Blood of Assassins

by RJ Baker

  Lying back. Breathing heavily. Her warm corpse draped over my legs. To a passing observer we would have looked like sated lovers lounging in the dappled wood.

  “Just a bandit,” I said to myself. “You should have walked away.” Breath, coming heavily, out and in my lungs. I waited until my heart had stopped hammering, considered taking her head but the corpse would not be going anywhere, and the track was clearly little travelled or would not have been used for an attack. Had she been following me as an easy mark or had the priest set me up? She had seemed to know about me, but not about the price on my head. Had it really been a robbery? That was possible, but no, she had said she’d heard I was a bladesman. She knew something of me. Had Aydor sent her? Had she sneaked into the camp. Maybe she had been with Captain Thian’s band and slipped away when they neared Rufra’s camp? It seemed likely. I stood, then lifted her visor. I did not recognise her as one of those who had left Aydor’s camp with me. I took my attacker’s stabsword, putting it under my belt and retrieving my eating blade from the path. I returned to the stream I had crossed and washed my face and hands. I had scraped my face on a rock so cleaned the wound too. Then I made my way to the paddocks, hoping to find a guard I could send to retrieve the corpse. Rufra needed to know about this.

  I expected people to comment on my muddy clothes and cut face as I passed through the camp, but no one did. Maybe fights were common. Nearer the paddocks I could hear the sound of a large crowd. Occasionally there was a shout and then I would hear another voice. As I approached I could make out words, It seemed Arnst was still speaking.

  “… and can there be new ways with old gods?”

  A loud shout of “No!” came in return. The crowd was large, filling a hollow in the land and not all of them were shouting their support. Plenty were simply standing with their arms crossed, watching, waiting and assessing his words.

  “Of course not! There cannot! The old ways must become as dead as the gods they represent. If we need gods at all, perhaps there are better ones, eh? Look at the souring of our land, look where your dull priests have led you!”

  I could feel a buzz in the air, the same feeling of impending violence there was at a lizard or mount fight when the betting really started and the animals were brought out. It was then I noticed how many soldiers were stationed around the crowd, all armed and ready, crossbows loaded and held ostentatiously to make sure they were seen. I saw a group of men being marched away, at least one of whom had blood all over his clothes. The crowd was restive; there was a feeling of disquiet unusual at a religious gathering. Arnst clearly had a core of followers who believed what he said, far more of the crowd were uncomfortable with his exhortation to “tear down the old ways.” Darvin had been right. I guessed maybe a quarter of the crowd were there to support Arnst; another half were there to hear his words and the remainder to cause trouble. I passed a man who had a club hidden beneath his tunic and another who held his eating knife as if ready to stab the the man in front of him in the back. I was not the only one who had spotted these potential troublemakers. Soldiers quietly moved in to separate them from the crowd. The knifeman went quietly, the one with the club tried to fight back and was swiftly clubbed to the ground by an efficient-looking women with the red feather of a sergeant on her wide helm.

  “Come to enjoy the riot, Girton?” I turned to see Boros’s ruined face. He sounded amused but it was hard to tell. “Or have you already had your own?” He pointed at my face.

  “I am here to get Xus,” I said. “Someone tried to jump me in the copse back there.” I said the words calmly though my heart hammered at the thought of how close I had come to death. “You’ll find her corpse by the path.”

  “I’ll have someone attend to it. We drive the robbers from the camp, but they always come back.” He looked more deeply into me. “Or was this aimed at you specifically?”

  “I don’t know.” Why did I lie? Or had lying simply become second nature to me? “Maybe she was sent by Aydor and had been waiting for her moment.”

  “Why would he do that?” he said.

  “Well …”

  “If Aydor wanted rid of you he could have had you killed and dumped you in the marshes and none would ever have been the wiser.”

  “You defend him?”

  He shrugged.

  “I state the obvious.”

  “He needed me to –” I stopped before telling him about the spy – after all, I did not really know Boros “– to bring his message of surrender.”

  “He could have sent Thian. Rufra would have seen him.”

