by Frank Morin
Something she said earlier finally registered. "You said Mhortair. That's what the
Assassins call themselves."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"I know a lot of things. Like friends don't assassinate friends."
That one was a bit of a stretch. He had a number of friends who had promised to assassinate him if circumstances required it, but he decided not to split that seam until he had to.
"I wouldn't hurt you," she promised.
Connor laughed weakly. "Well if you ever decide to, it looks like you'd do a pretty good job. You nearly killed me about twenty times in five seconds."
"You were supposed to be General Insanity!"
"Everything about this situation is insane. Why would you want to kill him? Hasn't he been a good leader?"
"Too good," she said, leaning forward and regaining some of her composure. "Connor, my intelligence suggests that you are Blood of the Tallan."
"Do you always accuse people of being the devil incarnate right after you try to assassinate them?" He tried to keep his tone light, but Gisela's words rang in his mind. The Mhortair would kill him if they knew of his powers.
They knew.
"Don't dodge the question," Aifric said, her expression hardening. "Are you?"
"Not if it means you trying to kill me again."
"I'm not going to kill you," she said, sounding exasperated. She rose and paced away, rubbing at her face and muttering, "Nothing is ever easy around you, is it?"
"You weren't complaining when I gave you lots of practice healing broken bones."
She turned to face him. "My mission is clear, Connor. Identify the Blood of the Tallan and dispose of them before they become a threat."
"I'm glad you're willing to look beyond ridiculous orders when you have to."
She returned to her seat and sighed. "Oh, Connor. I know your heart. You're not the monster we feared."
"Is that why I kept running into you in those odd places? Have you been hunting me?"
She nodded. "I heard rumors, and I've spent lots of hours scouting all over the city. Your incursions into Hector's rooms were but one item I was investigating."
"How did you know about that?"
Instead of answering, she asked, "How long have you known the extent of your powers?"
She already knew, so keeping secrets wouldn't help. He shrugged. "Last summer."
"You were at Alasdair!" She frowned at him. "We could have avoided all this confusion if you'd told me more that time I asked in the hospital."
"In my defense, you never said you were planning to hunt me down and assassinate me," Connor retorted.
"Secrets are a burden we both share, I guess. Alasdair was when Shona discovered you and started planning to control you, wasn't it?"
"Something like that."
"This complicates things."
"Things got complicated when you tried to kill me," he pointed out.
She waved away his words. "That was a misunderstanding."
Connor barked a laugh. "Getting gruel instead of bread for breakfast is a misunderstanding."
"Just give me a minute to think," she snapped.
"Be my guest, but only if you tell me how you weakened me."
"It's a secret."
"You know my secret."
She pulled a little flask out of a pocket and handed it to him. "Take a single sip."
The liquid burned like living fire going down, and Connor coughed so hard, he wondered if he might get a lung to come up. When the coughing passed, he realized he felt a bit better. "Aonghus would love this."
"You'll have trouble establishing your primary affinities until morning," Aifric said. "So I recommend you don't try."
"How does it work?"
"Secret," she reminded him, looking exasperated. "Now be quiet."
"How can you be an Assassin and be here at the Carraig as a Petralist Healer?"
She shrugged. "High Lord Goban knows little of the family I arranged to get adopted into. They're distant relations of his, living out in the country on the border with Ravinder. He never asked any questions after confirming my healing affinity. Now please be quiet while I think."
"Sure."
He watched her as she sat quietly composed. Her face had softened a little now that she wasn't preparing to commit murder and she looked more like the Aifric he knew. He still scarce believed the bubbly, enthusiastic personality he knew concealed the secret assassin.
Even though her blade had nearly plunged into his brain, he was impressed. He had thought he'd done a good job as Kilian, but she'd duped everyone without the need of a mask. That was a brilliant performance.
"So who are you really? You're not Aifric the Healer."
"I am Aifric," she said, giving him her normal enthusiastic smile. "When I take an identity, I become that person completely."
"How many people are you?"
"Nineteen."
Connor blinked. "Doesn't it get crowded in there?"
"Not at the same time. That would be like max-tapping insanity."
"Oh, that's good," Connor grinned. "Especially with my new name. Do you mind if I use that some time?"
"Aren't you worried you'll irritate me enough that I might change my mind about killing you?"
"Not really. It's not your way."
"Oh, and you know my way?"
"Sure. I know Aifric. When you're her, you're one of the most kind-hearted people I know. When you're Mhortair-Mairi, you're deadly, but focused on your target. I'm not a target any more. I'm your friend."
Aifric laughed, looking more like herself every second. "You're right, Connor. I came here to eliminate a threat, but instead I've found a friend." She sat up taller and announced, "My name's not Mairi, but I'm going to help you."
"Good." He really didn't need another friend trying to murder him. "I need all the help I can get. Can you sew?"
"What?"
He pointed at the ripped mask. "I need a replacement."
He actually had several, but she didn't need to know that.
Aifric looked pained. "Ah, I'm really bad at sewing."
"You're a Healer," he protested. "You get to sew people up all the time."
