Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1)

by S. B. Sebrick

  Its lid slid open easily, revealing a pinky finger. Kaltor’s stomach lurched. Perceptive and direct, he thought. "This isn’t Honmour’s," he observed. "This blood is a few hours old."

  Warden gave Kaltor a leveling glare. "You take the time to question a convict with connections to Melshek and neglect to share the details of that conversation with me. I had to make sure you weren’t actually serving Melshek. I will not have my dungeon mimicking the fate of the prison and Prince Tyran," The image of Reeth, withered from hunger and hopelessness while enduring such questioning set Kaltor’s teeth on edge.

  He flashed a dangerous glance Warden’s way. "You do realize you did all this for nothing? Reeth had nothing to tell! He wasn’t even a part of Melshek’s efforts!"

  "Melshek’s, no," Warden admitted, sheathing his sword. "But yours, yes."

  The silence was ominous, tense. They sat watching one another carefully, each trying to assess the capabilities and motivations of the other without offering what they already knew or felt.

  He does lead fighting men, and he’s the nearest backup the people in the courtyard have, should the soldiers on the walls be overrun. He leaned forward, trying to look as inviting as possible. "You have fought with Battleborn before?"

  Warden grinned widely. "Some of the best fighters I’ve ever seen," he said. "Ever seen them fight together against a large group? Five of them can engage twenty or thirty regular soldiers. They could challenge even more men in the dark of night. Watching them fight against each other—"

  For the first time in their discussion something akin to fear flashed in his eyes, or perhaps simply a profound respect. Maybe we can use that, Kaltor decided.

  "Varadour power is an amazing thing to wield," Kaltor admitted. "But Melshek’s men can almost match it. How many Battleborn fought in your army?"

  "Fifteen for an army of thirty thousand," Warden smiled proudly, motioning toward a few medallions of honor hanging on the right wall.

  Kaltor did some quick calculations. "Melshek could have half the city under his control by the end of the week, each man of his only a hair slower than a fully capable Varadour," That got Warden’s attention. "What happened in the prison is happening now," he continued. "If we wait too long, over half the city will serve him."

  "That’s crazy!" Warden said, trying to wave aside the accusation disbelievingly, though the fear in his voice said otherwise. "I’ve never heard of anything like that!"

  "What did the regent say about the prison incident?" Kaltor demanded.

  "He said it was a disease in the cells. Some kind of maddening disease. Claims Melshek tried to poison some of the citizens. He never said it could spread so quickly—" Warden gripped the edges of his desk, knuckles turning white as the realization hit him. "Why is the regent hiding this?"

  "I don’t know," Kaltor admitted. "He claims the truth would cause panic among the people," He drew another throwing blade, pointing it toward Warden. "If we wait too much longer, however, there won’t be a ‘people’ to protect."

  Stroking his chin, Warden’s eyes hugged the roughly-cut stones beneath his feet. "The prince was a powerful Varadour," he said. "He was also a good man. This regent, however—" he shrugged. "I admit, he doesn’t live to serve the people, only himself. But there are some Varadour nobles that won’t let his promises of power blind them as they have the Sight Seekers."

  Kaltor sighed, sheathing his throwing blade. "Half of Reeth’s family resisted Melshek’s hold, somehow," he admitted. "If we retrieved his family, he promised to tell us how."

  Warden nodded. "He told me as much during questioning. I’m sorry, but I had to be sure there was nothing more dangerous going on. After the prince died, we all started jumping at our own shadows."

  I should have expected it, Kaltor thought. "What will become of Honmour, then?"

  Warden laughed. "Wouldn’t worry too much about him! He’s as safe as the rest of us behind these walls. I put him in a nice cell just above us. I even left him with his travel rations, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the prison food. If the regent is convinced he’s got you Battleborn under his thumb, he won’t be in a hurry to execute him. Not unless he wants your Master Taneth himself to pay him a visit."

  That’s a good point. The regent wouldn’t be stupid enough to execute one of us, would he? "I need to speak to Reeth first, then," he said. "If the cure to Melshek’s hold is something simple, if it can be reversed, we could end this fight before it starts."

