by C S Marks
“If he has sent me, you are an enemy to the Crown,” I said. “What do you mean by keeping the King’s secrets? You must not have kept them very well, not if he mistrusts you enough to order a visit from me.”
“He trusts no one,” said Martell. “Did you not know it?” His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “You really don’t know, do you? You’re in the employ of a madman. Darius has not been of sound mind for many years now…you have been doing the bidding of a man who has not known who his friends are for quite a long while. I don’t know whether it matters to you, but you have probably been killing innocent people since you came into your profession.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, still having trouble finding my voice. “You’re just trying to talk your way out of your difficulty.”
Martell laughed. “What’s that in your hand? Moon-flower? What were you going to do, render me insensible and then smother me, I suppose. Just like so many others…but this time you have to listen to what I have to say first. Now, if you still believe I’m trying to talk you out of it, I’ll say this once more—I’m a doomed man, and I know it. I’d rather be spared the humiliation of a public execution. If you’ll hand over the phial, I’ll go quietly.”
I hesitated. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “You can still overpower me, and I know it.” He took the phial from my nerveless right hand. “I will say only one thing more, Shadow-man. You’ve never seen King Darius, have you? Yet you are in his employ. Try to get in to see him—and not through official channels, as you will never be admitted. No…you will need to gain entrance like the shadow-man you are. Once you have seen the King, you will have another decision to make. Here’s hoping it will be the right one.”
With those words, he flipped the cork from the phial with his thumb and drank the entire contents down in one swallow. “Ah. That feels wonderful going down…like, like a gentle flash of bright light that…does…not…burn. Most…curious.” He sagged over, his eyes still open, and I knew he would stop breathing soon enough, but I still held the mask over his face until the life drained out of him. That way I wouldn’t have to look at his dying eyes.
Afterward, I tended Martell’s body, arranging his coverlet and closing his eyes. He had been worthy of respect. I just sat beside him for a few moments, until I heard the knock at the door.
“Master? Are you awake?” said a voice. “I have your breakfast.” It sounded like the apprentice. To my dismay, I realized that Martell had kept me until nearly dawn. The apprentice knocked louder. “Master! I have breakfast. Are you all right?”
He wasn’t giving up. Now what? Well, I could always set the place on fire and escape in the confusion. The old man smoked, after all…it seemed as good a chance as any. They would break the door down, and I could escape. But what if they didn’t? What if I was overcome by smoke first? Then they would find me. Quietly I crept to the door, turned the bolt, and shrank back in the shadows against the wall. When the apprentice entered with the breakfast tray, he looked puzzled. No wonder—he was expecting the old man. I knew I should wait…let him take a few more steps inside, perhaps move to the table to set down the breakfast-tray. That would give me the opportunity to disappear through the open door. But something made me hesitate. I know him…
Instead of avoiding him, I let him find me, his eyes widening as they met mine.
It was my old friend, Asher.
***
It had been many years since I had seen Asher, but one does not forget the face of a friend, especially when one has so few friends. I had startled him, but he relaxed when he saw my face. Obviously, he knew me as well.
“What are you doing here?” Then his eyes filled with dread, along with a deep, deep disappointment I will never forget. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Close the door,” I said. “It’s better if we can talk undisturbed.”
“You’re a shadow-man, aren’t you? It’s the only way you could have gotten in here.” Asher had always been a stoic, reluctant to let his feelings show. Still, his face paled a little. “Where is the Master?”
“Let’s sit and talk for a moment. Obviously, you know about the shadow-men, a fact which doesn’t surprise me, as you are an apprentice lore-master. That said, you should know that I have an assortment of blades concealed on my person, and I can kill you before you make another sound if I wish. Now close the door, will you? And lock it, too, while you’re at it.”
We sat down together, old friends reunited under the worst possible circumstances. Asher would hate me for what I had done to Martell, and I wanted to make him understand. I hoped I would not have to kill him. As usual, he came straight to the point.
“You killed the Master, didn’t you?” I saw a bit of his old defiance in his eyes. “It’s what you people do, isn’t it…murder old men in their beds?”
“He killed himself, actually, but I would have done it had he not.” I saw the grief in my former friend’s eyes, and for the first time since I became a shadow-man, I felt doubt I could not dispel. Asher had always been trustworthy, and I had admired his intelligence. Now he was apprenticed to the Chief Lore-master, an honor reserved for the most exceptional student. What accolade had I earned? I was stealthy and had learned to kill people in various creative ways.
