Realms of Valor a-1

by Douglas Niles

  'That blade has to come out," she said. Even in the faint moonlight, she could see Hasheth blanch. A sympathetic smile curved her lips. "It's not as bad as you'd think. A hidden device on the handle releases the barbs, and they fold up as the knife withdraws. There is no more pain than any other shallow wound would cause." She paused and raised one eyebrow. "They do teach you to withstand pain at the School of Stealth?"

  "Of course," he responded indignantly.

  So she was right about the boy, Arilyn mused. He was a student assassin. She stood and took a step forward. "You'll have to turn around," she suggested. The boy drew back from her.

  "No man turns his back on an enemy," Hasheth proclaimed.

  "Really." Arilyn folded her arms. "In that case you'd better prepare to walk back to the School of Stealth. You'll never sit on a horse with a knife in your-"

  "Enough!" The lad silenced her with an imperious gesture. Pride and pain fought for dominance of his dark face. Finally he turned, averting his eyes. "Quickly," he muttered from between gritted teeth. "I have not all night to waste."

  "Have a few other assassinations lined up, do you?"

  Danilo asked cheerfully as he strode into the clearing.

  "Didn't I tell you to wait?" Arilyn asked.

  "Sorry," Danilo responded without a touch of repentance. "I would have died of curiosity. Let's have a look at your would-be assassin, shall we?" The nobleman drew a bit of flint from the bag that hung at his waist and muttered an arcane phrase. His spell was rewarded with a flash of light, and a small campfire appeared in the clearing's center.

  "I say, that must have stung," Danilo said as he eyed the boy's messy wound.

  Hasheth's black eyes swept over the nobleman's silken attire and expression of prissy dismay. The lad sniffed and he turned aside, dismissing Danilo as one unworthy of notice or comment. "The knife?" Hasheth reminded Arilyn.

  The half-elf selected a slender pick from the small tool pouch at her belt. She slid it into a hidden opening on the knife's elaborate handle. When her keen ears heard the tiny click, she pulled the blade free. The boy's only response was a quick intake of breath.

  Danilo made an exaggerated show of sympathy, then took a vial from his leather bag and handed it to the boy. "A healing potion," the nobleman explained in response to Hasheth's suspicious glare.

  "I have no use for your barbarian sorcery," the would-be assassin said with contempt.

  "Ordinarily I'd consider that a mark in your favor," Arilyn told the boy. She eyed him sternly and ordered him to drink up. After one final suspicious glance at Danilo, the young assassin complied. The bleeding slowed, and color began to return to his face.

  Arilyn folded her arms across her chest. "You've been following me since Imnescar. Why?"

  "I do not know what you're talking about," he said flatly.

  She drew the assassin's blade from her boot and held it out. "Maybe you'd like to explain why you killed that thug at the tavern."

  "You speak nonsense," Hasheth said with scorn. "That is the knife I threw at you just now."

  "No, it isn't," Danilo said, producing an identical knife from the bag at his waist. "I picked up your knife before I strolled over. By the way, have you any idea how close you came to skewering my horse?"

  Arilyn took the knife from the mage and studied the blades. Both were carved with the School of Stealth's mark, but the weapons differed subtly in weight and balance. She flipped the knives over. The one that had killed the tavern fighter was scored with dozens of small carvings, while Hasheth's was smooth and unblemished. If the unmarked knife told a true story, the young assassin had not killed before.

  The half-elf looked up at Danilo. "There are two assassins," she said quietly.

  "Oh, marvelous," the nobleman replied wryly. "I'm traveling with the most popular woman in Tethyr."

  She ignored him and turned to Hasheth. "Where's your partner?"

  "I have none," he said. "If you met another assassin this night, what of it? Assassins are common enough around taverns."

  "But knives like this are not," Arilyn persisted. "Someone from the School of Stealth wanted to keep me alive back at the tavern. Why?"

  'That I cannot tell you, but I owe him a debt," Hasheth said bluntly. "If you had died at the hands of that drunken oaf, I would have been cheated of my sand-hue sash."

  Arilyn and Danilo exchanged a puzzled look. "You're talking nonsense," the half-elf observed derisively, hoping to draw more information from the boy.

