Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1)

by S. B. Sebrick

  He was standing on the northern tip of the roof overlooking the marketplace when Melshek arrived. The king of the Perversions simply leapt from roof to roof until he landed on the southern tip of Reeth’s.

  For now he stood in his normal, human form, dressed in a nobleman’s blue and red finery. He carried no weapons. In the distance a horn sounded, and the walls to the north and east swarmed with Perversions as the assault commenced.

  "You have cost me a lot, boy!" Melshek spat. "My subjects need me on the battlefield."

  "I think you’ll find I will require your complete attention," Kaltor replied calmly. His heart raced, however, and sweat glistened on his forehead. Do not assume anything, he cautioned himself. He may have new powers I haven’t fought before. He drew a dagger and walked forward toward the center of the roof.

  "Jensai and Tyran would not want it any other way," he said. Those eyes will stop haunting me after tonight.

  Melshek chuckled. "Still such a stupid boy. I think their true desires would surprise you," He walked forward until only a few yards separated them. "Now die."

  His veins suddenly bulged with black blood and his skin turned pale. Fangs lengthened and envenomed claws extended as he leapt Kaltor’s way with inhuman strength and agility.

  Varadour energy swirled around Kaltor as he blended the colors of the night, diving to the side and slicing Melshek’s hamstring as he past. The creature’s claws dug into the ceramic tile, pivoting in a heartbeat and chasing the noise of the Battleborn down the roof.

  No good, he thought as he tumbled. Selene’s sickness poison didn’t even slow him down.

  As he rolled, he drew a throwing blade with her most potent venom and hurled it Melshek’s way in mid-roll. The blade seemed to materialize from the air itself once it left his color-blending fingers, giving Melshek no time to dodge.

  It sank deep into his shoulder, piercing an artery, sending squirts of blood across the floor of the roof. He flinched at the attack, but recovered instantly, howling angrily. He can’t be that strong, can he? Kaltor thought desperately.

  Kicking off the roof with his feet, he watched Melshek’s claws shatter the tile where he’d rolled moments before. He sailed through the air, landed on the roof of the house across the alleyway, and leapt toward Melshek with all the Varadour-enhanced strength he could summon, far more than even the king of the Perversions had ever seen from one of Kaltor’s kind.

  His opponent heard the collision of boot on stone and pivoted toward the opposite roof, slashing ravenously into the air. With a grunt of satisfaction Kaltor sailed over his opponent’s head and rammed his dagger in between the creature’s eyes.

  Let’s see you survive that! he thought triumphantly.

  Melshek’s body fell against the roof with a satisfying thud, motionless. Black blood pooled around him, running down the gutter. In the distance, the battle against Gereth’s troops continued in full swing.

  That’s odd, Kaltor thought. I thought they would die without him. He glanced toward their fallen leader with a sigh of satisfaction. At least now they won’t be so united.

  It was the strange breeze from above that warned him to duck and roll. Long, curved claws and a bladed tail clattered uselessly against the roofing tiles as the creature beat its wings and pulled upward into the sky.

  What in the Gods’ names is— but he had no time for inner debate as another one rocketed his way from across the roof, swiping with both claws and tail. The air filled with eerie, high-pitched shrieks. Even as he managed to dodge the second one, the first returned, swiping at him, a few drops of liquid dripping into his face as it passed. This creature was poisonous as well.

  Even as he dodged the next attack, his black-and-white Varadour vision showed, to his horror, Melshek rising to his feet. He turned Kaltor’s way, slowly pulling the dagger from his face, teeth gritted against the pain. Both his flying Perversions perched on either end of the roof, gripping the tiles with four paws like a cat, their powerful wings still extended from their shoulder blades.

  Warden mentioned Melshek was probably resting up after another big exertion, he thought. Guess these are what he was working on.

  "Not bad, boy," Melshek grunted through his bared fangs, tossing the dagger into the gutter disdainfully. "I’d heard you were a skilled Varadour. But I’ve never even seen a master pull off a jump like that. Very impressive."

  By the Gods! Kaltor thought in dismay. How am I supposed to kill you?!

