The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2)

by Justin DePaoli

  Two hours later, sitting my ass on a cratered floor of pebbles, rock and dirt, I wished death upon myself. My thighs ached, my butt was splotched with what felt like bruises, and I had to listen to a snoring horse. Moreover, I was the kind of tired where nothing really existed except whatever lay in the narrow cone of vision in front of my face. My mind had begun shutting off unimportant things, like peripheral vision. And emotion. And hope.

  Fuck, I need sleep. I had another thought too, but a loud pop rudely interrupted it. Sounded like a branch being snapped in half. But there were no branches here; the forest had retreated long ago.

  Another pop. Then a hiss. No, not a hiss. Multiple hisses. They weren’t really hisses at all, were they? They were tongues. Voices, whispering amongst one another.

  I got to my feet. Spun around, ebon blade in hand. A halved moon spat out a meek band of light, peeling back a layer of the nighttime shadows. There were monstrous outlines of crags, reaching and clawing over one another in desperation. As still as the breath in my chest.

  Nothing moved. Nothing hissed.

  Maybe I’d dreamt it all up. Sleep deprivation will do that to you.

  In the moment of ultimate fatigue, I drummed up a brilliant plan. Or at least it seemed brilliant at the time. To prevent reapers, reaped, mountain clans, thieves, wolves or other yet-to-be-named scavengers and misfits from brutalizing me and tenderizing my corpse while I slept, I’d set up an obstacle that would warn me of intruders.

  I opened up my satchel and riffled through it, flinging my possessions madly about. I gripped a handful of string, grinned insanely, then took a handful of empty skins. From there, I gathered several sturdy-looking sticks and a couple handfuls of pebbles.

  I stuck the sticks in the ground, which was no small task given rock lay shallow beneath the dirt like tree roots. I poured some pebbles inside each skin of wine, cut two pin-sized holes in them, then ran the string through them. After tethering the string to each stick, I stood back and examined the circular boundary I’d created.

  “Not bad, huh, girl?” I said to my horse. She continued snoring.

  Whoever or whatever would try and take me from this world early would inevitably trip on the string, which would jostle the pebbles inside the skins, which would then wake me. Ideally.

  Confident, or too goddamn exhausted to perceive the flaws in my plan, I lay down beside my horse.

  Then I awoke. My eyes felt heavy and gritty, so apparently I’d been sleeping for at least some time. I blinked, which resulted in an uncomfortable sensation, as if my eyelashes were scraping against something hard.

  The sky looked quite black. Blacker, in fact, than I could ever remember it appearing. As my mind slowly stirred to life and washed away the stupor, I became faintly aware that my eyes weren’t heavy because of fatigue. They were heavy because two rocks were sitting on them.

  Also, the sky wasn’t black. It wasn’t even night anymore. The sun was rising, with mango waves cresting out from its core.

  I sat up and inspected the rocks. And my heart fluttered, and all the blood withdrew from my fingers. Two chunks of coal sat in my palms. My brother and I, when we were young, would often dust our fingers with coal and gently rub the black soot around the other’s eyes when he was sleeping. The next morning you’d awake and, if the placement was just perfect, you’d never notice. And you’d walk around the whole day looking like a raccoon.

  I stood up and chucked each piece of coal as far as I could, cracking them off spiked rock.

  “It’s fucking funny, isn’t it?” I screamed.

  My voice carried for miles. I wiped the soot from my eyes and inspected my barrier. It hadn’t been breached.

  A quick flick of my wrist dislodged my sword from its sheath. I skipped over to one of the sticks I’d staked in the gravel and chopped the bastard right in two. One half soared through the air top over bottom.

  “You wanna play games?” I hollered. “Let’s fucking play. Come on! I’m ready to fucking play.”

  No answer. Of course there was no answer. The reapers that I was now convinced were following me were brainless drudges. They answered to one man and one man only. Question was, why didn’t Occrum have them kill me? Or at least kidnap me? What use could there be in shoveling up memories within my mind?

  A bobcat stopped atop a ridge and stared at me. “What are you looking at?” I yelled. It stuck its head forward, sniffed the air and scurried overtop the hill, down the other side.

