Age of Assassins

by Rj Barker

  “It is.” I took another sip, watching Rufra as he rubbed the cup against his lip, deep in thought.

  “My grandfather was Arnlath, first blessed of the ap Vthyr,” he said quietly. “The blessed of Berrick keep insulted our family, there were deaths. Grandfather chose to leave Festival to exact his revenge.”

  I waited to see if he would say any more, but he only stared at the ground, pushing the cup against his lip.

  “His revenge cost a lot of lives,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Rufra, and took a swig of his drink. “A price was paid for the insult in slaughter and rape by both men and their forces. I don’t doubt Arnlath ap Vthyr did terrible things,” he said sadly, “but to me he was simply Grandfather.”

  “You were close?”

  “Aye, very. He doted on his daughter and he doted on me. He regretted what he had done as a young man.” Rufra looked at the ground. “If he were still alive I would not be here, Girton; I would be blessed of the ap Vthyr instead of my uncle, who is every inch as cruel as Aydor. But Grandfather is not here. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck. A poor end for such a warrior.”

  Arnlath ap Vthyr did not fall down the stairs. I glanced at Rufra, thinking about how my master and I were never there to see the ripples in the pond caused by the stones we threw.

  “Yes,” I said, and took another sip of my drink. “A poor end for such a warrior.” We were interrupted before we could talk any more about Rufra’s grandfather, something I was very glad of.

  “Girton! Rufra!”

  We both turned.

  “Drusl!” I said.

  “I’ll get more juice,” said Rufra and vanished into the growing darkness. Drusl looked preoccupied, but before I could ask her what was wrong she threw herself into my arms and all my worries melted away.

  “I cannot stay long, Girton.” She ran a finger along the line of my jaw. “With Leiss gone I have double the work, but I have allowed myself until the water clock strikes nine.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “Is there somewhere we can be alone,” she whispered into my ear.

  “I have promised Rufra we will see Festival with him.”

  “Well—” she kissed my ear “—I am sure that will be nearly as much fun.”

  As night’s hold deepened, the men and women of Festival lit huge torches that made our shadows dance along the muddy ground and filled the air with fragrance. Rufra brought us juice and hot sweet confectioneries on sticks. His face acted like a ticket, and we attended the puppet and theatre shows and laughed and gasped with the crowds. Within the grounds of Festival there seemed to be no boundaries: blessed, living and free thankful were equal. There was even talk that those thankful who had ended up as slaves, if they found the right people, could vanish into Festival and find a new life.

  The end of the evening came too soon. Rufra promised to escort Drusl to the stables as it was not far out of his way, while I had to return to the castle. I had hoped to steal some time alone with her, but Rufra was clearly pleased with his chivalrous offer and I did not want to spoil it for him. I kissed Drusl goodbye and could still taste the sweetness of fruit juice on her tongue as I walked through the keepyard gate.

  I wished we could have stayed longer but there would be other happy days.

  I was sure of it.

  Chapter 23

  There was no sign of my master in our rooms and as I sat there the gloom threatened to return. If not telling Rufra I was an assassin had hurt him, how would he react when he discovered I had the makings of a sorcerer?

  And Drusl? What would she think?

  I could not bear to think about it but at the same time could not help myself. I needed to do something, anything.

  I remembered the voices I had heard when climbing out to look through the rooms of Neander ap Vthyr and Daana ap Dhyrrin. If I could find that same place on the wall, maybe I could eavesdrop again. It was a slim chance, but at least if I was hanging off the side of Castle Maniyadoc my mind would be far too busy to go round and round in tortuous circles. Sticking my head out of the window made me gasp at the chill bite of the wind, though it was not as gusty as the last time I had climbed, and if I used the rope and nails I should be fine. Quickly I wrapped myself in the nightsuit, blackened my face and hands and strapped on my climbing foot. Then I cut a length of rope and tied it around my waist; the other end I made into a loop and placed my right hand through it. Grabbing a handful of nails I climbed out onto the window ledge.

