by C. L. Scheel
Assur wished he had sent Achad on this errand--even Mar'Kess had warned him of traps. They all rode quietly--he, Mar'Kess and an able guard of Riehlians, but Assur could not help but feel they were being watched. If it hadn't been for the knife, he would have sent someone else.
The Gorendtian courier had arrived in their camp at dawn.
The saddle knife, the one Assur had given to Kitarisa, had been handed to him by a quaking Gorendtian youth sent by Kazan.
An escort of Ponos, eyes marked in bloody red, brought the frightened boy directly to Assur's field tent, where he prostrated himself to the ground, offering up the saddle knife as a kind of currency for his life. The last time Assur had seen the knife he had taken it from the hands of Lady Falla, who had also used it as a talisman to authenticate her plea for Kitarisa's life.
"Great Lord," the courier stammered. "I bring you greetings from my Lord Kazan and a message from the one you call Kuurus."
Assur's eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. "Kuurus has a message for me? How is this possible?"
Mar'Kess leaned over to him. "It is a trick, my lord."
Assur nodded and waved his hand for Mar'Kess to be silent.
"Kuurus is dead and Summoned. Tell me how Kazan came by this knife? And I warn you--you are speaking to your Ter-Rey. I have no tolerance for lying."
The boy gulped, eyeing the sword hilts rising from Assur's back. "Great Lord, Prince Kazan sends his greetings and the knife as a token of his sincerity. I do not know how he came by the knife--that is the truth, by Verlian's blood!"
"Go on."
"My Lord Kazan wishes to convey his offer for peace between Your Highness and Gorendt. He wishes to discuss your terms for surrender."
Assur frowned. "Kazan offers to sue for peace after only one day of battle?
"He asks to meet with you tomorrow. He will return your warrior, the one called Kuurus, at daybreak. You will meet him at the village of the split tree, Broken Oak. There, he will inform you of the meeting place."
"It is a trap, my lord," Nattuck muttered angrily. "A trick to expose you! Do not accept his offer."
"What is the message from Kuurus?" he asked, unperturbed by Nattuck's seething.
The young courier glanced nervously from one Talesian to the next, genuinely afraid for his life. He swallowed hard again.
"The message is for you Great Lord. It is,'riddagh'mar'."
The boy's pronunciation of the ancient Talesian word was deplorable, but clear enough to be understood. Assur frowned again. Riddagh'mar, taken out of any context was difficult to translate. It had several nuances to its meaning. It meant `truthsaying', or `truthfulness', but in some forms it could mean "the truth to be told or revealed." Why Kuurus' chose such a word was disturbing and unclear. Only a Talesian could have selected such a word, but in doing so, invited a host of speculation. Kuurus could have been hinting that the truth of the battle would be revealed, or that the courier himself was being honest. Or that Kazan was being truthful in his desire for peace. Assur's greatest concern was that the word meant the truth of Kuurus' fate would be now known, as he was certain the Reverend `Fa had knowledge of their ancient language and all of its meanings. It still had the reek of a trap.
Assur leaned forward so the courier would not misunderstand a single word he said.
"You will return to Kazan. Tell him I will accept his offer for peace. His legions will lay down their weapons and he, Kazan, will be at that tree, along with Kuurus. No warriors are to accompany him to the tree, except for Kuurus. And, Kazan will come unarmed. Is that clear, boy?" he said sternly. Assur signaled for him to rise.
The courier nodded and rose to his feet, bowed and hurried away to his horse and the rest of his escort.
He knew Kazan would readily accept the terms, but Mar'Kess and the others remained wary.
Assur was no fool and had heeded their advice. He took a full complement of warriors, heavily armed and alert to the slightest danger.
He glanced up at the dull, iron-gray sky. It would soon snow and he wanted this tiresome business to be over with as soon as possible.
As they approached the great, twisted tree, every nerve in Assur's body sang with warnings. Slowly he drew the hand sword from his back. To his surprise, he saw Kuurus alone, mounted on an unknown horse, waiting for him under the great oak. A broad smile broke over Kuurus' scarred features as he swung down from his horse to greet him.
