The Raike Box Set

by Jackson Lear

  Zara sighed, continued stabbing me with her pick. “Strings were pulled and misdirections were employed.”

  “… Really?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Hang on, Erast’s captain of the city watch …”

  “Thinks someone else did it. Miss Kasera burned every last favor she had with her parents to keep you alive. So for her sake: stop being so reckless with your life, her life, and especially my life.”

  I fell quiet.

  Zara continued fumbling with the lock, hissing as though she nearly had it but her grip slipped, forcing her to start over again. “Let me ask you, if Artavian belonged to General Renair’s army and it was them you bumped into and not Commander Lavarta, would you still have looked into Artavian’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit. You’re here only because of Miss Kasera.”

  “I may not have stuck my neck out as far as I have if it wasn’t for her but Artavian’s death piqued my curiosity. I had already started to ask around to find out what was happening long before I knew Alysia was involved.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “It’s true. I didn’t know who Lavarta was. I knew his last name but not what he looked like. When I finally saw him they were bringing Artavian out of the inn on a stretcher. Lavarta was beside himself with dismay. Artavian actually meant something to him and it looked like he had a much bigger problem on his hands now that the guy was dead. Besides, it was part of my job in the company to keep an eye on potential trouble and track down trouble makers. This one seemed interesting enough to look into.”

  “Would you have gone to General Renair looking for a job?”

  “Probably not. In all likelihood I would’ve gathered a whole lotta evidence on whoever did it and blackmailed them.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “A man’s gotta eat. You’ve never been responsible for someone getting blackmailed?”

  She fell silent, jabbing me with her fine pin.

  “See? We’re not that different.”

  “I’ve never been a thug or a mercenary.”

  “I didn’t say we were the same. I said we’re not that different. Although I am now a retired mercenary and you’re still an active assassin.”

  “I’m an infiltrator.”

  “I hate to break this to you, but if you spend all your time on protection detail for a high ranking family and you help to make a lot of their problems go away by eliminating the person responsible, you’re an assassin.”

  “Do you want me to get you out of here or not?”

  I fell silent. Until: “What exactly does an infiltrator do?”

  “Fucking hell ...”

  “I’m genuinely curious.”

  “What do you think an infiltrator does?”

  “I think they’re a lot like spies. They get to know the right sort of people, who are usually the wrong sort of people. You tell them what they want to hear so they’ll tell you what you came to find out. They have a gift for looking like they belong in most situations. I’m sure you could pass as a courtesan, aide-de-camp, librarian, or a beggar. The big difference between someone who calls themselves an infiltrator and a spy is that a spy usually passes on information and someone else sends in the heavy hitters. You, I’m guessing, not only pass on the information, but you run the full gambit when necessary. You’ll identify who needs to be executed and you’ll see the job to the very end. A one-woman mercenary guild.”

  It occurred to me only then that I could’ve easily been fucked if someone was listening in on us the whole time. Someone with their ear to a hole in the brickwork. It’s not like I would’ve noticed something like that in the dark and I was willing to bet that it was a standard move for many prisoners the world over.

  The lock to one of my wrists sprung open. “There.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hold your other wrist still.”

  “It’s not going to take as long again, will it?”

  “Depends how quiet you’re going to be.”

  Footfalls. From the corridor outside.

  Zara pulled her hands back. I did the same. Moved away.

  A trickle of light broke under the door. Maybe two candle’s worth at most.

  Someone was coming.

  They stopped. Unlocked the door. It swung open with a heavy, jerking motion. Someone who wasn’t used to the quirks of that particular door. Someone who probably hadn’t been down here before.

  He stepped inside, a gentle lamp illuminating his short stature, showing off his commander’s uniform. Fair hair. An amused smile across his face. A short sword drawn and angled forward.

  The governor’s assassin.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The assassin looked over us, head to toe, both barefoot and dressed in rags, locked in individual cells with our hands behind our backs. He set the lamp and a jug on the ground, closed the door, locked it, tied the key back to his belt. I caught a whiff of the jug he had set beside the door. One part noxious alcohol, two parts fresh vomit.

  “So,” he said, “who’s first?”

  “Me,” I said. “Who ordered you to do it? The governor or Caton?”

  He smirked back at me. “That’s not how we’re doing this.” He turned his attention briefly onto Zara. “You I know.” Then back to me. “You I don’t. Not completely. Though I did get lucky by speaking to Beriss. I got your name, where you’re from, how broke you are, how good you are at cards, and how easily you fall for women. You’re also unrelenting, which is admirable. Open to the occasional bribe but only if your mind isn’t completely set. Once set, I dare say you would require a lot more encouragement than money alone. Would I be right?”

  “If you’re going to publicly suck my dick like this then you should really freshen up beforehand. At the very least, chew on some mint leaves.”

  Another smirk. “Yes, I was warned about your sense of humor as well. You’re a decent fighter, at least in the eyes of someone on the run for seduction. You took your time taking care of the three bounty hunters from Erast. You even let the kid escape, which was, what? Sentimental? And at least according to Sergeant Muro you can be quite terrifying when he thinks you’re me, so you have my thanks for boosting my mystique among the dumbasses of the army.”

