Chapter 6: The Unscheduled Exfiltration

Kheldar secured the document package, the dark oiled paper surprisingly smooth under the pads of his fingers. He had the physical evidence of the treason, and the exchange was successful. He turned immediately to exit the service alley behind the maintenance yards, focused entirely on the short walk back to Javelin and the safe house.

He only made it three steps.

A heavily cloaked agent intercepted him before he could reach the alley exit. This figure seemed to materialize from the deep shadows clinging to a massive pile of discarded steam regulators. Kheldar had been hyper-aware of the environment, but the efficiency of the agent’s approach was startling, bordering on unnerving.

The figure was completely obscured by a loose, dark gray traveling cloak, the hood pulled so far forward that only the chin and mouth were visible, disappearing into the fabric shroud. This was not the uncoordinated surveillance of an enemy lackey. This was professional intervention.

The cloaked agent moved to cut off Kheldar’s path toward the street, positioning himself precisely at the mouth of the alley. The movement was economical, designed to block and delay, not to attack immediately.

“The Northern Corps documents are secured,” the agent stated, the voice low, trained to be unremarkable, though masculine.

Kheldar instantly tensed, every muscle in his body prepared for immediate conflict. That phrasing—‘secured’—was a clear internal Drasnian intelligence term, one never used in general military or civilian circles.

The agent continued, delivering a precise, high-ranking Drasnian counter-intelligence coded phrase. “Acknowledged. Operational integrity requires direct transfer to Central Registry 4-Delta-7.”

Kheldar felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Registry 4-Delta-7 was a specific, highly secure holding cell for the most sensitive intelligence assets, a location known only to the highest echelons of the Watch and the Crown. This encounter was not random. This person was highly placed and fully aware of the operation, most likely alerted by the activity at the maintenance yard.

Kheldar knew he could not simply comply. Merineth and Kamon would not have been able to arrange this sophisticated an intercept without internal assistance, which meant the code phrase was likely a pre-arranged signal to retrieve the package from anyone Javelin sent. Compliance meant the documents would be rerouted directly into the traitors’ hands.

The primary mission was securing the documents for the Crown. This agent represented a new, and extremely dangerous, internal threat.

Kheldar did not speak or acknowledge the demand. Remaining silent was often the strongest defense against a verbal challenge in espionage. He initiated a brief, silent physical struggle instead.

He moved first, feinting a step toward the agent’s left, which forced the agent to shift his weight to block the expected movement. As the agent committed his weight, Kheldar drove the point of his elbow hard into the side of the agent’s ribs, not intending to injure severely, but to disrupt the balance and control breathing.

The cloaked agent reacted instantly, precisely, and with astonishing defense. The attack was parried with a rapid shift of the agent’s forearm, deflecting the elbow blow with minimal absorption of force. The agent followed the deflection with a quick, snapping kick toward Kheldar's knee joint, clearly aiming to disable mobility.

Kheldar recognized the combat style instantly. It was the specific, highly stylized hand-to-hand combat technique taught only to the royal guards and the most trusted Watch operatives assigned to close protection details within the palace perimeter. The movements were designed for maximum efficiency in confined spaces, prioritizing disabling opponents quickly without drawing attention or damaging property unnecessarily. Kheldar himself had practiced these drills extensively during his initial palace training, before Javelin had started on the more practical, brutal street fighting skills.

This agent was Palace-trained, a member of the internal security structure, likely a Captain or even a Major within his own security apparatus. The suspicion of internal security compromise hardened into near certainty. Merineth had a direct line into the Palace Watch.

The fight lasted less than fifteen seconds, an intense exchange of suppressed aggression and trained movements. Kheldar had the slight advantage of surprise and the desperation of knowing what was at stake.

The agent attempted to follow the kick with a grapple, reaching out to seize Kheldar’s arm, presumably to locate and secure the package, which was still clutched tightly in Kheldar's hand.

Kheldar used his specialized training, the drills Javelin had forced him through, exploiting the agent’s reliance on the more formalized Palace guard stance. He allowed the agent to seize his forearm, but instead of pulling back against the grip, Kheldar moved instantly into the grapple, leveraging his smaller frame and lower center of gravity.

He twisted sharply out of the grasp, using the momentum of the twist to pivot his body and hook his foot behind the agent’s closest ankle. It was a classic tripping maneuver, executed with professional swiftness. The agent, prepared for a sustained, wrestling-style struggle, was momentarily caught off balance by the sudden, sharp twist and the low sweep.

