Assassin's Apprentice

by S. R. Vaught; J. B. Redmond

  As he expected, they headed north and west, toward Triune, the ancient castle of the Stone Guild, rumored to be the worst place in all of Eyrie. It sat on the boundary of Dyn Brailing at the top of the Watchline, in the cursed spot where Barrens joined Outlands and the mists of the Deadfall pressed upward from the farthest reaches of Dyn Ross. The land around Triune was filled with mockers and manes and other abominations from the mixing disasters. Once they got him to that forsaken stronghold, he would have no way to escape.

  When will they take my Brailing cheville and chain my essence to my body with one of dead gray?

  Aron clenched his fists around his bindings. He had to get free and take Tek with him, no matter how fast they were moving. No matter the consequences. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t join with these murderers. So his task was simple enough. Aron, once of Brailing and temporarily of Stone, needed to escape before their traveling party got too far from the Watchline.

  He slowed his breathing and tried to relax into Tek’s herky-jerk lurches. After a few minutes, he found he could rock himself slightly without damaging his wrists, flow with the little talon’s movements. Good. All the better for meditation. All the better for focus.

  Just as he found the edges of peace and began to slip through the Veil, something in the wagon farthest from him set up a fierce kicking and high-pitched ranting. The sound startled him so badly he cut his wrists on his bonds as he jumped.

  Windblown let out a breath, beating Stormbreaker by the barest second.

  “Joy from the Brother himself,” Zed said in a dreary voice. “She’s awake.”

  The shrieks in the back wagon grew louder and angrier.

  Stormbreaker withdrew a pouch from his leather bag. “Hurry. We’ve got no time to lose.”

  He tossed the bag to Zed without looking. The boy caught it easily as Stormbreaker and Windblown slowed their talons, then stopped the big beasts. Stormbreaker turned his mount toward the back wagon, pulling Tek’s lead until Aron faced it as well.

  The buckboard tethered behind the front wagon, the one Aron had thought to be empty, actually contained several bundles that looked like supplies and a large blanket with a thrashing lump beneath it. From the lump came sharp shouts that had to be curses. Aron still didn’t recognize the accent or the words, but the intent was clear enough.

  Zed and Windblown dismounted, removed their visible weapons, and climbed into the back wagon.

  “On my count,” Windblown said, and gave a hand signal Aron couldn’t interpret.

  Zed nodded, but he looked nervous.

  “Sun,” Windblown muttered. “Stars. Moons.”

  At “moons,” Zed yanked off the blanket and Windblown reached forward and grabbed the girl, Aron assumed by the head. He couldn’t see much for the big man’s girth.

  Windblown’s curses joined with the girl’s, and Zed’s too.

  Aron saw a flash of ebony hair. Then he saw bound hands strike out, nails first. Tethered feet swung like a club.

  Yes! Aron leaned forward on Tek as much as his own ropes allowed. Beat them. Hurt them!

  Zed managed to upend the pouch.

  A few seconds later, the girl stopped fighting. Windblown and Zed covered her again before Aron could catch a glimpse of her face, then climbed out of the back wagon and collected their weapons. Windblown was bleeding from his cheek and hand. Zed had a burgeoning bruise on his jaw.

  “Are you sure she doesn’t belong with one of those Watchline families?” Windblown grumbled as he mounted his talon. “She acts like a Brailing.”

  Stormbreaker shook his head. “That hair—and her skin. Dark as middle-night on the new moons. She’s a Ross pigeon, or I’m a mocker.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve long had my suspicions about you.” Windblown rubbed his bloody cheek. “Next time you put the rock cat back to sleep.”

  Aron tried to keep looking in the back wagon, but Tek turned away from it.

  They started on their way again, moving up the Dyn Brailing byway faster than he thought possible. Yet onward they went. Hour by hour, they left the settled countryside behind—and the land Aron had roamed most of his life. Farther and farther he plunged with Tek, into unfamiliar territory, and he could do nothing to stop their relentless progress.