  “You kidnapped the farmhand in Wistworth. I bet you shat yourself when he came back as a vampire and identified you. I wonder if you even bothered to learn his name.”

  The assassin held a look of contempt. “Johan. Do you know the names of the two bounty hunters you killed earlier today? Or the boy you let escape?”

  I did not.

  “I have a couple of questions. I’m not going to take them much at face value but they might help to connect something that could benefit me later on. And who knows, you might even be able to talk your way out of this.”

  I remained silent.

  He narrowed his eyes on me. “I see.”

  Zara spoke up. “What’s your question?”

  “Well, if he’s not going to answer ...”

  “He might. Or I might know the answer.”

  He glanced towards her. “Very well. Why is he involved?”

  Zara looked my way. I kept my attention on the sword in the assassin’s hand. It remained pointed towards my chest in case I had hypnotized him into believing that the bars were real when they in fact weren’t.

  “He blackmails people,” said Zara. “That’s how he and his kind earn the bulk of their money.”

  “He’s here alone.”

  “Is he?”

  “The only person he is likely to have teamed up with is you. I’m assuming you two know each other from Erast?”

  Zara fell into a glare. “He’s one of us, Krassis, and he isn’t here alone. If you let the Lavartas go he’ll back away. Artavian was foolish and deserved it. No one else needs to die.”

  Krassis shook his head. “He’s stepped on too many toes for me to let this go.”

  “You can hire him
and make the problem go away.”

  “Then he’ll be stepping on my toes. Besides, he doesn’t have the grace to fit in with the governor. He’s more of a thug than an infiltrator.”

  “He’s valuable,” said Zara. “He knows how to fight vampires. Get the governor to send him up north. Let him train the cohort to fight them effectively.”

  A wry smile came over him. “Yeah, about that story of his. Do you know how many companies from Erast will have the same kind of bullshit tale?”

  “I believe him.”

  “Good. Then it’ll make finding the rest of his people easy. There are, what, six companies polluting Erast?”

  “Five,” said Zara.

  “What, did two form into one?”

  “Sort of. One was wiped out in a territorial take over. Whoever wasn’t killed swapped sides.”

  He arched an eyebrow at Zara. “See? If those kind of low-lifes swap sides so easily then it’s a wonder how even he’s made it this far. Though, to be fair, he is about to die in a dungeon accused of murder, so he hasn’t exactly made it that far in the grand scheme of things. What company did he work for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do. There was some kind of commotion six months ago in Erast with the captain of the city watch. Was Raike a member of the company that was crushed and then swallowed?”

  “I’m telling you the truth about him and the vampires. He knows how to fight them. Lieutenant Gustali is about to head back up there, isn’t he? He’s going to need all the help he can get. He doesn’t have the mindset or skills to fight them, does he?”

  Krassis turned towards me, sizing me up. “Looks like you’ve warmed the loins of Miss Zara here. How on earth did you manage that?”

  I remained silent, still unsure of how well these two knew each other.

  Krassis shrugged it off. “Alas, I can’t exactly have Raike here up in the north with the governor’s son, not when he’s probably got a hard-on for righting the wrongs of the past. I want people up there I can trust, and I don’t trust him. But I will make him this one offer.” He stepped in closer, his attention leaving Zara completely as he tried to mentally skewer me from where he stood. “If your exploits with the vampires are genuine then I’d be happy to hire your brethren. The ones who were up there with you. So the offer is this: you answer my next question truthfully – and I will investigate whether or not you’ve been lying to me – and I will hire the brothers from your company. Erast. One of five remaining companies. Fought four vampires and knew someone of your name and description. Shouldn’t be too hard to find them. If you refuse to answer or if I find you are lying to me, evasive, or setting me up for any kind of problem, I will have your brothers executed without mercy.”

  I took a deep breath. A chance to kill everyone I knew for kicking me out.

  He leaned forward, ever so slightly.

  I asked: “Did you ever crack Artavian’s code?”

  Krassis pulled back, returning to a sneer. “Looks like your friends are going to die.”

  “It must’ve been one hell of a tough call; standing in Artavian’s room and trying to figure out which of his papers were written in a code and which are not. I mean, do you take everything he had and expose his death as an assassination on behalf of someone else, or do you leave it all behind to ensure it looked like he died of natural causes but risk someone deciphering the truth concerning what Artavian had uncovered about you, Caton, and the Gustalis?”

  Krassis glanced between Zara and myself. “I assumed you wouldn’t go out without a fight.”

  “You can’t kill me,” snapped Zara. “Not when I have a written confession waiting with a friend.”

  “You don’t have any friends, Zara. Nor do you exactly trust someone else with your own life. I was the closest ally you had, crying on my shoulder and begging me not to leave, but now your judgment has been compromised.”

  “You deserve better employers.”

  Krassis loosened himself up. “I’m paid well and I’m treated fairly. As a result, I do the same for others. I have a feeling that Raike here is something of a tightass who won’t get along with most people.” He unhooked something from behind his belt and held it out. It appeared to be a thick mess of leather, like an oddly shaped garment which had been miraculously folded into a square despite the many bizarre creases it would show off.

