by Rob Donovan
Norva ignored his embarrassment. "You had accomplished most of those feats when I snuck in your room last time, yet back then you were unaware."
"True," the King said and sipped his wine.
"So?"
The King sighed. When he looked at Norva he had a twinkle in his eye and the ghost of a smile. "I was told what happened with your friend and Stasiak. I have been expecting you in my room ever since. That is the third time have asked the question to an empty room!"
Norva could not help but laugh. She put away her knives and took the glass of wine the King proffered her. "So, you are still calling him Stasiak?"
"He is no son of mine."
"Can't say I am particularly fond of him either."
The King nodded and supped his wine again, this time taking a longer drink. "Are you going to kill him?"
"I thought about it, but then I thought I would speak to you first."
The King laughed. "I am hardly impartial."
"No, but you were always reasonable and sensible. It was the reason why I respected you enough to turn myself in all those years ago. I thought if anyone could understand the conflict in me right now it would be you."
There was silence for a long time. A cheer went up outside before the King finally spoke.
"He is my son although I have no paternal instincts towards him. I have my wife back after all these years of grieving and yet with her comes this man who I am told to love. Not only that, he has been one of the biggest killers of my men. He has been one of the main reasons this war is going ahead. I cannot reconcile the two images of him and yet when I see the way my wife looks at him...it is the same way she looks at Althalos. I also think about the way he leapt to defend her when I stabbed her. Only a son would behave like that."
Norva choked on the wine. She spluttered as she struggled to swallow the drink. "You stabbed the Queen?"
King Jacquard waved a dismissive hand in the air. "It is a long story."
Norva's mouth opened to delve deeper and then she closed it again. She knew that any explanation the King would provide would be incomprehensible to her.
"My instinct is to kill him," Norva admitted.
"But?"
"But I think there might be an element of truth to his accusations."
"Which angers you even more? Because if there is truth in what Stasiak says, it means that this girl fooled you for a long time and you wasted a lot of time trying to rescue her. It has also damaged your confidence as you thought breaking Scamp out of Cordane's camp meant you still possessed your impressive talent for breaking into places undetected. Not only that, you curse yourself because you thought the whole affair of rescuing the girl was a little too easy even for you."
Norva opened her mouth ready with an angry retort but then closed it again. Instead she followed the King's lead and drunk some more wine. His reply surprised her. He seemed to read her mind so easily. "Did someone tell you all that too?"
Jacquard smiled. "No, the ability to read people I have always possessed. At least until it came to Cordane."
"Ah it seems both mine and your confidence has been shattered."
"Indeed."
"At least I am still angry enough to do something about mine."
The King shrugged. "But you don't have anywhere to direct yours. The girl that deceived you is already dead. The man you wanted to hate took care of that for you and now you are a lost assassin with no one to kill."
"Which is why I am here."
The King stopped as he reached to pour more win. "I don't follow?"
Norva moved to the window. She could not see much of the battle, the waterfall and the tall spires of Lilyon obscured most of her view, but she could see the winged Glooms duelling in the sky against the mysterious white creatures and she could see the occasional volley of arrows. The sounds of desperate fighting reached her though and made her skin crawl.
"The man who deceived you, the one who orchestrated all this, is out there right now trying to bring down the walls of your city. You have the chance to exact revenge on him yet you wallow in your room attempting to get drunk."
"I caused my own downfall. I should have known. I should have ruled the regions better. I should not have neglected them."
"Maybe, partially you are to blame. But you are not the sole cause. You are a good King, Jacquard. A fair man with good intentions. You were undone by an evil bastard who used dark magic to deceive you. You did not let your people down until now. Now when they need you most. There is still a vast army out there defending your Kingdom because they believe in your values. They believe in you. The man who cheated you and your wife out of seventeen years of marriage and cheated you out of knowing your other son leads the opposing army and you do nothing. You question whether or not you should accept Stasiak as a son. Why should he accept you? What does he see in you other than a self-pitying old man?"