  Hasheth's eyes flashed as he took Arilyn's bait. "Ignorant barbarian! I don't know how northern assassins assess merit, but here each level of skill is marked by a different color sash. To advance, one must stalk and slay an assassin of the next level. His rank then becomes yours. You were my assignment, of course."

  Only Danilo saw the stricken look that flashed briefly into Arilyn's eyes. The half-elf had long ago earned the reputation of an assassin, a reputation that had proved as dangerous as it was undeserved. Arilyn had worked long and hard to rise above her dark past, only to be confronted with it time and time again.

  "No offense, Hasheth," Danilo drawled, "but did it ever occur to you that you might have skipped over a few levels here?"

  'That is absurd," Hasheth said haughtily. "The school's masters would not dare mock me in that manner."

  "They wouldn't dare, eh?" A reflective look crossed Arilyn's face. "Where do you hail from, Hasheth?"

  "My home is in Zazesspur, if that is what you mean."

  "But you have the look of a Calishite," she noted. "Perhaps your mother was from Calimport?"

  "Is this a state dinner, that we make polite conversation?" Hasheth asked sharply. "I am your prisoner. Kill me if you will, but don't trouble me with your woman's chatter."

  "Charming kid," Danilo murmured. "Nice of him to suggest such an attractive option. Can we take him up on it?"

  Arilyn shook her head. "Hasheth will ride with us to Zazesspur." It was hard to miss the relief in the boy's black eyes. "Sorry, Hasheth, but you'll have to find some other way to earn your sash."

  "A wise man knows when the battle is lost," the boy agreed.

  Danilo regarded their captive warily, noting the sly twist to his lips and the smooth insincerity of his tone. His gaze shifted back to Arilyn. Her lovely face was inscrutable, but she was obviously up to something. Since Danilo had no idea what her plan might be, he had little choice but to play along. He did not have to be happy about it, though.

  "Marvelous," he muttered, just loud enough for Arilyn's elven ears to pick up. "We've adopted a pet adder."

  "If you are determined to reach Zazesspur," Hasheth said to Arilyn, "it would be wise to keep riding. The Forest of Tethir soon gives way to the Starspire Mountains. The road itself follows a pass between these mountains, a wasteland as hot and barren as any desert. In the heat of day your northern skin would peel like that of a molting snake," he said with relish.

  "Charming kid," Danilo repeated.

  "Still, he's got a point," Arilyn commented. "The sun will rise within the hour. If we press on we should get through the pass before highsun."

  The dandy sighed deeply. "Can't we at least stop here long enough for some breakfast? I'll cook. We've already got a campfire."

  Arilyn agreed reluctantly, and the trio settled down around Danilo's fire. The nobleman began to rummage in his bag, drawing forth a small cookpot, a tightly covered dish of salted fish, a package of dried mushrooms, a package of herbs, a large silver flask of water, and another containing a dry cooking wine. Hasheth watched agape as each item appeared from the small sack.

  "It's magic," Danilo explained as he deftly combined the ingredients. "The bag holds much more than appearances would indicate."

  The young assassin quickly masked his astonishment. "No porcelain? No linens, no candelabra? You have adapted well to the rigors of travel, I see," he noted with keen sarcasm.

  "I try to keep a civilized touch," Danilo said mildly. "Under the circumstances, th
at might not be easy."

  Arilyn caught the underlying warning in her companion's voice. "Do you still have any of that coffee, Dan?" she asked quickly.

  Hasheth brightened at the mention of the ubiquitous southern beverage. "I would be happy to prepare it. No northerner has the ability to brew a decent cup."

  "Such a gracious offer," Danilo said dryly. He rummaged in his bag again, found an oddly shaped covered pot and a package of ground coffee beans, then tossed them to the boy. Hasheth took up the water flask and busied himself with the task.

  When the coffee was ready, Hasheth filled Arilyn's mug and handed it to her with a courtly bow. Then, almost as an afterthought, he poured another cup for Danilo. Coffee was not widely known in the northern lands, but Arilyn had grown quite fond of it during their travels southward. Hasheth's offering was thick, black, and syrupy, identical to the coffee she had tasted in a dozen Amnian bazaars. She inhaled deeply, and her sharp elven senses picked up a foreign note in the fragrant steam. She caught Danilo's eye, glanced down at his mug, and gave a subtle shake of her head. The mage raised his eyebrows and painted an "I told you so" smirk on his countenance.

