Assassin's Charge: An Echoes of Imara Novel

by Claire Frank

  Sweat broke out on his upper lip. “You will die for this.”

  “We all die someday,” Rhis said. “Even your precious Emperor can’t stop that from happening to you.”

  “You cannot cross the Order of the Gray Cloaks,” Jeshor said. His voice was strained and his face pallid. He tried to stand but Rhis hit him with a solid backhand.

  “Stay where you are,” she said. She took another piece of the cord and bound his feet, then picked through his clothes. He’d taken off his sword before coming into the room, but she relieved him of another knife and a ring of keys, and took a folded handkerchief from an inside pocket. Jeshor started to speak but Rhis shook out the cloth and rammed it into his mouth.

  He had another coil of rope at his belt and Rhis used it to finish tying him to the chair. When she was convinced he was secure, she sat down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and let the keys dangle from her fingers. She forced herself to keep her eyes up and not look at her hands. They weren’t yet shaking, but seeing them crusted over with blood and dirt would ruin her focus.

  Jeshor’s eyes were wide with fear. She doubted anyone had dared oppose him on even the slightest matter since he donned that cloak.

  “You don’t want to die,” Rhis said. “No one does. And everyone, to a man, is surprised when their time arrives. It doesn’t matter how many enemies they’ve made, how they should have seen it coming. They never do.” She cocked her head to the side. “I suppose I’ll have that same look on my face that you have now. Shock. Disbelief. Perhaps you’re wondering why, or how you could have let this happen. You’re running through the last ten minutes in your mind, seeing where you went wrong. Or maybe you have reasons to live, people you’ll miss. People you think will miss you. They might.”

  Jeshor swallowed hard and tried to speak through the gag.

  “I’m not actually going to kill you,” Rhis said. “Despite my profession, I prefer not to take a life if they aren’t trying to take mine—when I’m not being paid for it, obviously. But I might be persuaded to drag your own dagger across your throat if you decide not to cooperate.”

  The Gray Cloak nodded. Such a coward.

  “Where are my companions being kept? In this same hallway?”

  Nod.

  “When I walk out this door, will they be to my left?”

  He shook his head, no.

  “To my right, then. In separate rooms?”

  Nod.

  “Locked, I presume. Are they guarded?”

  He shook his head again.

  “No guards? I assume you have them bound, so being kept behind a locked door with your hands tied is typically effective at detainment. I can’t fault your reasoning. Which key?” The ring clinked as she held it up.

  Jeshor winced and tried to speak again, but Rhis simply held up one key at a time until he nodded.

  “Good.” She leaned in closer and held his eyes with her own. “I’m going to walk out of this room and leave you here. I’m certain your men will find you eventually, and that wound in your arm isn’t fatal. But before I go, I want you to know something. Every word I said was true. The Emperor wants that boy dead, for reasons that even I don’t know. And I am going to take him right out from under you. You can be assured, His Eminence did hire me to kill him, so he has his reasons. Whether that means he lacks faith in your Order, I couldn’t say, but it does make you wonder, doesn’t it? The loyal Gray Cloaks, upholding the faith of the Empire, not trustworthy enough to deal with a single child.”

  A bead of sweat dripped down Jeshor’s nose and the remaining color drained from his face.

  “I’ll send proof,” Rhis said. “Be watching for my message, Brother Jeshor.”

  He grunted through the gag as Rhis pulled the dagger from his arm. She wiped the blood from the blade on his cloak and tucked it into her belt, keeping the other knife drawn. Without another look, she walked out the door.

