Night of Rain

by J. C. Owens

  He glared at the man, wishing fervently that he could cast them all, Odenar and Anrodnes alike, out of his country. While he was at it, he would like to throw his scheming sister out as well. If she wanted to rely on the lies of Poice Dican, some mysterious advisor, to advance her cause, then at the lack of other options, he would pray that this diplomat might actually be sincere, no matter how unlikely it seemed at the moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zaran

  Zaran watched Cermin eat, amazed at the quantity that the boy could pack away. It seemed that even before the attack, he could not have been eating sufficient food to fuel his growing frame.

  The boy had been painfully silent since Hredeen had brought him to the camp.

  Thoughts of the concubine—no, assassin—made Zaran frown, rubbing his brow. Somewhere out there, Hredeen was on his own, attempting to accomplish a task that would see the horror of this invasion come to an end. He agreed with the man’s plan, but could not help but wish he would have taken support with him.

  Zaran knew little of the War Guild, only what was rumored. A few histories and written tales existed, but book learning had always been Taldan’s strength, not Zaran’s. He had heard that the assassins endured a harsh, merciless upbringing and that many fell by the wayside. The thought of children undergoing such things in order to become a killer made him feel ill. Though, to be fair, what he had heard of the Shadows seemed a similar story.

  To think that Hredeen had grown up in that fashion.

  He sipped his wine, not in the mood to eat. His thoughts would not leave Hredeen. The man had become as much friend as concubine during his time with them, and he felt no different now. The fact that Taldan had cast him out was beyond belief. His brother could not have been in his right mind at the time.

  What was between Taldan and Hredeen had been so deep, the love, passion and caring so evident, that the thought of them apart was almost impossible. What he had glimpsed briefly in Hredeen’s eyes told him the cost of their parting.

  There was nothing in Zaran that could believe Hredeen had ever wanted to deceive Taldan. The fact he had saved Taldan’s life should have been more than enough for his brother. He gritted his teeth, wishing fervently that he could return home and straighten this out.

  Hredeen was part of their family. Taldan may have forgotten that for now, but Zaran would not. Still, setting this to rights would not be simple. A cold shiver ran down his spine. According to rumor, the masters of the guild literally owned the assassins, payment for their training and board. If that were so, they would not give up Hredeen easily. And would Hredeen even want to return to the palace after Taldan had exiled him?

  His chin rose. Once this invasion was ended, he would find a way to end Hredeen’s exile and release him from whatever hold the War Guild had on him.

  Zaran would find a way to bring him home.

  Cermin finished the food, the shadows under his eyes beginning to fade away with good meals and a place of safety to sleep. He glanced up at Zaran shyly, then swiftly looked down again, fingers twining together.

  Zaran eyed him, both amused and annoyed by his nervousness. “Speak your mind, Cermin. I swear to you that I don’t have twelve years olds for supper.”

  Wide eyes caught his before a blush ran over thin cheeks, and Cermin looked away.

  “You’re a prince,” he said softly. “I’ve never met a prince before.”

  The words were so faint that Zaran had to lean forward to hear them, but he appreciated the chance to turn his mind from his troubled thoughts.

  “Well, we’re pretty much like other people, except we have a lot of duties we can’t get out of, and people tend to blame us for everything.” Zaran poured himself a little more wine, just enough to soothe his nerves.

  “That doesn’t sound so wonderful.” Cermin stared at him doubtfully. “I thought being royal meant you always had everything given to you.”

  “To a point, that is true. We do have a fair amount of privilege, but that privilege comes at a cost. Our lives are pretty much set out from our birth. It’s difficult to ever step outside the rules that bind us to our duty.”

  “Doesn’t sound much fun.” Cermin wrinkled his nose.

  Zaran nodded. “You’d be right.” He gave Cermin an encouraging smile, pleased that he had opened up, if only a little. Perhaps here was a problem he could finally fix. “Do you want me to send you back to your people? To the capital where it’s safe?”

