by Rob Donovan
The Ghost Assassin was pleased Clarabelle was not around to witness the tender moment.
The door opened and two men walked into the room. One was handsome but looked jaded, there were bags under his eyes, which looked like purple smudges, and his forehead was heavily wrinkled in contrast to his bald pate. He wore polished armour like the Prince and commanded authority with his puffed-out chest and broad shoulders. He nodded at the Prince and then more reluctantly at Atikass before taking the chair on the other side of the Prince. The other person was a young boy. He bore a mop of brown hair and bushy eyebrows. He sported patchy stubble which grew denser at the centre of his cheeks. Under his arm he carried sheets of paper and clasped a quill in one hand and ink pot in the other. He looked around the room his eyes growing wide when he saw Atikass and even wider when he saw Norva. He shuffled over to the last remaining chair in the room by a side table where he set the writing instruments down meticulously.
“This is Fyfe my master of arms,” the Prince said nodding to the handsome man next to him. He did not bother to introduce the scribe which surprised Norva. Jensen and Scamp both introduced themselves, Norva remained silent. “It appears you may be able to help us?” the Prince looked between Scamp and Jensen. He asked several questions mainly around the number of the opposition, what supplies they had and what weapons. Fyfe nodded as Jensen estimated the number of Lakisdoreans which had joined Cordane as if the figure tallied with the number he already knew. The Prince then leaned back to listen to their story.
Scamp began skimming over her childhood as quickly as possible up to the point she had met Norva. She mentioned Clarabelle but did not indicate it had been the panther that had forced Norva to look after her. Norva felt embarrassed at this and at one point the Prince seemed to sense her discomfort, offering her a weak smile, before turning his attention back to Scamp.
Scamp told her story nervously, flitting between events, being vague in places and precise in others. She never dwelled on any time she had been harshly treated which made Norva proud of the girl. She twirled her ginger locks in her index finger as she spoke, swallowing often. Both the Prince and Fyfe nodded encouragingly as Scamp talked but Atikass curled his lip in a sneer. Behind them all, the scribe scribbled vigorously pausing only to wet the quill.
Although Scamp had been detained she had not been treated badly. She had largely been left alone. It was a strange move from the enemy and made little sense. If they were not going to do anything with Scamp then why keep her alive? Norva could only think that Cordane planned to entice her to attempt to free Scamp and thus capture her in the process. This did not make much sense though. What could Cordane possibly want with her and even if this was the plan, she had been able to rescue Scamp and Jensen far too easily.
By contrast, Jensen was a far more skilled storyteller. As he had with Norva he told his story with a raw honesty. This time he revelled in the esteemed audience. He coloured some of his exploits, exaggerating his prowess in the fights and the lack of skill of his opponents. From the way the Prince smiled it appeared he was not fooled one bit about Jensen's narrative. Jensen must have picked up on this too as he began to tone down his story.
"So, you were to be my replacement?" Atikass interrupted as Jensen began to tell of Goater's potions. Jensen flinched. He knew he was skilled with a blade but a long way from the skill of the best warrior. Norva decided she liked that about him. He was confident but possessed humility as well.
"Apparently so," Jensen said taking a deep breath before he replied. "I never said I merited such a role."
"No," Atikass sneered, "And you certainly do not."
"Nor should he aspire to such a role," Althalos said. "It is not a position someone should be proud of."
Atikass did not say anything. A range of emotions flashed across his face: anger, hurt, guilt. They were gone before Norva could interpret how the former painted warrior really felt.
"If I had a choice I would not have taken a single potion," Jensen said.
Norva placed a hand on the young man's arm. "It's alright, you are not on trial. No one is accusing you of anything." Jensen looked up and smiled. He looked at Atikass, saw the scowl on his face and his smile fell.
"When was the last time you had a potion?" Atikass asked.
"About a week ago," Jensen replied.
"What colour was it?"
"Orange."
"How frequently and how much?"
"I was given half a cup six times a day."
Atikass raised his eyebrows. "That is a lot." Something resembling sympathy passed over his face, but as before it was gone in an instant.
"What do the potions do?" Althalos asked.
Atikass sat back in his chair and looked out the window again. "They alter you. They warp your mind until no matter what you feel inside, no matter how much you realise what is right and what is wrong, all you know is rage and anger. The compulsion to inflict damage is overwhelming. You see things in black and white and that is all you ever see."
"What makes you obey?" It was Fyfe who asked the question. "Why are you like that against one side and not the other? If all you feel is unbridled fury, why do you follow one master and not the other?"
"Because you have no choice. You get addicted to the potions and like a dog who knows his master is the one who will feed him; you become dependent on the man who administers the potion. He is the only one that knows the correct dosage. The only one that will give you just enough so that you remain sane until ultimately you are his."
"You changed."
"I had my mother as an anchor. As long as she lived, I cared whether I lived or died. I obeyed to keep her safe."
The Prince raised a hand to his mouth and nibbled on a finger. It must have been hard for him to hear this. Not only had he not known his mother still lived, but he also had to hear he had a brother who had protected their mother by enduring the worst kind of torment.
