The Queen's Assassin

by William King

  "I never said you were," she said. She looked shocked and a little angry. Who was she to be angry with him? How bold she was becoming. Even a few days ago she would never have let such emotion show upon her face.

  "You take too many liberties!" he roared. She backed off. Fear and something else showed in her face. In his current state, that merely gratified him. He sat down in his own chair and began to tug at his own boots. With only one hand and a hook, it was heavy going and he was very clumsy. He felt his face flush with effort and embarrassment but he was not going to start asking for help now. He continued to tug at the boot, angry that there were no servants here.

  She backed away into the corner, as if afraid, which annoyed him even more. When had he ever given her cause to be afraid of him? He had been nothing but the soul of gentleness to her. Too gentle perhaps if she could behave like this in front of him.

  "What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

  "There's nothing wrong," Sardec almost shouted, aware that there was something very wrong. Was it the disease? Had it already started to affect him or was it simply his own emotional reaction to the strain.

  "You are not normally like this." He let out his breath in a long sigh. Calmness slowly returned.

  "You are right," he said. He could not quite bring himself to ask for forgiveness. It would not have been seemly for a Terrarch of his rank to admit that such a thing was necessary to a human. "You are right."

  She rushed over to him and took his fleshly hand. "What has happened?"

  He told her of the ghoul bite and of the Terrarch woman in the graveyard.

  "I do not believe anything will happen to you," she said.

  "I wish I was so certain."

  "The surgeon seemed to think the chances were very low."

  "The same was true for the lady at the mausoleum."

  "You must not let this get you down. You are brave. Do not let it trouble your spirit. Why worry about what might never happen?" She smiled at him, and he could see that she was worried about him already, and that touched him. Oddly enough the need to reassure her began to take the edge off his own concerns. He forced himself to nod, and say, "You are right. And forgive me for yelling at you earlier. I did not mean to."

  "There is nothing to forgive," she said. He knew otherwise. She would have to forgive him a lot, if only she knew his thoughts.

  Rik came to the conclusion that he did not have much of a choice in this matter. If he was going to return home to his flesh, he knew he was going to have to brave the dangerous path. He was going to have to forge a link with the source of power they had found here. He said so.

  Very well, extend your hand into the vortex.

  He reached out to touch the swirling cyclone of magical energy. He did not know what to expect. Fire and pain perhaps but what he got was like nothing he had prepared himself for. There was pain and there were other things, a welling joy so intense it made him want to weep, a sense of well-being, of peace and calm that he never wanted to let go. He sensed his consciousness expanding outwards and away, like ripples where a stone has broken the surface of a lake. It was like touching the mind of God.

  The pain and the power bubbled into him, cleansing him, showing him the things that lurked in the shadows of his own mind. Somehow they did not seem so frightening now that he had looked upon them; in fact they seemed small and petty, just like himself. He felt the urge to open his mind, to let the knowledge and the wonder flow through him, to become one with the cosmic all, to let his spirit disintegrate into a million fragments and be absorbed by the universe. Perhaps this was what death was like, he thought, and if that was so, it was not such a bad thing.

  He could let go of himself, of his petty fears and ambitions. Who was he anyway, and what did he matter in the great scheme of things. His own egotism was what crippled him. All he had to do was let go of it and fade. It would bring him peace and an end to all struggles and all pain. The power mounted in him, and he began to hear singing, like that of a choir of angels. He knew that if only he let go of himself, let the beauty of those ethereal voices sweep over him and cleanse him, he could become like them, he could join them in bliss forever.

  Somewhere in the depths of his mind a small nagging voice countered the singing. He told himself that what he was hearing was false, the lure of demons and of death. In his soul, he did not really believe that but the resistance was important. Part of him did not want to surrender, part of him wanted to live, to complete his business among the living.

  He tried to block out the singing, to resist its lure, to pull his hand from the spell vortex. He found that he could not. He was locked in place by that siren song and the source of it. Fear tickled the edges of his mind. A note of discord entered the triumphant harmony. The music did not seem quite so overpoweringly spiritual.

  He let the fear speak to him. He tried to draw strength from it, and from the anger that followed inevitably in its wake. Fear and anger, the two emotions that dominated his thinking, and that had defined him for as long as he had lived. He tapped into the memories they brought back, of the beatings in the orphanage, and the constant fight for survival in the streets of Sorrow. He remembered his anger at Sabina who had betrayed him, and his terror of Antonio, the fat gang-lord who was her lover and whom they had both betrayed. He remembered the battles he had fought with the Foragers, and his rage and terror when Sardec had ordered him flogged. Slowly a bit at a time, he rebuilt himself, first as an engine of anger and fear, and then he filled in the gaps, remembering his small joys and pleasures, and the hoarded scraps of good experiences that had come to him.

  He remembered the good times with Sabina, and with Rena. He recalled his friendships with Leon and the Foragers, and even in a strange way with Asea. Slowly he came closer to being himself, and further away from those seductive voices. Inch by inch he pulled his hand from the vortex, and he noticed that it was limned with fire, and traceries of light connected him to the thing.

  I thought you were lost.

