by Rj Barker
Down a step. Breathe in.
I slide out my stabsword. The Conwy steel shines in the dim light, so different to the rough black iron of the eating knife in my left hand.
Down a step. I am the instrument.
I had always imagined myself as the sharp shining blade created for, and excelling in, my purpose. But without access to the tricks I had taken for granted I felt more like the blunt, dark eating knife.
Down a step. Breathe out.
I can see all four guards. The man with his back to me.
Breathe in
Two men at the table, eating.
I am the weapon.
The woman by the far door.
Breathe out.
She sees me.
I am the weapon.
I am the weapon.
My stabsword flashes out and the Conwy steel goes through the spine of the man with his back to me. He’s dead before he knows I’m there. The woman by the door turns to raise the alarm and I throw my eating knife. It cuts through the air and catches her in the side of the neck. She tumbles backwards in a cascade of crashing armour. The two at the table stand and draw their blades. They come at me instead of trying to raise the alarm. I meet them.
First iteration: the Precise Steps. Into the third iteration, the Maiden’s Pass. I go under a blade, and my Conwy steel darts out, through the eye and into the brain. Fourteenth iteration: the Carter’s Surprise. I spin hand over foot across the table and land behind the last guard. He turns, slashing at me with his blade. Sixth iteration, a Meeting of Hands. I block the downward swing of his longsword. Fourth iteration: the Surprised Suitor. I jump back out of reach of the follow-up swing of his stabsword. Second iteration, the Quicksteps. Forward, forward, forward, pushing my opponent back and forcing him into a defensive posture. Eighth iteration: the Placing of the Rose. My blade up through his mouth and into his brain.
Rufra watches, open-mouthed.
“Girton?”
“Yes.”
“You came for me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes widen. There is fear there. Fear of me.
“I had nothing to do with Drusl’s death. I swear I would never—”
“I know,” I checked the dead guards for keys. Found them and unlocked Rufra’s shackles. “Quickly, Rufra. Put these on.” I threw the slave’s clothes I had under my jerkin at him then went to look through the inside door to make sure no one had heard the brief struggle.
“Slave’s clothes?” said Rufra.
“Yes.”
“But I am not a slave.”
“You are someone who wants to escape.” He looked sceptical. “Look, Rufra. How many slaves are there in the castle?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Exactly, Rufra. No one thinks about slaves; we barely even see them. Keep your eyes down and press yourself against the wall if anyone approaches. Get to Festival as quickly as you can.”
“Festival? I doubt they will give me sanctuary, not while they are in the castle grounds.” He pulled the slave jerkin over his head and then stared at me, his eyes wide. He looked frightened and young.
“This is not about sanctuary, Rufra.”
His face screwed up in puzzlement.
“Not about—”
“Rufra, we do not have time for questions. Get dressed before someone comes.”
“How will I get past the guards on the keepyard gate?”
“Here.” I gave him the letter. “That was given to me by the queen and everything about it is real but a few words and the date. Nywulf is waiting for you with Cearis and her Riders. Be ready to act.”
“Act?” He pulled on the slave’s trousers and I dragged him out of the cell, pushing him towards the stairs.
“Yes, act. Arm up and be ready to act. Now go.”
“But Girton,” he said, “what about you?”
“I will be …” I tried to smile, remembering how my master had said we would most likely be going to our deaths. “I will be fine, but I have to go back into the castle.”
I think he heard it in my voice, the belief that I would not be fine at all.
“I …”
“Go, Rufra,” I shouted. “Nywulf waits.”
He nodded and would have thanked me but his eyes were filling with tears and I think he was worried his voice would betray him. Then he glanced down at the body of the guard at the bottom of the stairs and nodded at me. I retrieved my eating blade and cleaned the cheap black iron on the guard’s kilt, realising that whether I was the dull black knife or the shining Conwy blade it made no difference.
Both killed equally well.
