Comfortable in the court’s opulent surrounding, the Empress and Royal Consort listened to the twittering gossip of the courtiers. The clinking of glasses. The crackling of the fire. The fluttering of ringed hands and swish of layered silks. It was always the same. Most importantly, the nobles would ignore Boy as long as their wine glasses were kept filled.
A new Fairsinge slave was chained in the corner. At first glance, this new slave looked like his lost brother. His massive body, unlined brow, and black hair were covered in sweat and dirt. His laced back was dark from the sun. He was probably used to traverse the Expanse or perhaps he was used for the arena. His tri-pointed ears folded flat against the side of his head, but his eyes were not broken. He thought again of the brother he once had. The old woman from his dreams whispered, “Find a weapon.”
Kian shook the memory from his head. The old woman didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The nobles’ youngest grandsons threw pieces of bread at the new slave and dared each other to touch his raw back. They laughed as the slave shoved the food in his face before the bored guard yanked on his collar.
Kian thought of his lost brother once more. No. No. No.
Kian refilled the wine glasses — emptying the carafe. He slid down the lime-plastered hallway through the wooden archway that led to the kitchen. Unbalanced by the blistering memory of his family, but careful not to be caught, he drained the dregs into his throat hoping to forget.
He tried to hold on to his brother as the slavers ripped them apart. Eohan had been thrown into the cell bound for the arena. The slavers threw him into a hold with other children. Women were in the cell across from him and chained to bunks. He often heard the women screaming as the sailors visited them.
He needed to escape. The old woman from his dreams whispered again, louder this time, “Find a weapon.”
Kian prepared another tray. Steel glimmered at the bottom of a washbasin. Without thinking, he grabbed a knife. Heart pounding, he slid it into his waistband, hoping Cook had not noticed.
Once in the servants’ corridor, fearing the knife might loosen and slide down his pant leg, he ripped the cuff of his pant and tied the blade to his thigh. He glanced over his shoulder; no one was there. He took a sip of wine, this time not just the dregs.
Lowering the cup, he thought he saw a shadow in the corner creeping up the servant’s corridor, but when he looked again it was gone. Kian made his way back to the Hall and waited at his station until the Empress and the Royal Consort took to their bed.
Cook did not see the missing knife before he retired. Finally, the castle was quiet as the servants and slaves finished their chores. He retired to his mat on the floor.
He listened as shadows of slaves lay upon their mats. A few engaged in sexual congress. Thankfully tonight, no one approached him. He waited until snoring surrounded him. He held his breath as he sat. His heart pounding, he crept out of the kitchen and down the hall, careful his footfalls did not make a sound.
In the dim, empty great room, the stench of his blood and sweat rose into his nostrils as he approached the brute.
“I’m a slave like you,” he whispered quickly in Daosith. The man stared at him in reply. Something about this man’s hazel eyes which enveloped Kian with a sense of familiarity.
“I can’t escape on my own, but together we could. I’ll get you out of the castle if you get me through the Expanse.”
The brute nodded. “I am called Eohan.”
“I-I’m just called Boy, but Kian’s my name, and Eohan was once my brother’s name,” Kian said in Daosith.
Eohan said something in their mother tongue that Kian didn’t understand, then gestured at the lock.
“Yes.” Kian bobbed his head, though he wasn’t sure that he could do it. Using the knife, he fiddled with the lock. He had never picked a lock before. The inner workings wouldn’t move. Tears sprang to his eyes.
“Calm yourself,” Eohan said in their mother tongue. His voice was rich and tender. The voice of his elder brother resonated in his mind, but Kian pushed the thought away. To be reunited with his brother was a fanciful dream. The Realms were cruel. He wanted a drink.
The knife jumped from the lock and slid across Eohan’s skin. Blood rose from the wound.
Kian pinched his eyes shut, expecting a blow.
“Stay calm. Keep working on it. I’ll keep watch. Feel the tumblers. That’s good. You have plenty of time.”
