Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1)

by S. B. Sebrick

"But there was something about them he couldn’t touch," Honmour finished. "He didn’t leave them whole for the altar. Whatever he did to turn them didn’t work, so he killed them," He snatched the parchment from the floor, reading its contents ravenously. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "This is an announcement of execution," he said.

  "What?" Kaltor demanded, hurrying to Honmour’s side. "Why?"

  Selene gave him a look that said, ‘You’re an idiot.’

  "They have to show the people someone is caught and paying for it," Honmour explained. "They have to keep the townsfolk calm," He threw the paper on the ground and stomped on it. "I hate politics," he muttered.

  "Where and when," Kaltor asked hurriedly.

  "Today at sundown," Selene said pointing out the window. "Right outside the front gate."

  "We have to at least figure out how he avoided Perversion," Kaltor said. "Have you already talked to the council about postponing the execution?"

  "Are you kidding?" Honmour cut in. "She’s a Battlescorned looking for favors from the nobility. She’d hang him herself if they asked."

  "I am loyal to my kind," Selene replied coolly. "But I was in that prison, too. I watched four children driven by some Abyss-born plague rip a man apart," She drew one of her daggers, pointing it Honmour’s way. "I will do whatever it takes to stop Melshek here and now."

  She threw the dagger at his feet. "If you plan on killing me instead of accepting my help, go ahead. I’m sure Melshek will breathe a sigh of relief knowing one less assassin is hunting him," Honmour glanced to the rest of the Battleborn nervously.

  I can’t tell if she’s just crazy or serious, Kaltor thought. But she does have a good point.

  "What’s happening here," Selene said seriously, folding her arms like a mother lecturing her teenage children, "is more important than any feud, political angle, or personal vendetta."

  Sincere or faked? Trusting her would be risky, especially if she’s our only connection to the council. She knows without a desperate demonstration there’s no way we would trust her, Kaltor decided. She does sound very sincere, though. Maybe she’s serious.

  "We have to stop him before he takes this city," Selene demanded. "I am offering a trade. I let you know what the council is doing and when, in return for you doing what’s needed. Even if it means angering the city’s leaders."

  There is one way to make sure she’s serious, Kaltor thought. It would make dealing with those Perversions a lot easier. A true trade.

  Kaltor picked her dagger up by the hilt with two fingers. Some kind of toxic oil dripped from the tip. You couldn’t get more serious than letting a potential ally gut you with a poisoned dagger. "This dagger served you well against the Perversions," he said. Selene nodded, eyeing him with distrust and frustration.

  "If we are to anger the council, and possibly our master, by working with you," Kaltor continued, "it stands to reason you should sacrifice something as well," He flipped the dagger hilt into his hand.

  "Show me your poisons," he demanded, pointing the blade her way. "Then I’ll consider a deal," The Stunts backed away from them, hovering around the walls. Even they could tell this was not going to be a pretty negotiation.

  Selene’s eyes flared dangerously. "Those secrets are VERY closely guarded by our order," she said haggardly. "They’re one of our greatest weapons. I can’t give that up any more than your master can give up his tactics!"

  Honmour sheathed his sword and stepped forward, arms raised as if to keep them from leaping at each other’s throats. "What about the antidotes?" he asked. "If we don’t know the antidotes, your weapons still have potency. You don’t even have to tell us the ingredients."

  He turned his back to Kaltor, standing within striking distance of Selene, though it was difficult to tell if it was meant as an act of good faith or if he wanted the first chance to pummel her if she declined their offer.

  Selene sat back on her haunches, considering Honmour’s change to the proposal. She glanced out the window and sighed long and hard.

  "If you promise not to tell your master of this trade," she said. "I’ll make additional poisons for you and your Stunts while you hunt Melshek," She held up a single finger. "Arrows and ONE hand-held weapon," she promised, with a single raised finger.

  Kaltor took a moment to review the deal in his mind, then nodded and shook her hand. "Where is the surviving prisoner now?"

