Assassinating all the soldiers who’d murdered his brothers hadn’t been easy. After Lieutenant Fester’s body had been discovered, security had increased and an investigation had been launched. Valek had kept a low profile and continued to gather intelligence about the soldiers in the garrison while working as a stable boy.
It took a full season for the guards to relax and lapse back into old habits. Valek carved more statues as he waited another couple of weeks just to let them get comfortable. And when Second Lieutenant Dumin returned early from his patrol the day before Sergeant Edvard left for his sweep, Valek celebrated. His patience had been rewarded and killing those two murderers in one night would be sweet.
When the sounds of the garrison settled into the nighttime quiet, Valek slipped from the stable and crossed the complex. So familiar with the layout, he could have navigated the way to the officers’ quarters blind.
As he scaled the outer wall, Valek remembered his brother Viliam, who had been the prankster of the family and the only one with gray eyes. The others had brown like their father and Valek’s blue was inherited from their mother. Dad liked to joke that he would accuse the mechanic of improper behavior, except Viliam’s twin, Victor, looked more like Dad. Of course, Dad wasn’t laughing when Viliam had booby-trapped a container of leather dye. Their father walked around with black hands and arms for two seasons. Viliam wisely kept out their father’s way during that time.
The image of Viliam’s shocked and confused expression as a sword pierced his heart replaced Valek’s fond memories. The weapon held by the soon-to-be deceased Second Lieutenant Dumin.
When he reached the fourth floor, Valek found Dumin’s window and paid the man a visit. Just like he had with Fester, Valek woke him and informed him of the reason he was about to die. And just like Fester, Dumin pointed the finger at Captain Aniol.
“Not good enough,” Valek said as he plunged his knife into Dumin’s chest, angling the blade so it slid between the ribs and pierced the man’s heart.
Cleaning the blood off his hands and blade on the blanket, Valek studied the dead man’s face in the moonlight. A sense of rightness pulsed in his chest. Talk about the ultimate prank. Valek believed Viliam would agree. He placed the statue of Viliam on Dumin’s chest.
Valek hurried to reach his second target. Sergeant Edvard stayed in the barracks and would be much harder to kill since he roomed with three other sergeants. Victor had shared a room with Viliam and, despite being twins, the two were opposites. Serious and thoughtful, Victor had been born first—a fact he never grew tired of reminding Viliam about every time the other wanted to include him in one of his schemes.
Of all his brothers, Valek had looked up to Victor. Even though his broad shoulders and thick muscles made others believe he’d be the bully of the family, Victor had a calming presence in tense situations. He also could be very protective if provoked, and when the soldiers had drawn their swords that horrible day, Victor had stepped in front of their father without hesitating.
Too bad Sergeant Edvard didn’t pause before he sliced the edge of his blade along Victor’s neck. Valek would never forget the angle of the blood as it sprayed from Victor’s throat like a morbid waterfall.
The barracks consisted of four two-story buildings. The long structures lined the inside of the garrison’s walls, one along each side. Edvard slept in a room in the west end of Barrack B on the second floor.
As Valek approached the barrack, he kept close to the shadows. A lesson he learned well—night and shadows were an assassin’s best tools. Soldiers patrolled the top of the walls and had a good view of the courtyard if they turned around.
Unfortunately, Edvard’s room lacked a window and the closest one opened into a large area full of bunks for the new recruits. Good thing this wasn’t the first time Valek had entered the building. He’d been practicing while Edvard had been on patrol.
Grabbing the doorknob, Valek turned it in one smooth motion. Too slow and the damn thing would have squealed. After Fester’s murder all the doors in the complex had been locked at night, which gave Valek plenty of practice in using his lock picks. But their laziness had returned and now he didn’t need to waste the time. He slipped inside the building and closed the door behind him.
He waited for his vision to adjust to the semidarkness. A few lanterns remained lit in hallways and the stairwells so if the soldiers were called for an emergency in the middle of the night, they wouldn’t break their necks. Listening to the various soft sounds of many sleeping men, Valek ensured no one was awake before moving.
The old wooden steps to the second story needed to be climbed with care. His first attempt up these stairs resulted in a series of loud squeaks, which woke up a few soldiers who came out to investigate. With his heart hammering in his chest, Valek had scrambled up the wall and clung to the ceiling rafters like a large black spider. Too bad he didn’t have the spider’s eight limbs as his tired at an alarming rate and sweat slicked his grip. Just when he’d thought he’d fall on the men, they returned to bed.
This time, Valek knew where all the noisy spots lurked and he ascended to the second floor with nary a squeak. He ghosted down the hallway to the third door on the left. He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. Turning the knob, Valek eased into the small room that contained two bunk beds and four trunks. He left the door ajar to let in some light. One of Edvard’s roommates was out on patrol, so only three men slept inside. Two on the top bunks, and one on the bottom—Edvard.