  Disgruntled, I kicked one of the empty skins of wine I’d strung, then went back and saddled up on my horse. None of this made a lick of sense. Occrum was the only one who could have known where I was, but he didn’t seem like a prankster.

  The next three days parroted the prior two, right down to the coal chunks left on my eyes. They’d be there, each time I’d awake. I pretended not to care, but you can’t pretend away your thoughts. As my horse carried me deeper into the South, I recalled those mornings my brother and I shared. Smiles on our faces, squealing like pigs as we’d run from the ire of the other.

  The outskirts of Vereumene flung themselves at me, stabbing my eyes with brittle mountains made of black glass. With volcanic rock crunching underfoot and noxious powder billowing around the flanks of my horse, my memories were not so joyous anymore. Beatings from our father, the tears my brother cried each night, till sleep took him.

  Now I was beginning to understand. Occrum didn’t want to kill me, because he didn’t see me as a threat. He simply wanted to break me, for the fun of it. To prove he could. Narcissism at its finest.

  I arrived in Vereumene on day seven, so I had eight days before Rovid would provide me the tools necessary to rescue my Rots. It’d only take five to haul my ass up to Erior, so long as I could secure a quick meeting with Kane.

  And it appeared that wouldn’t be a problem. Although this wasn’t the kind of meeting I had in mind.

  At the gate, dressed in cherry-red tunics with disturbingly similar cherry-red cheeks, were a handful of guards. Expecting the whole who-the-piss-are-you routine, I crossed my arms and waited.

  “Hallo,” said one of the guards cheerfully. “Here for the blessings of Lord Kane?”

  I stared past him, into the city square. Crowds gathered. Children, farmers, merchants, perhaps even whores and drunks. They clapped and hollered in delight as a bucket tipped over and doused a bald head with water.

  “Er,” I said, stumbling on my words. “Sure.”

  If you want access to a king, you generally don’t decline the invitation to meet him. Even in… highly unusual circumstances.

  “Wonderful!” the guard said, smiling in ways guards don’t often smile. “Now, hope you don’t mind, but we’ve got to take your weapons. Keep ’em nice and secure, for ya.” He leaned in and thumbed his chest. “Got my word!”

  I… I didn’t know how to react. The last time I’d visited Vereumene, blood had stained the battlements and I’d kicked a king right off the fucking wall. Now it appeared a traveling circus had moved in.

  “Sir?” the guard said.

  “Oh,” I said, stumbling on my words. “Yeah, sure. How does one receive the, um — you know. The blessings.”

  The guard leaned in brightly, curled his arm around my shoulder and said, “Now all youse got to do is walk right up there. See the line? Stand there, wait to be ushered in.”

  “Line’s movin’ quick,” another guard put in. “Lot shorter than it was earlier. Big turnout this mornin’. Couldn’t count how many curses the sea has cured since then. Must be thousands!”

  I unbuckled my belt and placed my weaponry in the guard’s outstretched arms. “These are very important swords,” I said. “If they were to get mixed up and given to someone else, why…” I licked my lips, feigning the beginnings of hysteria. “I’d be wrecked. Family heirlooms, you understand?”

  Most of the time, I’d sneak in a good threat in a situation like this. But preying on these clowns’ emotions seemed a better strategy.

/>   “Ohhh, yes,” the guard said, lifting his head sagely. “Perfectly understood. I’ll keep it right here by me, personally insured.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder and walked into city, assuming my place in line.

  Thirty minutes or so later, a guard motioned me forward. Water puddled in the porous volcanic rock where he positioned me.

  Kane’s back faced me. He scooped his bucket through a massive reservoir of water, turned and paused unlike he had for any of the other recipients of his blessings. A cerulean blue robe lay wet at his bare feet. His hair of threaded strings the color of wet dirt had been pinned back into a long ponytail. Droplets of water collected in the thick wires of his beard.

  Smiling from the corner of his mouth, he lifted the bucket over my head. His hands were pruny, arms slick. “The power of the ocean, of the Mother,” he began, embarking on the same speech he delivered for all those to be blessed, “may she wash away the sins, drown the spirits that would do you harm, and cleanse the mind and the body.”

