An Assassin's Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Justin DePaoli

  “You’ve come to terms, then?” I asked. “With the slave girls you’ve not yet freed? You can’t free them all, you know.”

  Vayle crossed her arms. “My camp was destroyed when Braddock sicced his warmongers on us. I am ten days’ ride at best from reestablishing my previous position, and several weeks away from restocking with good men and women. It would seem by that time, this world will be dead. I do have one request if I am to join you.”

  I raised my brow.

  She tightened her lips into a smile that struck me like a sorrowful arrow. She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Everything good must end, Astul. Better it ends quickly and furiously than slowly and painfully. I think you’ll find your assassins quite agree. One more for all of the Black Rot, not just you and me. What do you say?”

  My eyes felt hot. “One more” — I swallowed the lump in my throat — “one more for the Black Rot.”

  Chapter 25

  Picture this. Two swooping masses of rock, a yawning basin of sand and grit stretching between them. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see where the horizon of the basin concludes. It seems to go on forever, perhaps ending only when it drops off the other side of the world. And if you ever fancied seeing that sheer drop into oblivion, well, now’s your chance, ’cause a well-placed bridge — intelligently placed, you might say — of sand as dense and heavy as a brick extends like a branch over a creek, offering you the trip of a lifetime.

  My Rots and I set out across that bridge on horseback. It was not the edge of the world we were looking for, but we would meet oblivion nevertheless.

  To our backs, docks were crusted over with salt that used to wash ashore from the ocean that once filled this basin. Some of the villagers had deserted. Others stayed behind, prophesying the end times through their teary eyes, determined to stay in their homes as the cataclysm came. An emaciated man had lunged for Rory’s satchels, hungering for the food he claimed to smell. His mind was playing tricks on him, because one doesn’t smell stale bread, and that was all we were carrying. It was all we needed.

  Stay alive until the reaped poured through. That was the only job we had. The last job the Black Rot would ever undertake.

  The width of the bridge allowed all twenty-two of us to ride abreast with about twenty feet of space on either side. Pockets of water lay in the basin below, swirling with the glossy reflection of a sun that roasted both the earth and the back of my neck.

  A boundless splash of beige besieged us, monotony tightening its grip as we ventured deeper into this newly made desert. A graveyard of flat, dull scales lay amongst the sand — rotting fish whose flesh and eyes were being feasted upon by opportunistic vultures and crows and gulls.

  Sometimes I looked into the sky, wondering if perhaps hope would strike as it had when I’d stood before the gates of Edenvaile, the bluster of winter chilling my spine. But, no. Only a starlit sky at night, and a blue wonder in the day.

  We came to our resting place as twilight settled above. Our horses snorted and flicked their tails, perturbed at the sight before them.

  A ways out lay a ridged shelf poised high above the basin. When the sea was full, water would have lapped against the edge. But now? Now the edge was stained with the blackness of shadows. Tall, corrugated shadows that bore resemblance to jagged shapes created from bare bone and fleshless skulls.

  Their numbers were innumerable. From left to right they gathered, as wide as the eye could see before the haze of a distance too great muddled your view. From front to back they stood, in formal rows reminiscent of a proper army.

  They were idle, as if frozen in time.

  “Gods,” Rimeria said. “There must be thousands.”

  “What are they waiting for?” Rory asked. “Sea’s drained.”

  I looked at the sun crescendoing over the mountains far behind Lith. “They’re waiting for the right time. Better they arrive in Mizridahl at nightfall than during the day. They’ll take the fishing villages by surprise. By morning, they’ll be on their way to the larger cities, kingdoms. Poor bastards won’t know what hit ’em.”

  A crow circled above, cawing.

  “We hadn’t stood a bloody chance,” Demerick said.

  “We had more than a chance,” I said. “I had a plan.”

  Unfortunately, plans don’t work very well when their success depends on a king who believes the bloody sea is his mother and a rebellious nineteen-year-old conjurer.

