'Couldn't very well kill him until I knew whose side he was on, could I?'
'The arrow in my side makes things pretty fucking obvious on that score, wouldn't you say?'
Keren motions towards Nereith. 'Is he dead or isn't he?' he asks, exasperated. Then he pulls the knife out of Nereith's back and stabs him in the side of the neck. 'Anyway, now he definitely is.'
I'm struggling to get up. 'You think you can walk?' he says.
'Probably not.'
'I've got a guy who can fix you. Dweoming. Discreet. Not too insane.'
I nod slightly and cough. 'Just working off the poison. I don't think the arrow hit anything too major.'
'You're tough. You'll be okay.'
He helps me up. Every movement brings pain. I suck in the air through my gritted teeth and relish it.
'You owe me really, really big,' Keren says, as he helps me towards the door.
2
The first they know of me is when Ashka gets an arrow through his forehead. Caydus and Jyirt react instantly, leaping towards their master to protect him with their bodies. It's what Cadre do. I know I'll never hit them on the move, so I fire at the spot where Jyirt is going, and he jumps right into the path of the arrow. It hits him in the nape of his neck, punching out through the front of his throat.
That's it for my free shots. The Gurta soldiers have their bows unloosed from their shoulders and they're tracking me as I bolt along the gallery. I dive and roll as arrows thump into the spines of the books behind me.
Caydus has Ledo covered with his body, backed into a corner. His enormous, curved sword is drawn, held defensively before them. Belek is making for the exit, under cover of his guards. Can't have that. I pull a metal sphere from a pouch at my belt and twist the two hemispheres in opposite directions. A loud crunch comes from within, and the two halves spring apart by a finger's width. I lob it over the balcony, and even before it's hit the study floor it's belching yellow, acrid smoke in great billows.
The Gurta soldiers yell and shy away from the missile as it bounces across the room. In seconds, we're all reduced to dirty silhouettes. Another arrow comes my way, but it's wild. They can't draw a bead on me now. Belek is still moving for the door, forging through blindly, a flailing shadow in the murk. I vault the balcony gallery and land in front of the Minister. He can't check his run fast enough. I sidestep, encircle his neck with my arm and spin him round. Before he knows where he is, I have a blade to his throat and we're standing, backs to the door, facing into the smoke-hazed room.
~ Put down your bows! ~ I shout. ~ Draw again and your Minister dies ~
The soldiers freeze. The flurry of chaos is abruptly at an end. It takes them a moment to find me, but the smoke is already thinning. The soldiers look uncertain, bows still half-drawn. They're not used to being ordered by a woman.
~ Do as she says! ~ Belek snaps at his soldiers. His skin has that oddly sterile feel of his kind. Just being near him brings back memories I'd rather not have.
The guards place their bows on the floor.
'Orna!'
It's Ledo. Pushing out from behind Caydus, walking towards me. Caydus sticks close to him.
'You too, Caydus. Drop the sword.'
'Not going to happen, Orna,' he replies, his voice dense with venom. I'm the traitor in his eyes, because I've broken my oath of Bond. Ironic, really. 'Kill him if you want. You won't get our master.'
'Your master,' I correct him.
'Orna, what is this?' Ledo hisses.
I adjust my grip on my hostage's neck, pushing the blade in hard enough to cut just out of spite. 'This? This is what happens when you betray your people, Ledo. When you consort with our sworn enemy.' I look up at him. 'This is what happens when you sell out your own kind.'
'Your loyalty is to me!' he cries. 'Don't presume to interfere in matters you don't understand!'
I shake my head slightly. No words could sway me now. 'I would have given my life for you,' I say, tight with anger. 'But instead you took my family.'
'Stop this now,' he snaps. He's not intimidated in the least. I don't think he even believes I'll do it. He still expects to be obeyed. 'Stop this now, and I'll let you leave this room with that life you seem so eager to throw away.'
~ Please ~ says Belek. ~ Listen to me. This is-~
I push the dagger hard into his throat, and blood flows in a steady stream down his white neck, staining his collar. The soldiers twitch forward, but I stay them with a glare.
