“A Mercenary who likes to play Explorer.” Kanra hissed behind his sharp teeth, his face mere inches away from Troian’s. His breath tasted sour and hot against the Mercenary’s cheek. It was warm enough to make Troian sweat. “You’ll keep quiet about what you saw down there, or I’ll have your tongue out before you even have time to squeal.” he shushed Troian as the mercenary writhed in his grip. Kanra dug his nails into Troian’s neck, deep enough to draw blood.
The young mercenary winced at a sudden rush of cold pain where Kanra had pierced his skin.
“Be a good warrior and follow in your leader’s steps. Pretend this means nothing to you because it shouldn’t. You will get paid and I will get my sacrifice.” Kanra pulled away just like that. He took a moment to lick the blood from his nails and then backed off, hissing as he did.
Troian watched the demon Dictator leave with a rush of his cape. He stood there a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
The girl wore what appeared to be robes, of a priestess perhaps, he thought to himself whilst trying to rub away the sting in his neck. And Kanra had just admitted himself it had been him leading the sacrifice. This makes little sense.
“Troian?” Artus’ voice came from further down the corridor. He bound towards his brother-in-arms with a jump to his step. Artus stopped before Troian and sleeked his ash-blonde hair away from his eyes as he did. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he said.
Troian dropped his gaze to the small black scarf Artus wore around his neck. “Your scarf.” he replied.
Artus tugged at it a little, loosening it to allow himself a chance to breathe better. “Do you want it?” he asked. His fingers already worked to untie it from his neck. Artus handed it over to Troian and watched as his comrade wrapped it around his own neck.
“Thank you. I've had an unwanted and threatening run in with Kanra, I fear I’ve made an enemy out of him – I’ll explain to you after this damned meeting – but, best I keep my neck covered and avoid eating or drinking anything too during the entire meeting.”
Artus watched Troian leave before following his comrade with a weary gaze. He did not like the sound of that. Any enemy of Troian’s was an enemy of all the Khaishee mercenaries. He was feeling nervous now, a side of him he did not like to show to others but, he was only a man. Even after everything he had seen and done, it was not enough to drown out his nerves whenever something shook him hard enough to rouse them.
“A minute later and I would have thought you’d died somewhere along the way.” Kholo called out to both men as they made their way past the doors of the now all too familiar meeting room. He drew his gaze towards Kanra and bowed his head down to him. “Apologies, Lord Kanra.”
Troian and Artus could not help but exchange a bewildered glance.
Where the hell had such courtesies come from? Troian asked himself, admittedly too afraid to ask it aloud in front of Kanra himself. He felt the Dictator’s red eyes follow him like smoke, subtle but smothering. Troian had not tasted fear like this in a long time – fear for his life and that of his brothers, fear of what it was this Demon Dictator would ask of them.
The Khaishee Mercenaries had never turned a contract down. Never.
No doubt Kholo was not about to start now.
There came the same tongue less servants. They carried iron trays of wine, moving like liquid as they went from one man to another without a word.
I am cruel, Troian thought himself. Of course they won't say a word, they cannot speak.
The same servant whom Troian had met before approached him again with sad eyes. He extended a tray of cups towards Troian and gave him a weak smile when the Mercenary took one. Troian made no move to drink from it. He placed it down onto the table before him and turned his attention to the servant again.
The man was long gone.
Around them, the hall was cold and had a rank smell to it, like burnt meat. Or was it flesh? As for the strange smell of metal, was it iron – or blood? The candles in their chandelier of bones flickered, throwing shadows across the meeting hall; shadows of all the Mercenaries but, not of Kanra.
The Dictator appeared to have no shadowy companion. Then again, did demons even have shadows? Did nobody else even notice?
“Gentlemen,” Kanra began. His words were slow but, not slurred. He spoke with great care and as though he had all the time in the world. “The time has come for me to inform you of the contract I am eager to give you. This contract is of vital importance; thus it is crucial you get it all right.” he took a sip of his own drink.
