out of the alley way and onto the street. There were few people out in the heat of the midday sun, and fewer still nearer the temples. Astus' battle had been over before anyone could notice.

The identity of the youth, he could guess. The street urchins were bullies, true enough, but murder was murder. A young accolyte of Lathander discovered Bulgoth's body in the temple's graveyard. The accolyte would likely bear mental scars for years to come, and the high priest had demanded justice. No crime could excuse the visciousness of Bulgoth's death; the boy had ripped his own throat apart, trying to breath through a crushed windpipe. The fact that his knees had been broken backwards -- both knees -- made his death all the more gruesome.

Finding the man-child that had killed Bulgoth would be more troublesome. The paladin had no idea who the assassin was, or why he quarreled with the murderer.

First Chapter of the Kaladin Chronicles

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