by Kel Kade
“You question my honor?” Ionius asked with indignation.
“You write your own story of honor, Ionius. I merely read the pages. The fate of kingdoms cannot depend on honor alone. I trust in yours no more than you trust in mine. If I am to stake my people’s future on the gamble you have so graciously offered, then we need assurance it will not be taken from us should it pay off. We require a treaty with diplomatic recognition.”
“You cannot have it,” Ionius snapped. “I already told you that we do not recognize or endorse your claim to Ashai.”
“I do not ask for Ashai. The recognition is for the Kingdom of Cael.”
Ionius scoffed. “Here I thought you desired to be the king of Ashai, but it seems you will settle for a barren rock if someone will only call you king.”
A few of Ionius’s loyal supporters snickered, but most appeared anxious and unsettled.
The king waved his hand and said, “Very well, since the council has already voted to hand over the island, we will give you diplomatic recognition—with stipulations, of course. The first is satisfaction of the afore mentioned conditions for retaining the island. Second, if you should happen to find these mysterious resources that have somehow eluded both Channería and Gendishen for a thousand years, we will have the right of first refusal on any trade deals.”
“So that you can bypass the free trade agreements of the ITA and lock us into unfair prices? We will give you first refusal but retain the right to reject your offer and seek fair compensation elsewhere.”
“A paltry kingdom with no resources, hardly any people, no army, and no navy. Do you really think anyone will trade fairly? We shall see how that goes for you. I think you will find it more difficult considering your third and final stipulation. Our recognition of the Kingdom of Cael will be contingent upon the acquisition of diplomatic recognition from Gendishen.”
Collectiare Tiblot stepped forward in protest. “King Ionius, these people are already destitute and seek only to find a place in this world. You place an impossible task before them. For hundreds of years, Gendishen has rejected every attempt to reconcile.”
“This is a secular matter, Collectiare. I do not require your input,” Ionius said.
“I disagree,” said the collectiare. “I know you have heard the fable of the old woman who only ever offered her starving cat the fish bones and kept the meat for herself. Every child who has attended Temple services has heard the tale.”
“What of it?” Ionius asked.
“If you recall, the cat ultimately ate the woman.”
“That hardly applies here,” Ionius argued. “That woman was old and feeble. Channería is a great and powerful kingdom, and this man in the absurd mask has no teeth or claws with which to scratch.”
The collectiare shook his head in exasperation. “You miss the point, Ionius. The moral of the story was not what the cat did. It was about …”
“I do not care. That ridiculous children’s story has no bearing here. My ruling stands.”
Dark Tidings bowed slightly and said, “The Kingdoms of Cael and Ashai will not forget the generosity of its neighbor and long-standing ally Channería.” He motioned to Roark and began backing toward the exit.
“Dark Tidings,” Ionius called, “Do you bear the blood of the royal family? Prince Thresson, perhaps? If we are to call you king then we shall need a name.”
Dark Tidings retorted, “You may have a name when you call me king.”
Ionius smirked. “You are overbearing and offensive but intelligent and competent. This will no doubt be a test of your fortitude. If you can make a kingdom of Cael, then perhaps you have what it takes to seize Ashai. I admit you seem well suited for your station.”
Dark Tidings tilted his head in acknowledgement and said, “That is something that you had best remember, Ionius.”
Arrangements were made with the king’s seneschal for the treaty to be drawn and delivered by noon on the following day. It seemed Ionius wanted them out of his kingdom as quickly as possible. Rezkin wanted the ship ready to depart upon arrival of the documents. Once they reached Stargazer, Rezkin called a meeting with his strikers.
“I do not understand what just happened,” Roark said. “Yesterday you went in asking for asylum for less than a hundred refugees, and today the king and council offer up an uninhabitable island and call you king.”
Surprised, Shezar said, “Ionius recognized him as King of Ashai?”
“No, he made him King of Cael,” said Roark.
Kai furrowed his brow. “Cael? You mean that rock in the northern Yeltin Isles? Why would he do that?”
Roark shook his head. “It was approved by the council in less than a day. Not only that, but the king essentially forced his daughter on him.”
“You are to marry the princess?” Kai asked with a pleased grin. “Last I saw her, she was only a child, but I hear she has grown to be quite the beauty.”
“And befitting a royal union,” Shezar added.
Rezkin was pretending to ignore their conversation as he pored over the list of supplies that had already been obtained and those which still needed to be acquired. He glanced up to see all three men staring at him.
“I am not marrying Princess Ilanet. Besides, she is still only a small one—a child.”
“She was already betrothed to Prince Nyan of Jerea,” Roark said. “I do not understand why Ionius would suddenly try to force a union with you, a rebel in a mask without a name or official station.”
“Ionius does not care for his daughter, only her fiscal and political value. Ilanet has no desire to marry Nyan, and Ionius is eager to see her gone,” Rezkin said.
“Why is that?” Kai asked.
“Two nights ago, Ionius tried to have Ilanet killed in an attempt to blackmail King Vargos. He failed, and now he needs her to disappear.”
Kai released a long whistle. “What prevents him from trying again?”
