The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2)

by Justin DePaoli

  “Where is he?” I asked again.

  “Gone,” he croaked.

  “And the book?”

  “Gone.”

  I looked at the wall where the book used to stand, its pages shimmering with gold from the ceiling to the floor. It sure seemed like one hell of a feat to move something like that.

  Rav gasped. “Wa…ter. Water, please.”

  I crouched before the old man, put my hand on his knee. “You tell me where your brother’s gone off to, and I’ll see about getting you some refreshments.”

  He tried to swallow, but as if he’d taken a gulp of dry sand, he retched, tongue flailing out his mouth. “Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse.

  “Where do you propose I find this water?”

  “Puddle,” Bones said.

  “What?”

  “Waterrrr. High.” He pointed a finger toward the ceiling.

  “Wa—” Rav fought to get the word out. “Water… reclamation.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Get our friend here some water.”

  Bones departed for the apparent water reclamation project Occrum had going on here.

  “How’s your spine?” I asked, patting the back of the chair. Rav winced. “It’s a shame Lysa hadn’t finished you off, you fucking traitor. She’s dead now, because you and your brother wanted to play God.” I stood up, finding my hand tightening into a fist and an unrelenting rage gripping me. “You fucking cunt!” I screamed, bashing my knuckles into his wrinkly face so hard I felt his goddamn bones crunch.

  His teeth scraped my knuckles, bloodying them up. They’d be a lot worse than bloodied by the time I was finished with him.

  I grabbed the snake by his greasy hair and threw his head back against the wall. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know, or I’ll make these the worst moments of your five hundred years of living.” I drew a circle around his eye with the tip of my sword. “And I’ll start by dissecting you.”

  A squeak. That was all that came out of that worthless bastard’s mouth. Bones returned with a bucket of water. I told Rav to open wide, then poured it on his face, forcing him to lap it up like a dog.

  “There,” I said. “You got some water. You’ll get some more if you cooperate. Where is your brother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I clicked my tongue. “Mm. I should inform you that if you choose not to cooperate, you’ll receive ebon instead of water. So, let’s try again. Where is your brother?”

  “I swear!” Rav said. “I don’t know! He left here days ago. Days ago!”

  Now there was the Rav I knew. Full of piss and sunshine. “He sits in his fortress for, what, five-hundred-some years? And all of a sudden, he takes off? Just like that?”

  His leg quivered, and the other seized momentarily. “Promise me something,” he said. “Only one promise. I must have it, and I’ll tell you everything. Everything!”

  “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

  He put his face forward, blew his grizzly hair out of his eyes. I had a feeling he’d have steepled his hands and bent the knee if he was able. “Send me to the beyond. End this life of mine, I beg.”

  “Huh. That’s a strange request, given I’ve heard naughty things in Amortis await those who have been naughty boys in the realm of the living.”

  “You have no idea what my brother has done to me. The horrors I hear and see and feel and—”

  “I don’t care what he’s done. It’s not enough as far as I’m concerned. You chart me a course to your brother, and I’ll gladly stab you right through your fucking skull.”

  “Occrum is a thief, and the owner he stole from wants his book back.”

  The cold enclosure of stone chilled me from the inside out as I heard those words.

  I circled the dimly lit room, kicking dust along the floor. Fourth or so time of going around and around, I stopped and looked at the reaped. Then at Rav. Then at the reaped. Connections were made. Very unsettling connections.

  “Did you know,” Rav said, “that gods walk this world?” I hadn’t known that. But I did have a rather bad feeling I’d met one. “More water, please.” After having the bucket emptied on his face, Rav belched. “I feel much better.”

  “Don’t let your newfound satiety stop your talking. Keep the secrets coming.”

  “A promise is a promise,” he said. “So long as you keep yours. The owner of the book has sniffed my brother out. It appears Occrum left a trail leading directly here when he last visited the world below.”

  The world below? What kind of term was that? “You mean Mizridahl? And Lith?”

  “Yes, among other locations.”

  “What business did he have there?”

