by J. C. Owens
Long ago when he had come here, not yet a man but older than a boy, chosen for the position of companion to the Imperial Heir, he had found that Taldan was silent. No conversation, no indication of what he was thinking or feeling, just silent stares as he watched and listened, taking everything in.
It had taken several years for the imperial heir to come out of that shell, to open to Naral, until they became what they were today. Close as brothers.
Now, Taldan was back to not speaking, to withdrawing from everyone around him. Including Naral. Yet, he had the feeling that despite Taldan’s cold silence, inside he was anything but calm. It was hard to put a finger on, but Naral had known him for a long time. Something was very wrong. Something had changed, and it wasn’t simply that gods-be-damned golden mask.
One of the recruits glanced at Naral nervously—and then ended up in the dirt from a kick that should not have made contact.
Naral rolled his eyes and turned away, striding over toward the policing area of the complex. This was the headquarters for the guardsmen who policed the streets and provided security for the palace. He had come here early this morning, keen to escape the dark atmosphere that prevailed within the palace walls. He could not spend another day locked in his office, trying to avoid murdering someone.
So he was here.
Even his closest friends among the guards had stayed away, undoubtedly to escape his less-than-pleasant demeanor of late.
Most of the headquarters were devoted to training the guards, but the southern end was a large policing building. He wandered in, trying to seem normal. Perhaps he should have brought his armor, trained with the experienced guards for a while. It might have managed to push away his foul spirits, if only temporarily.
“I tell you, you’ve got the wrong person. If you had the sense the gods gave you, you would clearly see that I would not have stolen from that merchant. His wares are clearly substandard, as you would find out if you were doing your job and ferreting out fraud.”
Naral glanced over at the sound of the voice, frowning.
Two annoyed-looking newer guards were dragging along a cuffed prisoner who was chastising them without the least amount of caution for their power over him. They pushed him down in a chair with considerable force, as though all patience had long since worn off.
The painfully slim young man grunted, then straightened up, giving himself a shake. “See, I might be a thief. I’m proud of that. A good thief, truth be told. But I have standards, and I know what is and isn’t worth the risk. If you had asked me—”
One of the guards stripped off his gloves, turning to snarl at the prisoner. “For the gods’ sake, shut up!”
Naral edged closer, pulled in for no reason he could readily discern. The other guard looked up, realizing his presence and elbowing the other man.
They both bowed. “Our apologies, my lord, we did not notice your approach.”
Naral waved it off. “What seems to be the issue here?” He must truly be seeking diversion if he was personally getting involved in something so completely unimportant.
“This thief—”
“Good thief,” the young man chimed in. “That’s my title and I want it used.”
The guard huffed a pained breath before continuing. “We were called in by a merchant, who claimed that this ‘good thief’ has been robbing him blind.”
“He’s such a liar. Cheats and lies. You should look into his taxes, he’s swindling the empire.”
Naral bit back a smile, entranced by the sheer gall of the man. He seemed to have no compunction about speaking his mind.
“What was it he was accused of stealing?”
“Everything from food to gold, sir.”
“Sir?” the “good thief” said, his face brightening. “You are a leader, I gather? Perhaps you can look into this merchant who is stealing from good folk, charging them far more than is reasonable for his substandard wares. Then, once that outrage is dealt with, I would like to speak to someone about the changes that need to be made within the poor west quarter.” The man’s startlingly gray eyes met Naral’s squarely.
The guard smacked the back of his head. “That’s Lord Naral to you, street boy.”
The young man turned to glare at the guard. “And this is why we get a terrible reputation in the international community. I am a citizen of Anrodnes and that should hold some weight, along with basic rights. No violence, please.”
His gaze returned to Naral. He bowed gracefully in the chair, despite his hands being locked behind his back. “My apologies, Lord Naral. If I was able, I would kneel as is proper, but I am indisposed.”
Naral didn’t know whether to be charmed or appalled.
“We haven’t yet got his identity, my lord.” The guard sounded at the end of his rope with the entire situation.
Naral tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the prisoner.
“Oh. You need my name. I would have thought everyone here knew it already.” The young man smiled brilliantly, his entire face lighting up. “Silly me.” He bowed again as though they were being formally introduced. “I am Fagan DeLorne, twenty-fifth son of Maton Delorne, 46th grandchild of the famous Krassin DeLorne.”
Naral and the guards stared.
Fagan shrugged. “They were both busy men. Marital bonds weren’t much impediment. I probably still have half brothers and sisters I haven’t discovered.” He didn’t seem much bothered by the fact.
Naral blinked. “Your father and grandfather were nobility?” He was wracking his brain trying to place the name.
“Oh no.” Fagan shrugged. “Only in their own minds. I don’t think you could possibly discern a noble bone in their body. I’m pretty sure that between them, they personally populated the entire Rivergate area. Seemed to be their life’s work.”
Naral wondered if he was dreaming this entire encounter. It was rare that he felt so wrong-footed. Certainly the guards seemed to feel the same way.