The King recoiled in his seat as if Norva had struck him. "You have no idea what I have endured recently."
"Nor do I care. Is it worse than years of darkness in the Pit? Is it worse than continual solitude?"
"I. I-"
"Your sons are out there fighting for what you once believed in. Your wife is doing her part, healing the men who are still willing to fight for your Kingdom. You are right I am angry, but you should be livid. I don't have a chance to do anything with my anger; you have a chance to rectify the cause of yours."
The King drained his cup and then slammed it down on the table as he stood. "Calbert," he bellowed at the door. "Ready my sword and armour."
Norva stood. Her eye line was barely above his waist but looking up at the King jutting out his chin and seeing the steely determination in his eyes, she felt six feet tall.
"Will you fight by my side Ghost Assassin?" he asked.
Norva smiled. “It will be an honour”.
“Will you also tell me how you escaped my Pit?"
"Only if we win."
Chapter 28
It seemed every time his sword met an opponent’s one of Hemmel Thane’s rules would pop into Jensen’s head. He had hated the weapon master’s endless monotony of instructions at the time, but now they served him well, preserving his life on many occasions.
The bloodlust helped. It fuelled his anger and gave him strength when his muscles protested there was none. But it was clear with each passing hour the potions he had been force fed were slowly leaving his system. Rather than being consumed by a feral rage, Jensen now had clarity and focus. He could channel his aggression to great effect.
Men backed away from him, if they did not they fell dead at his feet. He lost track of how many lives he had ended but he also did not care. It did not matter which weapon his opponent yielded, Jensen had met it before and was able to counter. He had been led to believe that although he had been trained, he was somehow inferior to the seasoned warriors; that when he came up against battle hardened soldiers, he would not last seconds.
However, now he had entered his first real battle, he found the opposite to be true. Men were scared in battle. They made mistake after mistake and Jensen identified these errors even before his enemy realised they had committed them.
A man swung at his head, his arm extended fully so the blade of his axe took an eternity to arc towards Jensen. “Rule number 25 Never let your opponent know what you are about to do,” he muttered. As he stabbed the man’s exposed throat Jensen yelled “Rule number 18 Strike first, strike fast”.
He began to assign his victims numbers according to the rules he had been taught. “Always counter a strike Rule number 14”
“Never give your opponent a chance to recover 21”
“When in doubt let your instincts take control 7”
“You need to learn to count,” a warrior said by his side. Jensen did not know his name. He did not know any of their names. Despite vowing to stay close by Mertyn's side, the tide of the battle had soon parted them and Mertyn had been swept away. He had looked for him briefly but
there always seemed to be one more enemy to kill.
"I can count just fine," Jensen said but he had no idea why he was bothering to respond. The warrior would probably be dead within the next couple of minutes.
He had hoped to spot Aisielle even though it was a foolish aspiration. The good-humoured warrior had made a good companion earlier and Jensen now realised how skilled the man was to stay by Jensen's side the entire time.
The warrior who had remarked on his counting gasped as a burly man barrelled into him knocking him to the floor. Never over commit, Jensen thought as the attacker’s back loomed large and vulnerable in front of him like a bulbous plum ready for plucking. Jensen plunged his sword into the man feeling his blade grind against the man's spine; the man yelled, arched his back and fell to the floor as Jensen withdrew his blade. The rule Jensen had thought of was number 24 but instead he uttered the words "one, the number of times I have saved your life," as he stood over his fellow warrior.
The shaken man nodded his thanks and stumbled to his feet. He began to mutter his thanks when he was plucked from the ground and lofted into the sky by a Gloom. The creature cawed as he hoisted the man twenty, thirty, forty feet in the air before relinquishing him and sending him falling and wailing to his death.
