by Greg Curtis
“Now isn’t that better?” He spoke softly and knew as she turned to him that she heard every word. She would have even if he’d whispered. And she’d believe it too. The Reaver’s magic was potent.
“Come.” He wrapped an arm around her waist in a far too familiar fashion for polite society and heard the others draw their breath in surprise. “Dry your eyes and I will show you to your new quarters.”
With just a light touch of his hand on the small of her back he guided her towards the door leading further in to the temple complex, and she didn’t resist. She went willingly and even stopped crying. And why not? She had nothing to fear. She was to be one of the mothers of the new race. The mother of a prince. It was a position of honour .
By the time he had her at his bedchamber her eyes were no longer red and she was smiling as she understood the honour she was being given . That was as it should be.
“Come in girl, and let me tell you of why you were brought here. You are to become the mother of the reborn elven race.”
She walked in with a smile on her face, and he closed the door behind them.
Chapter Ninety Five.
It was night and the castle was dark. Most of the servants had retired for the night, many of them having to get up early the next morning to begin their duties, and most of the guests had left as well. Outside a few sentries patrolled the grounds while a few more stood guard on the battlements. Most though were in the arms of the lady of dreams. And why not? It was a peaceful night in a peaceful land. Nothing ever happened in Greenlands, not at least until the war, and those dark days were finally behind them. If an owl hooted in the still night air or a bat flew by under the light of the moon, it was nothing.
That worked perfectly for the assassin as he approached the castle. The guards on the portcullis in the outer wall never saw him approach, they were posted on top of it and after wading across the moat he simply hugged the stone as he edged by under their noses. Then he slipped quietly past the guard at the front gate, completely unseen as the man made his rounds. By the time he returned the assassin was inside the darkened courtyard.
He crept around the inside of the wall, a shadow dressed from head to foot in black concealed by the shadows cast by the few torches on top of the battlements. Soon he was half way around, to the place where the wall came closest to the castle, and he waited for his moment.
It was only a few short minutes until the guards passed by him on their rounds and he could slip silently across the courtyard behind them. After that it was simply a matter of tossing the small ironwood grapple up to the window, scaling the outer wall while their backs were still to him, and climbing in through the open second floor window. In the blink of an eye he was inside the castle and with no one the wiser.
The hallways were lit by paraffin lamps hanging in wrought iron brackets in the walls, and they gave off enough light to walk by, but little more. That was just as he liked it, and he crept down them feeling better and better. He liked the darkness. It was always his truest armour.
Here and there he heard noises coming from the rooms, and each time he froze into the wall and listened, making sure it wasn’t a guard patrolling the hallways. But it never was. It seemed that the lord kept few guards, and all of them were outside the castle. Mostly the noises were just people in their bedchambers, speaking quietly among themselves late at night, unaware that he was passing by their doorways.
Sometimes the noise came from an animal, as it seemed that the castle was infested with them. Cats prowled the castle hunting mice, while the cooing and rustling sound of the pigeons in their rooftop roosts echoed quietly through the hallway. He could even hear the distant barking of dogs in the town, floating in through the open windows. But none of them troubled him, and soon he’d made his way to the central staircase that linked the different floors and wings of the castle.
From there it was a simple matter to find the lord’s bedchamber, coat the handle and hinges of the oak door with a little lamp oil to be sure, and then silently ease the heavy door open. It didn’t make so much as a creak, and the assassin crept in while drawing his weapons in a single fluid movement.
It was all going perfectly and he silently congratulated himself as he crept across the dark room and approached the bed, weapons poised. And then, just as he was about to strike he discovered an unexpected problem. The bed was empty.
For the longest time he stood there over the bed, wondering what had gone wrong, and what to do. Where was the lord? He surely had to be in the castle somewhere. But where? And was he coming to bed at all? Or sleeping somewhere else? Should he wait? Or should he start searching the castle?
So many questions and so few answers. But in the end he knew he had only two choices, both of them bad. Searching the castle was dangerous, he could be spotted, but the lord might not return to his chamber this night. And equally he couldn’t stay in an empty room forever hoping that he would. Sooner or later the sun would rise and before that it was likely a guard on his rounds would notice the small ironwood grapple and rope on the castle’s outer wall that he’d used to climb it. He had to be gone before that happened.
But he couldn’t return to Y’aris and the priests with a job unfinished. Not only wouldn’t he get paid, there was a fair chance he would end up dead, - or worse. It was a point of honour with him that he accepted and completed all his assignments if the pay was right, but that didn’t mean he trusted those who hired him. After all, they were the sort of people who hired assassins. That didn’t exactly make them trustworthy.
Eventually he came to a decision, the only one he could, and he left the room to start prowling the darkened corridors once more, hunting his target. One way or another, Lord Iros of Drake had to die this night.
Or he would surely die in his place.
