Assassin's Apprentice

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

That sense of sameness only deepened when Gund Zeller let out an anguished curse. “If we’d lived in a city, if we’d known and the rectors could have seen to him—”

  “It would have made no difference,” Stormbreaker assured him. “The best anyone could have done was keep him comfortable. Only one child in a hundred survives the Wasting—and those survivors often keep the minds of young children forever, even as their bodies grow.”

  Now Dari saw understanding on Aron’s face, and to her relief, a mix of fear and unhappiness at realizing the boy was dying.

  He’s not gone cold inside, and his reason is still with him. That’s something, at least.

  Frega leaned down to her child and kissed his brow. “If Kristoff survives, we’ll care for him. We’ll—”

  “Frega.” Dolf’s tone was gentle, and very, very sad. “If the boy were going to live, there would have been no third bout of fever. He’s on his sixth bout now. His last.”

  Stormbreaker confirmed this with a nod, and Windblown squeezed Frega Zeller’s wrist in his big hands. “After the third bout, no child lives. I’m sorry. If this is his sixth fever, he won’t wake. It’s down to how long you wish to leave him in this state. It can last for weeks, and soon he’ll begin to moan and thrash.”

  That truth struck Frega Zeller like a blow, no matter how sweetly Windblown tried to speak it. There was no getting around the fact that Wasting Fever was painful. Agonizing, in its last reaches.

  Gund Zeller was crying as hard as his wife, but he said, “You sent me to Stone so Kristoff wouldn’t starve and drown in his own fluids. You said you couldn’t bear to see him go to the Brother screaming.”

  Frega Zeller kept her eyes on her boy and didn’t respond, not until Dolf Zeller murmured, “We treat beasts better than that.”

  At this, Frega Zeller collapsed, sobbing like her heart was tearing from her body.

  Windblown caught her and held her, saying nothing. Dolf and Gund Zeller stood behind them without speaking, as if standing watch for Frega, too.

  Aron dug his ragged fingernails into the wooden table, but Zed kept himself straight and still, giving nothing but sadness away in his expression. Dari knew Zed had more training, but she also figured that his feelings were more straightforward than Aron’s. Zed had a guileless quality, almost too basic and trusting for Dari to imagine him ever becoming a Stone Brother.

  She looked at Stormbreaker, remembering how fresh and innocent he had felt to her the night they made mind-to-mind contact battling the manes. She saw the open, full grief flowing across his tattooed face now, the tears glistening in the corners of his green eyes. In that moment, there in front of the hearth, tending to a dying child, he reminded Dari of carvings she had seen in temples.

  He should have wings, and no cares in the tangible world. He’s too beautiful to be landbound.

  Her heart stirred in funny ways, as much for Stormbreaker as the boy and his family, and she wanted to cry, too. As it was, Frega Zeller sobbed for some time, then went quiet in Windblown’s careful embrace. When the woman was able to sit up, Dari thought about taking her more water, but there was none left in the pitcher. She wished she had something to do, something to offer this woman, but her skills would be put to use soon enough, if the determination in the woman’s expression were any measure.

  Then Frega let go of Windblown, who moved away so the boy’s father and grandfather could kneel beside Kristoff and lay hands on him, too.

  Now Frega seemed focused only on Stormbreaker. Her voice held an eerie dignity as she said, clearly and without a break in her tone, “On behalf of my son, Kristoff, I ask for Mercy.”

  Zed took a breath and let it out, almost a sound of relief. Aron’s bright blue eyes shifted from Zed to Dari to Stormbreaker, then back to Dari. Then they went wide as he understood the word “mercy” used in such a context.

  Dari nodded to Aron, who then looked at the table, the wall, the ceiling, anywhere but at the dying boy and his grieving family.

  When she looked back at Stormbreaker, his eyes were fixed on Gund Zeller.

  The man nodded, then hung his head as his father gripped his hand.

  Stormbreaker swiftly removed a small goatskin from his belt. In only seconds, he had lifted the boy and tilted his head back, positioning him so that his family could still touch him, but so that his swallowing would be reflex more than conscious action.

