An Assassin's Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Justin DePaoli

  “Your Lord Klosh,” Patrick said, “told me without additional men, he could not assault the walls of Erior. I assumed this was true, given Sollick Glannondil possessed a sizable portion of the East’s forces. But you stand here and tell me Grannen has sixty thousand ready to march.”

  Ollya played with her bracelets. “Sollick bent the knee weeks ago. Grannen did everything he could to keep it quiet. In fact, he’s stoked the fire by putting rumors out there that he has suffered minor defeats at the hand of Sollick.”

  Patrick poured himself a cupful of wine. “Why?”

  “He wishes to stab you in the back.”

  “Literally,” I added.

  “The men who followed Sollick,” Ollya explained, “will stay back while Grannen brings his alliances and the Red Sentinels to Vereumene. Once there, the Sentinels will take to the front lines. The North and the West and all others Grannen has allied with will form the secondary push into Vereumene.”

  I lifted a finger and added, “That’s what you’ll be told, anyhow.”

  “Correct,” Ollya said. “You will in fact be taken from behind by the men who had sworn fealty to Sollick. Grannen Klosh wants Mizridahl for his own, Lord Verdan. I advise you to stop him.”

  Patrick drank the entirety of his wine in one gulp. Then he poured himself another cup.

  When his chest began heaving, I thought about ducking out of the room, remembering my last visit with the man, when the mere mention of his father had sparked a tantrum that had culminated with a chalice slamming against a wall.

  He held in his anger this time, or whatever emotion currently captured him.

  “Before the passion of hot anger drives you to put Klosh’s head on a pike,” I said, “I have a better, subtler idea for revenge.”

  Patrick looked at me, fingers clenching his cup.

  “Allow Grannen to believe he’s stringing you along. Make Jesson Tath aware of this treachery, tell your Northern lords — but don’t reveal your hand to Klosh quite yet. Let’s thread a whisper inside the walls of Vereumene, tell Kane Calbid about the trickery Grannen’s going to employ.

  “When you stand before those walls with Grannen, you and Jesson and all of Klosh’s supposed allies turn on the Red Sentinels. Crush them. Then Kane’s forces storm out, assist you in mopping up Sollick’s soldiers. And then you can do whatever the fuck you want. Put Kiera on the throne and go back to Icerun for all I care. I simply don’t want a world ruled by one bloody king; I don’t give two shits what happens otherwise.”

  Patrick gazed into the wood frame of his dresser like a man lost in his head. Minutes seemed to pass when he swallowed another cupful of wine and asked me a question I had not expected.

  “You landed here on a phoenix.”

  “Yes…”

  “Do you have an immediate need for it?”

  My answer to that question depended on Patrick’s intended use for the said phoenix. My next destination was the Hole, and getting there quickly wasn’t vitally important, given the timeline involved. I had plenty of time to spare before Arken would arrive in Scholl.

  “I would prefer to begin diplomatic relations with Jesson Tath immediately,” Patrick said. “It won’t be long before Grannen wishes to march. Isn’t that right, Ollya?”

  “He’s preparing as we speak,” she confirmed.

  I smiled. “By all means, he’s yours. I think it’s a he, anyway. I’ll deal with getting the message to Kane Calbid.”

  Patrick nodded. “Good. Ollya, it has indeed been a pleasure.”

  Chapter 27

  A mild week in the North saw Vayle and me returning to the Hole several days earlier than planned, with horses gifted to us by Patrick Verdan.

  It’d been about a month, give or take a couple days, since Fragment Zero had vomited me out onto the beaches of Erior. That meant we had another month — if my presumptions were correct as to when Arken would march on the rebellion — to tidy everything up.

  Given it would take fourteen days or so to get to Scholl, that meant I had about sixteen days to work with. Ten to be safe. Which you might think would be spent doing important tasks in Amortis, not riding across the flatness of Nane on horseback.

  But we had a message to get to Kane Calbid. A message I trusted only in the hands of a Rot. Namely Kale. The nomadic bastard had sent a total of two messages to the Hole since beginning his undertaking of bolstering the Black Rot spy network, and none in the last three months.

