The Stiehl Assassin

by Terry Brooks

  Kol’Dre stared. What were these platforms supposed to accomplish? They were too small to provide space for more than a dozen soldiers, so they didn’t seem designed to provide elevated fighting stations. Their appearance suggested they were more likely there as mounts for some sort of fighting weapon—flash rip cannons or sling-backs. But why hadn’t they been placed closer to the forward fortifications and why were they raised if they were intended to serve as platforms for launchers?

  These are for something else entirely, he thought.

  He walked out of the shadows and down to where the work was being done, fully aware of the risk he was running. If he was caught, he would be executed. But none of that mattered. Sometimes you took the path that was offered, risk or no.

  He chose a soldier standing off to one side who looked to be overseeing the work and sauntered up to him. “How far along are we?” he asked. Sometimes if you acted like you knew a thing, people just accepted that you did.

  The soldier shrugged, answering without any concern for Kol’s identity. “We’re about halfway done. Should be finished by daylight.” He turned, suddenly concerned. “Are you one of the inspectors?”

  Kol’Dre nodded. “Just trying to determine what still needs doing. We have to know how soon we can proceed.”

  The man nodded, more attentive now. “Have you seen these things work? The ones we’re putting up on the platforms?”

  Kol shook his head. So he had guessed right. “Not me. Guess they’re pretty effective, though.”

  “Well, if what they say is true, the enemy can disappear right in front of you. Being able to stop that from happening, taking away their ability to hide themselves—it will make all the difference.”

  The Penetrator had to work hard at not looking shocked, but inside his stomach was clenching. “So they think they can do that? I hadn’t heard any details.”

  “I’m told the stuff that machine puts out, whatever it is, will reveal them just as clear as could be. No escape from that.”

  Kol’Dre was already looking to cut this conversation short. He’d found out what he wanted and needed to get back with the information. “Let’s hope for the best. I’ve got to move along now. Still got more to do before the night is out. Good talking with you.”

  “Wait!” The soldier grabbed his arm, and Kol froze, fear surging through him, one hand moving to his concealed blade. “Tell the materials men we need more planking. We’re running out.”

  Kol’Dre let his breath release in a slow, silent exhale. “I’ll do that.”

  He turned and hurried away, back toward where he imagined the materials site was located, trying to look like he was doing what the other man had asked of him. The fear had diminished, but he was sweating anyway. That had been entirely too close. Another man, more alert, might have found him out. He had risked too much.

  But it had been worth it.

  When he reached the edges of the camp, he kept going. He had to get word back to the king. If the Skaar were to be deprived of their ability to conceal themselves and left open to those Federation flash rips, they would be cut to pieces. And would the Southlanders actually attack them once these platforms were in place and these mysterious weapons were installed? He needed to know more, but there wasn’t time to find out, and the risk of attempting to do anything else at present was entirely too great.

  The airfield opened up ahead of him, and he crossed to his vessel, waved farewell to the sentry, and climbed aboard. In seconds he was airborne, his mind spinning as he fought to assemble the arguments he would need to make to Cor d’Amphere, to persuade him of the danger they were in.

  Because he already knew the king was not likely to want to believe a word of it.

  * * *

  —

  It was several hours after midnight, and the bulk of the army was asleep. Only those on watch or engaged in building the platforms were still awake. It was not at all certain when the Federation would attack their neighbors across the river, but the general consensus was that it would be soon. The Skaar already thought them weak and incapable of withstanding a sustained attack. The Federation needed to be able to demonstrate that it possessed the ability to repel these invaders. An attack would provide it with a chance to expose the Skaar’s vulnerability and perhaps rout their entire army. But it also carried its risks. Any failure on the part of the Reveals to perform as expected would probably doom the Federation. If they were to suffer a defeat here, it was hard to imagine what else they could do. The Reveals were their last, best hope.

  Clizia Porse, picking her way through the trees at the perimeter of the Federation camp, knew nothing of the Reveals. Had she known, she might have felt a bit more urgency about reaching Ketter Vause—although it would have been difficult to ratchet up her sense of urgency any higher. The anticipation of disposing of the Prime Minister and what that would entail roiled within her. This would change everything, once it was done. This would give her back everything she had lost and show her a clear path to what she coveted.

  She reached the southern perimeter of the Federation camp, then stopped to catch her breath and take stock of what lay ahead. Information gathered by Skaar scouts during overflights told her where she would find the Prime Minister’s quarters. His complex of tents was difficult to miss, but there would still be uncertainty as to where he could be found inside this maze. And there would be guards and plenty of them. She would have her chance, but it would only last for a few short minutes. She would have to move swiftly and silently. No alarm could be allowed to sound.

  When she had rested a bit—she still found herself surprisingly weak—she rose and cast a concealment spell to hide herself from view. She knew she could only maintain the spell a short time, so she could not suffer interruptions or delays. The darkness and the relative quiet of the camp helped, but this remained a dangerous undertaking.