Asher started to rise. “I want to see him.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, Asher. Not as yet. You can go back there once I’m gone.” I felt my gaze harden as I asked the next question. “You’re not going to make me kill you, are you?”
I saw a new emotion in my friend’s face then, and he sat back down. “Unfortunately, I probably will. But you will tell me a few things first.”
“Very well,” I said. “But I can’t stay long. What would you have me tell?”
“First, how did the Master die?”
“Moon-flower.”
“Your moon-flower, I suppose?”
I shrugged. “He took it from my hand and drank it down. There was enough there to kill ten men, and he went quickly and peacefully.”
Asher nodded. “He kept his dignity, then. I know how important that would have been to him. Did he say anything to you first?”
I looked away. This was a harder question to answer. Finally, I nodded.
“Did he speak of Darius, the madman?”
“He may have mentioned it.” I looked at Asher’s face, which was now filled with disgust. “Is it true?”
“Of course it is, although I’m sure whoever holds your leash has kept it from you. We mustn’t have our trained killers questioning orders, after all.”
His words stung my pride, and I grew angry. “No, we mustn’t! I’m no different from a soldier who goes into battle…I defend the City, and I don’t ask questions any more than the soldier who charges into the fray. I place those decisions in the hands of my superiors, and I follow orders.”
“You really believe there’s no difference between the battlefield and the bed-chamber? You chose this life, didn’t you? I’m thinking you decided to quit asking questions because it made your life easier, especially after they flattered and praised you and gave you everything you wanted. I’m sure they made a particular point of convincing you of how valuable and special you are. Now you’ve killed the most enlightened man in the City because a madman told you to.” He shook his head in disbelief and resignation. “Well, I’m going to see the Master. Then I suppose you should just kill me, because I don’t want to live in a place where great and noble minds are snuffed out by what’s left of King Darius.” He looked me in the eye. “Think about it, Beltran. Have you ever even seen the King?”
Naturally, I hadn’t. And, though I had honestly believed Darius to be wise and just, it was only because I had been told so. I had seen no real evidence of it. Still, I clung to that belief.
“If the King is such a dangerous madman, why does no one rise up against him? Surely those closest to him are aware…”
Asher looked at me as if I were the most unintellige
nt, gullible person ever to walk the world. “He’s wealthy, powerful, and he has an incredibly vicious and formidable collection of personal guards. They won’t let any harm come to him, and, because of killers like you, any attempt at reform or revolution cannot succeed.” He paused for a moment. “And when’s the last time you thought of your sister? I hope she remained ignorant of your chosen profession.”
I felt as though a large stone lay in my gut. It had, indeed, been a long while since I had thought of Salina. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of her anywhere…not the marketplace, not the temple, not the well…would I want her to know how I made my living? I heard her words in my ear…the words she had spoken when she was just a child. You’ll kill a lot of people someday, Glennroy. She probably already knew.
Asher got up without asking my permission and started for Martell’s bed-chamber. I followed him, though I had no idea of what I would do…of how this would end. We stood beside the old man’s peaceful form. Were it not for the fact that he wasn’t breathing and his face had gone grayish-white, we would have thought he was sleeping.
Asher placed a gentle hand on his silvery hair. “I haven’t seen his brow so smooth in years. I suppose his thoughts have quieted and his worries have gone.” He turned to me. “It looks as if he’s been tended to…someone closed his eyes, arranged the coverlet, and so on. Was that you?”
I nodded. “He seemed a kindly old fellow.”
“Thanks for that. It means there’s still hope for you, Beltran.” We both heard stirrings in the corridor outside—the City was coming to life. “You had better kill me, unless your doubts have taken root and you’re wondering whether a life spent serving King Darius is really what you thought it would be. I would ask only one other thing of you. Will you oblige me?”
“If I can.”
“Go and find King Darius, and see him for yourself. Once you have seen him, you’ll understand.” He sat down in a chair beside his Master’s bed. “Well, get on with it.” He sighed. “I wish the Master hadn’t taken all the moon-flower.”