"My Lord Assur!
His smile was too broad, even for Kuurus, and Assur did not lower his sword.
"You are unharmed Kuurus? What have they done to you?"
"I have been treated well," Kuurus answered, taking a step forward. It was then Assur saw the strained look in his eyes and the paleness of his skin--the same sickly whiteness he had seen the day Kuurus ingested the marglim blood.
"Where is Courronus?" he demanded, still not lowering his sword.
"He is well and awaiting his own release when this treaty is completed.
"And Kazan?"
"Kazan comes, my lord. He--"
Assur was certain he heard Kuurus make some kind of strangled sound in his throat. He lowered his sword a fraction and pulled down the cloth from his face.
"Come closer, Kuurus."
The battle-scarred Siarsi took another step closer to him and stopped. His mouth began to work frantically as if trying to say something. Kuurus' eyes suddenly betrayed an inner desperation, a wildness.
Assur kicked his leg over the pommel of the saddle and slid to the ground. "Kuurus, old friend, what is it?"
Without warning, Kuurus suddenly raised his arms over his head, his sword in his hands. The anguish on his face all too clearly revealed his betrayal and as he swung down on Assur, one agonized word escaping his lips: "Riddagh'mar!"
The truth was being revealed--the truth was a lie.
Assur deftly blocked the blow, forcing Kuurus to lose his balance with the forward momentum of the strike. Taking advantage of him, Assur brought the pommel end of his own sword down on Kuurus' back with enough force to send him to the ground.
Every nerve hummed with hate as he sensed danger behind him. Assur whirled around to find himself facing at least twenty Wrathmen and the sneering face of Captain Syunn.
The Wrathmen greatly outnumbered the Riehlian escort and while they fought bravely they were no match for them.
Assur flung himself at Syunn in a cold rage, but his efforts were too late. Six of the hated Wrathmen leaped at him, wresting away his sword and pinning his arms back. Assur fought them like a cornered animal. He looked up to see several of his Riehlian escort take multiple wounds--their death cries filled the chill morning as they fell to the ground. Only Mar'Kess had managed to stay mounted as he slashed down at the encroaching Wrathmen.
Assur struggled in the Wrathmen's grip using every fiber of his strength to free himself from their hold.
"Mar'Kess! Go!" he shouted just as he felt the blow against his neck, below his right ear. One of the Wrathmen had managed to disentangle himself from Assur's struggling long enough to use the end of his staff to strike him. Assur reeled from the blow and collapsed to his knees, his own blood staining his armor.
Mar'Kess needed no second warning and spun the bay horse around and fled, leaving Assur and the dead Riehlians in the hands of their most hated enemies. A handful of Wrathmen ran for their horses to try and stop Mar'Kess, but a cool feminine voice rang over them.
"Let him go. I have what I want."
Assur looked up to see the form of a woman clothed in radiant white, mounted on a white horse saddled and caparisoned in blood-red. Pure white hair fell beyond her knees, and looking into her face, he saw that her eyes had no color but seemed to bore through him like knives of ice.
"At last, I have snared our royal bird," she said, smiling at him triumphantly. "A worthy foe and a most satisfactory prize. Kuurus, you will disarm him as he will have no need for the swords where he is going."
Assur turned on Kuurus. Beads of
agonized sweat ran down the Siarsi's scarred face as he struggled between his loyalty to Assur and the power she had over him. His mouth worked frantically as he tried to form words.
"My lord...she made me...I cannot fight..."
Assur suddenly lunged against his captors, freeing himself long enough to snatch his remaining sword from his back. He whirled on Malgora, his sword poised over his shoulder like a viper's fang ready to strike her down.
"Let him go!"
Malgora's head went back, her eyes closed as if savoring some kind of ecstasy. "So much power in this one...so much strength," she murmured. Her head snapped up and she glared at Assur. "Disarm him Captain, and bind his hands!"
Captain Syunn stepped forward, sword in hand. He smiled at Assur and dipped his own sword in a mock salute.
"So, the traveling Talesian turns out to be a royal barbarian. It will be a pleasure to take a sword out of the hands of a ruthless animal, Holy Sister."