  The crow belted out a series of caws in a one-two pattern. A small black bird hopping along on the bridge cocked his head at us, then chirped.

  “Well, I say fuck it,” Millis said. “Everyone croaks eventually, yeah? How many get to say they took a dirt nap fighting some undead fuckers?”

  “Everyone on Mizridahl will get to say that,” Rory said.

  “Oh. Suppose you’re right.”

  The black bird bounced on its bony feet toward us, head swiveling.

  “Most will die cowering behind their beds, clinging to their loved ones,” I said. “We’re going out swinging ebon and chopping off some heads. Black Rot style.”

  The Rots grinned at that. But fear dwelled behind those proud faces. I saw it in their forceful swallows, their grinding jaws. Their relentless gazes ahead, into the fortress of white bone.

  “It appears you have a friend,” Vayle said. The black bird flapped its wings and settled on the head of my horse, who was none too pleased about this turn of events. She flicked her ears and snorted unhappily.

  The bird aimed its beak at me, then squawked.

  The crow circling above us cawed and swooped down in a tight spiral. A moment later, I had two birds sitting before me. The crow regarded me coolly with its beady eyes. It stuck its neck out and swiveled its head. Then it lifted a foot, opened its talons and dropped a balled-up piece of paper into my saddle.

  And it flew off, along with the black bird.

  I delicately unfolded the paper and quickly realized it wasn’t just a piece, but multiple pieces.

  “What is it?” Vayle asked.

  “Looks like journal entries,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Apparently my commander saw what I could feel, which was the color draining from my face.

  Journal Entries

  Day One

  It is with regret I draw only from the experience of reading. As such, this text may appear to have little regard for common acceptance among savants, but should I perish in this attempt to discover a cure, I hope it will suffice.

  We have settled in at the library. It is not an ideal location, but my protector — who, in an effort to spare his life, shall never be named — feels these walls provide us the greatest defense should an attack occur.

  On the morning after crossing the Bay of Selaph — which is depleting rapidly — we changed our direction and approached Lith from the rear, avoiding the enormous gathering of reaped at the shoreline. Several were scattered amongst the city, but my protector dispatched most of them. Fortunately, he managed to take into custody two. Science would refer to these as test subjects and assign numbers to each, but science must sometimes adopt new morals. I have named them Serith and Nilly, after my parents. I hope to do for these reaped what I could not for my mother and father.

  They are currently bound with rope, locked in a small closet for both their safety and ours. Tomorrow I will begin my research. Tonight, I must sleep.

  Day Two

  I have discovered something interesting. I am focusing only on Serith at this moment, so I cannot say if this holds true for Nilly, but it appears that all of his memories and thoughts have remained intact. This is contrary to what we believe happens when a soul is pulled from Amortis into the living realm.

  But there is a problem. They are not connected. For a thought to feed energy to the mind, it must be connected by a network of tendrils. This is the basis behind the mending of mind in conjuration.

  Serith’s thoughts and memories appear to be floating. They exist, but
like a plant whose flowers lay on the ground, they are nothing more than litter. Only rudimentary thoughts remain intact, such as those that govern basic needs.

  I will work on reconnecting his severed thoughts and memories tomorrow. I will cause myself harm if I try today… accessing Serith’s mind was more difficult than I’d imagined. But it seems to have calmed him down. And Nilly too. Hmm.

  A group of reaped attacked the library today. They are gone now.

  Day Two — Nighttime

  I can’t sleep. I can hear their growls outside. They seemed so far away just a couple hours ago, but now… I can feel the thunder in my feet. But I cannot see them. They must be gathering beyond the walls.

  Day Eighteen

  After many days, I’m feeling better. I remember watching a young boy go deep into the mind once. He never returned. I didn’t think that would ever happen with me. But I pushed myself too hard, and I almost lost control. Work will continue with Serith and Nilly tomorrow.