As the Palace-trained agent stumbled, Kheldar delivered a short, precise strike with the heel of his hand just below the agent’s ear, targeting an easily accessible pressure point. Javelin had spent hours emphasizing that subdual did not require brute strength; it demanded acute precision and timing.

The agent collapsed instantly, dropping silently onto the dirty pavement of the alley. The fall was heavy, a dead weight, confirming the efficiency of the blow. Kheldar checked the agent quickly, ensuring the subdual was complete and the breathing was regulated. The agent was entirely unconscious, rendered harmless without permanent injury, exactly as Kheldar intended. He avoided lethal force not out of moral consideration, but out of the necessity of maintaining deniability and avoiding undue attention. A corpse in the alley attracted the official Watch, which was the last thing Javelin needed.

Kheldar quickly secured the agent’s hands with the thin, tough binding cord he kept wrapped around his lower leg, a habit ingrained by Javelin for emergencies like this. The agent was neutralized and insulated from self-injury while unconscious.

He knew he had been recognized immediately upon the collapse of the agent. The agent would have been well-trained enough to associate the unique combat style with the Palace’s inner circle, which meant the identity of the successful retriever would be known the moment this man woke up and reported back to Merineth’s network.

There was no time to search the agent’s person or attempt to question him. The proximity to the maintenance yard, and the quick, sharp movement of the fight, meant the encounter was probably observed by Tylar’s silent network, which was already highly sensitive to interlopers. Kheldar needed to vacate the area before Tylar’s men mistakenly identified him as the new threat.

He stepped over the prone figure, moving with a renewed sense of urgency. The light of dawn had progressed further, illuminating the grime and discarded industrial debris of the periphery.

Kheldar returned immediately to the safe house, moving far faster than his earlier approach, sticking to the deepest shadows and maintaining a constant, almost paranoid scrutiny of the roofs and windows nearby. The professional nature of the intercept had significantly raised the stakes. This was no longer just about retrieving documents; it was a matter of extreme internal security.

He reached the back entrance of the safe house, rapping the soft, precise signal on the door panel that Javelin insisted upon. Javelin opened the door instantly, pulling Kheldar inside without waiting for him to step completely across the threshold.

Javelin’s face was taut with controlled anxiety. He was still standing by the communication apparatus, focused entirely on the signal components.

“I was beginning to assume the worst,” Javelin said, his voice flat, not a question of Kheldar’s successful return but a statement of the tension he felt. “The receiver went dark for a moment. A brief, sharp electrical shunt near the maintenance yard. I thought Tylar might have been cleaning house.”

Kheldar realized that the brief, silent physical struggle had been enough to cause a moment of local signal interruption, likely due to the equipment being near the agent’s collapse. Kheldar delivered the package, placing it securely on the small washstand, keeping it from contact with the desk and the maps.

“I secured the package,” Kheldar reported, maintaining the terse, professional tone required by the situation. “And I secured the package retriever.”

Javelin turned from the apparatus, his attention entirely focused now. He did not ask about the package, trusting Kheldar’s confirmation. He looked Kheldar over quickly.

“Explain,” Javelin commanded.

Kheldar quickly recounted the encounter: the cloaked agent, the precise, high-ranking Drasnian counter-intelligence coded phrase, the recognition of the Palace-trained combat style, and the subdual using non-lethal pressure points.

“He challenged me with the 4-Delta-7 registry request,” Kheldar confirmed, his voice carefully controlled. “He was attempting a legitimate retrieval according to Palace protocol. This confirms Merineth’s network has operatives within the internal security apparatus, likely a Captain in the Watch.”

Javelin’s focused demeanor shifted into something colder, a blend of fury and absolute calculation. He walked over to the package, observing it but not touching it.

“Merineth is closing the net faster than I anticipated,” Javelin stated, the words spoken with dangerous quietness. “They are intercepting our operational counter-moves almost simultaneously. That agent was mobilized the moment the drop failed, clearly with standing orders to retrieve the package from the field operative regardless of the source. They knew we were coming.”

Kheldar had already drawn the same conclusion. The Palace agent’s presence meant that any conventional method of transferring the documents now would be entirely compromised. Merineth knew the locations, the codes, and the protocols.

“We cannot use our usual channels,” Kheldar stated the obvious.

