by Kel Kade
“I yield to the Riel’gesh! Fealty to the Raven!”
Rezkin was abruptly rocked by a powerful gust of wind. He redirected his focus shield to protect himself from the king’s assault, but it did not shelter him from the turbulent debris that soared through the air. Papers, books, pillows, candle sticks, and dinner ware—pretty much anything smaller than his head that was not secured to the walls was flying at him. He dodged and blocked most of what came at him, but he did receive his share of minor injuries. A sudden painful stab to the back of his leg did not feel so minor. He reached down and pulled the small projectile from his hamstring—a metal-tipped quill. It was fitting, he thought. He could write of the king’s death in blood.
Unfortunately, killing the king was not part of his plan. In fact, aside from infiltrating the castle, nothing that had happened that night had been part of the plan. The king backed away into his bedchamber as Rezkin advanced. The man raised the longsword he held at his side, but it quickly became obvious that the king was not used to fighting in the dark or in close quarters. His first swing became lodged in the bedpost. He pulled it out and tried again. Rezkin sheathed Kingslayer and drew Bladesunder. It would give him less reach but more maneuverability in the densely furnished room. Ionius was a skilled swordsman but no master, and it seemed his age and lavish lifestyle had reduced his speed and endurance.
Rezkin allowed the king a few moments of false hope before smashing it completely by disarming him and leaving him in the precarious position of remaining on his tiptoes against the wall. It was either that or be impaled by a sword through the throat.
“Do you yield?” he asked.
“You will never take the throne,” Ionius spat.
Rezkin could not see the man well in the dark, but he imagined the king was red with anger. He was the kind who would rather lose his head than bow to another for any reason.
“I did not ask for the throne, only that you stop fighting me and concede to a few simple demands.”
“You think to make demands of me! I am the king, and you are naught but a common criminal.”
“I am anything but common,” Rezkin said, and he knew it to be true.
Whether it was due to his training, his mysterious birth, or the supposedly undetectable power he might possess, he knew now that he was not like these outworlders. He called to the man in the other room. He had not heard him shuffling about, and Rezkin wondered if he had even left his place of defeat. The man moved silently in the dark, undetectable until his figure became visible in the moonlight. He stood a respectable distance from Rezkin and bowed deeply.
“I am at your command, Riel’gesh,” he said.
“I am the king!” Ionius shouted. “You serve me!”
The man chuckled mirthlessly. “I serve the Order. You know this.”
“So, you heard tell that I was coming for you, and you called upon the Order,” Rezkin said. “I am disappointed in you, Ionius. You must know that the Order is of the Riel’sheng. They will serve the Riel’gesh.”
“The Riel’gesh,” Ionius spat, “is an absurd myth. I am not surprised the Black Hall fell for it.”
“The Black Hall should not be dismissed,” the assassin said. “They too are Riel’sheng. They carry the sacred right, same as we.”
“No one is undefeatable,” Ionius argued. To Rezkin he said, “You are a charlatan. This one has obviously fallen for your ruse. I will see that the Order punishes him for his treachery after they are finished with you.”
Rezkin did not need to respond since his newest devotee was quick to his defense.
“You should choose your words carefully, King Ionius. You can see from where you stand that your life is forfeit. The Reil’gesh bestows life by his will alone, and you are not giving him reason.”
“My life is not his to bestow. That was a privilege of the Maker,” Ionius said.
“A blessing granted unto the Riel’gesh,” the assassin argued.
The king scoffed. “You think the Maker would grant the power of life to an assassin?”
“We are assassins because it is the service we are best suited to provide. The Riel’sheng have trained for hundreds of years, preserving and improving upon our skills so that we may one day serve the Riel’gesh.”
“You think he is this man?” Ionius asked in disbelief. “Just because he defeated you? How many men have defeated you in the past? You did not declare them Riel’gesh.”
“It has been long since any but the Ong’ri has defeated me, and never so succinctly.” The assassin’s colorless features were awash with silvery moonlight as he turned to Rezkin. “You move silently and surely, and your skill is unmatched. Not for these reasons do I bow to you. Never has anyone arrested my power as you did. I was helpless under your will, and yet I sense nothing from you. You are naught but darkness, moving freely, a will of its own. I fear your wake.”
Rezkin was discomfited by the assassin’s impassioned speech. He did not care for the praise and felt that the title of Riel’gesh had been misplaced. When the Black Hall had declared him so, he had thought it convenient, a simple way of obtaining their loyalty. The Riel’sheng were not exclusive to Ashai, though, and news of the Raven’s influence had spread with far-reaching consequences. The Ong’ri was the leader of the Order. From what the assassin had said, he had to be the Jeng’ri, the second of the Order. For him to recognize Rezkin as the Riel’gesh was significant, but not an official sanction on behalf of the Order.
Rezkin could think of nothing to say that was worthy of such a speech, so he chose not to respond. Instead, he turned to Ionius and said, “Are you ready to grant my demands?”
The man actually growled. “Lower your sword, and I shall hear what you have to say.”
