by Rob Donovan
"Are they words of steel?"
"No, of peace. I have news of high interest to him."
Sterlad chewed his bottom lip as he considered Norva. Kerr finally lowered his sword. He wiped his brow and blew out his cheeks. Norva felt a little bit sorry for him.
"You want us to tell our captain that you are here?"
"Nope, that would take too long and involve too many people's permission."
"You want us to fetch him ourselves."
"Nope, I don't trust either of you enough to be certain you will not rally more guards." Norva said.
"She's clever," Kerr said as if Norva had read his mind. Sterlad shook his head. It was difficult to attempt to be intimidating when you were undermined every other breath.
"I cannot let you pass. I don't trust you well enough not to kill the Prince."
Norva nodded. I'd rather this not end in violence."
"Me too. But I have a job to do," Sterlad said and this time withdrew his sword, a look of determination in his eyes.
"We can take her Sterlad. She was lucky with the knife. She is about half the size of us," Kerr said. He raised his sword and ran his tongue over his lower lip. He bounced on his toes and looked ridiculous "You may have a reputation of killing in the shadows but you've never faced two Lilyon guards."
He stepped forward but before Norva thought about killing him Sterlad thumped Kerr on the helmet with the butt of his sword. Kerr's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed in a heap.
Norva had seen many things but was amazed how many times she was still surprised.
"You're not going to kill the Prince?" Sterlad said.
"You have my word."
Sterlad considered the Ghost Assassin for a moment longer and then lowered his blade. "Make it look good."
Norva gladly obliged.
***
The Prince sat at a wooden desk and scrawled on a piece of paper. He dipped the nib of his quill in an ink pot, blew on it and then scribbled away frantically. Norva watched him from the window ledge to his side. Of the two windows, the one she sat at was the more difficult to reach but she had chosen it purposefully. The first rays of sun shone through the open window opposite and illuminated the desk. Any movement in that window would have immediately resulted in a shadow that the Prince would have seen. As it was, he was oblivious to her presence. She had never been able to read or write and had always lamented the fact. Not because it would make her life easier but because she had always admired the tales a bard could weave and only got to hear them as part of an audience. She wondered what it would be like to read the stories at her own pace so she could savour them. To know that only she and the author shared the story.
The Prince cursed as he spilled ink on the page, he wiped it away with a small cloth and used the remainder of the smudge to carry on writing. He was as handsome as his father, with broad shoulders and long golden locks. His nose was angular but it was not severe and complemented his softer cheeks. He paused, chewed on the end of the quill, as if seeking inspiration, before continuing again. What could be so urgent that caused him to write so swiftly? It was not a message, she was sure of it. A message would have required more care and attention. But then Norva could not see why else the Prince would need to write anything down. He was not a historian or a bard.
“I’ve been in this situation dozens of times as an assassin and always known the correct time to strike the fatal blow. Now all I intend to do is strike up a conversation I am at a loss,” Norva said. To his credit the Prince did not jump at the sound of her voice. He set the quill to one side and lifted the page, blowing lightly on it to dry the ink.
“I always find knocking on the door and politely introducing oneself works best.”
“You knew I was there.”
“No. You are incredibly stealthy,” the Prince said. He folded the page in two and deposited it in one of the drawers under the desk. Norva saw that it was one of many. “But I was expecting you. My guards spotted you the second you entered the city.”
Norva tried not to let her surprise show. She was not sure if the Prince was lying or not and then decided it did not matter.
“You seem remarkably unconcerned that you have your back to an assassin.”
“If you wanted me killed, I figured you would have done it already.”
Norva sighed. “I get that a lot.”
Althalos turned and appraised her. He was unarmed and Norva admired his confidence. His fingers were stained with ink. “What did you want?”
Norva pushed herself off the window ledge and removed her cloak. She mimed to place it on a hook on the wall and the Prince nodded his consent. He did not comment on the fact she had to tip-toe to reach the hook.
He placed a chair next to his and then sat back down.
“Drink?”
Norva nodded and sat in the chair as he poured what smelt like apricot wine. She was never one for alcohol especially at the crack of dawn but was polite enough to not mention this to the Prince. She noticed he did not pour himself a cup.
She placed the cup to her lips and made a murmur of appreciation of the taste despite not swallowing a drop. The Prince made no comment.
“I have a message from Lord Vashna.”
The Prince raised his eyebrows unable to shield his surprise. “Is that the company you keep these days? My father will be most upset.”
“I have a message from Lord Vashna,” Norva repeated. She did not feel the urge to explain the company she kept nor justify herself to the Prince. “But first I need to tell you my story since escaping the Pit.”
The Prince listened as the Ghost Assassin told him of finding Scamp and her background. Norva could tell he had many questions about the refugees and the set up at Prafton but to his credit he obeyed when she raised her hand to signal he should be quiet. Prafton was not a part of the message that was of the most interest and she regretted having to delay the news.
As she reached the part of her incarceration in Yurisdoria she slowed down. Although it was good news she had to deliver, Norva felt uncomfortable. As absurd as it sounded she suddenly wished she had been sent to kill the Prince rather than speak with him.