  "Would you be offended if I didn't drink first?" she asked Hasheth.

  "Of course not. Only the prudent live to old age," the lad replied graciously. He reached for her cup, offering, "I myself shall taste it for you."

  The half-elf had anticipated that response, and the faint gleam in Hasheth's eyes confirmed her suspicions. Without doubt, he had an immunity to whatever poison he'd slipped into the coffee. It was one of the less common and more subtle tricks of a skilled assassin's repertoire.

  "I would not dishonor you with such a task," Arilyn said with grave formality. "Actually, I'd thought of feeding the coffee to your horse."

  Hasheth's smug expression melted into the slack frustration of defeat, and he pounded the ground with balled fists. "Why?" he blurted out. "Why have the gods sent you to torment me!"

  The half-elf waited until the boy's rage was spent. "Why would your masters want you dead, Hasheth?"

  "Apart from the obvious reasons, of course," Danilo added.

  Hasheth turned furious eyes on his captors. "Can you not hear? My masters decreed that you must die, elfwoman. Then I can advance to the next sash level."

  "Let's step into reality for a moment, shall we?" Danilo drawled. "Our home is many days to the north. Didn't it occur to you that an assassin whose reputation had traveled so far might prove a bit of a handful to someone your age?

  Besides, the lady doesn't wear a sash." The dandy's eyes swept over Arilyn's plain traveling clothes: trousers, shirt, and a long, dark cloak. "Or any other ornament, for that matter," he added in an aggrieved tone.

  Before the young man could respond, Arilyn broke in. "How old do you think I am?"

  Hasheth blinked, clearly puzzled by her question. His eyes traveled over her delicate features, curly raven hair, and slender form. "Three-and-twenty rains," he guessed.

  Arilyn shook her head. 'Try three-and-forty."

  "It is not possible," Hasheth protested, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "You are young and most beautiful."

  She brushed back her thick curls to display pointed ears, faintly tinged with blue at the tips. "I'm a half-elf, remember? I'll probably outlive your grandchildren. When I started sword training, your mother was no doubt an infant How old was she when she came to your father's harem?"

  "Fourteen," he answered absently.

  "For as many years as you and your mother have lived, I've been a hired warrior. I fought for the Alliance in the war against the Tuigan barbarians. I've earned a place of honor among the Harpers. Knowing all this, do you still think you were sent to fight an equal?"

  Arilyn softened her harsh words with a smile. "In a few years, this may change. You have much talent, Hasheth, and one day we may well meet on an even field. But that day has not yet come." She paused, and her expression hardened. "No one uses me or my sword against my will. I don't intend to be the instrument of your death, despite your masters' best-laid plans."

  "You lie," Hasheth said, but his face betrayed a touch of uncertainty.

  "Someone wants you dead," Arilyn repeated softly. "That's easy enough to prove. Since / won't take the job, it will go to another."

  Hasheth stared at her for a long moment. "I will think about your words."

  The three travelers turned their attention to Danilo's fragrant stew. Hasheth scorned the offer of a spoon, instead using pieces of flat, hard travel bread to scoop up bits of fish and mushrooms. The lad ate hungrily, but with a nimble delicacy that struck Danilo as oddly familiar. He resolved to mention his suspicious to Arilyn as soon they could speak privately.

  After their meal, at Danilo's insistence, Arilyn tied a length of rope around Hasheth's ankle and secured the end to her own saddle. The boy submitted to the indignity calmly, and not until they left the forest behind them did he speak to her again.

  "I have heard of the Harpers," Hasheth stated casually, but his tone clearly implied that he had heard nothing good. He wheeled his horse aside and placed as much distance between himself and his captors as the tether rope allowed.

  Danilo reined his horse close to the half-elf's mare. "For his next act, His Majesty will no doubt stick out his tongue."

  Arilyn grinned. "Ease off, Dan. He's just a boy."

  "Is he?" Danilo asked pointedly. "He appears to be a good deal more than your average sophomore assassin."

  "Oh? How so?"

  "Noblemen in Tethyr seldom use forks or spoons. It's supposed to be uncouth. Another of the pasha's notions about northern barbarities, I believe. Then there's the matter of that horse," Danilo pointed out. "I'm a excellent judge of horseflesh, and I can assure that only the very wealthy could afford such a mount. And have you noticed the boy's ring?"