  "In the castle dungeon," Selene said, adjusting her hair and armor. "But I doubt he would even talk to you unless you could trade him something you can’t afford to give without angering the council, like freedom, for example."

  "We still have half a day before sundown," Kaltor said. "Just have those poisons ready as soon as you can. We might have need of them as early as tonight," He pictured a hundred Perversions charging ravenously down the street, urged on by one web-faced woman, vulnerable to envenomed arrows.

  This could work quite well, he decided.

  "I have to get back," Selene said. "There’s also a ball I have to prepare for on top of our agreement," She hurried toward the window and leapt into the air, catching hold of the base of her rope, cut at just the right length to hang just out of sight above the window sill. She disappeared, climbing up the wall hand over hand.

  A ball? Kaltor thought incredulously. Prince Tyran died this morning! Shouldn’t there be a funeral? What kind of man is this regent?!

  "We will have to be careful about that Battlescorned," Honmour said, tapping his chin, brow furrowed in thought. "It would be easy for her to change her information a bit to embarrass us or even get us killed."

  "That’s what the Stunts are for," Kaltor said, turning their way. "Two of you will patrol the city and castle walls," he ordered, then turned to the last two and added, "Your jobs will be to mingle with the servants and noblemen as best as you can around the castle. I need to you verify everything Selene tells us, just in case. Get going."

  "Yes sir," they responded, gathering their belongings and leaving the room through window and door alike. Kaltor paused a moment, glancing Honmour’s way incredulously after they left. "They called me ‘sir.’"

  "You must have impressed them," Honmour said with a laugh, gathering a few choice supplies from the barrels and bags at the back of the wall. "Master Taneth might make a leader out of you, yet. You handled that negotiation well."

  "You sealed the deal," Kaltor countered. "If not for you, we might not have agreed."

  "That’s what friends are for," Honmour responded, his tone turning more painful. "We have to be strong enough to pull each other out of any situation."

  Kaltor glanced his way with a somber expression, two pairs of dead eyes staring back at him in his mind, and he sighed. "Jensai and Tyran would not want us to stop fighting, or waste time mourning them."

  Chapter 16

  Two pairs of glowing Sight Seeker eyes measured Kaltor carefully as he approached the regent’s quarters, the light from their eyes casting an eerie blue hue across the walls and ceiling, as if they stood beneath water. They wore chainmail armor and carried stout maces only a foot in length, similar in design and power to Gereth’s.

  Sight Seeker bodyguards, Kaltor thought. So the regent was so at odds with the prince that he even employed the opposite forms of protection. That is quite the rivalry.

  Pulling aside the collar of his tunic to reveal his brand, Kaltor said, "Tell the regent I wish to speak with him. Now," The first guard, a stocky, sour-faced man, gritted his teeth when he saw the mark of a Battleborn, then nodded, and slipped into the room.

  "You’ll have to forgive him," the second guard said, his eyes returning to their normal color as he leaned against the wall lazily. "It’s been a while since Varadours have been seen walking the corridors on this side of the castle, much less coming to speak with the regent personally."

  That’s not a good sign, Kaltor thought. This regent must be dead set against Varadours. Taking orders from Prince Tyran must have infuriated him to no end. Many among the nobi
lity saw the Varadour power as being more primitive and in some ways even barbaric when compared to the more intellectual power of the Sight Seekers.

  Before the Crippling, the Sight Seekers had been immensely powerful, capable of combining other ancient powers in the same fashion that Gereth had combined the strength of a small number of Varadours. Their power acted like lenses on a pair of spectacles, switching at will to any of humanity’s abilities, even the extinct ones. But without a living wielder to draw from, they couldn’t use those powers at all.

  The door opened and the sour-faced guard returned. "The regent will see you," he reported. "But you will be quick," He returned to his position just outside the door, glaring at the Battleborn in warning.

  I’ve never had to deal with this kind of anti-Varadour sentiment. The lower classes are grateful to have protectors with powers such as ours. By the Gods, I wish Honmour were here to help me negotiate! Why couldn’t his parents have just left town?