  "Agreed," Warden answered, standing. "We’ll question him together."

  They made their way down the same dizzying combination of twists, stairs, and dank hallways until they reached the same windowless cells from earlier that day. Reeth was waiting at his door, fingers curled around the bars where food was pushed through.

  "Battleborn!" he cried excitedly. Then he saw the warden, the torch he carried making him look a bit too ominous. With a cry of alarm the prisoner scampered to the back of his cell, mourning over the presumed deaths of his children.

  "Reeth!" Kaltor snapped. "We got Tera and your youngest daughter out."

  Reeth paused, slowly turning toward the door, crouched as if expecting some kind of attack. "Where are they, then?" he demanded. The fury faded from his voice and gulped nervously. "One of them changed, didn’t they? Which one? Why aren’t they here?"

  "The regent said you didn’t deserve any favors," the warden answered. "You’re lucky Kaltor here lured in some Perversions to be executed in your place."

  Standing to his full height, Reeth walked forward cautiously, putting his face between the bars. He stood just a head shorter than Kaltor. "How do I know you’re not lying?" he asked.

  "One of Melshek’s web-faced women was experimenting on your daughter," Kaltor explained. "Tera was tending to her, keeping her alive while they made her sick."

  Reeth’s face paled. He grabbed the bars on the prison door and rammed his head against the metal forcefully. "My son’s died then. Or as close to it as he could get. Why did they have to do that to her, too?" he mourned. "It hurts so much!" He glanced their way again. "You said she didn’t turn?"

  "You should be proud of her," the warden cut in. "She’s as strong as you."

  Reeth twitched fearfully at the sound of the warden’s voice, sucking the wound on his left hand where his pinky finger had once been. He still looked unconvinced about the whole situation, biting his lower lip as he toyed with the idea of trusting them.

  Maybe it would be better if Warden didn’t speak, Kaltor thought.

  "Tera saved my friend’s life this afternoon," he said. Not quite the case, but she definitely had a part in it. "Marethena turned and was attacking one of my men. Tera bashed her head in with a rolling pin, repeatedly."

  Reeth paused, eyeing Kaltor carefully before laughing out loud. It was an eerie sound coming from his malnourished, wounded, tear-streaked frame. "Yes, that’s her," he said, sucking his wound one last time before continuing.

  "Very well, Battleborn," Reeth said. "I told you the biscuits they passed around that morning were covered in a strange spice? Looked something like dried blood?"

  Kaltor and Warden exchanged nervous glances. Here we go, he thought. I hope this is something we can reverse or at least slow, somehow. "Go on," he said.

  "It was his actual blood!" Reeth said, spitting in disgust. "Tasted kinda like one of those hot spices from the southern countries. When you ate it, everything went dark. You couldn’t hear, see, or even smell the prison anymore. Images started to flash before your eyes. No— not images— moments. You could feel everything about them, like you were actually there."

  "What kind of moments?" Warden asked, leaning closer to better judge the truth in Reeth’s face. The prisoner’s eyes unfocused as he saw the moments again in his mind.

  "The moments of a king," Reeth said in awe. "Mountains of gold, all yours. Innumerable armies outside your window, all willing to fight and die for you. Your enemies being tortured before your eyes, finally gett
ing what they deserve. Women lining up around the room for your choosing. You feel—" he paused a moment. "You feel like the world is yours."

  Melshek said he would be king, Kaltor thought in stunned silence. Whatever caught a hold of him is spreading its influence to the others in the city as well. "How did you survive it?" he prodded.

  Laughter filled the small cell again, drawing an odd look from the warden. "I could care less about being a king," he said dismissively. "The blood offered power, but deep down you could feel it would cost you everyone you ever loved. I would never be with my family again."

  He sat down again, a wave of fatigue lining his features, as if rejecting the proposal a second time took as much effort as the first. "I have a family to live for," he finished. "They’re all that matter to me."

