The King's Assassin (Thief Takers Apprentice 3)

by Stephen Deas

  He woke again early in the morning. While the rest were still sleeping, he crept out through the door and into the dawn light and walked slowly around the walls of the castle, watched by the sour-faced night guards. It wasn’t really a castle at all. In Deephaven there was a fortified palace in the middle of the city, and this was more like that, except several hundred times smaller and less grand. Long ago, someone had built a solid stone house here. Other people had added to it later. Someone had started to turn it into a palace and then stopped. Someone else had aimed for a castle instead. Whoever the builders were, none had ever realised more than a small fraction of their ambition, and the result was an aimless shambles. Berren’s idea of a castle came from the city walls of Deephaven, thick stone piled high with towers and siege weapons and lots of soldiers – or at least, that’s what the walls had been back when there had been a use for them, before the city had swallowed them up. True, there was a wall of stone separating the castle of Tethis from the city on one side, the gorge on another and the countryside around the rest, but it wasn’t much of one and a man with a mind to climb it would have no trouble at all. In some places it was made of wood, or dry stone, and towards the gorge and the city Berren could almost step over it. It seemed not so much a barrier as an idea of one. A pair of small towers faced out across the hills and fields with a palisade between them from which men could stand and shoot down on attackers. Berren walked its length. Seventy paces, that was all. An army came, they’d just go around it, easy as anything. They’d barely have to try. Like the palace itself, the walls had been started more than once, but they’d never come close to being finished.

  No one stopped him as he climbed up. Next to this sorry excuse for a palace stood a barracks for a couple of cohorts of soldiers, stables for maybe forty horses, a few clusters of sheds and workshops, all arranged around a large muddy yard. In Deephaven any one of the rich merchants who lived around the city square would have had all this and much much more. He shook his head. On the other side, away from Tethis, the river gorge ran like a scar through mile upon mile of green fields. In the far distance he could see hills and then mountains.

  In the year before he’d been born a war had come to Deephaven. He knew about this because the temple priests had told him. The whys and the whos had all been desperately dull, but one day they’d taken the novices up onto the old city walls. It was the first time he’d ever been up there, and the memory still felt fresh. One of the priests had pointed out a distant hill. That’s where Talsin’s army came, he’d said. You could see them, stretched out from there to there . . . And he’d pointed out two places that seemed to cover half of the horizon. An army of forty or fifty thousand. Glorious to behold. The priest had been there and seen it with his own eyes – you could hear the memory of it in his voice. There had been more, mostly about how the wicked general Kyra had used all manner of vicious tricks, even sorcery, to smash that army. But the memory that stayed with Berren was simply of standing there. He could see the army in his mind’s eye, blackening the distant fields. An awesome sight, terrifying for the city defenders.

  He looked out over the fields around Tethis now and tried to imagine such an army here. It didn’t exist. It couldn’t. It would walk through Tethis without even noticing. What would you need? A few hundred men? Surely not many more. And how many did Talon have? Two, three hundred? Enough to take the palace if they were clever about how they did it. Enough to hold it? Enough to take the city as well? Was that what Talon was doing, quietly building an army, ready to take back his home?

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Berren jumped and almost fell off the palisade. Talon had climbed up next to him so quietly that Berren hadn’t even noticed. They were being watched. Three men, armed and armoured, were down below. They were pretending to have nothing much to do, but they were watchers, no doubt about it. A thief-taker learned the difference. Further across the yard, as the sun rose higher, he saw a few men scurrying back and forth dressed in white. Priests? If they were then they were the first he’d seen in Tethis.

  ‘I don’t know. I was thinking about Deephaven and Master S—I mean Prince Syannis.’

  Talon growled. ‘Mostly I’m spending my time wondering whether Meridian will quietly cut all our throats while we’re conveniently here, and how to make sure that he doesn’t. But I’m also wondering whether the Hawks could take this city.’ He shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to help myself.’

  ‘I reckon you’d need a trick or two or a good few more men.’