Rezkin lowered his sword and stepped back a few paces. The Jeng’ri held his position, presumably out of respect for the Riel’gesh, although he might have been more concerned that Rezkin would see him as a threat and end him. Ionius did not seem to have the same fears. He shuffled to a side table and fumbled in the dark for a decanter.
Flustered, he said, “Must we stand around in the dark? Let us at least light a lamp or candle.”
“There is no need,” Rezkin said. “I am perfectly comfortable in the dark.” He turned to the Jeng’ri and asked, “You?”
“I am as well, Riel’gesh,” he replied.
As Ionius lifted the goblet to his lips, he muttered, “Bloody assassins and their bloody night vision.” He seated himself in a high-back chair, only stubbing his toe once in the process, and said, “What is it you want?”
“It is not a matter of what I want but what I am taking,” Rezkin said. “I am taking two things from you, Ionius, and I think you will only protest one with any spirit.”
“Besides my life and my throne, what of mine would you take for yourself?”
“I do not take it for myself but for another.” Rezkin spread his hands and said, “I am the Raven, a thief, an assassin, a criminal. Surely I am unworthy of anything you hold dear. No, I do not take for myself. The one I intend to profit for my efforts is a savior, a champion, a leader of men, and a king by right.”
Ionius huffed. “What is this nonsense? Of whom do you speak?”
“Soon, a man will set foot upon your shore, a man both glorified and vilified. He seeks to save his people and defeat the evil that has infested his land. You may know him as Dark Tidings.”
“This is absurd!” said Ionius. “Caydean’s filth is spilling into Channería in all forms. I will not have it! Neither you nor Dark Tidings are welcome here … and neither are any of those people he took with him. Yes, I know he left the tournament with a crowd people who escaped Caydean’s madness. Significant rewards have been proffered for their heads. It is surprising that none have been offered for yours.”
Rezkin found that to be surprising as well. From the Ashaiian king’s perspective, of all the people deserving of a warrant, the Raven should have been at the top of the list.
“
Unless you really work for Caydean,” Ionius added.
Rezkin chuckled. “Why would I work for Caydean when I already possess his people? Leave the endless court and council meetings to him. I will govern from the dark. With each of his destructive whims, my power grows. Upon the death of civilization, the strongest and fiercest prevail. Do you know who those people are, Ionius? My people.”
Ionius said, “You are just as mad as he.”
“Then you had best hope my madness does not spread within your land more than it already has,” Rezkin replied with a nod toward the Jeng’ri.
Ionius nearly emptied his cup. “Tell me. What is it that will see you gone?”
“The first is your daughter,” Rezkin said.
“What? What do you want with Ilanet?”
“That is not your concern. You will send Princess Ilanet with Dark Tidings. You may pose the arrangement however you like, a diplomatic mission if you will. In the end, she will go with him when he leaves your land.”
“Impossible. I cannot give what you ask,” Ionius said.
“And why is that?”
“Because Ilanet is de- … betrothed. You must know that a ball is being held in the hall at this very moment in celebration of the engagement.”
“Hmm, yes. It does seem strange, though, that neither the father of the bride nor the lady, herself, are in attendance,” Rezkin said.
“What do you mean? Of course Ilanet is there. Where else would she be?” Ionius asked in a rush.
“Oh, perhaps in a bloody heap on her bedchamber floor.”
Ionius surged to his feet. The moonlight spilled over his features to reveal a guilty man hiding behind righteous anger. “What have you done?”
Rezkin laughed. “What have I done? You cannot carry out an assassination of such significance and not expect to summon the Riel’gesh.”
The king’s eyes opened wide, and his face drained so that even in the dark he appeared ghostly. “H-how could you know? Impossible. The nurse … the nursemaid must have told you. But, no, she only found out a few hours ago.”
The king’s muttering was desperate as he contemplated the alternatives. Rezkin felt the penetrating stare of the Jeng’ri and considered that perhaps his overly dramatic, mystical claim, intended for the benefit of the king, had fallen heavily on the wrong ears.
Ionius abruptly asked, “So she is dead, then? No, you said you wanted her. She cannot be dead. Unless … do you hear the dead? Did she call to you?”
Rezkin had not expected the king to come to that conclusion. He glanced at the Jeng’ri, who was still staring at him with unsettling intensity. Maybe the assassin had somehow arrived at the same ridiculous conclusion. Rezkin could already imagine the stories that would spawn from this moment—a legend in which the spirits of the dead call to the Riel’gesh from the Afterlife and his vengeful answer.
The Jeng’ri finally pulled his attention away from Rezkin and directed it at the king. “You plotted to kill your daughter and did not call upon the Order?”
“I did not need a trained assassin to kill a stupid girl,” Ionius snapped.
“You were wrong,” Rezkin said. As interesting as the prospect of being a mystical creature summoned by the dead was, it did not fit into his plans. “A nursemaid, mage, and archmage were insufficient to get the job done. Your daughter lives.”
“You granted her life,” the Jeng’ri said with reverence.
Rezkin mentally sighed. It seemed the legend would not die here. To Ionius, he said, “I claim her this night. She will be delivered when Dark Tidings arrives.”
