by A. J. Smith
He hoped they wouldn’t be required to spend a night in the company of Captain Brenan and his soldiers. But Rham Jas believed they’d sight the general’s camp well before nightfall.
‘What are you going to say to the duke?’ asked Glenwood, as they rode through a wooded gully. ‘He’s a Tiris, they’re not known for being nice to Kirin... or any common folk.’
‘Just tell him you’re a noble from Leith. I’m sure he’ll be impressed,’ replied Rham Jas with a smirk.
‘I’m serious, you contrary bastard. He’s a duke, or a general or whatever... and you’re a Kirin scumbag. You don’t have much in common.’
‘I can kill the Karesian bitch. He’ll be interested in that before he thinks to question my birth,’ replied the assassin. ‘Well, I might need to drop Brom’s name a few times.’
Glenwood didn’t really understand the Kirin’s association with the lord of Canarn. ‘Isn’t he a traitor to the Crown?’
‘A quality that may well be appreciated by the Red Prince,’ said Rham Jas, with a reassuring grin. It was one of his rarer grins, and Glenwood wasn’t entirely sure he trusted it.
‘I’ll let you do the talking.’
He wanted a bed, a drink and a warm woman. What he didn’t want were any more complications in his life.
‘Well, you’d better keep your mouth shut, then, because I think we’re here,’ said the assassin, pointing over the plain.
Just coming into view on the horizon, casting shadows as dusk descended on the duchy of Haran, was a large military encampment. Set back, next to a line of low caves and flanked by several newly built watchtowers, was the pennant of Lord Alexander Tiris. The Hawks of Ro had set the rest of their tents and fortifications in organized lines.
‘There’s a shit-load of them. What if they just arrest us and we end up in the stocks?’ Glenwood asked, instinctively nervous around so many soldiers.
‘They’ll never take us alive,’ replied Rham Jas with a mocking sneer. ‘Just relax, we’ll be fine.’
The forger was not reassured. ‘Relax, the man says.’ His words were directed skywards, to whichever god was listening.
Captain Brenan led them towards the centre of the camp. As they passed the first watchtower, a small town of tents spread out in front of them and a hundred grim faces turned to observe the two outsiders. These were not clerics or watchmen, but professional soldiers, loyal to Haran and their general. The Hawks of Ro were spoken of with the same respect as the knights of the Red. Indeed, their prowess was said to match the warriors of the One.
‘They look pretty tough,’ he whispered.
‘In the long run, that’s probably a good thing,’ replied Rham Jas, grinning confidently at any Hawk who met his stare.
A bell rang insistently as the small group rode through the camp. Glenwood nervously watched dozens of soldiers emerge from their tents and come to attention as they passed. At the edge of the camp, nestled against the sheer cliff face, was a small hexagonal command pavilion flanked by the hawk banners of Haran.
‘Watch your manners, Kirin,’ said Captain Brenan as three figures emerged.
No ceremony or guardsmen accompanied Alexander Tiris. Of his two companions, one was a woman and the other a corpulent older man wearing the robes of the Blue church. Glenwood’s first impression of the general was of his shaved head, focused dark eyes and simple steel armour with numerous minor alterations and repairs – chosen for efficiency rather than style. He was tall and cut an impressive figure, though his manner was relaxed. Glenwood had never seen the king but had been told that he bore some resemblance to a sweaty goat. If this were true, the Red Prince of Haran did not look like his brother.
‘That’s a big sword,’ Rham Jas whispered, pointing out the oversized blade at the general’s side. ‘Man must have strong wrists.’
‘General!’ the captain saluted, striking his breastplate. ‘A man with an interesting tale wishes to speak to you.’
The general looked past his captain at Rham Jas and Glenwood. He took in their faces, clothing and weaponry with no sign that he was concerned by their presence. The woman at his side regarded the mounted strangers more suspiciously. She was black-haired and attractive, but her movements were too cautious and her eyes too mistrustful to be beautiful. Glenwood noticed she was wearing leather armour and carried two leaf-blades of Dokkalfar design.
‘Who are you, Kirin?’ asked the general, looking up at Rham Jas.
‘Shall I dismount so we can talk more comfortably... my lord?’ asked Rham Jas.