  The Stone Brothers seemed to be intent on covering league after league, even at the expense of bumps and jostles. As trees grew more dense, Stormbreaker checked over his shoulder more and more frequently. Heartwoods and pines alike crowded the edges of the road. Smells changed from loam and manure to the tang of evergreen needles, moss, and sweetly rotting wood. Aron glanced into the thick depths now and again, checking for mockers even though he knew he was helpless to fight. Did these fools know what lurked in the woods so near the Watchline? Why did they look behind them, as if danger came only from the road? Didn’t they know what could leap out at them from the trees?

  If so, they didn’t seem to care.

  He ground his teeth together over and over, then tried once more to catch a glimpse of the blanket or the girl beneath it. Who was she? Why were these dirt-eaters keeping her prisoner? Had she been Harvested like him?

  She couldn’t be a child-criminal or an incorrigible, could she?

  Perhaps she ran away from Harvest and Stone caught her already.

  If she were a Ross, what was she doing so far from home? Could she have run that far, or escaped from a Stone Brother after traveling some distance?

  Except for their representatives in Dyn Mab, members of the Ross dynast weren’t known to venture into other dynasts. When they married out of dynast, it was usually with Dyn Vagrat to the east, where the Thorn Guild sheltered.

  “Don’t fear for our guest, Aron Frosteye,” Stormbreaker said as if tracking Aron’s thoughts. “We don’t judge children. We have our own laws, or tenets, from the Canon of Stone, as you will learn.”

  Aron made a last effort to look into the back wagon. Dust from the bull talon’s stomping clawfeet obscured his view. He sniffed and coughed as his eyes watered.

  If only he could communicate with the girl, form some plan with her, his odds of escaping might increase. Hope flared deep in his chest, and the tension in his muscles eased again. The rhythm of Tek’s strides settled in his bones, along with the four-footed beat of the mules’ hooves and the creaking of wagon wheels.

  Perhaps he could make his mind still. Concentrate. Perhaps Aron could reach for what his father taught him, and find some answers on the other side of the Veil—but as it had all day, the calm state of mind, the meditative place where thought flowed easily—eluded him.

  League after league, he grew only more exhausted as the Stone Brothers led them forward. In desperation, he eased his mind with thoughts of making a clean escape, perhaps all the way to the Thorn Guild. He imagined how the Lady Provost there might look, young and beautiful, with his mother’s kindness and the fierceness of his little sisters. She might help him. Surely she would.

  Darkness fell in increments, first taking the brighter light of the sun, then coloring the byways and ever-thicker stands of trees an unwelcoming gray. Stormbreaker pushed the party even harder, noting the distance they had to make before full night, and Aron began to shiver with worry. He had never been caught out at night. His father was far too good a teacher to allow that mistake. Back at home—it was his home, it was—Wolf would be penning and protecting the stock and making certain all of his children were finishing their tasks with time to spare.

  Hours turned into more hours. As the day’s light waned, Aron’s captors drove their party north and east into even thicker forest, where the byway narrowed to not much more than a packed dirt path, barely wide enough to accommodate the wagons.

  Aron’s nostrils flared against the rising dust. His wrists grew bloody from struggling against his bonds. His legs ached. His eyes burned, and he was so thirsty his tongue stuck against his teeth. Beneath him, Tek trudged ever forward, flanked by the bull talons carrying the Stone Brothers. Behind them, Zed whistled to him
self as he steered the wagons around ruts and mudfalls.

  The Brothers spoke for a time about supplies and best routes back to the Stone Guild stronghold, but Aron noted a semblance of tension between them. He watched first Stormbreaker on his left, then Windblown on his right. Every time Stormbreaker glanced away, Windblown turned his attention to Aron.

  He follows his master, but he doesn’t want me here. Aron resisted glaring at the man. He tried to act like he didn’t notice the looks, or the lesser Brother’s obvious discomfort. After a time, conversation grew louder and more relaxed, and Stormbreaker and Windblown discussed the flight of the passerines, the misfortune of the line of Mab, and what might happen to Eyrie if the hob-prince took the throne and the Circle’s seventh vote.

  “Better a Mab of Mab than the chaos of arguing succession rights,” Windblown observed. “I wouldn’t want to see a thronemaking with no Mab to take the chair.”

