by Ember Lane
“And you suspect this assassin has been commissioned by one or the other to kill...”
“Amaya, I’m leaning toward Amaya, but it could be Prince H… Harvey, Henry, Harold—I forget his name. A war will then ignite, and the little war will spill and engulf Irydia. Of course, we could stop it.”
“How?”
“By killing the assassin.”
Lincoln scooped up a handful of freezing water and doused his head, shaking his fogged mind and then pinching his eyes.
“You mean to kill this assassin—the assassin that you all say killed every assassin just to become the best assassin in Petreyer?” The story had made a lasting impression on Lincoln, especially given his newfound and vulnerable position in Irydia.
“About that,” said Flip as Lincoln pulled his boots back on. “I was rather hoping you’d do it.”
“Me?” said Lincoln, as they ambled toward Zenith.
“Well, consider this. The Five Isles is dead center of the Petreyen Sea, right smack bang between Lordslaner and Estorelll. Now, my mainstay is trade with the Carters of Petreyer, and if Carter Green were to find out I killed his favorite assassin, well…” Flip screwed his face up. “Could make things a bit sticky for me.”
Lincoln scratched his damp head, stopped and faced Flip. “You want me to kill the most feared assassin in the whole world?”
“Within the mists,” Flip pointed out.
“You want me to kill the most feared assassin within the mists?”
Flip cocked his head. “Would you mind?”
Lincoln cocked his own. “Of course I’d bloody well mind. I’ve got the stealth of a three-year-old child, and I’m wearing shiny pink boots and a matching cloak. How do you expect me to sneak up on him? Trapped in a giant lantern?”
“So, you’re not keen?”
“No, I’m bloody well not!”
“Told you he wouldn’t do it,” Flip shouted to Zenith.
Zenith shrugged. “Looks like war then.” He got up. “Really Lincoln, I’d have thought better of you.”
Both Flip and Zenith walked back inside, and Lincoln swore he heard chuckling.
“Crazy, the lot of them,” he said, and followed them in.
Grimble and Ozmic were on their third breakfast. Their recent diet of green fungus and white fish hadn’t agreed with them. “Don’t wash downstream,” had been Ozmic’s advice the previous night. They both shoved along and let Lincoln sit on their side.
“Hardly my fault,” Lincoln pointed out.
Flip stabbed his knife at Lincoln. “Nonsense, entirely your fault. See that woman over there?”
Lincoln tried to look around without making it obvious but failed dismally. A party sporting black and white colors was taking up nearly a quarter of the tavern’s taproom. In the center, a nervous-looking waif of a girl stared out—fifteen, sixteen if a day. She looked so innocent, so pure. He turned back to Flip.
“Now, imagine her with a crossbow bolt in her throat,” the prince said.
“Is that her? The Lady Amaya?”
“Indeed. It seems that for once, my timing is impeccable. I’m rooting for the prince to get it. I’ve heard he’s a nasty, pious piece of work. Maxim—that’s his name. Harry was the youngest, died of the pox. Look, the point is not her or him, the point is why? Why has someone paid to have one of them killed? What gain? Do we even want that gain?”
Flip brought out a scroll and unraveled it. “Here is Waraxion, and here is Lakevale Pass. Say this section of the land disintegrates into war, who wins?”
“Brokenford and Lakevale are aligned?”
“Yes.”
“Waraxion?”
“Everyone’s poor relation. No trade south—he has nothing to offer Addison. No trade north—again, nothing to offer Reynard. Before you ask, Lakevale sits pretty, strangling any trade that Waraxion could have with the east.”
“Then Waraxion needs to kindle a war to take Lakevale Pass.”
“But it’s a war Bryce knows he can’t win,” Flip pointed out.
Lincoln scanned the map. “So, all the lords are sitting pretty much apart from Bryce of Waraxion.” He stabbed his finger down. “Bryce, he sends his daughter as sacrifice.” Lincoln glanced around.
“But how does he expect to win?” Flip asked.
