Rose Boy

by Michael-Scott Earle

  The smell was enough to curl my nose hair, and the flies were thicker than a blanket. I threw the bodies into the hole. Once we finished I grabbed the woman’s bare arm and pulled her out of the stinking room and into the hallway. I checked the door again, and then we walked back into the foyer.

  “Do you know where Raltenor is?” I asked her.

  “Raltenor?” She tilted her head and seemed confused.

  “Yes. The Conqueror. Where is he? Is he in his quarters or the Throne Room?”

  “The Conqueror is in the Throne Room,” she drawled and bit her lip.

  “Thank you. Continue about your duties. Forget I was ever here.”

  “Yes.” She glanced down at the ground. She was still naked and her thin body trembled.

  I walked across the room and frowned again at the red smears. It seemed obvious now that the victims were three of the guards, and I wished I had brought something to wash the blood away. I almost thought about asking the girl to do it, but then the chances of her being discovered and interrogated would be much higher. I was damned now, and I’d taken a situation that afforded me plenty of patience and created a time limit. It was a rookie mistake, and the Spider would have shaken her pretty head while making an annoyed “tsk” sound at what my compassion had cost.

  I moved to the door heading to the next tower. This corridor should also have an oak beam that I could crawl over to escape notice. I repeated my surveillance of the door and opened it once I thought it safe to proceed.

  I stepped into another world.

  This hallway was polished to an immaculate shine. The marble on the floor, walls, and ceiling shone a pure white, webbed with gray veining. It was the same marble I recalled from my life in the castle, but I never remembered it being this clean. It was as if the hall were lined in mirrors, the light of the kerosene lamps twinkled in the glassy surface of the brilliant marble. I checked the foyer to make sure I hadn’t lost my mind. Sure enough, that room was the same dank shit hole I recalled.

  But this hallway was beautiful.

  It would be a challenge. I looked to the ceiling and it reflected my face back down at me. It also showed the top of the oak beam clearly. There would be no way to sneak into the Throne Room without being seen.

  I would need to find another way.

  “Excellent,” Bargen nodded, and I reset my stance. Then the tiger-tattooed monk launched another series of attacks with his fists. They were as hard as rocks, and I’d actually seen the man crush six-inch thick cords of wood with a single blow from the knuckles. It was a tactic he told me he spent his entire life perfecting, and I didn’t have time to learn the method.

  But I did have time to learn how to fight.

  His fists were a blur of mist, but I predicted their blows before they even emerged from his shoulder or hip. He didn’t hint at their arrival with his body, but I knew my mind enough to understand the limitations of time and the speed at which we observed combat. My hands reached up to parry his strikes without my consciousness working, and my own palms struck back when his defense became thin.

  “Excellent,” he repeated, when I contacted his face for the third time. It had been a few months since any of the monks could land a touch upon my body, and Bargen had come to test my abilities.

  “Sticks,” he said, and gestured to the three foot lengths of bamboo that lay on the rack near us. Dozens of other monks observed our sparring session, and one of them, Brother Juniper, tossed a pair to each of us. Bargen and I assumed our stances again and he attacked. These weapons were my favorite, since they most reminded me of swords. They spun in my hands like dancing yellow flames, and each of his attacks exposed many opportunities to strike his midsection, his shoulders, and even his head. The Master’s face remained a sea of calm during our sparring match, but this one was shorter than the unarmed session. At last, I managed dozens of strikes against my teacher and he signaled for us to stop.

  “Excellent,” he said again, and we stepped apart. The long pole was next on the list and he failed to damage me with that weapon. Then we tested the chain and the spear. Finally, he dropped the last of our weapons and bowed his head.

  “I have a question for you, Rose Boy.” He gestured to the padded mat we stood upon, and I slid to my knees.

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Will you stay here with us? You have learned much in fourteen years, but we have only begun to teach you of the world within yourself.”

