by Perrin Briar
The guards came, exchanged a few words, and then continued on with their march. The man in black hopped over the wall, exposing himself for what would be the most dangerous part of the entire mission. It was also one of the safest. If he was seen, he could turn and descend back down the wall. He would escape, and need to plan again for his next attack.
But no shout went up, no alarm was made. Yet, the man in black could not relax. The next volley of guards would be on their way. He crouched down low and moved to a small recess that housed a potted plant. He hid behind it and waited for the next guard to come, as he knew they would.
The guard passed, and the man in black crept out and down the path to the door. He entered quickly and moved down a corridor. The top of the keep was a square shape and the guards would move around it in a circle, never stopping.
The man in black headed for the center of the keep. He’d ensured to memorize the layout before coming there. He turned one corner after another, checking the coast was clear and no one was present.
There would be no creeping past the guards who kept watch outside the room. He would have to get into the room another way. Thankfully, it wasn’t very difficult.
He entered a room and moved to the window. He opened it and peered out. It was a long way down, and a fall would either kill him or cripple him. He didn’t panic. Heights had never held much fear over him. He stepped out onto the ledge and began to edge his way around it.
In front of him were a hundred homes, the people tucked up and sleeping for the night. The end of the world had brought with it an endless darkness. It was the perfect cloak for him to carry out his activities.
At a few sconces on the walls, some lamps had been lit. The man in black reached into his cloak and took out a small crossbow. It wouldn’t do much injury to a man, but then, that wasn’t its purpose. He aimed at the lamp and fired. The candle hissed, doubted. The man replaced the miniature crossbow and continued along the ledge. In places, it was broken and crumbled beneath his feet.
He rounded the corner and got to the front of the building. Below, he could see the large market place where the town of Arthur’s Port conducted its business. A man lay on the street, a bottle having slipped out of his hand and chugging empty across the tarmac. The man in black turned. He was face-to-face with the large window.
The good thing about old buildings was they weren’t built to accommodate modern security systems. Whether such systems were installed at the keep or not, the man in black didn’t know. It didn’t matter. When there was no power, there could be no modern security system. In the past, he’d had to spend a large amount of his time researching the latest developments in the field. Since the end of the world, there was no need.
He took out is knife and slid it in between the windows. He raised it and felt the resistance of the latch. He pulled up, and it came away. He pushed the window open and dropped into the room. It was a big, wide open space, lavishly decorated, as befitting the man who ruled the joint.
The man in black moved through one room to the next. Finally, he got to the bedroom. A king size bed sat in the middle of the space with the telltale lump on one side. The man in black approached the bed, silently removed his dagger, and stood beside the lump.
He raised the knife above him and prepared to bring it down. A single thrust, and it was over. He gripped the hilt with both hands and brought it down with all his strength and weight, slamming into the body.
The knife slipped through the body and into the mattress. The man in black was used to the feel of how a knife entered a man’s body, and this was clearly not what he had expected. He pulled the sheet aside. Feathers floated like breadcrumbs before settling on the floor.
There was no body. Someone knew he was coming and had set a trap for him.
“Surprise,” a voice in a shadowed corner said.
A flicker of light illuminated a young woman, around eighteen, sitting in an armchair. She was calm and relaxed as she lit a candle. The assassin recognized her immediately from the dossier he’d been given. Her name was Siren, the Controller’s new chief advisor.
The assassin took a step back.
“You didn’t think he actually sleeps in this bedroom, did you?” Siren said. “It’s a far too obvious target.”
The assassin spun the dagger in his hand and ran forward. Siren didn’t budge an inch, standing tall and confident. The assassin suddenly had the overwhelming desire not to kill this woman.
The moment of hesitation was all the opening Siren needed. She smacked him around the face and followed with a swift kick to the ribs.
The man in black dropped his dagger. He was up on his feet in an instant, fists raised, ready to make a stand. Siren glared at him, her face a mask of concentration. The assassin fought, but couldn’t control himself as he lowered his fists. His arms shivered and shook.
“Why did you come here to assassinate the Controller?” Siren said.
The assassin opened his mouth, then bit down hard, preventing himself from spilling the beans. What was wrong with him? He felt like it wasn’t his tongue and he had no control over it.
“Someone… paid me,” he said, gasping at the effort.
“Who?” Siren said.
The assassin shook his head, backing away.
“Who?” Siren said, pressing him.
Unable to hit her or stop his tongue from flapping, the man in black did the only thing he could do.
“No!” Siren said, but she was too late.
The assassin hit the floor, body shaking as the cyanide frothed and dribbled from his lips. Siren leaned down to check the man’s pulse. He was dead. She sighed and shook her head.
“A pity,” she said.
She stood up.
“You can come out now,” she said.
The bedsheet shook, revealing Quinn as he climbed out from under his bed, hair mussed up.
“That was my favorite pillow,” he said.
“Better your pillow than your face,” Siren said.
“I suppose,” Quinn said.
“Your enemies are getting bolder,” Siren said.