  I gasped as cool water crashed upon my head, cascading down my face.

  Kane pulled me in tight and whispered, “Why are you here?”

  “To talk,” I said automatically.

  He pulled away, his face full of cheer and hope so as not to worry the crowd that something was amiss. He tilted his head over there somewhere, then mentioned the Mother blessing me before the guard escorted me away to make room for the next in line.

  I sat on a bench a ways behind Kane, in front of building with fake windows and a wooden sign carved into the shape of an anchor. On the sign were the words “OILS, WATERS AND SUNDRY BLESSINGS.”

  The water still dripping from my hair and into my mouth tasted salty. I watched as the blessings continued, unsure of what to make of all this. I’d only met Kane in the flesh once, in Edenvaile when the war with the conjurers had ended. Guy seemed eccentric, but I couldn’t have expected this.

  In the short six months since Serith’s usurping, Kane had done a fancy job of fixing the place up. Vereumene looked respectable now, what with freshly stitched banners hanging from the parapets, occupied buildings whose holes had been patched and rot hacked away. The streets of volcanic rock had been raked and tidied up so that the sleek bits lay on top. Maybe handing the crown over to Kane wasn’t such a bad decision after all. Of course, the best way to deceive outsiders is to dress yourself up real pretty. Hides all the blemishes on the inside.

  The let-me-pour-this-water-over-your-head event lasted another hour or so. Afterward, the crowd applauded, gave their thanks, and dispersed.

  Kane untied his hair, letting it fall like a wet bird’s nest upon his shoulders, in clomps and knots. “You’ll find the chairs in the keep considerably more cushioning for your behind,” he told me, winking.

  I got up and followed him and his cohort of guards. The armed men sang songs as we walked, which disturbed me. I’m all for change, but happy-go-lucky guards are just… it’s not right.

  Kane dismissed the jolly lads once inside the keep. He took me up several sets of stairs, all the way to the top. In the middle of an expansive hallway, two doors swung open and I followed Kane into, unexpectedly, the king’s quarters. Those of nobility generally don’t invite you into their quarters unless they want to fuck you, kill you, or… well, those are the two most common reasons. Everything else is hearsay.

  “Mind the crater,” he said, trailing off into the room. “It’s a fabulous experiment. If it works, I will have a hot bath always. And if it doesn’t, the keep may burn to the ground.”

  He laughed. Then, without warning, he shed his robe. I turned my head as the image of a woody brown ass flat as a spade punched me between the eyes.

  “Oh, please,” he said, “don’t act like you’ve never seen a man bare and true. Curiosity never tugged you as a young lad?”

  “Other forms of curiosity,” I said.

  “Ah. Pity. Well, you’ll not have me dressed proper in my own keep. But I will feed you as much wine as you like to dull your senses, if need be.”

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Kane went over to his ridiculously large rack of amphorae, tapped his chin and uncorked one. Satisfied with the smell, he retrieved two chalices — flaccid cock bouncing up and down all the while, mind you — and placed them on the table.

  I sat across from him. I felt like his nipples were eying me up, as they shrank into two tight points, then relaxed. Over and over again.

  “So,” Kane said, raising his chalice, “the Victor of Vereumene wishes to talk.”

  “Victor of Vereumene? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You booted the last king out of here. Victor far as I’m concerned.”

  I sipped my wine, letting the proposition slide. I wasn’t here to debate the authenticity of titles. “Braddock Glannondil wants you dead,” I said bluntly. Seemed the best way to jar this excitable bastard into a real conversation.

  Kane went silent. He dipped his finger into his wine, swirled it around, then licked the red liquid off. “I’m aware.”

  “Are you aware he had an army marching to your walls, till the gods finally had their laugh and skewered him like a chunk of diseased meat?”

  “If I’m to believe the whispers, gods did not have their hand in that… fortunate accident. You did. In fact, I’d wager the South is your only refuge.”

  I grinned mysteriously. “I’ve other places the fat fuck doesn’t know about. Not here to secure my safety, however.”

  “Nor to receive a blessing, I imagine.”

  “Nope. Try again.”