  Stormbreaker agreed, and they fell to debating which dynast lord might attack Dyn Mab if the last heir died. Windblown had his money on Lord Brailing, who had always wished to restore Brailing to the power of its bygone years—not to mention reclaim land lost to its neighbors Dyn Cobb and Dyn Altar during the mixing disasters. Stormbreaker disagreed, and reminded Windblown of the line of Lek, yet to recover from Mab swallowing their dynast whole, even though that was centuries ago.

  “You’re both mad,” Zed announced, urging his mule to keep the pace. “I’ve met Lord Ross, and if ever a man was destined to be high king, it’s him.”

  “Dyn Ross is too far away to send its guardsmen against Mab,” Windblown said, and Aron didn’t like his dismissive tone. “Even pushing an army at full run, it would take Ross the better part of a year to mass a force on Mab’s border.”

  Zed leaned forward to make himself heard. “Not the lower border, the eastern line they share with Dyn Vagrat.”

  At this, Windblown actually laughed. “The Thorn Guild would never give free passage to war-makers. The Lady Provost would shed her hair if they even dared to seek permission, and you know Lady Vagrat won’t fight anyone over anything.”

  At the mention of Lady Vagrat, Stormbreaker grimaced and looked away.

  What if the armies don’t seek permission? Aron wanted to ask the question so badly he almost spoke. What if Ross simply marches and dares Thorn to stop them? What can a bunch of healers and scholars do against legions of armed men?

  “The Sabor might join Ross,” Zed said, louder now. “The Sabor used to fight, in older days.”

  “Never happen,” Windblown insisted. “The Sabor value their own blue hides too much to take up arms in a common conflict.”

  “But if they did, what a conflict!” Stormbreaker sounded fascinated by the thought. “The outcome would be anyone’s guess.”

  Windblown made no reply for a few paces, then laughed as Zed whistled and agreed with Stormbreaker. The conversation turned to sword tactics on the battlefield.

  Aron kept his teeth firmly clamped to hold back a stream of cursing. He would not speak. He would not cry. His gaze drifted toward the dense trees, then to the wagon carrying the girl. He also couldn’t afford to be drugged senseless like that Ross pigeon.

  As for the men, how could they chatter so? And Zed—how could he be so full of his own wisdom? The arrogant boy probably blabbered about fighting and battles to hide his misery.

  What right did killers have to converse so freely?

  Silence born of shame would be more fitting. Even though the Code of Eyrie permitted sanctioned killings, common decency raged against such atrocities.

  “Would you like a drink, boy?” Windblown asked, cutting into Aron’s silent rage. The Stone Brother sounded so cheerful Aron despised him for it.

  No matter his hot, sticky tongue, Aron gave no answer. His fisted fingers dug into his palms and he doubled his efforts to tear free of the bonds that lashed him to Tek. She trilled in response to his unrest, causing the bull talons to sidestep and snort. Windblown muttered something to his beast when the brute stretched its murderous foreclaws. The big talon calmed slowly, returning to his typical rhythmic stride.

  “Keep your female calm. If you cannot manage her I’ll sell her or turn her free.” Stormbreaker’s manner was maddeningly like that of Aron’s father, as was his matter-of-fact law-speaking. Aron realized the man was accustomed to being obeyed without question. Such was the discipline of Stone, if the legends and tales could be believed.

  Aron turned his attention to Tek. He whistled to her to soothe her, then hummed and did his best to stroke the leathery scales covering her withers.

  Easy, he thought to her, as if she might hear him. Do you wish for these fools to take you from me and leave you to fend for yourself in the Watchline forests?

  Tek gave a snotty, noisy blow, then settled in again, jerking along beside the big talons, taking two steps for every one footfall of the massive males.

  At twilight, in a spot where heartwoods crushed against the byway’s thin dirt borders, they came to a small divide in the road. Stormbreaker stopped them, dismounted from his talon, and set about checking their position using the sliver of sky above the road to view the emerging stars. In his hands were a map and a dirty piece of twine.

  Aron took a deep breath and coughed at the sharp tang of pine. He had heard of maps from his father, but he had never seen one. He leaned over Tek’s back to squint at the parchment, which had marks and lines and shapes, some of which looked like they might actually rise up for his fingers to brush. His throbbing hands ached to take the paper, to explore it for himself and see if he could match it to the stars.

  Windblown chatted affably with Zed, who held the lead for Stormbreaker’s riderless talon. Stormbreaker’s fingers moved around the map, stretching the string. He paused, and Aron realized the man had caught him watching. He straightened himself and looked away.