It had Troian wondering if it even was wine. He guessed blood, sloshing around within that chalice.
Kanra continued.
“I need twelve young priestesses living in the convent of Atimae, for a special and very important ritual. To help me carry it out, of course. I need people of expertise for such a ritual as I fear I myself am not skilled enough to do it alone.”
Troian opened his mouth to object, only to earn a sharp kick from Kholo beneath the table. The hit was hard enough to have Troian clenching his teeth and almost knocking over his untouched glass of wine.
“We shall see it done.” Kholo replied. His gaze was so emotionless, so empty, so… cold. This was not the Kholo whom Troian loved as a brother and respected as a Captain.
“What are you going to do with them?” Artus asked in Troian’s stead; unaware of the tension between both his comrade and his leader. It was an innocent question.
Kanra did not like it.
“What I do with them, young Master Artus, is none of your concern.”
Artus had been smart enough to follow in Troian’s footsteps and he too did not touch the food or drink given. Disrespectful or not, Artus trusted Troian’s feelings with his life and if he thought something was wrong, Artus did not hesitate to agree with him.
Kholo liked to tease Artus for that, calling him Troian’s Bitch. But at least Artus had not become consumed by numbers on a page, concerning payment for each contract they completed. He had enough sense left in him after all these years to decide if something was worth the risk.
They were mercenaries. The men killed for money and, gods did some of them enjoy it. It was a sport to them. A profession. Yet, even then there were moments when they had to lay their swords down and think with care.
“I need the priestesses brought back unharmed and unblemished.”
“Otherwise the sacrifice won’t work.” Troian cut in. That was the wrong thing to say. Stupid too.
Kanra, to everyone’s surprise, let out a tremendous laugh as soon as the other mercenaries exchanged confused glances. He clapped his hands together.
“Ah, young Master Troian. You are not familiar with the customs of my land,”
“No, and I don’t think I want to be filled in.” Troian hissed.
Kholo sent a razor-sharp stare in his direction.
“Troian, what’s gotten into you?” he hissed.
Troian did not care if his life was on the line. Murdering people at sword point was one thing, human sacrifice was another – it went too far. It was far more barbaric than fighting on a battlefield, only because the victims were always innocent.
“I assume these priestesses are just girls? Children? Or have you been kind enough to wait and hunt them down until they turned sixteen at least?” Troian asked. He was furious. Mercenaries did not kill women or children. It was an unwritten but respected rule.
Kanra took a sip of his drink and placed his cup down again, he was trying so hard not to break the glass in his hand before it found its place on the table again.
“To question my religious beliefs is to offend me and my gods. What I do with the women once they reach Vhorgo is none of your concern.” Kanra’s voice was so calm, it only made Troian angrier.
Kholo rose from his seat and reached out for a pile of documents Kanra had brought with him. They held papers containing information about their contract, in greater detail than Kanra was willing to exp
lain himself; it seemed. Kholo tucked the folders under his arm and nodded at the demon dictator.
“We will see it done. The priestesses will be in your care as soon as possible, unharmed and unblemished.” he said and gave Kanra a stiff bow.
“You will leave tomorrow, at dawn. I need you to be off as soon as possible.” Kanra replied. He kept his gaze fixed on Troian the entire time, those dark eyes piercing through the mercenary like red hot daggers.
Troian rose from his own seat as the others filed out of the room. Once the others had gone, he halted by the door, a hand already braced on the handle, and he gave Kanra a hesitant look over his shoulder. Kanra remained seated by the table. His pale grey hands clasped each other in his lap, whilst his thin lips curved into a wicked smile. A smile which promised a slow and painful death. Troian’s eyes widened a little at the sight of him. He turned away and left the room without another word. All whilst he attempted to steady his beating heart and racing pulse enough to plan an escape.