"If you knew who she was, then you must have known she would never have wanted you to perform such unspeakable acts against her people," Fyfe said. He was not so ready to feel any sympathy for Atikass.
Atikass shrugged. "I had no idea she was the Queen of Frindoth. I only knew she was my mother. The potions are highly potent, anger is an even stronger motivator. I was angry at the world and my situation. I had urges to kill and was happy to indulge in them. I lost knowing who I really was a long time ago."
There was silence when Atikass finished talking. Even the scribe had stopped scratching his quill across the paper.
"You may have lost who were, but you can discover who you want to be now," Althalos said.
Atikass did not reply. Without realising he was doing it, he too nibbled on his finger, the identical act as his brother carried out made the Ghost Assassin smile. The pair noticed at the same time and lowered their hands embarrassed.
"Why the potions?" Norva asked eager to move on from the awkward moment.
Atikass held out his hand. It trembled even when he gripped the wrist with his other hand to steady it. "I haven't had a potion for several weeks. The poison must have left my system but I don't think the effects will ever truly leave me." Atikass nodded towards Jensen, "Let's see yours." Jensen obliged. The fingers wobbled but not quite as bad as the former painted warrior’s. "You can train people to be warriors but it is only when you dull their minds that they truly become obedient."
"Jensen mentioned the word “Blackthorn." Norva said. "I've heard it a few times before."
Atikass nodded. "It is an initiative. Cordane steals babies from their parents and then through the use of torture and the potions, trains them to become mindless monsters, completely obedient only to him. They become his elite warriors”.
“Like you?”
“Exactly like me.”
“How many?” the Prince asked and glanced at Fyfe. The Master at Arms shook his head in astonishment. It was unclear what had happened to Atikass but many had surmised it must have been some sort of brain wa
shing. To discover this had happened on such a large scale was disconcerting to say the least.
This time it was Norva who squeezed Scamp’s hand. It was no coincidence that the guards who had come looking for the young girl had mentioned the word “Blackthorn.” Scamp had been wanted from a young age and it was only the intervention of the Elder which had protected the girl from a fate such as Atikass’s. Norva shuddered at the thought of Scamp growing up to become like Stasiak.
“I don’t know for certain. I only ever knew of three others,” Atikass said. “One died unable to endure the ordeal, one I killed as instructed and I never saw the third again.”
Norva thought the detachment with which the former painted warrior mentioned killing another human was chilling. Had she been like that? Did she sound like that when she spoke about one of her targets? No wonder she was feared. Rather than being awe-inspiring it was frightening.
“Who were they?” Althalos asked.
Atikass shrugged. “No idea. Just children taken from their mothers.”
Norva knew the Prince was trying to get a handle on just how far Cordane’s reach stretched. If the people in the room were anything to go by, it travelled pretty far. Atikass had fallen victim to Blackthorn, Jensen had been in the process of being converted and Scamp very nearly had. That made three out of the six people in the room. It appeared anyone under the age of eighteen birthfeasts was a potential victim.
She looked over at the scribe who blew at the ink on the page. The true nature of Blackthorn was enough to breed paranoia across the kingdom. The Prince decided to move away from the subject and addressed Jensen again.
“Tell me more about the Glooms.”
“They are vicious, big and inspire fear. The one I confronted in the church destroyed men as easily as a lion falling upon a doe. Very few look exactly the same although some share the same characteristics or general shape. I was lucky to defeat the two headed Gloom I faced. I think it would normally take on average three men to take one of these creatures down.”
“Based on what?” Atikass asked.
“Easy, Atikass,” the Prince said. “That broadly tallies with what we have experienced.”
Atikass snorted. “Then you need better men.”
"Have you ever slain one?" Jensen asked.
"No, not yet," Atikass said as a bemused smile formed on his lips. "Do you doubt I could best one?"
"No, but I also think it is foolish to boast of something if you have never experienced it yourself."
Atikass reached into his shirt and pulled a small vial from around his neck tied to a piece of string. “Unlike you, I don’t need this to fight.”
Jensen shook in barely concealed anger. “I could defeat you without drugs,”
Atikass clenched his hands into fists. "I guess we will see who is left standing when they get here."
"Hopefully all of us," the Prince said attempting to diffuse the situation.
Norva thought now would be a good time to reveal she had no intention of staying to fight Cordane and the Glooms. She wanted Cordane dead but she would do it in her own way. War was not her style; stealth, shadows and seizing opportunities had made her reputation and she was not about to compromise that. Years in the Pit changed a woman but not to the extent she was about to enter a contest she had no hope of winning.
She had completed her duty in bringing Jensen and Scamp before the Prince, now her only aim was to get Scamp far away from here. Jensen could do what he wanted. If he wanted to try and outshine Atikass on the battlefield then he was welcome to try. She did not fancy the young man's chances and she did not believe the Prince could win this war.
"What of this Xandamon?" the Prince asked.
"You know his name?" Norva asked. She knew the Kingdom had scouts and spies, but she did not think the Prince’s information would be so detailed. The Prince's army had been depleted by the battles and obstacles they had encountered so far, and she did not think the Prince's intelligence would be so advanced. She wondered if anything Scamp and Jensen had told the Prince had been a surprise or even useful.