  Kane set his chalice down and clasped his hands in a manner that said he would not try again. He might have been a man with eclectic tastes, but when it comes down to it, everyone who seizes power has similar mannerisms. The goofy and the foolish get weeded right the fuck out.

  “He’ll come for you again,” I said. “Sooner rather than later. He doesn’t trust you. He wants someone on the throne who will bow their head and jump when he says the word.” I paused, then added, “I can remedy this problem for you.”

  Kane straightened his hand. “Go on.”

  “I’ll remove Braddock Glannondil from this world.”

  “Kill him? How?”

  “With fire, part two.”

  Kane held my eyes with intent, coiling his fingers around his chalice and dumping the sour wine down his throat. He belched. “This is not a chop-the-head-off-a-snake scenario. The power vacuum will fill quickly there. Cousins, brothers, nephews. He has plenty.”

  “The aim isn’t to prevent war,” I said. “It’s to instigate it.”

  I leaned forward, brushing the chalice out of the way. Too little food for too long had given the devil’s serum some extra punch. I didn’t need to be misplacing my words right now.

  “Follow along,” I said. “I kill Braddock and blame the assassination on you. Whoever fills Braddock’s void — whether short-term or long — will push for immediate retaliation. I know of the plans drawn up prior to Braddock’s meeting with the flame. They won’t change; they were good plans. If you were to remain unaware of them. Since you now know of them, well… wouldn’t it be just splendid to lure in the East and crush them?

  “Half his army would push from the front. The other half would sail down the coast, casting a wide berth around the southern edge.”

  Kane pounded the table with his fist. “The Mother Sea would fuck him rightly. I’m a man of the ocean, Astul. You’re goddamned naive if you believe the South would stand by while an armada of ships sent by the crimson wolf prowled our shores.”

  “Wide berth,” I said. “Only fishermen would notice, and they aren’t the type to get involved.”

  Kane rose up out of his seat like a cyclone sending a geyser bursting up through the sea, scrotum bouncing about wildly. “Let them come! The Mother bore me in her storms, rocked me in her waves! She nurtured me with the food from her belly; let the litter of empty shells on the beds of the sea be a testamen
t to that. The ocean is my domain, and I will splinter any ship that dares trespass.”

  It seemed I’d triggered something. All with a little lie. “Well, see—”

  “See?” he spat, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ll tell you what to see! See these scars?” He puffed out his chest, tracing each gash that had long ago been healed to a milk-colored anomaly atop caramel skin. “You see me out there, think me a genial man blessing the poor. But I am the ocean, Shepherd. The calm does not persist eternally. I destroy with the fury of a ship-wrecking gale. I surge to action with the violence of all-consuming water as it rises and rises while the eye churns behind it. Do not miscalculate the power of the Mother, Astul.”

  This act wasn’t intended as a display of boastful arrogance in the face of a Glannondil assault. In fact, it had nothing to do with war. Had everything to do with me. A theory Kane soon confirmed.

  “As Lord of the Stone Shore, do you know what happened to two young lads who crossed me?”

  Kane’s penchant for unpredictable anger — the worst kind of anger — tied my tongue in knots. It’s difficult to speak to a man whose reactions you cannot predict.

  “I sent them on a boat,” he said. Then he chopped a rigid hand into his arm. “Cut off the one’s arms, gave them to the other and told him to use them as oars. I promised them lordship over any domain they wished if they returned to shore safely. As the bloodied arms smacked the sea like a beaver’s tail and they neared the crusty docks, I aimed my bow, and I lit them up. I fed the Mother that night, as she used to feed me.”

  Silence crawled through the room. “My word,” I said finally and simply, “is gold.”

  He had his chin raised, eyes slanted. He was studying my reaction, but I stonewalled him. Gave him nothing. He refilled his chalice and sat his naked ass on the chair again. Tiny sacs of spit nestled in his beard.

  He asked if I had a plan, and I told him I did.

  “Soon as Braddock’s in his grave,” I said, “march to the South, to the Bay of Selaph. There you’ll convene with the forces of Dercy Daniser.”

  Kane stopped me. “Dercy? You’ve secured his alliance in this?”