Assassin's Apprentice

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

  Aron gazed at Stormbreaker, confused. Was he speaking of sparring? Aron could best Galvin with his bow, and perhaps with the short sword, but at daggers and broadsword, the older boy would cut him to pieces. In a contest of strength, Galvin probably could pound Aron down to a fine pile of teeth and toenails. How would fighting each other lead to greater loyalties?

  “If you mean for us to train together, I’m not sure that would be helpful, High Master.”

  Stormbreaker agreed to this too quickly, and Aron’s anxiety rose. “I don’t intend for you to fight each other,” Stormbreaker said. “I mean for you to fight with each other. Depend on each other for your safety. I believe the best course of action is to send both of you to the one place in Eyrie that knows no loyalty, no fairness, no right, and no wrong. Perhaps there, you will forge an accord.”

  Aron went still, certain Stormbreaker would order him to the Shrine of the Mother, or to Endurance House, or maybe even to Lord Baldric’s chambers after all. He never imagined that Stormbreaker’s decision would be much worse than any of those options.

  Stormbreaker gestured toward the southern aspects of Triune, as if they were clearly visible through the thick stone walls of the High Masters’ Den. “Once every cycle, we check supplies and weaponry in the Ruined Keep. Normally, the High Masters see to this duty due to the risk, but when Galvin returns from Endurance House, you will go with him to complete this task.”

  To this, Aron could offer no reply, especially not the shout of disbelief that tried to tear out of his tight throat. All too well, he remembered Stormbreaker’s response to Lord Cobb’s inquiry about how bad the Ruined Keep could be, after all the rumors and folly he had heard.

  It would be difficult to form lies worse than the truth about that place.

  “You will go during the light of day,” Stormbreaker said, though Aron scarcely heard the words over the mounting noise in his own mind. “And you’ll be going as a pair. That will make the journey safer than your guild trial, and perhaps it will prove good preparation as well.”

  Aron still couldn’t begin to speak. He had heard stories already, of how many had died at the Ruined Keep. Of how many never even made it to the crumbling stone walls. The soft cover of Aron’s bed suddenly felt absurd to his touch, and he drew his fingers away as if the cloth had wounded him. He fixed his eyes on Zed’s bed, and wouldn’t look up at Stormbreaker.

  This was worse than a judgment with no reading of charges.

  How could Stormbreaker do this to him? Combat or even Lord Baldric’s Mercy might have been kinder. Aron tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he coughed.

  “You’re already stronger than you were when you arrived, and you’re excellent with bow and arrow, and with your short swords.” Stormbreaker sank to one knee, forcing eye contact with Aron. “Galvin performs well with daggers and the broadsword. You will do well, if you work together.”

  Aron tried to look away, but Stormbreaker caught his chin. “When you and Galvin return, you will understand each other better, and he will be less of a risk to you and your future.”

  “If I survive,” Aron said as he pulled free of Stormbreaker’s grip and returned his gaze to Zed’s bed.

  “That will depend on you,” came Stormbreaker’s quiet response. “And on Galvin.”

  Stormbreaker waited in silence for a few moments, then said, “Eat double portions until Galvin returns from Endurance House. Work on your stronger fighting skills, but not enough to weary your muscles—and see to your rest.”

  Aron said nothing.

  What good would those precautions do? It wasn’t like he could gain enough mass or skill in three days to affect the outcome of this suicide march into the worst areas of Eyrie.

  Stormbreaker placed a hand on Aron’s head, and Aron used the entire force of his will not to knock the man’s hand away from him. In time, Stormbreaker withdrew from the contact, then left the chamber, abandoning Aron to silence and his own dark thoughts.

  The door closed behind Stormbreaker with a soft thump of wood on rock.

  Aron found that all he could do was sit on his ridiculously soft cover. He was trembling too much to stand, and he knew if he succeeded in getting to his feet, he might run—though he had nowhere to go.

  Like Galvin.

  A bitter taste rose in Aron’s mouth.