“So.” Fagan sat up straight and eyed each of them. “Who do I talk to to get this sorted out? I’m a busy man, and the day is waning.”
One of the guards sighed, glancing at Naral. “We will see to this, my lord. You don’t need to concern yourself.”
Fagan spoke again before he could answer. “I’d like to speak to you at some point, my lord, tell you what needs to be changed with Rivergate, within the poorer quarter.” Fagan’s humor had faded away into something serious, intent.
“Give the information to these two guards, and they can send it on to me.” Naral felt strangely reluctant to leave. This had been the most fascinating distraction to occur for months, taking his mind off all the things that had gone wrong of late.
Fagan’s gray eyes weighed him, judged him, and by the grimace, found him wanting. “As you wish, my lord. I truly believe this needs to be addressed by someone high up, someone like yourself.”
Naral nodded, about to respond when one of his personal men came to his elbow and handed him a piece of paper. He unfolded it, read it swiftly, then again more thoroughly. He rolled it back up and turned away.
“See to this. I want his report on my desk within the week.”
He barely heard their responses.
Information had finally come in about Valsen and his motives.
* * *
Hredeen
It was a vast relief that his stallion was still where he had left him.
As was the stallion of his current companion.
He tightened his girth preparing to mount, keeping the other man in sight at all times.
“My name is Ralnulian Kasmatin.”
Hredeen’s fingers froze in place, as he stared at the other assassin incredulously.
That was not done. Their names meant little to anyone but themselves and to their handlers as a means of identification. It was not meant to be given out freely. It had been a mistake to have done so with Taldan so long ago, but in the end, he did not regret the split-second choice of that day.
For Ralnulian to simply offer it…
Or was that his current disguise? Hredeen had given out more false names than he could possibly remember.
He had not yet shared a name with the other assassin. He felt no threat from him, yet could not quite relax his guard either.
It was surreal, this encounter. He was both fascinated and horrified to see similarities between them, certain movements, the way they scanned their surroundings incessantly. He had not known that Sarnwa was brethren until that final day, something that had bothered him. He should have been aware of another assassin, seen them for the threat they were.
Yet he had focused on the danger of Ralnulian immediately, sensed something the moment he laid eyes upon him.
“Shall we travel together? I could perhaps explain my presence. I know it does not follow the laws we have been taught.” The tone was smooth, the way he met Hredeen’s eyes without apparent guile.
To have him in sight was certainly better than having him slip away and possibly follow Hredeen to the Anrodnes army.
As if in silent agreement, they walked their horses, side by side.
“Why did the War Guild send you to kill the Yoldis brothers?” Hredeen felt there was enough time and distance now to see this matter resolved.
Ralnulian glanced at him, before returning his attention to the disused trail that wound down the mountainside. Below them, spread out for miles lay the vista of the Bhantan grasslands. Once they reached that point, the cover of the trees would be gone.
That exposure would call for speed.
“I wasn’t sent by the masters.”
Hredeen blinked, his mind probing the words, unable to make sense of them.
Who else controlled the assassins?
There were only the masters.
“I am a rogue.”
Hredeen’s thoughts ground to an abrupt halt. He blinked, respoke the words within his head, looking for the lie.
A rogue, an escapee, never survived. They were hunted down by the elite forces and killed by sheer numbers, their head cut from their body and returned to the masters. Such heads were displayed upon pikes around the guild fortress, time weathering them to skulls, their names forgotten, forbidden to be spoken of.
That was what Hredeen had risked, coming here and killing a target that had not been chosen by the masters. He should have gone back to Iskama Rael. But part of him had wanted—had needed—to do this. For Raine. For Taldan. He wanted to redeem himself in the only way he truly knew how.
“How do you still live?” Hredeen’s thoughts were spinning with conjecture and disbelief. Why had the man admitted he was a rogue to him? Did he somehow know that Hredeen was on a rogue mission of his own?
Ralnulian gave a small, secret smile that pulled at the extensive scarring upon the left side of his face. He raised a hand and caressed over the mangled flesh. “Ten years I have been free. Ten years since I found the courage and determination, saw the truth and left the bastards behind.”
Hredeen stopped in the middle of the trail, staring.
Ralnulian turned back to face him, watching his reactions with calm inquiry, one brow raised.
“But the Elite…”
Ralnulian stroked the back of his fingers over the scarring. “As if they had not marked me through all the years of their conditioning. I had to fight for my life. Kill those who had no more choice than I had ever had.”
He looked up at the sky, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting Hredeen’s disbelieving gaze once more. “I survived. They didn’t.”
Hredeen thrust aside the shock, realization coming to the fore. Within all his training, he had standing orders to kill or return any rogue he encountered.
They stood a few feet apart, facing each other.
Ralnulian was at ease, arms hanging by his sides, expression impressively calm given his revelation.
He would know all too well what Hredeen’s orders were.
Hredeen was aware of sunshine upon his back, the warmth permeating the stolen clothing. He could hear birds in the nearby trees that had grown progressively larger as they descended the mountainside. All around him, life.