Lincoln traced his finger up and down the eastern coast—the coast facing The Lowlands. “Sutech Charm feigns an attack here, but that’s all it is. His main force lands here.” Lincoln pointed to Estorelll. “But only once Lakevale's forces are drawn out to engage Waraxion’s. Then he sweeps through the heart of Irydia before Muscat can react.”
Flip handed Zenith a gold coin. “Really? You’ve known him a couple of days and you guessed he’d get it?”
“The man knows nuts and bolts, and war is just that.”
Flip turned back to Lincoln. “So tell me, do we want war or not?”
Lincoln nodded. “We do.”
“Why?”
He pointed to Lakevale Pass. “That is the only hope we have of stopping them. A pass, where the few can slaughter the many.”
“Indeed.”
Lincoln sat back, tapping the table. “We need an army in place before Sutech Charm marches through Lakevale Pass.”
Flip nodded gravely. “In an ideal world, or a force to thin their numbers. I doubt Sutech will be so arrogant as to throw all in with Bryce. We forget Addison; we forget Reynard. A port lord could allow him through for the right promises. Politics, my dear Lincoln, is as fluid as—”
“Don’t,” Zenith said.
“Eww,” Grimble said. “You weren’t going to compare it to dead shaman guts.”
“I said, don’t,” Zenith growled, but the glimmer of a smile teased the edge of his lips.
“I doubt he was,” Lincoln said.
“Oh he was, no doubt about it.”
Flip shrugged. “Definitely was. As fluid as a dead shaman’s guts.”
“He said it,” Gimble said.
“Laughter takes away hurt—we should laugh more,” Flip pointed out. “Back to the question. What does all this mean for you? For Lincoln the Builder?”
“That Bryce and…”
“Cornell—the lord of Lakevale is Cornell.”
“Bryce and Cornell take each other out, no matter who’s victorious, Sutech Charm ends up the victor and has a toehold here. The port lords either crumble or join and march on Brokenford. Reynard will be forced to show his hand, as will Addison. Whichever way it goes, it leaves a weakened Charm in the center of Irydia, but, he has three countries that can reinforce him, so…he wins the first exchanges and hunkers down and waits.”
Flip stabbed the air. “And that means what for you?”
Lincoln suddenly realized the truth of Flip’s plan. “The goat. Its leg. It was broke, so I killed it. Jin told me; he told me once. Long ago. It’s gotta burn, everything—it’s all gotta burn.”
“It’s all gotta burn, and when it does, you, my shiny, pink friend, have to be there to pick up the pieces. You, my friend, have to be there to make sure nothing crosses Ratcher’s Vein.”
“Why there?”
“Because that’s your line—the line they can’t cross without a fight. Tell me again; why will the lords, Muscat, and ultimately, Sutech Charm fail?”
“Because…because they’re just humans, and this land is so much more.”
“Because of that.”
Lincoln glanced at the girl, not wanting to reconcile everything that was going to happen to justify her death. “So, it all boils down to her or the boy?”
“It all boils down to whether you can stand by and let it happen,” Flip said.
He glanced at her again. “Not sure I can.”
29
The Forest of Ledges
The earth smelled rich, infused with goodness and vitality. Sunlight, tinted emerald by the vibrant, overhead canopy, filtered down on them. Lincoln’s heart was thumping. Dink flew back and landed on his outstretched palm.
“The assassin has a position ahead, two hundred yards, maybe more. He’s laid traps all around—you won’t be sneaking up on him. You’ll have to kill him from a distance.”
“My original proposition,” Flip pointed out.
“A bow?” Lincoln suggested.
“Too well dug in.”
“How long have we got?”
Flip cupped his ear. “The horn blast was what? An hour plus. The growls and grunts may be half of that. So, my guess is we have the same again before they parade the carcasses at the bridge.”
“Well, don’t rely on me or Grimble to go sneaking up on him. Dwarves and stealth—they don’t go together.”
Zenith scoffed. “That they don’t.”
Lincoln looked from one of his companions to the next. All just stared back at him.
“Fine. Dink, show me the way.”
The imp flew off, and Lincoln followed, threading his way through the trees, pushing ranging brambles out of the way, choosing his steps carefully. Wondering what he was going to do.