~ I'll bet you don't remember me, Belek Aspa ~ I murmur. ~ But I remember you. You once said that my kind were like animals. That we didn't have the same emotions as the Gurta did ~ I pull the knife along his neck a little, and he flinches and whimpers. ~ I'm feeling pretty emotional right now, Minister ~
'What do you gain, Orna?' Ledo calls. He's keeping a respectable distance, but he's not hiding from me, either. 'You'll die, and for what? You must know that even you don't stand a chance against Caydus. You'll kill one Gurta. Is it worth it? Leave now, and I may still be merciful.'
'I want to hear you say it!' I shout at him. 'I want to hear you say you betrayed us at Korok! I want to hear you say you were selling our troops out to this man!'
Ledo sneers. 'You don't make demands of me!'
There's a clacking of armour. Ledo looks over at the Gurta guard, who is picking himself unsteadily up from the ground. A moment later, the guard's balance deserts him again, and he drops dizzily to one knee.
I laugh softly through my mask. 'You actually think you have the upper hand, don't you? You arrogant aristo fuck. That smoke wasn't just for concealment, and nor is this mask. You've been dead for some while now.' As an afterthought, I add: 'Ekan the apothecary sends his compliments.'
The look on his face is perfect. If I could preserve just one thing in my memory for ever, it would be that. Then Caydus roars, and comes for me.
I shove my blade deep into Belek's neck and wrench it out in a jet of blood, then I shove him towards Caydus. He staggers, gargling, into the warrior's path, clawing at his wound. It slows Caydus long enough for me to fling a throwing knife across the room and into the eye of the Gurta soldier who's still standing. The last one is out of action, slipping and falling as he tries to get to his feet, nerves malfunctioning in a dreadful parody of a newborn animal.
I flit across the room, retreating from Caydus. He's the only one I have to worry about now. Ledo makes for the door, but his legs fail him for a moment and he goes over. The poison is beginning to make itself felt. Panicked, gasping, tears in his eyes, he tries again. He's too afraid to face the truth. All that aristo invulnerability and dignity is gone now. He's just a man, cowardly in the face of death.
He wrenches open the door and plunges through, calling for his guards. Nobody will come. I'd love to follow him and watch him die, but Caydus is blocking me. Loyal to the end.
Though he doesn't have long left, he's still got it in him to be dangerous. He takes a swing with his sword, but he's been slowed by the poison and I dart out of his reach. I back away a little. He makes an incoherent noise of rage, lunges clumsily towards me. I dance out of reach as he cuts air again. Teeth gritted, he tries a third time, but I'm way too quick for him. With each charge, he gets more tired and more angry.
'Don't do this,' I say, because I liked him, and this is embarrassing for both of us.
He stares at me with bloodshot eyes, sweating, hating. He tries to lift his sword and he can't. Slumps onto his arse, exhausted. He heaves a great sigh and raises his head.
'Bitch,' he says, and then his head lolls and he dies, just sitting there.
I step out into the corridor and find Ledo lying face down. He didn't get far. I take off my mask and unstrap the gas filter from around my nose and mouth. The poison in the air is long gone now.
I kneel down, turn Ledo over and stare at his lifeless corpse. I don't feel anything. No satisfaction. Compassionless as a child studying a beetle.
What did I expect? I don't know. I'm too fu
cking numb to know.
Listless, I wander back into the study. I'm waiting for some kind of closure and it hasn't come. Bodies everywhere, blood smeared across the floor. I walk over to the desk and look down at the document that Ledo and Belek were signing.
It's the signatures that draw my attention. The latest occupy pride of place at the bottom, as the authors and executors of the document; but there are many more. At a glance I can see over a dozen Plutarchs, all of the Folded Wing, with Ledo the only member of the Turnward Claw Alliance on there. A similar number of Gurta signatories have also put their names to it.
We, the undersigned, firm in our conviction, do hereby commit ourselves in whatever capacity we are able to sue for the cessation of hostilities between the two great nations of Eskara and Gurta…
I stop breathing. I snatch up the document, skim read.
… make all efforts to persuade our respective authorities… phased plan of withdrawal with negotiation of ceasefire to begin immediately…
Horror settles on me like a freezing fog. It's a peace accord. They were forging a truce.
They were trying to stop the war.
