Assassin's Honor (Assassins of Landria Book 1)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Except for two years, when Ridge turned sixteen and was conscripted with the other orphans of his age into the king’s army, and Rett was left behind, the two of them had been together since childhood, in circumstances that forced them to depend on one another far more than real siblings. The monks did their best with the orphanage, and at least most of them meant well, but there were too many children from rough beginnings, too few adults who cared, and too little of everything else.

  Fights happened daily in the orphanage, over everything from clothing and shoes to food. The oldest, the biggest, or the most ruthless usually won the spoils. Rett had been little and scrappy, willing to bite and claw to hold his own, but he’d learned the hard way early in life that a fighting spirit alone wasn’t always enough. But with Ridge on his side, they formed a team to be reckoned with. Still did.

  Although the camp wouldn’t pull up stakes until the morning, Rett recognized the signs that they were going to move out. Everyone had packed up all they could, to make an early morning departure easier. Even the firewood they cut had been loaded onto a cart since they would not use all of it before the morning.

  He and Ridge had brought little with them aside from their rucksacks, cloaks, and the tent, along with horses, tack, and saddles. They’d have to sacrifice the tent—too many questions to be answered if someone noticed it missing in the middle of the night.

  That night, neither of them made a pretense of sleeping. “I’ll get the horses ready,” Ridge said as it neared midnight. “I’ll steal better mounts for us and a third one for the older children; you and I will each have to ride with two of the younger ones. If we’re quiet about it, maybe we won’t need a big distraction.” He paused. “I’ll have something ready anyhow, just in case.”

  Rett nodded. “I’ll head for the children. Three guards shouldn’t be hard to manage since we aren’t sticking around.”

  “You’ll have to wait until you hear me coming because someone will definitely notice if there are three dead guards.”

  “Maybe Sofen will help with his distraction ability. I’d rather not have the guards raise an alarm.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time we had to fight our way clear,” Ridge said. “Probably won’t be the last.”

  Despite the truth in Ridge’s words, their odds of survival rose whenever they could minimize confrontation. As Rett frequently reminded Ridge, they were the king’s assassins, not his two-man army. Ridge seemed to conveniently forget that point.

  When the tower in the distant village sounded second bells, Ridge and Rett slipped from their tent, carrying their rucksacks with weapons hidden for easy reach. Ridge jogged toward the corral for the horses and saddles, while Rett slipped among the shadows toward the tent with Sofen and the others.

  Moving silently and seeing in the dark without a light came naturally to Rett. Long before he became an assassin, they were the skills that kept him alive on the streets. And in the two years that Ridge was gone in the army, they were handy abilities to help him avoid the spite of others in the orphanage who resented that Rett had found an erstwhile brother.

  Rett blended with the shadows, pausing at any sound until he was certain the way was clear. The caravan’s camp had no need of large public performance space, so it filled a small meadow, with wagons and tents close enough together in most cases for a stone tossed from one to hit another. All except for the tent with Sofen and the enslaved children, which sat near the edge of the camp. Not too close to the forest that verged the clearing, in case any of the children tried to run away. But not among the press of other people, where conversations might be inconveniently overheard.

  Rett crouched behind a wagon, confirming that two guards stood outside the front. He circled around, staying low, and timed his approach for the single guard at the rear of the tent. When the man turned, Rett sprinted toward him, crossing the distance in seconds. Before the guard had a chance to react, Rett brought the grip of his knife down hard on the man’s head. Moments later, with the guard tied and gagged, Rett pushed the unconscious man beneath the back skirt of the tent.

  This time, Sofen’s mental touch felt much gentler. Instead of forcing into his mind and dropping Rett to his knees, the contact was like a brush of fingers across Rett’s temples, and then he caught the flash of an image, of the guards at the front staring into the distance. Hoping that meant Sofen and his friends had distracted the guards, Rett made his way around the tent, careful not to make any noise.