  “I have no people.” The bitterness contained in that statement was far too acute for such a youngster. “My grandfather was my family, my only family, and the invaders killed him like a dog.” Tears of pain and rage rose in his eyes.

  “We’ll get them, Cermin. I promise you that. They will pay for what they have done to Bhantan.” Those words and that promise was all he could give, and it didn’t feel nearly enough.

  Cermin scrubbed angrily at his eyes with a wrist before he met Zaran’s gaze fully.

  “I don’t know why I feel so…so hurt inside.”

  Zaran frowned. “You grieve. You lost your friends, everyone you had ever known. Pain and sorrow are nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Even as he spoke the words, he was amazed to hear them come from his mouth. He had been raised by his father to show no emotion, to be as cold and unmoved as a stone statue. No emotion, only logic. Yet, now, here, looking into this boy’s eyes, he understood once and for all that was not the way. At least not for him. He could not deny his feelings, and he would not tell this boy to do so either.

  His father had been wrong. Even Taldan had been wrong. It was clear to him now. And was that the reason Taldan had driven Hredeen away? Because he was afraid of his heart, his emotions, and he was using Hredeen’s deception as an excuse?

  He didn’t know. But once he returned to the empire, he would damn well find out the truth.

  But Cermin didn’t seem so easily convinced by Zaran’s words. His brow was still furrowed, and his eyes still haunted.

  “The village never accepted me,” Cermin said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I was a bastard son, and that was enough to set them against me from my birth. My mother died when I was four, and my grandfather raised me on the edges of the town. Later, a kind woman named Clausia let me work in her store and…and help with the horses. But she was killed. My grandfather was killed. And I would do anything to get them all back, whether the village ever accepted me and my bastard blood or not.”

  Zaran could only stare at the boy, his heart nearly breaking. By the gods, the world could be cruel. “That is not the way of Anrodnes.” Zaran had to fight to keep his tone level.

  Cermin squinted at him, dubious. “How is it different there? A bastard is a bastard anywhere.”

  “In Anrodnes, by law, the father of a child out of wedlock must support that child regardless of whether he is married or single. There is no distinction made between schooling for any child. They all have a right to education, and if they don’t have the funds, then they are supported by the crown.”

  Cermin stared at him, blinking. “I always heard Anrodnes was a place of destruction, the home of an evil tyrant and those who would overrun countries because they can.”

  Zaran flinched a little. The problem was, in the past, Anrodnes had definitely matched that description more than a time or two. “Not under my brother’s rule. He is the new emperor, and he has no desire to conquer countries.”

  “So he didn’t do this?” Cermin asked, doubt in his tone. “Didn’t order his men to kill us?”

  “I swear to you, by the gods, that the emperor of Anrodnes did not order an attack upon Bhantan. This is completely on Odenar’s head, and they will pay dearly for their stupidity.” Zaran took a deep swallow of wine, grim thoughts chasing through his head. He realized that Cermin would have little knowledge of Odenar or the politics of the empire. He probably had never been far from his town in all his life.

  “So you came to rescue us?” Cermin eyed him, head tilted.r />
  “The emperor sent me and the Anrodnes army, to chase them down and dispatch them in whatever method necessary.” Zaran knew that there could be only one end to this matter, and he held no squeamishness toward what would come. The empire did not tolerate treason. Traitors would be crushed. Judging from the atrocities he’d seen while following in the Odenar army’s wake, he wholeheartedly supported the uncompromising approach. This army from Odenar was like a pack of rabid dogs that needed to be put down before they did even more harm.

  “You’ll kill them?” For a child from a peaceful country, he seemed remarkably calm at the thought of death. Perhaps, coming from a small town, dealing with animals and the lives of the residents, he was familiar with the concept. At least he didn’t seem to shy away from it.

  He wondered what he should answer. It was said by some that children should be sheltered, but Zaran had no experience with that. Taldan had never kept the facts of life from him, even when he was small. He knew everything that was happening, no matter how sordid or unpalatable. It didn’t seem to have harmed him, had it?

