Ardent

by Florian Armas

  “I doubt it,” I said, more harshly than intended.

  “Sometimes, the grapes are sour,” she laughed.

  “You misunderstood...”

  “Then enlighten this old woman,” Ada replied, her voice bland.

  “Our First Light thought that a man from Arenia is the most likely, then two Wanderers. Both are from Frankis.”

  “I bet a warm blanket that I know who that young man is,” she laughed. “He may be more important than I thought. You did well to let him keep the Wing Talisman. Let’s go inside, it’s getting too cold for old women.”

  The breeze through the embrasure was growing chill indeed, and we turned slowly; our eyes gliding over the enchanted white valley. A pair of young sisters ran out of the house, and tried hard to stop before hitting us. Their speed made them slide until they almost touched our feet. “I apologize,” they said in one voice, then vanished round the other side of the large house, though their blended laughter lingered in the air.

  “Youth,” Ada whispered, staring at me. “This is what you lack to become a Seer. I shall perform a Passing on you. What is bothering you?” she laughed at my surprise. “That I was the subject of a Passing or that I want to perform it on you? In Arenia both First and Second Lights have it. Our Hives are larger,” she shrugged with weariness, studying my reactions, “and we need more precautions.”

  “Thank you, Ada.”

  It was late the next morning when the news about an Assassin Triangle visiting the Hive broke out, in a Common Hall filled with over a hundred chattering Wanderers having breakfast. By tacit understanding none of yesterday’s decisions were the subject of conversation – the deserved merriment after a tough Conclave.

  “And it was such a wonderful day,” the First Light of Silvania lamented. “But why are there more of them than the usual three of a Triangle?”

  “They still announced themselves as a Triangle,” Ada said, almost absently. “It’s winter. There is a lot of snow outside. There must be a good reason for their presence here. Good for them, at least. The road from their Nests to here passes through Arenia. They may have learned about the Conclave, so whatever they carry, it will be more meat for us to chew on later. It’s tiring me. The chewing. I am getting old and my teeth seem to be parting ways with me.” There were some chuckles in the hall; Ada’s large and strong teeth were well known in all the kingdoms, at least no less than her sharp tongue.

  “I will convoke them the council room,” the First Light of Silvania sighed. “They may be hungry. We will bring some food. A good ambiance could help.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ada whispered, “I have the feeling that we may need some help. There is something weird in the air,” she sniffed thoughtfully.

  “This is a Sanctuary,” the First Light of Silvania protested. “No Assassin would dare to fight here. It would mean war between the orders. They are only five men, and no swords are allowed here. We will be ... ten. It will look bad if I bring more Wanderers into the room, but there are three hundred Wanderers in the Hive. They have no way to escape.”

  “Yes, each Hive is a Sanctuary,” Ada repeated, somehow against her will, then she bit her lip. “They are allowed to keep their knives. We should keep ours too. I have a bad feeling. It may be just because of the news they carry. It’s something about the Khadate, but my vision was brief and weak. We will learn it anyway. Dochia, you may be tested today,” Ada stared away, her eyes a thin slit. “Stay close to me.”

  “Welcome, Dorian,” the First Light of Silvania greeted the first one to enter in the council room, an Assassin Master. “You and your Triangle are welcomed to our Sanctuary.”

  “Thank you,” Dorian bowed slightly. “We are pleased to enjoy the peace of your Sanctuary. Because of some adversities on the long road to Silvania, we are more than a Triangle. I hope that it will not cause any inconvenience.”

  “You may sit.” The First Light of Silvania gestured at the empty chairs that were spread between us. She was less worried now that the right words were spoken by both parties. “I think you did not eat today.”

  “Dorian and the two Assassins on his left were at the Saddle,” Umbra whispered in my mind, and I forced myself to study them at leisure, when all I wanted was payment for his attempt on my life. It could not be done in the Hive. Killing was not permitted, not even for our worst enemies.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. We came in a hurry with news for your Conclave,” Dorian, the Master of the Assassin Triangle said, in a soft, almost feminine voice, before sitting close to the First Light of Silvania and in front of me. His eyes touched me briefly, before settling on the food – the eyes of an innocent, overgrown child.