“No. We only have a little bit of time before Cook wakes. You don’t know … you don’t know…”
“Remain calm.” Serenity echoed in Eohan’s deep voice.
Kian wiped his face on the tail of his dirty shirt. Fearing a guard passing by, or that a slave might awaken, he glanced over his shoulder. No one was there. Besides Eohan’s soft voice, the only sound was the clock that ticked loudly and sounded on the half hour. Sweat poured down his back. Every moment, he was sure someone would wake in the servants’ corridor and notice his pallet was empty. They would come looking for him. They would find him with Eohan. If he was lucky, they would only beat him.
“You’re doing fine,” Eohan said. “Feel the tumblers. This lock’s a simple thing.”
With Eohan’s guidance, Kian felt a click. It snapped open. Tears of joy streamed down his cheeks. Eohan removed the metal cuffs and stood without making a sound as he set the chains to the ground.
Kian might have thought that was odd if the sight in front of him didn’t terrify him. Unchained, the man towered over Kian. This Eohan could not be his brother. His brother had been big and strong, but he had been a boy. This man was huge.
“Let’s go,” Eohan said rubbing the cut on his wrist.
Kian hurriedly led Eohan back to the kitchen. He put his finger to his lips and pointed towards Cook sleeping on a pallet in his alcove.
Eohan nodded.
Glancing behind him, Kian opened the wooden panel in the wall. He crawled into the grease-lined garbage chute. Nearly overwhelmed by the smell of rotting food, bile rose in his throat. He tried holding his breath. He glanced back. Eohan pulled himself along, filling the entire chute.
Kian got a whiff of fresher air as he popped his head out. The world was painted in the dim blue of night. No one noticed they were missing yet.
He grasped on the rocks above the chute and tried to maneuver his legs below him. He tried to slowly lower himself to shorten the drop to the rock below.
Eohan grabbed his wrist and pulled his hands away from the stone.
Panic rose in Kian’s throat, but Eohan only lowered him further.
“Ready?” Eohan whispered and let him go. The red stone stung the soles of his feet. He bounced around to get the sting out. Eohan lowered himself and dropped beside him.
“This way.” The boy showed Eohan a path around the Daosith village. From this distance, the palace that had been his home was beautiful. Its spiraling towers appeared to sprout straight out of the reddish-brown stone cliff and arcing domes spread out like flower petals unfurling towards the moon. “I won’t miss it,” he whispered, but his heart wondered if that were true. He had been sold so many times.
Kian hurried up the hill to the river. He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, but his thighs burned with each step and mud oozed between his toes. He didn’t dare stop.
The big man’s face was set in a frown, but he walked without complaint. They climbed the second hill. Kian’s lungs felt as if they might burst, but Eohan breathed regularly.
“Let’s wash this dreck off,” Eohan said.
“What if they come?” Kian asked. “We sometimes come here to fish.”
“The sun hasn’t risen yet, and we won’t stay long.”
Kian was careful to stay out of arm’s reach of the big man. However, Eohan only jumped into the water with a slight yelp. Shivering, he wiped away the grease as best as he could and plunged his dark hair in and out with a few wild grunts. Muttering about the cold, he pulled off his ragged pants and beat them against a rock.
>
Kian did the same. Now naked, Kian pushed down his feelings of shame. He didn’t want the man to judge him still a boy. Or see his scars from the lash. Or know how other slaves touched him in the darkness. He wanted this Eohan to be his lost brother, but he feared his brother’s shame of him. It was better if this Eohan wasn’t his brother.
The man didn’t so much as glance at him. If anything, he was still annoyed by the icy water. He gingerly pulled on his ragged pants.
“We should drink.” Eohan cupped his hands and drank his fill.
Kian did the same.
He led the way up the next hill. Then the next. They followed the river for miles until it opened into a deep clear pool. “Let’s rest here,” Eohan said and pushed leaves into a pile next to a stone which he reclined upon.
“Is it true Fairhdel has three suns?”
“Have you been a slave so long?”
“I don’t remember my home. I think I do, but then I don’t. My memories scald me.”