  I looked away, annoyed with Boros for poking holes in what I thought was clear.

  “I should get Xus,” I said. “I ride with Rufra today.”

  “Good. I will see you on the ride, Girton; now I must break up this crowd or Arnst will rant all day.” Boros moved forward with a group of soldiers dressed identically in leather armour and tight-fitting metal coifs. They used shields and cudgels to muscle their way through the crowd and Boros lifted a lance with Rufra’s black and red lizard flag on it and shouted for the sermon to be over. I thought the crowd may turn on them, but when Arnst saw Rufra’s flag he acquiesced, quickly bringing his speech to an end and calling for all to embrace the inevitability of Xus.

  I wondered if he would think the same if someone had just tried to kill him in a wood.

  Before Arnst left the stage, he stared out into the crowd and there was something wistful on his face, as if he regretted having to let go of the power he had held only a moment before.

  Boros’s soldiers ensured those who had shouted loudest for Arnst were forced to take a different route away from the hollow to those who had simply come to watch. I let myself be carried along with the ragged crowd. The mood was merry enough: some were happily scandalised by what Arnst had been saying, some were appalled and revelling in their own piety, though there were others who walked alone, clearly giving Arnst’s words deep thought.

  I was one of them.

  I did not think he was right – maybe our gods were dead, although Xus the unseen still lived, I was sure of that. But to put aside the dead gods was divisive and I was surprised Rufra let him spread his ideas, surprised he had given him a place on his council, and even more surprised he did not see that Arnst was a man who enjoyed power far more than he should.

  I was brought out of my reverie when I walked into the chest of a man.

  “You are the ambassador.” It was a statement not a question and it came from the kind of man who you built your shieldwall around; he was huge. He wore skirts and a leather jerkin, and had the bearing, and scars, of a soldier. Thick black diagonal lines of face paint ran from his jawline and up over his eyes to meet in a point at his hairline, making his blue eyes all the more startling. Curling blond hair framed an oblong face covered in thickly caked white make-up peeling away from his forehead and cheeks, the skin underneath worn red and rough by wind and sun. I recognised him as one of the Meredari, the people who lived around the huge lakes in the southlands and made their living from fishing and raiding the lands around them. I had passed through the Meredari lands and seen a souring at the edge of a lake, it looked like a splash of paint, as if a god had tripped on their way to paint the sun. In the clear blue of the water there were tentacles of sickly yellow, like Meredari hair waving in the current. When I swept my hand through the yellow in the water I met no resistance and it did not dissipate or mingle with the water around it, like it was a dream of colour polluting the placid lake.

  “I am the ambassador’s assistant, not the ambassador,” I said.

  He looked at me as if I spoke in an unfamiliar language. “Arnst wishes to see you,” he said.

  “I am afraid I have other business.“

  “Arnst wishes to see you,” he said again as if he had not understood my words. I wondered what a Meredari was doing in Maniyadoc. Maybe his tribe had thrown him out; they prized intelligence in their warriors.

  “I am on the king’s busi
ness.“

  “Arnst wishes to see you.” I had the distinct feeling that he was prepared to pick me up and carry me if, as he clearly saw it, I continued to be unreasonable. I ached from my struggle in the woods and had no wish to pit myself against the mound of muscle before me. He took a step forward and he seemed to move very slowly, in the way of immensely strong men, but that did not mean he would be slow when he acted. Without thinking I fell into the position of readiness, legs slightly apart, one foot in front of the other, arms loose at my side. It was always the way: though I tried to reject what I had been moulded into, my body did not forget as easily.

  “Danfoth!” The Meredari paused in the act of moving his gigantic body. It was like an avalanche suddenly had second thoughts about rolling down a hill. “I said extend the ambassador an invitation, not drag him to me.” Arnst appeared from within the shadow cast by his servant. He was a large man too, only appearing small because he was with Danfoth. Up close he had a thin face, clear skin that almost glowed with health, while his beard and moustache were peppered with grey, as were his eyebrows which accentuated the greenest eyes I had ever seen. But there was something of the Festival hypnotist about him, something that made me wary.

