by Brian Keller
Over the next ten minutes he quickly summarized recent events, starting with, “The Guild has been raided by the Army, aided by the City Watch. Our members have been killed, captured, or driven into hiding. Jarell was the primary traitor in our midst but he was being assisted by none other than Master Vorni. Master Loril killed Master Vorni a few weeks ago and Jarell is dead.” Utsef interrupted only long enough to ask, “Are you sure Jarell is dead?” Cooper nodded, “I pierced his heart with my own blade.” Technically, this was true and Cooper needed to claim that kill simply to avoid explaining what had actually happened in the Ruins. He wasn’t prepared to have that conversation with anyone.
He also explained the growing influence of the drugs that Lukasi traders had been bringing in, and added his suspicions, “With the Guild gone, the slavers from Lukasi will be free to expand throughout the city. I expect that the City Watch will be completely unable to handle the matter, and the Army would destroy half the city if they’re called upon to take care of it.” Utsef nodded, “And what do you believe will be done about it? In the Guild’s absence?” Cooper had been considering this for the last few days, if for no other reason than to distract himself from everything that had happened. He phrased his reply carefully, “I would predict one of two potential outcomes, neither of which is favorable to us. First, and the most likely, the Prince will direct the City Watch, augmented by select units of the Army to address the growing problem. I believe that the Lukasi slavers will be able to expand faster than the Watch can control. Success or failure depends on how quickly the slavers can consolidate their gains and establish their own networks. The second option, and still a likely response, would be for the Prince to direct the Royal Spymaster to develop a secret police. There are several problems and challenges inherent to this option, and that is why I feel it is a less likely response than the first one I’d mentioned.” Utsef’s students looked around amongst themselves, as if to see whether anyone had anything else to add. Eventually all eyes settled on Utsef. The Master Assassin, normally quite cheerful, appeared distraught and seemed lost in thought. He was aware that everyone expected him to say something, to impart some wisdom; instead he opted for a more thought-provoking line of conversation. He fixed Cooper with an unflinching stare, “And what do you propose? You’ve travelled all this way for some purpose, certainly.” Cooper nodded. He didn’t shrink under Utsef’s intense gaze, “I came here because I need the advice and guidance of a Master from the Guild, and right now you’re the only one I can find without putting myself at risk.” Utsef leaned forward and cut a chunk of meat from the venison and chewed it thoughtfully while he formed his reply, “You’ve given us all much to think about. This is a discussion that you and I can continue just between us, while these five,” he swept his hand around the circle, “are conducting their lessons tomorrow. For now, eat the meat that has been roasted, then carve the remaining meat off the carcass.” Utsef stood and entered the darkness of the surrounding woods. Between bites of venison, Loryn asked, “and Aden?” Cooper shrugged, “Rukle told me that he thought he’d seen Aden alive, being forced into a cage. Whether bound for Serpent Tooth prison, or the work camps, or execution, he couldn’t say. He couldn’t even be sure that it was Aden that he’d seen.” Loryn looked very upset, and angry. She couldn’t look at him. Cooper added, “I’m sorry, Loryn. I wish I knew more, but I just don’t. I hope that I can convince Utsef to come back to Paleros with us to rebuild.” Loryn arched an eyebrow, “Rebuild?” Cooper nodded, “Master Loril found a way to leave me an assignment. Two targets, in fact. But I can’t accomplish them alone, not without destabilizing the city’s government, or risking the possibility of King Argravel sending troops to impose martial law. If there’s one lesson I’ve had driven into my brain time and again over the last few years, it’s this… Actions have consequences.”
Now Loryn jerked her head and met his gaze fully, “Consequences? Almost everyone we care about is either captured or dead! You’re concerned about consequences?!” Cooper squared his shoulders and leaned toward her, “Yes. Yes, I am. It’s consequences that brought us to this point. I’m not suggesting we do nothing, but Utsef’s the only Master around, and I’m one of the newest Adepts. He and I, and five Journeymen against what? The City Watch, the Army and the Palace Guard? I’m convinced that what needs to be done can be done, but we’ve gotta be smart. It’s going to require planning. We’re not soldiers. We’re Assassins.”