  He would not dwell on any sense of kinship to the older boy. Aron had no doubt that Galvin would sacrifice Aron or anyone else to survive, if the situation demanded it or gave sufficient excuse. This excursion would not bond them. The journey to the Ruined Keep would serve only to prove to Galvin that Aron was weak and as yet poorly trained. That Aron didn’t deserve to be at Stone, or to be in line for Stormbreaker’s duties some far day in the future. Lord Baldric and Windblown would probably be pleased when Galvin brought Aron’s body back through the gates of Triune.

  Aron realized his death would make everything much simpler for Stone. No more risk to anyone from his graal. No more concern about what Lord Brailing and his allies might do if Aron’s presence at Triune was revealed to them.

  Was that what Stormbreaker had in mind?

  A tear slipped from Aron’s eye and forged a hot path down his cheek. He bit his bottom lip and hated himself for wanting to cry, for needing the release, and for doubting Stormbreaker. He trusted the man, even though he was a trained killer, well capable of treachery. The dav’ha mark on his arm smarted as if to remind him of all that had passed between them since Stormbreaker Harvested him from his family.

  “Don’t start thinking about the past,” he instructed himself, then rubbed the dav’ha mark, trying not to think about the sign of Cayn, of death itself, burned into his skin. It seemed too prophetic.

  Sometime later in the evening, Dari knocked, probably to determine why Aron had missed his graal training, but Aron didn’t open the door. He didn’t think he could bear having to explain his earlier actions to her, or knowing that she sensed both his shame and his fear. He ignored Stormbreaker’s suggestions about double portions and avoided dinner as well, and gave little thought to what consequences he might face for missing evening studies. He didn’t even build a fire against the night’s cold, but he did borrow Zed’s blanket since his chamber mate was spending the night in Endurance House.

  Wrapped in his own sheets and blanket and Zed’s, too, Aron stared out of his chamber window as moonslight claimed the castle grounds and gleamed silver-white off the thick stone walls protecting Triune. He couldn’t see the southern or eastern reaches of the compound, beyond which lay the pointed tip of Eyrie that extended into Barrens, Outlands, and Deadfall—but he knew it would be misty terrain, covered in brambles and rocks. The path to the Ruined Keep would be hunting grounds for mockers, manes, rock cats, and other horrors Aron couldn’t bring himself to imagine.

  Aron’s teeth chattered, and his breath came in chilly white puffs.

  He was tempted to pray to the Mother, and even as he thought this, as he opened himself to the possibility, he heard her voice. A voice. The voice, the one he had grappled with the first night he dreamed of killing the Brailing Guard. It came to him with the same sweet brutality, an almost melodic deadliness he never could have described, not even to Dari when they worked mind to mind.

  I will be with you, the voice said, and Aron’s teeth chattered all the harder.

  He pulled his blankets tight around his shoulders, then went back to his bed and curled himself into a tight knot, not at all sure if he was comforted by that promise.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ARON

  The next three days were among the longest Aron had ever experienced. He made excuses to avoid Dari and his lessons with her, he ate double portions, and he worked twice as hard at his training with long swords and daggers. He scarcely managed to sleep—and to refrain from striking Windblown in the gut each time the man cast a satisfied smile in his direction. Stormbreaker wouldn’t discuss the upcoming punishment, but when he was present, he drilled A
ron hard and fast on his blade work.

  When Zed returned from Endurance House, he vowed that he would take the journey with Aron and Galvin, but Aron ignored this blustering. He knew Stormbreaker would never allow such assistance. As for Iko, the Sabor remained near, but mute on the subject of whether he would insist on accompanying Aron.

  At the end of the third day, Galvin Herder returned from Endurance House and discovered their fate in a brief meeting with Windblown, Stormbreaker, and Aron. The older boy did nothing but nod and retreat to the kitchens for a meal, and Aron didn’t see him again until the fael’feis the morning they were to leave. When they danced their greeting to the dawn and the new day, Galvin kept his gaze straight forward and his hands to himself, and seemed completely focused on each dip and bow, each stretch and sway.

