Rise of the Elder (The Dark Ability Book 7)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Alyse watched him, the familiar concern crinkling her eyes. “Brusus returned to the city. He wanted to check on the Barth. It’s locked up, but he wanted to make sure it’s not looted while we’re gone.”

  “Is that safe?” Rsiran had returned to Elaeavn a few times since they’d left, but each time, he’d been concerned about what would happen and whether he would get caught. The council wanted to find him, and he didn’t know if there was anything they could do to hold him, but now that they worked with Venass—presumably to keep the city safe—the guilds were not safe.

  “He took Haern. They will be as safe as they can be.”

  “How did they return?” Walking was dangerous. Better to Slide, but without Rsiran to help, they wouldn’t be able to Slide.

  “Valn.”

  That made him feel a little better. Valn was capable, and skilled at Sliding. In the time that Rsiran had known him, he had gained more strength, honing his ability so he could carry two with him when Sliding a reasonable distance, something Rsiran didn’t think he would have been capable of before the fight with Venass.

  “Then I’ll find them.”

  Jessa reached for him, but he stepped away, not willing to take her with him into the city. Pulling himself into a Slide, he emerged in his smithy.

  Light filtered through dirty windows. A bin of lorcith glowed softly. The forge was cold, the coals sitting untouched for weeks and actually dusty. The long table where he’d stored his forgings now had only a few items of iron and steel, nothing of real value. He glanced to the door, and saw the bars of heartstone he’d placed there were still secured. As far as he knew, there wasn’t anyone else with the ability to Slide past heartstone. Danis might be, but then his grandfather had used Venass knowledge to recreate many of Rsiran’s abilities. He held out hope that being born to his abilities gave Rsiran an advantage, but didn’t know if that was actually true. Venass might have discovered another way to use their skills, especially with so many of them studying and trying to learn how to stop him.

  Would he ever be able to return here?

  There was a time when he had feared being discovered, but that was in the past, much like his fear of discovery from Sliding. The smithy was his, and he hated that he had to stay away from it. Maybe it was safer than he realized. If no one else could Slide to it, then it was possible that he could return, if only to use the forge.

  As he wandered through the shop, he found footprints in the dust that weren’t his.

  His gaze shot toward the door. Had he been mistaken? Was it not locked?

  But no, the lock was in place. Bars of solid heartstone infused in place, set along the walls so that only someone like him would be able to even Slide in, and no sneak should be able to get past the lock on the door.

  But it was unmistakable that someone had been here.

  Not as safe as he had hoped then. Once Venass was taken care of, it would be safe to return. It had to be. The thought gave him extra incentive to finish what needed to be done.

  A rustling sound behind him startled him, and he Slid toward the wall.

  Rsiran pushed a pair of knives away from him, but saw nothing. Had he imagined the sound? He didn’t think so, but there wasn’t anything here that would explain what he’d heard.

  He studied the inside of the smithy, trying to settle his nerves. He shouldn’t stay here. Even if it was safe, there were other things he needed to do.

  Pulling the knives back to him, he Slid to the Barth.

  The inside of the tavern carried with it the memory of scents from when he’d been here last. There was the scent of bread, an old yeasty odor of ale, and that of cool ash of the hearth. It seemed strange to see the Barth empty like this. Though it wasn’t the first time the Barth had closed since he’d started coming to it, this time had a greater sense of finality to it.

  Rsiran sent knives sweeping around the tavern as he looked for signs that Brusus or Haern might be here. There were none. The tavern had none of the dusty footprints his smithy now had, almost as if Brusus had come through and swept and wiped down the tables, keeping his tavern ready for the next guests. Knowing Brusus, it was possible he had, in spite of the danger.

  The kitchen was equally empty. Lines of pots and pans hung on hooks, and stacks of plates were arranged neatly on a counter, waiting for the next meal preparations. A loaf of old bread rested on the counter, the crust slightly moldy.