  Day Nineteen

  Yes! Yes! Yes! I can’t stop dancing around the library. It worked. Serith acknowledges his name and even memories from his childhood. On an individual basis, this is amazing. In the context of Occrum’s intentions, it’s not so positive. It takes time to mend the mind. I’ll need to figure out a way to grasp thoughts and memories on a massive scale if my plan to turn the reaped army against Occrum has any hope of working. It’s been nineteen days since I landed in Lith. I’m running out of time. Tomorrow I’ll bring Serith and Nilly together. Nilly has been untouched thus far, and Serith still has a few loose thoughts. If I can probe both of their minds at the same time — without killing myself — I can turn the tide on Occrum. And equally important, I can free so many lost souls who have been perverted into reaped. I can restore their histories. Their dreams, their aspirations, their lives! I could open schools in Amortis, spread my research to the tips of the world.

  But first, sleep. I sleep so much now. Almost eighteen hours a day, but it’s necessary.

  Day Twenty

  I can’t stop shaking. I opened the closet door and Nilly greeted me by name. She told me that in a very strange, abstract way, she recognized Serith as her own, and her thoughts and will over her mind slowly gushed into her eyes and ears, as if a dam had been broken.

  Is there an innate connection among all reaped? I guess the whys don’t matter. If the key to returning the reaped to their former selves lies in recognition of another… then I have the key. We have the key. I have to return to Astul. It’s getting late. I can hear their growls. They’re so much closer. There must be twenty thousand of them on the beach now. I hope we can get out safely.

  Twenty-night

  Dammit! Dammit! They’re inside. Something made them come inside. My protector barred the doors, but they won’t hold. There’s a bird in here with me. He flew in a couple days ago when my protector went to check on a noise. He’s a crow, and he might be this world’s last hope.

  My only prayer is that it’s quick.

  Chapter 26

  My hands shivered as I read page after page, ten in total. I was breathing through my gaped mouth now. “We have to go.” I snapped my head up. “She discovered a way to turn the reaped to our side.”

  “Is she in troub—” Vayle didn’t finish her sentence — she received her answer from the look on my face. “Occrum?”

  A torrent of emotions ruptured in my chest, clawing up to my throat. Fuck! I couldn’t bloody think, much less talk.

  Vayle reared her horse around. “Listen up! We’re going back. I want half of you to evacuate every village you come across, from here to Watchmen’s Bay. Get them to leave by any means necessary. They’re to seek shelter in Dercy’s kingdom. Once you reach the gates, inform Dercy Daniser that he has an army marching to his walls.”

  “A dead army?” Rory asked. “Think he’ll believe that?”

  “Make him believe it. Everyone else will ride for the North. Get Patrick Verdan down to Watchmen’s Bay.”

  Deep breathing and some inner monologue cleared my head. “No. Forget the North. They won’t arrive in time. If the reaped overrun Dercy before we can get Lysa, it’s better the North remain united where they are. Everyone to Watchmen’s Bay. Let’s move.”

  Shuffling hooves kicked the dust of dry sand into the air as my Rots shifted around.

  Vayle positioned her mare next to mine. “Everyone to Watchmen’s Bay?” she said. “You know that I’m coming with you.”

  “I know,” I said, eyes affixed to the horde of corpses. “Time for another dance in Amortis.”

  I took the papers from my pocket and read them again. Every page was neatly written, except the last, whose letters were scribbled by a clumsy hand.

  Captured. Occrum. Send help.

  The terror Lysa must have felt when penning those words.

  “You believe it’s still there?” Vayle asked. “How long do they persist?”

  “Forever? Maybe a year? I’ve no idea. It better still be there, or we’ll be more fucked than we already are. Hmm. Wonder if a horse can make it through. I’d rather not try to commandeer one in Amortis. More difficult than it sounds, trust me.”

  I clicked my heels, easing my mare down into the Hole. She went cautiously, uncertain.

