Assassin's Apprentice

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

  Stormbreaker’s tone was indulgent when he responded. “Twenty-six. Brothers and Sisters live in those towers, and inside the curtain itself. It’s as thick as the length of five grown men laid head to foot.”

  Aron felt even smaller than he usually did. He couldn’t imagine how such a structure had ever been built, but the massive wall stretched the length of the diamond-shaped enclosure on all sides, the spiked battlements connecting the towers. As for the towers, Aron counted three rows of windows top to bottom. Like three cottages, stacked atop one another.

  He couldn’t judge the depth and girth at this distance, but they looked spacious, especially the ones on each corner, which were wider. On the west side were fields with grazing livestock, stables, paddocks, woods, and ponds. On the east he saw crops and gardens being harvested or cleared from harvest, streams dotted with wooden or stone bridges, a few buildings that looked like forges, or maybe armories, or both. There were barns—even a Temple of the Brother with its bell tower clearly visible. And at the back of the massive city, the north tip, there was a mill, many collections of cottages, and what looked like a separate castle-within-a-castle, with its own keep and a set of four towers at the corners of the square building.

  At last, Aron’s eyes watered from staring. He blinked away the moisture, then noticed a strange structure near the front, something that appeared to be a large, ornate stone barn, only without doors sufficient to allow for livestock. To the barn’s left were what looked like stacks of stone steps joined by pillars.

  Stormbreaker gestured to the spot. “That’s the House of the Judged.”

  Lord Cobb made a quick sign against ill fortune, and Dari coughed.

  Aron wondered if he should avert his eyes out of respect for the condemned people awaiting death in that structure, but decided against it. He was a Stone of Stone now, after all. Sooner or later, he would have to look the Judged squarely in their eyes, face them in combat, and hunt them if they chose flight instead.

  I’m not spineless. Better I grow used to the thought now than fight it when it’s inevitable. He swallowed hard and wished his hands would stop shaking.

  “If all goes well with the Lord Provost, you’ll spend many an hour in that arena.” Stormbreaker adjusted the reins on his bull talon’s neck until he gripped them in his opposite hand. “Sometimes as a witness, other times in training—and after you’re fully vested, you’ll see combat there, more often than you can imagine.”

  Aron didn’t want to imagine it. Looking at the House of the Judged and that arena was all his stomach could take for the moment. His mind worked over Stormbreaker’s words for a moment, and then his stomach really lurched and churned. He met Stormbreaker’s gaze even as everyone else studied the scene below them.

  “You’ll have to face him, for your actions with the Brailing Guard.” Stormbreaker kept his voice quiet, and Dari and Lord Cobb didn’t seem to notice him speaking. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Aron felt himself sink against Tek’s powerful neck, but he nodded. He had suspected something like this would happen, but there had been no time for questions or discussions. Aron wanted to ask Stormbreaker if everything would be all right, if he had a fair chance with the Lord Provost, but Stormbreaker’s sad expression gave him answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

  Dari pointed to what looked like a portion of a small tower outside the main enclosure, a tiny building that seemed to be positioned at the intersection of Barrens, Outlands, and the Deadfall. “What is that?”

  Stormbreaker remained silent for a moment, and Aron couldn’t help the sense that the High Master was trying not to make his own sign against ill fortune. “The Ruined Keep.”

  Lord Cobb shifted his saddle and rolled his shoulders forward and back, as if to relieve his comfort. “Where Stone Brothers and Sisters go for their final trial and become full members of the guild. I’ve heard tales about that place. Folly and exaggeration, I’m sure.”

  Once again, Stormbreaker didn’t answer right away. When he did, his words came out uncharacteristically slowly. “It would be difficult to form lies worse than the truth about that place. I’ve had my own dark experiences there.”

  Aron chilled so deeply he felt his bones creak in the saddle. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the tiny, broken building in the mists and sands and rocks, and when he spoke, his words came out in a scratchy whisper. “If I’m allowed to continue at Stone, how old will I be when I face my trial?”