“Correct. I was planning to use Agent K-5 to ferry the documents through the diplomatic pouch network to Queen Porenn in the Capital,” Javelin said. “But if the Watch is compromised at this level, the diplomatic pouch is probably under surveillance through the customs office. A delivery via that route is now a direct transfer into Merineth’s possession.”

Javelin ran a hand over the rough fabric of his jacket, an expression of profound frustration settling on his face. He walked to the map table, circling the vicinity of the safe house with a quick, decisive charcoal mark.

“This entire operation is contaminated, Kheldar,” Javelin announced. “The proximity of the threat to our location, confirmed by this immediate intercept, means this site is almost certainly compromised or will be within the hour. That Palace agent will wake up, and when he reports back, Merineth will know precisely where the documents are headed and who retrieved them.”

Kheldar knew Javelin meant that Merineth now knew Prince Kheldar was involved, and that the documents were safely out of the general intelligence network. Their window of deniability was gone.

“We are exposed,” Kheldar confirmed.

“The danger is twofold,” Javelin explained, articulating the logistics. “First, the physical threat to this site. They will move to secure the documents if they know we are here. Second, the political threat. If Merineth discovers we successfully retrieved the Northern Corps’ actual operational plans, he will mobilize a counter-intelligence effort to discredit us immediately, possibly even ordering our immediate arrest as ‘traitors’ who sabotaged the delivery.”

Javelin looked at the package, and the decision was made, absolute and non-negotiable. “We cannot risk sending the sensitive documents through any official or standard spy network channel whatsoever. To route the package through the intelligence bureaucracy currently requires us to bypass the general internal security structure, which is clearly untrustworthy.”

Javelin turned, facing Kheldar directly. “This contamination is too severe. We cannot rely on any asset, no matter how deep cover, if the Watch is compromised at the command level.”

He pointed a finger at the small package Kheldar had retrieved. “These documents must reach the highest authority immediately, entirely outside the known network.”

“The Queen?” Kheldar asked, although he already knew the necessity of the ultimate destination.

“Higher,” Javelin corrected, speaking the words with an intensity that demanded compliance. “The current threat requires more than a tactical response to a political coup; it requires the weight of the throne itself. We must ensure the documents are placed directly into the hands of the King.”

Javelin paused, ensuring Kheldar understood the gravity of the decision. “I must remain here. If both of us disappear, Merineth wins the political narrative instantly; he declares us defectors. It is more important that I remain to manage the fallout and coordinate the internal counter-coup I launched against Merineth’s and Kamon’s residences tonight.”

“I am ordering you to abandon the official intelligence tradecraft, Kheldar,” Javelin stated formally. “You will deliver these documents personally to King Rhodar at his current location.”

Javelin moved quickly to the small, secured chest that functioned as a field safe, opening it silently with a complicated combination of small clicks. He pulled out a worn, dark leather case, which contained specific documents and maps.

“The King left the Capital three days ago for the annual High Hunt at the Royal Preserve near the border of Cherek,” Javelin explained, spreading a detailed topographical map of the Drasnian-Cherek border region. “He travels light, accompanied only by a nominal, completely reliable Royal Escort. He is less than three days’ ride from here, providing one is not followed.”

Kheldar studied the map, noting the routes. The safe routes through the official roads were far too exposed.

Javelin provided Kheldar with the details of a pre-planned, highly confidential escape route known only to immediate royal family members. This was not a standard spy route, but a contingency designed for situations of extreme governmental crisis or invasion, a route that bypassed all checkpoints and official patrols by utilizing ancient, little-known service trails and private, unmarked properties.

“This route is officially recorded nowhere,” Javelin explained, tracing a complex, almost invisible track across the map, leading through dense forest and along the northern rim of a minor mountain range. “Only four people in the world know the complete details of this path: the King, the Queen, myself, and now you. It is the route designed to move important intelligence or persons directly to the Crown without involving any layer of the intelligence or military structure.”

Kheldar absorbed the complexity of the route, understanding the complete trust Javelin was placing in his memory and skill. This was not a mission based on tradecraft; it was a mission based on necessity and lineage.

“You will travel entirely independently,” Javelin emphasized. “No communications, no contact with any asset. If you encounter any of our field operatives, you must treat them as compromised until proven otherwise. You are not a Drasnian spy on this mission; you are the King’s personal courier.”

Kheldar retrieved the essential items for the journey from the sparse contents of the safe house: a sealed canteen, a pouch of dried provisions, a specific compass, and the small, highly potent field pistol Javelin insisted he carry for final emergencies.