Rezkin said, “Ionius no longer has possession of his daughter. I do.”
Roark huffed in frustration. “You are saying that you already have the princess? You acted like you had never seen her before. Does Ionius know?”
“No, Ionius does not know that I have her, and it must stay that way. He expects her to be delivered before the ship departs. He may or may not send her belongings with the treaty. It would be best if we do not announce her presence aboard the ship right away. Princess Ilanet is now a refugee like the rest of us.”
Following the meeting, Rezkin slipped off the ship and joined the shuffle of people delivering cargo to the dock. Since everyone had orders to stay below decks during the daylight, he did not chance running into anyone else that knew him. A large crowd had gathered in the market that he generally would pass through on his way back to the brothel. Most of the people appeared angry as they jeered at the guards, and some even began throwing produce and dung. Having no desire to get involved, he slipped down an alley to an adjacent street and completed his trek without further complications. Even on this street, though, most of the people were moving toward the growing mob, except for the priests, who were gathering anxiously in groups heading into the closest temple. It was all the more reason for Rezkin to hurry on his way. If serious problems erupted in the city, he would need to be close to Ilanet.
The princess was pacing anxiously in the stables when Rezkin arrived. As soon as her eyes fell on him, she rushed forward and grasped his tunic. Rezkin frowned down at her.
“You have to do something,” she blurted.
He pulled her dainty hands from his shirt and said, “What is it that I am expected to do?” Her distress was plainly written on her face.
“He is here,” she said. “Brendish. He is in the house. Grebella sent me out here so he would not see me.”
“Obviously, he has not found you, so I do not understand the source of your concern,” Rezkin said.
“He is angry, livid, even. Just before you arrived I could hear him yelling at Grebella about money. He hit h
er, I am sure of it. Now it is quiet, and I am worried.”
“Brendish will not seriously harm Grebella. He has an investment in her well-being. They have a working relationship. It is not my place to intercede, and I have no desire to become involved.”
Ilanet grabbed at his tunic again and tried to shake him. “But you must! Grebella is … well … uncouth, but she has been kind to both of us. This Brendish smells of spirits, and he is covered in ink. I do not believe he is thinking about his investment right now. He is hurting her!”
Rezkin inwardly sighed. He had learned from his masters that outworlders would take any opportunity to weaken and subjugate other outworlders. Since he left the fortress, he had seen this in truth. Roughly half of the outworlders had managed to keep the other half weak by doing nothing more than convincing them that it was not socially acceptable to defend themselves. Grebella was responsible for a household of vulnerable women, yet she had few means of protecting them, forcing her to depend on men like Brendish. Neither Grebella nor Ilanet were Rezkin’s responsibility. They were not his friends. They were not even Ashaiian.
He shook his head. “Grebella is a resourceful woman. She does not require my assistance.”
“You are horrible!” she said. “You protected me, but you will not lift a finger to help her? Why? It is because she is a … a … oh, you know.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Rezkin said as he grabbed his pack and took a seat in the hay. The little tortie came prancing into the stable as if it had been summoned. He frowned as the cat climbed into his lap uninvited and bumped her head against his chin. He looked back to Ilanet and said, “Grebella depends on Brendish to protect her and her house. If I stop him from hurting her now, he will only take it out on her later. I could kill him, but then she would have no protection from the other predators. Once I leave, someone else will just step into his place. I could not sufficiently protect her without further insinuating myself into the Channerían underworld.”
“Why so much? Why not just this one?” Ilanet said pleadingly.
“People would be suspicious and fear the rising of an unknown power. They would seek to smother it before it grew. Grebella and her household would be the unfortunate collateral damage, which would completely defeat the original intent. I would have to gain sufficient power and instill enough fear to deter others from challenging me, and I would have to do it in one night since we are leaving on the morrow.”
Ilanet’s hopeful expression fell. “I see. That would be impossible.”
Rezkin continued searching his pack as he said, “Not impossible, just tedious and tiring. I have more important things to do. Besides, I made an agreement with your father that I would limit my meddling in this kingdom if he gave me what I wanted.” He looked up and narrowed his eyes as he stared at nothing in particular. “Then again, he did not exactly follow my instructions. There will have to be a reprisal. He has to learn not to push the bounds where I am concerned.”
“What do you mean? What deal?” Ilanet asked. “Does it have something to do with me?”
“Yes,” Rezkin said as he pulled the writing kit from his pack. “In addition to my own considerations, we came to an agreement concerning you. I have arranged for your independence from your father.”
“That is great news!” she said as she hurried over to sit beside him. Her eyes were filled with anticipation as she eagerly asked, “How so? What is to happen to me?”
Rezkin set the kit aside and kept his eyes on the princess, cognizant of the fact that she might not like what he had to say. “According to your father, you are to be married.”
“Yes, I know that,” Ilanet huffed. “You took me away from the celebratory ball, remember?”
“No, not to Nyan,” Rezkin said. “Are you familiar with the one known as Dark Tidings?”
With furrowed brow, she said, “You mean the King’s Tournament Champion?”
“Yes. Are you also aware that he has made claim to the throne of Ashai?”