Chapter 26
I changed my clothes and wiped what blood I could see from my skin then went to find Queen Adran. She was in conference with her son, Borniya, Hallin and Celot.
“Merela’s boy,” she said. “I see you are back on your feet. Shouldn’t you be gone by now? I doubt the Landsmen will look kindly on the lover of a sorcerer.”
“Mage-bent in more ways than one, eh?” added Hallin. Aydor laughed and his mother gave him a withering glance.
“Well?” she said. “Why are you here, boy?”
“Queen Adran,” I said, and imagined crushing Aydor’s throat with my bare hands, “my master requests your presence.”
“She does?” Adran smoothed down the material of her jerkin. “And why would that be?”
“She thinks Rufra is innocent and there is another who wants Aydor’s death, yet to be uncovered.”
Aydor laughed.
“Quiet.” His mother cut him off with a slash of her hand. “Unequivocal proof was found for Rufra and Neander’s guilt. You and your master have done your work, so I suggest you both leave before the king finds out about your presence in his castle.”
I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her the king knew about me but stilled my tongue. Whatever my master had planned may require surprise and so I would give away as little as possible.
“I only know my master is waiting for you in the king’s room, Queen Adran.”
“What?” Shock polluted her hauteur with harsh lines. When she spoke again she spoke quietly, her voice an urgent hiss. “Why is she there?”
“She has asked both you and Daana ap Dhyrrin to meet her there. I am afraid I do not know why, Queen Adran. As you said, I am only her boy.” She glared at me and then leaned in close to Aydor and his friends, whispering something that Aydor clearly didn’t want to hear and pointing at the door. Aydor’s eyes widened and his hand went to the hilt of his blade before she hissed at him to get control of himself. He nodded, touching the scar on his face as he did. Behind him Hallin smiled and Borniya glared at me, nodding to himself.
“I’ll see you two later,” Aydor said sullenly to Borniya and Hallin as they pushed past me. Aydor’s gaze settled on me and there was nothing but hate there. “Celot, you follow me,” he added harshly. As he left he made sure to bang into me with his shoulder.
“Well, boy,” said Adran, “are you going to lead me to my husband’s chambers or simply stand there gawping at me?”
“I am sorry, Queen Adran.” I turned to lead her through the castle as if I were a simple servant. As we walked it was like an invisible force travelled before us, pushing everyone—thankful, living or blessed—out of our way and back against the walls. Our small procession moved through a corridor of men and women with their eyes cast down until we arrived on the royal floor.
“You’re a poor thing, aren’t you?” said Adran. I ignored her. “I suppose the mage-bent get few chances at love, and Drusl, well, she was a pretty girl. If you like that washed-out scrawny look.” I wondered how the queen of Maniyadoc even knew who her stable girl was; I could not imagine her setting foot in the stables. “Girton, the crippled assassin’s apprentice, falls in love with a stable girl and she turns out to be an abomination. It is almost like one of those terrible stories Merela is so fond of.”
I walked on with my hands ba
lled into fists until she stopped me with a gentle touch to my shoulder and turned me so I looked into her face.
“Merela Karn will bring you only misery, Girton. That is her fate in life. It is what she brings to those she loves and who love her in turn.” She stared down at me with a distant sort of pity, the type someone has when they hear another’s pet has died. “I could use you. An intelligent boy with a talent for weapons could go a long way in my court. Women would want you, Girton, despite your foot.” She took a step closer. She smelled of citrus and spices.
“Why are you offering me this?”
“I think Merela may be about to make a mistake.” Her eyes flashed to the blade at my hip. “She and I were close once. We dreamed about changing the Tired Lands, making it a better place. I am near to being a power, a real power. Think about all the good I could do then, boy. You could stop your master making a mistake.” She licked her lips and I wondered whether she meant a word she said.
“The Tired Lands is a cruel place,” I said.
“Yes, and you have experienced more than your fair share of cruelty. Dragged around to kill, never having any friends of your own age. All these things that others take for granted have been denied you because of Merela’s crusade.”