‘You can dismount once I’ve decided whether or not you’re staying.’ He turned to Glenwood. ‘Do you carry that sword for show or does it mean something?’
‘A bit of both, my lord,’ replied the forger. ‘But he’s the one you want to talk to.’ He gestured towards Rham Jas, smiling weakly.
‘Is he now?’ said Xander. ‘Speak your name, Kirin.’
‘I’m Rham Jas Rami,’ responded the assassin nonchalantly.
‘You are reckless, Rham Jas Rami,’ said the general, almost indifferently.
The Kirin considered this. ‘I suppose I am a little, yes.’
The fat Blue cleric approached Tiris and whispered something in his ear. Exactly what he said wasn’t clear, but the churchman looked at the Kirin as he spoke.
‘Ah, I see,’ said the general. He smiled thinly. ‘I hear my cousin Archibald has put a bounty on your head large enough to fill Oswald’s Bank.’
Rham Jas shrugged. ‘I try not to listen to what others say about me,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Archibald Tiris is a fucking idiot.’
A curl of amusement showed upon the general’s stoic features. It was clear that Xander was not overly fond of his cousin.
The cleric whispered something else in his ear.
‘And you know young Bromvy?’ he asked.
‘I do. He’s one of my oldest and truest friends,’ replied Rham Jas.
‘Well, then,’ said Xander, ‘you’d better dismount and come and have a drink.’
He didn’t move away from Rham Jas. In a display of courtesy that took Glenwood by surprise, the general extended his hand and offered to help the Kirin down from his horse.
The assassin paused, wrong-footed, but then he grasped the general’s hand and allowed himself to be assisted.
‘Welcome to Haran, Rham Jas Rami,’ said Xander, thumping the Kirin around the shoulders. He frowned. ‘You need to repair that armour, it’s split.’
The assassin lowered his eyes mischievously. ‘I prefer not to get hit at all.’
The Blue cleric roared with boisterous laughter. ‘A man after my own heart,’ he said, slapping Xander on the back.
‘This is Brother Daganay, my confessor,’ said the general. ‘And this beautiful creature,’ he gestured to the woman, who still watched them with wary eyes, ‘is my dutiful wife, Gwendolyn.’
She frowned, then smiled, blew a kiss to her husband and turned back to the pavilion.
‘Well, she’s sometimes dutiful,’ said Daganay. ‘The rest of the time she’s a hard-nosed bitch.’
Xander chuckled and the Blue cleric walked after Gwendolyn.
‘Thank you, Captain Brenan,’ said the general suddenly. ‘Why don’t you go and get some breakfast? Report back here in an hour.’
‘Aye, my lord.’
The captain led his unit away as Glenwood dismounted with a hand from the general. With no ceremony he led the way into the large tent.
‘This guy’s like no Tiris I’ve ever heard of,’ whispered the forger as they followed him into the pavilion.
‘Brom always liked him,’ replied Rham Jas.
Once inside, Xander seated himself in a large, comfortable-looking canvas chair. Daganay and Gwendolyn remained standing. In the centre of the tent were the remnants of a simple meal on a long wooden table. The rest of the pavilion was homely, with few of the customary noble trappings. It had a lived-in quality which spoke volumes about the time these people had been away from th
eir city.
‘Drink?’ asked the general once Rham Jas and Glenwood had taken seats on the opposite side of the table.
‘That would be pleasant,’ replied the assassin. ‘Darkwald red by any chance?’
Xander smiled. ‘Afraid not, we’re simply soldiers.’ He reached for a bottle of dark liquid on the table and pulled out the cork with his teeth. ‘The grapes on the southern slopes of the Walls make a tangy but not unpleasant vintage.’
He moved two brass goblets in front of the newcomers and poured each a generous measure.
‘So, Rham Jas Rami,’ said the general, ‘what brings you to my squalid piece of Tor Funweir... just passing through?’
The assassin gulped back his wine and wiped his mouth on his cloak. ‘It’s a flying visit. Arrive, kill someone, fuck off. At least, that’s the plan,’ replied Rham Jas.
‘And the target?’ asked Xander.
‘Her name’s Shilpa. I understand she’s an enchantress of sorts,’ he replied smugly.
Xander snorted with amusement.
