Three Coins for Confession

by Scott Fitzgerald Gray

  He stumbled, dropping to his side and forced to roll back, his bow useless beneath him. Taelendar swung high. Then she died before her blade could fall, Dargana’s axe spinning in to strike the back of her head with a sickening crunch.

  The warrior collapsed to the ground, her sword falling beside her. The grove was quiet again. The wind was rising, the horses moving to their fallen riders. Farenna groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness, shakily stood.

  “By grace and fate, no…” Blood was running freely from the captain’s temple where it struck rock when Chriani pushed him down.

  The horses were nuzzling the bodies, their expressions showing something uncomfortably close to grief. That same grief was seething in Farenna as he dropped to his knees at Taelendar’s side. He cried out as her dead body began to writhe, twisting as on a puppeteer’s strings. Watching her convulse as the dark magic that had infected the warrior tore her apart.

  With a snort, her horse stepped back, turned and ran from the grove, heading south. The two others followed quickly behind. They would race back to Sylonna, Chriani knew. A warning of what had happened.

  He found the new talisman where Farenna had fallen, scooped it up. Its bloodstone was dark. As the captain moved to the other bodies, Dargana carefully retrieved her axe where Taelendar lay. Chriani could see the tension twisting through the exile, her dark gaze locked to the dead warrior’s sightless eyes.

  “Did she ride alone on patrol here?” As Chriani called to Farenna, his voice seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. He picked up his bow, retrieved his arrows where they’d spilled. He nocked as he paced around the clearing, looking for something but not knowing what. “They found her. Turned her with the rites, then burned the memory of that from her mind. Like the ones Dargana and I saw. Something triggering her…”

  “Be silent, Ilmari.”

  The edge of anger in Farenna’s voice caught Chriani by surprise. It was something he hadn’t heard in the captain before, not even in the heated debate of the council of masters. He recognized that anger all the same, though. Had seen it in Barien years before.

  In the spring that he had taken the tyro’s writ, Chriani had ridden with Barien to Elalantar, part of a twenty-strong troop escorting the Princess High Gwannyn and her children to her mother’s funeral rites at Ysorka. They’d met fell wolves along the road, down from Eberedar Pass and prowling the farmlands late in the season. Barien and two others of the guard had nearly been killed in the effort that slew three of the great beasts and drove the rest away.

  Chriani had seen healing magic up close for the first time that day, huddled back and under guard with the other children. He had seen also the fury in Barien — not at the attack, but at the injury that had been done to the guards who followed him into the fray. He was bleeding badly himself, one arm bitten almost to the bone, but the warrior made sure the others were healed first. Made sure the princess high was safe before he sat for the healers.

  Chriani had never seen anyone die under Barien’s command. He saw Farenna now, though, the captain’s eyes closed as he knelt by each of his fallen warriors in turn. Whispering words lost to the shifting of leaves in the wind.

  It didn’t seem like a reaction an Ilvani would make. Chriani felt the realization settle uncomfortably in his mind, hating himself for it even as the thought formed. The coolness of the Ilvani in combat, their stoic silence as they fought, their lack of emotion when captured. That was the Ilvani character he saw, the bearing he knew. It was too easy to assume that what was seen was all there was.

  For all he should have known better, he played the same games that all Ilmari played. Looking for the differences that might mark them as separate from the Ilvani. Keeping those differences close to heart and never looking for the rest.

  Ilmari and Ilvani were one folk once. Veassen’s words, and his mother’s.

  From the corner of his eye, the corner of his mind that worked against all his anger and uncertainty, Chriani saw blood. It was pooling beneath the dead horse of the Ilvani warrior he and the others had pursued. He knelt to see the jagged wound that had slain the animal, understood now why it had dropped. He understood as well that it was falling beneath the horse that had killed its rider, the magic of the coins claiming her only after.

  He focused, tried to push past the sound of Farenna’s voice. He let his senses push out, caught the scent of bowel rising against the stronger sense of blood, iron-sharp and all around him. Something not right with the wound. Made by a short blade, not by one of the Ilvani long-knives. A jagged edge to it where it had caught the unfortunate horse low in the belly, slashed through its organs even as it pulled up toward the ribs.