  “Is there anything I should know before entering this tear?” Vayle asked, her voice echoing through the hollow hole.

  “Well, you might want to take one long look at the Hole before you leave. ’Cause if you kick the bucket in Amortis, you won’t be coming back.”

  “I intend to live.”

  I pointed ahead. “Should be right there.”

  “I can’t see it.”

  “You’re not supposed to see it. It’s a tear in time. A wee little thing, from what I gather. Anywho… here goes. See you on the other side, Commander.”

  A blink. That’s all it ever was. And then you were through. Couldn’t feel a thing, couldn’t hear a thing. At least after the first time.

  “Look at that,” I said to my mare, rustling her ears. “Welcome to the land of the dead, Missy.”

  “Interesting,” Vayle said, examining her surroundings carefully. “I expected something different.”

  “Let me guess. You thought it’d be a colorless gray, a sort of purgatory.”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. Turns out being dead is just like being alive. Exciting, huh? Feel anything coming through? Some sort of, er, emotional pain, perhaps?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  I rubbed my chin and thought about it. How’d she get through without suffering the same shit I had when traversing the tear that led into Rav’s house?

  “Way I understand it,” I said, “is if you have regrets, you’re going to have a rather bad first experience coming through.”

  “I don’t have regrets,” Vayle said. “I gave them all up when I prepared for death. Do you know where we are?”

  “You kidding? I’m a veteran of this place. We’re… in a forest.”

  Vayle brushed a drooping branch of needles out of her eyes. “I can see that.”

  “Near a village,” I clarified. “I’ve got a few friends there. You could say I’m popular around these parts.”

  “Then lead the way, reverent one of Amortis.” She smirked.

  I clicked my tongue. “Right. I believe it’s that way. Or that way.” I turned in my saddle. “Could be over there.”

  It began to rain. Cold, swollen drops that filtered down through the canopy of the forest. As the pine-littered floor drank its fill, I saw puddles forming in the shape of wheel tracks.

  “Voilà,” I said, leading my mare over to the worn trail. “It’s most definitely this way. You can thank Taryl.”

  “Taryl?”

  “One of the village people. His wagon’s responsible for these tracks. At least I hope it’s his wagon. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The dismal weather persisted long after our slow-moving horses put the tear behind us. I’d have preferre
d to move with more haste, but long legs, hooves and wet mud do not mix.

  The sound and sensation of a steady rain was comforting at first, and a nice change from the brutality of Mizridahl’s drought, but once everything except my balls were cold and sopping wet, I hoped the sun might come out to play.

  It did not. But the trees were thinning now, which meant the forest was drawing to a close. And beyond the tree line lay the village whose inhabitants would welcome me in like a brother, and they’d tell me which way to the Prim, because I couldn’t well remember. But I knew from the Prim it was a straight shot to the cove. And through the cove, Occrum. More importantly, Lysa.

  Before the outskirts of the village even came into view, Red Eye and his band of merry archers greeted Vayle and me just as they had greeted Lysa, Rovid and me: with nocked arrows and drawn strings.

  Red Eye pointed at me knowingly.

  “I’m back,” I said. “With another friend. Can I talk to Silma, please?”

  He gestured for us to come forth.

  I leaned in toward Vayle and whispered, “Guy scares the shit out of me.”

  Crokdaw Village welcomed us in with… well, silence. The circular streets were empty. No buzzing of children and busybodies out and about this time. It seemed the weather had chased everyone inside.

  Red Eye held up his palm, asking — or ordering — us to wait.

  Out of the large building at the center of the village walked a bare-bodied woman. Hair black and braided, hanging around her shoulder, beyond her breasts.

  “Silma,” I said, climbing down from my horse.

  Her tight lips formed a smile, teeth concealed. “Astul.” She bent her knees, opened her arms and bowed her head. She considered Vayle. “And you are?”