“Crusade?”
She leaned in close, the smell of her perfume almost overwhelming as she stared into my eyes.
“She has never even told you, has she?”
“Told me what?”
“She lost a child, family, to a cruel man, Girton. And that is a wrong that can never be put right, so she seeks to right it for others. She is blind to all else.”
“We strike on the order of the Open Circle,” I said, my mouth dry.
“When it suits her,” said Adran. “Merela does what she wants, Girton. She uses people mercilessly for her own ends.”
“As do you, Queen Adran. After all, the Tired Lands are cruel, are they not?”
She almost smiled and I wondered whether she thought I was taken in by her sudden offer of friendship.
“I could change that for you, Girton.”
“Would you free Rufra If I stopped this ‘mistake’ happening?”
The almost-smile fell away.
“Someone has to be guilty, Girton; it is the way of things.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You will make other friends—with my patronage even Aydor will come round to you.”
One, my master.
Two, my master.
“They will be waiting for us,” I said.
The queen nodded at me and her face became cold. “Well, let us hurry then. But you would do well to remember that some mistakes you do not get to live to regret.”
We walked on in silence and as we approached the king’s room our footfalls were joined by those of two guards. I glanced back to see Adran do the same, and when she turned back to me a smile played around her mouth.
The king’s chamber was a huge room made claustrophobic by the stink of sickness. Doran ap Mennix lay in a massive four-poster bed of expensive slow-growing darkwood. He was propped up by mounds of pillows and had thick blankets tucked in around his chin, which made him appear nothing more than a thinly bearded head, the skin tinged with yellow and lined with pain. Breath stole in and out of his mouth as if it felt guilty for keeping the man alive but despite this his eyes remained bright and aware as they darted around the room, taking in all the players who had come to his stage.
My master leaned against the wall to my left, and by the opposite wall stood Daana ap Dhyrrin with four guards, each with a dab of red paint on their armour. Queen Adran went to stand by the head of the bed. The king ignored her. When his gaze settled on me he smiled, though it was a weak thing, more a twitch of the corners of his mouth.
“Why are you bothering my husband on his deathbed, Merela?” said Adran. “You should be leaving, along with your charge.” She gestured at me as I went to stand by my master. The king’s gaze followed me.
“Aye, but you gave me a job to do.” The king’s eyes flicked to my master.
“And it is done.” To Adran.
“What job is this,” said Daana ap Dhyrrin querulously, “and who is this woman, Queen Adran?”
“You will have seen her as the Death’s Jester who came with Girton.” She nodded in my direction. “They came here to find out if we had a traitor in our midst who wanted the heir dead.”
“And we did,” said Daana. “Tomorrow Rufra ap Vthyr will burn for his treason.”
“Exactly,” said Adran, “so why we are here I do not know. We should leave our beloved king in peace.” She started to turn in a rustle of stiff brocaded trousers.
No,” said the king. It was barely a whisper but it stopped everyone in the room dead.
“No?” said Adran. “But, my king, you are ill. We cannot—”
“I think our king means that Rufra is not a traitor,” said my master.
The king’s head moved, an almost infinitesimal nod.
“Be quiet,” said Adran, “or our king will find out more than you wish him to know.”
“The king already knows, Adran.”
“Knows what?” said Daana.
The queen turned to him.
“She is Merela Karn, an assassin. The boy is her apprentice.”
Daana ap Dhyrrin’s rheumy eyes widened, and the guards either side of him lowered their pikes.
“You brought an assassin into the castle?” said Daana.
“To catch a assassin, use an assassin, Daana,” said the queen. “And she has ended the threat.”
“Then why do we waste our time here?” said the old man.
“Because I have not caught who hired your killer,” said my master. “Not yet.”
As they spoke the king’s eyes flicked from one player to another and I was sure I saw the hint of a smile on his weathered face.
