Revised Second Part of "Redd and the Golden Assasin"

The night air cooled Redd's blood, if only a little. He quickly spotted the Ortan running towards the north and made after him. The Ortan jumped one alley after another, forcing Redd to keep up. Redd nearly missed one particular jump, and had to grab the edge of the rooftop with his fingers to keep from being squashed on the street below. "Gods, I hate the rooftops," he muttered.
The man was wearing that loose-fitting, dust brown robe characteristic of his people, but there was something wrong. Redd flicked his wrist towards the assassin; a knife flew from his sleeve to the silhouette ahead of him. The Ortan dodged the knife at the last possible second, splitting his legs and dropping on one arm. The knife whistled harmlessly above his bald head. He looked back.
Before Redd could get out one of his hand knives out, the Ortan sped off, leaving Redd cursing. Redd ran off after him. "Come back, you son of a diseased whore!" he said. The Ortan kept running, veering off towards a spiral tower of a High Lord. Redd was gaining on him. And suddenly Redd realized that if the man had been able to sprint off like he had, he should have easily lost Redd by now. Unless, he didn't want to lose him.
The man threw his hand towards the spire as he leapt off the last roof. He jumped past the spire, falling to a certain death...and then jerked around the spire at amazing speed. A thin line connected him to the spire. Redd watched, dumbfounded, as the man wheeled around and kicked him flush in the chest. Redd slammed back, and only a chimney saved him from going over the edge.
Redd looked up, and a silver crescent fell towards his head. He slammed up a notched sword-breaker at the last second, and struggled against the man's strength. The Ortan was smaller than Redd by a good hand, but he was deceptively strong. He didn't even show any signs of tension on his face.
Redd rolled away, and silently cursed the fact that he had not brought at least a rapier with him. In an alleyway, or close quarters, A sword was much more of a hindrance than a help. But up here, with open room...he might have to rethink his opinion, if he got off here alive.
Only quick reflexes kept the sword out of Redd, He had to get that sword out of the Ortan's hand. Summoning the years of training Cenn had beat into him, he diverted the blade high with his sword breaker, feigning him into a low attack. Come on, you bastard. Redd thought. It worked. The Ortan slashed down low, expecting to cut Redd off at the knees. Redd jumped over the blade, then came down hard on it. He had expected the blade to break; it didn't, but the force so shocked the man that he dropped the blade. In an instant Redd had the knife to the man's throat. The man smiled, and it didn't occur to Redd until much later to wonder why.
"I don't know why you took my target, but...," Whatever Redd was going to do was cut off by a loud bang. Redd grunted; he felt like he had been stabbed in the side. But no one was around, except the Ortan and himself, and he had seen the man's hands. He looked down at his right side, blood flowed down it. He looked up; another Ortan, similarly garbed but with shortly cropped black hair, was kneeling with a stick in his hands pointed at Redd. The end of the stick was smoking.
"You may die now," the first Ortan said, pushing Redd down. He slid more than fell down the pointed roof. He was going to break his neck. All these years, and he had been cut down by...what? The last thought he had was that he wouldn't be able to tell Cenn about...

Part two of Redd and the Golden Assasin

The night air cooled Redd's blood, if only a little. He quickly spotted the Ortan running towards the north and made after him. The Ortan jumped one alley after another, forcing Redd to keep up. Redd nearly missed one particular jump, and had to grab the edge of the rooftop with his fingers to keep from being squashed on the street below. "Gods, I hate the rooftops," he muttered.
The man was wearing that loose-fitting, dust brown robe characteristic of his people, but there was something wrong. Redd flicked his wrist towards the assassin; a knife flew from his sleeve to the silhouette ahead of him. The Ortan dodged the knife at the last possible second, splitting his legs and dropping on one arm. The knife whistled harmlessly above his bald head. He looked back.
Before Redd could get out one of his hand knives out, the Ortan sped off, leaving Redd cursing. Redd ran off after him. "Come back, you son of a diseased whore!" he said. The Ortan kept running, veering off towards a spiral tower of a High Lord. Redd was gaining on him. And suddenly Redd realized that if the man had been able to sprint off like he had, he should have easily lost Redd by now. Unless, he didn't want to lose him.
The man threw his hand towards the spire as he leapt off the last roof. He jumped past the spire, falling to a certain death...and then jerked around the spire at amazing speed. A thin line connected him to the spire. Redd watched, dumbfounded, as the man wheeled around and kicked him flush in the chest. Redd slammed back, and only a chimney saved him from going over the edge.
Redd looked up, and a silver crescent fell towards his head. He slammed up a notched sword-breaker at the last second, and struggled against the man's strength. The Ortan was smaller than Redd by a good hand, but he was deceptively strong. He didn't even show any signs of tension on his face.

