The Copper Assassin

by Madolyn Rogers

  It came to her then, the answer. She could ensure the Warlord’s death, even if her target faded away as her guide had. As soon as she saw her target, she must summon forth the Seeker and give it the image. If the Warlord then vanished from her ken, the Seeker would still find her prey, would kill her target with its poisoned bite and feast upon its brain. Then the Seeker would find her and tell her it had killed. And Bakoshkry would have proof at last that humans who melted from her mind still lived. She nodded to herself, alone in the alien city. This was how she would complete her mission, her surety against the unpredictable. She would not fail. She released the haft of Basilisk and settled Oxfeen in her grip. Ghosting through the darkness, Bakoshkry entered the Fence.

  9: Shadows of the Past

  The Warlord’s stronghold, Mort Glave, lay deep within Yahsta’s Claws. White glowglobes lit its chilly stone halls. Cavern breezes wafted through the corridors, carrying the faint smell of wet rock. Here and there braziers hissed, hot coals lending a puff of warmth to the rooms. The place was quiet tonight, nothing disturbing the orderly hum of its business, the passing of pages and workers and guards, the low conversations.

  In a sitting room on the lowest level, three people had gathered to socialize, drink, and play at daggers. The Implementer, Mayden, was the only man present. He balanced a dirk in one hand, regarding the wooden target painted in the likeness of Yahsta; a horned grey sea serpent head gazed back at him from aquamarine eyes. Heizhen stood next to Mayden, knife ready in hand. Gaithorn sat nearby on a couch, watching and sipping a dark ale. She was a sorceress and had no use for metal weapons.

  The three of them were nearly of an age, all around forty, and all were famous for being among the first to support the Warlord’s rise to power in the ice islands. They had spoken in the Warlord’s favor in the councils of Ptalmilkour, and helped to sway the tide of decision in her favor. Their choice had been risky then, bold and unpopular. Now they were part of the established order. They still met sometimes to reminisce about the old days.

  Mayden tossed his dagger with a quick flick of his wrist, and it thunked into a painted eye. He shrugged, a smile spreading. “I win. You can’t beat that.” He collapsed bonelessly onto the couch next to Gaithorn, reaching for a glass of ruby-red wine. He had the body of a dancer, tall, slender, and supple. His hair fell in long black ringlets, his eyes were inky and secretive, and his voice caressing. This sedate and well-bred demeanor had come to him with age, cloaking the fire that smoldered behind his dark eyes. In his youth he had been dashing; now he was suave. “But I was serious, you know. I miss Ptalmilkour.”

  Heizhen ignored him, eyes narrowed on the target. She still had the body of a gawky adolescent, all knees and elbows, and a frizzy mass of red-brown hair billowed around her head. Frowning, she flung her dagger overhand. It buried itself in Yahsta’s other eye. Heizhen laughed and clapped her hands. “Ha! A tie, Mayden!”

  Mayden smiled, a slow seductive curl, and offered her a glass of the red wine. She took it and sank onto the couch at his side. Mayden stretched his arms along the couch back, behind each of the women.

  On Mayden’s other side, Gaithorn sniffed. She was plump and mostly brown—her hair, her eyes, her featureless smock, everything but her fair skin—and deep creases were grooved into her cheeks and forehead from much frowning. “What do you miss? The garbage? The slums? The chaos?”

  Mayden smiled lazily, dropping one hand down to caress Gaithorn’s shoulder. She scowled and flipped his hand off as though it had been a spider. Mayden did not seem to take offense. “I miss the excitement. You never knew what would happen walking down the street. I can’t count how many nights I got in duels. Heizhen, remember the night we chased those Esthen thugs halfway to the docks?”

  A smile flickered across Heizhen’s face. “I could hardly forget. You were screaming curses so vile they forgot they had us outnumbered five to two. How they ran!”

  “And how they died. You took out two with your halberd.”

  “And you carved up the big one like a fine fillet. Then you got that fast one in the throat with your dagger. I had to talk you into letting the little one run to spread the word. Did they really think to assassinate us so easily?”

  Mayden chuckled low. “Oh, they thought us soft, I believe, but they soon learned better. Well, we made ourselves targets, after all. Remember, it was just a day after we had stood up together in council and challenged the families to follow the Warlord.”