  “The peace of all the heavens be with you,” he said, and tipped the goatskin against the boy’s parted lips.

  Dari caught the scent of almonds and sugar-potatoes, strong and heady and so deadly it made her insides contract.

  Stormbreaker stroked the sides of the boy’s face, then his throat, until the boy swallowed.

  Everyone seemed to take a breath at the same time, and hold it as Stormbreaker eased the boy back to the mat, made sure his arms were crossed, and once more resettled his blankets until they were snug about his waist.

  His parents kept their hands on his head and arms, and his grandfather stroked his shoulder.

  Stormbreaker stood and retreated, along with Windblown, moving back smoothly and silently to give the family privacy.

  Dari wanted to look away because she had watched death too many times, but she found her gaze riveted on Kristoff. Zed and Aron were just as captured, staring as the boy’s chest lifted once, held, then eased into stillness and moved no more.

  Without pain. Without screaming. At least there’s that. Dari’s fingers curled and uncurled as she remembered her sister’s Wasting. Kate had recovered after her second bout of fever, but her body had been left so frail, and part of her mind was forever gone. Dari had lost her twin to that illness, so long ago—and yet Kate still lived, somehow, somewhere. Dari knew she was fortunate, and that the Zellers would trade all their wealth and their own health and lives if Kristoff could have recovered.

  For a time, no one moved or spoke, and there was no sound save for the soft weeping of Kristoff’s family.

  Dari gave them some time, a few minutes, as did Stormbreaker, but finally, he spoke the words. “Be easy. This watch has ended.”

  At that signal, Dari got up to do the duty expected of her. Stormbreaker and Windblown could have done it, but she knew it would seem more natural to everyone if she took the responsibility.

  Aron’s stare felt like a force pressing on her back.

  Dari eased herself down until she was kneeling at the boy’s feet. His parents, teary-eyed but still determined to see this through, gave her permission with gestures and nods.

  Dari lifted the blankets to expose the boy’s feet.

  On his left ankle rested a clear crystal cheville, probably rock-glass or some equivalent, but it was enough to hold his spiritual essence close to his body.

  Dari let her fingers rest on the cheville, tracing the energies inherent in all rocks and stones, until she found the pattern of this particular piece. Her mind saw it as a whole, like a small map. After a few centering breaths, she went through the Veil and let her own energy sink into that small map. Then she expanded her power slowly, slowly, pushing outward into the pattern, finding its weak spots and pushing harder, until the cheville burst into pieces.

  Bits of rock-glass and dust tumbled into her palm. She caught it, and at the same time felt the cool rush of Kristoff’s essence sweeping upward. She could see the boy’s image, shimmering and winged, like a silver and gold shadow.

  Go, she instructed. Upward. Outward. Find the stars. They’ll take you to the heavens.

  As always, once the spirit had direction, it took off, leaving behind the shell of its existence.

  Dari gathered the pieces of his cheville and presented them to his father, as was custom. In the calmest voice she could muster, she said, “Kristoff Zeller’s essence has departed.”

  Gund Zeller choked out a fresh sob, then gave the bits of glass to his wife, who kissed them and cried all the harder.

  Now would come the rougher time for these people, Dari knew. The funeral pyre, then
the emptiness of returning to a life with no child, sick or otherwise, to fill their time and hearts.

  Stormbreaker turned to Aron and murmured, “When innocents die, it should always be in this fashion. Peacefully, and with consent of those who care most for their welfare.”

  Aron’s cheeks colored, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

  From Stormbreaker came a jumbled mix of emotion—sadness, worry, reservations—and she realized with a start that Aron’s punishment for his transgression was far from over.

  And perhaps not completely within Stormbreaker’s hands.

  Will he tell the Lord Provost when we arrive at Triune?

  What will Stone do to Aron then?

  The thought of any harm coming to the boy made her angry and sick at the same time, but in this, she had no real say, did she? Aron was the province of Stone and Stone alone now. She was, at best, an ancillary in his care.

  As I was with my sister—and look what happened there.