  She walked from the trees, an invisible presence as she entered the camp. Sentries and then a few stray soldiers engaged in various tasks passed her by, but none saw her. She was into the midst of the tents and close to her destination, moving smoothly and silently, driven by adrenaline and a burning need to accomplish her intended task. She felt oddly stronger the farther into the camp she went, her anticipation a sharp-edged and controlling prod.

  Ahead, the sprawl of tents that served as the Prime Minister’s quarters came into view. She never hesitated, choosing the main entrance over an attempt to cut through the fabric with a blade. Guards stood at watch but did not see her. No one could see her. She was invisible. She was death’s silent wind come to gather a victim.

  At the tent flaps, she threw off a bit of sound to distract the guards long enough for her to push her way through the opening, barely disturbing the canvas barrier. The chamber just inside was empty of everything but a pair of desks and a few chairs. She moved on to the next chamber, this time slowing at the covered entry to peek through. A pair of guards stood watch. If she tried to enter, they would see the movement of the flaps as she brushed them aside. She called to them instead, throwing her voice and giving it a masculine sound. “Guards! Come out here!”

  They came at once, parting the flaps and stopping just beyond to look around the empty space. By then, she was past them and into the Prime Minister’s overly large and sumptuously indulgent sleeping chamber. She sneered in spite of herself. All this opulence will not be enough to save you, Ketter Vause.

  She slipped the Stiehl from its hiding place within her cloak and moved toward his bed. She could see the outline of his sleeping form through the gloom. She could just make out the shape of his head on the pillow.

  A sudden movement to one side caught her attention and brought her up short. Something pushed at her, and her concealment was ripped away. She stood helpless and enraged as a sudden wash of light revealed her.

  “Well met, Clizia,” Drisker Arc said.

&nb
sp; TWENTY-FOUR

  DRISKER ARC FELT A surge of satisfaction at seeing Clizia stripped of her concealment and brought to bay at last. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Shock and rage were all stark in her expression as she stood before him, the deadly Stiehl held loosely at her side.

  He saw the blade begin to lift and let the blue fire he had been holding back blossom at the tips of his fingers. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

  She glanced at the empty bed, which in the wash of light he had summoned revealed the outline of a sleeping man but in fact was nothing more than bedding rolled and positioned to suggest one.

  She lowered her weapon once more. “This small setback won’t stop it from happening, Drisker,” she said. “You think you have me, but you still have a lot to learn. I am not some neophyte necromancer who can be taken and held captive, and you know it. You waste time needlessly.”

  Drisker smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You seem very much a prisoner to me. Once you’re safely locked away, a whole raft of unfortunate possibilities will be ended. As will your ability to disrupt events in the Four Lands. I should, by all rights, kill you here and now. But I think I’d rather see you locked away for whatever life you have left. Encased in iron, maybe? A whole suit of it? Your magic is of the Faerie kind, isn’t it, Clizia? However you managed to infuse yourself, it has all the earmarks of the Fae. I think maybe this time you are finished.”

  She looked around the tent chamber. “So Ketter Vause is safely tucked away somewhere close by? No, don’t bother answering. It is not my concern, now. How about your little friends, your siblings of song? Lost them along the way, have you?”

  “They’re no longer your concern, either. Better worry about yourself. Why don’t you put down the Stiehl?”

  She gave him a look. “Why don’t you come take it from me?”

  They faced each other across the tent chamber, eyes locked, expressions fixed and hard. “You don’t want me to do that,” Drisker said finally.

  Clizia said nothing, did nothing, and gave nothing away. She might not even be there at all, given how still she was. She looked as if maybe she were nothing more than an empty image…

  He caught himself. No!

  He swiftly sent his magic flying into her with enough force to disable her, but instead she simply exploded and was gone.

  She was an empty image! He had been tricked! She had slipped away, using her magic to disappear!

  He wheeled around just in time to see the tent flaps ripple as she stepped through them. Shaking loose from his disbelief, he gave chase, determined she would not escape. He charged across the room, flung the tent flaps aside…

  And slammed straight into what felt like a wall, careering away in a wild tangle of arms and legs to sprawl on the tent floor.

  * * *

  —

  Clizia gave a satisfied glance back to where the invisible wall had momentarily floored Drisker Arc. It had taken her only seconds to create it, a momentary barrier that by now would have already disappeared. Not so smug now, was he? She would never be taken prisoner by a magic wielder of lesser ability. Drisker might think of himself as Ard Rhys, but he was still just a failed Druid who had walked away from his duties and was now scrambling to get his authority back. A name was only a name, and a title only a title. If you couldn’t back up what it demanded, you were nothing.

  She hastened through the antechamber and to the outer tent flaps, drawing on her concealment once more. Invisible, she passed through the main entry. The guards who stood on either side did not even note the rippling of the fabric, their gazes directed toward what might be approaching rather than what was behind, and she slipped past without paying them further heed. She had failed tonight, but there would be another time. She just needed to give the matter a little more thought and come up with a different approach. Drisker Arc was proving to be a bigger thorn in her side than she would have thought possible. Perhaps he was the one she needed to eliminate first. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t manage it. She could set a trap and finish him. It should be easy enough. Now that he had lost her, he would almost certainly come after her again.