  He pondered for a moment, eying his young charge.

  “Yes. Our laws are clear in this. What they have done within your country has broken a slew of those laws, not to mention the fact that sheer morality would see them pay for their crimes. I will need to make an example of them so that others will understand that they cannot act in this fashion again.”

  Cermin was quiet, mulling on the words, though he did not seem distressed or confused. The boy seemed intelligent, thoughtful, without the naivety and impetuousness that seemed prevalent in the few children Zaran had dealt with. Cermin seemed advanced for his age, though Zaran could not be sure. After all, he had never had the opportunity or interest to spend time with youngsters.

  “I hope they suffer.” The grim hatred that seeped through Cermin’s words made Zaran frown more deeply.

  “Don’t wish for that. It will harm you far more than it ever affects them.” He waited until Cermin looked up at him questioningly. “Hatred for others rots the soul, makes you a creature of their creation. The greatest thing you can do to defeat them is to face your pain, accept your anger, your hatred as your right, and then let it go. Let it fly away and leave you cleansed, ready for a path away from what happened. It will not leave you, but it will become part of your strength, not your weakness.”

  Cermin watched him with eyes that were far too old for his physical age. “That sounds awfully wise. How did you learn this?”

  Zaran’s lips quirked wryly. “My life was not kind as a child. My father believed that harshness and isolation would make me a worthy prince. He didn’t count on my brother disagreeing.” He smiled a little, swirled the wine gently before taking another sip. “I could have been a creature of hatred. I could have gotten back at all those who I felt wronged me. I had the power to do so.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Cermin had inched forward, intent on his answer.

  “Because those negative feelings made me just that, negative. Instead of fixating upon them, I had my brother to show me that there were good things too. He taught me how to detach my feelings of pain and anger and to look at things with cold clarity.” He paused, understanding that part of that had worked well…and part of it had hurt him and his brother. But he wasn’t going to tell this young boy that. He needed to focus on words that would help Cermin cope with what had happened to him. “I had friends. I had a brother who protected me, and in his own way, cared for me. I reached outside the emotions to find things that interested me, pulled me away from brooding. There is so much in the world, Cermin, so many fascinating things. I don’t have time for hatred or bitterness. They drag me back into darkness, and I prefer to walk in the light.”

  The boy was silent for a moment before looking up and holding Zaran’s gaze. “I know that you said princes are busy,” there was doubt in the words, “but could you teach me that path? I don’t want them to win.”

  Zaran grinned and leaned forward to offer his hand to shake. This seemed a small thing he could do that would help the child, help set things right after all the wrongs. “I would be honored.”

  * * *

  Hredeen

  Hredeen marveled, as he often did, at the way that ordinary people were so unobservant.

  He had waited by the river at the Odenar army encampment, just outside the mine site. They had entrenched themselves here, expecting a counterattack from Bhantan, or perhaps they were not complete fools and realized that Anrodnes would come asking some hard questions.

  The tendrils of smoke coming from the townsite around the mine area told a grim tale, and he didn’t need to see the results to know what had occurred. More death. More lives lost.

  He was here to end it.

  He had waited in the cover of the thick underbrush that ridged the slope overlooking the camp before silently approaching, crouching just out of sight. People walked by within an arm’s length and yet they never saw him, never looked.

  Like they were in their own hometown, safe and secure.

  The reckless idiocy was mind-boggling. His patience, drummed into him harshly, served him well as he watched and learned and planned. He observed servants bringing loads of laundry down to the edge of the small river than ran sluggishly under the bridge to the mine, waiting for his chance. It was the work of only a moment to snatch some items and retreat enough to change into the clothing that would mark him as one of them.

  It was fortuitous that those of Odenar often wore a hooded garment. He tucked his distinctive hair under a cloth, then put the hood up. He slipped into the encampment at an unguarded point and strolled through the area with a casual stride that hid his predator grace.