  Thankfully he did appear to have returned to the Hole briefly. Vayle caught a glimpse of fresh bootprints the size of bloody oars — Kale had been endowed with his feet by mythical giants, Vayle and I theorized — leading to and from the Hole. Also hoofprints, which in the wet mud we were able to follow for thirty-some miles, to the small village of Dacrun.

  Kale was sleeping on a pile of roughage in a tie stall, next to his horse, who looked none too happy about all the snoring.

  Vayle and I decided to have a bit of fun. She held his legs down while I pounced on top of him, dagger in hand.

  “Squeal and I’ll cut your li’l cock off,” I whispered.

  Kale awoke in a cold sweat, eyes bulging.

  I tried to remain in character, but I thought he might start pissing himself if I did, so I slapped him gently on the face. “Nice seeing you again, Kale. Mommy and Daddy were getting worried about you.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Shepherd,” he said, gasping. He clutched his chest. “Vayle? What’re you two — what time… how did you…?”

  “Wet mud and horses,” Vayle said, rolling off his legs, “mix well when tracking departures from the Hole.”

  “Yeah, I—” Kale swatted my finger from his ear. “Get off me, you fucker. I passed through a few nights ago. Stayed till this morning, figured one of you or a recruit might come back. No luck on recruits, huh?”

  I climbed and sat on a bale of hay. “We had a few, but, uh. Well. A little encounter with the occult scared most of ’em away. Much as I’d love to go back to the Hole with you and take a few skins to the face, Vayle and I have places we need to be. And there’s a place you need to be.”

  Kale sat up, throwing a hand through his tangled blond hair. “Is it urgent? ’Cause I got somethin’ cookin’ with a highlord who was under Dercy. Place is a mess, Shepherd. Ever since the reaped fucked Dercy and Watchmen’s Bay sideways, Inen’s been on the edge of civil war. Got a potential assassination in the works in exchange for a lifetime of information.”

  “Oh, would you look at him,” Vayle said dryly. “Finally reaching all the potential you showed as a recruit. It could make your commander weep.”

  Kale stuck up his middle finger. “Should see the spy network I’ve put together. We’ll have more birds singing us songs than… er, well, you know what I’m trying to say.”

  “Forget the highlord,” I said. “I appreciate it, but we’ve got bigger problems to deal with. I need you to deliver a message to Kane Calbid.”

  Kale’s head rolled to the side. “Shit, Shepherd. Don’t tell me we’re killing another king.”

  “Assisting is the word you are looking for,” Vayle said.

  “Kane? Again? After what he did? Damn, Shepherd. You’re becoming forgiving in your old age.”

  “Tell him,” I said, ignoring Kale’s quip, “that the North and the East intend to turn on Grannen when they arrive at Vereumene. Once he sees the obliteration of the Red Sentinels, his army’s to pour through the walls, assisting Patrick and Jesson in defeating the flanking forces that Grannen secretly deployed.”

  Kale scratched his neck, picking at unsightly patches of hair. “What the hell did you two do while I was gone?”

  Vayle pointed a thumb at me. “Blame him.”

  “Me? Well, I suppose. Look, get this message to Kane, got it?”

  Kale nodded. “Then what?”

  “Stay a few nights. I’ll meet you there eventually.”

  “Er, eventually?”

  “Before war comes knocking on Vereumene’s wa
lls. Ideally.”

  “Ideally?”

  I jumped off the bale of hay. “Sometimes shit happens. You know how it is. One day you’re planning on going to Edenvaile to meet with the son of a supposedly dead king, and the next you’re fending off conjurers and watching reaped toss themselves into the ocean. So yeah, ideally.”

  Kale sighed. “How about a little information, Shepherd? You’re being fucking vague as possible right now. What’s going on?”

  “There’s a war coming,” I said. “And we need to make sure the victors have the Black Rot’s continued existence in mind. Simple as that. Now be a sedulous little Rot and scurry off.”

  Another middle finger, this one directed at me.