  Heizhen twirled a strand of her kinky hair around one finger, smiling, eyes distant in memories. “I remember. I suppose we did ask for trouble.” They had each pledged their families to the Warlord’s cause, although neither of them technically had the right. Heizhen’s family, the Mad Dream, was led by her cousin. Mayden had since become the de facto leader of his own family, the tiny D’Rast clan, no more than one thousand strong in Wyverna.

  “I don’t miss the violence.” The lines deepened around Gaithorn’s mouth. “I prefer orderly streets. Nice, well-run, safe. I can go to the market without having to watch my back.”

  “You were hardly so particular in those days.” Mayden let his fingertips drop to her shoulder again, and Gaithorn swatted them away absently. “I remember when you cast that fire spell at those Bloodthorn assassins. They went up like paper, blazing in the night. A beautiful sight.”

  “That was different. They were not our kind. Invaders from the continent were another matter.”

  “How different? They were still human, weren’t they? Admit it, Gaithorn my love—you liked the killing too.”

  Gaithorn crossed her arms over her chest. “I believed in the Warlord’s vision. And I saw no reason to have mercy on our enemies. They had none for us.”

  “Do you believe these protests, Heizhen?” Mayden’s fingers stroked the side of Heizhen’s cheek idly. Heizhen flicked his fingers away much as Gaithorn had, in the unconscious way she might brush off a fly.

  “I do, Mayden. You know as well as I that Gaithorn has never sought trouble. No more have I. It’s you who have the taste for it. I’m not surprised Wyverna is too placid for you.”

  Mayden laughed, shoulders shaking. “Ah, you’re cold! Admit it, Heizhen—you miss Ptalmilkour too.”

  Heizhen’s smile grew wistful. “I miss the food. Nothing else I can think of. We were so close to the mainland then, we got samples of everything. It wasn’t all endless fish and seafood.” She sighed. “Remember grapes? Here, even if we capture a merchant ship carrying grapes, by the time they arrive they’ve gone bad.”

  “You have a point, Heizhen,” Gaithorn said, her expression softening. “That I do miss. All the cheeses we used to sample, the rare meats, the exotic nuts, the tropical fruits.”

  “Of all things to fuss over!” Mayden shook his head. “Anyway, you can still get all that, if you’re willing to pay the price. But what of the thrills? The danger? Every family was its own little country then. Everything was negotiations and trickery, secret deals and betrayal.”

  “Oh I well remember how you lorded it up in that snake nest, worming your way into every back room,” Heizhen said, her tone acid. “I was pleased the Warlord spared us from that.” She grew thoughtful. “You know I never thought I would support her, when I first heard of her rise. A warlord? One who fights first and thinks second? Then I met her.”

  “It’s no surprise why you and I supported her, Heizhen,” Gaithorn said. “But I still wonder, Mayden, how she won your loyalty? You liked the game so much, the deals, the anarchy. Did she offer you power? Did you know then you would be Implementer?”

  Mayden’s eyes glittered. One eyebrow tilted up. “Why, she seduced me.”

  Gaithorn and Heizhen made sounds of derision.

  Mayden smiled, draining off the last of his wine. He reached for the bottle and found it empty. He rose with fluid impatience, crossed to a table and rang a bell. Within moments a young woman appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed and smiling.

  “Cadi, bring us another bot
tle of the red,” Mayden said.

  The page inclined her head slightly. “As you wish, Implementer.” Mayden’s eyes lingered on her trim form as she exited.

  “If you liked Ptalmilkour so much, why didn’t you support Morbid?” Heizhen queried from the couch. “She would have kept the old ways.”

  “Ah, Morbid. Such a bore. She had such ideas of her honor. She would duel for her pride at a stray glance. She had no notion of how to control herself, how to think boldly, how to reward loyalty.”

  “She was loyal to her own, I think,” Gaithorn said. “To the Kharvays.”

  “She never saw beyond the Kharvays.” Mayden paced, watching the door. “And even there—look how she cut off Tiolt, a fine man who knew his limitations.”

  Heizhen lowered her glass and stared at Mayden hard. “You admired Tiolt? I find that hard to believe.”

  Mayden passed behind her, trailing his fingers over her neck, letting his hand settle heavy on her shoulder, and leaned close to murmur in her ear. “What, only you can be friends with Tiolt?” He straightened up. “I may not be a scholar, but I appreciated his mind. Keen and quick, with a honed sense of reality. And a fine duelist, and not bad to drink with, either.” He smirked.