  “The Conclave has ended.” Ada stared at him, yet there was nothing to read on that trained immobile face.

  “That’s not my problem,” Dorian shrugged. “Three weeks ago, one of our Triangles came from the Khadate.” He became silent, and everybody stared at him in badly dissimulated surprise. “Ander has joined Fate, or the Serpent, whatever he liked to believe in.”

  “A surprising thing for such a young and powerful man. I heard that he could lift a horse on his shoulders,” Ada interjected, for no apparent reason.

  “A strong man indeed, but poison may be stronger than anyone untrained to survive it,” he added, then sat back, scratching his beard in a diagonal with one finger, the warning for poison. Both Wanderers and Assassins were indeed trained to survive, by ingesting small portions of poison until they became immune, but there were poisons and poisons, and no one was able to master all of them. “Their Priests are good with all sorts of poisons.” Absently, Dorian spread butter on his bread, then honey. “I always liked pine honey. Too bad we have no pines close to our Nests.”

  “There will be a succession,” I said, almost involuntarily.

  “Most probably.” Dorian did not look at me, and bit into his bread with the will of a hungry man. Some honey slid, almost invisible, onto his fingers, which had the same amber color. “These are not good manners, but what a pity to lose it.” He licked his fingers, and took time to finish the first slice of bread. “They are two contenders for the Khadate throne. You don’t mind if I take another one?” He gestured toward the bread in the large basket, then glanced aside at the First Light of Silvania, who nodded slightly. “One is – no surprise here – Ander’s younger brother. He is fourteen years old, and has the mind of a eight-year-old child. And of course, the same bad temper as Ander. A family trait, it seems. I wonder from whose side?”

  “Water?” the First Light of Silvania asked, with a dry smile on her lips.

  “Thank you. Honey makes me thirsty.” Dorian licked his fingers again. “The more you eat, the more you want. I feel like a child,” he chuckled. “The second contender for the Khadate throne is Baraki. Yes, that Baraki.” He smiled at our silence, and picked a bowl of meat from the table. “Forgive my hidden weakness,” he gestured toward the jar with honey. “I think I’ve had enough honey for a month. Questions?”

  “The Serpent Priests may be not happy with Ander’s brother on the throne,” Ada said, a small hiccup in her voice from not remembering the boy’s name, which was unknown to me, and probably to all other Wanderers in the room.

  “Seeing their former High Priest hanged could have been a traumatic experience,” Dorian shrugged, toying with his bowl. “The priests could only curse Ander while they were hidden between their walls, but some clans led an uprising to defend their priests. It ended fast, before more people were killed, and the defeated clans vanished into the steppes. The priests convinced them to patience by telling them the Serpent would support their cause. As it looks now, they were right.” He lifted his voice, so it carried out over the people around the table. “Some dreams can be dangerous.”

  “Why is Baraki a contender for the Khadate throne?” the Light from Litvonia asked.

  “Because he has a claim,” Dorian smiled at her.

  “His mother was a Timurid princess,” Ada whispe
red. “What a strange thing, her name was Ada. Her father reigned for a few months before being killed by Ander’s father. She found sanctuary in Arenia.”

  “Sometimes, history may run in circles,” Dorian said, absently, “and hits you when you expect it the least. Baraki’s star rose faster than anyone could foresee.” He turned his hands up in mockery.

  “Running in circle, yes. Baraki was grateful to the Arenian Kings for saving his mother. Some will think more before granting sanctuary to the Timurids again,” Ada muttered.

  “Things happen,” Dorian shrugged, “but the past is less important than the future. Something shadowed the future, and no one saw Baraki’s raise clearly.” He hesitated a moment. “Fate is witness that we want no trouble. They may still come. There are rumors that the new High Priest may be the second Great Priest of the Serpent.”