  The morning sun spilled out across Nane like the eruption of a juicy tangerine, glazing the fields and forests. Wasn’t very warm, though.

  “Trees are starting to turn,” I said to Vayle. Our horses slowed as they came to the base of the plateau upon which the Hole sat.

  “Hopefully we’re alive to see them turn back,” my commander said, guiding her mare up the windy ramp of dirt.

  We’d rested in the village of Dacrun with Kale for a few hours, because while you can push a horse to make a sixty-mile round trip, it’s generally not a good idea to do so. One episode of exhaustion and you’re suddenly short a steed and find yourself walking the rest of the way.

  Vayle and I undressed our horses and wrangled two fresh ones. The Black Rot had plenty of horses, some stolen, some bought and paid for, and they lived with greater joy at the Hole than they ever would have on the manor of some rich king. Here, they roamed freely, munching on grass and roughage as they strolled from one edge of the plateau to the other.

  They probably viewed the potential of going to Amortis as a rather large downside, however. It seemed that whatever steeds and mares I brought through to that realm of the dead, none ever returned, for one reason or another.

  Vayle took Blondie — really, Lady Albino would have fit just fine — and I fitted reins and a saddle on Dorothy, a mare whose penchant for smiling reminded me of my aunt Dorothy, who had great big teeth and would push out her lips like a horse. Aunt Dorothy was never quite right after failing in her aspirations of becoming a professional tree climber.

  Vayle and I took the little ladies through the Black Gauntlet. Moments later, we stood in the forest of Amortis.

  That was expected.

  Lying at our feet was one Lysa Rabthorn.

  This was not expected.

  Chapter 28

  Good news greeted me first: Lysa’s soul hadn’t been eviscerated, and her body hadn’t been dumped there for me to find.

  Then bad news, ever the tagalong to the good, popped its head up and delivered me a message that had me grinding my teeth together.

  Lysa explained that Rovid had not located a wraith, but had, curiously enough, found his wife and child.

  “I thought I’d kind of, um… stay here till you came back through,” Lysa said. “Crokdaw Village would have been nicer, but I didn’t want to get them in trouble again.”

  Now, I’m not the cleverest man ever to exist — although I may well feed my ego that lie — but it doesn’t take a particularly witty man to piece together what had happened here.

  Rovid had never gone in search of a wraith. He’d been looking for his family the whole time.

  “You cannot make that assumption,” Vayle told me.

  “Yes, I can.”

  “He might have just found them,” Lysa said. “Like… well, coincidence. You know?”

  “That’s one hell of a coincidence, Lysa.” I put my hands atop my head and blew out a big, frustrated breath of air.

  Anytime you jot down a scheme, you better take your quill and plot out several alternate paths to reach your destination. Because most of the time, the one you really want to take won’t be available. I had a few alternatives in mind if Rovid failed in his task to find a wraith, and all of them concerned the reaper himself. They did not, however, concern his family.

  That was about to change.

  “Do your thing,” I told Lysa, “and conjure us a phoenix.”

  “Are you sure? What if… oh, never mind. I guess it doesn’t matter if Arken or Wardens hear about a phoenix soaring through the air, does it?”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “We need to get to Scholl quickly. So hop to.”

  Vayle and I patted the butts of our mares, scooting them forward. They vanished as they passed into the tear. They’d likely find themselves in a momentary state of bewilderment, but they’d be happier roaming the plateau of the Hole than investigating the horrors of Amortis.

  We arrived in Scholl on a gust of fire. There, I found a loitering reaper, dipping chunks of bread into a saucer of oil and herbs. He went to take a bite, saw me, and hurriedly passed his food off to a woman sitting by his side.

  “Astul!” he said, the unfamiliar emotion of happiness in his voice. He jumped to his feet and embraced me. “I was worryin’ about you.”

  I held his shoulders, looked him deep in those withering blue eyes of his. “I don’t know what the journey to find a wraith did to you, but you’re much too happy now.”

  He was beaming, tongue between his teeth. “Nothing much could get me down now. Astul, I’d very much like you to meet my wife, Ash, and my son, Seymour.”