She shook her head. "Not me. I seal wounds with my gift. I never touch a needle."
"Well, we'll think of something," he said, liking the idea of having a secret assassin on his side.
Aifric leaned closer. "You need to leave the Carraig, Connor."
"Working on it." If she only knew how much.
"No, you need to leave now. You can't remain until the completion of the Tir-raon. Shona, and more particularly her father, are far too dangerous."
"There are some complications."
"You don't understand. If they secure your allegiance, I will be forced to kill you."
She spoke it with such dramatic inflection, she probably thought the declaration would intimidate him. He shrugged. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but you need to be true to yourself."
"How can you accept what I just said so calmly?"
"You're not the first friend who's promised to kill me. I can handle it."
She tilted her head, considering him. "You're a very strange man."
"I live in strange times. I'm friends with a Healer who's really an Assassin." He paused, then asked, "So are you duty bound to try to save people after trying to kill them?"
"It depends on the situation," she admitted.
"And you say I'm weird."
"I'm serious. I care about you and I want to continue being friends, but I will kill you if I must."
"Fair enough." Connor rose and gestured toward the dining room. "Are you hungry? I wore more of the feast than I ate. I think we might have a lot to talk about."
Aifric rose slowly to follow him. "You're not anything like I pictured the Blood of the Tallan."
He grinned. "It's hard imagining the devil as so good looking."
She laughed. "Connor, I believe your retur
n offers a glimmer of hope to salvage the nations of the Arishat League from the storm about to burst across the continent."
He paused. "I should try to work that into my next name."
She took his hand in hers. "Just be yourself, and you'll find a way to be successful."
"That's a little vague. Especially when you're waiting in the shadows to kill me if I make a wrong turn."
"I will be waiting in the shadows to protect you. Because I believe in you."
That simple statement struck him with surprising force. "Thank you." He helped her to a seat at the table that was piled with food, despite the late hour. "I have few true supporters. Most people just want to control my curse."
"You are blessed with great power," she said, her expression serious. "You will help shape the future. As such, there will always be those seeking to twist your powers to their gain."
"Is that what you'll do?"
She shook her head. "I will find those who seek to do so, and I will kill them all."
Aifric raised a glass of wine in a toast. "To friendship."
Chapter 56
Captain Rory reached the bottom of the fourth long set of stone stairs that led to the dungeon carved into the bedrock, deep below the central keep of the Carraig. Few knew it existed, and fewer still could pass its impressive security. With lantern held high to drive back the shadows that seemed reluctant to relinquish their usual hold over the empty corridors, he eventually reached a heavy, iron-banded oak door. It opened only after Tomas peered through the look-see port and verified his identity.
A single small table and four wooden chairs made up all the furnishings in the round guardroom. The cheery fire in the hearth was the only splash of color in the otherwise universal gray of the room, but couldn't drive out the pervasive chill. Cameron sat in one of the chairs near the fire, positioned to watch the single closed, steel door.
"How is she?" Rory asked.
Tomas shrugged. "The burn-through process is complete. She cursed us the entire time."
Cameron added, "Learned all sorts of fun new Grandurian curses. Wish I'd brought some paper to take notes."
"As if you could write," Tomas said.
"It's called short hand."
"Only if you can read it back later."
Rory refused to be drawn in by their banter. "You two, report upstairs and check on Connor. I'll watch the prisoner for the next hour and begin the interrogation."
"Is that wise, sir?" Tomas asked. "She's a fierce one."
"I can handle her."
"No doubt sir, but shouldn't you have back-up?"
"Not this time."
The two Fast Rollers saluted and left. Just before the heavy door closed behind them, Cameron's voice drifted back to Rory. "No, make it the number of scratches on his face."
"Done."
He blew out a breath after the door closed. He trusted those men with his life, but sometimes he wanted to throttle them.
The reinforced door to the cell held a small look-see port that he slid partially open to peer inside. Anika lay on a narrow steel cot attached to the wall on the far side of the room and appeared to be sleeping. Her breathing looked normal and her ghastly rust-colored hair spilled over the side and hung almost to the floor. He watched her for a few minutes as he tried to order his thoughts and prepare for what would undoubtedly be a difficult interrogation.
The longer he looked, the more distracted he became. Instead of finalizing the list of questions he needed answered, he began reviewing memories of every contact he'd had with the fiery, fantastic woman who was now his prisoner.
He recalled the thrill of the very first time he tasted her strength and tenacity, enjoyed her taunting, and took up her challenges. The woman's fighting powers and shapely figure had wormed under his skin and affected him like no other woman ever had.
If only she weren't Grandurian! He should hate her, should see her as a ruthless enemy to crush, but somehow everything got twisted out of every conceivable sense of normal around her. Even while he held her down for his men to capture her, he had to fight not to release her and throw her over the wall to help her escape.
As he closed the look-see port, he wondered what was happening to him.
With a shake of his head, he commanded discipline on his thoughts. He had worked hard for too many years to reach his current position to let that devious, sensuous woman unman him.
Rory unlocked the door, drew it open, and stepped inside, but paused in surprise. The cot was empty.