  Dari’s fists clenched as Stormbreaker walked away from Aron, moving toward the door, and Windblown indicated to Zed and Aron to follow. She joined the boys at the table as they got up, but Dolf Zeller caught them all at the doorway before they pulled open the carved wood handle.

  “I’ll escort you to your traveling party.” He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, or look back at his dead grandson and grieving family. “I can show your group a faster way back to the main byway, to make up for some of the time we’ve cost you.”

  Dari could tell by the old man’s expression that doing this was important to him. Like many, he needed to give back in some small way, since Stone would take no coin for offering Mercy.

  Stormbreaker bowed to the elder Zeller. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”

  Once more, he went to open the door, but Zeller held up a hand to stop him. “You—you should know this. There’s a man asking after you, after Stone Brothers with apprentices traveling in their company. I heard it from our traders, up from the Brailing-Ross boundary. They said this man’s tall and keeps his face wrapped like he’s just out of the deserts in Dyn Altar.”

  “Many people are distressed after Harvest—” Windblown began, but Zeller cut him off with a fierce glare.

  “This man isn’t one to be taken lightly. The traders say he slaughtered five Brailing guardsmen as they made camp a few days back.” Zeller shook his head. “Isolated them from their fellows somehow, then left them headless and knife-torn until their own families might have trouble putting this part with that one. A pack of mocker rock cats couldn’t have done more damage.”

  Aron swayed on his feet, but Dari managed to catch his elbow before he fell.

  Zed and Windblown looked confused and mildly irritated, as if they had no understanding or concern for what bearing this might have on them. Stormbreaker’s expression never changed, but Dari sensed the surge of power inside the man. Something like dread mixed with anguish. From somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

  Aron.

  No.

  Dari didn’t want to believe Aron was responsible for such an evil, but she had seen what Aron was planning. She had known, sensed, and touched what he had planned to do to that contingent of guardsmen.

  But he didn’t do it… right?

  She felt like swaying herself as her mind raced over the minutes since she first had an inkling of Aron’s plans on the other side of the Veil. She’d been with him. Right on him, physically—and mentally, even when he was out of her reach.

  He didn’t do it.

  But if he did…

  “Excuse me for my intrusion,” she said, letting the words ease the terrible gnaw of that doubt. “But have you heard of a girl like me being found? A girl of the Ross dynast? Even a whisper or rumor would be welcome.”

  It was a risk to ask him, especially in front of Windblown and Zed. Dari trusted that Stormbreaker would bind his companions to silence, and she felt a natural trust of Zeller. She didn’t think his family would repeat her words. In a day, her question would be so overshadowed by their grieving that they likely wouldn’t even remember her asking it.

  “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard anything of that sort.” Zeller gave her a kind smile, which Dari tried to return despite a wave of disappointment.

  His response had been so quick and sure she had no doubt it was as open and honest as all else he had shared. Zeller nodded once to her as if to apologize, then opened the door and headed outside.

  He stopped before taking more than a step.

  Windblown and Stormbreaker went out behind him, and Dari came to stand in the doorway behind Aron and Zed, still feeling ill from the heat, from the boy’s death, from the realization that many might argue for Aron to be given Mercy for his own good and the good of everyone he might harm—the same arguments that had been made against her sister. The sister who remained missing, vanished, with no word at all, though Dari had allowed herself to hope that Zeller might know something.

  The moment she reached a point where she could see outside, all other thoughts and feelings streamed away from her as if her mind had been tipped on its side.

  The dirt street outside the Zeller house was filled with the blank-faced people Dari had noticed earlier. They held pitchforks and other farming tools—but that wasn’t what made Dari’s chest clench like someone had a fist on her heart. The sight of those scared farmers wasn’t what made her pull Aron and Zed close to her, as if she could shield them from the murder and violence that had crept upon them while they brought Mercy to a dying boy.

  Behind the people were three ranks of mounted soldiers, thirty in all, in full battle uniforms of sun blue and yellow. Their standard, an eagle with an all-seeing eye, flapped in the breeze above the lead horse.

