Chapter 36: The Art of Getting Caught

Cornered men invariably cling to the most insulting lies first. It’s a natural, desperate instinct, really.

The man’s mind raced through three separate escape routes within two seconds, rejecting all of them when he realized the brick walls on either side offered no footholds and the entrance was completely blocked by a mountain of a captain. He took a slow, agonizingly steady breath, forcing his features into a mask of pure, unadulterated civic confusion.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Your Grace," the man blurted out, raising both hands to chest height in an open, harmless gesture. "I’m just a merchant’s clerk! I took a wrong turn at the hay wagon back there, I was trying to find the leather-worker on Silver Street. Honestly!"

Lioren didn’t move an inch from his perch atop the cider barrel. He sat with his ankles crossed, casually picking a stubborn speck of lint off his fingernail with his thumb, his face painted with an expression of polite, almost scholarly fascination.

"Really?" Lioren drawled, his tone dripping with sweet, breezy sarcasm. "A wrong turn. What a truly astounding, mathematical miracle. So you just happened to visit the exact same four tailors we did? You happened to stand near the spice stall for twenty minutes? You happened to watch the exact same street performer, step for step, street for street, for four solid hours?"

Lioren paused, tilting his head with a bright, innocent smile. "My goodness, sir. You and I must share the exact same aesthetic soul. We should find others in the same predicament."

The stranger swallowed hard, his throat feeling as dry as cobblestone dust. He took a subtle, shuffling half-step backward, intending to slide toward the shadowy crevice between two stacked wine crates....

THUMP

His back slammed squarely into something as solid, cold, and unyielding as a fortress wall.

The stalker spun his head around sharply. Caldrin was standing right behind him, his broad chest filling the narrow alleyway, his arms crossed over his leather brigandine with an expression of profound, soul-crushing boredom.

"Give it up, stranger," Caldrin grunted, his deep voice rattling in his ribcage. "You’re not going anywhere."

"Look, this is a massive misunderstanding!" the man pleaded, his voice rising an octave as he looked back and forth between the captain and the Duke. "I haven’t stolen anything! I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m just a common citizen who made a bad turn in a neighborhood! If you’ll just let me pass, I’ll be out of your hair forever..."

Lioren let out a soft, pitying sigh, shaking his head with a look of genuine, theatrical sorrow.

"Ah, see... that’s where you’re making your second mistake," Lioren murmured, finally dropping his hand from his fingernails and looking straight into the stranger’s eyes. "Nobody standing in this alley is gullible enough to buy that rot. And I’m afraid you’ve officially used up your daily quota of terrible excuses."

Lioren rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward just an inch. "So. Why don’t we try the truth? What, exactly, did you want with me or my betrothed?"

The air in the narrow brick passage instantly shifted.

The frantic, sweating ’clerk’ face the stalker had been wearing completely melted away. His jaw set hard, his shoulders dropping into a low, predatory stance as he realized the game of words was entirely over. He let out a short, cold chuckle, a raspy, ugly sound that echoed off the damp brick walls.

"Your betrothed?" the man sneered, his hand dropping like a striking viper toward the inner lining of his brown wool coat. "He’s an enemy prince, you northern fool!"

SCHWING

A narrow, double-edged steel shortsword cleared its hidden leather sheath with a harsh, rasping whistle. The stranger didn’t waste time making speeches. He lunged sideways, plunging the blade straight toward Caldrin’s throat in a desperate, explosive attempt to carve his way out through the open street.

Lioren didn’t even bother getting off his barrel.

"Ah. Violence," Lioren observed blithely, shifting his hips slightly to the left so a stacked wine crate didn’t block his line of sight. "I was really hoping we’d get through the talking part first. My throat is actually quite dry." He gestured vaguely toward the lunging attacker. "Caldrin, if you’d be so kind?"

"Yes, my lord," Caldrin rumbled.

The captain’s response was a masterclass in brutal, unadorned efficiency. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t jump backward. He simply drew his broadsword with a heavy, metallic CLANG, bringing the thick steel up in a sweeping diagonal parry that caught the attacker’s lighter blade mid-air.

SHING

Bright orange embers erupted as the blades ground against each other in the narrow space.

The man was fast, far faster than a common street thug or a hired guild brute. He pivoted on his heel, using the tight confines of the alleyway to his advantage, thrusting his sword toward Caldrin’s ribs with short, lethal, disciplined flicks of his wrist. He was a trained scout, maybe even a former military deserter, someone who knew how to kill in tight spaces without making a sound.