3
I break the surface with barely a ripple and climb up on to the bank, towing a waterproof sack behind me. Crouched small, dripping and naked, I search the mournful lichen-trees for signs of movement. A chill breeze, drawn through stony vents from the higher caverns, runs invisible fingers through the foliage. Beyond that, nothing moves.
Satisfied, I run silently into the undergrowth and hide at the feet of the shaggy green trees. There I open the sack, towel dry and dress. Soft black shoes, laced to the knee, where they meet the ends of my trousers. Long black gloves, sleeveless black top, black mask covering the lower half of my face.
I tie my hair up and then I lay out the remaining contents of the sack. Shortblades. Bow and quiver. Blowpipe and darts. Daggers. Garrotte. Flash bombs. Throwing knives. And finally, a couple of little treats concocted by Ekan. He was really pretty co-operative, once I told him what I was using it for.
I'm kitted out to kill, and I'm looking forward to it. All that's left to me is hate now. Cold, icy hate.
Ledo. I'm coming for you.
The mansion belongs to an eminent Plutarch of the Turnward Claw Alliance, a good friend of Ledo's who has presumably given him the use of it while he's away. I've watched the place for several turns now, from the roof of an apartment building in Lash Park. Finding a good vantage point has been the hardest part of the operation so far. Harder than getting through the underwater grate in the stream, anyway. A touch of acid paste and a swift kick was all it took. Someone should tell them it's no use building walls if you make it so easy to swim beneath them.
The staff were sent away a few hours ago. I watched them depart through my spyglass. Ledo doesn't want anyone but his Cadre to know what's going on here.
The exterior guards, six in all, are Caracassa men. There are two on the front door of the mansion, four patrolling the grounds. Two of them have leashed abris, to sniff out and disembowel intruders. The abris might have been a problem; it's not easy to hide from creatures with such a keen sense of smell. But I have ways and means.
Security is light, though that's to be expected. Too many men would only draw attention. Ledo's got no reason to think that anyone suspects what he's up to. He's protected by secrecy. Or so he believes.
Once dry, I splash myself in the first of Ekan's concoctions: a scent that imitates the smell of foliage, strong enough to mask my natural odour and hide me from the abris. I hesitate for the barest moment before applying it. It's not in my nature to trust an expert poisoner I've recently maimed. I'm running chants in expectation of a slow creep of deathly numbness where the formula touches my skin or hair, but there's nothing. I relax a little. It seems that Ekan is smart enough not to shoot the messenger, then. He knows who gave the order to cut his hand off. And he knows his only chance of retribution is through me.
Given the choice I wouldn't have used him at all. Risk is not something you take on lightly in an operation like this. But it's essential that I don't leave a trail, and that rules out any of my regulars. They'd never trace me to Ekan, and even if they did, Ekan won't say shit. Besides, there's a certain amount of poetic justice in it, and since there's little enough justice in the world, I might as well take the poetic kind while it's up for grabs.
Now, let's see if we're both as good as our reputations.
I sneak through the trees and come into sight of the mansion, across landscaped grounds cut through with narrow streams and spotted with copses of dwarf mycora. Shine-stacks – little ornamental cairns with shinestones hidden inside – cast their light across the lichen-fuzzed lawn. Something long-legged and thin moves with a startled gait in the distance, silhouetted against a shine-stack. It's just one of the grazing animals that the master of the house keeps, but it reminds me of the scha'rak, the lightning-fast steeds of the SunChild warriors.
I haven't thought of Feyn much since I left the caravan. I wonder if it's because I've been trying not to. Because I know if I think of him, I might want to go back to him; and there's a job to be done first.
The mansion is comprised of globular sections, like a cluster of unevenly sized bubbles that have crowded together and been petrified in ceramic. Irregular, round windows glow yellow, randomly scattered across the building's dark surface. A driveway leads from the front door to the entrance gate of the grounds. The two guards are standing to attention, liveried in formal Caracassa red and black. Dressed for ceremony rather than protection. I'll deal with them later.