  ‘Meridian has enough to keep a free company at bay for a while. There might not be many proper soldiers here, but a city like Tethis can raise a militia of a thousand or more if it has warning. Not much use on an open field but give them a wall to hide behind and no place to run and their own homes to defend . . . well, then a town militia can grow fierce.’ He clapped Berren on the shoulder and held out a small phial. ‘Is this what you needed?’

  Berren took it out of Talon’s hand. He’d seen it before, this very bottle or one exactly like it, carefully packed in a wooden box lined with straw, hidden in a bag in the Hall of Swords with Tasahre standing beside him. There were words carefully etched into the glass. He peered at them, but he already knew what they would say. Poison. Blood of the Funeral Tree. Enough to kill six men. Secrete in food or drink. He shuddered. ‘I didn’t think you’d find it. The soldiers made it sound like a waste of time.’

  ‘We found the soap-maker’s place but there was no one there.’ Talon sniffed. ‘Looked like it had been abandoned for days. Most of it was cleared out but we found this. It was sitting on a table in plain sight. There wasn’t anything else.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘The place stank of fish. It was as though we were meant to find it.’

  Berren shivered. ‘I keep saying it: Saffran Kuy is playing a game with us.’

  ‘With us?’ Talon cocked his head. ‘Or with you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Berren looked away. ‘Does it matter? Master Sy’s somewhere not far from here, isn’t he?’

  Talon twitched. ‘Never you mind about him. First passage to Brons, you’re on it.’ He frowned. ‘Not that you’ll get a ship from here. Maybe from Forgenver, but the sooner the better. Anyway . . .’ He yawned and stretched and then waved cheerily down at the three watchers below. ‘If this is all you need then we can get on and get out of here. Are you sure this will work?’

  ‘Not really.’ The memory of Kuy making the potion remained clear as crystal. Whatever the warlock had done, he could repeat it. How it worked and what it actually did, of that he had no idea.

  ‘Tarn’s dying.’ Talon swung himself over the edge of the palisade and slid down the ladder to the ground. ‘He’s dying and he’s my friend. Make it work.’

  Berren followed him to the hanging shed. He set about getting ready while Talon shooed everyone else away until only the three of them remained: Berren, Talon and Tarn. Berren laid out the other ingredients the warlock had used. There was already a little fire going and a pot of steaming water hung above it. ‘What if this kills him?’

  ‘Then he’ll die. But he’ll also die if you do nothing.’

  Berren began grinding the salt and the powdered bone together and then mixing them in the boiling water with other powders and oils. He didn’t even have to think about it, as though the warlock’s recipe was in control and he was as much a tool of it as the pot or the pestle or the mortar. Time slipped by without him noticing.

  ‘I need a little of his blood,’ he said absently.

  Talon frowned. ‘Blood?’

  ‘It is a warlock’s potion, not a healer’s.’

  Talon’s frown deepened, but he took a knife to fleshy part of Tarn’s left hand and made a cut and held a cup to the wound. ‘How much?’

  ‘A thimble will do.’ Berren stirred the pot. Once it was bubbling again, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Talon’s phial. Poison. If anything was going to kill Tarn then it was this. He hesitated. Sure? Am I rea
lly sure?

  A shadow loomed behind him. When he looked up, Gelisya looked back at him. Her black hair merged into the darkness of the hanging shed while the light of the fire on her face made her eyes seem enormous. The sight of her froze him stiff and the recipe fled from his mind.

  ‘Two drops,’ she said, after they’d stared at each other for what felt like an age. ‘You need two drops. As soon as it boils.’ She nodded earnestly and then added: ‘It’s boiling now.’

  Berren shook himself, tipped in two drops of the poison and quickly put it away.

  ‘Take it off the fire,’ she said. ‘Let it cool for a minute. It’s nearly done now. It’s very good for a first time.’

  And how would you know that? But now there was another distraction: two soldiers at the door, men in shiny silver breastplates and long skirts made of leather strips covered in a deep green lacquer. They were the same soldiers he’d seen in Deephaven on Radek’s ship, and between them stood a silhouette in gleaming white. A woman, slender and slight. He couldn’t stop looking. In another world she could have been Tasahre.