Chapter Ninety Six.
Iros was half asleep in the upstairs library, collapsed over the table covered in reports when the assassin finally found him.
It had been a long day, a very long one as he had not only listened to the endless stream of problems from his people and dealt with the minutiae of running a realm, but then he had had to wade through the reports from his staff. Add to that a gruelling session in the courtyard with his weapons trainers, and another equally gruelling session with his men at arms as he once more tried to instil in them the basics of soldiering, and it was little wonder that he’d collapsed over the desk. It was really only a wonder that he’d made it to the library at all.
Sophelia was fast asleep in the easy chair by the fire, also tired from her day of trying to run a castle, a responsibility she’d never expected or trained for. But now that she was obviously with child and therefore the mother of the next lord or lady of Greenlands, it was a duty he’d decided she would have to take up. It was a small step on the path to being accepted as the lady of Greenlands herself. And as Nanara’s sages said, her bed had been made, so she had to sleep in it.
Saris meanwhile was at her feet, stretched right out in front of the hearth as only a jackal hound could, basking in its warmth. She wasn’t tired at all, just comfortable. It seemed that the battle of wills between the two women in his life had come to an end, and some days Iros wasn’t completely sure who had won. But when they were no longer rivals endlessly competing for his affection, he didn’t care. He simply welcomed the peace.
Soon he knew the servants would come and wake them up, and send them on their way to their bedchamber. It wasn’t exactly the first time that they’d fallen asleep in the warmth of the small family library.
Something though kept him from falling completely asleep that night. Whether it was the uncomfortable sleeping position made even worse by the armour he forced himself to wear every day, or the endless reports of bad news that kept running through his thoughts, he didn’t know. All he knew was that for some reason he couldn’t seem to completely give in to the tiredness and let the darkness take him.
And then he heard the soft tread of a man walking on the f
loorboards, and all thoughts of sleep were forgotten. From the instant he heard that sound, he knew one thing; danger. All the years he had spent as a soldier could not be forgotten.
Instantly he was wide awake, sitting up straight at the table and taking in the scene as the black clad man entered the room, and before he’d taken a second step, Iros was on his feet drawing his weapons. He was quick, as quick as if he was still a dragoon on watch surrounded by enemies. But the man was quick too, even more so, and Iros had to dodge suddenly as a dagger flew past him to bury itself somewhere in the stacks of tomes and scrolls behind him.
After that it was chaos. He yelled, a practiced war cry to put his enemy off guard and bring allies. Saris began yelping frantically as she awoke and realised the danger, and Sophelia started screaming. But he didn’t have time for any of that as he found the side of the table and advanced on the assassin, weapons in hand. The assassin for his part, was also ready, two long stilettos in his hands, both of them with dark blades coated with poison.
Iros made the first move, lunging forwards with his longsword to stab straight at the man’s chest causing him to turn to his side. But he didn’t lunge far expecting the response as the assassin tried to step inside his reach and take a slice at his sword hand. He was only testing the black clad man’s skill with his blades. And he was glad he had, as it was then that he knew the man was trained. Someone less well trained would have tried to reach him with the blade, hurled it at him, or dodged aside and Iros would have had him. Instead he had to dance back a little and deflect the blade with his sword.
After that it became a battle of tactics. Iros started weaving his swords in an arc of parrying, all the while making sure of his surroundings, and the assassin did much the same. Each was busy weighing the other up. Both were trying to work out who had the advantage. And it wasn’t clear. Iros had the reach and a breastplate to deflect a blade from his chest, the assassin had speed and blades dripping with poison. And both were trained. Slowly the two men circled each other warily, each waiting for the other to make the first move. In this game, whoever struck first would be the one at the disadvantage.
“Iros?” Sophelia called to him, fear in her voice, and he knew he didn’t have time for her. He couldn’t let her get involved either.
“Stay down and hold on to Saris. I can deal with this.” He didn’t take his eyes off the assassin for an instant as he spoke, or rather off the man’s blades and posture looking for that first sign of a strike, and he was glad of it. Thinking he was distracted, the man lunged quickly forwards to his left with one of the blades, looking to draw him out of position so that he could strike with his other blade, but Iros was ready for it. And even as the assassin tried to duck and weave under his blades, Iros took a slice out of his cheek with the longsword.
The assassin danced back, shocked more than hurt, and then put a gloved hand to his masked cheek. Iros was certain that there would be blood on it. He could see the hesitation in his movements and knew he’d been caught by surprise.
“You thought this would be easy?” Iros mocked him, knowing full well the value of a good taunt to distract an opponent. “You thought I would be old and sick, asleep in bed like your other victims?”
The man grunted a little, but was quickly back in position, knives at the ready, and Iros knew that he wouldn’t try the same move twice. He was right.