  “Curiosity is a virtue,” Stormbreaker said in low, encouraging tones.

  Aron heard the echo of his father’s voice in his mind. Curiosity is for mockers and magpies. Labor is the truest virtue.

  When Aron didn’t respond or look at him, Stormbreaker continued anyway. “Stone has cartographers who trained in the trade lodges.”

  Aron couldn’t stop himself from whipping around and giving the Stone Brother an incredulous glance.

  Stormbreaker’s green eyes seemed alight in the gloaming, and his smile was gentle. “Stone Brothers and Sisters move freely in Eyrie, even in Dyn Vagrat, as you can tell by my appearance. We Harvest in all six dynasts. We abstain only from the island of Eidolon, where the Thorn Guild makes its home—and their guildhouses in other cities, of course.”

  Aron wasn’t certain, but he thought some sort of darkness had passed across Stormbreaker’s face at the mention of Thorn, but Aron’s attention wouldn’t linger on that point. New questions were forming too quickly in his mind. He had never been to a Can—a great city—to know if Stone, too, had guildhouses in other places. Had his father mentioned them? But then, his father rarely spoke of Stone—only of Thorn, and the kind, brilliant, old Lady Provost he had met on his travels during his Guard service.

  So perhaps Stone didn’t hide only at Triune, scurrying out to assassinate the Judged or steal children during Harvest. Did they keep a larger presence in dynast Cans? What about smaller towns and villages? Even out on the farm, his father had taught Aron it was polite to avert his gaze if a wagon passed by on the road loaded with accused bound for the judgment of Stone, or the ailing and dying off to seek Stone’s cruel mercies. It would make sense that the monsters had guildhouses so such people need not travel great distances, but if Stone was everywhere, how would Aron ever escape them?

  Faster than Aron thought possible, Dunstan Stormbreaker strode forward and seemed to tower over Aron even though Aron was still mounted and tied to Tek. Stormbreaker’s eyes glowed brilliant green, and Aron thought he could see streaks of yellow fire dancing in the frightening depths.

  “I will give you another
hour of tolerance, but after that, no more disrespect. You’ll speak to me when I speak to you. Is that understood?”

  Aron glowered right back at him, loud eyes and all. What could the monster do to make him talk?

  Light from Eyrie’s twinned silvery-blue moons flowed across the byway like splashes of molten ore.

  “You may begin slowly, with simple yeas or nays, using my proper title, which is High Master.”

  It took force of will for Aron to bite back his gasp. So this man Dunstan Stormbreaker was one of the seven high masters of Stone, the equivalent in rank of a true dynast heir. One day, he might become Lord Provost of the Stone Guild—and he had chosen Aron as his apprentice?

  Why?

  The question tried to force its way out, but Windblown interrupted.

  “Darkness presses too close—not to mention these woods, Dun. Should we take the right fork or the left—or should we stay here and climb trees for the night?”

  Stormbreaker held Aron’s stare for another few seconds, then shifted his attention to his companion and Zed. “Left fork. According to my map, there’s a shelter less than a league ahead, and we can sleep with the talons and mules protected. When we top the small hill before us, we should see it in the valley.”

  Aron could have answered the Stone Brother and Zed, but he didn’t. If a mane attacked and rendered all of them bloodless husks, it would serve the Stone Brothers right.

  They crested the hill, still hugged tightly by trees on either side of the byway, and a high, shrill cry knifed out of the unseen forest depths. Gooseflesh flared along Aron’s shoulders and arms.

  That was no mane, but almost as bad. A rock cat on the hunt.

  Aron’s heart began a frantic pound. He cast about desperately, judging his surroundings as Tek bounced beneath him and clucked her distress. Down the hill on his right, maybe a quarter-league, firelight blazed from what could only be a travelers’ shelter, so large and so close to the road, and well mounted on sturdy, thick poles the height of three men standing foot to shoulder. It had what looked to be a stone and wood barn, landbound, probably cornered with pyres for the safety of the beasts at night. Between Aron’s party and the shelter walked another group, larger, maybe ten travelers in all, most of them children. In places, trees hung so close branches seemed to touch their shoulders.