  He nodded to several men, who frowned but nodded back, undoubtedly searching their memories for how they knew him. Because armor and helmets often obscured a man during the day, he knew there was little risk in this boldness, and it was rare for anyone to give a servant a second look. For the lords and warriors of higher rank, he kept his gaze lowered and bowed as befitted a servant. They paid him no mind.

  He circled within the camp, getting his bearings and watching, waiting.

  It was evident where the leaders would be. The large pavilions at the very center of the camp flew the Yoldis family crest proudly. His eyes narrowed, and he began to work his way ever closer, absorbing every detail of the comings and goings of the heavily guarded inner circle.

  When he had made his determination of which tent held his targets, he marched with a crisp stride to the entrance where several guards watched his approach with cold and cautious eyes. At least someone was doing their jobs.

  He bowed deeply, keeping his eyes down and his words deferential. “I bring a message for the lords from Lord Parsul himself.”

  Their interest sharpened. One man, burly and heavily muscled, eyed him up and down. “Short, aren’t you, boy?”

  Hredeen shuffled his feet, looked off to the side. “That’s why I couldn’t be a soldier…”

  The man laughed, sheathing his sword and stepping into Hredeen’s space with a leer. “Someone your size, the only thing they are good for is on their back. Want to play, little man?”

  Hredeen ducked his head, clenching his hands together. “I have to give the message personally or Lord Parsul will have my hide.”

  The man huffed. “Give it then. When you’re done, get back here. If you don’t, I’ll find you, little pigeon. Is that clear?”

  Hredeen nodded frantically, shooting anxious glances at the other men, whose interest had sharpened into something foul and aggressive.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “I’ll only share you with a few.” The oily tone made Hredeen shudder and shrink back, and the burly man chuckled. “Be swift, my boy, and I won’t punish you when you come to me.”

  Hredeen edged around him, eyes wide and frightened, before he fled toward the pavilions, laughter ringing in his wake.

  His disbelief rose. They hadn’t even checked hi
m for weapons. They had merely judged him by looks alone. What kind of training had they received? They seemed more reavers than soldiers.

  All to the good for Hredeen, although the anticipated challenges were sadly lacking. This was not even close to testing his true skills.

  Once within the inner circle, he was essentially ignored. Disbelief loomed large in his mind. These men seemed hardly trained. They were in the middle of a foreign, unfamiliar country burning and pillaging their way to this mine, unconcerned with Bhantan’s reaction…or that of the empire. An army could be gathering near the top of the valley and they would be heedless. Yet they strutted about, secure as though they trod their own lands.

  There were two men lounging in camp chairs near the entrance to the largest pavilion, and they looked up, frowning at his approach.

  He bowed deeply again. “I was sent by Lord Parsul. A message for the lords, sir.”

  The two men eyed him, then glanced at each other. “Second message today. Must be trouble back home.”

  They didn’t stand, just waved him past. Fools.

  He ducked inside, the cooler interior of the vast tent welcome after the sapping heat of the day. He stood just inside, letting his eyes adjust. Several men stood around a table, maps spread out on its surface. They looked up at his entrance.

  By the information he had been given, the two shorter men would be the Yoldis brothers, Laith and Mansin. Two others were the generals who led both divisions of the army. The fifth man…he did not know who he was.

  Immediately, he was on guard. The stranger was taller than the others, his body all coiled muscle, and his dark eyes… There was something uncannily familiar about him.

  The man eyed him before ducking his head and making a faint gesture with his fingers.

  Hredeen bowed deeply, almost reverently, to Laith and Mansin, using the moment to hide his sudden shock. The tall, dark-eyed man was a War Guild assassin.

  For a moment, Hredeen feared the grandmaster of the War Guild had sent this dark-eyed man to kill him. To kill him for not returning to Iskama Rael as he was bound to do. Or to end him because Taldan’s exile had lost Hredeen his cover in the harem. To say nothing of the fact that Hredeen had nearly failed to protect Taldan in the first place. That Julne mage had nearly stolen Taldan’s life and his magic when Hredeen was standing not a dozen feet away.