Assassin's Apprentice

by S. R. Vaught; J. B. Redmond

  Without further comment, he raised the small blade in his chalice hand and sliced open Aron’s wrist.

  Aron focused on the glimmering hilts of Stormbreaker’s broadswords and held his iron expression despite the burning pain. His blood spurted into the bone cup, a red line, then a red pool. He made himself keep looking even though the sight made his insides roll.

  Stormbreaker pressed a thumb over the flow, then let go of Aron altogether. The cut throbbed, but Aron still refused a reaction. His gut churned as the Stone Brother stood.

  The chalice gave a loud sizzle and belched a geyser of gray steam.

  Aron stared at the powerful blast of mist, stunned at such a strong response caused by his blood. His mother’s expression mirrored his own feelings, then shifted to one of abjection. None of Aron’s brothers had tested near that well. Like someone with Fae blood. Like someone with a legacy.

  But how was that possible?

  Aron knew he had been declared Quiet at birth.

  Aron’s mother started shaking her head, as if to deny what her senses told her.

  Seth’s eyes closed, and Wolf Brailing’s face betrayed nothing at all.

  “Well.” Windblown smiled. “I’d say his blood speaks loudly enough to suit our purposes—and he is the one who found the talon. Let’s take him and go.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “The sun sinks lower and we’ve miles before we reach a shelter. The land feels restless today. I shouldn’t like to linger.”

  For a moment Aron wondered why the Stone Brothers didn’t shelter at the farm. His thoughts wouldn’t cooperate enough to make sense of it, but he finally realized they wouldn’t stay here because they were taking him. The Stone Brothers didn’t want to antagonize his family with their presence, or endure a long night of sobbing and possibly futile attempts at rescue or battle.

  Because they’re taking me.

  They’re taking me.

  “This boy will meet our needs.” Stormbreaker poured the chalice contents on the ground, wiped the bowl, and stowed his cup in his hammered leather bag. To Windblown he said, “Get the talon from the barn.”

  Rage and awe went to war with the fear blossoming in Aron’s chest.

  Just then, his father raised a hand. “Hold,” he demanded, his face near the color of fall berries on the vine.

  He’s going to bargain for me! Aron’s spirits leaped. He had never heard of a successful bargain with a Stone Brother, but surely such had happened. Perhaps his father would offer one of Aron’s elder brothers, since Aron was good with the beasts and already had his apprenticeship with Grommond assured. Or maybe one of his brothers wanted to volunteer.

  Windblown did not take a step toward the barn, and he did not speak. His hands twitched, as if he was considering drawing a weapon.

  “Do you challenge my right to Harvest?” Stormbreaker asked lightly, though Aron heard the deadly intent behind the words.

  “I am no oathbreaker.” Wolf responded slowly, speaking too clearly, as if the Stone Brother might have some mental impairment. He cleared his throat and gestured to the barn. “I respect the guilds and pay tribute as demanded, but mounts are not part of the Harvest price. If you take the talon, you owe payment for her as well.”

  Stormbreaker hesitated, then laughed. “How could I forget that I was dealing with Brailings?” He laughed again. “Will the sum of thirty godslight bring us to balance?”

  Aron’s father frowned. “She’s a female, worth fifty at least. And there’s the cost of the riding tack as well.”

  The Stone Brother whistled. “Fifty. I see.” He extracted a gray pouch from his hammered leather bag and counted some slender gods-light into Wolf’s palm. “This is what I can spare. Forty pieces. You may expect a courier from our guild stronghold at Triune before season’s end with forty pieces more, in addition to the goods we leave now for the price of the boy. You have my promise.”

  Wolf hesitated, glanced desperately at Aron, then stepped back into line, as tradition and respect demanded.

  “Get the talon and have Zed unload the Harvest payment,” Stormbreaker told Windblown again, and this time no one challenged him.

  Aron’s heart went still, and not from calm thought or the meditation of toil. Was it that simple, then? Would his father hand him over with no protest?

  A wealth I won’t surrender …

  Had his father said that to him mind to mind, in truth? Aron thought he had.

  You will always be my son ….