The Prince reacted as she had thought he would.
“You lie,” he shouted jumping up and sending the chair toppling behind him. Norva sprang to her feet and drew her weapons ready to defend herself.
“I promise you I do not. I seldom lie but if I do, it is never so cruel. I could scarcely believe it myself but your mother is alive and well.”
Urgent knocking at the door interrupted them. A guard enquired if everything was alright. Norva sprang to the side of the door ready to attack if the guard entered.
“Everything is fine Aesyclin, I suffered a nightmare nothing more.”
Norva heard the guard move away from the door but doubted he was any more convinced than she was of the Prince’s lie.
“We do not have long,” Norva said. “Sit yourself down and listen to what I have to say.”
The Prince straightened the chair and sat back down. He poured himself some wine and Norva noticed his hand shook. He took a large gulp of the drink and then indicated she should continue.
Norva rushed through the remainder of the story, enjoying the smile that came to the Prince’s lips when she recalled how the Queen had helped her fight the guards in order to escape. She finished with Vashna’s army finding her and nursing her back to health as well as Kana’s attempt to kill the Warlord of Yurisdoria.
The Prince sat back in the chair and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “My mother is alive?”
“She is my Prince and desperate to speak with you.”
“But that bastard is holding her captive? And I bet he wants the throne for her safe return?” The Prince said and balled his hands into fists.
“No, but he knew that is the conclusion you would jump to.”
“What does he want then?”
They both heard the commotion outside. Althalos
ran to the door and locked it. He then pulled a bench across for good measure. “Aesyclin I told you I am perfectly alright. Now leave me be.”
“I’m sorry sire, but I am going to have to insist I come in and see for myself.” The Prince looked over to Norva who shook her head. “If you enter this room without my consent you will find yourself taking orders from Stephenson before the end of the day.”
There was silence for a moment. “I will be right outside my Prince,” Aesyclin said.
Althalos stepped away from the door and pulled his chair closer to Norva’s. Their faces were inches from each other and Norva found she was sweating all over.
“Who’s Stephenson?” she whispered.
“The Stable boy,” the Prince said and grinned.
Norva did too, she couldn’t help it. No wonder Vashna was prepared to follow the Prince. Two minutes in his company and she found herself attracted by his charisma.
“Vashna is no longer convinced he is on the right side of this war. He still does not agree with how your father ruled but he likes what he has seen and heard of you. The reason he has been camped outside Lilyon for so long is to wait until I was well enough to speak to you. He felt any other message he sent regarding your mother would be met with disbelief and contempt. If he revealed her, you would suspect any talk of peace would be a ruse to conceal a hostage situation. By sending me, he believes there is more of a chance you will believe him and agree to meet with him.”
“He wants me to go and meet him?”
Norva shook her head. “No, he knows you would be sceptical of this too. He requests a meeting with you to discuss Frindoth’s future. No weapons, no soldiers, just Vashna, his wife, his bodyguard and his captains. He will of course return the Queen to you as well.”
The Prince leaned back and stroked his beard before leaning forward again. “She really is alive?”
Norva smiled and nodded.
“And you really believe Vashna did not know it was my mother he held captive?”
“I think I do. He holds her in high regard and has treated her with the utmost respect. The Queen also confirmed she never once saw Vashna when she was held captive and so his story is plausible.”
“He is a fool if he did not know the calibre of the prisoner he held.”
Again, Norva nodded. “I think he realises that. It is part of the reason why he no longer wants to rule Frindoth. He does not think he possesses the intelligence or sense to govern the land.”
“My father always said he admired your loyalty and sense of justice. I am placing an awful lot of trust in you.”
“I always held King Jacquard in high esteem. If I thought Vashna was lying I would have killed him by now.”
“The Ghost Assassin I heard about would have killed him regardless.”
Norva shrugged. “Years in the Pit will change a person. I am trying to be a better woman.”
The Prince leaned forward and stared intently into her eyes. “Thank you for looking after my mother.”
Norva felt tears begin to form in her eyes. She had never cried for anyone and certainly did not want to do it for the first time in front of the Prince. Without giving it too much thought, she kissed the Prince on the lips. He was too surprised to react and she pulled away before he could.
She stood and moved towards the window, wiping her eyes in the process.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Never kissed a Prince before.”
“And?”
Norva smiled. “Not likely to do it again based on that. Let Vashna know when you wish to meet.”
Before the Prince could respond she had swung her legs over the window ledge and began to descend the palace walls.
Chapter 4
Jensen watched open-mouthed as the scuffle between the two Lakisdoreans grew gradually more violent. It had started so innocuously; one man had asked the other to pass him a bottle of wine. The recipient had been tipsy and as a result clumsy in taking the bottle, causing the contents to spill onto the ground. The man who passed the bottle had sucked in a breath and muttered at the waste. The second man had asked the mutterer to speak up and received a torrent of abuse for wasting a good vintage. The mutterer then hurled the bottle and asked the original man what he made of that. A scuffle had ensued and now the mutterer had one thumb up to its knuckle in the other man's eye socket. The blinded man screamed in pain and smashed away at his opponent's head, cracking his nose and shattering teeth in the process. The other Lakisdoreans barely glanced up. That is the part Jensen could not digest. Not only were they ignoring the fight, they did not even deem the fracas as worthy of their attention.