“Trap!” she hissed, pointing. “Have you thought how you are going to kill him?”
Lincoln stopped dead in his stride. He’d been asked that question before. Tracing back his respawn point, he realized it was still back at Joan’s Creek. “How far?”
“Close.” The word was said right into his ear. “Thing about imps you should be aware of is their wings make a faint buzzing sound.”
Lincoln felt the assassin’s knife’s blade on his neck. “Buzzing sound,” he repeated, trying to come up with a back up plan. “I wasn’t thinking of killing you,” he said, deciding to beg.
The assassin let slip a bone-chilling laugh. “Very kind of you. Now, I have business to attend to, so, apologies for the death. You’ll bounce back. Your kind do.”
Subtly moving his hand, Lincoln cast his only spell.
A blast of black light radiated out, enveloping both of them.
You have used the dark chaos spell, Spell of Slumber. Sleep will come to all in its influence, sleep will go, and come again. Duration = Uncertain, Range = Unknown.
And he fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke, he was immediately confused. The assassin crouched over him, smiling. “I’m fairly glad I didn’t have to kill you.” Lincoln stared up wide-eyed. The assassin’s black bangs kept falling into his blue eyes, and Lincoln thought that strange given his profession. His smile was full, and it creased his cheeks. Again, something Lincoln didn’t expect in an assassin. And Lincoln was still alive, something he definitely didn’t expect as he’d assumed he’d wake on a slab by The Endings River.
“Why?” Lincoln asked.
“Cutter, my name’s Cutter.”
“Why?”
Cutter held up his hand and spread his fingers. He wore at least three rings on each. “Plus fifteen—magic resistance.” He pointed at one. “Plus fifteen more.” He pointed at the next. “I take it you get where I’m going with this?”
“Yes.”
“You tried to upset my plans, and for that there’s always a penalty.”
Confusion filled Lincoln’s mind. Where was Flip, Zenith, Grimble, or Ozmic? Where was Dink? His throat was as dry as a bone. He couldn’t think straight. “Did the girl survive?”
Cutter pressed his lips together. “The girl was never the target. Didn’t the prince tell you?”
The assassin drew back, and Lincoln saw Flip, the two dwarves and Zenith. “You forgot Lincoln that I have an apprentice, and she dispatched the boy Maxim—Cornell’s son, and now war will come to this land. You see, and I repeat, the girl was never the target.”
Flip jumped up. “I just had to see how far your compassion goes, Lincoln Hart. Give a man the chance to rule, and it changes him for the worse—nine times out of ten; but you, you’d risk your life for a girl you don’t even know, now that’s…”
“Noble,” Cutter said. “That there is noble, but if we don’t get her out of here, she’s going to die anyway. There’s some mighty angry Lakevale soldiers out there, and my guess is they’ll flood this forest with scouts before the end of the day.” Lincoln noticed the small girl crouching in Grimble’s shadow. Cutter threw her a cloak. “Pull the hood up.”
“So Maxim’s dead?” she said.
“You saw the bolt sticking outta his eye. What do you think?” Cutter said, pulling Lincoln up.
“Cornell will march,” she replied.
“That he will, and your father will die and that’s that. The minute he hatched his plan, his life became forfeit.” Cutter jumped up and down as if he needed more blood in his veins, and he looked around. “Two dwarves, a shaman, a prince, an orphan, and an idealist—this is some party. I hope the gold is worth it. Come on, Megan won’t wait long before she ditches me—she’s getting quite accomplished.” He slung his crossbow over his back and marched away. “She’s the mean one outta the two of us. Me? I’m just good at killing folks.”
Lincoln hung back, letting Grimble and Ozmic through. He fell into stride beside Zenith, relieved when Dink settled on his shoulder.
“What the hell happened while I was sleeping?” he asked the shaman.
“Don’t believe the assassin. Your magic made him slow, and I don’t think he anticipated it as he should have done. It made him slow enough for me to take him by surprise. I have a measure of stealth, and my own magic is supposedly deadly.”
“Is he on our side now?”