  A whisper of movement sounded in the trees beside him. Chriani turned, had an arrow set to his bow without thinking. Dargana was directly in front of him as he pulled back hard, drawing on her. Then she twisted away even as the arrow hissed toward her, dropped to the ground as Chriani knew she would. Understanding that he was aiming at whoever was shifting carefully through the shadows behind her.

  The arrow struck something, unseen. Chriani heard a voice cry out but Dargana was already moving, pushing in to where a figure was stumbling back, trying to get clear of the underbrush.

  Chriani had another arrow nocked, Farenna on his feet and beside him. Along a broad side path, Dargana was locked tight to a figure in grey. Steel flashed, Chriani trying to take aim, but the fight was moving too quickly. Then Dargana slipped around and behind, managed to get her assailant in a chokehold.

  A jagged knife came up in the figure’s hand, the horse’s blood still streaking it. Chriani put an arrow into that arm to match the one already in the figure’s leg, the knife tumbling as another cry was swallowed by the trees. Dargana twisted the wounded warrior over and face down, breaking off both arrows in the process. She grabbed the hood and the hair beneath it to pull back, set her bloodblade to an exposed throat.

  Chriani knew who it was before he saw her, recognizing the knife where it had fallen. He had pulled that same blade from his own shoulder less than a week before.

  “Let her up,” he said.

  “I don’t think I heard that right,” Dargana hissed. Her blade marked a razor-thin line of blood where it was pressed to the Uissa assassin’s throat.

  “What is this?” Farenna whispered. He sheathed his sword and drew his bow, circling to scan the trees for movement.

  “She’s an Ilmari assassin working with the Laneldenari,” Chriani said to the Ilvani captain. “She was a prisoner in the camp the night you came for me. Dargana, let her up. She’s got two arrows in her. She won’t be moving fast or far.”

  The exile’s expression showed how much she trusted Chriani’s judgement in the matter, but she did as he asked. The assassin set her teeth against the pain as her arms were pulled behind her, Dargana whipping a leather cord from a jacket pocket to bind them. Then she stood, stepping back quickly as if she still expected a counterattack. The assassin simply rose to a kneeling position, though, arms pinned behind her and trembling with the effort. Where the stumps of arrows punched through her tunic and leggings, the grey was marred by a spreading stain.

  “Check the perimeter,” Chriani said to the exile. “Make sure no one else heard the fighting. But I’m guessing she came alone.”

  As Dargana slipped away into the trees, the assassin’s face was an emotionless mask, her pale eyes watching him. Chriani saw sweat beading on her brow, though, knew she was heading for blood-shock despite her look of defiance. It was the same look he’d seen when she was first captured, and as she was slung to Venry’s horse during the Ilvani attack at the camp. She wasn’t smiling this time, though.

  Farenna was still pacing, circling through the trees like a wounded wolf. The cut at his head was still bleeding, along with a deep gash to his shoulder Chriani hadn’t seen before.

  “You’re hurt,” he said. “I can bind…”

  “I need no help from you, Ilmari. I need answers.” The an
ger was still heavy in the captain’s voice, but directed now at the prisoner. Farenna spoke the Ilvalantar still, but the assassin’s expression told Chriani she understood. “The lóechari know our movements, turn our strongest warriors. You said this one works with them.”

  “She was with a group of Calala, but their cult ties were hidden until they changed. They didn’t know what they were. Blind agents. Like Taelendar.” Chriani heard Farenna hiss in anger, realized it was the wrong thing to say. He remembered the assassin watching the death throes of the cultist in the Ilvani camp. The look of fascination she’d worn. “I don’t know how much she knows.”

  “Then she’s of no use to me.”

  The long-knife flashed from Farenna’s belt to his hand faster than Chriani could follow. He was barely fast enough himself to get between Farenna and the prisoner, seeing a darkness flash in the captain’s eyes that told him he was on dangerous ground.