“Fairhdel has three suns,” Eohan said with a deep sadness in his voice and picked at a callus on his hand.
*
Roark silently ascended the red stone wall to a shuttered window. He climbed into the marks’ room, slipped behind the thick curtain, and waited for the Empress and Royal Consort to retire for the evening.
This would be an interesting experience. A noble assassination. What a job for an apprentice!
Still, watching the lad creep over to Eohan, “save” him and escape the castle opened an old wound. His siblings wouldn’t have saved him from slavery and paid to have the old master’s killed. Nor would he for them. Of course, it had never come up.
Finally, the marks entered the chamber. Roark wondered why such wasted creatures hung on to life. Watching the elderly couple undress, he observed their sluggish movements, shaking hands, and their sagging, sunken skin. He could not let that happen to him. He did not want to ever grow old. He didn’t want Alana to grow old either.
Soon the couple’s snores became quite regular.
With a gloved hand, Roark silently extracted a dead frog. He split open its skin and cut out its liver. He put the rest of the frog back in his pouch. Roark sliced the liver in two. He timed when they opened their mouths naturally and slid the liver onto the tongues of his victims.
The Empress sat up in terror, but could not shout for help as her throat closed around her words. Her struggle awoke her consort. He screamed and tried to pound her on the back. He began choking. It was over quickly.
Roark checked for a pulse from the artery in their necks. Both were still. He studied their dead eyes and checked their throats for traces of poison. As it should, it completely dissolved.
Roark strangled the Empress purposely to cause bruises. He broke the bottle over her head. He quickly grabbed a few valuables and ripped the curtains. Then he broke the window shutters and threw the Consort’s body to the landing below. The new “brute” was supposed to take the blame.
Roark hurried down the steps to ensure Kian wasn’t still fiddling with the lock. Seeing the brothers had escaped the castle, he climbed out a window and down the castle walls on the river side. Careful to stay out of sight of the village, he silently jogged to the rendezvous.
*
Eohan wished Alana and Roark would hurry. Kian was damaged. Perhaps beyond repair. It had only been a year, but Kian did not remember him or his former home. He seemed so small and thin. Too thin. Perhaps it was best if he never knew they were brothers. The thought left a lump in Eohan’s throat.
He wiped leaves and dirt off as well as he could, then headed down to the river where Kian tied his knife to a stick and stabbed at the water. Hemmed in by boulders, the riverside rendezvous location felt safe enough. Where was Alana?
Kian backed away from Eohan. “I didn’t catch anything yet,” he admitted with his hands up.
“We had a deal. You get us out of the castle, I’ll get us out of this land.”
“What will happen then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where will you take us?”
Eohan smiled sadly. “I guess you can come to the Guild with me.”
“The Guild?”
“A place where you can work.”
“You’ll sell me?” Kian’s voice sounded hollow. Dead.
“The Guild does not accept slaves, but you can apprentice there,” Eohan said. “Or perhaps I can take you to a village.”
A whistle interrupted him.
“It’s about time,” Eohan snapped.
Roark entered the grove. “Welcome to our party, Young Master Kian.”
He rummaged through his bag for an unguent, bandages, and an oily suspension.
“You would call me by my name?” Kian asked.
“And I shall call you the brother of my friend.”
Roark dabbed the unguent over the re-opened wounds on Eohan’s back and the cut on his wrist that Kian accidentally gave him. He uncapped the bottle with his teeth and knocked back the suspension to dull the pain.
Still not looking at Eohan, Roark handed him first a linen undertunic and then black wool.
“Allow me to reintroduce you to Eohan, son of Aedell, the sausagemaker, and Cadfael smith in the village of Aberfoel, now a Guild Apprentice training to be a War Ender. We’ve searched Realm after Realm for you.” Roark bowed to Kian. “I’m Roark, Martlet-in-training of House Eyreid, Son of Doyenne Laraena and Lord Aldan, Younger brother to the Great Lady Ylynn. Guild Apprentice training to be the Assassin of the Realms.”