  Stormbreaker turned around to assist the boy Zed as he carried goods from the laden wagon, giving Aron a full view of the blades crossed over his back. Each sword was as long as Aron himself, hilt to tip, and the grooved edges of polished metal looked ready to bite and chew and tear. Aron kept his eyes on those terrifying blades as the Stone Brothers worked. Minute after minute passed, and with each trip to the laden wagon, the pile of treasures stacking up beside Wolf grew. Blankets. Clothing. Barrels, probably full of grain or wine, maybe even cured meat. This would be the best winter his family had ever known, and Aron wouldn’t be here to share it with them.

  The thought almost made him cry out with rage.

  At last, Stormbreaker helped Zed to lead the breeding pair of goats forward, and they tethered the animals to one of the barrels.

  Aron watched, wordless and sweating, as the fair-haired boy returned to the tandem wagons, the ground-tied talons, and the mules. Windblown met him there with Tek, already saddled and ready for travel. At that sight, Aron felt like his life was sliding into hog muck by the second. How could he go with these men and train to be a killer? He was no Stone Brother. He couldn’t be an assassin.

  A wealth I won’t surrender …

  But his father was surrendering him!

  What of Grommond, and learning livestock, of serving in the Guard and bettering his family’s lot in Dyn Brailing?

  This could not be happening.

  He would not let it happen—but how could he stop it, especially if his father did nothing on his behalf?

  Stormbreaker bowed to Wolf, showing the hilts of his swords more clearly. “The Harvest is finished. We have made payment, and we ask our due.”

  Aron looked up to find his father gazing at him in that way people did when they weren’t really looking, when they weren’t really seeing.

  No! His cry was wordless, but surely Wolf Brailing saw the plea in his eyes. Look at me!

  His mother sobbed into her hands. His brothers stared at the ground. His sisters eyed the Stone Brothers as if searching for weak spots to bite or kick—but his father—his father…

  Aron found only emptiness when he searched his father’s eyes.

  The hero of the Dynast Guard. The master of his house and fields. The man who had preached to him for hours on hours about kindness, honest labor, honor, and truth. And he would say nothing when professional murderers came to take his son?

  Aron kept looking at Wolf, willing him to wake, to see.

  Had Aron become invisible to his father for the price of hides and goats and winter stores, and forty pieces of godslight?

  “We ask our due,” Stormbreaker repeated, this time with less patience.

  Wolf slowly turned his face toward the Stone Brother—and the emptiness was gone.

  Aron flinched from his father’s expression.

  The men in gray might make killing their trade, but it was Wolf Brailing who had murder in his eyes. Through clenched teeth, looking at Stormbreaker instead of Aron, he said, “Flesh of my flesh, you are my son no longer.”

  It took Aron a moment to realize his father’s words were meant for him. It took another moment for the meaning to sink from his mind to his heart.

  No!

  Aron’s teeth slammed together. His fists clenched so hard he felt his ragged nails dig into his palms.

  Wolf strode out of line and walked until he stood in front of Aron. This time, when Aron met his gaze, he knew his father saw him only too well. The pain and rage in Wolf’s eyes mirrored A
ron’s own feelings.

  “You are dead to me, to your mother, to your brothers and sisters,” Wolf said, his tenor denying the meaning of his words. “I disinherit you before these witnesses and lay foul any claim you might have to my lands or my name.”

  Aron wanted to weep, but couldn’t, not with his father staring at him. He couldn’t help the shaking in his legs, but he wouldn’t disgrace his name or his heritage by bawling.

  “Go from this place and never return.” Wolf’s voice broke. In a sparse whisper, he finished with, “You will find no welcome at this farm.”

  Wolf bent forward, rubbed his hands in the dirt at Aron’s feet, then rose and smeared his cheeks with the crumbly brown earth. Next, he dirtied his wife’s cheeks and those of his two daughters. His five remaining sons completed the gesture on their own. With a last long look of misery and helpless fury, Aron’s father—the man who had just cast him out—returned to his place in line, again showing respect for tradition. No argument, no resistance. Harvest was to proceed unimpeded.