  “The molding of the conjurers. He saw to their work himself. Risky business, and he knew it, but Ripheneal hadn’t been close to his heels in generations. He thought he could slip by.”

  Sadly — or perhaps terrifyingly — my assumption that I’d met a god had proven to be correct. Vayle was right, after all. Conjurers, phoenixes, madmen with magical hear-all, see-all books, and now a fucking god. This had to be the end. I’d finally found the bottom of the well.

  “I told him to that leave that blasted book here,” Rav said. “Told him I’d watch after it. But the thing drove him mad. Didn’t trust a soul alone with it. And he brought it along with him, down there, and this thing — this book — it oozes power, see? Oozes a scent which its owner can sense. Oh, and he sensed it. Took him a while, but he chopped at the weeds and the vines and all the thick undergrowth, and there he had himself a trail to follow.

  “I foresaw it all. And I planned my escape, because I’d be implicated too if Ripheneal found me here with my brother. I had another place to go, to take the book — a place where Ripheneal wouldn’t find it. I’d influence the whole of creation just as my brother had done, only I’d do it better.”

  I almost made mention of how Lysa had thrown a kink into those plans — one might even say into the spine of those plans — but thought better of it. Needed to keep him talking, and insults could have hindered that.

  “Occrum said his intention to eradicate life was to keep his little book safe and sound,” I began, “out of the hands of tyrants. Let’s pretend that’s true and not some narcissistic nonsense. If a god had trouble finding this place, what hope could a bunch of wayward kings and peasants have?”

  “Unless they learn to fly, none whatsoever. It was never about that, truthfully. Those are the lies he tells to keep his reapers in line and working for the good cause, and the lies I handed off to you. Extinction served only one purpose: to remove Ripheneal from this world. Then, my brother would have free rein to go wherever he wished. And likewise do whatever he wished. Perhaps he did not know how to create new life, but he could have learned. He could have… become a god.”

  “Seems he created the conjurers just fine.”

  Rav coughed. “Create… no. Molded. They existed before, see. It’s all up here.” He tapped a finger to his head. “The book showed my brother the information needed to teach, to mold a new generation of conjurers.”

  Rav could well have been misleading me, for one reason or another. But in most cases of deception, there exist morsels of truth. It seemed a waste not to seek them out.

  “I’ll play along,” I said. “Let’s say he did create the conjurers, that this is all true.”

  “It is.”

  “Right. Well, you know what question’s going to follow. Why? Seems to me the conjurers were one colossal waste of time and money. Reaped certainly seem more efficient in eliminating wide swaths of life than conjurers.”

  Rav winced as he sat forward in his chair, frail hands gripping the armrests. “My brother… he wants to create, see? He wants to be god. But he can’t, yes? The power is beyond him, for now. He could influence without repercussion, however, if the conjurers took your world. He’d still have beings with which to play, who he could direct, order, breed…”

  “Till Ripheneal swatted him away, yeah?
”

  “If the creations are removed, then so too will be the creator. Trust me; I’ve read the words.”

  “Ripheneal’s… the creator?”

  Rav grinned. “If the creations are removed, then so too will be the creator. After all, my boy, if you infuse yourself in something and it dies, would the same not happen to you? My brother thought he would weaken him by eliminating all life except conjurers. They were your last hope for humanity. But you stopped them. You stopped his plan, and now you face annihilation. Indeed perhaps my brother does not know the recipe for creation, but I do not doubt in due time he will find it. Especially without a god pursuing him.”

  Simplicity and directness had taken a stroll into abstract territory now, pockmarked with riddles and other nonsense. Things I didn’t have time for.

  “So this Ripheneal chap is a god. Why doesn’t he put his big boy shoes on and, you know, call down a cataclysm or some godly shit to obliterate the reaped?”

  “There are boundaries, free will among them. Don’t get too caught up in the god business. High and mighties create in the beginning, but all they do after is observe. ’Less you steal from them, then they get downright personal.” Rav cackled. He clearly regretted that decision as a pained look twisted his face. “But to involve another of his creations? No. Laws against that and all.”