  “Thought you were busy establishing yourself.” Haern stepped out of the shadows, a heavy cloak covering his shoulders and hanging low to the ground. A gleam of steel reflected from beneath the cloak from knives or possibly a sword, but not lorcith or heartstone made. Now that the guilds were gone, there were no constables to limit access to weapons.

  “Where’s Brusus?”

  A door opened from the back of the tavern, and Brusus stepped inside. He noted Rsiran immediately, and the flash of cold along the bracelets Rsiran wore let him know Brusus attempted a Reading.

  “Damn, Rsiran! You don’t need to scare us like this.”

  “Alyse told me you’d come back to the Barth.”

  “Yeah, well I can’t leave it to rot. Have to make it appear that someone is coming through here or someone else might think it’s theirs to come and squat. Be harder to get back once this is all over.”

  Rsiran appreciated the fact that Brusus was planning for a time after the war, especially after seeing those in the Aisl and their plans to remain.

  “Besides, I got to check on your smithy, as well, so you can thank me for that.”

  Maybe Brusus had been the one to enter the smithy. He was a skilled sneak once upon a time, though maybe not as skilled as Jessa and certainly out of practice. There hadn’t been a need for Brusus to sneak into places—or Jessa, for that matter—since meeting Rsiran.

  “I’ve been working with Carth,” Rsiran admitted.

  Haern’s jaw clenched. “That’s a dangerous plan.”

  “She promised to leave you alone.”

  Haern glanced to Brusus before turning his attention back to Rsiran. “What do you mean that she promised? She use those words?”

  He nodded. “Until Venass is taken care of. I’m not sure what she intends after that, so we’ve got time.”

  “You’ve got time,” Haern said. His hand slipped beneath his cloak, and he pulled out one of his knives and started flipping it. “Damn woman wants me dead, and can’t say I don’t deserve it for what happened.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Rsiran said.

  Haern grunted. His knife spun in his hands before he slammed it back into a sheath beneath the cloak. “Not something here you can figure out, I don’t think, not with Carth. This isn’t something you’ll be able to Slide me away from, Rsiran. She’s got her network, and then she’s got her informants. The damned woman is patient, so I don’t doubt she’ll find me.”

  Rsiran had seen that skill firsthand, and didn’t know whether he would be able to protect Haern if it came to it, but he didn’t intend to let Carth take him. “I told her I needed you for the fight with Venass. She wants to see them removed as well.”

  “Sure she does. They been attacking those she’s aligned with for years. Had some kind of agreement once upon a time that protected both sides, but it was violated. Were it not for that peace, I wonder if Venass would have ever gotten as strong as they have.”

  “The accords.” Carth had mentioned the accords, too. Saying that Venass and the Hjan had violated them. Rsiran also remembered hearing of them when they’d tracked down the man Isander. He, too, said the treaty between the Hjan and C’than had been broken by the Hjan.

  “What she doing for you?” Haern asked.

  “Gave me a name,” Rsiran said, wondering what Haern might know about the accords.

  “A name?”

  Rsiran nodded. “As an assassin. Carth gave me an already-established identity to use.”

  “Ah, hell,” Haern muttered.

  “What is it?” Brusus asked.


  “She planned this. No reason for her to have an identity for him unless she was planning it. Something like that takes time to establish. That was what I was trying to help Rsiran do on his own, but it’d take time to get established. A month or so to make the right connections, another month to use those connections to get the better jobs, and then he’d have access to the real power.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Brusus said. He leaned on the counter near the bread. Rsiran wondered why the loaf remained here when everything else had been cleaned out, but with Brusus, it was probably something sentimental.

  “And Carth knew it.” He turned to Rsiran. “She’s using you for something.”

  “I know.”

  Haern blinked. “You know?”

  “She had to have planned it for me to be able to take on this identity. I don’t know when she would have started establishing it, but Lorst was a known assassin when I took it.”