  ‘You need to put the blood in now,’ said Gelisya in a matter-of-fact voice. Berren nodded, struck dumb, took the cup from Talon and did as he was told. She was right, he knew that. How old was she? He tried to look at her and found he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘What’s he done to you?’ he whispered, as much to himself as to Gelisya.

  ‘He showed me the hole in the world,’ she whispered back. She stepped closer and touched Berren’s face and then jumped away as if he’d stung her. ‘Oh! It’s you!’ Her eyes went wide. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were inside! How did you get here?’ Her bottom lip began to quiver as though she was about to burst into tears. Then a blankness passed across her face and her voice changed, went back to flat and toneless. ‘You need to let it cool down. It goes into more of a paste when it’s ready. You fill his mouth and his nose with it so he can’t breathe. You bring him to the brink of death, you see, to drive the bad spirit out. You have to stay with him. You’ll see it when it comes. Then you have to take the paste all out again so he can breathe. You have to do that quickly – and give him lots of water! He’ll probably be sick a lot for a while and then he’ll be better.’

  ‘What do you mean “It’s you”?’ he asked. ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise. For a moment I didn’t know who you were but now I do. You’re Berren. You took me away from the bad wizard. I have to go now.’ She skipped away towards the door. Berren made to go after her but he was too slow and the soldiers barred his way while Gelisya slipped between them. Took me away. Not rescued, but took me away.

  ‘Come back!’ he called.

  The woman in white pushed between the soldiers. She was robed and veiled and she slapped him in the face. The soldiers stepped away and Berren heard a sharp intake of breath from one of them. He stood there, mute and confused. The woman slapped him again. ‘You bastard,’ she hissed. ‘What do you creatures want with her? She’s just a girl! You make me sick, both of you!’ Berren caught a flashing glimpse of her eyes beneath her veil and the venom glittering within them, and then she turned and walked quickly away.

  14

  THE LASH AND THE ELIXIR OF LIFE

  ‘Hey!’ Berren stepped forward but the soldiers stood in his way until she was gone. Behind him, Talon let out a long and exasperated sigh.

  ‘Now I have to find Meridian, except since he and everyone else who matters are off hunting somewhere, I suppose it’ll have to be my retard half-brother.’

  ‘What?’

  Talon came to stand beside him. ‘You’re not from these parts. I keep forgetting. But you can’t stand for that. Even if you wanted to, you can’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Not from a bondswoman.’

  ‘What do you mean? What’s a bondswoman?’

  Now Talon looked at him in wonder. ‘How long were you in Kalda? The ones in white, they’re all bonded men or women. Do you not have slaves in Deephaven?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well the sun-king doesn’t hold with them either, but this far from Caladir no one much cares. In Kalda the likes of Meridian call them bondsmen and bondswomen, but slaves is what they are. People who have been bought. Who are owned and traded and sold as if they were property. The children and family of debtors mostly. Although of course the merchants of Kalda have acquired some very inventive definitions of debt when it comes to the Taiytakei. The city sells its unwanted to the slavers, the Taiytakei train them and return them. In Kalda the guilds lend money to rich men to buy their “freedom.” Then the loans are called in, the debt is passed on to the man who is now “free” and of course cannot be paid, and in the blink of an eye and the flash of a writ, a freed slaves become bondsmen. It’s the same thing but with a different name.’ Talon snorted. ‘Aimes. That will be interesting. Excuse me, but as head of the visiting party I must now find our hosts and inform them that their property has offended one of my household.’ He sighed, irritated. ‘Since you’re not a bondsman yourself, the proper response would be to allow you to punish her by whatever means you see fit. What on earth did you say?’

  Berren shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He was still trying to remember what Gelisya had said about the potion.