  Stormbreaker’s expression remained mostly neutral, but Aron thought he saw a flicker of something like concern. “At least sixteen—but we have no set age after that. It’s up to the apprentice to ask for the privilege when they believe they’re ready, and up to the master to grant permission. Since men and women can petition to join Stone at any age, we’ve had apprentices go to trial as old as fifty and sixty years of age.”

  Aron immediately set about worrying that it would take longer than two years for him to become ready for the trial. What if it took three years, or five? What if he became the oldest apprentice to complete the trial ever? What if he couldn’t possibly learn all that Stone had to teach—or what if he didn’t want to learn some of what he’d be forced to absorb? His gaze shifted back to the House of the Judged and the arena standing beside it, and he imagined the brown surface took its color from old blood.

  How many men and women had died between those rock pillars?

  Did anyone at Stone keep a record of terrors like that?

  Did he even want to know?

  “We’ve but a few miles to go to the shelter of Stone,” Lord Cobb said, pulling his mount about to take the lead behind the standard-bearers. “Let’s not be caught sky gazing by the Brailing Guard this close to safety and relief.”

  Stormbreaker turned his talon toward the rise’s downward slope. Windblown went by, and so did Zed, but Aron couldn’t stop staring into the valley below.

  Triune was impressive. Breathtaking. But he couldn’t help comparing its beauty to the dazzling way scales of venomous snakes glistened in the sun.

  I can’t enter that viper’s den. He gripped Tek’s reins in both fists. I can’t begin to make myself move.

  But he was Aron Weylyn now, not Aron Brailing, and destined to become one of the vipers he feared. He was the son of the wolf, with a wolf—and his family to avenge. Ruined Keep or not, House of the Judged or not, he knew he had to ride down the slope and make his way into that monstrously splendid enclosure. Then he would face the Lord Provost, and somehow convince the man that he was worth the apprenticeship Stormbreaker had bestowed upon him.

  “Home is a matter of choice,” Dari said from behind him. “For now, li’ha, we’re both choosing this place.”

  Choice.

  Do I truly have a choice?

  Aron cast another glance at the city-castle in the valley.

  Was he choosing Triune? Had Triune chosen him?

  Both, perhaps.

  Whatever the case, the words helped him press his feet against Tek’s sides, gently, almost hoping she wouldn’t respond.

  The little talon let out one whistle. Then, oblivious to her rider’s wishes, she followed like a puppy after Stormbreaker and his big bull.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ARON

  Aron had to tilt back his head to take in the height of the gates as the traveling column mustered to ride through them. Just the sight of the massive wooden structures set his blood to rushing again, shoving warmth into his clammy feet and hands. The air smelled of horses and sweat, of fields and manure, oil and leather and rock—and from somewhere, the scent of baking bread and frying meat tortured his senses.

  Bells rang all along the battlements, first close, then moving quickly away, as if running the length of the big stone wall that enclosed the stronghold. It sounded like a signal. Maybe an announcement. Aron squinted, but couldn’t see where the bells were located.

  “They’re announcing the arrival of a dynast lord.” Stormbreaker gestur
ed toward the top of the battlements. “So appropriate meals and quarters will be readied. It won’t take you long to learn all the patterns and messages carried by the bells.”

  The tone and rhythm of the bells shifted, and Aron saw the relief and pleasure on Stormbreaker’s face. He suspected the bells were now spreading the good news that one of Stone’s High Masters had made it safely back to the stronghold. Tonight, Stormbreaker probably would sleep in a real bed, after a real dinner.

  Would his apprentice enjoy the same treatment?

  Aron’s entire body ached with anticipation, despite the fact that it would be hours before the sun made its way across Eyrie’s skies.

  At the moment, I’d settle for breakfast. A handful of nuts. Anything.

  Yet the desire to eat battled against a queasiness at the size of the gates, at the enormity of Triune, and the thought of going inside.

  Lord Cobb and his personal regimen formed up behind his standard-bearer, and Stormbreaker, Aron, Dari, Windblown, and Zed gathered behind them. After that came the remainder of the Stone Brothers and Harvest prizes, and the Cobb Guard protected the rear from any last-minute attacks. Aron heard the call of, “Heave!”