  Two guards meant less chance to end this without violence. Rett did not enjoy killing, but when other options failed, it fell to the king’s assassins to do what needed to be done. King Kristoph held a special hatred for slavery. A standing warrant empowered his assassins to kill any slavers they discovered and free their prisoners.

  Sofen’s distraction might wane at any second. Rett threw two knives in quick succession, and the guards dropped silently.

  Hoof beats pounded in his direction, and Rett thrust his head into the tent. “We’ve got to go. You’d better be ready.”

  Sofen and another boy his age nodded, and the other children slipped from beneath their blankets fully dressed.

  “Bring your blankets; it’s cold,” Rett said as Ridge stopped the horses a few feet outside the tent. “Hurry—they’ll have heard the horses,” he urged. A glance told Rett that the horses Ridge had stolen were far better than the plow horses they had brought with them.

  Rett handed two of the smallest children up to ride in front of Ridge, then placed two more on his own mount and swung up to the saddle once he helped Sofen and the older boy onto the third horse. Ridge had managed to get their own saddles as well as a stolen third, which would make the ride a little easier.

  “Go!” Ridge ordered, and they dug their heels in, urging their mounts forward. Rett maneuvered so that Sofen’s horse was between his and Ridge’s. He wrapped one arm around the two small children bundled in front of him as they thundered down the road. Behind them, they heard shouting and cursing. Rett hoped that Edels and the caravan master would think twice about firing shots lest they harm their valuable, escaping slaves.

  “Sofen—if you and your friends can do anything to slow down or distract people who want to chase us, it would be a big help.”

  Sofen nodded, although it looked as if he had all he could handle just holding on to the horse. Rett wondered how, with their abilities, the children had been captured in the first place. A threat against their families? Or maybe only Sofen had abilities that could easily be turned to defense. Now that he had seen how young the other children were, he could not imagine how they could be useful to their captors. Perhaps the men who bought them did not need the children to understand, only force their magic on others. Just the thought of it made him sick. A wrong turn, a bit of bad luck, and it might have been him all those years ago.

  In the distance, Rett heard the sound of horses behind them. “They’re coming!” he shouted. Ridge’s muffled curses carried back in response.

  “Sofen, can you do something?” Rett asked, trying to figure out how to use his own illegal magic to avoid a fight. It would be almost impossible to protect the children if they had to battle their pursuers.

  “I might be able to make them forget us for a little while,” Sofen said, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of the horses. “But I’ve never done it without being able to see who I was aiming for.”

  “Forgetting would be good, if you don’t make all of us forget, too,” Rett urged.

  “I’ve always had to see someone to use my magic on them.”

  “That might not be a good idea,” Rett replied. “If they can see us, they might be able to shoot us.”

  Sofen’s brows knit in a scowl. “Don’t want the little ones to get hurt.”

  Rett remembered that look of resolve. He’d seen it on Ridge many times back in the orphanage, a too-old expression on a too-young face. Sofen and the other older boy were about the same age Ridge had been when he became Rett’s
protector. And while they were both now trained assassins with an impressive kill record to their names, sometimes Rett thought that Ridge had never quite outgrown that old protective streak.

  “I’ll try,” Sofen said. He looked over his shoulder to the boy behind him, a glance that seemed to communicate a silent conversation, and Rett wondered if they could read each other’s thoughts. The other boy put his hand on Sofen’s shoulder, and they both closed their eyes.

  Rett felt a wave of…something…pass over him. He felt a buzz of energy, magic acknowledging magic. The sound of pursuit suddenly stopped.

  “Ride harder!” Rett called to Ridge. “I think we’ve thrown them off for now.”

  Rett nudged his horse faster, wondering how long they dared ride with their young charges. Had they been the pampered children of merchants or nobles, he doubted they would have made it this far. But these were survivors, toughened by their ordeal, and they depended on one another. Their desperation to escape probably helped, not to mention their magic.