  It seemed that though Master Taneth had succeeded in maintaining good standing with the city’s ruler, a prince and a Varadour, he’d overlooked winning over the majority of the nobility beneath the prince. This will not be easy. Kaltor entered the regent’s quarters and paused.

  Prince Tyran had specialized in combat training and had relished the ability to defend his people and hold his enemies at bay. His war room and study demonstrated these interests, covering the walls with maps, weapons, and scrolls on the subject.

  Vengral was in every way the opposite of Prince Tyran. The perfect image of a Sight Seeker nobleman. Lavish tapestries, large collections of books and scrolls, and even a self-portrait adorned the walls. His desk was covered in quills, parchment, and tax documents, all weighed down by a bag of gold coins to prevent the breeze drifting through the open window from scattering them in every direction. He even sported a well-fed belly, suggesting his primary contribution to society was simply sampling the food.

  This, Kaltor realized, might be even more difficult than I thought.

  "I assume you are Battleborn Kaltor?" Vengral said with a vague look of disdain. He stood upon a stool, enabling him to look down upon all in attendance. Two servants measured him from various angles, calling out his numbers to a third servant recording them.

  "You will forgive my haste. But your antics at the prison today have created a lot of problems I need to resolve," Despite the grave comment, Vengral’s tone was cheerful.

  His greatest rival for control of this city is dead, Kaltor thought bitterly. He’s pleased with his newfound power.

  "I do not require your haste," Kaltor countered, walking to the middle of the room to face the regent. "Quite the opposite, in fact. The surviving convict from the prison, Reeth. He has key information we need to defeat Melshek. I need you to delay his execution so we can properly interrogate him," The regent’s left eyebrow arched inquisitively at the request.

  "I appreciate your enthusiasm," Vengral said in a tone that suggested quite the opposite. "But I already have the town watch searching for the fugitive, and his supporters were all killed this morning. I see no reason for further discussions."

  His servants muttered something about completing their services and gathered their things. He waved them away but did not step down from the stool. I think he enjoys towering over me, Kaltor thought, his temper smoldering.

  "He gathered those supporters in a single day using something we awoke at the vault west of here," Kaltor explained, steadying his breathing as his frustration built. "You have already seen Lord Gereth’s letter to the prince, have you not?"

  "Of course," Vengral said, finally descending from the stool and walking over to his desk. "Very disconcerting, but according to one of the archers from this morning," he leaned over his desk and withdrew a small, hastily scribbled parchment. "Melshek was shot through the chest while escaping. The town watch will find him lying dead in an alley somewhere by tonight."

  "This is no normal Varadour," Kaltor pointed out, walking to the opposite side of the regent’s desk. The Sight Seeker sat in his chair, leaned back, and studied the Battleborn with a mild look of amusement. "He heals incredibly fast. Trust me, he’s alive and well," Kaltor’s gut tightened as he finished. "We’ve already lost one comrade because we under-estimated him," For a moment Jensai’s unfeeling eyes flashed in his memory, but he managed to ignore them. He was doing all he could to close those eyes.

  "It’s an interesting story," Vengral said dismissively as he eyed a small map of the city. "But all I see are a coalition of thieves, layman, and assassins gathering outside my walls telling me it’s ‘for our protection,’ and I have even less proof from them as to this threat than I have from you."

  Vengral balanced a coin in between his fingertips, as if the Battleborn and the coin were both being measured and deemed of little worth. "You have witnesses?"

  "My friend and I buried him just outside the city walls," Kaltor said suspiciously. "Your soldiers can tell you the state of the Perversions we fought and their appetite for human flesh."

  Even the prince’s throat was chewed on! he recalled. Just like Jensai’s.

  "But aside from one of your own comrades, who could very well be working with you to form a lie," Vengral said pointedly, placing the coin on the table a little too hard, "you have no respectable witness as to Prince Melshek’s supposed ‘powers,’ am I right?"

  Kaltor actually scratched his head in thought. How am I supposed to work with this guy? "If you need a more familiar witness, you could ask if one of the prince’s guards saw Melshek heal."