Daganay spoke before the general, leaning over the table and meeting Rham Jas’s eyes. ‘I’d advise you this is not the time for games, Kirin,’ said the cleric quickly.
‘And I’d advise you to take a step back, cleric,’ replied the assassin mildly.
The general laughed, but there was steel in his laughter. Glenwood shivered.
‘Watch your mouth,’ said the general. ‘We can have this conversation with or without my hand round your throat.’ He kept his voice even. ‘Daganay’s comment was a fair one.’
Rham Jas turned back to the general, nodding slowly. ‘Okay, I suppose it was. I’ll try to... soften my tone. Okay?’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ replied Xander. ‘Now, you claim the power to kill the witch. The report from Tiris supports your claim and I clearly have need of someone with your... abilities.’ He leant back in his chair and glanced across at Gwendolyn and Daganay. ‘I suppose I didn’t actually believe that you did what they said, killing Katja in front of half a hundred lords and clerics.’
Glenwood cleared his throat and nervously raised his hand. ‘It was probably a couple of hundred people, but most of them weren’t armed. But I saw him kill her. He stuck a goblet into her skull while your cousin watched.’
Xander turned back to a grinning Rham Jas. The assassin’s arrogant attitude had frequently made Glenwood want to punch him. However, in this case, it did seem to be justified. Whatever else this strange assassin may be, however annoying he may get, he does have an uncanny ability to kill people otherwise considered unkillable.
‘How?’ asked Xander. ‘Why can you kill them?’
Rham Jas puffed out his cheeks. ‘That, my Lord Tiris, is a very interesting question.’
‘So answer it,’ said Daganay.
‘You’ll excuse my confessor,’ interjected Xander. ‘He can’t stand not knowing something.’
‘If it’s worth knowing,’ answered the cleric.
‘Oh, this is definitely worth knowing,’ said Rham Jas, ‘but I’m not going to tell you.’
Xander laughed again, more genuinely this time. ‘I respect that... though it’ll torture Dag here.’
‘What’s wrong with wanting to know?’ asked Daganay indignantly.
‘Enough,’ barked Gwendolyn. ‘You can argue later. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to return to our home. If this man can help, we listen to him.’
The general and the cleric looked as abashed as scolded children. Glenwood glanced at Rham Jas, both of them enjoying the situation. Alexander Tiris was clearly used to treating both his confessor and his wife as equals. There was none of the casual arrogance or misogyny that Glenwood would have expected from a duke of Tor Funweir and a member of the family of Tiris.
‘Gwen’s right,’ said Xander. ‘You may be just what we need, Rham Jas.’ He paused. ‘If we can trust you.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t leave me alone with your daughter,’ replied the assassin with a lazy smile, ‘but you can trust me to kill Shilpa the Shadow of Lies.’ He took a gulp of wine and shifted position in his chair, moving his Dokkalfar war-bow from behind him and leaning it against the table. ‘I understand that you and your good lady have spent time among the forest-dwellers.’
They both nodded. ‘Gwen more than me,’ replied the general. ‘That’s one of the reasons I have a Blue cleric with me... they do not preach about the Dokkalfar.’
Daganay spread his arms wide. ‘I’ve read a lot about the risen and nothing has convinced me there is any credible evidence that they are undead monsters.’
Rham Jas frowned. ‘I’ve never met a cleric of knowledge before,’ he said curiously.
‘It’s simply a question of evidence and logic,’ said Daganay. ‘We do not trust things just because a cardinal decrees it. We study and learn to understand the world better.’
Gwendolyn snorted in amusement. ‘Those of the Blue do not care about conquest or privilege, they care only for knowledge.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Daganay. ‘I also care about Tor Funweir... and ale.’
‘I think she means that you’re less annoying than the Purple,’ translated Xander, giving his confessor a playful punch on the shoulder.
‘Well, the evidence would suggest that is undoubtedly true,’ replied Daganay.
Glenwood didn’t know how to react to the Blue cleric. Like his Kirin companion, he’d never met one before and had thought they were confined to dusty old libraries.
Xander turned back to the two outsiders. ‘How long will it take you to kill the enchantress?’
Rham Jas was clearly gratified that the topic of conversation had returned to assassination. ‘If you tell me where she is and what guard she has...’