The assassin lunged straight at him, arms extended, blades on an angle to deflect his swords, hoping after that to cut at his middle. It was a desperation move, but when they could both hear shouting and the sounds of heavy boots running down the hallways, it was all he had, and Iros was ready for it.
He didn’t let his blades be knocked aside, instead stiffening his grip on them and bringing them together hard. The result was that instead of the man breaking through his guard, he found his own hands knocked together, the knives useless in them as he was held, and that gave Iros the chance he needed. He pushed down and twisted slightly, putting his weight on his right foot as he pushed to the left, turning the man’s arms and body around. And when the assassin was out of position and off balance, Iros struck, letting his longsword take a good piece out of the man’s side.
The assassin cried out, a small yelp of pain and shock that he quickly cut short, before returning to his position. But he was wounded, and the guards were coming. They both knew that. The battle would not be his. So he started hunting desperately for an escape, trying to pretend that he wasn’t. Trying to pretend also that his right side wasn’t so weak though he struggled to hide it.
“The door maybe.” Iros taunted him some more. “But all the guards are coming and you’re wounded. You wouldn’t make it past them.”
“The window then, save that we’re on the first floor and you won’t have time to climb down. You’d have to jump and there are more soldiers out there waiting.”
In answer the assassin screamed once more, and tried another desperate lunge to his right. But this time it wasn’t a feint. He couldn’t twist and strike to the other side with his wound, and Iros knew it. So instead Iros twisted aside and let him over extend himself as he slipped by. Then he used his parrying blade to open up his right side some more, slicing him from his ribs down to his thigh, before stepping back and waiting for the assassin to try and regain his position.
“My Lord!” A soldier had finally made it through the door behind him, and was obviously shocked as he called out. But Iros was completely calm.
“I have this soldier. Draw your crossbow and go to the far side of the room and keep my wife safe. But do not fire unless I say to.” He didn’t take his eyes off his enemy for even a heartbeat as he gave the man his orders, too many years of training making certain of that. But he didn’t really need to worry about him any longer. Even as the assassin somehow regained his position with his knives extended, Iros could see the blood pooling on the floorboards around his feet. It was a lot of blood.
“So any last words? Like who paid you? Before you die of blood loss.” Actually Iros wasn’t taunting him then. Things had gone too far for that and he was genuinely curious. Even knowing it was unlikely the assassin would reveal his master. But the man still reacted as if he was, letting out a small scream of rage. It didn’t bother him. Iros knew that a good assassin would never reveal his masters, and this man was skilled. The sculpted asps on the hilts of his knives spoke to that. He was a brother of the asp not an angry drunk. Whoever it was that had hired him, had paid a lot of gold for his services. Luckily he had wasted his gold as it turned out.
The assassin raised his good arm above his head to hurl his blade at him, yelling one last time, and Iros readied himself to dodge. But three bolts found the assassin’s chest before he’d even started the throw. After that he just gasped one final time and fell backwards to the floor, dead before he hit it.
“Hell’s teeth!” Iros let out the curse as he realised he would get nothing more from the man. But as he turned to lambaste the soldiers he quickly thought better of it as he saw them standing there, reloading their crossbows frantically, protecting his wife and hound with their bodies. He sighed instead. They were little more than children, not well trained, and they had done the best they could.
“Rest easy soldiers.” He waved at them casually and watched as they let their weapons fall to their sides. They too knew the battle was over.
Then Sophelia and Saris burst out from behind the soldiers and rushed to his side, and confusion ruled. But it was a good confusion as Iros enjoyed his wife’s comforting arms once more. He brushed blue hair out of his face and as she rained soft kisses all over his face. At his side Saris crowded in trying to reassure herself that her master was okay. By the time he’d managed to calm them both, the library was full of soldiers and advisors, and more were standing at the doorway, looking in.
“A Brother of the Asp.” Juna was already crouched over the assassin’s body, examining him. The man’s mask was off to reveal a face that looked like any other. A little
more lined perhaps, but there was nothing about it that said he was an assassin. He could as easily have been a trader or a farmer. Save for the growing pile of weapons that Juno began slowly and carefully removing from his body. So many knives and other blades, all of them covered in a dark sheen of poison.
“Someone paid this man a lot of gold for your head.”
“And we both know who.” Iros didn’t even have to wonder as he knew there were only two it could be. Finell, once high lord and his cousin by law, now wandering somewhere in exile in the elven realm he had once ruled, if the stories were true. Or Y’aris, his black blooded advisor, missing without a trace. And whichever it was, assuming they weren’t still together, Iros knew that he wouldn’t be their only target.
“Soldier”, he called out to the one standing nearest to him who at least looked slightly more experienced than the rest. “To the roost and waken the pigeon master. I want five pigeons flying within the hour. One to each of the other four southern realms and one to the king. They need to know that an assassin has been hired for me, and that more may well be seeking their deaths even now.”
