by Blink, Bob
Her adopted father, Jurde, was a knife maker. He sharpened more than he made, which brought in coin at almost every stop. Her adopted mother, Marti, made intricate jewelry which was in demand among the Wanderers as well as the people in the villages they passed through. Nuiz became one of the People, and performed whatever tasks were assigned her. Over time she discovered she had a talent with knives.
“Snap your wrist,” Jurde directed as Nuiz’s blade slapped into the side of the tree out of rotation and ricocheted off the wood to land off to one side.
Nuiz grimaced. Timing the throws was something that just didn’t seem to be repeatable. She stood in the same position, yet over half her throws wouldn’t arrive point first. What would happen when Jurde had her make each throw from a different location?
“The blades are balanced differently,” she complained.
“It is not so girl. I made these blades myself.” To demonstrate he made her stay put and brought the same blade back to her after each throw. Her score was no better. Patiently he showed her how to set her wrist and how to make the release.
“It’s up to you,” he said. “No one is forcing you to do this. You asked me to teach you,” he told her when she stomped her feet in anger and frustration.
Nuiz sighed and made another attempt. She wanted to learn the skill. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened to her family and who was responsible. She had visions of someday returning to Roin for revenge.
Each day she practiced. Then one day something clicked. Her scores suddenly became remarkably better. Within a month she could place the knife more consistently than anyone in the caravan. Within another couple of months she seldom missed. Throwing wasn’t enough, and she started taking lessons from one of the other members of the group on how to fight with the blades. She was shocked at how deadly a small sharp piece of steel could be.
“You still have dreams of going back to Roin, don’t you?” her adopted father asked one evening as the two of them sat around the fire late after the others had gone to bed. She had been with the Wanderer’s just over two years at the time.
Nuiz knew there was no point lying to Jurde. “I owe my family that much,” she said softly. “I think I am ready.”
Jurde shook his head. “Killing is a hard thing. It is not so simple as you might think. Besides, you are not ready. You are skilled, but not as a fighter.”
“I thought Sheys has taught me well,” she objected.
“He has taught you what he knows, but the truth be known he is not a true fighter. None of the People are. It is not what we do.” Jurde hesitated. “I would rather you set this aside, but I know you will not. We will be passing through Veph in a couple of weeks. I think you will need to leave the people and stay there for a while.”
Nuiz felt a chill pass through her. She had not faced the idea of leaving her adopted family and all of the people she had come to know. “Leave? Why? And what is in Veph?”
“We seldom go to Veph. They have no need of what we sell, but there are items we want. Veph is where the famed Kellmore blades are formed. The process is a closely guarded secret. Even the Wanderers have no insight into how their miraculous blades are created. I know of someone there who can teach you things you will learn nowhere else. It is your choice, but if you are determined to pursue this goal of yours, then I would strongly advise you consider it.”
And so Nuiz bid farewell to her “family” and stayed in Veph. She was there for six months, far too short according to her mentor, who would have kept her for years. He had admitted to her that he’d never seen anyone who had such a natural affinity for the blade.
Nuiz traveled with another band of Wanderers back to Roin. Once there she took her leave of them, not wanting any actions of hers to be reflected back on the group. Within a couple of days she had familiarized herself with the city where she had been raised. The son of the Earl who had been responsible for her parent’s death was now the head of the household, indicating his murderous plans had gone as he had hoped. It took Nuiz less than a week to formulate her plan of attack.
Her mentor had taught her far more than how to use the blades. A former assassin himself, he had taught her stealth, and all of the other tricks and skills that made for successful penetration and withdrawal. The son, now the Earl, was not expecting any kind of attack. It had been more than two years since he had taken over his father’s position, and life was good without much in the way of conflict. He had competitors certainly, and while business was cut throat, it was not that kind of environment. He had been smart enough to arrange for his only brother to meet with an accident, so he had little to fear about someone thinking of replacing him. He had also made a point of becoming a useful supporter of the Duke, which provided additional support for himself. In short, life was good.
The shadow that flowed silently down the corridor of the estate moved with confidence. The layout of the estate had been easy enough to learn and Nuiz knew where to find her target. He was known to retire early, usually with his choice of bedmates. Afterwards, he would eject the woman, his needs satisfied and drink heavily before falling into a numbed sleep. She was disappointed in the latter. She wanted the man to know what was coming, but this was the best opportunity to take him and escape without being seen. Moving slowly, she advanced the last few steps to the entrance to his quarters.
The killing had been easy. He had been asleep and unguarded when she slipped into the room. Checking to be certain no one was near, she had flowed over to the bed where he lay on his back, his neck presented openly for her knife. With a knife at his throat she had teased him awake. When he finally realized his danger she had pressed the blade to ensure his silence. Then she had leaned down and softly spoken the names of her family he’d had murdered. His eyes widened as she spoke the names, and before he could make a sound, she cut deeply, nearly severing his head. As the blood flowed, she buried the second knife deep in his chest, penetrating the heart. Wiping her hands on his bedclothes, she checked to be certain, then slipped quietly away. By morning when the body was discovered, she was already out of town. There had been no regrets, nor did she feel remorse as Jurde had warned her. She felt a sense of peace and closure. She couldn’t bring her family back, but at least the man responsible would no longer benefit from their murders. A weight had been removed from her shoulders. A debt had been paid. Now she could get on with her life.