“Not my enemies,” Quinn said. “My predecessor’s.”
“Ones you inherited when you took his place,” Siren said. “We got lucky this time. I Sensed him after I woke up from a bad dream. I saw him coming. If I hadn’t woken up…”
“Neither would I be,” Quinn said, looking down at the feathers.
“Why didn’t you inform the guards to be on the lookout?” Quinn said. “They could have dealt with him.”
“Because I sensed he was confident of success,” Siren said. “Driven. He would have figured out a way in somehow. Plus, he’s not the only one who needed to learn a lesson.”
“So long as you’re always there to save me, I’ll be fine,” Quinn said, trying to put an amused veneer over the situation.
But he was scared too. He’d almost been murdered.
“We’re going to have to improve your sleeping arrangements if we’re going to keep you alive when the other leaders visit,” Siren said.
“I think you’re right,” Quinn said. “Who do you think sent him?”
“I don’t know,” Siren said. “It could be anyone. We’ll have to keep a close eye out in case anything suspicious happens.”
“You mean you’ll have to keep a close eye out,” Quinn said.
“The people are scared,” Siren said.
“I’m scared,” Quinn said. “What makes it worse is I’m the only thing keeping them safe from the Undead. They should be thanking me, not trying to kill me.”
“I don’t think it was one of the villages,” Siren said. “You keep them safe. They wouldn’t jeopardize that.”
“You think it was one of the other leaders?” Quinn said.
“That would be my guess,” Siren said. “They see you with all this, all the riches of the world, and they don’t think it’s fair.”
“They’re right,” Quinn said. “But I don’t need all thi
s crap. They can take it if they want it.”
Siren picked up the assassin’s knife. It was a beautiful thing. She tucked it into her belt.
“We talked about this,” Siren said. “You can’t appear to suddenly change. People will get suspicious.”
“Perhaps we should tell them what I am and how I protect them all,” Quinn said.
Siren snorted.
“Tell them their leader is an Undead, and he controls them with some kind of psychopathic link?” she said. “That’ll go down well.”
“I’ll have to tell them sooner or later,” Quinn said, an edge of irritation in his voice.
“Later would be better,” Siren said.
Quinn smacked a table with the palm of his hand, sending a vase of flowers smashing on the floor. He hissed through his teeth and bent down to pick up the broken shards. He hissed again when he cut his finger. A trickle of blood ran over his pale skin.
He’d lost a lot of blood when he’d been attacked by the Undead. Siren had expected it to return and flesh out his skin, but it never did. It was the reason the Controller had worn makeup and sprayed himself with perfume. To disguise what he was. Undead.
Siren moved to the bathroom and filled a jug. She moved back into the bedroom and cleaned his hand before applying a bandage. She was careful not to let any of the blood touch her.
The Darkness crept over Quinn sometimes. It was happening with increasing frequency. Before Quinn had been bitten, he’d had a slow temper, taking a while to rile him up. Now, it happened at the drop of a hat. As an Undead, Quinn had a much deeper bond with his Undead, but it was also like turning on a direct tap to evil. It was tainting Quinn, making him aggressive.
“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” Quinn said.
“The Darkness is getting stronger,” Siren said. “You need to keep a handle on it if you’re going to get the other leaders to follow you.”
“I know,” Quinn said.
“Can you control it?” Siren said.
“Yes,” Quinn said. “I think so.”
“Thinking isn’t enough,” Siren said. “You have to know. One false word, one false action…”
“And we lose this chance,” Quinn said. “I know.”
He hung his head. He had a lot of pressure weighing on his shoulders. He looked tired and worn out, a little boy requiring a rest.
“All of this is pretty heavy,” Quinn said. “In a few days, the other leaders will start turning up. That’ll be our chance, our only window to saving the world. Did you ever think you were destined to do something like that?”
“No,” Siren said with a small smile. “And if we don’t keep you safe, we never will. The sun will be up in an hour.”
Quinn pressed a finger to his temple and flinched.
“More?” Siren said.
“Too many,” Quinn said. “They gather like flies around a corpse.”
“Can you control them?” Siren said.
“Yes,” Quinn said. “They’re Undead. They’re my domain, remember? There are so many of them out there… So many I have to hold on to. I can’t afford to let one of them go. One slip, and someone will die. If they die, the Undead will be inside the villages.”
Siren wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or not. Sometimes she caught him whispering to himself, lips moving, but no one there to listen. He’d smile to himself, not noticing her standing there. It made Siren’s skin crawl. He was speaking to the Undead, she knew, conversing with them like they were right next to him. It chilled her to the bone.
Quinn grumbled under his breath and then got up. He began to get ready, putting on his makeup so no one could recognize him as an overlord.
Siren left Quinn’s room. Her smile faded and she let out a sigh. Quinn was getting worse. These Dark spells of his were getting stronger. Sometimes it was hard for her to recognize him, as if he had turned into someone else, someone dangerous. Not for the first time, Siren had her doubts.