Assur ignored the insult, but faced Captain Syunn, poised and ready for him.
"Then come and get it, lapdog," he said in a soft, menacing voice.
The ring of steel on steel filled the cold morning air as the two of them circled each other and fought in silent fury.
As before, Syunn's skills were excellent, but he did not possess Assur's deadly accuracy, nor the intense ruthlessness. And like before, Assur cut him once in the arm and the second time on the cheek. Enraged beyond endurance, Syunn flung himself at the Talesian--a lucky feint blocked Assur's thrust, but knocked them off balance. Both fell heavily to the ground, scrambling frantically to find lost swords and flinging their encumbering clothing out of the way.
"Enough," Malgora shouted. She gestured to the other Wrathmen who stepped into the fray and surrounded Assur, their swords pointed down at his chest.
"Take him," she snapped.
In quick order her minions stripped Assur of his sword and the other one lying on the ground and yanked him to a kneeling position before the White Sister. Roughly, they bound his hands in front of him, then took a long rod, a broken handle from a hayfork and shoved it through the bend in his elbows across his back.
Still breathing hard from his exertions, Assur looked up at Malgora with hate filling his black-marked eyes.
"You will die for this, witch," he said evenly.
"Indeed? An interesting threat which you will have little opportunity to fulfill, especially where you are going."
She stepped forward and bent down to him, her colorless eyes were bright with cruelty. "Do not fight me, prince. I can make you feel more pain than you ever thought possible one body could endure. You must save your strength for later."
To emphasize her point, Malgora reached out with one white hand and touched him on the cheekbone and temple. Pain knifed through his head as if someone had driven a steel rod through it. It throbbed behind his eyes and at the base of his skull. He fought an uncontrollable urge to scream, clenched his jaw and took a harder grip on his sanity. He felt something give or break and suddenly blood began to run freely from his nose.
"You are stronger than I thought," she said with a slight smile. "The Siarsi begged for mercy when I touched him. You will be hard to break, but then the rewards will be immeasurable."
She stepped away from him and motioned to Syunn.
"Get him on a horse and watch him. I do not want to lose what I have worked so long to get."
Kuurus' hands shook while holding his own sword as he approached Assur. The agony of his own betrayal clearly etched on his face.
"My lord, forgive me!" Kuurus cried. The fierce Siarsi raised his sword and turned it over in his hands, the sharp point against his own chest as he slowly knelt down in preparation to throw himself on it.
"Stop him," Malgora screamed.
Before he could finish his own sacrifice, more Wrathmen swarmed over Kuurus, disarming him and then binding him like Assur.
"Your death is in my hands now, Siarsi, and your lord will watch you die." She jerked her hand toward Captain Syunn. "Get them on the horses."
"And the others, Holy Sister? In the village?" Syunn asked.
"If any of these warriors are still alive, kill them. Kill the rest in the village, but do it quickly. And hide the bodies well. I do not want them to be found like the others."
The Wrathman dragged Assur to his feet and forced him onto the nearest horse. He happened to glance down to his right and saw a scrap of white ruffle and a gnarled walking stick. The pain left him momentarily as he concentrated his rage into a cold knot of vengeance.
No one seemed to notice that the great gray, Adzra, had somehow disappeared or wandered off. Assur said nothing, but allowed them to shove him onto the nearest horse.
From behind him, Assur heard the screams of the remaining Riehlians as they were put to the sword. Another vow of vengeance-- there would be no mercy. If the world thought Talesians had been cruel three hundred sunturns ago, then they did not know the meaning of cruelty. Assur glanced at Syunn's smirking, self-satisfied face. The Wrathman captain would be first. Malgora's favorite lapdog would beg to die.
The wooden rod had been pulled from his arms and someone flung the fur cloak over his shoulders. A sallow-faced Wrathman took up his horse's reins and the grim band made its way out of the village toward the east and the Catacombs.