  I transferred my weight to my fingers, and that familiar hollow swooping in my stomach rushed over me as my mind screamed at me for placing my body in such danger. But it was the danger that drove dark thoughts from my mind and painted a grin on my face as a wind out of the sourlands whipped my hair about my face.

  Far below, a scum of ice had formed over the pool the water clock sat in and the guards had taken to their room after shutting the courtyard gates. Those who needed to go in or out would have to ask them to open the postern gate, and they saw no need to freeze outside. This was good. It meant that if I found a place where I could hear the voices I could use my knife hilt to bang in a nail without worrying about being heard; then I could hang from it to save my strength. I retraced my path across the wall, keeping alert for the whisper of voices on a breeze which rose and fell but lacked the malevolence of the wind the last time I had done this.

  My arms were burning with fatigue as I approached the corner where the inner courtyard wall met the massive stones of the keep and found the protruding stone. It was here I had heard the voices, and I had hoped to wrap the rope around it, but the stone was so corroded the rope slid off. Instead, I took one of the big nails from my belt and pushed it as far into the stonework as I could. Then, using the hilt of my knife, I hammered it once and glanced down. The guards were still inside, no doubt warmed by a brazier. I hit the nail again, then a third and fourth time, before looping my rope over it and, very slowly, letting it take my weight. A slight grinding noise. I lifted myself on my fingers and toes just as the nail fell out of the rotten mortar and fell, each tiny metallic beat of the fall sounding impossibly loud. I waited, heart hammering in my chest, but no one came to investigate. I gave it a minute that seemed to stretch for hours as I counted out my-masters and my muscles complained. Then I hammered in a second nail, and a third into a lower course of mortar just in case. I twisted the rope around the bottom nails and placed the loop over the top one and gingerly let them take my weight.

  They held.

  I waited, it seemed for an age, as cold seeped through my nightsuit. At the moment I was about to give up I heard it:

  “… not what I agreed to …”

  Then another voice, lower, reduced to sounds no more sensible than the hiss of leather against leather.

  “No! … id not leave … sma … more cruelty …”

  That voice. I knew it, but by the time the wind had tumbled it around the keep’s inner walls it had lost its familiarity.

  “… cannot continue … not after … iess … poor boy …”

  Poor boy? What poor boy? And what could not continue?

  “… other ways … manage the gift …”

  I knew that voice.

  Then the other roared,

  “You are wrong and you are wicked! I cannot let it continue!”

  I heard a door slam, and it came to me.

  Heamus! It was Heamus. I unlooped the rope and was making my way back to our window when I heard a door open far below. I froze as Heamus strode across the courtyard. He was fully armoured and wore blades at his hip. He was no careless guard and despite his age I felt sure if I moved he would somehow sense me. What had he meant? The gift? The boy?

  Heamus hammered on the postern gate and a guard came out.

  “None to leave. Queen’s orders,” said the guard.

  “Let me out. I must go to the stables.”

  “Queen says none can leave after—”

  “Open it,” shouted Heamus and he pulled out his sta
bsword. “You know who I am.”

  The guard stared at him for a moment then shrugged.

  “Ain’tn’t no need for blades, Heamus.” He opened the postern door to let the old Landsman out. Once he was gone, I heard the guard say under his breath, “Mardy yellower,” before he returned to the gatehouse. Then, quickly as I dared, I made my way back to our room. Boy? The Gift? And Heamus was going to the stables. Drusl was in the stables! Was the boy Leiss? Did Heamus suspect Drusl of having something to do with Leiss’s death? But how? Why?

  What if he hurt her?

  I pulled myself in through the window and found my master standing with her back against the door in her full jester’s suit, a blade in her hand.

  “Girton,” she said. “What are you doing? I thought you were an intruder.”

  “No time,” I said, gasping for breath as fiery pain ripped through my hands and feet. I fell to my knees. “Heamus. Going to the stables,” I hissed. “Drusl.”

  “What?”

  “Armed. Something about Leiss?” Pain was stealing my strength. “Please, Master. Drusl may be in danger.”

