by James Somers
By the time Ezekiah and his guests were finished with their meal and conversation—which ended badly—Jillian had already silently crossed the courtyard, retrieved her wolf skins and begun her descent down through Thorn Mountain’s stairs and terraces. Normally, she would have relinquished her hold on the gifts once she was safely away from any danger. But tonight she was so giddy with excitement and in need of a good head start on Varen’s company that she held on to speed and endurance, allowing her a swift flight down the mountain. The use of the gifts would require additional sleep in order to recover from their draining effect, but holding a scroll near her breast that could potentially change the balance of power in the kingdom made it all worthwhile.
UNSAVORY DEEDS
Ezekiah sighed as he stood staring down the main entrance corridor of the castle. The main door had just been kicked open by Varen on his way out; fuming over Ezekiah’s denial for weapons he had just requested. The escort guard had followed with instructions by the prophet to be sure Varen’s company, all of them, made it down to the base camp before they left them.
“Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse,” Donavan stated, half a grin sidling across his face.
Ezekiah nodded solemnly. “I had not expected much to be accomplished,” he admitted. They turned and began walking leisurely back into the castle. “I’m still not sure what the point was. Why would Varen come?”
Donavan kept pace with the prophet, feeling exhausted by the evening with Varen and his men. “He had to know how you would respond to such requests,” he said. “I know I would.”
Ezekiah nodded, pondering the evening’s events. “Strange,” he murmured, more to himself than Donavan.
As they rounded the corner, shouts echoed to them from the bisecting corridor ahead. “Master Ezekiah! Come quickly!” Tobias shouted.
Donavan noticed the boy first as he ran toward them. “Isn’t that the boy from the Conroy massacre?” he asked.
Ezekiah started toward Tobias, answering Donavan’s question with a sidelong glance.
“Master Ezekiah,” Tobias shouted again as he reached the two men, gasping for breath, having ran all the way.
“What is it, Tobias?” Ezekiah said, not imagining that there could actually be any real trouble here inside Thorn Mountain.
Tobias locked eyes with the prophet. “There’s a dead man in your room, sir.”
Donavan seemed as though he hadn’t understood what the boy had said. “A what? Dead man?”
“Are you sure?” Ezekiah asked, gripping Tobias by the shoulders.
“Yes, sir, I think it might be a guard,” Tobias said.
Ezekiah could sense only truth emanating from the boy. He didn’t know how it could be, but either Tobias thought he had seen something, or he was right.
As he let go of the boy, Tobias shot ahead of them, leading the way down the corridor toward Ezekiah’s room. Donavan and Ezekiah followed on his heels, both growing more concerned the closer they came.
Reaching the doorway, Ezekiah’s heart sank in his chest. He could see that the lock had been forced, letting the door stand open slightly. Inside his room, they found the body of Bartholomew, one of the infantry soldiers who had volunteered to stand watch over Ezekiah’s room while Varen and his party were at Thorn Mountain for their conference.
The young soldier laid face down looking as though he’d merely fell over dead. Ezekiah knelt next to Bartholomew’s body, examining him for any apparent wounds. His face was beginning to discolor, and his eyes were fixed and dilated. “Let’s roll him over,” Ezekiah said, beginning to reach under the corpse for leverage.
Donavan knelt beside him and together they turned the body. Both men looked at Bartholomew and then one another, puzzled. “Where’s the wound?” Donavan said, asking the obvious question.
“Very strange, indeed,” Ezekiah said, taking a closer look at the man’s neck. “If I hadn’t seen the forced lock, I might think he had suffered a heart attack or some other quick killing episode.”
Probing around to the base of his skull, Ezekiah stopped. “Here is something,” he said. “Donavan, feel back here.”
Donavan did as he was instructed, if reluctantly. “His neck—the bones seem disjointed, out of place.”
“My guess is that he was struck with such force as to shatter his cervical vertebrae,” Ezekiah said.