“You cannot travel as yourself, Kheldar,” Javelin ordered, observing the Prince’s preparations. “Merineth now knows Prince Kheldar is the retrieving agent. If you are apprehended, the political damage will be irreversible. You must disappear entirely, blending into the flow of the civilian population until you are well clear of Vamidor.”

Javelin moved to a small, sealed box kept within his coat, pulling out several documents: letters of credit, various falsified travel permits, and identity papers.

“You will abandon the Prince of Drasnia persona immediately,” Javelin stated. “You must adopt the full persona of the ‘Silk’ independent merchant.”

Kheldar understood the necessity of the transformation. The Kheldar identity was entirely compromised. The merchant ‘Silk’ was a concept Javelin had been developing for months: an identity entirely separate from the intelligence apparatus, a shrewd, self-serving, seemingly apolitical dealer in valuable goods, focused solely on profit.

“Your persona is that of an extremely minor but rapidly expanding dealer of fine, rare silks and spices, seeking new trading routes,” Javelin explained. “You are traveling to the Cherek border to negotiate commercial rights with a minor noble known for his lax oversight and substantial tariffs.”

Javelin handed Kheldar a small, unremarkable ledger and a few samples of exotic, rare spices in tightly sealed vials. “This gives you a reason to be traveling through the remote regions, and a plausible cover for carrying a potentially large sum of money or documents that might look like bills of lading.”

Kheldar took the items, immediately initiating the mental shift. Shrewdness was the key to this new identity. Prince Kheldar was an observer, a manipulator of politics. The merchant Silk was a manipulator of markets and a master of self-interest.

He removed the dark, cloak and tunic of the operational clothing, replacing it with the standard, high-quality, practical traveling clothes of a minor independent merchant. He kept the hidden dagger and the pistol, concealing them beneath layers of fabric, relying on the bulky, practical cut of the merchant clothing to disguise his slim, royal stature.

He examined his own face in the reflection of a dark windowpane. He needed to alter the perception of his face, which was too recognizable for a prince. He allowed a slight, almost imperceptible smirk to settle on his features, a look of calculating greed that fundamentally changed the passive, analytical expression of Prince Kheldar. Silk was perpetually on the verge of making a profit, or perpetually annoyed at having missed one.

He focused on the mannerisms: the quick, observant dart of the eyes, continuously scanning for opportunities; the slightly exaggerated focus on the practical details; the tendency to keep one hand near a purse or point of contact with valuable items. Everything about Silk had to project a shrewd, almost obsessive focus on the transaction and nothing else.

“You will ride a standard, nondescript gelding, appropriate for continuous travel across uneven terrain,” Javelin instructed, having already prepared the horse in the small, hidden courtyard behind the safe house. “It is fast enough for the journey, but too common to attract attention.”

Javelin delivered his final instructions with an air of complete command. “From this moment forward, you are alone. Even Tylar’s professionalism is a liability we cannot afford. You report only to the King. Your only objective is delivery.”

Kheldar secured the document package inside a separate, double-lined compartment sewn into the back lining of his merchant vest, designed to look like a reinforced shoulder seam. The package, heavy with the fate of Drasnia’s Northern Corps, was now literally resting on his back.

He secured the papers, the false identity, and the necessities. Kheldar was gone; only Silk remained.

He moved silently out of the safe house, through the back passage Javelin had arranged, emerging into the small, enclosed courtyard where a sturdy, brown gelding was tethered, already saddled.

Javelin was waiting just inside the stable doorway. He reached out and grasped Kheldar’s arm, not in farewell, but in professional confirmation.

“Go quickly,” Javelin said, his expression grim. “This is the most sensitive intelligence asset the Crown possesses. Your failure is the collapse of Drasnia’s northern defenses.”

Kheldar nodded, accepting the new surge of sole responsibility. He mounted the gelding with the economical ease of a good rider, avoiding fanfare.

He turned the horse toward the alley exit that led away from the central streets and directly toward the ancient, hidden track Javelin had shown him. The light was fully present now, pale and slightly cold, the early morning traffic of tradesmen and cart drivers commencing their daily activity. He blended instantly into the mundane flow of early commerce.

He departed the safe house, carrying the document package and operating entirely outside the protection and resources of Drasnian intelligence. The weight of the world, packaged in a single, small, oil-paper wrapped bundle, now rode with the traveling merchant, Silk.