  On his order, the family that had been Aron’s moved away from him, linked arms, bowed their heads in ritual grief, and turned their backs.

  Aron looked first at them, then at Dunstan Stormbreaker. The Stone Brother held out his hand.

  Hating the man, despising his tattoos, his smug expression, and his maddening gray robes, Aron considered rejecting the offer even though he knew he had no choice. In a moment’s negotiation, the painted monster had divested him of all he understood, all he valued, save for Tek. What if the guild took Tek, too, and he never saw her again?

  Grinding his teeth until his head ached, Aron took the offered hand. Suddenly, Stormbreaker’s grip was firm and commanding on his wrist. A soldier’s grasp.

  “We have three score and seven boys by the name of Aron at Stone, my new apprentice. For now, you shall be Aron Frosteye, until your actions win you some other distinction.”

  Aron refused his captor the courtesy of a response.

  Stormbreaker pressed ahead. “Aron Frosteye, as your guild master, and by rights of Harvest, I will speak your vows for you. You have no family save for Stone. You have no name and no title beyond what Stone provides. All claims, rights, and inheritance are forfeit. From now until your spirit is released, your blood is Stone, your life is Stone, and you serve only Stone. Welcome.”

  With that, he pulled Aron into a brief embrace to seal the contract.

  Aron shoved the man away from him.

  Dunstan Stormbreaker chuckled as he lifted his cowl with one hand. Then he doubled the force of his grip on Aron’s wrist and dragged him from the yard, down the dirt path, straight toward where Windblown waited with Tek.

  Aron stumbled and fought even though he knew the penalties. If he fled the service of the guild before or after his formal oaths, if he broke the Code of Eyrie, he would be hunted by Stone Brothers and Stone Sisters and lords alike, until he was captured, thrown into a wagon of the accused, and sent back to Stone to be judged.

  But Aron didn’t care.

  He wanted to stay on his farm. He wanted to follow the plan of his life, just laid out only the day before. He wanted to run back to his family. By the dark face of the horned god, he wanted to see them, just see them, one more time!

  Stormbreaker moved him like a relentless force, no matter how hard Aron kicked at him.

  “You have no choice, boy,” was all he said.

  Aron wondered if he could kill these three in their sleep. He could steal their swords easily enough, for surely they unstrapped the blades before they slept. But what of the daggers?

  Damnable hard to account for all those quills…

  Still, if he could succeed, it might be weeks before the Stone Guild realized that this Harvest party wasn’t returning. Aron could be gone far to the east by then, maybe even safe behind the walls of the Thorn Guild, the one place no Stone Brother or Stone Sister had authority.

  But would the Thorn Guild shelter a murderer? By the Code of Eyrie, surely not. They would hand him back to Stone, too.

  Aron swore to himself as Stormbreaker forced him toward Tek.

  “May the Brother save us from Brailings and their stubborn, evil tempers.” Windblown twisted around in his saddle, as if expecting bandits to burst from the woods. “You’re daft for doing this much, Dun. Let’s put this farm at our backs, and now.”

  Stormbreaker hefted Aron and jammed him onto Tek’s back just above her small, folded wings, drawing a chirp and squeak of distress from the little talon. She stood to her full height, barely taller than the Stone Brothers—and only a third the size of the two bulls. With another squeak, she stretched her withered foreclaws in an attempt to look menacing, but when she stomped her clawfeet, they barely stirred the dust.

  Stormbreaker ignored Tek’s posturing. With expert hands and help from Zed, he lashed Aron’s legs to Tek’s sides, securing them with a loop around Tek’s useless foreclaws. He then used softer straps to bind Aron’s hands to Tek’s lead rope.

  Aron struggled against the bindings, but found them firm and tight. The more he struggled, the tighter they became. He could not move more than a few inches. He couldn’t even turn toward his home one last time, to see if his parents or his brothers or sisters stood vigil for him.

  Not my brothers and sisters anymore. Not my home. I’ve been disowned. The vows have been spoken by the guild master who Harvested me. I’m of Stone now, by the letter of the Code.

  But the heat of his father’s gaze yet lingered in Aron’s memory.