“He is now in the employ of Flip. As Maxim died, his original contract was fulfilled. The way of the assassin is simple: it is a business, and the contract is all that is important, nothing else.”
“So, what’s his contract now?”
“Well, we’ve hired his little ship to take us to the coast, but I think the prince is holding out on us.”
They trudged on in silence which Lincoln was thankful for. It gave him time to try and make sense of what was happening. Most of his muse centered around Flip. What game was he playing? It surely couldn’t be a perpetual test to see if he himself was worthy. Surely he’d passed that already?
Cresting a small rise, Lincoln saw a stunning valley blanketed in a deep, vivid green. Clouds hung low overhead lending the impression of isolation, and a wide, strong river carved through it, lingering for no man. Even through the thick of the trees, Lincoln could clearly see the shining, black lines that gave away the great ridges, the substantial ledges that made up this place.
“Where does the river lead?”
“West. It is the Astral and heads toward the Petreyen Seas. It passes through Estorelll—a potent place.”
Lincoln grunted as they took a narrow trail down. “Oh, I know all about Estorelll. I’ve a quest… Never mind. Where do you think the rest of your people are?”
“They’ll be in the mountains—under the mountains. Light hurts their eyes. Being stone takes away the ability to blink, and believe it or not, that in itself is torture. They’ll be attracted to the fangs—the high mountains—as that is where the true power is. No doubt we’ll see when we get to Beggle.”
“Beggle?”
“It’s our next stop. It’s where they’re all gathering, and it gets you closer to home. Tell me, Krakus, why did he leave?”
“He said he had to find the others.”
“Yet he couldn’t find me? How is he going to find another graveling if he couldn’t sniff me out when he was so close?”
Lincoln marched on, the trail snaking down the valley’s side. Was Zenith saying that Krakus had a hidden agenda too? It was nearly too much to comprehend. “So, Beggle, eh?” he finally said. “That’s on the way home?”
“It is,” Zenith replied.
“And it wouldn’t happen to have a volcano called Serenity at its head, would it?”
“Have you been there before?”
Lincoln smiled. It suddenly felt good to be alive. “Just a hunch. Sometimes I think my journey is all mapped out for me, and all I’m doing is walking it.”
Zeni
th clapped his arm around Lincoln. “I may make a philosopher out of you yet, my friend.” They walked down like that until they reached Cutter’s boat. The assassin said little apart from the odd grunt here and there, the odd direction to get the boat into the water. Lincoln seated himself near the back of the boat, packed tightly in with Grimble, Ozmic, and Zenith. Flip and the girl Amaya sat right at the stern. The girl hadn’t said another word, and Lincoln could tell that tears weren’t too far away from her heart. He just about caught a glimpse of the assassin’s accomplice as she backed out of the trees, her crossbow primed and aimed as she swept it around.
Cutter hoisted the sail and called for Flip to pull the tiller in. The sail started flapping, attempting to catch the breeze, and Cutter let out a low whistle, his accomplice then turning and bounding through the shallow water, vaulting onto the boat’s bow. There she faced down river, her crossbow ranging wide again. Lincoln tried to get a glimpse of her, but her heavy hood shaded her every feature.
Once the assassin was set, the dwarves shuffled forward a bit, and Lincoln eased himself into a slouch, watching the forest for any signs of trouble, any hint of soldiers or bandits. It was peculiarly tranquil, and that in itself was odd, out of place with the preceding days. It unnerved Lincoln, made him wary, and that clashed with the beauty all around him.
“Can I ever trust anyone again?” he asked Zenith.
“Trust must be earned. The assassin, he hasn’t earned it, nor his apprentice. The girl...” Zenith said, looking over his shoulder, “her either. I’m guessing these two have.” He pointed to the dwarves. “Flip has his own agenda, so trust and he are distant friends. You can trust me, but can you trust a man who says that? I think not.”
“Do you ever speak plainly?”
Zenith clapped Lincoln on his leg. “Could I trouble you for a pipe?” Lincoln took out his pipe and primed it for the shaman, who lit it with a click of his fingers and then puffed away. “Riddles, Lincoln, are mana for your mind.”