  “Don’t …” said Zara.

  Krassis tossed it between the bars. It thumped onto the ground before me. Several belt-like straps flopped open.

  Considering that Artavian had likely been pinned down by magicked straps and a jug of vomit poured down his throat, I was pretty sure of what was about to happen next. I retreated to the back of the cell, close to Zara in the hope that she might somehow be able to help me.

  “The commander will find you,” I said. “And General Kasera.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much about the lovebirds. Not when it looks like your friend was responsible for their deaths.” Krassis’ lips curled into a smile as he locked onto me. “Volché.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The satchel of leather bands snapped out, each strap now a flurry of tentacles thrashing within my cell. One slapped across my ankle, locked on, and dragged the whole satchel towards me. I swung both arms into the air, blocking my face. Another band snapped onto my manacled wrist. I tried to wrench it free. Got a slap in my face for my efforts. I shifted towards Zara, the straps finding a grip around the bars behind me and hauling themselves closer still, squeezing me against them. The moment I had a good hold of one band I twisted, trying to break it in half. It bent easily but snapped back into a full lock. Another slap across my face, then my throat. It tightened, causing me to gasp. It dragged itself closer, pinching me against the bars, forcing me to fight off a dozen straps all squeezing around me like a hangman’s noose.

  Krassis unlocked my cell door. Returned the key to his waist. Stepped inside with the jug of vomit in one hand and his short sword in the other. Waited. He whispered something in a foreign tongue. One of the leather bands freed its grip on the cell bars, fell limp. He whispered something else. A second leather strap fell limp.

  “Volché.”

  The two leather straps sprung back to life, flailing about and locking onto my arms. He whispered something else. A third band fell to the ground.

  “Volché.”

  And snapped around me. Krassis threw his whole weight into a kick, nailing me in the side of my ribs. I slumped to one side, gravity working against me and unable to right myself with all the restraints around me. I crumpled to the ground, gasping, winded. Kicked out but it was like an entire company of mercenaries was holding me down. There was always some give, just enough to tease me, but not enough to escape.

  Krassis kept his distance from Zara’s cell, angled himself around to my head, and started pouring his bile onto my face.

  The shock was unlike anything I had ever had to imagine – until a couple of months ago. A jolt of panic seared me, going from bearable to extreme within a split second.

  He kept pouring.

  I thrashed about, holding my mouth and eyes shut, unable to get away. The stink stung my skin, burning me. The reality scorched my soul. A dribble of his sick penetrated my mouth, dripping down onto my tongue. The rest seemed to be rammed through both nostrils and electrocuted my brain.

  I tried to scream out, “Kiera!”

  I tried. I really did. But Krassis had a whole jug of vomit waiting for me to open my mouth.

  The spell fizzled, lurching Krassis to the side, but nothing that would sway the fight to my advantage.

  He chuckled. “So, that’s why.”

  “Senka,” muttered Zara.

  The straps failed. All at once, dropping to the ground. Krassis snapped his head at Zara, the manacles from her wrists falling to the floor.

  “Volché,” she added.

  Half of the straps attacked me, the other half attacked him, lassoing his ankles and wrist,
one slicing itself against his sword as he tried to jump back.

  “Senka!” he cried.

  The straps flopped to the ground. He lunged at me. I blasted him with the last charge of Kiera I had in me. He crashed back into the bars behind him, striking his head. I tossed the satchel through the air, cried out:“Volché,” with no idea what it meant but a pretty good feeling of what it was about to do.

  Krassis dropped it to the ground, hurled the jug at me as I got to my feet. I brought my arm up, taking a heavy hit to deflect it before it crashed onto the floor, shattering.

  He lunged with his sword. I flailed my manacled wrist in an arc and reached the front of the cell, crying out: “Volché,” once again. It was just enough to deflect his attack and knock him off balance as the leather wraps hit his legs.

  “Senka!” he cried.

  I spun, slapping the end of my manacles across his face and tearing a nice chunk of skin from his cheek. Ducked and weaved, trying to get in close, but he had speed and reach on his side and I had jackshit.

  He cried out another “Volché,” catching my legs. I dismissed it quick enough. Edged towards the front of the cell. He lunged. I retreated. He slipped an inch on a broken piece of jug covered in bile. I brought my knee up, ready for a kick. He swung his sword down in anticipation. I spun the manacles around my wrist like a bolas. Snapped him on his knuckles, forcing him into another retreat. I attacked again and again, him on the defensive, stepping out of the way as I pinned him into a corner. He responded, jabbing and swiping, taking one hit in exchange for getting me on the back foot. I slipped across his bile, took a chunk out of my heel as I stepped on a ceramic shard … and slipped on a slimy patch of bile, one foot shooting out to the side, my hand having to slam against the ground to steady myself.

  Krassis lunged, his sword coming straight for my face.

  I slammed the manacles against his arm, then realized that I had been led into a feint.

  He spun his arm free – my manacles barely connecting – and kicked me across the side of the head. My neck screamed, my vision blurred.