Utsef’s voice cut in from behind Cooper, “He’s right about that, Miss. How many times have you heard me say it? If I’m in a ‘fair fight’, it’s only because I didn’t have time to prepare.” Utsef shook his head as he chuckled, “But as right as he might be about that, he’s completely wrong about the rest of it. I’m not going to the city. And neither are any of you, at least not until the Journeymen are finished here.”
By the time Utsef had finished speaking, the other four Journeymen had gathered to listen. When Utsef stopped talking one of the Journeymen, a square-jawed boy who answered to the name “Gaff”, spoke, “Not many Journeymen Assassins can claim they already know their first assignment.” Utsef groaned but Cooper spoke first, “You still don’t. I’ll certainly need help setting things up. I have a few ideas, but the way I have it figured it’ll take an incredible amount of preparation and more than a little timing; much more than I can manage by myself. That’s where you come in.” He then turned to Utsef, “And if you won’t come to the city to oversee matters, then you’re leaving me in charge of getting things started, by default. Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Utsef shook his head, “No, it’s a horrible idea. There’s only two, maybe three people that I’d consider qualified to rebuild the Guild, and I don’t hate them enough to wish that upon them.” Cooper shrugged, “I expect that once we get things started at least a few Guild members, those who’re still in the city, hiding, will emerge. That’ll help, but I certainly can’t count on it. No way to guess who, or even if, anyone will show.” Cooper had almost been thinking out loud. He took a breath and directed his attention back to Utsef, “While I’m here, I’ll ask that you help me put ideas together; even if only by listening and providing guidance.” Utsef gestured at Loryn and the others, “You get the food stowed and the put out the fire. We need to get away from this campsite. The fire Cooper has burning is big enough for a lighthouse.” Cooper glanced at the fire and chuckled as Utsef turned back to face him, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk…” He turned to watch the Journeymen dismantle the campsite, “Four months or so… between lessons.” He paused and cast a sidelong look in Cooper’s direction, “Lessons that you might help with, since you’re here anyway.”
Cooper slung his gear back over his shoulder and followed the group into the Forest. Everyone moved silently, or almost silently. The Journeymen had been here a few months already. It appeared that they’d been paying attention to their movement lessons, at least.
They reached a small clearing and Utsef stopped the group. He announced, “We’ll camp here until morning. No fire. Don’t unpack. At dawn we’ll move again.” As the others busied themselves with tying up hammocks, Utsef came close enough to Cooper that he could speak without being overheard, “We’ve had to ‘accelerate’ the lessons, due to all the deaths in the Guild. I guess we’re not so worried about that now.” Cooper shook his head, “I’m still in a hurry. For those Guild members that were killed during the raid, or executed later, it hardly matters; but for those imprisoned or chained in work camps, every day matters.” Utsef had no reply for that, other than a curt nod. He turned and stepped into the trees to prepare his own hammock.
Cooper slept well in the Forest, despite the fact that the weather was becoming cooler. The following morning, Utsef resumed their earlier conversation, “A couple of the kids aren’t progressing as well as I had hoped. Whether more time is the answer, or they’re just not cut out to be Assassins… it might be difficult to tell if we continue to simply rush them through.” He turned to point out the
Journeymen, each in turn, “You already know Loryn. You’ve met Gaff. That’s Naro, Balat, and Spen.” Naro was a blond haired, slender kid with a pronounced Adam’s Apple and hands too big for his arms. Balat had brown hair and dark brown eyes. His dimpled chin was tightly tucked under his lips. Spen looked like a Northerner, with blond-almost-white hair and pale blue eyes. He had a certain nervous energy which led him to constantly observe everything that went on around him. He kept himself busy with small tasks in the campsite. Utsef took a breath and let it out slowly, “As they’ll be working for you, I’ll leave that decision in your hands. If it were left up to me, I might slow the curriculum down to see if they improve. It may be that they were just brought to me too early; but then again you came to me earlier than expected, but for different reasons.” This gave Cooper something to think about as they walked to their actual campsite. He hadn’t considered that Journeymen progression could be a factor that could affect their return to Paleros. He’d hoped to return with everyone within a few weeks, or even a month. Now it appeared that the earliest they might return would be in mid-winter. Getting back as soon as he could was his main priority, but he also needed fully qualified people. He felt comfortable with Loryn. He could use the next few months to assess the others.