  Aron tried to maintain the same level of concentration, but his heart stuttered each time he allowed himself to wonder if this would be his last celebration. The thick, mossy walls of Triune gleamed in the white-blue sunlight. What lay on the other side of those walls, Aron didn’t want to contemplate, even in the glare of breaking day.

  Dari had joined them this morning, and Aron felt her intense stare more than once. He didn’t want to talk to her or explain what was about to happen, or even look at her too long, for fear he’d cry like a stupid little fool. Maybe Iko had told Blath and Blath had shared the news. But when the fael-feis ended and Lord Baldric made his approach, Aron realized Dari had not been informed of his upcoming punishment.

  As Stormbreaker took Aron aside in the courtyard and checked the buckle on Aron’s weapons belt, Dari approached them without Blath, her posture stiff and her movements hurried. “What is happening here? Why did Windblown take Zed away—and what is Lord Baldric doing at the Den so early?”

  Aron’s heart gave quick double beats as he took in Dari’s beauty and her obvious anger.

  Stormbreaker removed Aron’s short sword from its scabbard and tested its sharpness on his thumb. “Aron and Galvin Herder will be making this month’s inspection of the Ruined Keep. When Galvin has retrieved his weapons from his room, Lord Baldric and I will escort them to the side gate and direct them to the Lost Path.”

  The other Den apprentices caught sight of Lord Baldric striding through the courtyard gates, and they scurried off in different directions, heading to weapons practice or studies, depending upon their schedules.

  Dari ignored the commotion of the other apprentices as her eyes went wide. “This—you—no.” Her dark hair glistened like fine metal in the morning light, and her black eyes flashed like Stormbreaker’s did just before thunderstorms exploded from clear skies. “You cannot be serious. This is what—a punishment? For a fight between two boys?”

  Stormbreaker continued his deft inspection of Aron’s weapons. “They aren’t boys, Cha. They’re nearer to men, and they must learn to be brothers in their guild tasks, if nothing else.”

  “That’s a death march,” Dari snarled.

  Lord Baldric was barely out of earshot and coming toward them even more quickly now. Aron’s stomach clenched, and he wished Dari would have a care about what she said in front of the Lord Provost. What if Lord Baldric turned on her, too? If he cast Dari out of Triune, Aron might never see her again.

  “If Aron and Galvin fail to cooperate with each other, they might be killed, yes.” Stormbreaker sheathed Aron’s last dagger and patted him on the shoulder without looking at him. “But I have faith in Aron’s ability to win Galvin’s respect.”

  Dari seemed about to launch into a more forceful argument, one that might involve fangs and claws.

  “Thank you,” Aron said before she could become any angrier. “But this is something I need to do.”

  As he spoke the words, he felt the truth of his statement resonate in his mind, like a bell striking one clean, pure note. The sensation sent a ripple of gooseflesh up his spine and made him shake his head to clear his senses.

  Was that what it felt like to hear from his own graal unbidden?

  He hadn’t been certain of his statement—had really said it only to keep Dari from bringing trouble on herself by standing up for him in a matter in which Lord Baldric and Stone would give her no say. Now, though, he was more sure he was correct.

  He managed to keep his eyes on Dari, who didn’t relax even a fraction. Her eyes still flashed like she was ready to kill, but she said nothing as Lord Baldric came to stand beside them.

  “We await Galvin’s return, and then we’re ready,” Stormbreaker said, keeping his hand on Aron’s shoulder.

  Lord Baldric eyed Dari, as if daring her to say anything, but Dari was not so foolish. When his gaze shifted to Aron, Aron was surprised to see that Lord Baldric wasn’t regarding him with his usual suspicion or irritation. The Lord Provost’s expression was difficult to read, but Aron thought the man might actually be impressed that Aron was facing such a dangerous task with no begging or sniveling.

  Stormbreaker seemed to notice the direction of Aron’s gaze and the shift in Aron’s expression, and he spoke in low tones, where only Aron could hear him. “I believe that if you complete this journey with your own skills and wits, without using your legacy, it will go far in proving to Lord Baldric that you belong here. Perhaps it will earn you some reprieve from needing to be without fault in his eyes.”