  TWENTY-SIX: SHELTER

  After the assassin’s attack and their subsequent detainment by the Gray Cloak, the following days were a welcome respite. Rhis had freed Rickson and Asher without further bloodshed. Brother Jeshor hadn’t been lying about the lack of guards. The other men had presumably all gone back to the main wing. She supposed even other Guild members didn’t like to linger with a Gray Cloak too long. They had found their packs, and stolen horses from the stables, before sneaking out of the Guild complex and heading out of town. It had been a calculated risk; nabbing the horses took time, but Rhis had counted on the other Guild members giving the Gray Cloak wing a wide berth and not discovering Jeshor for some time, and they needed the speed horses could lend. They left the small riverside city on horseback, found the last of the things they’d left in the olive grove, and started on the journey north. Rhis waited to wash her hands until they stopped at nightfall, clutching them together to hide their trembling.

  Keeping careful watch, they cut across country without any sign of pursuit. Rickson perked up as the poison left his system. Within a few days, he was back to normal. Asher smiled and speculated about what they would find in Senlas—people with silver eyes, perhaps. Rhis wondered about that herself, and felt a strange heaviness in her chest when Asher talked about finding a new home.

  The road meandered up and down rolling hills, and they skirted around any towns. Asher proved to be a good hunter, and they supplemented their supplies with game. After two weeks of steady travel, the terrain grew rocky. Snowy mountains rose in front of them, looming closer each day. The surrounding foothills grew dense with forest.

  They followed the remains of an ancient road, seemingly kept clear by little more than game. But it cut through a valley and made a logical trek toward a mountain pass, so they continued on. Although they no longer tried to mask their trail, they kept a diligent watch each night, even Asher taking his turn while the others slept as best they could in the freezing air.

  Clumps of snow clung to shadowy spaces as they headed north, their path taking them higher, and they kept layers of clothes on even during the sunniest parts of the day. It seemed the closer they got to the mountain peaks, the farther they were from the sun. It hung high in the sky, blazing with light, but the mountains resisted its heat.

  Before they reached the snow line, the ground turned up sharply and a narrow switchback trail climbed the face of the rock. They spent a day combing the base to see if another path existed, but the terrain only got worse the farther east or west they went. Archivist Hector had said the mysterious people lived among the peaks and it was likely their habitation would be difficult to reach. It appeared he was right. Rhis wondered if they’d gone astray and were nowhere near Senlas, but Rickson was certain they were on the right path. Although their horses could make the climb, Rickson suggested they let their mounts go. There wouldn’t be any grazing land in the rocky peaks, and they were only carrying food for themselves. They unsaddled the horses and sent them on their way, then hoisted their packs and began the climb.

  Gusts of wind tore at their clothes, cutting through their layers. Rickson and Rhis wrapped cloth around their faces and used the heat of their breath to keep their noses warm, but Asher seemed unaffected. He kept his cloak tight around him, but even though his cheeks colored and the wind whipped through his hair, he never complained of the cold.

  As the light of the sun dimmed behind thick clouds, the terrain flattened. Craggy faces of rock rose around them, dusted with white, and stunted trees clung to cracks and crevices. Cold gusts tore through the pass and the drifts of snow thickened.

  “We need to get out of this wind for the night,” Rickson said. He hunched his shoulders against the cold, and his speech was muffled through the wrap around his face.

  “What’s over there?” Asher asked, pointing toward a dark spot in the rock face.

  “Could be a cave,” Rhis said. She breathed out to warm her face.

  Rickson nodded and they trudged through deepening snow. A crack opened up in the rock, just wide enough
to squeeze through. It wasn’t deep, but it was empty, and Rhis sighed with relief at being out of the biting wind.

  Asher volunteered to gather wood, and they built a small blaze near the mouth of the cave. Most of the smoke drifted outside while they huddled close around the flames.

  “If we don’t find some sign of Senlas or more shelter tomorrow, we might have to turn back and come here,” Rickson said. “We won’t last a night out in that cold.”

  Rhis held her hands up to the fire and let the warmth seep into her fingers. “Do you think we’re close?”

  “It’s hard to say. The map Hector drew for me is rough, but I looked at the original carefully as he copied it. I’m fairly certain it showed the switchback trail we climbed today, and Senlas wasn’t far from there.”

  “I say we spend half the day tomorrow climbing,” Rhis said. “If we don’t find shelter, or Senlas, before the sun starts sinking, we regroup here and consider our options.”