  They slowed their pace when their pursuers appeared to have given up the chase, and their horses were at their limit. Ridge led them down side roads and back lanes, finally coming to a stop in a small grove beside a stream.

  “We can’t stay long, but we should get some rest,” Ridge said, climbing down from his horse and stretching. The children practically tumbled off into his arms, and Rett wondered if they had dozed in the saddle. It had been all he could do to avoid drifting off himself, despite the danger.

  “Just a couple hours,” Ridge warned. “We’ll take turns standing guard, so no one sneaks up on us,” he told Sofen and the others. “I’ll bring up some water from the stream. The horses can drink, too. They can use a rest as well.”

  Rett walked over to stand beside Ridge. “Where are we going?”

  “I figure Sally Anne will take them, at least until we can figure out something else.”

  Rett’s eyebrows rose. “She takes in women who run away from brutish husbands. Not children.”

  Ridge chuckled. “She’s feisty, wealthy, and she owns a damn castle.” That much was true. Lady Sally Anne Harrowmont found herself a widow under questionable circumstances, retaining her late husband’s wealth, lands, and fortifications. Rid of her drunken monster of a husband, she opened her castle as a sanctuary for others. “Besides, she owes us.”

  “What about their magic?” Rett pressed, turning to keep one eye on the children. Sofen and Belan, the other older boy, had taken charge and were doing an admirable job of getting the younger ones to rest.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s protected more than a few women with magic that could get them into trouble,” Ridge replied. “Sally Anne doesn’t care much for the monks’ opinions. Not sure how much she thinks of the king’s, for that matter.”

  Chapter Five

  Provisions were woefully thin for anything resembling breakfast. Ridge searched their packs, coming up with some dried meat and hard cheese. Still, the children accepted the offer gratefully and drank from the cold stream.

  “How did the men at the caravan think they were controlling you, to keep you from running away?” Ridge asked as Sofen splashed water on his face.

  Sofen dug out an amulet from beneath his shirt and held it up. “They made us wear these,” he said. “I ‘broke’ mine, and we made the others leave theirs back in the tent. Belan and I were stronger, but we didn’t run because we needed to look out for the others.”

  Interesting, Ridge thought. He was about to ask another question when Sofen gave him an odd look.

  “Edels and Master Kurren felt strange to my mind,” Sofen said.

  “Strange, how?”

  Sofen chewed his lip for a moment, trying to put thoughts into words. “They had a shadow on their minds, like a stain.” He frowned, struggling. “Not all bad men do. Just them.”

  Ridge nodded. “That’s because they’ve sold their souls to an even worse man,” he said. “And I’m afraid that some of that man’s followers are the ones who’ve been buying the other children and taking them away.”

  Sofen thought about that for a moment. “They didn’t hurt us like I thought they would,” he said quietly. When he met Ridge’s gaze, the boy’s eyes were so much older than his years. “They hit us if we didn’t listen, or if we struggled, but they didn’t…touch.”

  Ridge felt heat creep to his face. “Good,” he said in a rough voice. “That’s good. But they shouldn’t have taken you.” He looked at Sofen. “Do you have families to go back to?”

  Sofen shrugged. “Some do. But the bad men will just come back and take us again if we go home. The rest don’t have anywhere.”

  Ridge nodded. “Well, that’s going to change,” he said. “I’ve got a friend who will keep you safe if everyone promises to behave.”

  Sofen grinned. “Will your friend have food?”

  Ridge chuckled. “I dare say she will. And if you want, you might even help us get back at Edels and Kurren and the men who took your friends.”

  Sofen’s eyes were wary. “How?”

  Ridge clapped a hand on his shoulder. “By doing what you do—from safely inside big stone walls where they can’t hurt you.”

  Sofen’s smile widened. “Like a spy? That would be good.”

  Ridge smiled. “Let’s get you a safe place to stay, and then we can talk about the spy part.”