"A young family encountered him when he arrived."
"And they survived?" Jensen asked.
"Barely. Many of their party didn't. They..." the Prince stopped mid-sentence. "Where did you say you were from?"
"Compton," Jensen said frowning. "Why?"
The Prince and Fyfe exchanged a look. Norva could not help but lean forward intrigued by the sudden change in behaviour. "So were they," admitted the Prince. "Their son was a Stoneholder."
"Brodie!" Jensen said jumping to his feet. "Are they still here?"
The Prince smiled and nodded. "I will see that you are taken to them immediately."
Jensen sank back into his chair, or more to the point the chair caught him as he fell. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he wiped them away with a trembling hand. "They are alive." he whispered.
The Prince sensed he would get no more information out of the young man and stood. He seemed pleased to be able to impart some good news to at least one person. He pulled Jensen to his feet and gave him a brisk hug. "You have done Frindoth a great service. Please go and see your friends."
Jensen did not need to be told twice and was already heading to the door before he realised he did not know where exactly they were staying in the palace. Norva and Scamp both stood as well. Norva was completely unprepared for what happened next. The Prince extended his arms to embrace Scamp, but the girl took a step back and reached inside her tunic. Norva saw the glint of metal inside the girl's pocket just before Atikass brushed the Prince aside and stabbed Scamp in the throat. The girl fell backwards into Norva's uncomprehending arms. The Ghost Assassin expected to see shock or fear in Scamp's eyes but all she saw was pure hatred directed at Atikass. The ferocity in that look shocked Norva. Scamp tried to speak as Fyfe and the Prince pulled Atikass away from the dying girl. Blood bubbled from her mouth and the wound in her neck. Norva tried to staunch the flow even as she tried to process what had happened.
"Traitor," Scamp managed to croak, before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she was still.
Chapter 21
It was all too much. Althalos took it all in as he hurled himself at his brother. The blood, the bewilderment on the Ghost Assassin's face as she cradled the girl she had felt strangely maternal towards, the knife dropping from Atikass's hand and clattering on the floor. The Prince took it all in as he pinned Atikass to the wall. Somehow Tomas had ended up on the floor also. The young scribe sat covered in blue ink as he scrambled away from the commotion.
"Guards!" Fyfe called but they were already bursting into the room as he spoke. The first man through the door was not someone the Prince recognised. He was old, with a grey moustache and stern face. He took in the chaos assessing the potential threats. He saw Althalos and Fyfe holding onto Atikass and then seized Jensen before ordering the man behind him to grab everyone else in the room. Once contained he ordered more guards to escort the Prince to safety.
"You can let go of me your highness," Atikass said softly. He did not even look at the girl he had just killed.
"No chance," Althalos said through gritted teeth. He hauled Atikass towards the door, bundling him through. Atikass made no move to object and allowed the Prince to manhandle him. Althalos looked down at the dying girl and the growing pool of blood forming around her. It soaked into her ginger hair turning it a darker red. Norva stared down at Scamp, her tears splashing on to dead girl's face.
Althalos walked from the room as more guards entered. No one would be able to move inside if any more entered. He could barely think straight. What had just happened? Why had Atikass attacked the girl? Was he still under the influence of Cordane's concoctions? But why the girl? She was the most innocent person in the room. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to clear his head and rid the roar rattling in his ears. He was aware of Fyfe barking more orders and of Jensen protesting his innocence and calling out to him.
Atikass backed down the corridor, his hands aloft to show he meant no harm to anyone. It would have been more convincing if one of those hands was not soaked in blood.
"I had nothing to do with it. Your highness, tell them. I was about to be taken to Mertyn and his family. Your highness?" Jensen called out. Althalos winced as he heard a soft thud and Jensen's voice was abruptly cut off.
"What in the tri-moons was that? “Are you a fucking animal? Can you not go for longer than an hour without ending a life? They came to offer us help. They came into my palace on my invitation!"
Atikass backed down the corridor and sighed as he listened to Althalos's rant. It was the worst thing Atikass could have done. Althalos was unable to control the anger welling up inside him. He backhanded his brother splitting his lower lip and causing him to stagger backwards. Atikass smiled to himself as he touched his lip with his tongue. Even that does not bother you the Prince thought and was totally unprepared for the head-butt Atikass sent his way. The former painted warrior's forehead clashed with the Prince's mouth and Althalos fell to the floor. The metallic taste of blood covered his tongue and he saw stars. Once again guards swarmed around him and Atikass was escorted away. He offered no resistance.
"Are you alright my Prince?" Fyfe appeared before him as the world stopped spinning. What had just happened in the last five minutes? How had it all unravelled from the moment of rare pleasure of offering to reunite Jensen with his friends?
He watched his brother disappear down the corridor.
“No!” Althalos shouted out. Despite his dazed state, his words still commanded enough authority to stop the guards in their tracks. “He goes nowhere until I find out why he just stabbed that girl”. The Prince saw the guards hesitate and exchange glances. “That was not a statement you are to mull over and decide what to do with, it was an order. Take him to the war council and send for my mother and father.”