  "By the Gods, boy, no!" Vengral said, rolling his eyes and standing up in irritation. "Varadours have lost their standing in this city! From now on, all legal matters will be overseen by the Sight Seekers in charge of the nobility and the town watch. People whose power is less—" he paused for a moment. "Instinctive."

  "You can’t be serious," Kaltor said, clenching the edges of the desk ever tighter. "You’re risking this entire city because a Sight Seeker wasn’t present when Melshek was in battle?"

  "Until I have RELIABLE testimony of Melshek’s capabilities," Vegral replied, his face reddening slightly as small flecks of spit started to fly from his lips. "I will not join you in your people’s last desperate attempt to reclaim some of Prince Tyran’s lost power!" Vengral used the prince’s name like a curse word. "We will execute the conspirator known as Reeth and the city will see that the Sight Seekers are in control! Guards!"

  The Sight Seekers burst into the room, eyes illuminated, maces drawn. "Escort the Battleborn from this wing of the castle," Vengral ordered, throwing his chair back against the wall. "And see to it he and his fellows disturb me no further. Post guards at the hallways and walls to make sure this wing of the castle remains barbarian-free."

  For a split instant, Varadour energy burst from Kaltor’s heart, surging through his bloodstream in preparation for combat. With a self-disciplined grunt he managed to hold his temper in check as the guards grabbed his arms roughly and pulled him across the floor.

  "For hating Varadours so much, it’s odd you’d invite one to your ball," he spat out.

  "Only the pretty ones," Vengral replied with a malicious chuckle. "They are known for having a great deal of endurance," He laughed lustfully as he returned to his notes, picking up another golden coin between his fingers and admiring its shine.

  The guards half-carried and half-pushed Kaltor to the end of the corridor, leaving him to descend the stairs on his own as ordered, though their eyes never relinquished their power. The stocky, sour-faced one seemed most anxious to attack Kaltor’s mind if the opportunity presented itself.

  As he walked, Kaltor tried to sort through his feelings and the situation at hand. Reeth is going to be executed at sundown, he thought. Just before all the nobles who hated Prince Tyran literally have a ball. We need to know by then how Melshek creates his Perversions.

  He left the inner keep, crossing the inner courtyard and glancing back toward Vengral’s wing, each
guard’s eyes glowing dark blue against the overcast sky. If we can be confident in knowing which Battleborn and which townspeople are resistant to his hold, we can be much more offensive in the coming battles.

  "Now I understand why Master Taneth prefers small assassin groups over the military," Kaltor realized with a sigh. "Freedom to act and capability to make a difference," He pretended to head toward his own room on the other side of the keep, but once the guards stopped watching him he turned toward the dungeon.

  Along the walls of the castle Sight Seekers now flared their eyes blue as they scouted the courtyard and city for signs of trouble. Many of the Varadour guards kept their armor and weaponry, but simply joined their families in the courtyard. A few dozen gathered in corners with their friends, eyeing their new guards in distrust.

  Let’s hope the guards here aren’t as well indoctrinated against Varadours as Vengral’s personal retinue, he muttered to himself, drawing a blade and twirling it between his fingers. Honmour would enjoy it far too much if I had to break into the dungeon and incapacitate the guards just so I could talk to a prisoner. I hate politics.

  *****

  Everything felt out of place.

  Nothing made sense. What kind of king held a coronation and a sparring match in the halls of a prison and fled back into the city?

  Again he found himself in a rented room at a cheap tavern, lying on his cot, his heart beating fast. A profound pain in his chest slowly receded. For a brief moment as he looked at his hand, he could have sworn he saw long claws instead of fingernails. It was hard to tell from the dream-like surroundings.

  The image of his Queen flashed back into his mind, and suddenly all the details of the room snapped back into focus. He wore the finest silks, his royal robe draped over a chair on the other side of the room. "Must win the hearts of the people first," she whispered. "Then we can rule from the castle and present you to your friends as king. Won’t that be nice?"

  "No," Melshek said aloud. "I want to see the—"