  “I am amazed, Mayden.” Heizhen sipped her wine. “I never thought to find you so sophisticated. I thought you disliked Morbid only because she spurned you.”

  “Prepare to be amazed again, my sweet. I never tried for her.”

  Gaithorn cocked an eyebrow at him. “There’s something you wouldn’t screw? That I don’t believe.”

  “Why, I have a list, Gaithorn dear. A short list to be sure. But Morbid is on it, right after a frenzied shark, and perhaps some of the less savory sea demons.”

  Heizhen covered her face with her hands and laughed into them, shoulders shaking. “I never realized you were so particular,” she wheezed at last. “Here I was planning to send you a sea demon on the next festival day. I’ll have to think of something else.”

  Glints sparked in Mayden’s dark eyes. His smile deepened. But whatever he would have said was interrupted by footsteps at the door. He swung round. The page stood in the door with a bottle of red wine in her hands. “I may need something stronger than the red after all, Cadi.”

  Cadi inclined her head. “Ciano and Jonlan are here to see you. What shall I bring?”

  “What do they want at this time of night?” Mayden’s mouth quirked down as he took the bottle. “There goes our fun. Show them in, Cadi, and bring us some brandy.”

  Heizhen scrambled to her feet. “Fence business at this hour?”

  “Quite rude, isn’t it?” A cold reserve had settled on Mayden. He poured himself another glass of the red and tossed it back.

  Gaithorn looked intrigued, moving over to a chair and watching the door with interest.

  The two Fence lords appeared shortly, striding through the door together. Jonlan was in his thirties but seemed older, his tall bony frame slightly stoop-shouldered. The crown of his head was bald, shiny under the lights, while his pale blond hair grew long on the sides. His mouth was thin and wide, and normally quick to smile; his blue-grey eyes sparkled and danced with quick intelligence. Like Heizhen, he was of the Mad Dream family. “Take a look at this,” he said, gesturing behind him to where a Margay, one of the elite Fence guards, lugged a metal chest.

  “Set it down,” Ciano ordered the Margay, and then dismissed the guard. She was a Slythe and a mutant, like many of her tainted family. Long before they came to the ice islands, the Slythes were known to have interbred with trolls and with the dark wights that lurked under the Greycowl mountains. Rumors spoke of stranger things yet in their bloodlines. Many Slythes were skilled with drugs and potions, and some few of them had mind powers and were greatly feared. Ciano was not known for mind powers, but she was feared nonetheless. She was as tall as Jonlan and Mayden, but broader through the shoulders. Her long hair was a hybrid, half the strands ash-blond and straight, half black and curly, looking like a cloud of moonlit shadow at her back. Her eyes were usually grey-green, but could change color with her mood. Each of her hands had six fingers, and on each finger she wore a ring, some rich and jeweled, some plain, some very old. She wore a long straight sword buckled at her side, its hilt long enough to accommodate her oversized hand. “This chest was sent over from the Library of the Past this evening, a gift from Tiolt Kharvay. He sent a note with it, saying he just discovered these records, and thought the Warlord should see them.”

  Mayden looked from one of his colleagues to the other, assessing their faces. “And you opened it without bothering to wait for the rest of us?” His tones were clipped.

  “Even so,” Ciano said, unperturbed.

  Heizhen knelt by the chest. “May I, Jonlan?” Heizhen worked for Jonlan, but her question was perfunctory. She was already opening the chest, which was filled with parchment scrolls and a few leather-bound ledgers.

  Mayden let his breath out in a huff that turned into a laugh. “I might as well join the party, even late. What tidbits have you mice discovered?” He folded himself cross-legged onto the floor and began pulling out documents.

  Heizhen scanned the first several scrolls. Jonlan watched with a speculative half-smile, Gaithorn with interest. “Documents from the Uprooting,” Heizhen reported. “Many of these are Morbid’s financial records — I wonder how they ended up in Tiolt’s library?” Then Heizhen’s eyes fastened to one spot; her breath caught. She raised her eyes to Jonlan and Ciano. “You saw this too?”

  Ciano nodded. “This is why we thought it worth passing on. Though Tiolt can have a taste for minutia, in this case he found something of significance.”