  "I was wondering when you'd get around to that ring," Arilyn murmured. "So Hasheth has money."

  "And another thing. He's clearly both noble and wealthy, but he disdains such things in others. He positively despises what he sees in me-"

  "For that he needs a reason?"

  Danilo reached over and took Arilyn's chin between his fingers, turning her face to his. "You're enjoying this far too much," he said dryly.

  "Get used to Hasheth, Dan," she said as she eased her horse away. "He's our contact at Pasha Balik's court."

  Danilo squinted at the sun, which had crested the top of the Starspire Mountains. Already it glared at them like an angry red eye. "My dear, I'm afraid this desert heat is addling you."

  "Why? You've concluded that Hasheth is noble. He names Zazesspur as his home, but his face is that of a Calishite. Pasha Balik's palace is in Zazesspur. The pasha is a native of Tethyr, but he's known to stock his harem with the women of the South. Hasheth admitted to being born in a harem. Does his dislike of northerners remind you of someone?"

  "All right, it's possible that he's the pasha's son," Danilo conceded. "Possible. We can't be sure."

  "We could ask him."

  "I like it," Danilo mused. "Simple, direct. The youngster likes to talk, so it just might work." He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, "Tell me, Hasheth, how does Pasha Balik feel about having an assassin in the family?"

  "Your father would disown you sooner than mine would me," the boy responded curtly. "Better an assassin than a fool."

  Arilyn chuckled. "That answer your question?"

  "It'll do," Dan said flatly. "You win. But what makes you think that Hasheth will work with us?"

  "He will if we can convince him his life is in danger."

  The nobleman's face suffused with unholy glee. "I can think of several ways to accomplish that feat."

  "Don't bother. The second assassin will strike soon. He has to, if they plan to blame Hasheth's death on a northern barbarian."

  "Ah." Danilo drew in a long breath. "I think I've got it. Hasheth's masters send him after you, fully expecting you to kill him. It was a chance to be rid of him and rem
ain guiltless. And knowing how Pasha Balik feels about 'northern barbarians,' they're probably expecting Hasheth's death to put the old boy right over the edge."

  "That's my guess," Arilyn agreed. "His son's death might prompt Balik to limit trade with the North-making the people of Tethyr turn against him. The way would be clear for the guild alliance to make its move."

  "Devious," the nobleman muttered. "And the other assassin-the one who's been following us since Imnescar- was supposed to make certain you and Hasheth met up, I suppose."

  "Probably. If I don't kill Hasheth, he will. You can bet I'll still be blamed, though."

  Danilo was silent for a long moment "So what do we do now?"

  "We keep Hasheth alive," Arilyn said in a grim voice.

  As the three travelers rode deeper into the pass, the day grew oppressively hot and the landscape more barren and forbidding. Heat rose in wavering lines from the sand and from the scattered clusters of rock. The only signs of life were the colonies of lizards sunning themselves on rocky ledges. The creatures seemed to be everywhere, and Danilo marveled that anything could enjoy the punishing heat.

  "Look at that large rock formation," the half-elf said quietly. The pass narrowed up ahead, with a flat ledge to the left side of the trail and a huge, jagged pile of boulders blocking escape to the right.

  "Is our assassin lying in wait there?" the nobleman asked.

  "Could you choose a better place?" Arilyn asked. "Once I move, you keep an eye on Hasheth."

  They rode until they were almost level with the rock. Suddenly Arilyn threw herself from her horse, tugging violently at the line that bound their young captive. Caught unaware, Hasheth fell heavily to the rocky ground.

  Arilyn was back up in a heartbeat, moonblade in hand, rushing toward something Danilo had yet to see. A tall, dark-bearded man sprang up from behind the rocks, a pair of scimitars flashing in the sunlight. Danilo noted that the attacker's dark, close-fitting attire was identical to the garments worn by Hasheth.

  For his part, the pasha's son staggered painfully to his feet. As he watched the battle raging before him, fierce joy filled his heart. The accursed woman would die, and at the hands of a brother assassin! Hasheth's eyes narrowed at that thought, and he stooped to pick up a shard of stone, wedge-shaped and sharp. Perhaps this was a gods-granted chance to fulfill the duty assigned him….