  Kaltor leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching Reeth’s face for signs of deception. The man spoke the truth. So that’s it then. Every person in the city who wants power more than anything else will fall to Melshek’s hold. The look on Warden’s face said he had drawn the same conclusion.

  "I will stall your execution as long as I can, Reeth," Warden promised. "With the city in chaos, they might just forget about you and we can sneak you out the back with your family." Reeth grunted somewhat gratefully, but he kept glancing from the stump on his hand to the warden with understandable looks of suspicion.

  They made their way out of the dungeon, following the same route Kaltor had taken earlier with the guards the first time he spoke with Reeth. "No wonder Melshek’s hold spreads so quickly," Kaltor said in the flickering torchlight. "We have to keep his hold from spreading inside the castle."

  "Agreed," Warden answered. "I’ll brief my soldiers. You’d best do the same."

  Honmour’s family is close by, but what of the other Stunts? Would any of them be vulnerable? Should I have them stay out of the fight, just in case?

  His fingers circled the hilts of his daggers nervously as he tried to formulate their next plan of attack. His thoughts were interrupted by panicked footsteps echoing along the stone corridor.

  "Warden!" a young soldier cried as he rounded the corner, gasping for breath. "Regent Vengral needs us immediately!"

  "What’s wrong?"

  "Perversions!" the messenger gasped. "Perversions inside the castle!"

  Chapter 22

  In the courtyard, chaos ruled. Small pockets of families huddled alongside the walls or behind groups of soldiers trying to instill order. From along the walls, archers standing watch fired into the crowd toward the gallows.

  Warden shouted over his shoulder for his guards and started pulling men from the crowd, demanding their help in separating and calming the population. So much for Vengral’s ball, Kaltor thought. Got to get a better view.

  With a flick of his hooked rope he climbed to the top of the wall, drawing on enough power to keep his arms from tiring so he could keep the weight off his wounded leg. Overlooking the courtyard he could see the recently executed Perversions, along with others of their kind lying in the center of the field and where the nobles had sat.

  Peasant and nobleman alike scampered away in attempts to escape, but before his eyes he saw two more people drop to the ground, their veins turning black as their bodies convulsed in agony. A volley of arrows impaled them before the transformation was complete.

  Drawing a bit of power into his eyes, his vision improved, cutting through the fading light. A few people who turned without receiving the archer’s immediate attention convulsed violently, then lay unmoving on the ground. Strips of roasted mutton lay alongside most of the unfortunate victims, covered in red flecks of spice.

  Melshek poisoned the food supply, he realized. So much for Vengral’s show of control.

  Varadour power flashed in the distance, short-short, long-long. Kaltor drew on his power in a similar formation, and two Stunts rounded the castle walls, swinging onto the walkway and hurrying toward him. The torches lining the courtyard cast an eerie, shifting light over the already panicked crowd, making things look far worse. Another Stunt arrived from the opposite direction, jumping into the crowd without a thought.

  Figures. He must have family down there as well. Frustration smoldered within him. How does Warden avoid situations like this? He controlled his men with a single word. A wave of insecurity washed over him. Will I ever be able to lead?

  Two of the Stunts met him in the middle of the wall overlooking the front gate. Though their quivers were almost empty, each had an arrow notched and ready to fire, eyeing the crowd below anxiously.

  "It’s the food supply," Kaltor explained, pulling their bows down before they could shoot. "Hot red spice that Melshek has tampered with. Go warn the kitchens not to send any more food from the last shipment. I’m going to tell Vengral, so he doesn’t panic and start killing civilians—" He stopped, taking in both their beaten expressions. "Where are the other two?"

  "They got cornered between two groups of Perversions," the more confident of the two answered, blood still oozing down his head from a small wound above his eye. So intense had been their flight they could not expend even the power to plug a bleeding wound. "We bought them enough time to get to Gereth’s group. Three web-mouths are dead, as are the groups they were leading."

  Kaltor nodded, sighing with relief. "At least we made a considerable dent in their forces, then."

  "Why aren’t they moving?" the other Stunt asked, his voice quivering a bit. Though unharmed he seemed more—fragile, than before.