  “But, Girton, we will not be allowed out.”

  I searched my mind for what to do.

  “Fire, Master! I could start a fire in the keep and it would distract the guards on the gate. Then you could use the windlass to open the main doors.”

  “Girton—” she knelt in front of me “—slow down. Think. A fire big enough to distract the guards would likely bring half the castle running, and the windlass is heavy. I’d barely have any strength left to help you after turning it alone.” She stared into my eyes “Breathe, Girton. Out and in. Calm yourself and think. We don’t climb a wall where there is a staircase without good reason. Think. Simple is always better.”

  I took a moment. Breathed. Each second seemed a minute, each breath brought the danger to Drusl closer.

  “The letter the queen gave me, to leave for Festival, we can …”

  “She dated it. And her instructions were specific, I can forge her handwriting but it will take me— “

  “Daana ap Dhyrrin,” I said.

  “What of him?”

  “He defended me in front of Queen Adran when she questioned me about Kyril. He either wants my friendship or wants to ensure Neander doesn’t have it, I’m not sure which, but he may help.”

  “And that helps us how?”

  “I could tell him I want to visit my girlfriend in secret. The best lies contain truth—right, Master?”

  “Aye. But you wait here, clean the blacking from your face and hands and put on your armour,” said my master. “You are shaken and he will sense that. I will go to him for you.”

  “What if he says no?”

  “Then we will think of something else.” And then she was gone. The pain of climbing ebbed as I struggled into my armour, and when she returned she carried a letter from Daana ap Dhyrrin allowing us to leave.

  “That was easier than I expected,” she said. At first she had to help me limp along the corridors of Castle Maniyadoc but walking helped bring the feeling back into my hands and feet. Then we ran. As we left the keep I glanced back over my shoulder and, just for a moment, thought I saw a figure at the lit window of Daana ap Dhyrrin’s window, watching as we ran for the gate. I banged on the door of the guardroom. The guards were in no hurry and I hammered on the door again. The guard who eventually answered seemed annoyed and puzzled to see us, a squire and Death’s Jester rushing through the night demanding he open his doors and dragging him away from his warm brazier, but let us through.

  We skirted Festival, which was full of light and noise, and ran as fast as we could for the dark stables. Even armoured and with my club foot I outran my master, or maybe, judging Drusl my business, she let me go ahead.

  I skidded to a stop at the open stable doors. The sun had dipped below the walls and flickering torches lit the interior in gold and red. Light caught the antlers of the mounts, their heads swayed restlessly, as if they were aware something was wrong and antlers threw a forest of needle shadows over the walls. At the edge of the torchlight I was held, as if the dome of light were some impassable barrier—I saw a mountbiter, tiny as a jewel, float through the air, the high whine of its wings pulsing in my ear as it flew into the stable, but I could not follow. My body refused to listen to instruction. I willed my legs to move but they would not. I begged my mouth to open but I made no sound. Instead I was forced to stand and watch, a mute, helpless audience to a tragedy.

  Heamus stood in front of Xus’s stall, too intent on what he was saying to notice me. He spoke gently, using the same voice one would use on a frightened animal.

  “There is no time for this, no time. Come.” Something was said in return, something so quiet all I could make out was fear in the voice. Heamus shook his head. “No, not that, never that again.” A muffled reply. The air in the stable felt like it had thickened, as if it wished to stop me hearing what was said. I could hear no words, discern no meaning; only that terrible fear came through, and the mounts picked up on it, starting to hiss and cough. “You must forget him, forget this place, forget it all. It is no longer safe for any of you.” A shuddering through the stable, as if a wave of sadness passed along it, blowing around loose straw and slamming shutters. Xus remained almost entirely still, except for his great head, which swayed as if he were hypnotised. The other mounts began to rear and strike out. The thunder of clawed feet beating against wooden stalls filled the stable, the forest of antler shadows on the walls twisted and bucked as if caught in strong winds.