  “Well don’t keep us in suspense!” Gaithorn snapped. “What have you found?”

  Heizhen turned to her. “In Morbid’s list of financial backers, we found our own Wormlight, Gaithorn dear. She donated considerable sums of money to Morbid’s cause in the ice islands.”

  “Huh. It doesn’t surprise me. Wormlight was never a friend to the Warlord’s scheme.” Gaithorn shrugged.

  “But we never knew she had given Morbid active support. Yes, argued against our cause in council, passionately argued, swayed many against our plan—but never this.” Heizhen brushed a curling strand of auburn hair off her forehead and fixed Gaithorn with her gaze.

  “There’s more,” Ciano said. “Look at that scroll bound with a red ribbon.”

  Mayden seized the scroll and unrolled it. He skimmed down the page. An incredulous laugh escaped him. “Look at this! A letter from Wormlight to Morbid, pledging her support and fealty. If the Warlord had known, would she have made Wormlight a Fence lord?”

  “Doubtful,” Ciano said. “I believe it calls her loyalty into question. Even now she is divisive in our councils. She votes against the Warlord at every turn.”

  “It’s a delicate problem,” Jonlan said. “The Warlord must be told, clearly. But how to handle Wormlight? She is dangerous.”

  Mayden licked his lips, eyes sparkling. “This could get interesting. Wormlight would not take kindly to being ousted from the Fence council. And then what? A hidden viper is more dangerous yet.”

  Gaithorn snatched the scroll from Mayden and read it herself. “This information is fifteen years old,” she said at last. “Do we not need some more current proof?”

  “You make a good point, Gaithorn,” Heizhen said. “We must confront Wormlight with this and find out where her loyalties lie. But we cannot do it unprepared.”

  “But who could stand against her if things get ugly?” Mayden asked. “And would we believe protestations of innocence?” He turned to Ciano. “Could the Chatelaine of the Inquisition enter her mind?”

  Ciano shrugged. “Her mind powers are formidable. But against Wormlight?”

  A silence fell. Jonlan broke it. “I’m going to tell M’Chay. He should join our deliberations. And does anyone know where the Warlord is?”

  “Cadi should.” Mayden reached for the bell as Jonlan exited.
“And where is that brandy I sent her for?”

  In the pause after the bell’s sharp clang, Heizhen skimmed more crackling scrolls, while Gaithorn read and re-read the letter of fealty Wormlight had once sent Morbid. Ciano poured herself some of the red wine. Mayden paced.

  Cadi appeared with the brandy.

  “Fetch the Warlord.” Mayden grabbed the bottle as Cadi bowed and departed. He poured himself a large glass. After he had downed half of it, he said in a more mellow tone, “I’m not so sure we should ask Wormlight.”

  “Ask me what?” The voice from the doorway came as clear and ringing as chimes. All turned to see Wormlight standing there. She was slender and of a height with the other Fence lords, but carried herself so erect that she seemed even taller. Her long straight hair fell down her back like a waterfall, and dipped in a widow’s peak on her forehead. It was so pale it appeared silvery under the glowglobes, and her skin too had only the faintest flush of color. Her eyes were grey, and she wore a grey robe. Her face was a perfect oval, expressionless now save for her penetrating eyes. She looked like a column of rain, or a pillar of ice.

  “What are you doing here?” Ciano asked.

  “I heard from Cadi that the Fence lords were meeting down here tonight. It seems there is some matter of interest. What has you all stirred up?” Wormlight paced into the room, measuring their faces, barely glancing at the chest.

  “Ancient history,” Ciano said. “Or not so ancient. Did you write this letter?” She tossed the red-ribboned scroll at Wormlight before the others could protest.

  Wormlight caught it, face puzzled, and scanned it. “I did write this. What of it?”

  “What of it?” Mayden laughed shortly. “Why Wormlight, it calls your very loyalty into question. You stood with Morbid.”

  “That is hardly a secret. I made my feelings plain in those days. I believed Morbid had the best right and will to lead us. She respected our traditions.”

  “And the Warlord did not?” Gaithorn asked.

  “Do you need to ask? Obviously she did not. She has changed many of our ways. How many of our freedoms have we lost here in Wyverna? We are bound by laws now, new laws all the time.”