  It was a thing no Ilvani would have done, he knew. The quick obedience, the rigid discipline. Farenna pressed forward as if expecting him to step aside, stopped short when Chriani drew his sword instead. Standing frozen, eye to eye.

  The assassin said nothing. She made no move, the arrows in her trembling with each breath.

  “She helped us in the ambush,” Chriani said carefully. “When the last lóechari bolted, the assassin’s the one who dropped her horse. She kept the cult from finding out we’re coming.”

  “The lóechari will come soon enough. Their magic shows us to all of them through these ones’ eyes.”

  “They’d already seen us, through Taelendar.” Chriani showed Farenna the now-lifeless talisman before he slipped it to his belt. “They were tracking our approach through her. Watching since we left Sylonna, probably. They’ll be coming, yes. But they’re blind for now.”

  The captain glanced to the dark stone still at his own wrist, but the anger didn’t soften. “You said this one works with the Calala. How do we know she wasn’t scouting for them? Fighting among them from the start, then throwing her lot in when it became clear her allies had lost the fight?”

  “No one else in sight,” Dargana said to interrupt them. She had circled back from the other side, Chriani not even hearing her as she slipped through the trees and back onto the path. “But the noise we’ve been making, anybody could know we’re here.”

  “If there were more Ilvani, they would have joined the attack,” Chriani said.

  “They will quick enough, Ilmari.” Farenna stepped back finally, his dark eyes cold.

  Chriani turned to look down at the assassin again. He let his memory run, showing her as he’d seen her a week before. Seeing subtle changes in her. A gauntness to her look. Her bare feet were dark with dust and muck, even as dried blood showed at her blunted toenails.

  “She’s been running,” he said thoughtfully. “For days. She must have broken free from the Ilmari.” He spoke to the assassin, challenging her. “You’ve been following us.”

  Farenna laughed, his expression showing a clear contempt. “No Ilmari walks the paths of Laneldenar unseen.”

  Chriani didn’t respond as he crouched before the assassin. He thought about the black ring now hidden in his belt, taken from an Uissa assassin who had passed unseen under eyes just as alert as any Ilvani patrol. He lifted her face so as to meet her pale gaze.

  “You’ve been following us,” he said again. “Why?”

  At the corners of the assassin’s mouth, set against the pain where the arrow wounds bled slowly, Chriani saw the flicker of the smile again.

  “These assassins take up arms with the Calala,” Farenna said. “Seeking revenge against the Ilmari by fomenting war.”

  “No.” Chriani felt the details shifting in his mind. More to it than that. “If they wanted revenge against the Duke Andreg in Aerach, there’s a hundred easier ways to get it.” An unexpected anger twisted through him at the mention of Andreg’s name. Thinking suddenly on the duke and his guard, smashing Uissa in response to what had happened along the Clearwater Way during the deep winter of eighteen months past. This duke he’d never met, who he hated on principle for what he was, had made retribution for what the order had done. A thing Chriani would never do.

  “The order’s just as like to want revenge against the Calala Ilvani,” Dargana said thoughtfully, “for killing a score of their warriors who thought they’d carry out the princess’s assassination in Ilvani livery.”

  As he had when the assassin was captured, Chriani thought of that night along the Clearwater Way, and the Ilvani attack that had saved him and Lauresa from the Uissa warriors sent there to kill her. “Which means you don’t care about revenge,” he said to the assassin, thoughtful. “But you care about power. Don’t you?”

  The pale smile flickered just briefly.

  “What was it Venry said?” Chriani tried to remember the Aerachi lieutenant’s words. “Andreg smashed the order at midsummer. The assassins of Uissa, scattered across the frontier and straight into Crithnalerean. Into the Ghostwood. And you found something there. Old Ilvani magic you knew the Calala craved and would pay for.”

  It was no more than a guess, but Chriani saw the assassin smile again.

  “You’re smarter than your betters give you credit for, lord.”

  When the assassin spoke, her voice rang as clear as her eyes. A tremor threaded through that voice as well, speaking to the pain she was in.