  “My apologies, Ambassador,” said Arnst. “Danfoth can be a little more literal with my instructions than I intend, but he is loyal to a fault and such loyalty is rare.” He smiled at me. Arnst had a strangely high-pitched voice when speaking normally, very different to the voice he had used for the crowd.

  “As I was telling your friend, I am not the ambassador, merely her assistant.”

  “But, and forgive my forthrightness, I have heard you are dealing with her duties while she is unable to act, so surely this makes you the ambassador?” I did not like the implied flattery and thought it said a lot about the man, that he should believe I would like to be promoted over my master while she lay sick.

  “No,” I said.

  “Ah, well –” he seemed flustered “– you are still an important man, to come all the way from the Lean Isles. They are not a place I know much of, and I would like to learn more. Maybe we could take a cup of perry together and you could tell me.” Inwardly I cursed Nywulf. I had travelled to many places in the Tired Lands but the Lean Isles was not one of them. I wanted to know more about Arnst but I could not talk to him now for risk of tripping myself up due to lack of knowledge.

  “I would enjoy talking to you, truly,” I forced the words out in a pleasant suitably ambassadorial tone, “but for now I am on the king’s business and cannot stop. Another time possibly?”

  “Of course.” He raised his throat to me in the way of the old Tired Lands salute. “Xus’s blessing on you.”

  “In my experience the blessings of Xus are generally the last one ever receives.”

  He narrowed his eyes, reassessing me, and from behind him Danfoth skewered me with a hard stare.

  “But,” said Arnst, “in his dark palace there is no death, is that not the greatest blessing of all?” Before I could reply he turned away, saying, “Come, Danfoth,” and he left me to carry on my way.

  Chapter 11

  I found Xus and rode him around Rufra’s camp to get a better idea of the size of it, stopping off for food and being surprised to find that Rufra fed all of his camp for free. It was simple fare, pork and bread, but good. Then I returned to my tent for my weapons and armour. I warned a gaggle of children playing in the mud to stay away from Xus, and they eyed the huge mount with big solemn eyes. I hoped to the dead gods they listened to me or they would lose fingers.

  There was no sign of Neliu outside the tent, and I heard no noise from inside. For a moment I wondered if the worst had happened and as I stepped into the gloom I experienced a moment of fear while my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  “Master? Healer? Where is the guard?”

  “I sent her to get clean water,” said Mastal, looking up from where he was bowed over my master. “She did not like being an errand girl, but she acquiesced in the end. I have a knife of my own and we are surely safe in the centre of Rufra’s camp.”

  “You are a fool if you think we are safe here.” My shoulder ached still from the attack in the woods.

  “Come over here,” said Mastal quietly.

  I ignored him, picking up my harlequin armour and turning my back on the healer as I slid it over my head, feeling the cold of the metal slither down my tunic. I strapped the warhammer and stabsword to my waist before approaching him.

  “What?”

  He stared up from his seat, an odd smile on his face.

  “Look, Girton.” He gestured to my master. She did not move, only remained twisted up in her blankets. I could smell the sweat on them, and her. Then her eyes opened, not wide, only a crack, but they opened and I fell to my knees, grasping her hand.

  “Master!”

  “Shhh, shh,” said Mastal and he put a hand on my shoulder. “She cannot speak, not yet, but we have turned a corner. I think we have the poison in retreat.”

  I wondered if she could hear or understand us, and leaned in close to her.

  “I am sorry, Master,” I whispered, “so sorry.”

  Mastal continued to speak, but his words existed only on the periphery of my mind as I searched my master’s face for some sign of forgiveness, though I was unsure what I wanted her to forgive me for. A million things and nothing, a hundred thousand moments of childish anger in the face of her patience that I had never apologised for, things she would not expect apologies for and other things which she would. I wanted her to live, and the smallest, most infinitesimal squeeze of my hand that she gave me felt like a gift.

  “She needs rest, Girton.”

  “Of course,” I said, letting go of her hand and standing. I still mistrusted the man but at least he seemed to be helping my master to get well. “Thank you, Mastal.”