*****
Some mornings Iona would wake early, before dawn, and go to one of the sitting rooms and watch the light from the rising sun play over the city, but as the weather grew colder, drafts and chilled corners seemed to multiply within the stone walls of the Palace. On mornings like these, she tended to remain in bed. She had considered rising to use the privy on a few occasions already, but so far, the need was not great enough for her to emerge from under her cocoon of blankets and furs. A rough knock at her door shocked her into attentiveness. She’d pushed back the blankets and managed to call out, “Just a mo-” before the door was pushed open. Yoren Aporigh stood in her doorway. She gathered her robe around her, ignoring the cold stone floor against her feet, and asked, “What is it, sir?” Upon seeing her state, his expression rested somewhere between disappointment and disdain, “Still in bed at this hour? Get dressed. You’re coming with me. I’ll be in my chamber when you’re ready. Hurry up.” He had become less pleasant since the Guild raid. Whether that was because he had played only a minor role and thus got little credit, or whether he now found himself without an organization to uncover and plot against, she couldn’t be certain. “Still,” she supposed, “it was far better than being at the University.” She dressed quickly, knowing that his impatience would be growing with each passing minute. He responded immediately when she knocked on his door. Now that she could see him from arm’s length, she wondered when he’d last slept. He had changed into fresh clothes as well. He reached out a hand and cupped her elbow, “You’re coming with me today, to Serpent Tooth Prison.” She asked, “That’s where you’ve been these last days?” He nodded, “Every day since the raid. The criminals are remarkably resilient, or perhaps they just don’t know the answers to my questions.”
As they stepped out of the Palace, a carriage pulled up, manned by two armored guards. Two others were seated at the rear. They were brandishing crossbows. The driver hopped down and opened the carriage door, lowering the hinged steps with a flourish as he backed away. Iona kept her comments and questions to herself until they were seated inside and the carriage had begun moving. She asked, “Are you expecting to be attacked?” He gave no indication that he’d heard her as he looked through a gap in the heavy curtains. She started to ask again when he replied, “I can’t imagine that the Lord General netted all of the Guild in one fell swoop. Those remaining will be angry. Desperate. And desperate men will do desperate things.” Iona had no doubt that the Spymaster had correctly assessed human nature in a broad sense, but she couldn’t help wondering whether he’d correctly assessed this situation. She’d witnesses at least one Assassin’s behavior first hand. He’d exercised discipline; restraint, even.”
The carriage stopped at the Trade Quarter boardwalk. They transferred onto a longboat and the oarsmen propelled them swiftly across the water. Iona was thankful that they looked practiced and efficient. It was her first time crossing any body of water larger than the Whitefoam. Still, she looked across the water with a sense of excitement and wonder. As the Prison loomed closer, she realized that the structure was much larger than it appeared when viewed from the city. She asked Yoren, “How far down does it go?” Yoren replied quickly, “Not far. There are a few cells under a building in the center. There are a few partially-carved cells in other places, but those were left incomplete because there was a danger of weakening the stone beneath the walls. Any deeper and the cells would start filling with water.” Iona was surprised, “The rock is porous?” Yoren shook his head, “Not at all, but there are several crevices and cracks. The islands take a regular beating from the sea. They’re the reason the bay remains so calm all year.” She noted the tall towers, “Are prisoners kept up there?” He answered, “No. Too inconvenient to supervise and cart meals, such as they are, two times daily. Most prisoners are kept on ground level rooms. A few are kept on what would be the second floor, but the things that would normally define one floor from another are a little skewed in there. Rather than attempt to explain it, I’ll just let you see it for yourself.”
She was still squinting at the towers, “The towers are for signaling then?” Yoren confirmed, “Yes. Though these days the fears of another nation sending an invading armada are almost non-existent. The army still maintains a token garrison here, generally made up of officers and enlisted men who have failed to impress. Ships, usually no more than three at a time, make the trip out here a couple times a week, to drop off supplies. Then they’ll usually make a large loop out there”, he pointed out over the sea, “before coming back to port. They’re rarely out longer , than forty-eight hours.” His tone of voice changed, mostly thinking out loud, “Usually not more than an overnight trip, now that I think about it.”