“So I had heard. Only rumors, surely.”
“Indeed not. His claim is legitimate. He is in Serret right now. While his crew has been resupplying, he has made a few arrangements with your father. I may have encouraged your father to send you with Dark Tidings. The betrothal was your father’s idea.”
Ilanet’s eyes widened. “You mean I am to marry this Dark Tidings?”
“So your father would have it. Dark Tidings made no such agreement. He has only conceded to taking you as his ward until you do marry.”
“So I am his ward until I am of age, and then I must marry him?” Ilanet’s voice rose in pitch as she spoke.
“That is not what I said.”
A piercing shriek erupted from the house, assailing their ears and causing the cat to skitter out of the stables. A few moments later, two men could be heard squabbling with several women. Loud cracks, crashes, and squeals escaped the building’s confines, and then the back door burst open releasing a furious bruiser. The barrel-chested man gripped a club spiked with rusted nails as he pounded across the yard. A second man followed close behind, tromping through the dust in untied boots. He was a head shorter than the first, and he was still struggling to tie his pants as he stumbled toward the stables. Both men’s arms were adorned in purple-black tattoos, and the glazed fury on their heated faces made it obvious they were out for blood.
Rezkin pushed Ilanet toward the rear stall with orders to remain silent. He positioned himself so that the women peering between the curtains could not see what was happening. The two men entered the stables and came at him without pause. The bigger man roared as he swung his spiked club at Rezkin’s head. He ducked under the swing and slipped around the man to bring a swift upper cut to the second man’s chin. The second man fell back from the unexpected attack, and Rezkin dodged another swipe of the club. He turned and punched the man in the kidney, eliciting another roar as the man grabbed at the back of Rezkin’s loose tunic. Rezkin bent forward and then lurched back, slithering out of the tunic. He grabbed the ends of the long sleeves as he disrobed, wrapping one around the arm that gripped him and using the other to block the next swing of the club. He twisted the sleeve and yanked, causing the assailant to lose his hold on the weapon, and then he slipped around the man’s side, pulling his other arm across his body and toppling him off balance.
Rezkin kicked backward, striking the second man in the chest just as he regained his feet. As the second man stumbled back again, Rezkin hooked the bigger man’s head and then threw his body weight to the side while bounding off one of the horse stalls. The tangled, off-balance assailant could not recover, his head was wrenched around, and his eyes stared sightlessly behind him as he slumped to the ground. The second man jumped at him, but Rezkin turned to the side and then used the man’s own momentum to smash his face into the stall with such force that he was rendered an unrecognizable corpse.
Ilanet watched the encounter through the space between the wooden slats of the stall. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she held her hand over her mouth to prevent her unbidden shouts from escaping. The exchange was vicious and abrupt, not like the duels between knights that she had spied upon during training sessions in the yard. No one here was laughing or congratulating the winner. The losers were rendered dead in a matter of seconds. One had a face smashed to a bloody pulp, and the other stared at her with empty eyes, his head twisted unnaturally. The stranger was half naked but far from bared since he had multiple knives and other odd sharp things strapped about his arms and torso. The instruments of death flowed with every motion of his body, as though they were part of him. He called to her as he bent over one of the bodies.
“You may come out now,” he said.
Ilanet exited the stall and approached with caution. She had seen many men become angry during and after sparring sessions, even those who had won. This had been far worse than sparring, and she had no desire to draw the stranger’s ire. She turned so that she could see into the yard wi
thout looking past the dead bodies or at the half naked assassin.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why did they suddenly attack?”
The stranger stood after collecting the men’s purses and retrieved another tunic from his pack. Ilanet was glad when he covered himself and the armory he carried with him. No matter her father’s expectations, Ilanet was not ready to be alone with a man, much less an unclothed one.
“We will go to the house to find out,” he said as he strapped on the armor he had been wearing the night they met.
Ilanet glanced down at the dead men and then quickly averted her eyes. “Are all assassins as good as you?”
The stranger looked at her quizzically. “If by good you mean Skilled, then no. If you are referring to morality, then I am sure most of them are far better than I.” Ilanet thought she might have seen uncertainty behind his cold gaze before he continued. “I have come to realize that the principles under which I operate are inconsistent with the standards by which outworlders judge themselves and others.”
Ilanet did not know what an outworlder was but figured she must be one of them. With another glance at the bodies, she decided that she would save that question for another time. It was strange the way he referred to himself, almost as if he were only a soldier following orders with no choice in the matter. Perhaps he was. She wondered whom he served and how anyone could hope to leash such a deadly creature. The stranger had said that he had never loved anyone, so she doubted his master was holding the safety of a family over him. Perhaps he served out of loyalty or honor.
She had heard her father warn her brothers on many occasions never to trust in a man’s loyalty or honor. Loyalty and honor are enough for knights who may win you battles, he would say, but eventually knights become tired and jaded. If that does not kill them, then fear and greed win their hearts. Fear and greed lead to wealth and power, and they will win you a kingdom.
Whatever the stranger’s motives, she knew one thing. She had no desire to get involved in anything that was about to happen in that house.