  Wolf had followed the law in deed, but certainly not in his heart. Even as he had spoken against Aron, his expression gainsaid the words.

  Aron felt that odd pressure against his mind again. You will always be my son, Aron Brailing of Brailing. You will always be my son.

  Aron’s stomach lurched, and once more, he tried to look back toward his home. This time, he managed to catch a glimpse of his father, who was now standing alone near the hog pen, glaring at the Stone Brothers. The sight made Aron’s heart thunder with joy. Such a small thing, to ignore custom and watch the departure of those sent—or damned—to Stone. But his father ignored it nonetheless, and Aron knew Wolf Brailing wanted him to know he still mattered, that he was still the son of his father, his mother, still brother to his brothers and sisters.

  The boy Zed snickered as Stormbreaker fastened Tek’s lead rope to the lead rope of his own talon. “He doesn’t give up, that one. Do you see him standing there? We may have to fight our way off this land.”

  I will kill that northern brat first, Aron thought. Arrogant stream of mocker piss.

  Stormbreaker’s hands stilled on Aron’s wrists as he glanced toward the farm.

  “Leave the man to his grief and tell him no more,” said Windblown. “The risk is too great. He could attack you for taking the boy—or worse yet, others might come before we leave, and we’ll be hauled back to face Lord Brailing.”

  A second passed, but only one. Then Stormbreaker turned Aron loose and gave Windblown a look Aron couldn’t read. “When Stone forgets truth and decency, all of us are lost.”

  Windblown started to argue with him, but Stormbreaker strode away from him and the talons, back toward the hog pen.

  “Dunstan!” Windblown’s bellow might have lifted dust off the road.

  Stormbreaker didn’t turn around.

  Aron’s heart pounded harder.

  Would the Stone Brother draw weapons? Would he force Wolf Brailing to turn his back on his son again? Would his father decide to fight for him after all?

  Stormbreaker made no move, however. He simply stopped in front of Wolf, extended his right arm, and pushed up his sleeve.

  Aron couldn’t make out the details of his father’s face, but he knew the magnitude of that frown. Wolf studied Stormbreaker’s dav’ha, then shoved his own sleeve up, held out his right arm, and dropped it to his side.

  Stormbreaker raised his hands as he spoke, as if measuring time or distance—and a very small
amount. Then he pointed to the house and back to the wagon.

  “No!” Wolf Brailing bellowed. Aron’s eyes widened as his father stepped back, beat his hand against his chest once, and shouted curses. Without so much as another glance in Aron’s direction, Wolf spun toward his house and ran for the door.

  What in the name of…? Aron shifted his weight to keep his eyes on his father, but Tek stomped, and Zed gave her lead a tug and turned her away as Stormbreaker hurriedly returned. Stormbreaker mounted with abrupt movements. He didn’t look at Aron. He made no comment, but Windblown couldn’t seem to keep his own counsel.

  “Brother protect us,” he murmured, sounding both horrified and angry. “I cannot believe you did that.”

  Stormbreaker’s glare was swift as he raised his arm and once more bared some of his impressive dav’ha marks. “What choice did I have?”

  “Think on that,” Windblown snapped. “The Lord Provost may ask you the answer before he sends you to judgment for interfering in a dynast’s affairs.”

  Aron leaned away from Stormbreaker even though the brutal stare wasn’t meant for him. Windblown looked about to lose his temper completely, but he didn’t say anything else. Wise, Aron thought.

  For a brief but notable moment, Stormbreaker, Windblown, and Zed looked north and east up the road, in the direction from which they had come.

  Aron had the disquieting impression that they expected to see something—and not something desirable. The day now seemed oddly still and silent, but for the blowing of the talons and the snorts and grunts of the mules.

  Stormbreaker spoke quietly, yet with urgency. “Move out.”

  That fast, Aron found himself using his knees, elbows, and bound hands to cling to Tek as they thundered away from the Brailing farm.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ARON

  Aron had no time to consider what had passed between Stormbreaker and his father. Most of his strength and focus went to keeping his seat on Tek and trying to determine his options.