"Rule number 33 never think you're safe," Jensen whispered before turning his attention to the next opponent. The Gloom's sudden attack had left him shaken and he struggled to control the surge of anger which welled within. He felt a burning sensation behind his eyes and heat in his ears. The next man who attacked suddenly became the vilest, despicable person Jensen could ever recall.
He knew it was the blood lust and part of him screamed to quell it but his body would not listen. He roared and rained down blows on the unfortunate man, seeking to end his life with an alacrity which surprised his foe. The man fell with little resistance and Jensen hacked away at his flesh long after he was dead.
The warriors who fought alongside him looked at him warily and subtly increased their distance from him. Jensen barely noticed. He could hardly register any emotion. All he knew was that he had an urge to kill and although he tried to stem that urge, to do so too much would mean certain death. Blood splattered across his face, wet and cool. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear them yet did not slow his momentum. Even with impaired vision, the young man in front of him was no match. Jensen registered the fear in his eyes and smiled. "Rule number 14," he said aloud, causing the young man to hesitate. “Half the fight is won before a weapon is unsheathed.” Jensen thrust the point at the young man's arm and the poor foe was unable to deflect the blow. Jensen watched as his victim's eyes widen and his mouth open in shock. He felt almost nothing as he kicked him away. A small part of his mind screamed in outrage. He was vaguely aware of the horror of what he was doing. The young man he had dispatched could have been his best friend in another life. It could have been Brody. Like Jensen he might have been thrust into this conflict through no choice of his own and Jensen had just ended his life without a second thought. It was all so unfair. All nonsensical. He caught a whiff of a foul smell, looked down and saw that the young man had soiled himself in death. A pang of sympathy emanated from deep within Jensen. Did the boy have a father? A mother?
A blood-curdling scream filled the air and Jensen's unspoken question was immediately answered. A man charged at him full of anger that only deep grief could fuel. Jensen turned to face him. He coolly analysed the enraged father assessing him for weaknesses. There were too many to count. The man had abandoned all thoughts of self-preservation and was obsessed only on avenging his fallen son. A number of Hemmel Thane's rules ran through his head. Jensen calculated a plethora of ways he could end the man's life. In his mind's eye he had already killed him. The act was merely a formality. And yet, part of him hesitated. He wanted the man to kill him. Why shouldn't he give the father the gift of avenging his son? What good would it do for Jensen to live whilst he wiped out this family line?
It was a stupid thought. He knew why he fought. Why they all fought. They battled so things could go back to the way they used to be. So Frindoth could be at peace once again and he could be with Brenna. That was worth fighting for. That was worth all the bloodshed. Wasn't it?
He never got to kill the man. A shadow fell over Jensen and instinctively he dove to the floor. A Gloom swooped over him and he felt the rush of air on his body. If he had hesitated he would be at the creature's mercy. In its frustration at missing its target the Gloom seized the grieving father. One second he was charging at Jensen and the next he was carted off into the sky just as the previous man who had commented on Jensen's numerical skills.
How could they possibly compete against such creatures? Men battled on the ground against each other when really they should be united against such demons. It was all so futile. Jensen felt the ground tremble beneath him. Several men around him backed away. He turned to see a large Gloom had landed amongst them. It was like none he had seen before. Equestrian-like in size and the shape of its head, but instead of four legs, it had dozens of legs all rippling as they moved causing a loud clicking sound. It opened its mouth to reveal razor sharp teeth. It fell upon the men tearing them to shreds in seconds. Other men attacked its flanks but were kicked away by legs that were deceivingly strong. Jensen saw one warrior literally have his spine kicked through his body. It burst through the skin and protruded through his breast plate. A wave of nausea engulfed Jensen but he ignored it. Again, a small part of him screamed to run away, but his overwhelming sense was relish. He yearned to test himself against such an enemy. Finally, he was to be challenged and maybe, just maybe the lust for blood would be sated.