  The woman at Rovid’s side smiled shyly. The young boy beside her stood with the confidence of a man who’d commanded armies. He shook my hand firmly.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet the Shepherd,” he said, his boyish voice clashing with his steadfast demeanor. “My father has talked a lot about you.”

  Seymour must’ve been… how long had he and his mother been in Amortis? Ninety years? Ninety years in the same childhood body — that’ll certainly give you a dash of confidence, or take it all away, depending on your fortitude.

  He wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer.

  “Enjoy your family time,” I told Rovid. “Seymour, Ash… I’m sure we’ll see one another again.”

  I turned to walk off toward the cave that was Elimori’s place of command, but the reaper touched my elbow, idling me.

  “I can spare some time, Astul, to help out with… whatever it is you need. I guess Lysa already told you that—”

  “Yes,” I said. “She did. I don’t believe you can help with anything, Rovid. But if that changes, I’ll let you know.”

  He scratched his face, as if unsure about something. He put his hands on his hips, swaying back and forth uneasily. “Listen, do you, er, you know — have you heard about the goings-on out there? There’s a whole bunch of activity here in the city. I think everyone’s getting a little worried. Been some reports of, er… movement out there.”

  Rovid wasn’t a coward, but neither was he a man who’d stay and face the brunt of an army commanded by the god of Amortis. Especially since he’d just rounded up his wife and child again. Now was not the time to divulge the truth, given I very much needed Ash and Seymour to stay put.

  “Rumors,” I told him. “I freed the conjurers from Arken’s grasp. He’s panicking now.”

  His mouth formed an O. “You didn’t. You didn’t… you couldn’t… you’re not lying, are you? You actually did it. You freed ’em. That’s the key to the war.” He threw up his hands, clapped ’em together. “I mean, right? That’s it. We’ve got him where we want ’im now.”

  I smiled, patted him on the chest. “I told you never to doubt me. Vayle can fill you in on the small details. I’ve a meeting with Ellie.”

  Vayle regarded me with a smile I had come to know very well. It was a smile that said, “I’m putting on a happy face, but trust that behind this amicable disposition is a burning hatred for you.”

  Ellie was, predictably, at home in her cavern of dripping water and black rock. Also predictably, she seethed with the passion of a jilted lover as I made my appearance.

  “What did you do in Fragment Zero?” she said, striding toward me wit
h equal parts determination and malice. “Fragments One, Two and Three are burning. I haven’t heard anything from Fragment Five. There is an army of Wardens, of Custodians, of slaves — they’re marching this way. Here!”

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “I’d expect so. Be kinda strange if that wasn’t the case. After all, I told Arken the god of life is here. And he sort of needs to die for Arken to come into his own.”

  Ellie tilted her forehead down like a bull readying himself for a charge in which blood and brain bits would scatter into the air.

  “Ah, ah, Mother of Conjurers. Let’s not bring down the entire cave upon ourselves, hmm?”

  Ellie’s fists instantaneously relaxed, and her pupils got big and wide. Hearing a secret you never intended to bring to light affects you thus.

  “My journey to Fragment Zero uncovered a few interesting pieces of information. You didn’t escape the enslavement of Amortis by chance, or because gosh, you were so strong-willed. You escaped because you have powers unlike any inhabitant here, save, perhaps, Arken. You’re the perfect of the perfect conjurers. C’mon, fess up.”

  Ellie drew a sharp nail around her lips, thinking. “There are some truths that do not hurt if you remain unaware of them.”

  “Can’t argue that. But—”

  “What difference would it make? If they” — she threw a hand out toward the city of Scholl — “knew me as the Mother of Conjurers? It might weaken their resolve. Faith in a greater power does that. They would revere me. Reverence will not stop Arken. It won’t stop this world from burning!”

  A bucket collecting water droplets from the ceiling sat nearby. I overturned it, made myself a seat out of it. “It would’ve been nice to know I had something big and powerful and mean to rely on. A trump card sitting right there, in my pocket.”

  “You supposedly have the god of life. What more do you need?” Her words were sharp, crackling her voice.