“Then please tell us,” said the queen. “If it is not Rufra, a boy who expressed his wishes plainly in a letter, then who is our traitor?”
“Are,” said my master. After a brief, stunned, silence, Adran started to laugh. It was not a false laugh, more a relieved one. I swallowed hard. I had been so sure my master had realised some particular truth that I had missed. But if that was it then her dart had not flown home.
“Are you suggesting, Merela, that I wanted to have my own son assassinated?” She laughed again. “Your time in the wilderness has addled your wits. I should have had you killed the moment you entered the castle.”
“You misunderstand, Adran,” said my master, and I let out the breath I had been holding. “I do not say you wanted your son dead; in fact, I know you have high hopes for him. I said that you were a traitor.”
“Traitor to who?” said Adran. She took a step towards my master. The king watched with bright eyes and there was no mistaking his smile. The stink of sickness thickened in the room.
“To your king, to the high king, to the entire Tired Lands.”
Adran laughed again… but was she a little less sure of herself?
“You talk madness. Guards!” She turned to the man and woman she had brought with her, “Arrest this woman and the boy. If they wish to ally themselves with the traitor, Rufra ap Vthyr, they can join him on the pyre.”
The guards started forward but a word from the king stopped them in their tracks.
“No.”
Adran looked from them, to me, to Daana ap Dhyrrin and then to the dying king.
“Guards,” he whispered, “leave us a while. I want to hear what this assassin has to say.” The few words seemed to steal all the energy from him. He let his head fall back against the pillow and in the time it took the guards to leave I do not think he breathed at all, though that small smile still played about his lips.
“So be it, Merela,” said Queen Adran with a shrug. “Tell me of this madness that has possessed you. Expose your foolishness to us all.”
My master pushed herself away from the wall. The yellow and purple tapestry behind her rippled. �
�Very well. Neander was training sorcerers together with Heamus. We are all agreed on that?”
“And Rufra was helping them,” added Daana ap Dhyrrin.
“No.” My master shook her head. “Not Rufra, though I am sure you would love us to think that. But we shall come to you later.” She gave Daana ap Dhyrrin a brief smile. “Heamus was going out into the Tired Lands and using his Landsman skills to find those who showed some promise of magic and bringing them here. We know about Drusl, but Girton saw a list and there were others. No doubt they either left with Neander or they have gone to feed the pigs.”
“We know this,” said Adran.
“But I did not understand why Heamus would do such a thing.”
“He held a grudge against our king,” said Daana ap Dhyrrin, “over a serving girl. The heart can be a cruel master.” Shock on the king’s face at that? If so it was fleeting. There and gone, briefly considered and cast away as beneath him.
“Oh the heart can be. It is,” said my master. “And as he knew how much King Doran hated magic, revenge may well have been the leash that drew Heamus into the plot, but Heamus did not strike me as cruel. If anything he struck me and Girton, who knew him better, as a kind man. Albeit one haunted by guilt.”
“Not so kind if the stripes and scars on Drusl’s back were to be believed,” said Adran. I dug my nails into my palms.
“No. Not if he was the one who did that, but I truly believe Heamus was trying to make up for his past cruelties. Girton heard arguments between Heamus and Neander. Maybe Heamus was told bringing those gifted here would give them a chance at a good life as well as provide him with some small measure of revenge and redemption. Maybe he believed he was to watch over them and ensure they never hurt anyone. Truthfully, I do not know how he was persuaded to take part and I doubt we will ever find out.”
“But Merela,” said Adran softly, as if she were talking to a child, “if he was misled by Neander, why would he carry on once he realised?”
“Because once he had started it was too late, Adran. Once he had helped Neander he was caught. What could he do then? Who could he go to? The king?” Doran ap Mennix gave a soft shake of his head, his eyes steely hard. “And imagine what the Landsmen would do to him if they found out he had been protecting sorcerers. It’s a mercy he died when he did.” A nod from the king.