“What am I to tell Nyan?” Ionus asked.
Rezkin said, “You may tell him that you tried to frame him for her murder, if you like.”
Ionius groaned. “Does nothing escape you? You do not understand. Vergos would not be swayed. I told him that I needed more iron, more weapons, more rations. I need his army. Caydean is mad, and Ashai is in turmoil. He spits on our longstanding alliance, and already I have Gendishen and the Eastern Mountains tribes threatening to invade my lands to get at Ashai. We must strike now.”
The king abruptly paused and glanced up, appearing to have just realized to whom he was speaking. The Raven might not look kindly on an invasion of his homeland. Rezkin was perfectly willing to allow the king to rant about his plans.
Ionius cleared his throat and asked, “Are you working with him, then? This Dark Tidings?
Rezkin had to consider the relationship between the Raven and Dark Tidings carefully. He did not want anyone to know they were the same person, nor did he want them thinking that one was working for the other. Neither would benefit from the stigmas associated with the other within their respective communities of influence.
“You are aware that Dark Tidings bears claim to the Ashaiian throne?”
Ionius grunted. “Naught but rubbish. Caydean is Bordran’s first born. No one denies it. Beyond that, there is a clear line of succession. Some might think it suspicious that Prince Thresson goes missing just before Dark Tidings declares himself Bordran’s rightful heir. Some might believe the two are the same, but I have met Thresson on several occasions. I am quite certain he is not the untouchable tournament champion of whom I have heard tell.”
It was an interesting point. Rezkin had not considered that people might think Prince Thresson had something to do with Dark Tidings.
He ignored that consideration for the moment and said, “Dark Tidings intends to bring war down on Caydean but with as little negative impact on the people of Ashai as possible. This means the least impact to my people. That is something that neither you nor any of the other kingdoms will offer.”
“But I thought you wanted Caydean on the throne. What about that whole chaos is good for business speech?” Ionius said.
“There is such a thing as too much chaos. Caydean’s insanity makes him unpredictable, and I recently received information that his strength and madness may be worse than you or I could have foreseen. No, his reign is not a sound long-term investment. At this point in time, what is good for Dark Tidings is good for me, which means it is also best for you.” He finished with a feral grin that he hoped the king could see through the darkness.
“You are a cunning man, and you are without conscience. I can see now how it might have been possible for you to organize the takeover of so much of the Ashaiian criminal element. You might have made a good king except that I do not believe you altogether sane.” More softly he muttered, “Then again, maybe none of us are.”
The king managed to cross in the dark to the side table and pour himself another drink without incident. Once he had returned to his chair, he asked, “What do you ask, this second boon?”
Rezkin tilted his head and said, “I think you know. Did your counselor not say?”
“She said that I desired to grant the island of Cael to Dark Tidings and that you wanted her to oppose the proposition. Since I have no intention of doing anything of the sort, I do not see the need for your threats.”
“I want you to give it to him.”
“But you told her to vote against it!” Ionius said with frustration.
“Which nearly guarantees that she will vote in its favor when you make the proposal.”
The room was silent as the king stared at him in the moonlit shadows. “And the others? Did you get to them as well?” he asked.
“I believe I have secured a majority vote. It is up to you to ensure that it passes,” Rezkin said.
“So you have covered everything except the fact that I will not be making such a proposal,” Ionius firmly stated.
Rezkin filled his voice with condescension. “Do not let your obstinacy get in the way of your kingship, Ionius. This is best for us all. Cael is useless land, uninhabitable. Your ongoing rivalry over the isle, simply for the sake of spite, ensures that an ember burns between you and Gendishen—a spark to be stoked on a whim. You give Cael to the Ashaiian refugees, and your people love you—Ionius, the merciful, the generous patron.
You may even reach a profitable trade agreement. Release your claim altogether, and you are exculpated from any wrongdoing. No one can accuse you of harboring rebel traitors in your lands. Allow Gendishen to take the blame.”
“And what of Gendishen? How will you contend with Privoth?”
Rezkin scoffed. “Let Dark Tidings deal with Privoth. He is not our concern.”
Ionius replied with incredulity. “What makes you think Dark Tidings even wants Cael?”
“What does it matter?” Rezkin asked. “Give land to a homeless man, and he will take it. If he is destined to be a great king, then he can figure a way to keep his people on the rock. He may consider it a test of fortitude if he likes. I care not.”
“And if I chose not to grant this request?” Ionius asked.
Rezkin was tired of arguing over what was, by all accounts, a tiny, useless, uninhabitable chunk of rock in the Souelian Sea. Ionius had protested the gift of his daughter only because he thought she was dead, and now he had spent significantly more time inciting the Raven’s ire over a worthless island.
He said, “I am sure Dark Tidings will find other ways to acquire what he needs. I had intended to leave this kingdom, but perhaps I should expand my empire. I see so much potential for Serret, and I think it might be nice to visit the other cities. I am quite successful in my business, you know.” With exaggerated disgust, he added, “Perhaps I can even assist you with your cat problem. Your country is completely infested.”