  “Dyn Brailing’s Dynast Guard,” Zed whispered. “Brother spare us. Now there’ll be more than one funeral blaze this night.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DARI

  Dari bit her bottom lip as Aron and Zed pulled away from her grasp.

  The afternoon now smelled of horse and sweat and manure, even the coppery panic of some of the farmers attempting to look stern with their tools.

  Aron and Zed kept their eyes on Stormbreaker and Windblown, who made no attempt to draw their weapons. The boys moved in behind them like thin shadows, ready to pounce if they received the slightest signal from the Stone Brothers. Aron’s face was a mix of wrath and readiness, of horror and rage, and Dari could see how he shook head to toe.

  She didn’t think the shaking was from fear.

  Zeller, who stood in front of their group, flushed a wicked shade of red. He fumbled at his waist, as if he were once accustomed to having daggers at the ready, or maybe a sword.

  The captain of the Guard contingent, obvious from the large metal eagle wings mounted on the sides of his silver helmet, moved his gray horse even with the standard-bearer. His face was hidden by his visor and nose plate, but his build was that of a young, fit man.

  I could change, Dari thought as blood pounded behind her eyes. If I took my true form, they would scatter like dust in the breezes.

  And her sister might be lost forever, and her people revealed and betrayed, much more than she had already done by revealing herself to Stormbreaker and Aron.

  If she even used her graal beyond the small connection she maintained with Aron, even just to reach outward and summon help, one of those guardsmen or townsfolk might recognize her mind-talents for what they were.

  Aron. What about his legacy—?

  Dari could have kicked herself the moment she thought it. Here she was, almost wanting to nurture the fury inside the boy, to turn him into an oathbreaker, a weapon for her own purposes. What kind of person was she?

  “Dolf Zeller,” said the guardsman with the big wings on his helmet. “I am Captain Fen Brailing. We’re told you’re the town elder.”

  Zeller stopped reaching for his nonexistent weapons and slowly lowered his arms. “I am. You’ve come with poor timing. My grands
on—”

  “On behalf of my uncle Helmet, Lord Brailing of Brailing, we extend our apologies for your loss.” The captain did at least sound a little chagrined, but he plowed straight into his own purpose. “Also on behalf of our Lord Brailing, my men and I lay claim to the food and stock of this village, and any male child less than a year from Guard service.”

  Many of the farmers, male and female alike, now looked wary and angry instead of menacing, and Dari slowly realized she had been deceived by her own prejudice against those with Fae blood, especially those who remained uneducated. These people hadn’t brought weapons to attack Stone at the behest of the Brailing Guard. They were here, armed to the best of their meager abilities, in case Zeller gave the order to resist.

  Which Dari could see from the old man’s posture and expression, he deeply wished to do.

  “We have scarcely enough grain and stock to see ourselves through the winter,” Zeller said, speaking slowly as if choosing each word with care. He pulled at one side of his beard. “I freely offer you our excess, what little there is, and any goods that might ease your travels or enhance your fighting. As for the children—”

  “This is not a trader’s bargain, old man.” The rough voice to Dari’s left made her turn her head. She saw a bigger man than Captain Fen Brailing, this one heavier and rounder, probably older by the sound of him, edging his brown mare up to join the captain. This one had wings on his helmet, too, but smaller ones, made of silver.

  “My promise-brother is too kind in his command,” the big man went on, and Dari decided she didn’t like his tone at all. Sarcastic. Condescending.

  She frowned, then remembered it was probably best to keep her expression neutral, like the Stone Brothers and Aron and Zed.

  The big man spat on the ground, then started up again. “We’re at war now, with threat from the north and south alike. The Guard takes what it needs, and you should count yourself fortunate to help the dynast’s finest defenders.”

  Dari almost grabbed Aron at the end of this diatribe, but somehow the boy kept himself from moving, speaking, or slaughtering the oaf in his saddle. Aron’s sapphire eyes blazed, and his color went as dark as Zeller’s. Nevertheless, he was keeping cover over his legacy, hiding its true essence from any who might be able to see it.