  Funny. It seemed Ripheneal was all too happy to lend a hand in taking out Occrum, what with ten thousand reaped at my side. Maybe there was a technicality with that, given it was only an offer, and I had to make the ultimate decision.

  “Where’d your brother flee to?” I asked.

  “I’ve told you. I don’t know. But given his life is tied to his plan of world extinction…”

  “Somewhere that guarantees its success,” I said.

  “Indeed.”

  Discomfort tightened my chest. The world’s a big place, so I’d been privy to learning. By that notion, Occrum could have been anywhere. But understand a man’s motivations and you can expose his place of refuge. Occrum wanted the populace — every man, woman and child — gone from this world. The only threat to his strategy lie in Lith. He had to have known his reapers hadn’t found Serith and Nilly. He was going there to find them himself.

  Vayle, I thought. She was walking right into it.

  “I’ve got to get off this island, and you’re going to help me,” I said. “Conjure me a phoenix. And tell me which way Lith is. Then… I’ll put you out of your misery.”

  Rav sat back tall in the chair. “You’ll want to go downward. We’re rather high in the air at the moment. Hopefully not too high for the birdies to fly past. Release me, and I’ll conjure you whatever I can.”

  I straightened my sword at his face. “No funny business. Understand?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He grinned. He wouldn’t be grinning for long.

  I cut away his chains. He tried to stand and promptly fell in a heap, his thin, concave face kissing the unforgiving stone.

  “Fuck, you better not be dead after all this,” I said, crouching down and inspecting his head.

  He made some noises. I picked him up, threw his bony frame over my shoulder and trudged past the reaped. Or rather, into the reaped, since their numbers were never-ending. Out of the fortress I walked, to the edge of the island, where I put the old man down. He braced himself against me, his veiny legs wobbly and as brittle as autumn leaves.

  Rav ogled at the fog, seemingly lost in its thick, smoky curls. A haze swept across his lenses, muddying the green of his eyes. That lost, murky stare — I’d seen it before in men who were clinging to life. Or rather, clinging to death.

  I was about to shrug him off, wake him up from whatever stasis had claimed him, but then… well, he went fucking mad. Grunting noises came from his mouth, and his lips trembled. Snot dripped from his nose, and his head crashed against my shoulder.

  And he said this: “Barghagh! Barghagh!” And he gasped, clutched his temple and flung himself backward, where he fell to the ground. The back of his skull sunk into the sand.

  Bones looked at him, alarmed.

  From behind me, a whoosh. And another. Flames glided through the fog, boiling the mist into nothingness. The phoenix came to a rest beside me, its fiery plumes hissing.

  “Is he dead?” I asked Bones.

  The reaped put an ear to Rav’s mouth. “No.”

  “Good. Take a few of your friends here and bring him to Silma of Crokdaw Village. You know where that is?”

  “Yessss.”

  “Tell her he’s the brother of Occrum, creator of the reapers. Mention that it’s a gift from Astul. Oh, and give Taryl this.” I unsheathed an ebon dagger. “He’s been good to me, and I think he’ll enjoy it. Everyone else, go back through the tear and wait in the meadow.”

  The way I figured, better to make friends in Amortis than enemies. Especially if I had to spend eternity there, and eternity might be coming sooner rather than later. True enough that I’d promised Rav a quick death, but I’d also promised him he would greatly regret ever fucking me over. And I tend to keep first promises over seconds and thirds.

  “After you drop him off,” I said, “go to the Prim. Tell Lysa I sent you, and inform her of the others at the meadow. She’ll know what to do.”

  I bade my fleshless friends goodbye as they filtered into the cove, then turned to the phoenix. “Girl? Or boy?”

  The phoenix rolled its head.

  “Sorry, you’re right. Terrible way to ask a yes-or-no question. Let’s try this again. Blink if you’re a girl, roll your head if you’re a boy.” The phoenix blinked. “Well, girl, we’ve got ourselves the journey of a lifetime to embark on. Let’s hope we have another after this, huh?”