  To Ridge’s relief, the children bore the two-day trip to Harrowmont stoically, making no complaint about empty bellies or sore muscles from the ride. Sofen and Belan called out to the others now and again, trying to jolly them along or asking what they thought of landmarks, plants, or animals they saw along the way. Ridge and Rett snared rabbits or caught fish for their dinner, and together with the bread and cheese they bought from farmers along the way, it was enough to sustain them for the journey.

  Ridge rode point, and Rett trailed, bracketing the children between them. That kept the party safe but gave the two assassins no time to talk. When they stopped to rest the horses and let the children relieve themselves and stretch, Rett moved to stand beside Ridge. Never taking his eyes off their new charges, he folded his arms across his chest.

  “So what now? We just ride up to Harrowmont with six children and ask to see Lady Sally Anne?”

  Ridge shrugged. “You’ve got a better idea?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m convinced it will work.”

  Ridge let out a long breath. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just until we figure out this Witch Lord problem. Lady Sally Anne can keep them safe. She’s the only one I can think of who wouldn’t either turn them in for magic or try to use them for her own ends—Burke included.”

  Ridge had met Lady Harrowmont during the time he and Rett were separated before Rett was old enough to be conscripted. Ridge was already an assassin by that point, hunting with Noran, the older fighter assigned to be his sponsor.

  Promising young soldiers were paired with an older mentor, who was charged with teaching weapons and tactics and keeping the students alive while they learned. Some of the pairings turned into unbreakable friendships, others into more than friendship. And while many of the mentors might have been decent men, Noran abused his power and rank.

  When Noran died in a skirmish, Ridge had gained enough of a reputation that King Kristoph offered him his choice of reward. Ridge had asked for first pick of the new crop of recruits to choose a new partner, knowing Rett would be among them. He’d missed his almost-brother, but even more, he wanted to save Rett from what he had endured. Ridge spoke little of his time with Noran, but enough to give Rett an idea of what went unsaid.

  One of the few good things Noran had ever done, in Ridge’s opinion, was provide an armed escort to a noblewoman and her retinue. Only after they reached Harrowmont did Noran and Ridge finally realize that Lady Sally Anne had spirited the women away from their abusive husbands in disguise, and used the might of the king’s soldiers to do it. Ridge had made a favorable impressi
on on Lady Harrowmont, and they had chatted at times throughout the journey, creating a pleasant connection between them. She seemed to see Noran immediately for the kind of man he was and kept a frosty distance, one that only made Noran dislike Ridge even more.

  “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Lady Sally Anne.”

  Ridge grinned. “Would it matter if I did?” When he failed to get a reaction, he shook his head. “No. She was already married and even then, I knew she was way out of reach. Not to mention at least ten years older. Still pretty,” he added wistfully.

  Back then, Lady Sally Anne had requested another duty of Ridge and Noran before allowing them to go their way, eliminating someone who had threatened her safety, a killer hired by her estranged husband. Ridge and Noran lodged at the manor for a few weeks while they worked the job.

  “Sometimes, we’d talk, which surprised the crap out of me, since I didn’t think people like her had conversations with people like me. She was nice. Not like most nobles.”

  “So you’re sure she’ll remember you? It’s been six years.”

  “My pride hopes so,” Ridge replied. “Yes, I’m sure she will. And I’m certain she’ll help, especially for something like this.”

  “If the Witch Lord has a purpose for these children, he’ll send someone to take them back,” Rett warned.

  Ridge gave him a look. “From Lady Sally Anne? Those soldiers will go home with their balls around their necks and their pricks down their throats.”

  ###

  Harrowmont Castle sat gray and forbidding atop a rocky ridge. Ridge had heard stories that it had been built as an outpost by a long-forgotten empire and reworked over generations to suit the needs of its many owners. If true, that meant that the castle was older than the kingdom of Landria itself. If anyone considered trying to wrest control from Lady Sally Anne, her highly proficient, deeply loyal men and women at arms would quickly disabuse them of the notion.