  "You even made me pull back my messengers," he sighed, looking at his winged pets fondly. "They were supposed to be half-way to the capital by now," The gash in his face scabbed over, giving his face the look of an angry bull dog from the Abyss itself.

  That’s not the worst part, Kaltor thought, glancing toward Melshek’s winged pets. They attacked me while I was fully blending with my surroundings. The first time it was obvious where I was standing, but how did they get past my camouflage for the other attacks?

  He decided to buy some time. "Guess you have a lot to learn about Battleborn, Melshek," he answered. "Five more just like me are attacking your men to the east. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d already lost a web-face woman or two."

  Melshek’s laughter filled the night, long and ominous. Even his winged pets shrieked in quick succession in some primal form of mirth. Those shrieks, they sound like bats, guided by sound not by sight, almost like skin vision.

  "My commanders are well protected," Melshek bragged. "They wear armor so thick even an arrow can’t get through. Nor are they anywhere near the fight."

  Why are you talking so much? Kaltor thought. How much damage did my last blow really do to you?

  If he was right, and these winged creatures made his blending useless, he would have to try something more direct. In a smooth motion he drew a throwing blade in each hand and spun them into the winged creatures. Both projectiles sank into their flesh, drawing angry hisses from between their clenched teeth as they clawed the blades free.

  No good, he realized. Even they are immune to poison.

  All mirth faded from Melshek’s eyes. The winged creatures shrieked in response to his silent order and lunged forward, shrieking in high-pitched clicks. In response to their first step, Kaltor drew his throwing blades, ready to use them like daggers. The next second, he saw their faces. Time slowed as the realization hit home.

  They were Jensai’s and Tyran’s.

  You stole their bodies, he realized. His skin vision focused on Melshek’s inhuman frame, also in mid-charge. In an instant his fear and insecurities turned to pure rage, like a sea of alcohol ignited by a single potent match.

  Only one thought remained when his three opponents struck.

  "I’m going to kill you all!"

  Chapter 24

  Something snapped in Kaltor. Varadour power combined with adrenaline, the mixture surging through his blood with greater strength than even his training with Master Taneth could have prepared him for. Somewhere in the logical part of his mind a warning sounded against drawing so much of his power, announcing the coming Blood Break, but he didn’t care anymore.

  A Battleborn needed nothing more than his enemy’s weapons. One on the Blood Break—a Remnant, at that—didn’t even require those.

  Exploding toward the creature wearing Jensai’s face, Kaltor jammed his feet forward, trusting the tiles to break under the force. They shattered, giving way as he slid under the creature’s outstretched arms, caught hold of a wing, and tackled it from behind.

  They tumbled down the roof away from the other two attackers. The Jensai creature tried in vain to fly or to claw hungrily against his armor, but it was difficult to do either with any efficiency since Kaltor was in the process of ripping one wing to shreds from his perch behind the creature’s shoulder blades.

  It tried to impale him, its tail careening toward him like a scorpion’s, but so intense were the Varadour Remnant’s reflexes that he caught the attack in mid-strike and guided its momentum into its own wing, deliv
ering a final slash which severed the appendage from the body entirely.

  They reached the edge of the roof and the creature shrieked in fear and pain as Kaltor rolled, tossing it from the edge with a grunt of disdain. Even as he rolled to his feet, toes gripping the edge of the gutter beneath him, the Tyran creature dove forward.

  It flared its wings a few paces in front of him, flying just outside of his reach, stabbing forward with its poisoned tail like a wasp. Melshek dove beneath his pet’s attack and lunged forward. His eyes widened in surprise when Kaltor sprinted into his outstretched arms, ignoring his opponent’s claws as he grabbed him by his tunic and spun him aside with all his enhanced strength.

  Claws tore the armor from his arms, drawing blood. Melshek sailed through the air, smashing into the stone wall of the adjacent building and plummeting twenty feet to the stones below.

  A razor sharp tail-blade sliced Kaltor’s neck only inches from his jugular. To his enhanced senses, the tail seemed to float away like a leaf on a warm breeze, an easy catch. The Tyran creature shrieked in shock as he caught hold of its tail and plummeted both of them to street below.