Her intention had been to seek out Jurde and the Wanderers and return to the People, her task complete. She linked up with another caravan of the People and traveled with them, expecting to see her adopted family at the annual gathering in a couple of months. She hadn’t any thoughts of killing ever again. The drive that had sustained her was gone.
Then, fate had stepped in. One of the People, an attractive young woman, had been raped and beaten by one of the young nobles in eastern Branid. Nuiz learned of the attack through a chance meeting of another caravan of Wanderers when they had both stopped at the same oasis. Given the position of the noble, there was little that the Wanderers could expect in the way of justice from the Town Council. Knowing it best to simply fade away, the caravan left early, carrying their broken victim with them.
What no one had realized was the girl that had been so abused was a friend of Nuiz. They had become acquainted during one of the annual gatherings and developed an instant bond. Though they didn’t see one another for the better part of a year, at each gathering they were inseparable. Suddenly the anger was brought fully back to life. That night Nuiz slipped away from the caravan with the intent of dispensing her own brand of justice.
The city where it had happened was new to Nuiz, and it had taken time for her to learn her way about. She had watched and learned, and when she was ready, she made her move. Like an avenging specter she moved through the night, into the estate that was guarded far more carefully than the home of the man she had killed before. It didn’t matter. Nuiz had learned and could move so silently it was as if she wasn’t there. The next morning the young lord
was discovered with one of Nuiz’s knives buried deep in his neck.
Rumors spread. Slowly at first, but the Wanderers carried the rumors from village to village. It was to their advantage to do so. A warning was implicit in the tales. One should beware of acts against the People. An avenger existed who would see to the punishment of those who did not heed this advice. For the most part none knew who she was. Nuiz was certain that Jurde was aware it must be her. Perhaps he had told someone. Perhaps not. For a long time she did not see her adopted parents. She traveled with her friend’s caravan for many months, helping her to regain her former health and joy. The time spent helping her friend also gave Nuiz time to think. There had to be other cases where the nobility used its absolute power to inflict unacceptable pain on the lower classes. Not just among the People, but among other citizens as well. She started to listen for rumors of such crimes as they passed from village to village. Twice more in the ensuing months Nuiz took action, repaying foul deeds with blood and unexpected death. Over time she became an avenging sword against those in the nobility that abused their position and power. She was not interested in resolving disputes or crimes between equals. She only was interested in taking action in those unique cases where someone in the higher classes used his position to inflict pain and suffering on someone from the less privileged. It surprised her how often such things happened. She was a busy woman.
With time, requests started coming through the Wanderers network. People who needed a champion would spread word through a passing caravan, hoping the word would reach wherever KalaBhoot - the Black Ghost, might be. The words would eventually reach Nuiz’s ears, and she would have to consider whether the request was something deserving of her attention. Over time she built up lists of names. Some were nobles who others had requested her to take action against and she would tend to when her travels brought her close. Others were names she added herself, based on observations and general intelligence that suggested they were deserving of her attentions.
One day an odd thing happened. A request for KalaBhoot’s services made its way through the network. Except this time it was a nobleman looking for the services of a skilled assassin, not an ill-treated commoner. Nuiz ignored the request at first, but over the period of a few weeks her thoughts began to change. Why not allow the nobles to pay, and pay handsomely, for their own destruction. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of taking coin from them to fund their own removals. She took the contract, and made sure the funds were distributed among the people where needed. Over time, she took more such contracts, but only noble against noble. She had come to learn that there were some who were worthy of their positions of power, and those she never targeted. The reputation of KalaBhoot grew.
She had been about to depart for Lopal where she had accepted an assignment from one of the land’s lesser Kings. Discontent was brewing among the distributed leadership, as some of the tribal headmen pushed for a more immediate call to war which King I’Vorris, the Lemaine – the Master of the Land, was seen as too slow to pursue. The task that had been offered Nuiz was the removal of King I’Vorris himself. A true challenge, and one that paid extremely handsomely. The Wanderer’s had had trouble with I’Vorris in the past, which made him fair game. Lesser King It’oni who sought her services stood to gain however matters turned out. The removal of King I’Vorris would increase It’oni’s prospects of being voted the new Lemaine at the joint council. It’oni had already begun certain actions against the inhabitants of Kellmore along their shared border to the south. Others would follow his lead when they saw how easily he made gains. That would be especially true if I’Vorris were to fall and not be there to hold them back.
Weeks before she was ready to depart word had come through the network that Duke Cordale of Branid was seeking the Ghost. Nuiz knew of the Duke, whose name had almost made it to her personal list of those to be tended to when the opportunity presented itself. Curious, she had passed word back through the network for those who negotiated such contracts for her to see what the task might be. These people operated blindly, not knowing who she was, but received a substantial purse if the contract was taken.