  Then Heamus raised his voice. Breaking the spell. His shout brought a crushing, heavy silence down on the stable that stilled the mounts, deadened all feeling. Heamus’s voice was the only sound. The stable around him became a blur. He became the focus.

  “Dead gods’ sake, girl, will you come out!” His hand went to the blade at his waist—not, I think, because he wished to use it, but because it was a habitual gesture when he lost his temper.

  A scream.

  Everything changed, moved.

  The air bowed and became a great lens, thick as honey and filled with the scent of spices. It spoke out with a deep voice, like the paralysing bark of an impossibly huge dog. The stall which housed Xus seemed to breathe in and Heamus raised his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself. A woman screamed, as if giving birth and dying at the same time, and Xus, my beautiful, powerful Xus, crumpled as if he were made of wet paper, his massive body shrinking, muscle falling away until his bones became stark against his skin and he was dragged down by his own weight. Darkness exploded from the stall. A plug of ink-black air throwing itself against the Landsman, peeling back his armour, shedding spears of black like water crashing against rock. It slammed Heamus back against the door of the empty stall behind him and he screamed as his bones were shattered along with the wood.

  The darkness vanished as quickly as it had come. The moment felt like a dream, but the smashed door and Heamus’s broken body showed it to be all too real, horrifically real. The front of the Landsman’s armour and the flesh of his face had been flensed from him. After hitting the stall door he had fallen forward, dead, his face turned towards me and his wet red skull grinned mockingly from his bent helmet.

  “No!” The word that came from within Xus’s stall was a howl of anguish. It sounded as if all the pain and worry I had felt over the past days was bundled up into one forlorn, sour syllable, and though I knew what I would find I still refused to accept it. Slowly, dreading and knowing what I would see, I advanced on Xus’s stall through hazy air and over ground which felt like it was made of sponge. Each step brought me closer, each pace brought me nearer to knowing that, in my life, there were to be no surprise escapes, no happy endings. There was only one explanation for what I had seen and heard.

  “Drusl,” I said.

  She stood with her hands held away from her body as if they were animals that would bite her. Her eyes were wide with horror at what she had done. N
ext to her was Xus. The once-mighty mount had fallen to his knees, his muzzle prematurely greyed and his fur hanging loosely from a starved and skeletal body. The animal looked a thousand years old. How could this be him? He was strong. He had carried me across the land with the wind whipping my hair. Xus was indomitable, the only thing stronger and more constant than my master. His warmth had sheltered me through long nights, his fur had been my comforter, and the smell of him was the nearest thing I had ever known to home. Mounts could live for hundreds of years; mounts should live for hundreds of years.

  But Xus would not; he was broken. Breath wheezed in and out of his lungs in painful gasps. The great antlers he had always been so proud of were now too heavy for his head and had pulled it to the floor, tilting it to one side and painfully twisting his scrawny neck. Saliva ran from his mouth, around gums that had receded from black and rotten teeth, to pool on the floor of the stable. His small black eyes were empty of life, the great spirit that had animated him horribly, permanently reduced.

  “Xus,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” said Drusl. “I’m sorry.” She looked to Xus and then to me but whether she saw me or not I do not know. Her gaze was far away and then it focused, returned to her shaking hands, regarding them as if they were covered in blood only she could see. I started forward. A firm hand on my shoulder stopped me.

  “No, Girton,” said my master. “It is too dangerous for you.”

  “He wanted to hurt me; they all wanted to hurt me.” Drusl lifted her hands and stared at them with wide brown eyes. I think she could see nothing else. Another long breath struggled in and out of Xus’s lungs. My heart broke within my breast.

  “All?” said my master softly. “Kyril and Leiss? They wanted to hurt you too?”

  “Yes,” the word barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt them but they wouldn’t go away. They wouldn’t. I only wanted to make them go away.”

  “Stress and hurt are often the triggers that wake us, girl,” said my master softly, taking a step towards her.

  Drusl seemed to see us for the first time, and her face twisted into a grimace. The floor and walls started to sweat.