Keeping to the shelter of the trees, I hunt down the first of the abris-handlers. I spot him walking in the open, his pet loping alongside with a sullen murderer's swing to its step. I've dealt with abris before, and I hate them. Their spiked carapaces make it hard to get a good hit on them. They're strong as three men and their claws and teeth can open you up to the bone. The best way to deal with an abris is to make sure it's dead before it realises you're there.
I use another of Ekan's little tricks to take them out. Poison powder, pungent and liberally scattered at knee-height among the foliage. It's not long before the abris notices the scent, and pulls its master over to investigate. He follows his pet warily into the copse, sword drawn.
'What have you found?' he asks. The abris is sniffing excitedly, sucking the deadly powder in through its sensitive muzzle. It slows, whines, sways a little, and then keels over. That's when I slip my garrotte over the guard's head and pull it tight. It takes him a while to die, but he does it silently, and that's what's important.
The death of the second handler isn't quite so elegant, but it's more straightforward. I hide out till they wander close to me, then shoot the abris through the neck with an arrow. It's a tricky shot, between the armour plates, but I make it well enough. Then I string and fire again before the surprised guard has time to react. Quick and sloppy, but I still get him through the lung so there's too much blood in his throat to scream.
The other two guards on patrol aren't a problem. Alone, unaware. Picking them off is child's play.
Bodies hidden, I creep closer to the mansion and wait. My timing is good. I'm there in time to see the carriage come rolling up the drive, pulled by a single crayl. Three figures get out, hooded and cowled, masked and gloved. Not a bit of flesh showing.
I feel a thrill of fury at the sight of them. Voids, the fucking audacity of that! To invite the Gurta into the heart of our capital city! And yet how easy it would be, travelling under Ledo's sanction. Nobody would dare to question or investigate. Less suspicious than a clandestine meeting on neutral ground, even. Ledo's leaving the city would raise eyebrows, but not this. Just a secret meeting, like dozens of others carried out by the Plutarchs every turn.
Just thinking about it makes me clench my teeth. For an instant, I see Jai: the same picture I've had in my mind since Reitha came to me. My son, sprawled dead on the floor of a barracks, an empty vial in his hand. E
yes closed, features still and lifeless. I stamp the images flat. Grief and sorrow come later. For now, there's only revenge.
The newcomers go inside, and the guards return to their posts. I give them a decent amount of time and then blowpipe them both with poison darts. The beauty of the blowpipe is that most people take several seconds to realise they're under attack. Several seconds is much more than I need.
I could have sneaked in, avoided the guards entirely. But that's not how I want to play this one. I'm taking no chances. I don't like the idea of one of the outside guards coming in and surprising me, and I don't want any witnesses.
That's the sensible and logical part of the reason. The irrational part is stronger. I want to kill them. I want them dead for just being involved with Clan Caracassa, with Ledo, with everything that's happened to me and my family. By dealing with the Gurta my master has become complicit in the deaths of everyone I ever lost. Even my parents and my brother. If he's working with the enemy, then he's condoning what was done to them. He's making my life meaningless. He's making a joke of it.
I'll never be able to kill enough to make this feeling go away, and I know that. But just these few. Just these.
I crack the door and look inside. The hall is polished rootwood and ivory, immaculate and predictable. Jewelled spiral steps lead up to a balcony on either side, and at the end is a wide staircase narrowing towards double doors at the top. There's nobody in here. If I'd thought there would be, I'd have gone up the side of the building, cut through a window. But I've counted who's been in and out. There are only seven people in this entire place. Three Gurta, three Cadre, and Ledo. If a single person spotted one of Ledo's visitors without their masks then the game would be up. He's keeping the numbers tight.
I head up the spiral steps to the balcony and pad along. Exquisite murals line the walls, but I only see their beauty, I don't feel it. Beauty exists no more. It's done and over, and it was useless anyway. Where's the reality in those fleeting moments of pleasure we leach from the sight of something that gladdens or puzzles us? I'm sick of these fucking illusions we create to make our bland lives that much more epic. I'm sick of trying to convince myself that life is not some horrific animal, into whose jaws we're thrown, to be tossed and rent in a brief and bloody struggle before being flung brokenly aside. Happiness is just the anaesthetic that delays the pain. If you don't think that, it's because you're too weak to face it.
The Fade kj-2 Page 2