“A club of some kind?” Tobias asked from behind them.
Ezekiah looked at Donavan thoughtfully. “Perhaps something more refined.”
“The Touch?” Donavan guessed. “But only a wraith dancer could—”
“Indeed,” Ezekiah said, standing to cross the room.
Tobias followed behind him. “Master, what is a wraith dancer?”
Ezekiah did not turn to him, but rounded the partition where his bed sat. “Very dangerous assassins employed by the Serpent Kings. They have the ability to kill with a touch, among other things,” he said.
Donavan, frustrated, examined the body again. “But what would a wraith dancer be doing way out here?”
“An excellent question,” Ezekiah said. “I may have found the answer.”
Donavan and Tobias found Ezekiah kneeling next to a heavy wooden chest sitting next to his bed. The top had been caved in, like a boot smashed through the lid.
“It may look like a hammer strike,” Ezekiah said, “but I would guess it was the same feminine hand that struck poor Bartholomew dead with a single blow.”
The trio stood there taking in the ruined chest, trying to understand the power involved in forcing a woman’s supple hand through the thick mahogany planks. Donavan had heard stories of the priestess assassins, but had never witnessed their handiwork. Tobias had not even heard the stories.
“Ezekiah,” Donavan asked, “what was contained in the chest?”
“A map,” he said. “It leads to a cave where a cache of weapons from the old world have been stored for safe keeping.”
“Can it be a coincidence that Varen was just with us requesting weapons?” Donavan asked.
“That would mean an alliance between the assassins of the Serpent Kings and the leader of the Rebellion,” Ezekiah said. “Considering the attacks Varen mentioned during our dinner conversation, I find that possibility hard to fathom. The dragons would not deal kindly with the very ones attacking their palaces and temples.”
“Then who and why?” Donavan asked.
The prophet turned to the young preacher, smiling though looking suddenly weary. “I can honestly say, I don’t know.”
DEPARTURE
The old Elder Mother, Helda, watched us as one of her servants brought in a tray of tea in three cups, placing it on the table between us. The servant looked at Helda, and then departed as she waved her away. “Thank you, Vernice,” she said. She retrieved one of the teacups, indicating that Agnes and I should do the same. We each took up a cup and sipped at the warm tea. There was a hint of lemon, but more mint than anything. It was good, but my mind was already on the mission. Helda was supposed to brief Agnes and myself on exactly how to find our quarry.
“The other pair may do better than you,” Helda said, totally out of the blue.
I almost choked on my tea. “Excuse me, Elder Mother?”
She was sitting in an elegant chair inside the elegant parlor of her elegant home. A private home. I had not even realized that there were private homes owned by Belial’s priestesses. Immediately, I had been fascinated. Helda held her tea cup poised before her wrinkled lips, observing us. “You may be friends, but you have not worked together before,” she said.
I cast a sidelong glance at Agnes, and then met Helda’s eyes. “No, we’ve not,” I began. “Agnes has been serving in the High Guard longer.”
“And you have only just graduated your apprenticeship,” Helda said.
“You were told?”
“No,” she said, taking a sip of her tea before returning it to the saucer on the little table between us. “But you carry yourself differe
ntly. You may have great skill for a young wraith dancer, but you lack experience. With experience comes wisdom—vital qualities, I think—especially when you’ve been given the task of assassinating one of the most dangerous men in the entire kingdom.”
Admittedly, my confidence began to dwindle under Helda’s scrutiny. Perhaps, the fanfare of my audience with Belial and my appointment to the High Guard had made me unrealistic about who I was and my ability to carry out this mission. Still, I had been chosen by Belial himself.
Feeling a little wounded, I found myself speaking. “I trust Belial has not chosen me for this mission in vain.” I tried to make it sound as a humble as possible.