The Duke wanted a certain Count removed. Nuiz could guess why. The Count, a real bastard, had long been a thorn in the Duke’s side. Her dislike of the Duke was almost enough for her to pass and leave the problem for the Duke to solve on his own, but the Count was also one who had made his way onto her list. To be paid handsomely for eliminating someone she had already marked was too good to pass up. The task could be done on her way to Lopal, and so she had taken the commission.
Nuiz never met those who hired her. The money was passed through intermediaries and disappeared into the network she had slowly established. She scouted and prepared on her own, on a schedule that she alone was aware of. Much of her success was due to the fact only she knew when and where she would strike. That was part of the agreement she made when she accepted any contract. The Count was a tough one, much harder than she had anticipated. He knew he had enemies, and took precautions accordingly. In the end, Nuiz could only find one weakness she could exploit, and that one was extremely risky. It was also to be her downfall.
The Duke had had his own people scout the Count before he’d sought KalaBhoot. They had come to the same conclusion. There was only one approach, but it was one they didn’t feel they were capable of exploiting. Wanting the Count removed, the Duke had sought KalaBhoot, but also put in place plans to watch for anyone who might seek to access the Count via the path they had discovered. He would see the Black Ghost removed after the deed was done. He knew the reputation KalaBhoot had earned, and anyone that effective he didn’t want around in case someone was to target him. This assignment could accomplish two tasks. The troublesome Count could be taken down, and the threat of the mysterious assassin eliminated.
Nuiz made the kill after several weeks of careful preparation, but on the withdrawal, she had been nearly caught in the trap sprung by the Duke’s private guard. Nuiz had killed two and managed to slip though the ambush that had been prepared for her, but not before being hit by an arrow from a concealed archer. The arrow had come within a fraction of an inch of ending her life, the sharpened stone tip ripping a long gash in her side as it passed through her tunic.
As she rode away on a stolen horse, she silently added the Duke’s name to her personal target list, knowing she would be back for him once she had healed and taken care of business in Lopal. She promised herself it would be a priority. That night she cleaned the wound as best she could and applied a poultice of mashed leaves that should help the healing. It was painful, and restricted her movements somewhat, but it could have been worse. What she didn’t know was the arrow had been treated with a special poison, and over the course of the next few days the wound festered and became more inflamed causing her to lose strength and to become light headed. Normally she would have sought help from one of the Wanderer caravans, but she was certain the Duke’s men were on her trail. Her best hope of escape was to make her way into Lopal, where the Duke would be unlikely to follow.
Nuiz made it to the River, but not far ahead of her followers. She was weak, feverish, and unable to think clearly, and had made her way aboard a boat that she mistook for the ferry that would cross over to Lopal. The effort had taken the last of her strength, and she had crawled into a dark space in one of the smaller cabins hoping to rest until after the river crossing. While she waited, wondering why the craft didn’t push off from shore, she had fallen unconscious, to be discovered by Rigo and Kaler.
Chapter 18
Duke Cordale’s face was infused with blood so great was his anger. “Got away! How can this have happened? This is twice in less than a week that men have escaped from our guardsmen, and this time from your special troops, men who are supposed to be a cut above the common soldiers. You were to be prepared and have everything in place to assure the target had nowhere to go. Perhaps you are no longer able to fulfill the needs of your p
osition.”
Roit knew that he must proceed with caution. The Duke was not known for either patience or forgiveness. Despite the fact Roit had served the man, and served him well, for a number of years would not prevent the Duke from having him thrown in the dungeons or hung if he became angry enough or if he blamed Roit personally for the failures. As the Duke’s own choice as Captain of his personal Guard, Roit enjoyed a special position with benefits far greater than any common guardsman. Most of the troops assigned to the Duke belonged to the King’s Regiment and were simply assigned to the manor to carry out the Duke’s interpretation of the King’s wishes. The Personal Guard, however, were men specifically chosen by the Duke to guard both himself and his immediate family. As such they reported directly and only to the Duke, usually through Roit. The Personal Guard were also men the Duke had selected because he could count on them to perform other actions for him, deeds that the Crown probably would not have approved of. The Duke did not want word of some of their activities getting back to the King.
“Her reputation is well earned,” Roit said choosing his words carefully. “She must have sensed the trap and even as it was closing was able to avoid it and escape. We followed her trail outside the village, but at the river we found the horse she had appropriated abandoned. There were no signs of where she might have gone although a careful search for signs was made by our best trackers.”
“She?” roared the Duke. “You are telling me this assassin, famed throughout the land, is a woman?”
Nervously, Roit nodded his head. “There is evidence to suggest as much, your Lordship. We believe that is one reason she has been so hard to track in the past. Everyone assumed a man and looked accordingly. The way the assassin dresses, she could be either a man or a woman. The hair is shorn short, and with a little effort the assassin could present herself to be either sex.”