  “Lorst?” Haern frowned, rubbing at the long scar running along the side of his face. “Damn her, but she even picked a good name for you, too. Hints at another man, one who struck and disappeared. Even the Hjan feared him.”

  “Who was he?” Brusus asked.

  Haern sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Not now, at least. Now all that matters is that Rsiran owes Carth for this name.” He looked over to Rsiran. “Did it help? If you’re going to have something like that, it’s got to be useful.”

  “That’s why I wanted to find you. Lorst was offered a job.”

  “What kind of job?” Brusus asked. He leaned in, and his eyes practically sparkled.

  Rsiran realized a part of Brusus missed the subterfuge he’d once been a part of, but in the time he’d known Alyse, that part of him had disappeared. No, it was more than that. It was since taking over the tavern. He’d done it claiming he wanted to honor Lianna’s memory, but there had been more to it for Brusus. Having the tavern gave him a real sense of permanence in the city, something he struggled to have as a child of one of the Forgotten. But gaining that respectability came at a price, one Rsiran was glad Brusus had been willing to pay.

  “Lorst is an assassin,” Rsiran said. “There’s only one kind of job.”

  “Who?” Haern asked.

  “That’s why I came here. I wanted to know if you’d ever heard of the target.”

  “Not the target. Who hired you? Where did she have you go?” Haern’s knife flashed through his hands again, spinning rapidly. Without pushing on one of his lorcith knives, Rsiran wouldn’t have the same control. Haern remained deadly dangerous.

  “Eban. A man name Orly.”

  “Damn,” Haern whispered. “Who’s the target?”

  “There were two, but both were from Elaeavn. Some woman, but that seemed almost an afterthought, and a man. Galen. I think Orly feared him.”

  Haern sighed. “You can’t kill Galen, Rsiran.”

  “You know him?”

  “Know of him. Met him once. Not many actually know him. What I’ve heard makes it clear that he doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “He’s an assassin,” Brusus said.

  Haern shot him a hard look. “So was I. Think I deserve to die?”

  “Well, not now. I didn’t know you back then.” Brusus smiled widely, but it faded when Haern didn’t follow suit.

  “How long have you known Della?” Haern asked Brusus.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  Haern stared at him intently. “Answer it. How long have you known her?”

  “Nearly all my life.”

  “How long have you been close to her?”

  Brusus frowned, his bright green eyes flaring. Rsiran wondered if he attempted to Read Haern, but Rsiran had made bracelets for everyone, wanting to protect those he cared about—and might work with—from the risk of Venass Reading them.

  “Five years. Maybe a bit longer. Before that, I visited often enough.”

  “Ever see someone else working with her?” Haern asked.

  Brusus smiled again. “Della doesn’t have anyone working with her. You know that well enough, Haern. Not anyone else with her particular gifts.”

  Rsiran’s heart fluttered, and a nauseated sense rose in his stomach. “Della once had a student. I remembered her saying something about it,” he said softly.

  Haern nodded slowly. “She had a student. An apprentice. A young man named Galen exiled from the city long ago. Rumors of him began about ten years ago, not long after he left Della.” Brusus’s face had paled. Haern shook his head, sighing. “So you see, Rsiran, you can’t kill Galen, even if that’s what it would take to recover the crystal.”

  Chapter 7

  The night hung heavy and still, blackness covering everything. Rsiran remained motionless in the shadows, staring at the roofline, watching as he did. Lorcith knives stationed along the street gave all the light that he needed, more than enough for him to see the man crouched on the other rooftop.

  “That’s him?” he asked Carth.

  She stood near him, nearly motionless. Rsiran couldn’t even detect her breathing. “That would be Galen. He’s an interesting man.”