He hefted the sword in his hand enjoying the weight, before marching purposely towards the Gloom. As if sensing the threat, the Gloom whirled around to face him, performing the rotation in a three-point turn. Its mouth widened and a long tongue flashed out, its tip split into several strands like a flail. The Gloom appeared to have no weak areas; its body was covered in what looked like a tortoise shell with no obvious opening. The head that towered over him seemed to be the creature's only vulnerability.
Jensen vaguely registered someone screaming his name and protesting against him attacking the Gloom but the voice was like a distant dream. He breathed heavily as he allowed the anger to course through his veins. The Gloom became the centre of his rage; an abomination which had to be destroyed. Unlike before, there was no voice contradicting these thoughts. The Gloom was evil and everything that was wrong in his world. If ever he should use the anger that flowed through him, it was now.
The Gloom raised his head ready to attack. Jensen roared and readied his sword. Two talons gripped his shoulders and he was lifted off his feet. The ground fell away while before him, hundreds of men were growing smaller and smaller. A beak appeared and pecked at his face. He was able to move his sword arm enough to swipe at the head but the talons dug harder into his shoulders piercing the skin and causing him to drop the weapon. He tried to prise himself free but the claws had a vice like grip. The rush of air on his face made his eyes water, his stomach lurched at the sudden change in altitude. The men below looked like insects scurrying around. He was appalled at just how many Glooms there were and how many more waited in the wings.
He ran through the rules in his head but could find none that would help him in his current situation. From the periphery of his vison he registered a white blur hurtling towards them. His teeth jarred as the object crashed into the Gloom that held them. They fell from the sky turning over and over until the world became a kaleidoscope of green and blue. The Gloom struggled to right itself and screamed at the effort. Jensen tried to cover his ears but couldn't, pain shot through them and he felt as if his ear drums had burst. The Gloom controlled its descent a little but the ground rushed towards them still at an alarming speed.
It was apparent that the Gloom would not be able to save itself before it reached the ground and Jensen felt the creature relinquish its grip on him.
He closed his eyes as he plunged the last twenty feet and braced for the impact, but when it came Jensen did not know anything about it.
***
When Jensen opened his eyes, the world swirled around him. He was on his back and when he moved his head he immediately vomited. He squeezed his eyes shut which helped with the pain a little but not with the dizziness. He groaned and spat the last of the drawl from his mouth, groaning further when it landed on his chin.
He went to wipe it but pain shot through his arm. He screamed out and let the tears trickle from the corner of his eyes.
“It’s alright son, keep still, you are not in any immediate danger,” a voice he recognised said. For a split second, he thought it was his father’s but realised it was Mertyn. He felt guilty as he realised he was just as happy to hear Mertyn’s voice.
“Where are we?” Jensen asked, it was too painful to open his eyes.
“Inside the White City walls,”
“It’s still standing then?” Jensen said and tried to smile but even that small effort hurt. With his location revealed, Jensen’s thoughts became a little clearer. He realised that the drone inside his mind was the distant sound of the continuing battle.
“For now, thanks to you in part. Tri-moons Jensen where did you learn to fight like that?”
Jensen tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. Seconds later he felt a cup pressed to his lips. The water was warm but he welcomed it.
“I told you how,” he croaked.
“The potions or the training?”
“Both,” Jensen replied. He wanted to open his eyes but was afraid at the expression he might see on Mertyn’s face. His friend sounded afraid and uneasy. It was the last thing he wanted the man to feel.
“I thought the potions had worn off”
“They have, mostly. I felt the anger within me but I had it under control.”
“Are you sure?”
Jensen did not reply; mainly because he was not sure of the answer. Did he really have the urge to kill under control or was he deceiving himself? Could he have stopped if he wanted to? He pushed the thought away. To dwell on the subject too long upset him. He wanted to believe he was in control of his actions but the truth was he didn’t know for certain. He thought the effects had worn off from the potions but if they hadn’t, what did that mean? Would they ever leave his system or would the urge always lie dormant waiting to emerge and take over? He changed the subject.