  When Aron looked into Stormbreaker’s pale face, he saw unguarded worry and affection, and the fact that Stormbreaker didn’t want to send him on this dangerous journey.

  “I understand,” he told Stormbreaker, keeping his voice quiet and as calm as he could manage. “And I believe this is the right choice. A chance—perhaps my only chance—to make it to my trial without being sent to judgment.”

  Stormbreaker seemed both relieved and pained, and Aron experienced a rush of warmth. This was a man who had death in his eyes and graal, even in the ferocity of his smile. Aron knew Stormbreaker would kill him if duty and righteousness demanded such an action, and Aron knew that he loved the man like the father he would never again get to embrace.

  When Stormbreaker pulled Aron to him, Aron returned the force of his embrace. Fate willing, and should he survive to return to Triune this night, Aron would do all that was within his power to live up to the grave responsibility of being an assassin’s apprentice.

  When Stormbreaker turned Aron loose, Aron gave his master a quick bow, straightened himself, and checked the daggers and short sword on his weapons belt himself, finding them all ready and satisfactory.

  Dari stood silent beside him, arms folded, refusing to glance in Stormbreaker’s direction. Blath was no longer at her side, and Aron assumed she had retired to the Den. Windblown and Zed hadn’t returned, and Aron assumed Windblown was making certain Zed didn’t make a rash attempt to slip out of the castle to give aide to Aron.

  Iko—Aron glanced in all directions.

  Iko was absent.

  There was no trace or sense of him, and Aron realized he hadn’t seen the Sabor boy since the night before. Aron’s heart sank with a disappointment he couldn’t explain. He would have at least liked to bid Iko farewell, in case…

  In case he didn’t make it back.

  His breath caught hard in his throat.

  Galvin Herder came through the front doors of the Den, wearing two swords on his belt, as well as a host of sharp, glittering daggers. He didn’t spare a look or comment for Aron, but bowed to Stormbreaker and Lord Baldric before setting off, out of the courtyard and down the path that ran along the western wall of Triune.

  Aron followed him, trying to force his thoughts to the sound of their feet on grass and dirt and gravel, on the light chill of the air, and the sound of robes rustling against the legs of Stormbreaker, Lord Baldric, and Dari as they offered a small escort party to the gates that led to the Lost Path. The time had come for silence, both within his mind and without. He had to concentrate now, and he could not let his terror overtake his judgment or fighting skills.

  Aron kept his chin forward and his e
yes wide as he strode behind Galvin, to the gates, and through them.

  The rustle of robes against legs stopped abruptly, and Aron knew their escort party had remained within the safety of the castle walls. He felt the separation from Dari and Stormbreaker like a cut to his very essence, but he didn’t cry, and he didn’t look back, not even when the massive gates thundered as they slammed to a close.

  A blast of Stormbreaker’s graal lightning crackled overhead, giving Aron a surge of courage as mist struck him in the face. The unnatural gray fog of the Deadfall immediately obscured his vision, and it smelled of old graves and bones left to mildew in caves. Aron decided to breathe through his mouth, at least until he grew accustomed to the odor. His eyes watered in the wet air, but he kept his gaze on the gray folds of Galvin’s tunic.

  Whispering met his ears, not human, not intelligible, and somewhere nearby, a rock cat howled. Something moaned, setting Aron’s teeth on edge.

  Something screamed. Up ahead. Not far away at all.

  A sly, grinding sound came from behind Aron, like creatures sidling and slithering across the same rocky ground he had just crunched beneath his boots.

  “I’m an assassin’s apprentice,” he said to himself to drive down the rolling gallop of his heart. He closed one hand on the hilt of his short sword and the other on the metal grip of a dagger.

  From in front of him, Galvin Herder grunted, and Aron saw the mist swirl as the older boy drew his long sword and held it at the ready.

  “I’m an assassin’s apprentice!” Aron yelled, taking strength from the words as he drew his own blades.

  He could only hope the creatures flying, crawling, creeping, and charging to meet them would know him for what he was, and fear him as much as he feared them.