  “I am grateful for all you have taught me, Master,” I bowed down before him until my head touched the straw mat, “but I have a purpose for the remainder of my life. I will not rest until Raltenor the Conquer is dead.”

  “Then I have a gift for you.” He gestured to the gathered monks and two ran forward. Brother Juniper placed a small scroll on the mat between us, and Brother Xite, a canvas backpack. I knew all of the monks and respected their abilities, but Brother Juniper and Xite had shared my small living space for the last fourteen years. We had become friends during this period and they had heard me speak of my life’s mission thousands of times.

  “Take this,” the tiger-tattooed man said as he handed me a scroll. “Have you heard of the Guild of the Mask?”

  “Only rumors during my childhood.” I accepted the roll. The paper felt thick, and it was sealed with a large coating of wax and the seal of Alacor. There were many assassin factions, but the Mask was rumored to be the most powerful and secretive. I only knew of their name because the soldiers in the castle spoke of them. I intended to seek them out after my stay with the Monks of Alacor, but I did not know where to begin my search.

  “In the city of Jawompet there is an inn named Desert Night. On the evenings where there are full moons, the tavern will have a woman or man sitting at a table repairing a musical instrument. Only approach them if they are alone, and tell them that Bargen sent you. Tell them you want to speak to the Spider.”

  “The Spider?” I had roamed for two years before finding the monks, but had never journeyed to Jawompet. It was at least a month’s travel away, on the edge of the Ash Sea Desert.

  “Yes. This pack has enough food and water to get you started on your journey.” He gestured to the canvas bag between us.

  We stared at each other for a few moments and I felt my throat tighten. I missed the life that Raltenor the Conquer had taken from me, but these men had come to fill some of the emptiness in my soul. It would be difficult to leave, and I knew I would never return.

  “I will depart at once." We stood up and I set the pack on my back. The tattooed man reached out a hand to touch my shoulder.

  “We do not believe in Death, only in Rebirth. I hope that the end of your quest will bring you happiness, Brother Rose Boy.” He bowed again, and the monks that stood around the two of us repeated the motion.

  They didn’t raise their heads as I walked out of the courtyard, past the open gate, and towards the mountain road that would eventually lead me east to Jawompet.

  For the hundredth time tonight I gave thanks to my training and the equipment I carried. I recalled the spiral towers of Crag Castle were polished to a glass-like shine, but I still reasoned that they could be climbed by an expert carrying the right tools. However, their appearance was no deception, and the walls were made of perfectly set stone. Even with my skill, I found almost no ledge of purchase between the reflective bricks, and the ascent had been nearly impossible.

  This was the only other path to the Throne Room that I could think of. The reflective hallways of the interior were perhaps less treacherous than this route, but none of the Dogs would think anyone would have the skill or insanity to climb these towers, so I doubted that they would look upward and see me. It had taken me half an hour to sneak out of the hallways and foyers to reach the courtyard, and another twenty minutes to scale this length of the castle.

  The climbing claws I wore on my hand extended with a slight downward curve. They were crafted of titanriunum alloy, and would sink into most any rock surface with ease.
Yet they were little aid here. I had to rely on my finger strength and the pair of sleek climbing daggers to scale the large spiral tower that housed the Throne Room. The blades were also made of titanriunum and shaped with a needle point at the paper fine tip, with saw edges. These devices were only useful to slide between thin sections of brick mortar, and I had almost debated leaving them out of my kit.

  The fingers of my right hand suddenly slipped out of the seam of the bricks and I pendulumed over the dark courtyard sixty feet below me. The dagger that I held with my left hand slid out of the hole in the wall it had made, and I struggled to hold back a gasp. My wrist twisted and the saw teeth of the edges ground into the stone. It was fortunate that I carried the other knife in my mouth or I might have gasped.