  ‘Ah well.’ Talon snapped his fingers and muttered something. ‘The usual punishment is a flogging. If you wanted to you could ask to have her executed but I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t wish to offend King Meridian by killing a favoured bondswoman, if that’s what she is.’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid woman. She can’t possibly have thought she’d be allowed to get away with something like that. Someone put her up to this to test us.’ He turned and let out a heavy sigh. ‘You’ll have to wield the lash yourself. Ever flogged anyone before? I don’t suppose you have.’

  ‘No! And I don’t want to.’ Berren shook his head. ‘I’ve seen enough of that. I don’t even know who she was.’ He went back into the gloom of the shed and looked at the potion in the pot. It was thickening nicely. Talon clapped him on the shoulder but his voice stayed hard.

  ‘Whoever she is, it has to be done. No one will despise you if you choose to go easy on her, but she is Meridian’s property and she has struck a guest, a Fighting Hawk, and what you do now reflects on me. If you make yourself look weak or cruel or stupid, you make us all look that way. You will put her to the lash because that is the law, but no need to be harsh. Ten strokes will do and you may be soft with your hand, although not too soft. I’m sure after two years at sea you know how.’ Talon looked away, glancing down at the congealing mess in the pot on the floor. ‘Is that ready yet?’

  Berren shrugged. ‘It has to cool. Not long.’

  ‘But soon, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Talon looked pleased. ‘We can leave tonight then.’ He glanced at Tarn. ‘Do you need any more help with him?’

  ‘No. At least I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you’re left undisturbed until you’re needed.’ He walked out into the sunshine leaving Berren alone in the shadows and the gloom. Berren sat next to Tarn while the potion cooled. Why? Why did he have to whip someone if he didn’t want to? He could hardly blame anyone for hating what he was doing. It was magic, dark magic. Warlock magic. Magic that wasn’t meant to be used.

  The potion cooled into a paste as Gelisya had said it would. Without thinking much about what he was doing, Berren prised Tarn’s mouth open and forced in as much as would go. What was left he pressed into Tarn’s nose. I’m probably killing him, he thought, but he did it anyway. When he was done, he watched and waited. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. Tarn twitched. Thirty seconds. Suddenly Tarn arched. Convulsions shook his body. A thin black mist began to form around his face.

  ‘I can see it! He’s almost ready,’ said a voice behind him, quiet yet ripe with excitement. Gelisya again, and maybe that meant the soldiers and the slave woman too, but Berren didn’t dare look around. He watched as
Tarn bucked and spasmed and then went still.

  ‘I wanted to see,’ said Gelisya. ‘I’ve never seen it work before.’

  Berren hardly heard her. Tarn wasn’t moving now, and all he could think was that he’d killed his friend. He forced open Tarn’s mouth and frantically clawed at the paste, flinging it out again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Gelisya. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. But I went inside, and you are there, and you’re here as well. How do you do that?’

  ‘I don’t have the first idea what you mean.’

  She giggled. ‘Silly! How can you be in two places at once?’

  Berren growled at her but she didn’t go away; instead she passed a jug of water.

  ‘I like my maid,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry she hit you. I’ll tell her not to. I’ll tell her I’m cross.’

  ‘I’m sorry too. Apparently I’m going to have to hurt her. And then I dare say we won’t ever meet again.’ He poured water between Tarn’s lips. Tarn jerked, then coughed and spluttered. Alive, thank the four gods!

  ‘You will.’ Gelisya’s voice sounded solemn. ‘And I am sorry. But I know how to make it better.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘But you’ll like her. And she’ll like you. It’s important. We’re supposed to be friends.’

  ‘You’re just a child!’ He said it as much for himself as for her. ‘I don’t even know who she is. I’ve never seen her before. I don’t know anything about her and I don’t know anything about you.’ He had to stop, because as he spoke Tasahre flashed into his mind again. The slave, the shape of her, she reminded him of the sword-monk, which only made it all even worse. ‘She slapped me, that’s all. I hardly felt it, and for what I’m doing here, I might have slapped me too. She doesn’t deserve to be punished. So don’t.’