THE BOY WAITED a long time until he felt it was absolutely safe to come out of his hiding place. The village was empty now, except for the soft noises of the animals. Slowly he eased out of his hiding place and made his way to where he had tied up the warhorse. He had never ridden such a big horse, only the sturdy cart ponies of the village. But it had been easy to slip up to the big gray, take the reins and lead him away. Left untied the horse had ambled off to the nearest patch of dried-up grasses and leaves.
Unsure the horse would let him get on his back, he approached Adzra and patted him encouragingly.
"There's a good horse," he whispered. The boy led the Adzra up to a nearby cart and sidled him against the wheel. As fast as he could, he scrambled onto the cart and then sprang across the short space into the saddle. His thin legs came barely to the middle of the horse's sides.
The great beast did not move, but seemed to know something was not right. Obediently, he allowed the boy to nudge him into a walk.
It was a long ride to Riehl and he did not know the way. He clutched at the reins with frozen fingers. When it became dark the marglims would be out. He kicked at the horse's sides and surprisingly, the big gray obliged him by breaking into a ground-eating canter. He grabbed for the pommel and closed his eyes. The horse moved much faster than anything he had ever ridden. He prayed Verlian to help him find the way and to save the man he now knew to be the Ter-Rey.
His young boy's heart had taken its first step into manhood now that everyone was gone. All of them were butchered. He did not know much about being a warrior, but he knew instinctively about being brave. He remembered that brief, thrilling lesson and tried to make himself be calm. He shivered and tugged at his inadequate cloak.
Aerik took a firmer grip on the reins and urged Assur's great warhorse into a faster gallop.
Chapter 18
FRANTIC POUNDING on her door awoke Kitarisa from a restless sleep. She jerked upright, her wildly beating heart matched the hammering on her door.
"Highness, please wake up! It is Mar'Kess!"
Kitarisa scrambled from the bed and snatched up her dressing gown. She had barely enough time before the pounding resumed. She pulled open the door to reveal Mar'Kess filthy and exhausted, Achad pale and serious.
"Mar'Kess, my Lord Achad, what is the matter?"
"You must get dressed right away, Kitarisa," Achad ordered firmly. "Something has happened to Assur and the others."
"What has happened?" She looked frantically into their eyes and could only see a desperate attempt from both men to remain calm.
"My lady, Prince Assur has been taken by Malgora and the Wrathmen. From our sources it appears t
hey trapped him in the village where he went to accept Kazan's defeat."
Kitarisa felt the blood leave her face. "How do you know this?" she whispered.
The older prince and the captain eyed each other uneasily.
"I think you'd better come with us," Achad said firmly.
She dressed faster than she thought possible and then hurried with the two men to the main courtyard of the keep.
A group of soldiers, stablemen, and a knot of tense Talesians milled around the upper steps leading into the interior of the keep. At the center of their attention, a physick knelt by someone or something. Kitarisa pressed through the crowd and looked down at what was causing such a stir. A sob escaped her throat. It was Aerik. The little boy lay on the top step, his thin body wrapped in blankets that could not stop him from shaking. His hands were blue with cold.
The physick noticed her and smiled. "Ah, Lady Kitarisa, I'm so glad you're here. The boy has been asking for you."
She knelt by Aerik and gently pushed back his scraggly hair.
"Aerik, it is Kitarisa. Can you hear me?"
The boy nodded. Relieved, she saw the trace of a smile on his lips.
"My lady, she took him and the others. It was a trap. They took him to the Catacombs. I tried to hurry, but I got lost and...and I was so c-c-cold!"
"Hush now. You were a very brave boy." She looked up at the physick. "Master Nal'Ver, please help me to get him to a warm bed."
"I found him, my lady, not far from the outside wall. It was by chance I happened to see Adzra. He could not have been but an hour behind me," Mar'Kess said, lifting the boy into his arms.
The crowd readily parted as Mar'Kess carried the boy into the keep and headed straight to one of the many guest rooms where there would be a fire already laid out.
Achad and the physick followed close on their heels, followed by a handful of worried-looking Riehlians and Councilor De'Tai.
Once Aerik was comfortably tucked into the bed, Kitarisa sent for some hot soup and began ladling it down his throat.
Gratefully the boy ate all the soup and sank back into the pillows.