They drew up to a stone jetty and threw a rope to one of the soldiers who had interrupted his patrol to meet them. There were several metal hoops sunk partway into the stone along the edges of the jetty. Obviously, all of these weren’t just mooring points. They were too close together. The jetty was flat but the ground sloped up sharply to the entrance to the prison. The entrance was a simple, iron portcullis with an iron grate pedestrian door built into it. The portcullis was down but the door hung open, askew on its hinges.
Once inside it became obvious that the prison walls were made of two layers of huge, rough cut stone blocks. The cells were formed by large gaps between the inner layer of stones. The interior grounds sloped upward to the east so the entrances to the ‘first level’ cells on the east side were technically underground, meaning the second level cells were actually ground level. There were five buildings arranged in the center. Their purposes were unclear but likely one was for food preparation and at least one would likely be a barracks building. She gazed around the perimeter of the grounds. There could easily be over a hundred cells but the loudest sounds were the wind making a chorus of low howls as it passed over the walls.
Yoren gestured to the left, “Well, let’s start. Just stopping to glance in each cell will take us over an hour… and we have questions to ask. I just want you to help show me who to ask.” Almost three hours later they hadn’t quite made it halfway around the grounds. They had spoken with over a dozen and had interviewed half of them. She now knew the purpose for at least one of the five buildings. It was for conducting interviews. She still wasn’t sure why Yoren decided it was important for her to be here. She had nothing to do with selecting who was questioned, and even less to do with the questions being asked.
A few prisoners later and it became clear to her. The prisoner had a fairly powerful build. He was hanging suspended by chains hooked to a metal strap that was belted around his waist. His hands were enclosed in plate armor mitts that were battered to the point of uselessness. The shackles aroun
d his ankles were chained to hoops in the floor. He was facing the door, observing whoever was outside his cell. Despite the bruises and welts, she recognized him immediately. This was the Assassin who had decided not to kill her after he’d killed the Assistant Harbormaster. He recognized her too, and dropped his gaze.
Yoren smiled, “You know this one.” He leaned against the cell bars and called inside, “You know each other. Yes?” He pointed at the cell door, indicating that the guard should open it. The guard complied. Yoren pointed at the prisoner, “I want to talk to him.” The guard spoke, “Go ahead, sir.” Yoren looked back outside and the guard understood, “Sir, I won’t unlock him until I have more men here. Opening the cell door is fine, but that’s it.” Yoren approached the prisoner and asked, “Why should he fear you? Why are you secured like this?” Yoren looked back at Iona, “Do you know?” The guard must have thought the Spymaster was asking him. He replied, “Sir, before he could be subdued and arrested, this young man took two crossbow bolts; one through his right leg and the other into the left side of his chest. Then he killed three more soldiers, good fighters, before someone managed to get behind him with a mace.” Yoren waited impatiently for the guard to finish speaking, then inquired, with an edge to his voice, “Weren’t you fetching reinforcements?”
Iona stepped forward, within comfortable speaking distance of the prisoner, “What’s your name? I have wondered.” The guard had turned to leave but he turned back with his eyes wide, “Miss! Watch yourself. You’re getting too close.” Yoren took a step toward the man, glaring. The guard quickly walked away. Iona hadn’t taken her eyes off the prisoner, though he had turned his head to watch the proceedings. He turned back to face her and in a voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaked, “Grief.” Yoren stepped in, as if closing in on a kill, “Grief? That’s your name?” Grief turned to look at Yoren with an enigmatic smile on his face as he examined the Spymaster. He didn’t reply. Iona could feel the power build. Instinctively, she thought it was the prisoner but realized almost immediately that it was Yoren. She spoke abruptly, “Grief, will you talk to me?” The prisoner turned to face her and shrugged, making links of his chain rattle, “Perhaps.” His voice sounded clearer now, more youthful. Yoren stopped short, considered his actions, and backed to the cell door, “Maybe it’s better if I give you some space.” He smiled, “Behave yourselves, now. I’ll just be right here.”