  Turning toward the courtyard, Kaltor paused. Why didn’t I notice? Was I too excited to finally know about Reeth’s secret? He glanced around the castle walls. Apparently, without a more powerful Perversion nearby to take control, those who succumbed to Melshek’s venom just died.

  What’s Melshek really up to? he wondered.

  "There aren’t any web-women around to control them. Now go," he ordered the Stunts. "We can’t let any more panic spread," They nodded, hurrying away as best they could despite their obvious exhaustion.

  They must be almost out of power by now, he thought. Got to let them rest soon.

  Warden and his soldiers pushed their way through the crowd, enlisting any large men they came across to help separate and calm the people. They grabbed the meat from a few people’s hands and threw it to the ground.

  Shouts of poisoned spice started to work through the crowd, and calm slowly returned, though the soldiers on the walls were still on edge. No doubt they’d heard stories about Melshek’s forces in the prison and feared the worst. Healers rushed onto the field to tend to civilians shot by accident.

  Combing the city north of them, Kaltor searched for signs of assault. Perhaps they meant to sneak a web-woman in close enough to possess the Perversions as they changed, he theorized. But close inspection revealed that the streets below were empty. Even along the roof-tops he could not see any lookouts for a dozen streets in any direction except for on the buildings toward the center of town.

  The poison could have been placed there much earlier today, he thought. Before we managed to draw out his troops and get three of his web-women killed.

  Their actions had foiled the next phase of the assault without even knowing what the coming attack had entailed. In the distance a sole rider approached, waving a white flag. A thick cloak hid her arms and legs, but the hood was thrown back to expose her strange hair and web-veined mouth.

  "A flag of conditions," one of the archers muttered, recognizing the insignia. "They mean to negotiate someone’s surrender."

  A surrender, Kaltor thought. Is he going to bluff Vengral into submission? Pretend he can Pervert the entire castle, if he so desires? At least we killed off most of the Perversions before she could get close.

  The rider stopped at the castle gate, eyeing the guards above angrily, her desire obvious. Warden appeared at the top of the wall, shouting orders. The crowd parted, and the gates opened, giving the messenger a clear path toward the castle’s inner keep. Every archer kept her
in his sights, bow drawn tight.

  Hurrying down the stairs near the gate, Kaltor walked alongside the web-mouthed woman, daggers drawn. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

  "My message is for the ears of the regent," the web-mouth explained with an air of superiority as she heeled her horse toward the inner keep. "Not even for a Battleborn such as you, hiding a Sage." She galloped to the keep, dismounted, and handed her horse to the guards as she entered. Kaltor stood stunned, trying to sort things out in his head.

  The closest Sage worked in the capital, forging armor and weapons for the king’s own guards. They were Varadours of a different nature, their powers rooted in stone, not in living things.

  Tera did mention her daughter looking cold and grey— like a Sage, he realized. In order to lure Marethena upstairs. But we killed her right afterward. She never had time to tell Melshek. Did she?

  The guards shut the gate after the web-woman, glancing Kaltor’s way curiously as he merely stood in place, staring toward the keep. He thought of the web-woman’s control of all Perversions nearby, recalling how perfectly she’d timed their assault on the prison without external means of signaling the attack.

  What if Melshek is connected to the minds of his web-women? he thought. That’s the only way he could know of the Sage. He just doesn’t know it was a lie. She never saw Tera’s daughter.

  Making his decision, he walked to the doors of the inner keep, revealing his brand. Both guards drew their maces, eyes glowing blue, forcing him to stop. "You are not permitted to pass," they said defiantly. Kaltor tried giving them his most intimidating glare, but to no avail.

  "I have fought with Melshek twice in the last two days," he tried to explain. "And I know how Melshek is Perverting the people. Vengral needs to know these things before trying to negotiate with her."

  He tried to enter again, but this time the blue, mind-altering energy jumped to their weapons. "No Varadours are to enter the keep," they repeated defiantly. "Leave at once or we will take you to the dungeon!"