  I pulled myself up with my left arm and searched for another hold for my right hand. The previous spot had looked promising, but the only source of light was the glow from the tower window fifteen feet above, and the twinkling of the kerosene lamps that lined the distant courtyard below. I closed my eyes to keep the shadows from confusing me, and reached a little higher on the wall until I found another seam that felt stable.

  The Throne Room was a vast space, and the ceiling stretched to the top of the tower. I had only visited the place twice in my previous life, but I remembered the grand chair, the golden wood pews where the gathered could sit, and the endless chandeliers that decorated the sky like spinning galaxies. Each of the crystal structures hung from an oak beam similar to the ones that ran in the hallway, and a collapsible ladder system allowed the servants to refuel the lamps.

  My right hand held in the sliver between the bricks, and I slid out the dagger with slow deliberation. For a few seconds I hung from the tiny seam by my right hand, but I managed to position the blade in my left hand through another mortar slot. I pulled myself up a few inches and repeated the process. When I was a foot below the window, I gave up on using my fingers and risked digging my second dagger into the stone. I used it to anchor my feet while I removed my left blade. Then I slid into the glowing opening and pulled my final dagger from the wall.

  Some claimed that the Spider gained her name from the poison she wielded, but after apprenticing under the woman for eight years I knew better. She was the world’s best climber, and had told me that I placed second. Still, this ascent was the most challenging that I could remember, and I had to shake my hands a few times to relieve the cramps in my fingers.

  Once I composed myself, I slid away from the window and peered over the edges of the beam where I crawled. The floor spread a hundred feet below me and my view was partially obstructed by the netting of the other wood joists and hanging chandeliers. By crawling to new spots and swinging my head over each side of the joist, I could observe most of the floor of the Throne Room. Scores of wooden pews glowed with fresh polish. The floors were also shined like a mirror, but their distance, and way the light fell from the lamps below assured me that none of the Dogs would see me.

  There were twenty guards. These men wore black armor, and I knew they were the elite of the Conqueror’s private soldiers. They would be nearly invincible warriors, and while I felt confident that I could kill one in face-to-face combat, I didn’t relish the idea. It would be better to murder Raltenor from the shadows and then attempt an escape.

  Ten of the Dogs stood at attention by the entrance to the Throne Room, but the rest were filing out of the doors in a double line of black armor. I twisted my head below the beam and noticed that the massive throne was empty. When the short progression ended, six of the warriors turned to leave and the last four remained. I cursed under my breath and shook my head at my poor luck.

  I had just missed the man.

  Four black-armored men stayed in the room, and their statuesque patrol made me believe that they were too disciplined to leave their posts anytime soon. They faced away from the only exit, and I realized that I would either need to wait them out, climb down the side of the spiral tower, or kill them.

  None of those three options seemed like a good idea.

  I didn’t want to wait for them to have a shift change or walk out of the room. I could end up being here all night, and I knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the bloodstains of the Dogs I murdered earlier.

  Climbing back down the outside of the tower was feasible; I had a thin cord rope crafted by the Filatin corduers. It was only as thick as my pinky, but strong enough to bind war elephants. If I tied it to the beam, I could descend back to the courtyard and avoid the four sentries. However, I’d have no way to retrieve the rope, and it would be an obvious sight to anyone that passed by the base of the tower. It would put another stack of pressure on my deadline.

  Killing the guards carried much of the same repercussions as rappelling down the tower. If I murdered the four men, I’d have to hide their bodies. The advantages to that path were clear; if I dealt with them quickly enough, I might be able to catch up to the procession of guards that escorted the Conqueror. Maybe I wouldn’t even need to dispose of the bodies. If I moved swiftly enough and caught up to Raltenor’s procession, I could slip a poisoned dart or dagger into the man before the rest of his warriors killed me.

  I decided without my normal caution. I rose from the joist and skipped between the beams like a bouncing shadow, until I stood directly above the group of black-armored men. I pulled the thin rope from my supply pack and bound it to the thickness of the beam.