  To the beast’s credit, it did manage to reduce their speed enough to land safely. As soon as his feet hit the street, however, Kaltor jerked the creature down the rest of the way. Its tail snapped in two beneath his determined grasp and he leapt onto the animal’s back. It tried to twist, to throw him off, but his vice-like grip on its outstretched wings would not relent.

  He stomped the middle of both wing bones with all his strength, pulling upward on the outstretched wings for good measure. Two sickening cracks echoed through the streets, imitating the similar sounds coming from Melshek’s direction as he stood and reset his own bones. By now the Tyran creature was in too much pain to adequately avoid a dagger to the head, and it apparently lacked its master’s recuperative healing abilities.

  Both beasts lay dead at Kaltor’s feet. Melshek still stood in his combat form, claws extended, black blood pulsing. A wave of nausea overwhelmed Kaltor, driving him to his knees. He could feel Melshek’s poison counter-acting his Varadour power. Something else took hold as well, darkening his vision. A voice echoed in his mind, feminine and seductive.

  "You could be king," The world changed, and everything shifted.

  Suddenly, Kaltor’s pain was gone. He sat upon a throne dressing in fine satins, silks, and gold, holding a scepter. Krin and Gereth stood on either side of him, the proud parents of the Varadour Remnant.

  Master Taneth stood before him, presenting their military leaders, Honmour and Talen among them. The scene shifted again, to countless nights in his bedchamber with countless women awaiting his command. Among them was one fire-haired Battlescorned, in particular.

  Again the scene shifted, and he stood overlooking the capital, emissaries from every city marching to his palace to grant him tribute. He turned, finding himself in battle array, and sparred with Master Taneth and the other Battleborn in public. No secrecy, no fear of discovery.

  "You could be king," the female voice continued, the vision growing dark and cold. "But you must choose to obey me," He fell, the air turning increasingly cold and dark.

  "Follow me here or in the Abyss," she finished. "Choose now."

  His life passed before his eyes. He knew what his answer should be, after so many years of fearful hiding, after the great efforts they’d expended to train and protect him. His parents deserved better than to fade into nothing as failures in the king’s eyes. They deserved the rewards a king could grant, a Remnant king.

  He felt the strange woman waiting in the back of his mind, breathing serenely. He knew the answer he had to give, yet somehow he knew it was Melshek’s poison. Something in his mind held back these temptations. He understood them on a theoretical level, but their real appeal, the power they wielded over the hearts of men, couldn’t touch him. He knew what the deal would cost him. He would never find his brother if he accepted it.

  Finding Keevan and repairing his broken family meant everything.

  As if from far away he heard another female voice rise. Krin’s. He knew what his parents would truly expect of him, especially her. "You have a good heart, my son. We will find a way," she said comfortingly.

  With a painful, rasping breath Kaltor struggled to sit upright, sitting cross-legged on the hard ground. Though his vision was still dark, he felt his back against rough brick and mortar, and someone breathing in his face, decaying flesh on its breath.

  Pain twisted viciously in his sides. "You deserve better, Mom," he whispered. "But I can’t make this deal. We’ll find another way," His vision cleared, revealing Melshek standing over him, his claws digging into Kaltor’s chest, dangerously close to his heart.

  "Submit!" Melshek screamed, and Kaltor could feel all the poison the creature could muster siphoning into his blood, weighing it down. His Varadour power and adrenaline faltered, and he felt consciousness fading fast.

  Another way, he thought. There is one other. The price I always knew I would pay.

  His eyes rolled up to face his opponent’s. His fingers found Melshek’s wrists and grunted with exertion as he pushed the claws from either side. The venom flowed out of his wounds now, pushed by immense Varadour power. The Blood Break took full effect now, turning his blood corrosive, but the power it granted— that was undeniable.

  With a howl of frustration Melshek grabbed Kaltor by the hair and threw him across the street. He hit the ground hard, rolling into the opposite building roughly, barely managing to deflect his momentum and keep his bones from breaking.