  The night remained dark, the sky clouded over; small patches of brightness from the campfires between the tents provided the only light. She slowed momentarily, wondering if there wasn’t some sort of mischief or disruption she could cause the Federation before leaving.

  It was then she saw Tavo Kaynin.

  * * *

  —

  Tavo had been drawn away from his sister by a sense of Clizia’s presence that he couldn’t account for but did not question. His extended, wild use of the wishsong had left him with residual effects that he could not explain. One of them was the ability to sense the proximity of other magic. He had kept this from Drisker Arc, afraid of what it would mean and how the other would react. But then there were lots of things he had kept to himself, even given the Druid’s efforts to help him.

  The Kaynin siblings had been left to keep watch over the sleeping Ketter Vause while Drisker baited the hook to catch Clizia. In part, they were to provide a last line of defense should something go wrong, but mostly Tavo knew it was simply to keep them away should the worst happen. Drisker was particularly protective of Tarsha, something that Tavo appreciated. After all, she was his sister and he loved her (no, no, no—don’t question it!), having realized through long conversations and much consideration afterward how deeply he had deceived himself. Obviously, the Druid was her mentor and should feel close to her. Tavo believed Drisker Arc cared about him, as well, and that was a welcome reassurance. Everything the Druid had done to help him recover from the madness caused by his use of the wishsong demonstrated the depth of that caring.

  Although the voices had returned, and the voices told him otherwise.

  He doesn’t care for you; he’s only pretending.

  He plays you for a fool. He uses you for his own purposes.

  How could anyone ever care for you? Think of what you’ve done!

  He had been able to keep the voices at bay until recently, brushing them aside as lies and ravings, remembering the lessons the Druid had taught him about how to banish them whenever they surfaced. He had managed decently thus far. He had even managed to keep Fluken from returning. Mostly.

  Now he was standing outside the Federation Prime Minister’s tent, watching and waiting for what he knew was coming. For her. For the witch, Clizia Porse, back to cause more trouble. He saw the tent flaps when they parted and no one appeared, saw her invisible form as a soft shimmer in the darkness moments later and knew her at once. Another side effect—to be able to spy out those who thought themselves concealed. Whatever Drisker had thought to do to hold her, it had failed. She had broken free or sensed a trap, and now she was fleeing. No one could see her, no one knew she was there—no one save him. He was all that stood between her and freedom.

  He watched her come, not yet aware of him, making her way with slow, careful steps.

  Suddenly she stopped, seeing him standing there, perhaps sensing that he could see her in spite of the magic she had used to hide herself. She stared at him for a moment, perhaps deciding what she should do, and then slowly she approached. As she did, her concealment dropped away, the magic abandoned, and she was fully revealed. Old, bent, and exuding a predatory look, she was intimidating in a way that would have sent a sane man running for his life.

  But Tavo Kaynin was not entirely sane, and he was not afraid.

  “Tavo!” Clizia Porse greeted him as if she were happy to see him again, one withered arm lifting in greeting. “Have you decided to leave those who deceived you and return to me?”

  He stiffened in a way that suggested she not come any closer. “Return to you? You deceived me! You used me to try to kill Drisker Arc. Then you left me.”

  Clizia stopped short and gave him a long look, th
en shrugged. “You should be smarter than this, Tavo. I fled with the intention of finding you again, and now I have. If they have told you something else, they have lied. I warned you they would do so. I warned you that if you listened to their lies, they would make you into something you were never meant to be. Your sister? Remember what you told me? You hated her. How many times did you say so? You hated her enough that you wanted to kill her. She abandoned you and she—”

  “Stop it!” he screamed. Heads turned. A few Federation soldiers came to a stop and stared at them. “You tricked me!” he howled in fury. “You used drugs to make me do what you wanted. You pretended to be my friend, but I know the truth now. You were never my friend and you never cared about me! I know what you are!”

  She shook her head. “And this is what you tell me after I took you in, treated your injuries, cared for you, and gave you back your life. I offered you so much—everything you asked—but you threw it all away on a few false words from a failed Druid. Look at you. What is wrong with you? Something clearly is. I can see it on your face. Don’t you feel it?”

  In truth, he did. Something was wrong with him. Something had always been wrong with him, and he knew it. But knowing what it was and what to do about it had eluded him for years. Until the coming of the Druid.

  “You can’t change yourself overnight,” Clizia continued, her words soft and persuasive. “You can’t be someone you aren’t. You can sense it, can’t you? That certainty that things aren’t right yet—that things might never be right. You have to accept this truth, which is the reality of your life. You are who you were born to be, faults and all, and by now it is much too late to change. You’ve killed so many people, Tavo, and you’ve hurt so many more. Stop lying to yourself!”