Anika launched herself onto his back from where she stood pressed against the wall to his left. He tapped granite even as he stumbled farther into the room under the unexpected assault, but she dug her feet into his battle leathers and tore at his eyes with her fingernails, shrieking in fury the whole time.
Rory grabbed at her hands, but she eluded his grasp and forced him to clench his eyes against her fierce attack. Even lacking granite strength, she knew how to target his few vulnerabilities.
"I just want to talk," he bellowed as the two of them spun through the center of the room together, locked in the fierce struggle.
"No talk!" Anika shouted, shoving a couple fingers up his nose and yanking hard.
She didn't let go fast enough and he grabbed her wrist and heaved, sending her tumbling off his back. She slid across the floor and struck the opposite wall with a thud, then lay still.
Rory cursed himself for a fool and hurried over to make sure he hadn't hurt her. She twisted like a cat and kicked his leading knee with both feet just as he was leaning forward, all his weight centered over it. The blow upset his balance just enough to topple him. Anika leaped on his back, grabbed his face with both hands, and started slamming his skull against the floor.
He let her. Although her strength surprised him, she couldn't really hurt him, and he enjoyed the feeling of her hands on his face.
No, he had to stop getting distracted. Rory surged to his feet, carrying her with him. Before she could slide off, he encircled her with his arms and held her close. Usually when they wrestled, her body shifted to the perfect lines of granite, and the softer feel of her straining muscles fascinated him far too much.
"Let go!" she bellowed.
"No. You settle down so we can talk."
With another shriek of fury, she redoubled her attack against his face, although she had to be bruising her hands. He was tempted to reduce his tap rate to lessen the damage, but that would make him vulnerable.
Fighting someone he cared about was proving extremely frustrating. So Rory grabbed her waist, lifted her into the air, and spun her around. She lacked the strength to resist, so he pulled her back against him and sat on the cot with her on his lap, his arms wrapped around her, holding her hands down.
For a time she struggled mightily against him, but he just sat back against the wall and held her. With her hands trapped by his, and his arms holding her on his lap, she lacked the ability to accomplish much. Rory let her vent as much frustration as she wanted to and found himself smiling as he held the wild woman.
Then she abruptly stopped and sagged against him, breathing hard. She leaned her head against his shoulder and for the first time he noticed that she smelled like clover and clean mountain passes.
"Let go," she said softly.
"Will you behave?"
He held her gently but firmly like that for another minute before she sighed, "Yes."
Rory didn't quite believe her but decided to take the chance and loosened his hold. She turned toward him and slid one hand down the side of his face. "Mine honor makes force I fight except you hold me down, mine capitain."
"Well, we can't have you fighting can we?"
She shifted until she sat across his lap and leaned against him. He cradled her against his chest like that for a moment, and it felt so fantastic that without really thinking about it he eased his tap rate and for a second they sat together, just a man and a woman, with no granite.
Anika pushed away and gave h
im a dazzling smile, but the glint in her eye betrayed her.
He tapped granite again just as she stiff-handed him in the throat. The blow still made him gag, and she slammed her forehead against his. She recoiled, eyes glazing from the impact, and rolled off his lap.
Rory lifted her and dumped her on the cot. "Serves you right. Now, sit still or I'm going to have to hurt you."
Anika recovered quickly, cocked her head to one side, and asked in that throaty voice that sent shivers down his spine, "No want hold me again?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Instead of attacking again, she blew him a kiss, then spat at his feet.
"Will you just stop?" He considered for the briefest moment attempting to use Cameron's flowered prose, but she was already trying to kill him and that would pretty much guarantee the interview ended in disaster.
"Am stop," she said with a glare, then leaned back against the wall.
"Good. Now I have to ask you some questions."
Anika bared her even, white teeth and hissed.
Rory sighed, "At least tell me why you didn't run."
"Tell why you cheat?" she snapped back.
"I never cheat."
"Ha! On battle, you no wrestle. No have help, no could beat."
"It was a battle, woman! Of course I used every resource."
Anika sniffed in disgust and turned away.
Rory rubbed his chin. "I know Ilse will try again, but if you tell me how to contact her, I'll send a message for you."
"Why do that?" She turned back.
"Tell her to leave, to abandon her mission. I don't want to have to kill her."
Anika shook her head, "No, mine capitain. Last mission. Make free or kill."
"They'll never free you."
"Is one make free. You try stop and you die," Anika said with quiet certainty. "I no can stop."
"Then I can't help you."
With a heavy heart, Rory turned toward the door.
"Mine capitain?"
He turned back and she leaned forward, her expression sad. "Am sorry have be enemy."
If only there was some way to reconcile. He'd never wanted a woman like he wanted Anika.
He sighed. "Me too."
Chapter 57
Jean entered the secret library with a sense of relief. Shona had been distracted enough by Ivor's surprise announcement that she'd only given Jean a series of vague orders. But then, she'd nearly walked into Jok passing through the inner-wall gate. He'd insisted on seeing her nearly every day, and she lacked the emotional energy to deal with his ardent affection.