  Pieces of metal poked him from odd angles, a few of his own throwing blades sticking into his flesh. A faint pulse of Varadour energy oozed from his struggling heart, pushing another bit of poison from his veins. A sickening crack of breaking bone and tearing flesh echoed from across the street.

  From beneath his trembling arms Kaltor caught a glimpse of Melshek pulling the tail blade from his winged pet with Jensai’s face. His intent was obvious as he squeezed the sac at the base of the tail and smiled at the venom rushing from its tip.

  He’s going to keep doing this to me, Kaltor realized. Until I break, he’ll just keep this up.

  His heart beat a bit stronger, sending another trickle of energy through his body, steadying his limbs. Tainted blood oozed from his wounds as he forced the poison from his system. This is my last chance.

  Melshek leaned over the Tyran creature’s remains, performing the same action. In the starlight his ripped and tattered tunic could no longer hide the metal links around his neck and down his chest. ‘He took an amulet,’ Rivatha had said that night at the camp. ‘Then he slept a few hours and headed for the inn.’

  Melshek leaned over for a better hold on the tail-blade as he pulled, but the metal links did not hang to the ground away from his chest as they should have. The metal is embedded in his skin, Kaltor realized. So that would mean the amulet itself is—

  With a gut-wrenching rip, Melshek tore the tail tip free from the body and walked toward Kaltor. "You have caused me a lot of problems," he grumbled in his half-animal voice. "It’s only fitting you repay me for the delays you’ve caused."

  He reached the middle of the street and Kaltor’s heart pounded again, stronger this time. It wasn’t sufficient to close his wounds, but enough to expel the poison. He had to end this soon before he lost too much blood. His fists settled on two loose stones nearby, and a long piece of metal.

  When he was just outside Kaltor’s reach, Melshek took one last content look at his poisoned tail blades. Varadour energy surged, and the Battleborn struck.

  His left hand hurled a stone into Melshek’s open right eye with all his strength. The blow knocked his opponent back a step, more surprised than hurt, but it bought Kaltor enough time to roll onto his shoulders and flip forward onto his feet.

  When the creature dropped his guard to charge, a second stone followed, scratching its other eye. Varadour energy blended the colors around him, camoufla
ging his movements.

  "I can smell you, fool—" Melshek sputtered, taking a handful of dirt to the face. He took one last step back, confused and disoriented before charging forward, holding both tail-blades like daggers.

  Power surged from Kaltor’s heart. The rush turned to pain, agony flowing through every vein and artery of his body. Dropping to one knee, he let Melshek’s attacks swing over his head, and with his Varadour-enhanced strength he drove the tip of his throwing blade through the former-prince’s demonically hardened chest, just above the heart.

  The force of the blow brought Melshek to one knee, his tail-blades clattering to the ground. His claws fumbled around Kaltor’s chest, slicing up the Battleborn’s skin and armor, trying to wrench the weapon free.

  With a final grunt of exertion Kaltor sliced down, feeling the weapon stop at something metallic, and he pulled outward. The amulet tore free of Melshek’s chest, pulling portions of his heart out with it.

  The former-prince’s eyes widened with shock. His struggling claws weakened. His teeth snapped in vain, trying to lean toward Kaltor for a throat-ripping kill. The Battleborn sliced the metal chain, pulling the relic completely free from Melshek’s skin with one last Varadour-enhanced jerk.

  Melshek howled in pain, grasping Kaltor by the throat and lifting him into the air with his left hand, strangling his windpipe. His blood slowly solidified, even as he stood poised to strike. He pulled back his claws for one final blow. The image of the viper hound striking while he lay helpless washed over Kaltor’s mind, fear consuming him.

  He hung there, helpless.

  "Finally!" a female voice whispered aloud. "The plan worked perfectly," Melshek paused a moment. His breath steadied, and he looked around at their surroundings like a convict enjoying his first walk outside in years.

  "I’m free," he muttered gleefully, tears rolling down his grey face and thick fangs. He looked at Kaltor in surprise, eyeing his wounds, loosening his death grip on his victim’s throat ever so slightly.