How could Roark say all that in one breath? Eohan thought. He did not like the way Roark’s eyes were focused on his little brother.
“I dreamt of a lady. She told me you were coming. Is that Doyenne Laraena?”
“No, my aunt, Lady Alana, the greatest of all Martlets.”
“So noble Fairsinge really wander around saving people?”
“We are real.” Alana approached, followed by the horses. “The job was completed cleanly. You both did well.”
“Job?” Kian asked.
“He hired me to kill the Empress for the distress she caused you,” Roark said.
“She didn’t cause me distress; she ignored me.”
“Never the less, she and the Royal Consort are dead,” Alana said.
Kian flinched at the words “Royal Consort.” Eohan wanted to embrace his brother, but Roark patted his shoulder.
“She died without pain, but I poisoned him and threw him out the window.”
“Good. I hated him. He was a … bad … man.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you immediately, but…” Eohan was too overwhelmed by emotion to speak. This wasn’t how he expected his brother to react. The coldness behind his eyes was not like him. He used to smile and sing.
“It was indispensable to ensure you weren’t broken,” Alana said, “I inserted a subliminal message into your dreams. If you hadn’t wanted to escape — if you succumbed to slavery — you wouldn’t have been brave enough to steal the knife and free Eohan.”
“What would have happened to Eohan if I hadn’t come?” Kian asked.
“I would’ve picked the lock, and left you to your fate,” Roark said.
“So this is fated?”
“I don’t know if anything is fated, but we are creatures of habit, and we do what we do. I set something in motion when I rescued Eohan — and as his future is now bound up with Roark’s — we needed to rescue you, too. You cannot return to the castle.” Alana said. “Will you come to the Guild or should we find you an apprenticeship in a village somewhere?”
“I don’t know. I would be free?” Kian asked.
“As free as any of us,” Roark said. “We vow to serve, and that vow is sacrosanct, but we are paid well.”
Kian smiled at the nobleman’s words. His hazel eyes became full of resolve.
“Then the Guild is where I want to go,” he said.
Eohan’s heart plunged into the pit of his stomach. Alana had
warned him that his little brother might be different boy than the one he knew. She had been right. The Kian who laughed easily, smiled and sang was gone.
*
Chapter 21
A cottage in a wood, somewhere in the Realm of Daouail
Covered in sweat and heart racing, Kian paced the sleeping loft. Fresh rushes were spread on the oak floor muffling the sound of his feet. The linen-covered bed was fit for a noble son of a noble lady, not a house slave. He dare not lay in it beside his brother. Roark and Lady Alana were below near the hearth.
Outside the window, large clouds moved across the dark sky. Kian couldn’t see the double moons. His pacing became faster. He scratched his chest.
Alana seemed kind enough. She had given him an extra bowl of pottage and half her cake at dinner. Kian suspected she studied him, read his mind. What if she told Eohan? Eohan would be ashamed of me. Hate me.
The need for wine overwhelmed him.
Alana provided him with fresh clothing, but his hands slick with sweat, he didn’t dare touch them. He couldn’t get the smell of garbage off his body. That’s what he was: garbage.
He climbed down the ladder. He passed the hammock where Roark slept. The bed was empty. Where was Alana? Maybe she went to the pot or to check on the horses. He slid his feet across the floor to remain unheard.
He went to the cupboard in the back of the cottage and looked through their supplies: jars of vinegared fruit, a round of cheese, dried sausage.
Behind him, Alana cleared her throat. “You won’t drink wine, mead, whiskey or beer for now. Our well is clear, and the water is fresh.”
He jumped. “I didn’t see you there.”
She appeared much smaller without her layers of armor. Weaker. Her face bore wrinkles on her brow and crows-feet around her eyes; her bare arms were covered in scars. “Don’t bother lying to a mind reader, scroggling. To protect your soul, you allowed darkness to descend over it. If you do not waste your brother’s sacrifice, I see great things in you. Water or milk. Nothing else.” The old witch turned around, her faded braid swinging behind her. “Come.”
The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1) Page 12