The general nodded. ‘And how are Brom’s sea legs?’ he asked mischievously.
The Kirin frowned. ‘No idea, but he’s never been much of a sailor. Will he be taking a voyage soon?’
‘Of course,’ replied Xander. ‘Once I can return to my city I’ll be loading as many men as I can spare on to ships and sailing to Tiris... via Canarn to pick up young Bromvy.’
Daganay raised a hand as Rham Jas opened his mouth to reply. ‘Two nobles of Tor Funweir make a much better statement than one, wouldn’t you agree? Especially when the nobles are planning to sail into the king’s harbour with an army.’
Glenwood and Rham Jas looked at each other. By reputation, Alexander Tiris was single-minded and tough. However, to hear so bluntly that he intended to sail his army into Ro Tiris was startling.
‘I’d imagine that Lord Archibald may be a little... unhappy about that,’ said Glenwood, wincing at the understatement.
‘Our sailing into his harbour should be the least of his worries. He should concern himself with what I’m going to do when I’m face to face with him,’ said the Red Prince, his lip twitching.
‘Well,’ said Rham Jas, ‘your family issues are no concern of ours... and I’m sure Brom would be delighted to accompany you.’ The assassin paused, realizing that everyone present was looking at him. ‘If you just tell me where Shilpa is hiding, we can be on our way.’
The general leant forward and locked eyes with Rham Jas. It was strange to meet a man who was not the slightest bit afraid of the Kirin assassin. It was stranger still when Rham Jas looked away from Xander’s gaze.
‘Don’t worry, Rham Jas,’ said the Red Prince, ‘you’ll be on your way soon. Dag, tell him what he needs to know.’
Xander rocked back in his chair and motioned for the Blue cleric to speak.
‘Well, the logical place for her to be using as her headquarters would be Ranolph’s Hold, the old knight marshal’s office. With us gone, Marshall Trego is in charge, so she’ll need to keep him close. It’s also in the centre of town and next to the watch barracks. You should probably enter via the wood gate, they won’t have guards on it. Head for the high towers.’
Daganay spoke as if what he was saying should have been obvi
ous to anyone with a brain. His manner was of a man who had to concentrate to control the immense amount of knowledge he possessed.
‘Just be sure to swing back this way and tell me when you’re done,’ said Xander.
* * *
Ro Haran was on the coast, but quite far back from the harbour and perched high on sheer cliffs above the rough seas. Its thick walls and high battlements could be easily defended by a handful of good soldiers – even a lowly forger like Glenwood could appreciate its design.
‘Now that’s what I think of when I imagine a city of Ro,’ joked Rham Jas, as they approached the wooded gate. ‘Why is it here, though? Who’s going to invade this place?’ He looked around at the rugged coastline and mist-shrouded plains. ‘There’s not much here.’
‘It’s an old, old city,’ replied Glenwood. ‘Back when Weir was far too dangerous to attack, the Hounds used to unload thousands of soldiers along this coast. The dukes of Haran have always been... the guardians of Tor Funweir.’
Rham Jas smirked. ‘A scholar of Ro history now, are we?’
‘Fuck you.’ It was said without aggression. ‘Stories from when I was a kid, I suppose. When my dad wasn’t drunk he liked telling me about history... don’t get me wrong, I’m no expert.’
‘You had a father?’ teased the Kirin.
‘Not much of a father.’
Rham Jas stopped at the wood gate. It was heavily overgrown with brambles and all but invisible except for an arched doorway. It lay in a small depression next to the northern wall, leading to an equally overgrown tunnel of moss-covered brickwork.
‘In we go,’ said Rham Jas, pushing his reluctant horse through the tall brambles and into the dark tunnel.
‘Oh dear,’ replied Glenwood, ‘another stealthy incursion into another hostile city.’
They passed through and dismounted, edging forwards beneath the thick walls of Ro Haran, until they emerged in a dusty back alley, stinking of rotten food and sewage.
There was a handful of guards on the main gate, but no crossbow-men patrolled the battlements and the two companions were barely noticed as they skulked from the alley on to a narrow, paved road. If Shilpa was worried about the Kirin paying her a visit, she wasn’t showing it.