Perhaps their idea wasn’t a solution after all.
Chapter Two
Preparations were being made for the arrival of the leaders, something Quinn needn’t concern himself with. He sat in his room, dealing with Arthur’s Port business most days.
While trying to answer questions that related to the upkeep of the villages and towns, Quinn had to keep half his mind on the Undead that circled the area. It was a vast army at his disposal. Tens of thousands of Undead at his command, and whenever he took his mind off them, they began heading toward the villages and towns, and he would have to snatch them back up again. His concentration skills had improved dramatically.
“Sir?” Hamilton said.
Quinn would never get used to being referred to that way. Hamilton had a confused look on his face, as if he was expecting Quinn to say something. Quinn tried to remember what he had been talking about. Roads, he thought. The upkeep of the roads. They would need to pay out of their coffers to improve them.
“Yes,” Quinn said. “Make it so. Can you excuse me? I have a bit of a headache coming on.”
“Of course, Sir,” Hamilton said, bowing and leaving.
Quinn wasn’t sure how much Hamilton really knew about him. Quinn had a passing resemblance to the former Controller. Hamilton was always careful to keep his eyes down whenever he addressed him, as if afraid to look him in the eye. So, he supposed it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t—
Quinn double took. Blink, and he might have missed it. Something out there, on the fringes of his Undead army. There was something about one of them…
Quinn focused on the Undead in question and fumbled at the thread he felt deep inside it. The closer he got to it, the further and deeper it seemed to pull away from him.
What is that?
But he already knew what it was.
Right then and there, he decided that as soon as it got dark, he would head out there. He needed the fresh air anyway. A jaunt through the town and market might actually do him some good. But how was he going to disguise himself?
The same way he always did these days. With makeup and clothes. He would wear his old clothes—the ones the laundry lady wanted to destroy. He would fit right in with that ensemble. He took a break, constantly probed by that nagging sensation in the back of his mind.
He completed that day’s tasks with Hamilton before eating dinner and telling his guards for no one to interrupt him as he was going to go to bed early. He tucked some of the leftovers in his pocket and changed his clothes. He checked his makeup and used the secret passageway he’d inadvertently discovered when he’d hung his hat on a statue’s arm.
He followed the stairs down to street level and mixed amongst the crowd, getting lost. After the past few days of being stuck in the room recovering from his recent ordeal, it was good to be out among the regular people. He found it impossible to believe anyone could rule anywhere if they didn’t get out amongst the people on a daily basis. If they had no idea of how the ordinary people lived, how could they expect to understand them?
It was still odd to Quinn to think he actually ruled anywhere. Greer, his father, wouldn’t even allow him to take control of the reins of a horse back home if he didn’t have to. Now, he had the fate of thousands of people in his hands.
He wound through the streets until he came to the fringes of town. No one paid him any attention. He headed out toward the empty fields, passing the few farms this far out. He began to wonder if this was really the best idea for a man of his station to be doing.
Then again, with a ten-thousand strong Undead army at his beck and call, he could have worse defenses. Still, all it would have taken was a single bullet or even a hard swing from an iron pipe to end him for good. He ought to have thought more about all those people out there relying on him. He did not slow his advance.
He approached his horde of Undead, just over the horizon where the villagers couldn’t see them. A large protective ring of Undead. There were hundreds of them in this particular group. They watched him as he approa
ched. They were all firmly under his control as he picked through them, finally coming to one Undead in particular. The splinter in his mind.
“Hello,” Quinn said. “You must be hungry.”
He took the food he’d swiped from his dinner plate out of his pockets.
“I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time,” Quinn said.
Chapter Three
Quinn sat on a throne in the main hall. He hated it. It was cold, hard and uncomfortable. The previous Controller had left his mark on the keep, preferring pompous ceremonies and gaudy decorations. Quinn would have had it all changed to be more casual, except to do so would have garnered a lot of unwanted attention. He listened to the problems of the poor. Difficult to show you emphasized with someone when you were covered in gold, he thought.
Two villages were having a row over one particular farm, about whether it belonged to one town or the other. Quinn listened patiently to their arguments, then said that as they were in this war against the Undead together, they would share the farm. Half the work would be done by either village, the spoils shared between them. Neither man was happy, but thanks to Siren’s Compulsion, they accepted the decision. It was thanks to her that they managed to pass through each query quickly.
The two men left, and the next man stepped forward. Quinn recognized him immediately. It was Palek, the leader of Second Chance.
“How can I help you, Palek of Second Chance?” Quinn said.
“Due to recent attacks, we are unable to make our usual-sized offering," Palek said. “We apologize and will return to our usual capacity by next month.”
“You are a good leader,” Quinn said. “Due to your recent difficulties, I will accept your smaller offering this month, but every month hereafter you will pay a little more until the missing amount has been repaid.”
Quinn didn’t like to make that kind of judgment, but there was no other way for it. If he allowed Second Chance to get off with a low month payment, the other villages would claim the same excuse.