  Wood popped. A great grinding sound followed, and a few inches at a time, the massive wooden gates swung inward to reveal what looked to Aron like an endless courtyard crowded with people. The smell of food grew stronger, making his belly twist and growl. Aron actually checked to see if any of the people milling about on the cobblestones ahead might be holding a plate—but he was disappointed.

  Lord Cobb and his Guard entered Triune to the rhythmic ringing of bells, and as he drew closer to the gates, Aron saw Stone Brothers in gray robes lined up on either side of the entrance, obviously prepared and waiting to see to the dynast lord’s every need.

  As he passed beneath the arched entrance behind Stormbreaker, the bells stopped.

  Aron found himself in a huge walled courtyard large enough to accommodate a small army—which was fortunate, since they had arrived with just such a contingent. Hooves rang against the cobbled stone surface, and Tek’s claws clacked and scraped with each step. People clogged parts of the big space. Some were male, some were female, all ages, some in gray robes, some in simple tunics, gathered in groups, all watching the procession. Beyond them rose a formidable-looking stone building, larger than any structure Aron had seen before. Water flowed in front of it and a drawbridge had been settled into place, providing narrow but sufficient passage across the water.

  From what Aron could see, there were … things in the water. Maybe fish. But larger than any fish Aron had ever seen. On either side of the big keep, Aron saw thick wooden screens extending down into the water, as if to keep the giant fish swimming only in the small channel in front.

  Mocker fish?

  Cayn’s teeth. Would the guild keep mockers so close to people on purpose?

  Aron couldn’t believe that, not even of the Stone Guild, yet he found himself edging a few steps away from the water, until he couldn’t see the shadows swimming through it.

  Lord Cobb and his Guard were soon surrounded by a frenetic cloud of gray-robed Brothers and at least one Sister dressed in similar fashion. Aron reined Tek beside Stormbreaker as Lord Cobb and his party dismounted, then allowed their horses to be led away across the drawbridge, then into and through the central arched space running the length of the keep. On the other side of the long arched hallway, Aron could see a road, with grass and trees to either side.

  The rest of the traveling column poured in through the gates behind him, going right and left in large groups, and people moved to meet them and assist with their horses.

  “Here,” said a voice below Aron, and he looked down to find the ginger-haired boy, Raaf Thunderheart, raising his hand to take Tek’s rein. The boy couldn’t have been at Triune more than a few days, if his riders carried him with scarcely any rest, yet he already looked thicker, taller, and healthier. Some scars marked his little face, but otherwise, only the bruise on his cheek gave any hint to the little boy’s harsh past.

  “Don’t worry,” Raaf said. “I’ve been working with talons and horses since I was near born, since my people where smiths and all—and she’s a little ’un. Give her over to me and I’ll see that she’s cleaned and fed and stabled, proper-like, in the talon barn, and away from those bulls.”

  Aron looked to Stormbreaker, who had already dismounted. So had Windblown. Helpers took control of the bull talons immediately, but Zed was leading his own horse away. On all sides, Aron saw other Harvest prizes being instructed to take and tend to their own mounts, yet here was this boy offering to take Tek—and another boy was helping Dari down from her stallion as well. Aron wondered why they were getting special treatment.

  Stormbreaker strode over to Aron, glanced at Raaf, and smiled. “Pleased to see you, young sir.” He nodded to Aron to give his talon into the boy’s care. “You will enjoy some privileges as a High Master’s apprentice, but you’ll also know more hardship in exchange.”

  A moment later, he went back to searching the crowd again and again, as if seeking something he couldn’t find. “All Harvest prizes are kept close to their guild masters in the first weeks,” he murmured, sounding distracted and beyond fatigued. “You’ll be no exception. Come with me now. No tarrying.”

  Stormbreaker strode away from Aron, and Aron had to scramble down from Tek. “Thanks,” he said to Raaf as he tossed Tek’s rein to the boy. Then he followed Stormbreaker at a run. A few steps later, he stumbled from being so long in the saddle and almost crashed to his knees, but strong hands caught his filthy tunic from behind.