  I stuffed my hand inside the pocket where I’d always kept my secret vial. I’d be damned if Occrum brought me to the edge of death, only to take me as a reaper. The vial was still there, and so too was the folded piece of paper Lysa had given me. I’d forgotten about it.

  I pulled it out and read it again.

  In Vereumene, where I hated you.

  In Vereumene, where I last thought about you.

  Wonder what that poem would’ve been like, I thought. Probably some sappy thing abou—

  And that was the moment it all made sense.

  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Lysa had taken refuge in Lith and so brazenly announced her location and intentions out there in the form of her thoughts, and in the written word. But now… now I understood.

  Lysa Rabthorn was only in Lith in her mind.

  Chapter Thirty

  I made the decision. A decision that had my phoenix spurning the clouds and descending to the pancaked earth below. A decision that…it just didn’t feel right. No good decision to make here, only the right one.

  Fact is, I could have saved Vayle and Rovid. Could’ve intercepted them before they made it to Lith. Warned ’em about the trap they were walking into. But what was the endgame there? Save the lives of my friends and let Occrum take the riches?

  Every thought I’d had since stepping out from Amortis was being scribbled into his fancy book. Including the realization that popped me like a strong fist to the jaw. The trick Lysa had pulled. Occrum would read all about it soon enough. Maybe even was reading it right now, while the library of Lith lay smoking and burning.

  Judging from the shapely landscape to the north, scarred with black mountains and jagged crests, I suspected Occrum made his home on a floating piece of rock high above Evastra, near the channel that severed this continent and Mizridahl.

  This was an important piece of cartographic information to have. Assuming Occrum was currently flipping Lith upside down, it meant I was closer to Vereumene than he was. Soon as he’d open his book and take a peek into my mind, he’d discover the truth as to Serith and Nilly’s whereabouts. And he’d make his move to take the city.

  But he’d be one step behind yours truly. And that’s all the information I needed to make my decision. Look, i
f I could’ve intercepted Vayle and Rovid before they’d arrive in Lith and get my ass to Vereumene before Occrum — if there was any way — I’d have done it. A hundred times out of a hundred.

  But I couldn’t risk it. People out there have all sorts of opinions about me. That I don’t care about anyone except myself and my Rots. That I’d off a man for something shiny to stick in my pocket. That I could never be inconvenienced by honor and morality. There’s truth in all those opinions, but you’ve gotta be a demented kook, straight fucked in the head, not to care about the eradication of hundreds of thousands of men, women and children.

  Plus, I couldn’t let all that Lysa had done, all that she’d sacrificed — I couldn’t let it go to waste. Vayle would understand. I hoped.

  Spotting Occrum’s mass of reaped storming across Mizridahl, or by this time through Mizridahl, had been my hope while soaring so high, but the Bay of Selaph land bridge was empty. And everything looked like miniature chess pieces scattered about a life-sized board from up here. Trees were green bulbs, and my eyes couldn’t distinguish hills from flat stretches of clay.

  I was on the lookout for a creek or lake, but then remembered Tylik’s laments that his world had been spoiled, and all that remained was the cold reminder of dirt, rock and sand. Well, grass and trees too, but rule of three. There was little water, even less game. Nothing to fill my belly or wet my throat. Bad time to leave my supplies sitting in Amortis.

  Sometime after dusk, southern Mizridahl lay beneath me, resting silently on this side of the world. Well, silently, assuming everything went according to plan and the reaped marched to Watchmen’s Bay first.

  A windy lake cut between some hills and trees, and I aimed the phoenix toward its banks. The pretty girl lighting the night ablaze drank her fill, and I mine. Caught a few crayfish, ate ’em raw, and went back at it, flying and thinking.

  First thought I had when we got into the air again was good gods did raw crayfish taste like… well, raw crayfish. About as bad as you’d expect. Stunk like a tainted creek and tasted worse. Also, their shells are hell on the fingers. Shredded the skin around my nails.