  The other end of the cord looped through various steel circles of my belt and then wrapped around my hip, left thigh, and boot. I had practiced the series of knots a thousand times, and I felt a pang of disappointment when I realized that this would probably be the last time I performed such a task.

  The first of many lasts.

  I hung off the edge of the oak beam and let go of the hold. The rope made a soft twang, but the Dogs were too far away to hear. I tightened my legs to secure my descent and swung back and forth on the thin black cord for a few moments. Once steadied, I released the pressure by pointing my foot and relaxing my left thigh. The cord wound through the metal loops on my belt and I inched down the wire while my face pointed down to my victims.

  Perhaps this was where the Spider got her name.

  I reached into the secured pocket of my unwrapped thigh and carefully pulled out four of my throwing darts. They were coated with a deadly viper poison. Even a scratch of the substance would instantly incapacitate a large man. The poison was rare and the technique to fill the needles of the darts was also difficult to master.

  I continued my slow slide until I dangled ten feet above my victims. I was an expert throw with the missile weapons, but I had never done any practice while I hung inverted over my victim.

  The first dart left my hand and slammed into the end guard’s throat within half an inch of where I intended. Even though my aim wasn’t exact, the needle still found the soft skin of his neck. He didn’t have time to reach up to feel what bit him. His legs gave out immediately and he collapsed.

  The next guard fell just as quickly and the third dart took the corresponding Dog in the eye when he looked to the ceiling.

  The final warrior reacted quickly and rolled to the side away from my position. I anticipated his movement, and my dart found a kink in his elbow armor. He still got to his feet after the poison set in, and I almost expected him to cry out an alarm. But then the man fell to his knees with a groan, and foam trickled out of his dying mouth.

  My pulse quickened and I considered my two options again. I could take time to hide these four bodies behind the pews, but eventually they would be found. In the meantime I would lose precious distance on the Conqueror. Seeing that I had already decided to kill the guards to catch up with Raltenor, I knew what I had to do next.

  I moved to the massive doors of the Throne Room, pulled out my listening cup, and pressed it to the door. I heard no sound on the other side of the thick wood so I pushed them open and slid into the brilliantly polished corridor. There was no
visible evidence of the direction my quarry had taken, but I could easily hear the boot steps coming from my right.

  I kicked off the wall, grabbed the bottom part of the oak joist, and took my place on the beam again. I would have preferred to run after them on foot, but this hallway was too well lit with oil lamps. I didn’t want to risk one of the slaves seeing me, or a Dog glancing back over his shoulder.

  I crawled on the oak as quickly as I dared, and the sound of the boots thudded closer. There was a cross section up ahead and my vision caught the last of the guards’ shadows as they turned right at the hallway. My heart quickened and I swung my body through the web of the oak supports before taking up the rear position of the procession.

  The figure at the front of the group wore a voluminous white cloak of mink fur. The hood of the garment was up and it covered the back of the Conqueror’s skull with heavy folds of the expensive pelt. It dragged on the floor after him, and to avoid stepping on it, his guards had to march a few feet behind what I knew was an effective protective distance.

  I thought he would have been larger.

  The white robe was thick, but the garment couldn't disguise his slender shoulders. He seemed to stand almost a head shorter than the rest of his sentries. I winced at the irony. This tyrant was known to be invincible in combat. He had murdered thousands of people by his own hand. I had envisioned him as some giant bear of a man, with endless muscle, and bones tougher than the rock on which Crag Castle was built. Perhaps this was still the case, but I had to smile at how the reality conflicted with my imagination.

  No words were spoken by the guards that followed Raltenor the Conquer. I continued to stalk the procession as I puzzled out my next step. The cloak was thick and the man walked forty feet from me. A throw of one of my four remaining darts might make the distance, but I didn’t know if my target wore any armor under the white mantle. There was also a possibility that the needle wouldn’t even penetrate the pelt.