  “Your face is cut and you have bruises coming, I have some unguent that—”

  “It is nothing, Mastal – a fall, that is all.” I do not think he believed me. “And I cannot stop as I must ride out with Rufra.” Outside the tent, I found Xus standing quietly and with great forbearance as a group of giggling children clambered all over his noble frame. As soon as they saw me the children jumped off the mount and ran, screaming and laughing into the streets of tents. I stood by the mount and fed him a scrap of pork I had saved.

  “Aren’t you full of surprises?” He let out a low whistle as I pulled myself up into the saddle.

  I met Rufra outside his tent. He waved at me from the back of his white mount, Balance. Unlike Xus she was fully kitted out for war, engraved leather panels protecting the animal’s neck and flanks, shining spurs covering the claws on her feet and her antlers lengthened with razor-sharp gildings. Rufra sat on her back in plain armour and a red and black loyalty pennant, cut in such a way that when it flapped in the wind it made the flying lizard on it appear to run, hung limp above his head in the still air. Balance hissed at Xus and in turn he tried to bite her, making Rufra laugh.

  “You would think they had just met, rather than having had four offspring together.”

  “Boros rides one. I saw him.”

  “Yes, Galadan. The son is the image of his father.” Rufra’s voice faded away and he looked uncomfortable. Maybe he mistrusted Boros – not that he would say so, even to me, not unless I pushed it, and our friendship was too newly rejoined for me to probe. It felt like the pink skin under a healing wound and I worried it may rip if treated too roughly.

  “Life is a little different for you now, Rufra,” I said, looking round at all the tents.

  “Aye.” He sounded a little sad. “I almost miss being chased round Maniyadoc by Tomas and his cronies. Life was simpler then.”

  “If no less dangerous.”

  “I do not think I was aware of the danger, not truly. Now …” His voice tailed off and he stared into the distance, I imagined he looked to where Tomas’s army waited.

  “What are these mount archers I keep
hearing about?”

  “Oh.” He brightened. “They are an idea Varn brought with him from his people – lightly armoured Riders with powerful bows. They are hit-and-run troops, mostly, though they double as cavalry if needed. I have one hundred of them under Boros, and Tomas’s men fear them like they are Black Ungar himself. He has no answer to them.”

  “Is that why he does not give battle?”

  “No, not really. He has the advantage in numbers.”

  “But he has not brought you to the blade yet?”

  “He knows my men are better than his. It is the Nonmen I worry about.”

  “Why?”

  “Many of my troops think they are in league with hedgings and sorcerers. They believe them to be magical beings who can curse their spirits, leave them locked and starving in the sourlands. I am not sure of their numbers, but Nywulf reckons them enough to tip the tide, especially with the fear they bring.”

  “Does Tomas know the Nonmen scare your troops?”

  “Of course, there are many spies in each camp. Tomas is a good commander but at heart a timid one.” Rufra gave me a wicked grin. “Even with the Nonmen, I will still beat him, you know.”

  “I do,” I said, and I did not doubt it.

  “I have tried to catch the Nonmen in the field but they rarely gather in large numbers.” I could see the frustration, his face took on an ugly cast. “I just want the battle to come, Girton; it is the waiting that is hard. I have even challenged Tomas to a battle of kings in the old way: he and I fight and the winner becomes king.”

  “And?”

  “He has not replied of course. I told you, he is timid and thinks he can crush me with numbers when the time comes. For now he hides and hopes sickness will strike my camp before the year is up and he must fight me in person or forfeit the crown.”

  “Or he waits for his spy to strike you down,” I said.

  “My council are loyal, Girton. I do not doubt it, and, besides, Tomas will want to kill me on the battlefield so he can claim he beat me fairly. I intend to use the time he gives me to draw out the Nonmen somehow, but I do not yet know how. If I can break them, the army I take against Tomas will know no fear and I will destroy him.” He shifted in his saddle and stared up into the sun. Despite the steadiness of his voice I sensed he was worried. “How many troops does Aydor bring? You were in his camp, you must have seen.”