  “Who are you?”

  “Tician.”

  The smiled flickered at the assassin’s mouth again in response to Chriani’s surprise. Showing how he hadn’t really expected an answer. He had come up against the Uissa agent sent to kill Lauresa more than once. Had killed him in the end, but never heard him speak. Never knew his name.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I was following you,” the assassin said. “On contract from the Calala Ilvani. When their tracking magic failed, Uissa was called. I was in Rheran when the attack came. The Calala sought me out the next day.”

  “You were in Rheran why?”

  “Business. Nothing to do with you or anyone you know, lord.”

  “You’ll tell me anyway.”

  “I won’t,” Tician said. “I’m pledged to duty and a code, the same as all of you.”

  Dargana laughed, but it was Farenna who spoke. “Then why are you so free with your name and your mission, assassin?” He circled around her, his long-knife down but still in hand.

  “Because my contract with Calalerean is done, and I’ll tell you anything you ask about them. That ended when I saw the coins transform the Ilvani on the Hunthad. The blind agents, as Chriani called them. I don’t take well to secrets held against me by my employers.” Her eyes shifted from Farenna to Chriani. “And because I know I’m done without your aid, and I’m not ready to die yet.”

  Chriani laughed this time. “Saving your life would be poor trade for you trying to kill me.”

  “Your life or death was none of my concern. I don’t know what the Ilvani wanted with you, and I don’t care. I was just hired to track you where they couldn’t. I watched you leave Rheran, then followed you along the Clearwater Way. The Ilvani were waiting across the frontier, south of Werrancross, from where we followed.”

  “They told you nothing?”

  “They told me you carry something they want. I already knew what it was, though, from when you and the exile had your heart-to-heart off the Wayroad. I was there, listening.”

  Chriani felt the quick touch of memory, his horse spooked that day as he and Dargana talked. He saw Tician’s eyes flash to Dargana’s, saw her smile in response to the exile’s dark look.

  “If I’d been paid to kill you,” the assassin said, “I could have done it then, Chriani. Or at the Leisanmira campfire. You would have made an easy target.”

  “You should have tried it. At least one Leisanmira there would have made short work of you.”

  Tician smiled again, then grimaced as if the effort had cost her.

  “You sai
d you would help us,” Farenna said. His tone had changed.

  Chriani glanced over to the captain, saw a sense of calm restored in him. Tician seemed to see it too, nodding cautiously.

  “I help myself, Ilvani. But I can tell you what I know of the plans of the Calala if it’s worth something to you.”

  “That worth will be determined in Sylonna. You will ride back with us…”

  “No,” the assassin said. “We go forward. We find the temple and the black tree. You want my help, that’s my price. I won’t go back to Uissa empty-handed.”

  Chriani saw Farenna’s expression tighten, angry again where the assassin had interrupted him. “What do you know of where the lóechari hide?” the captain said at last.

  “I know what I overheard moving south along the Hunthad with the Calala. They spoke of their orders coming from somewhere called Markura. A holy site, they named it, but none of them had been there. Or at least none of them remembered it. I know you seek the source of the power that Calala holds in Crithnalerean. I know how you plan to destroy it.”

  “Four who followed me are dead,” Farenna said coldly. “This mission is done. We return to Sylonna.”

  Chriani saw a sense of resignation in Tician’s eyes. Then he saw her moving, but even seeing it wasn’t enough to let him react in time.

  A sense of slowness overwhelmed his senses, like he might be submerged to the neck in ice-cold water while watching the assassin tumble along its surface. From where she was hunched down on her knees, Tician lurched to her feet and spun in a single, smooth motion, lashing out with her injured leg in a kick that took her fully off the ground. Chriani was only starting to move, but it was enough that the blow caught him in the shoulder rather than the head, where she’d been aiming.

  The assassin pulled her legs up while still in the air, pushing her bound arms down behind her. Her hands wrapped around beneath her feet and were in front of her suddenly, even as those feet hit the ground and she was running hard for the trees.