  I think I was, he replied, but I have found myself now. He was not sure what he had become, but he was sure that he had changed.

  It is time to return.

  Chapter Ten

  Rik looked up and saw a white sun overhead. Slowly, it came to him that it was carved from plaster and set in the ceiling of his room in the Palace. He felt tired and weak and his hand hurt. He recalled what had happened in the spirit realm, as he would have recalled a dream or a nightmare. He tried to sit up but the strength drained out of him. As he slumped back onto the thick goose-feather filled pillows he saw that Asea sat on the far side of the chamber, in a claw footed ornamental chair. She put the book she was reading down, and said; "The first time is always the most difficult. Some never recover from it."

  "I will," said Rik. "At least I think I am starting to."

  She smiled. "That is good."

  "What really happened? Was it a dream? Did I really visit the Spirit Realm and touch the Great Deep?"

  "Perhaps. Nobody really understands, and every school of magic has different theories. Some think the rite is merely a shared hallucination that helps awaken a mage’s powers."

  "What do you think, Milady?"

  "It is as I told you when we were in the other place. I think it is both a dream and a reality, where mind touches the Deep."

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He did feel different now. For all his weakness, he felt as if he could access a secret source of strength and draw power from it. He said so.

  "You can, Rik. You forged a direct connection between the Deep and your spirit. You are bound to it now. You can draw magical energy through it once you know the correct techniques."

  "Techniques?"

  "Techniques, spells, whatever you want to call them. Incantations and rituals are merely ways of preparing the mind and the soul, of focusing attention and will."

  "You will teach me these?"

  "I have already started to. Many of the basic exercise
s we practised will enable you to draw on the power now. Those spells you thought would never work. But there are dangers. Before you do such things you should cleanse your mind by meditating upon the Elder Signs. That is the most basic and essential tool of all."

  "I will remember that."

  "See that you do so. I have never lost an apprentice and I do not intend that you should be the first."

  "There have been others?"

  "Many. Over the years. Mostly on Al'Terra before the coming of the Princes of Shadow." He sensed that this was not a subject she wanted to talk about.

  "What are the dangers?"

  "I have told you before. When you draw energy, you puncture a small hole in the fabric of reality. Shadow stuff leaks through this. You must be careful not to be contaminated by it. And you must be careful when you draw on the power. There are creatures in the Deep that can enter you through it."

  "Creatures?"

  "Demons. Beings of power and malice."

  "They can find the link you had me create?"

  "When you draw on the power, yes. When you do not, it is so tenuous as to be invisible. When you use magic it glows in the Deep. The chances of something coming across it by accident are small but they do exist. The more powerful the magic you attempt, the greater the chance of attracting such a demon."

  "When will I be able to work magic?"

  "Ah! The eternal question of the keen apprentice." There was a hint of mockery in her voice. "You can do so now. Run through the Elder Signs I taught you and then attempt the visualization of the light."

  He closed his eyes and conjured up the image of the protective signs. They blazed bright in his mind's eye. Then he imagined a sphere of light appearing over the bed. As he did so he spoke the words he had been taught, and something within him answered the rhythm of the spell as it had never done before. A faint glowing ball appeared over the bed, so tenuous at first that he was not even sure it was there. As he continued the chant, it grew brighter. Triumph filled him. He had achieved his first small piece of magic. He had never known anything quite like it, not even when he had listened to the angel voices of the Deep. He was a mage now, even if only in the smallest of ways. He looked over at Asea. "Thank you," he said.

  "Don't thank me yet."

  Something burned within his chest as he did so, and the sensation spread outwards through his veins. Weakness washed over him in a wave. Strength spilled from him like wine from an over-turned goblet. The ball of light popped out of existence. He felt suddenly sick and nauseous. His breath came in great gasps. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  "What happened?"

  "Magic is always draining. Very draining. Casting even a simple spell is as tiring as running a long race or lifting a very heavy weight."

  "Why did you not tell me?"

  "I have told you many times. You appear to have forgotten."

  "I meant just now."

  "It's something that is best experienced. You remember it better that way."

  "Will it always be this bad?"

  "Magic is like anything else. The more you practise, the better you get. Or perhaps it’s like lifting weights. You start out with a small weight and eventually you build up your strength until you can lift heavier."

  "I am still grateful. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me." From the bottom of his heart, he meant it. It was nothing less than the truth. She had made one of his childhood dreams come true. Whatever she was, and whatever she did or was going to do, nothing would change that.

  "It was always your gift, Rik. I merely helped awaken it. But over the years you will find the gift becomes a curse."

  "I don't think so."

  "Nobody ever does. At least not at first. Now rest. Get your strength back. We have a great deal to do, and not much time to do it in."

  Sardec strode through the city streets. Rena walked by his side. The ways through the old quarter were winding and full of people, out trying to buy what goods were available. As always there were hawkers everywhere selling everything from sweetmeats to scraps of clothing.