  Rickson nodded and pulled Asher’s stone out from beneath his clothes and held it out to Rhis. “Here, take a turn with this. The warmth is amazing.”

  Rhis took the stone and tucked it beneath her shirt. Warmth immediately spread through her, relaxing her knotted back. Between that and their little fire, she was beginning to think she might actually thaw.

  Rhis glanced at Asher. His gaze was fixed on something behind her, so she turned to look. “What do you see, Ash?”

  “I think there’s writing on these walls,” Asher said.

  Flickering light from the fire danced against the walls, fading quickly and leaving most of the cave in darkness. Rickson pulled a bit of cloth from his pack and wrapped it around the end of a stick from their small pile of fuel. He lit it and handed it to Asher.

  “This won’t last long,” Rickson said.

  Asher nodded and took the makeshift torch to the back of the cavern where he held it up to illuminate the wall. Strange symbols in a flowing script spread out in neat rows. Rhis rose and walked over to stand by Asher, gazing at the writing. Pulling out the stone, she held it up in front of the script.

  “It looks similar,” she said.

  “I think there was writing like this in the book Hector had out,” Rickson said. “It was in the margins around the map. I noticed it because everything else was written in Attalonian, but there were symbols written in a darker ink, like someone had made notes.”

  “Maybe this means we’re getting close to Senlas,” Rhis said. She reached a hand to touch the words and found they’d been carved into the rock.

  “It must,” Asher said, his voice breathy.

  Rickson shrugged. “If people actually live up here in this frozen nightmare, it stands to reason they’d use caves in the area for temporary shelter. This one doesn’t show any signs of having been used recently, but maybe they don’t leave their things lying about.”

  Asher’s hand reached toward the wall, slow and tentative as if he were reluctant to touch it. He lay his hand across the writing, palm down and fingers splayed, and gasped. His eyes widened, and Rickson snatched the torch away to keep him from dropping it.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhis asked.

  Asher’s mouth hung open and his eyes drifted closed, his hand still pressed to the wall. “I can feel….” His voice drifted off and he stood still, as if transfixed.

  Rhis touched the wall. She could feel the grooves in the rock where the symbols had been chiseled, but nothing else. It was cold stone.

  Asher opened his eyes and took his hand away slowly. “I could feel them.”

  “Who?” Rhis asked.

  “The people who wrote this.”

  Rickson held up the torch again and peered at the writing. “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know,” Asher said, looking down at his hand. “I can’t read it, but it’s almost like I could feel what they were feeling when they wrote it.”

  Rhis was almost afraid to ask. “What were they feeling?”

  “Wariness,” Asher said, furrowing his brow as he looked up at the writing. “Fear. And sadness. A lot of sadness.” He turned to Rhis. “I think people were hiding in here—hiding from something awful. Something that made them terribly afraid.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for us, does it?” Rickson said.

  “I don’t know, this feels old,” Asher said. “I think whoever did this wrote it a long time ago.”

  “How can you tell all that?” Rhis asked.

  Asher shook his head slowly as he brushed his fingers across the writing. “I don’t know. I can almost see it, like I can see other things that you can’t. When I touch the wall, the feeling is there. It would probably make more sense if I could read the words.”

  “As long as the words don’t say whoever dwells in this cavern will be sacrificed to some sort of mountain demon, I suppose we’ll be fine,” Rickson said.

  Rhis glanced toward the cave entrance. Wind tugged at the flames of their small fire and snowflakes fell outside, angling sideways.

  “It’s snowing,” she said, and nodded toward the opening.

  Rickson blew out a breath. “I guess we hunker down here until it clears up. We won’t be able to see a foot in front of us if that picks up.”