Caldrin met every strike with the cold, immovable weight of a man who had spent fifteen years holding mountain passes against heavy infantry. Clang! Clang! Thud! Boots scraped violently across the damp cobblestones, knocking over an empty wooden bucket that clattered down the brick passage.

From his wooden seat, Lioren lifted his little finger and idly dug at his left ear, watching the duel with the mild, casual interest of a man watching a game of cards at a tavern.

I wonder if Evelia has started throwing a fit yet, Lioren mused silently, leaning his head to the side to dodge a stray wooden splinter flying off a crate. She’s probably dragged Therin through three more linen shops by now, complaining about my lack of punctuality. And Xavion...

Lioren’s eyes softened just a fraction. Xavion is probably standing by the carriage, quietly wondering if I’ve managed to headbutt another doorframe or fall into a fountain. I’ll have to come up with a remarkably clever lie when I get back. Something about... inspecting city drainage. Yes. He’ll definitely buy that.

A sudden, sharp metallic screech snapped Lioren’s focus back to the fight.

The stranger had managed to feint low, hooking his boot around Caldrin’s forward ankle and driving the captain back three full paces toward the stacked barrels. Caldrin grunted, his shoulder slamming hard against a brick pillar, his balance wavering for a split second.

Lioren’s eyebrows twitched upward. His posture on the barrel straightened just a fraction, his blue eyes narrowing as his hand hovered two inches above his own sword hilt. Is Caldrin slipping? No... wait.

Lioren paused, watching the way Caldrin absorbed the impact. He knew his captain far too well. Caldrin wasn’t losing his footing; he was baiting the trap.

The stalker, seeing what he thought was an opening to escape, lunged forward with a full, overextended thrust aimed straight for Caldrin’s chest.

"Got you...!" the man barked.

Caldrin didn’t dodge. He simply let the point of the sword catch the thick iron plate buried inside his leather tunic with a loud, dull THUNK. Before the attacker could pull the weapon back, Caldrin’s heavy, gauntleted left hand shot out like an iron vise, clamping down brutally around the man’s wrist.

"You don’t have anyone," Caldrin growled.

With a sickening CRACK, Caldrin twisted the wrist downward. The stranger let out a strangled, high-pitched scream as his fingers involuntarily popped open, sending his shortsword clattering uselessly onto the wet cobbles.

Before the MAN could attempt to draw a hidden boot knife, Caldrin spun him around with terrifying brute force, slamming his face directly into the cold, damp brick wall of the warehouse. He yanked both of the man’s arms up behind his spine in an iron-hard lock, pinning him so tightly he could barely draw a breath.

"First you stalk us across four different shopping districts," Caldrin panted slightly, his heavy chest rising and falling as he pressed his forearm against the back of the man’s neck, "and then you draw steel on a Grand Duke’s escort. You really have an absolute gift for making terrible life choices, don’t you?"

Lioren hopped down from the barrel and landed lightly on his feet. He brushed the dust from his knees with a few quick pats, looking as cheerful as ever.

"Splendidly done, Caldrin!" Lioren praised warmly, walking over to the fallen sword and kicking it casually into the gutter. "A truly magnificent display of northern diplomacy. Remind me to give you a raise."

"Thank you, my lord," Caldrin grunted through his teeth, keeping his full weight pressed into the struggling prisoner.

"Of course, don’t let it go to your thick head," Lioren added airily, pacing a small circle around them. "I still vividly recall that training exercise few winters ago where you managed to trip over your own sword belt and fall face-first into a pile of horse manure."

Caldrin’s jaw twitched. "My lord... that was like years ago."

"And yet, the memory remains as fresh and precious to me as a spring rose," Lioren beamed.

Caldrin looked as though he were actively praying for a meteor to strike the alleyway and end his suffering, but he kept his grip on the prisoner’s arms completely still.

Lioren stopped pacing. He crouched down directly in front of the trapped spy, reaching out to pick up a small, smooth gray pebble from the gap between two cobblestones. He rolled the stone lazily between his fingers, his face illuminated by the afternoon light filtering down through the narrow alley opening.

His expression was pleasant. Soft, almost. The kind of friendly, open smile a man gives a neighbor over a garden fence.

"Now then," Lioren said smoothly, tossing the small stone over his shoulder where it bounced off a wine crate with a tiny clack.

He rested his elbows on his knees, looking right into the stranger’s bloodshot, terrified eye.

"Since we’ve clearly established that you are a horrific liar, an exceptionally terrible scout, and a completely useless swordsman... shall we try this conversation one more time?"

Lioren tilted his head slightly, his smile never leaving his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft and almost pleasant, yet something in his quiet tone made the man’s neck prickle and his stomach tighten.

"Who sent you?"