  “None of us wants trouble, but I fear these are troubled times,” Ada acknowledged. “In the ancient books of the Serpentists – well,” she mused, “their ancient books are just a hundred years old – it is written that a day will come when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls over the world. A warrior shall come with a burning sword. Our Conclave recognized Baraki as Regent of Arenia.”

  “A fine, timely move. That makes my other task easier. May I have a word with you, Dochia?” Dorian asked casually.

  “Do you want to apologize for your attack at the Saddle?” With some effort my voice was lenient, matching his cold indifference.

  “That place, it looked like a saddle indeed,” he nodded, smiling thinly, “but I did not know the name of it. The blunder of being a stranger. I wonder who recognized me. You or the raven?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No,” he shrugged. “I have a deal for you. I will forfeit the Black Warrant written in your name if you hand Codrin to us. You ... meaning the Wanderers,” he gestured around the table.

  “A war between our orders is the last thing we need now.” Ada stood up abruptly and came to my chair leaning on it. Her hand rested on my shoulder.

  “Do you think we would issue a warrant on a Wanderer without a Light’s blessing?” Dorian’s calmness was almost amused. “Like the Wanderers, we always respect the Rules. The Black Warrant was undersigned by one of your sisters. A First or a Second Light, as per our treaty. It was for a good cause, at least that I can assure you.” He gestured vaguely at Ada and the First Light of Silvania.

  After a little silence, standing stiff and still, Ada said only, “That makes a sort of sense. For the ones involved in this charade. Would you enlighten us more?”

  “That’s why I am here, sisters, to enlighten you, but this question you must ask your Ambassadress, sitting in our Crown Nest. As I said, everything was done by the Rules.”

  “Forfeiting a Black Warrant,” Ada said thoughtfully, “brings a certain disadvantage.”

  “Well, of course, I have to fall on my sword for not being able to fulfill the task given to me by my order.” His lips curved in a weird ironic un-smile. “The Master Assassin rank is one of great responsibility. I take it quite seriously.”

  “No surprise for me,” I shrugged. “I wonder if too much responsibility can be a fault sometimes.”

  “Dochia,” Dorian said sharply, “we need Codrin for the survival of our Order. I am open to you, and your Ambassadress is also aware of our ordeal. We are short of Grand Masters. They don’t grow in the fields. It may be that Fate has turned her eyes away from us,” he shrugged. “Maybe she has loaded the dice already and forgotten to tell us. Maybe. There are only five Grand Masters at the moment; that much you know at least, and no one is able to fill the rank among our men, myself included. It started with the Renegade.”

  “The?” Ada asked impatiently, a rare uncontrolled reaction from her.

  “We had renegades in the past, as you had too. The human mind is weak sometimes, and lower desires can override it. But there was only one Grand Master who left us, the Renegade. And he did not leave because of his weakness. He became a lonely wolf for a cause.”

  Somewhere in the valley, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the Hive like a flag of mourning. Involuntarily, we raised our heads, and some grimaced. A young sister serving wine shivered, though the room was warm, and the fire crackled pleasant whispers. Something in the howling took our minds away and left them in a dark forest of foreign senses, running naked through the unknown, an uncertain future.

  “I understand your choice, Dorian, but it is not for us to deliver Codrin to you. He is the only master of his future.” Yet, I fear your openness, even when this would remove the warrant on my head. I don’t know if we can trust you.

  “That is not my request, Dochia,” Dorian replied. “We only need to find him, and talk to him.”

  “What happens if he is not able to fulfill your Rite of Passage?” I asked, my voice sharper than I wanted.

  “The youngest of our Grand Masters is almost fifty years old. If they die without performing the Passing on a successor we may lose the Blue Light forever, and no Seer will rise again to defend the Realm. We think that Codrin will pass. Or at least we hope so.”

  “Codrin may have a higher purpose,” Ada said, tentatively.