14 –
Ariadna
The sun had not yet risen by the time Ariadna snuck into Vinn’s room that morning. She was so silent as she moved, even the Head of the Institute had not heard her until he felt his mattress dip under the weight of another body.
Vinn’s hand was around Ariadna’s throat before she could comprehend what was happening. He flipped her over onto the mattress, still half asleep, and when his vision cleared he let out a throaty laugh.
“Ari, what are you doing here?” he asked. Moving his hand away from Ariadna’s neck, he trailed his gaze down her body and noticed the assassin was dressed in her fighting leathers. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
Ariadna looked her superior over, taking in his nakedness, and she sat up to press a kiss against his lips. She moaned a little when Vinn grabbed hold of her neck from behind and kept her close to him as he returned her kisses.
The bed creaked beneath them both.
Ariadna gave Vinn a hard shove and rose from the bed. She stood staring down at him, laughing to herself at how obvious he gave away his desperation for her.
“We won’t be able to do much with you in your fighting gears, Ari. Why are you wearing them in the first place? Where are you going?” Vinn asked her. It was rare for him to have any kind of loving tone in his voice, even when speaking to Ariadna. It was though at times, when he spoke so gently, he himself forgot he was trying not to fall in love with the young woman.
Ariadna pulled a small vial filled with clear liquid from her weapons belt and removed the cork lid with her teeth. She downed the content in one go.
“Sleep well, Vinn.” she said and threw the vial away as she stalked out of the room.
Vinn went to go after her, only he felt his legs go numb and his body succumbed to whatever sleeping tonic Ariadna had laced her lips with; gradually robbing him of any strength he had and soothing his muscles into a deep sleep.
“A-Aria-” Vinn tried to call out. His eyes sealed themselves shut and the last thing he recalled was a cunning young assassin swaggering out of his room.
Ariadna had to move fast. The tonic she had used on Vinn would last until midday. That was all she needed but, at the same time she did not want to press her luck. She had taken a leather backpack out of Vinn’s wardrobe before having left him.
She now raided her superior’s office for the necessary goods for her journey to Forta, shoving her supplies into the backpack with no real care. She could always reorganise it when she was on safer grounds – far away from Vinn as possible.
Gold coins, Vinn’s favourite dagger with a scorpion head pommel, a map and a few spares should the first get ruined, and a heavy golden compass. It was a shame Ariadna could find nothing lighter.
In the corner of Vinn’s office stood a proud looking safe, hidden away behind a ragged looking painting and a curtain over that.
Ariadna pulled the curtain aside and picked the lock of the safe with no problem. The assassin had not told her superior of the things she did in her spare time and becoming a master lock-picker had been one. She was better than any other man in the entire institute.
If Ariadna could not be the fastest or the strongest of the Anari, then she could be the handiest. Ari did not walk around pretending to be any of those things either; it was common knowledge that men were stronger, yet that did nothing to dampen Ariadna’s spirits or throw her into a state of self-doubt. In fact, it only made her more determined to prove her worth elsewhere.
“Confidential files, Vinn?” Ari spoke to herself. “Not anymore.” she memorised the order of the files before taking them out in search of her contract. Once done with them, she could easily put them back as she had found them.
Mallice Mara was the name she was looking for. The least Ariadna could do was complete the contract Vinn had assigned to her whilst she went about her list of names before he took that away from her too.
The young assassin had already raided the infirmary as she had been sensible enough to leave herself time in the morning and had prepared beforehand as best as she could. All without arousing too much suspicions about her intentions.
Ariadna had packed her saddle bag with bandages, white wine, Aloe Vera gel and some needles and threads. Even an assassin as good as she made stupid mistakes at times, which resulted in a few cuts and bruises here and there.
Atha will be impatient with me, she thought to herself regarding her horse. She won’t want to leave the stables this early in the morning. Well, unless she wants a stick up her arse, she’ll be leaving with me. Ariadna laughed a little to herself, at such a ridiculous thought. The assassin slung her backpack of goods over her shoulder and snuck out of Vinn’s office. There was no point in her scaling the ceiling back to her chambers, assassins always looked up even in their own home.