He stared into dark eyes that met his squarely, without apology or protest, no attempt to plead his case.
This was not a man who had become a terrified, broken person under the weight of pursuit and forever looking over his shoulder. The confidence, strength, and ease spoke of a far different life, something that should have been impossible.
“Why?” he finally whispered, then blinked, surprised that was his first question.
He should not be listening to any lies. Perhaps the man was merely misguided, and would return with Hredeen. He shook that thought off swiftly. There was no mercy given by nor expected of the masters.
No rogue had ever returned alive to Iskama Rael. So why was Hredeen considering going back now that he had finished with this one final task for Taldan, for Raine, for Cermin and all the innocent people hurt by this brutal invasion?
“Why did I kill Mansin Yoldis?” Ralnulian asked gently. “Or why did I leave the War Guild?”
Hredeen changed tack, wanting to know why a rogue would bother getting involved when the risks were so high. “Why kill Mansin?”
“I saw the harm they were doing, and I needed to stop it,” Ralnulian said simply. Only a highly trained killer could be so nonchalant about what they had both just accomplished. His strangely familiar eyes narrowed as he watched Hredeen. “Why did you kill Laith?”
“He needed to be stopped.”
Ralnulian nodded. “And did the War Guild send you? Was this yet another kill for the Anrodnes emperor?”
But Hredeen wasn’t about to answer that thorny question yet. “Why did you go rogue?”
Ralnulian took his time answering. When he finally did, his voice was soft, nearly emotionless.
“Because I came to realize that while most of my missions were worthy ones, the killing of a twisted individual or another tyrant, there were those that held no reason I could see. A father, a son, sometimes a woman, with no sign of being a threat to anyone, yet I killed them at a word.” He held his palms out, stared at them as though seeing long-ago bloodstains. “They tell us that the War Guild kills at the behalf of the emperor, to keep Anrodnes safe and secure, or because the ‘seers’ claim these people must die for the good of mankind. But the masters lie.”
Hredeen said nothing, Ralnulian’s words seeming to break against him like waves, cold and crushing.
“I held my work proudly, until I killed a pregnant woman,” Ralnulian continued. “Then I began to open my eyes to other occurrences. For years, I was the plaything of the grandmaster, the one who made all the final decisions. I heard things, saw things that chipped away at my conditioning until I was able to think beyond their orders, their training.”
Hredeen shifted nervously. This was all too close to his own traitorous thoughts while he had been with Taldan, how he had wished never to have to use his talents again, never have to kill, never have to return to the grim fortress that held the essence of hundreds of years of torture.
He just wanted to be with Taldan once he had discovered how wonderful that could be, how there was so much more in a friendship, and then in love, then he could ever have imagined given his background. He had soaked it in, despite knowing full well that this was a traitorous and likely fatal mistake to make. He had not cared. If he could have such bounty, if even for a short time, then it would be worth it.
He’d had eight years of bliss.
It was more than he could ever have expected at the beginning. The fact that it had come to this—cast out, his future back in the control of the guild—held no surprises, except that he had ever had anything at all. They would be waiting for him to return. And if he did not return soon, they would send elites out to find him. To silence him and his desires.
This stranger had taken it a step further. He had actually chosen to leave the guild, had made decisions even while stil
l in the fortress itself. If Hredeen had never met Taldan, would he still have the same mindset? Would he ever have moved into questioning his past?
This man had done it on his own, with no outside influence to spur him on. No love to give him second thoughts. The strength of character it showed was rather awe-inspiring.
The other assassin seemed to read his inner turmoil, to know his doubts and fears even as Hredeen fought to stay silent. His dark eyes showed a surprising degree of warmth, of understanding. Far too much for any assassin…
“Will you not arrest me, Hredeen Leesian? It is what your orders would be.” He held his hands wide, his look now assessing but not judgmental.
Hredeen stared, shocked. “How do you know my name? I’ve never met you before today.” His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade.
Ralnulian tilted his head. “I knew of you before I even left the guild. After my master did this to me,” he followed the line of the scars with the ease of familiarity, “he used me for months, reopening the wounds daily. He loved to hear me scream. When I had given up, when I would simply lie limply beneath him, he decided he wanted a new, unbroken toy.” His lips quirked into a grim smile. “That toy was going to be you.”
Hredeen took a step back, shaking his head. No. This was not true. The guild was shamanic. They trained the children to be their tools, but their missions were for the betterment of the future, of the empire. They had visions, knew what must be done to prevent tragedies of justice.
They did not just seek their own personal gain. They didn’t act for greed or power or lusts. They did not.
This rogue was lying. He had to be. It could not be true that the guild was no more than a tool for egotistical beings. For cruel, dangerous men like the one he’d just killed…
“The guild sent me to protect the emperor, to stop a possible future where his life was stolen,” Hredeen managed to say, his voice choked and dangerously cold. His grip tightened on his blade, an instant from drawing steel. “I lived in the palace in Persis for eight years…”