  Dari.

  She lifted him back to his feet, dusted him off a bit, then frowned at the blood seeping through his breeches around his thighs. “It’s good that we’ll have some time on our own feet instead of riding. Those saddle sores need to heal.”

  Aron didn’t answer. It irked him that his body kept showing weakness even as his mind commanded it to be strong. Did his precious Brailing mind-talent work only on others? Why was it he couldn’t use it on himself?

  “I should follow Stormbreaker,” he muttered, then forced his aching muscles to move, to follow the High Master, first at a trot, then at a run. Dari hurried to keep up with him, and the two of them passed by Windblown in a whirl, leaving him to grunt with surprise and frustration.

  A few seconds later, Stormbreaker once more stopped and searched the crowd.

  Aron had no idea what the High Master was looking for, but he stopped beside Stormbreaker and searched, too. So did Dari. Aron wondered if they would instinctively know their quarry when they saw it.

  Against a far wall of the courtyard, he spotted a few men preparing to mount fresh horses—men not from their traveling party. From their bright silk tunics and breeches, each in dynast colors, he knew them for messengers. An honorable occupation, and fairly safe in its own way, even in wartime. Those who harmed messengers knew swift vengeance from dynast lords, especially since most were the younger sons of families high in the dynast ruling lines.

  Aron watched the messengers line up to ride out, and wondered what they carried in their leather pouches. Good tidings? Ill omens? Acceptances, refusals—the possibilities were endless. His father had taught him that some communications were too complex or sensitive to be sent fastened to the legs of lone passerines, even though that method was the fastest. Flash signals, like the flocks of passerines that called dynast lords to the Circle of Eyrie, or the bells that rang to announce their traveling party’s arrival at Triune, were effective only for simple notifications. Aron hadn’t thought about how active messengers would become during times of war, or how active they might be even during peacetime for a place as large and busy as Triune. Probably dozens of messengers came and went every day. Maybe hundreds.

  For now, though, he watched ten or so ride out from the courtyard, through the gates, and onto the byway Aron’s traveling party had taken on their trip down from the rise. Then he ju
mped at the shout of “Heave!”

  The loud crack-pop of wood echoed through the stone courtyard as workers labored at the ropes to pull shut and secure the huge gates with equally huge, thick wooden bars, one at the top, one at the bottom, and two at the center. The finality of the castle’s entrance slamming closed, sealing him away from the world outside, made Aron’s gut clench even as he permitted himself to be relieved that he was now safe from threat.

  Threat from the Brailing Guard, at least.

  “I wish I knew what he was searching for,” Dari mumbled from behind Aron, returning his attention to the milling crowd.

  About a yard from Dari and Aron, Stormbreaker kept up his vigil, but his brow had furrowed and his lips had pinched together until he seemed to have no mouth at all. To Aron, the man looked worried, or perhaps it was sad. He couldn’t tell. The tattoos on Stormbreaker’s face made his expression seem severe even when he wasn’t radiating displeasure or anger.

  Another boy in a brown tunic came up to them, this one with short blond hair and a very dirty face. He glanced at Aron and Dari, gulped, reached out a trembling hand, and tugged Stormbreaker’s robe.

  When Stormbreaker looked down, the boy squeaked, “Lord Provost wants you. Now, he said. Tell Stormbreaker right now, no guff.”

  When he quoted the Lord Provost directly, the child used a growly, loud voice, imitating the man who had given him the summons to deliver. Stormbreaker reached to pat the child’s head, but the boy was already gone, elbowing through the crowd as if he had urgent business elsewhere.

  After one last glance around the crowd, Stormbreaker gestured to Aron and Dari to follow him, then set off across the drawbridge into the massive building.

  Aron stood still until Dari shoved him, then moved slower than he should have toward the stretch of wood. He didn’t know what scared him more, crossing that stream with only a bit of wood between him and whatever unnatural creature was swimming below, entering a keep larger than any building he had ever seen in his life, or coming face-to-face with the Lord Provost of the Stone Guild.