  “If he is the Seer you see coming, then we will bow to his will. Yes, we know about the coming Fracture too,” he added lazily. “But that is even more reason why he must come to us to receive the Blue Light. Our situation is different from yours; the Blue Light can be started only by an existing carrier.

  “The First Seer did not need teaching from a Grand Master,” I said.

  “Indeed.” Dorian’s black brows knotted. “She received it from Fate. Are you sure it will happen again?” He watched impassively, his jaw hard as stone under the black of his tight-cropped beard.

  “We are not even sure if he was chosen to be the Seer,” I shrugged. “He may be. You have a difficult task.” I stared at Dorian, trying to read something on his face. It was closed inside, and my uneasiness grew. “Codrin thinks that the Assassins killed his family.”

  “That’s a lie.” Dorian’s fist hit the table even before I finished speaking. “I apologize,” he added fast, and his face became bland again.

  In silence, I stared at him. He reacted too fast...

  “He is right, Dochia,” Ada said, her gripping fingers passing a calm message through my shoulder. “Five Triangles of Assassins were in Alba to talk with Tudor. Talk, kidnap,” she shrugged. “No one knows for sure. It no longer matters. Baraki started the coup at the same moment, taking advantage of everybody’s confusion. Most of the soldiers in the Royal Guard did not oppose him, convinced that the Assassins were working for the Usurper, and that everything was for a greater cause. Baraki convinced them. Confusion reigned, as I said.”

  “You have to decide,” Dorian pushed gently, in his almost feminine voice, a large smile spread on his lips.

  False… “You demand I make choice on scarce information. Ignorance may or may not be stupidity, but I do not like feeling stupid. There is nothing for me to decide. I will pass your request to Codrin. Nothing else.”

  “Fair enough for me,” Dorian said. “Give this to him.” He took something from his pocket and slowly released it onto the table; a blue sphere the size of a nut, glowing faintly. “It belonged to Grand Master Tudor in the past, and helps the body to accommodate the Blue Light. It will not, however, start the Light.” Leniently, he stood up and pushed the sphere closer to me. It rolled slowly, pulsing in a strange blue rhythm. “Give it to him as a token of our good will.”

  The sphere arrived in front of me, and almost fell off the edge of the table. At the last moment, I stopped it, and warmth passed from the thing into my fingers.

  “It’s slightly warm,” Dorian said, slightly amused. “A traveler’s dream in cold winters. Grip it.”

  Mechanically, I closed my fingers around the sphere, and lifted it from the table. The warmth grew stronger. The air around became still and dense. Seen close up, a myriad of
facets gleamed from its inner light and from the candles around. A faint stir inside held my eyes. Pleasant and attractive.

  “You feel good.” Dorian’s voice was remote and cold.

  “Come to me,” something whispered into my mind.

  “No!” Ada shouted, trying to open my hand.

  Over the table, Dorian’s left hand moved aside, his knife piercing the First Light of Silvania’s chest. It was almost soundless. Time dilated around me. I knew it took Dorian a split second to kill; he was mercilessly fast; yet I could count to four or five. Blood poured slowly from the open wound, spreading on the white cloth over the table. With her eyes wide open, the First Light of Silvania gaped and died before understanding what had happened to her. Everybody jumped, Wanderers and Assassins alike, and their chairs flew away, yet it did not look like jumping or flying. They moved like snails. If not for their disfigured faces, and the shining knives, everything looked almost normal in the room. Like in a slow dance, Dorian’s right hand parried the blow of another Light, yet her blade cut through his biceps. His knife slit her throat. Wounded, he rolled back and disappeared from my sight.

  “Fight!” Umbra cried inside my mind.

  The sphere was now cold, and numbness filled me, then gray fog half covered the room and its fighting inhabitants. It stayed for a while, until a blue silhouette manifested inside my vision, walking toward me.

  “Tell me your name,” the silhouette ordered. A man’s voice. “Tell me,” he barked, as I fought to deny him knowledge.

  “Dochia,” I whispered, feeling my mind suppressed by a foreign will.

  “Do you know me?”

  “No”, I shook my head.