Helda grinned for a moment, her old eyes bright and knowing. “You feel I’ve insulted you.” It had not been a question. “Be careful of your pride, child,” she warned. “It’s exactly that sort of emotionalism that can get you killed on an assignment like this. Still, it may also be one of your greatest strengths.” She grinned again. “I’m sure Belial knows best.”
She took up her cup to sip at the tea again, leaving an awkward silence hanging between us. Agnes hadn’t commented yet, but her eyes darted between me and the Elder Mother. I couldn’t help but wonder if Agnes’ silence, in contrast to my lack thereof, had been the reason why Helda had characterized me the way she had. Feeling the older woman’s gaze fall upon me again, I tried to change the subject.
“You mentioned Rachel and Rebecca…they were here?”
“I met with them and have sent them on their way already,” Helda said. “As I said, the sisters have an advantage. Their manners complement one another well: one leads, the other follows without question. I have heard that they fight in similar fashion, knowing exactly where the other is at any given moment, knowing precisely what move the other will make. Perhaps the two of you should have a similar arrangement—at least one leading and the other following.”
“Pardon me, Elder Mother, but couldn’t that sort of predictability be read by the enemy as well…making it a distinct disadvantage?” I’d opened my mouth again.
Helda grinned again and sipped before replacing her cup on the saucer. “You don’t like to lose, do you, child?” she asked.
I looked her in the eye then. “No, Elder Mother, I do not.” I said it respectfully, but honestly. It felt good to speak my mind. But I wasn’t sure if I had been baited into expressing my true self, or if Helda had merely stumbled upon it innocently. I averted my eyes to the floor, feeling suddenly naked before her.
Helda stood and began a winding track around the elegantly decorated room. A light blue marble bust of Belial adorned a pedestal where she stopped before turning back to us. Agnes still hadn’t commented on any of this, which secretly infuriated me. I didn’t mistake her silence for timidity. Silence was a precious commodity for a warrior. Agnes had the experience I lacked, and here I was making that fact plain for all to see.
“I have been training wraith dancers for several centuries,” Helda said. I sank deeper into my seat. I suddenly longed to draw all of the furniture in the room around myself to hide from her.
“You’re enthusiasm is an asset to you, Gwen, but it must be tempered by the wisdom that can only come from experience,” Helda continued. “I am not only to provide you with horses for departure, but to evaluate you as a team working to accomplish the desires of Belial. To that end, I feel that Agnes should be the one leading your team.”
I caught the slightest hint of a smile already fading from Agnes’ lips.
“Gwen, even though you have recently engaged in battle with the enemy forces and been brought into the private chambers of our High Serpent King, he has deferred to my wisdom in this matter,” Helda said. “You will obey Agnes on this mission. Allow her judgment to determine when it is best to strike the enemy down. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “I understand, Elder Mother.”
“Now, you will go with my servant, Sarah, to the stables and prepare your equipment and supplies for departure. I will speak a moment more with Agnes before she joins you.”
Helda’s younger servant had already appeared in the hall, waiting for me to join her. I bowed at the waist, and then turned to follow Sarah down the stairs beyond. I couldn’t hold this against Agnes. She had done nothing wrong; only behaved as I should have before the Elder Mother. I whispered a prayer to Belial as I left the room, hoping that I would not make a fool of myself on this mission as I had just done in Helda’s living room.
Following Sarah down into the basement area and out through the courtyard beyond, we came to the horse stalls. I was still fascinated by the fact that Helda owned private property. A house was something regular people had: married ladies or rich widows.
Two horses had been set aside for us already. A brown and black pacer had been saddled with saddlebags packed to the brim with dried beef and other foodstuff that would last at least for the first few days of our journey. We had water skins as well, but would be following a route taking us by fresh water springs and several rivers as we made our way steadily north.
Distracted, I went through my cache of weapons for the tenth time—those on my person, which were many, and more within the saddlebags, including a pair of twin short swords. I had long favored a two-handed sword fighting style. Many told me it was too flamboyant, but they tended to be those I’d just beaten while utilizing it. Helda’s servant, Sarah, finished with her work, feeding and watering the animals in anticipation of our departure.