These walls

These walls, these walls, they spread around
they're three sizes too large, just like my head
I live in an empty house, large enough to hold my screams
too hollow to hold my heart
too empty to hold my dreams

First part of "Redd and the Golden Assasin"

"Redd and the Golden Assassin"
John Meyer


Night descends upon Cibola, and the City of Gold takes on a new name; la ragno, the Spider. It's many streets and alleyways hold danger as poisonous as a black widow, and it ensnares the unwise and unwary, leaving their bodies on the streets for the guards to catch. It takes a brave man to face the dangers of the dark even with the City Watch guarding the night. That, or a stupid one, if there is a difference.
A prosperous merchant, wearing a fancy green cloak with white lace at the collar and on his sleeves strode down the Primio Via, confident and sure of the lamps and the guards. His dark hair rolled down to his shoulders in intricate curls, framing a solid face with brown eyes full of his worth. Giovanni Sarcona, preeminent merchant of the Merchants Quarter if he did say so himself, strolled gracefully alongside the western side of the Main Way, admiring the stars. Occasionally, he deigned to doff his cap to a stone-faced guard in golden dress, then went merrily on his way.
And why should he not be happy? He was to be named to the Council of the Coin tomorrow, the highest office among merchants in Cibola. He hadn't been voted in, yet, but it was merely a formality. He had impressed the right people, increased his profits considerably, and shown that he could bring more business to Cibola. And with the title of Councilman, he would be entitled to a seventh of all taxes collected. Not to mention being able to hold his fellow merchants accountable to his standards of quality work. A smaller man might have used such power to grind his enemies into the paved roads, but Giovanni believed a higher power would call his enemies to account. Much higher indeed.
He fancied himself somewhat of an amateur astrologer, and strolled along, contemplating the fate of his competitors in business. There, to the west of the third planet, The Guardian fell; clearly Georgio would be betrayed by his hired guards. The Lover rose into the eight planet; Latelle, that hussy merchant who had swindled, would clearly begat herself with child, and so be out of his way. Sarducci, that odious ass, he would...
Whatever he would be was knocked out of his head, as well as the rest of his thoughts, as a blackjack caught him upside the head. In an instant, in the moment when the two guards that would have seen him, might have intervened, the shadows dragged him back into the alleyway he was passing. The shadows lightened about halfway back, revealing a young man in a red tunic and breeches, wearing a black cloak and cap. His blonde hair was cut squarely at the shoulders. Giovanni Sarcona had the honor of being knocked unconscious by Redd, prince of cutthroats. He looked down at the green cloaked man, and shook his head.
"Afraid you chewed your thumb at somebody once too many times," he whispered, and went to his secret stash of ropes. Somebody had paid a good deal of money to see him roughed up a little, than robbed of everything he had. Redd always regretted the beating, at least. A little violence when needed was one thing, but he couldn't bring himself to enjoy breaking the ribs of a man, much less an unconscious one. But the money was too tempting; at least the merchant wouldn't feel it while it was happening.
Redd turned his head for a second to adjust the ropes and felt more than saw a swoosh. He looked back; the man he had just knocked unconscious was gone. Redd bit off a curse. He hit the man hard enough to knock him into next week. His hands went to his side in a flash, and in a second he produced two large, very ugly and serrated knives. Where had he gone? And if he could move that fast, why had he not been able to dodge Redd's blow?
Something soft and chunky hit the top of his hat, then another thing soft, along with a liquid careening off the side of his hat. Redd looked up just in time for a piece of red flesh to hit him in the face. He stepped back in disgust, looking at a waterfall of blood coming down from over the side of the building. Something was wrong with the meat, though; it came over too regularly, almost as if...a face peered over the side, that of a bald man, though young. Dark eyes peered out of a golden face, and then he was gone.
Redd wasted no time. Giovanni had been his attack, and his orders had been clear; no killing. Whoever the client was, he or she had wanted Giovanni humiliated. Running to a corner of the dead end, he quickly scampered up the wall and onto the roof. Over to the right, he saw Giovanni's body. His head lay in the v- of his legs, which were also split from his body. The gouges in the legs made it clear where the meat came from. The contract had been offered on honor; all money paid up front. Redd had two options; come back with the killers head, or come back without his own. And Redd liked where his head was, thank you very much.