The men on guard that morning, however, did not seem interested one bit in Ariadna’s presence. They only bothered to look up at her so they could pucker their lips and send wet smooching sounds her way.
Ariadna knocked the jug of ale they had been sharing off the round table the men had gathered around, using her foot, and she sent a sarcastic whoops their way.
“Bitch.” one of them hissed at her.
“Dicks.” Ariadna spat in return and jumped away in time to avoid a hard slap against the back of her head. Ari stooped no lower by sticking her middle finger up at the men as she left; although she thought it tempting to do so.
The last time she had raised a middle finger at another assassin, a horrible brute by the name of Orhlo, he had broken her finger to teach her some respect. That was nearly three years ago.
Once in the familiar safety of her room, Ariadna dumped her backpack onto her bed and dressed herself in a simple tunic, thrown over her fighting leathers as an easy but effective disguise. She wrapped a scarf tight around the bottom half of her face, covering it from nose to chin, before pulling her hood up and fixing it in place. Her weapons were still in good reach, so she did not have to worry about that.
The door to her room was locked and well secured. Gathering her backpack, the assassin slung it over her shoulders again and opened the door to her balcony. Ariadna hung her head over the balcony ledge, keeping an eye out for any assassins below who had gone out for a smoke or some fresh air. With the coast clear, Ariadna stalked over to her bed and dropped to her knees.
She stuck a hand underneath the bed and pulled out some thick rope; Ariadna always made sure she had a plentiful supply in her room, should she need to escape. Seeing as the balconies of the institute were too far apart to scale alone (and for a reason – Vinn hated assassins sneaking off without his permission) she had to rely on a sturdy piece of rope to get herself down. Her bedroom was on the fifth layer of the institute, meaning it was a long way down.
The last assassin whom had tried to climb the balconies without a rope fell right off and had killed himself. He had been young and foolish, thinking he could climb such a tall building with naked hands and feet.
&nbs
p; Even with her years of experience, Ariadna did not climb buildings with nothing to secure her, not unless she had no choice but to go like that. Locking her balcony door, Ariadna gathered her saddle bag and slung it over one of her shoulders, keeping it fixed in place, and then began climbing down the side of the building without being detected. She was in an institute of assassins, men who hardly seemed to sleep. Because of that, she had to be careful.
The iciness of the stone walls seemed to sink past the soles of Ariadna’s boots and bite into her feet. She ignored the chill as best as she could. Moss spread in the few cracks or gaps in the walls of the institute, making it slippery and treacherous to go down if you were escaping like Ariadna was. She avoided hanging around by windows, keeping her distance from them to minimise the risk of getting caught.
There came the sound of laughter from a nearby window before the door to a balcony was unlocked and a thief stepped out for a quick smoke of his pipe.
Ariadna held herself in place and cursed a foul word beneath her breath. Fuck off, fuck off! Go back inside, she thought and wanted to say to her unwanted visitor. The thief did not look her way. He went to light a pipe, only he stopped to clear away some old pipe weed which had remained caught inside.
“Ah, I need to clean my pipe more.” the thief called out over his shoulder, to his own companions whom Ariadna could not see.
You need to fuck off before I end you, Ariadna thought again as she tightened her grip on the rope. She was already slipping down. Drawing a silent breath, the assassin continued to climb down the side of the wall as quiet and undetected as she had been before. By the time the thief looked around, Ariadna had already reached the floor.
Not wanting to leave the rope just hanging there, Ariadna took down a burning torch from a neighbouring balcony on the ground floor, being careful not to make her movements too obvious, and set the rope alight. She supposed it did not matter if the flame attracted any attention as she would already be gone by the time it was discovered, but better safe than sorry.
The Anari Page 6