After about ten minutes, Agnes appeared in the stable. I was already curious as to the final instructions Helda had left her with, in particular the parts that had to do with me, but I didn’t come out and ask. I simply asked, “Are we ready?”
Agnes collected her last layer of clothing, a duster and brimmed hat. I put mine on as well. It wasn’t the usual attire of a wraith dancer, but with their fur linings they kept the wind and cold off of you. Still, once we reached Tarris, we would need to obtain even warmer clothing for the rest of our journey toward Thorn Mountain. Winters were very mild across the plains, but harsh in the north. I’d only ever seen snow from a distance. This mission would be an adventure in more ways than one.
Climbing up into her saddle on the brown mare, Agnes wasted no time leading the way out of the stalls. “It will take us a little over three days to reach Tarris if we pace ourselves well,” she called back. “Our rations should easily last that long, so we shouldn’t need to stop to hunt.”
I hopped up onto the black mare and goaded the animal out after her. “And when we reach Tarris?” I asked.
“The Elder Mother has given me the name and location of a man who is familiar with the Resistance and their stronghold at Thorn Mountain,” Agnes said. “He is a seller of forbidden goods, but has always been very willing to share information with the High Guard in exchange for our turning a blind eye to his activities.”
Agnes began at a trot, flowing quickly into a canter and then a gallop as we made our way out onto the open road. Helda’s home had been located near the northern edge of Babale’s suburbs. We soon found ourselves traveling at speed through scattered cattle and livestock farms. A question had blossomed in my mind, but I had neither time nor a feeling of liberty to ask it. Why did the High Guard, as dispensers of divine justice handed down from the dragons themselves, feel that it was acceptable to turn a blind eye to the activities of criminals?
PONDEROUS
Two nights into our journey toward Tarris, I had struggled internally with my own questions to the point of anarchist nightmares. Agnes had led us at a brisk pace allowing for little conversation. It was true that she was older and had more experience, but Agnes was also a very quiet person; firm when necessary while otherwise maintaining a gentle air. Surely, if there was someone other than Zora to ask, it was Agnes. She had always been supportive of me during my training, having been an apprentice of Zora herself.
I pulled a bite off of a piece of dried beef, chewing like a bovine in deep contemplation; part
icularly how to phrase my questions so that it wouldn’t be mistaken for blasphemy. Agnes had been glancing at me as we sat near our small fire. The horses were tied out on a nearby tree. Her curiosity got the better of her first.
“All right, Gwen, you’ve been stewing on something since we left Helda’s,” she said. “What’s going on? Are you mad at me for being chosen by the Elder Mother to lead this mission? I didn’t ask to, you know?”
Agnes had caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting her to question me, or the nature of her query. Stammering a moment, I said, “No, of course not, Agnes. The Elder Mother was right to have you lead. I’ve just been wondering about something since we left.”
Agnes visibly lowered her guard. “Really, what have you wondering about?”
“When you mentioned our contact in Tarris, you said that the High Guard turned a blind eye to his illegal activities.”
“Yes,” she said, “so that we can have information that might make our missions easier to execute.”
“Well,” I began, “that actually raises another question too.” I paused, wondering if I was about to cross a dangerous line.
Agnes smiled. “Don’t worry, Gwen, I’m not going to scold you for asking questions.”
I relaxed only a little. “First, I was wondering how we can turn a blind eye to criminal activity when it is our duty to uphold the laws of the gods. If a law is absolutely good and breaking it demands punishment, how can we set it aside at our leisure?”
Agnes seemed taken aback for a moment. Clearly, she had not expected a question of such depth. “I told you, we don’t lay it aside, the order comes from the High Priest and from the Serpent Kings.”
“Yes, I know, but how can they lay it aside?” I asked.