  He tried to ignore the stares of the crowd, and the gawking of some of the local Terrarchs. He kept his face frozen in a mask of aristocratic arrogance. No one here was in any position to judge him. The blood of Dragon Lords flowed in his veins, and what he chose to do, and who he chose to be with, was his own business and no one else's. He told himself this, but on the inside he found it hard to believe. There were those out there who felt they had the right to judge him, and that they would do so. There would be gossip and tittle-tattle and all the usual feline nastiness of chattering society.

  He felt suspended between two poles of emotion, happy that Rena was there and worried about the bite the ghoul had given him. Just her presence near him made him happy in a way he would never have believed was possible. He had a sense of closeness to another living being that he had never felt before. It had nothing to do with class or intelligence or education. It operated on a much more primal level. It was like being bound by a magical spell and he had no objection to it in the least. Her nearness allowed him, just for a moment, to forget about his worries.

  Just for a moment. He knew now that he could die, and in a peculiarly horrible fashion. He had felt his mortality since Deep Achenar when he had lost his sword hand. He had known ever since then that he was lucky to be alive. It was a feeling that grew stronger after every battle. He was used to it. He was a soldier. But the bite, that was something else. It could do more than kill him. It could rob him of his pride, of his intelligence, perhaps of his very soul if the tales were true.

  A small shriek from beside him drew him from his reverie. He had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had lost track of the world around him. He noticed that scraps of food were hitting the ground all around him. Most of them were hitting Rena then he saw their source.

  A group of Terrarch officers sat at a cafe table. There were a good number of empty wine bottles on the table. Chunks of bread sat on a wicker basket. The Terrarchs’ faces were a little flushed. They were tearing up the bread and tossing it at Rena. Sardec walked between her and them. A bit of bread hit him in the face. He stared at the one who had thrown it.

  "What exactly do you think you are doing, sir?" he asked. Something of his anger must have shown in his voice. The officer he glared at flinched under his gaze, then he realised what he had done and that just seemed to anger him more.

  "We were feeding your monkey." Sardec felt his own face flush with anger, and perhaps a hint of shame.

  Sardec looked from Rena then back to the officer. "I don't possess any monkeys, sir, and I don't think its fitting for Terrarch officers to behave like a pack of them."

  One of the officer’s friends made a face. "Oh, the famous Lieutenant Sardec does not like us feeding his monkey. Perhaps he prefers to feed her himself. And I think we know what he likes to feed her."

  Rena tugged his hand. "Come away," she whispered in his ear. "They are drunk. They don't know what they are saying."

  "You have me at a disadvantage, sir," said Sardec. "You appear to know my name and I am unacquainted with yours."

  "Come away," Rena whispered more urgently. Sardec knew she was right. He should just ignore these louts, but something in him was responding to their taunts. He had found a focus for his worries and his fears.

  "It looks like the Lieutenant takes orders from his monkey," said the first speaker.

  "I would say that was conduct unbefitting of a Terrarch officer," said the second drunk. Sardec reached out with his hook and snagged the officer's tunic. He pulled him off his chair so that they were standing face to face.

  "I asked you for your name, sir, please be so kind as to tell me it." The drunks rose from their chairs. Hands went to the hilts of swords.

  "Do you wish to fight me, Lieutenant," said the officer. "What will it be: hooks at dawn?"

  That caused another roar of laughter from his friends.

  "Was that a challenge?"
Sardec asked calmly. Iciness had settled in his veins now. He was not going to be insulted by these oafs. He saw the officer he confronted swallow but he rallied and said: "I will not cross swords with a cripple."

  "Perhaps you would prefer pistols?" Sardec suggested. His fury gave his voice a politeness and a calmness that he would never have suspected himself capable of. He was suddenly totally aware of his surroundings as he normally only was in combat. He saw the faces of the onlookers. The Terrarchs looked worried. The Kharadreans looked pleased to see this falling out among their conquerors. Rena was terrified. Despite the look on her face the words just slipped out. "Or are you afraid?"

  That was a challenge to which there could be only one response from a Queen's Officer and everyone present knew it. The group of drunkards had gone quiet now, the seriousness of the situation suddenly impressed on them. The officer swallowed again. There was a trapped look in his eye. Sardec gave a small cold smile of triumph.

  "Or are you afraid?" he repeated.

  The officer shook his head. There was a look of panic in his eyes. He was wondering how this situation had sprung up on him so quickly. Sardec felt the same way, but the whirlwind of combat had left him experienced in dealing with that sensation. "Perhaps you would like to apologise to my companion," Sardec suggested, partially to humiliate his foe, partially to give him a way out.

  "I will not apologise to a monkey," the officer blurted. Sardec slapped him. It was not a powerful blow, which made it all the more insulting. The mark of his hand blotched the other Terrarch's cheek. There was only one way that stain could be wiped off with honour.

  "My name is Lieutenant Deakan," said the officer. "I shall have my seconds call on you to fix a place and time. Given your invalidity the sword would be a dishonourable choice, so I choose pistols."

  "That will be most satisfactory," said Sardec.

  "No," murmured Rena. Sardec took her by the arm and sauntered away, feigning a casualness he was far from feeling. Behind him, he could hear Deakan's brother officers begin babbling advice and warnings. He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see the officer who had started the whole thing.