  Rsiran had returned to Aisl searching for Della. He’d wanted to ask her about Galen, but she’d been busy with Luthan, the two of them speaking softly. She had waved him away when he’d appeared in her home, something that Della had never done before. What would he have said anyway? Would he have told her that he’d been hired to kill her former student? Rsiran had learned enough about him from Haern to know that Galen was regarded as a skilled assassin, and now Rsiran was somehow supposed to kill him—and not kill him.

  How would he learn what he needed to find the crystal if he did this?

  No answers had come, not that he had expected them. There weren’t any answers about this. It was the first step as he began to determine what he needed to do to stop Venass.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Probably the same as you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Carth turned slightly, enough that he could detect the heat rising from her. “Galen has a certain moral compass. He chooses jobs based on whether they should be completed, not so much for the money involved.”

  “You respect him.” That didn’t seem quite right. Orly respected Galen. But the way that Carth spoke of him was something more.

  “He is unique of your kind.”

  “He’s one of the Forgotten.” That had been a surprise to learn. Haern didn’t think Galen was Elvraeth born, which made it less likely he was aligned with the rest of the Forgotten, but he hadn’t known what Galen had done to deserve the punishment. Probably nothing more than insulting one of the Elvraeth. Had Rsiran more time, he would have asked more questions. Della would know, but Rsiran could also have asked Luthan. The abilities for the former member of the council had served them well since he had joined them. But that would have to wait.

  “Perhaps by his people, but not by all.” Carth peered into the night. “What do you plan, Lorst?”

  Rsiran swallowed. Each time she said his name, it felt like she forced it on him, giving him an uneasy sense. “I shouldn’t kill him.”

  “I don’t know if you could.”

  “Why? Because he’s of Elaeavn? You’ve said he can’t Slide, and I’ve faced others with lesser talents and come away.”

  “None like him.”

  Rsiran wondered if he should fear and respect Galen, or if he should be jealous. “There’s the other job Orly hired me for.”

  “That would be the real job.”

  “I thought the real job was Galen.”

  “That is what Orly wants you to believe. Galen would have been hired the same as you.”

  That meant the woman, then. “What could be so important about a woman that he’d hire multiple assassins?” Rsiran asked.

  “That is the question you must answer.”

  She stepped into the shadows and left him alone.

  Rsiran watched the rooftop until Galen disappeared. He
moved fluidly and jumped from the roof, disappearing into the tavern across the street.

  Long minutes passed. Rsiran preferred to wait, hoping Galen and the woman he appeared to be guarding—not attempting to kill if Carth was right that he’d also been hired—would come back out of the tavern. It would make it easier for him to go after them. He could grab them, Slide them away from the city, and determine why Orly wanted them dead. He might even be able to arrange to make it look like they were both dead.

  But if he had to go into the tavern, then there would be a greater challenge.

  Shadows moved across the street, drawing his attention.

  Rsiran counted six moving toward the tavern.

  With the light from his knives scattered along the street, he could see they were all armed. As he watched, he noted another figure moving. No, not moving. Sliding.

  Was there another assassin with the ability to Slide?

  Lorcith pulsed.

  Not an assassin then. One of the Hjan.

  Damn. If they were after Galen or this woman, then Rsiran needed to get there first.

  He Slid to the street, emerging near the tavern. One of the men approaching stopped, and quickly unsheathed his sword. Rsiran hated that he would be forced to attack, but he couldn’t risk getting stabbed in the back while trying to reach Galen.

  He pushed on a knife, sending it toward the man’s leg, catching him in the thigh. When the man dropped, Rsiran pulled the knife back to him.

  Two other men approached the tavern. Both wore two swords and one carried a crossbow. Rsiran sent a pair of knives at them, dropping them both.

  That left three men, but he no longer saw them. And the Hjan. Where had he gone?

  Rsiran slipped into the tavern. Music washed over him, loud and bawdy, and the crowd in the tavern all attempted to press around tables. Buxom serving girls with painted faces made their way from table to table, pausing long enough to touch men’s hands or thighs before moving on to the next table.