  Rhis nodded and patted Asher on the shoulder. “I guess we should make ourselves comfortable, then.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN: MOUNTAINSIDE

  For the next two days, howling winds and heavy snow kept them trapped in the cave. Drifts piled up in the entrance and Rhis began to wonder if they would be able to dig themselves out. They huddled close, sleeping fitfully in a tight knot each night, and took turns with the warming stone during the day. They kept their fire small to save what little fuel they had left, but kept each other warm as best they could, clasping hands and massaging their toes to keep from freezing.

  On the third day, Rhis awoke to silence. The wind had stopped and a thick crust of ice and snow was built up in the mouth of the cavern. She rose, disentangling herself from Rickson’s arms, and tried to look outside. Her breath fogged in the frigid air as she climbed up the drift of white, her head nearly hitting the top of the opening. There would be room for them to crawl out, and much of the snow was packed under its own weight, with a layer of ice over the top. The drifts angled downward toward the center of the pass, where the road had been, pushed to the sides by the fierce winds. Rhis squinted against the glare; the sky had cleared and the sun glinted off the fresh snow. She couldn’t tell how deep it was at the bottom, but she hoped they’d be able to walk through it and continue on. Their supplies wouldn’t last forever.

  After eating a cold breakfast, they all agreed it was time to venture out and take advantage of the break in the weather. Asher had grown increasingly anxious to leave and was convinced Senlas wasn’t far. For all Rhis knew, he was right. He could perceive things she couldn’t, so perhaps there was something about the strange city that called to him. They repacked their gear and climbed out of the entrance, sliding down the thick drift toward the bottom.

  The snow along the path was uneven—knee deep in places, and blown away to almost nothing in others. The wind had gone still and the snow seemed to absorb every bit of sound, giving the air a muffled quality that made Rhis nervous. They trudged farther up the path, taking turns holding the stone to warm their hands, their brief attempts at conversation dying quickly.

  After several hours, they’d seen nothing but snow and occasional crags of black rock. Rhis began to wonder if they would have to turn back. There was no sign of any habitation, nor had they seen any more caves or caverns to provide shelter. Rhis didn’t think they would survive out in the open after nightfall. Looking up at the sky, she figured they had another hour before they risked not being able to make it back to their shelter before dark.

  Asher stopped in his tracks and twisted around.

  “What?” Rhis asked. She stopped and turned.

  “I think someone’s following us,” Asher said.

  Rhis peered at the path they
’d taken. Walls of rock rose above them on either side, and the track turned not far behind them, so she couldn’t see far. “I don’t see anything.”

  Asher closed his eyes. “I can hear voices.”

  Rhis glanced at Rickson and he shrugged. “Are you sure you aren’t imagining things?” she asked.

  “No,” Asher said, opening his eyes. “There’s someone back there. More than one.”

  Rickson took a few steps the way they had come, tilting his head as he went. Rhis saw a hint of movement in the distance, and Rickson jumped back.

  “He’s right,” Rickson said. “Someone’s coming.”

  Rhis grabbed Asher by the elbow and turned him around. “We need to go. Now.”

  As she glanced back again, Rhis saw men around a corner. At their head were two men: one cloaked in gray, the other thick set and wrapped in furs. Even through the heavy clothing she knew who it was. Athon.

  They picked up their pace, jogging as well as they could through the drifts.

  “How did they catch up to us with that blizzard?” Rickson asked, breathing heavily.

  “I don’t know,” Rhis said. “They must have kept traveling through the storm and built shelters in the snow. The trail is easy to follow, cutting through the rock like that. They wouldn’t have been able to get lost, even in the blizzard, as long as they kept going forward.”

  Rickson grunted. “What do we do now? Try to outrun them?”

  “I don’t know,” Rhis said. “Just keep going.”

  She hadn’t gotten a full count of the men following them, but at a glance, she guessed there must be at least ten. The three of them couldn’t take on so many, not in close combat. They might be able to take them out in an ambush, but Rhis needed the right place and time, and she had neither.

  The snow grew lighter and they came to a patch of almost bare ground, where the wind had blown it clear. They ran across the rock, desperately trying to put more distance between them and their pursuers.