"Should we do something?" Jensen asked unable to take his eyes off the scene.
"I doubt it," Hemmel Thane said. Like Jensen he watched the fight and was not entirely comfortable with the casual violence. Jensen saw the weapon master reach for his sword.
Within moments the fight had ended and the two Lakisdoreans were laughing and pounding each other on the back. The now one-eyed man sat patiently whilst his recent enemy tied a bandage over the eye. Jensen hoped they were both more drunk than they appeared as he could not imagine shrugging off such an injury.
"Shall we go somewhere a little quieter?" Jensen asked as another Lakisdorean charged into a so-called friend at a nearby campfire.
"Best not. Sharoon told us to wait here."
Jensen shivered although the evening was not cold. The dying sun sent a soft red glow across the sea. The Lakisdorean's ships cast eerie shadows across the water making them appear ghostly. Not for the first time Jensen wondered what he was doing here. The tournament had taken place only three weeks ago yet it seemed a lifetime ago. During that time, he had not seen any sign of Groadan nor Naila. They had been true to their word and abandoned him. Jensen's win in the final had been a popular event with the leaders of the houses but not with the crowd. He may have spilled the blood God Staogon demanded but the crowd were unhappy with the manner of his victory. Sharoon had wasted little time convincing the crowd they were incorrect to think this. The silver-tongued woman had persuaded all that a true noble warrior behaved exactly how Jensen had. "Do you think Kisvar Zavos wanted to kill Faining? The two warriors shared a mutual respect. They were at the peak of their fighting ability and neither could best each other. But Kisvar Zavos proved he was the strongest mentally. He recognised the Blood-thirsty deity would only be satisfied with a cup of his favourite red liquid. It is this strength of will that the Gloom saw inside Kisvar when it bowed down to him. You may not like what Kisvar Zavos did. But he did it for you. Do not be selfish and do not reject the difficult choice he has made for all of us."
Jensen was thankful for the old lady’s words but not sure how much he agreed. He needed the adulation of the crowd. It was the only thing he craved now that his family and friends were not in his life. As he watched a Lakisdorean spear another through the thigh, he was not sure he craved another tournament though. It was clear to him that the competitors he had faced were not on the level of real warriors. Whatever confidence he felt had evaporated as soon as he had been introduced to the Lakisdoreans.
"Why does he want to see me?" Jensen asked.
"Rule number twenty-nine - don't ask questions when the answers are only around the corner," Hemmel Thane said.
Jensen folded his arms and sighed. That had to be the stupidest rule yet.
“Isn’t rule number five be prepared? And rule number twenty-three find out as much as you can about your opponent?” Jensen asked.
“Rule number one hundred: watch your wart infested mouth.”
Jensen smirked. Wart infested? He had been called worse but at least those insults had a grounding of truth. The Lakisdoreans had broken out into drunken song. Their army stretched for as far as he could see. Their presence was not something he felt comfortable with. They were here with one purpose and that was to bring destruction to the people of Frindoth. He had already seen signs of that. When Jensen had voiced h
is concerns over this, Sharoon had smiled knowingly and asked Jensen if he truly believed she would let that happen.
As usual Jensen was none the wiser and now he sat waiting to be summoned by the formidable Cordane - The man who had apparently orchestrated everything that had transpired so far. Jensen was not the smartest but he knew enough to realise he was out of his depth. His destiny had been taken out of his hands many weeks ago and now he had no choice but to be swept up in the current and see where it took him.
Hemmel Thane ran his thumb over his calloused knuckles, rubbing at some dirt that didn't exist. He stared at the Lakisdoreans and bounced on his toes.
"You're nervous," Jensen said.
"What?"
"No, you're afraid. You don't want to be here anymore than me."
"Shut your noise boy. You don't know what you are talking about."
Jensen thought about insisting he was correct but the idea did not bring him any pleasure. For Hemmel Thane to be afraid was bad, very, very bad.
"We could leave? Before it is too late," Jensen said after a while. Hemmel Thane looked down at him and for the first time since he had known the weapon master his features had softened. There was something akin to compassion in the man's eyes. The expression instantly improved the man's looks and for a moment Jensen caught a glimpse of the man Hemmel Thane used to be, of the man he could have been.
"It is too late for that now lad. You should have run the moment you clapped eyes on Sharoon."
Jensen's mouth fell open. Had Hemmel Thane just admitted he was as much of a pawn to Sharoon as Jensen was? Not once had Jensen imagined the weapon master was anything but in league with Sharoon, but with a single sentence Hemmel Thane had questioned everything Jensen had assumed. Hemmel Thane opened his mouth to say more but Sharoon emerged from the large tent nearby. She pushed the flap open and hobbled towards them. Since they had arrived at Cordane's camp the leader of the Children of the Moon had not bothered to pronounce her limp. Gone was the impression of a frail old lady, replaced by a hard woman who treated her defect with contempt rather than anything else. She hurried to them as if she was walking sideways along stairs.