“Don’t worry…I have more.” I stood in silence for a moment, looking at the two scholars, one of whom had been my friend. I knew I should kill Asher—a shadow-man leaves no witnesses. I knew I could make it appear that he had died by his own hand, no doubt overcome with grief. But the doubts concerning Darius—the very purpose of my life—would not leave me. I might have been a shadow-man, but I was also Glennroy, son of Glenndon. Or was I? Had I become so willing to move at the bidding of another that I would murder a friend?
If you still believe what you have always been told, then kill him. If your doubts overrule your training, well, then leave him alive.
I knew there would be grave consequences if I failed to follow orders, but I also knew that I could not take another life until I had seen the truth of matters for myself. When I left the chamber, Asher was still very much alive.
***
First I went back to my own chambers. By the time I got there, I could hear the alarm-bells ringing in the Scholars’ Keep. I smiled ruefully. Usually there would be competition among the remaining lore-masters, who would vie for Martell’s position. Since it was fairly obvious that they, at least, were aware of who had ordered all the mysterious “natural deaths” of the King’s enemies, I wondered whether they would now vie for the privilege of remaining in positions of lower rank.
Because my quarters were attached to the palace, I had a fair idea of who came and went and at what time. I should go there tonight, after midnight, to be safe. But Darius will be sleeping then, surely…I want to see him in all his supposed madness.
I changed into my regular garb, for I would go as El-morah, not as Beltran the shadow-man. I wondered if anyone knew that I had spared Asher, who had promised not to tell anyone about me. While the scholars would know that Martell had been assassinated, they would not know by whose hand. Still, I worried about my comrades-in-arms, Corvyn in particular. A shadow-man leaves no witnesses. Would they come after me for breaking the code?
I would go and seek Darius as soon as possible. The court would probably be in some uproar over the death of Martell…I would take advantage of the opportunity to observe the King during a difficult time. Then again, he ordered Martell killed. This is probably not such a difficult time for him.
It took me a while to find Darius—most of the day, in fact—and I can honestly say that my abilities had never been so sorely tested. Though I could walk freely in the common areas without raising so much as an eyebrow, the palace was filled with guards. Most of them looked formidable enough, and I certainly didn’t want to attract any attention from them, but they would not lead me to the King. I would need to find the ones who guarded him. Known by their gold sashes, they were said to be the fiercest, most formidable, and most utterly humorless men in Orovar.
At last I knew I was getting close, as I observed a small company of gold-sashed men hulking down a corridor, their weapons clanking ominously. They made so much noise it was easy to follow behind them unnoticed...all I had to do was stay out of their torchlight. One bore a small metal casket, and I wondered what was inside, as the other men seemed to be distancing themselves from it. I followed them through a little-used part of the palace, down stairs and through corridors, until at last they moved into a dank chamber lit only by a few torches and the glow of a dying fire. I caught a whiff of the air that wafted toward me when the guards opened the heavy door. It smelled of sickness and decay. This can’t be where Darius is, I thought. The King does not live in such a fetid hole, surely! But the guards entered in single file, each one bowing and dropping briefly to one knee, and I knew I had to investigate. If the King is there, and not a prisoner, then he must be mad!
Perhaps that was it—the King had been imprisoned by his formidable guards, and that was why no one had seen him. And what would I do then?
One of the tools of my trade was a detailed map of the palace and all connected structures, as I often had to work my way into areas that were off limits to the rank and file—private bedchambers, prayer-rooms, and the like. I knew my way around already, but I had never been in this part of the palace before. The map showed the corridor and some interconnecting chambers at the end of it, all deep underground, but I knew I would never be able to get in through the door. I don’t need to get in. I just need to observe what’s going on. I remembered the fireplace, and I knew what I would do. There’s always a gap between a stone chimney and a wooden ceiling. I consulted my map, preparing to make my way up to the next level.
A short while later I crouched beside the wide stone chimney that loomed up from the King’s great fireplace, peering down through the space I knew would be there. I was glad of the chimney, as I would have to keep still and the damp air held a chill that made me shiver. The air didn’t smell as bad from up here, either, but I could still detect the gut-churning scent of rotting flesh. I could see a good bit of the room through the gap, which I had accessed from beneath the wooden floor of the level above. I knew it because underground chimneys were directed into smoke-holes that fed out into several massive stacks…we used to hang meat and fish in them, to great effect. But there was no meat or fish hung in the smoke from this fire.
The metal casket had been placed upon a small pedestal near a heavily-carved and richly upholstered chair. Both the chair and the pedestal stood upon a raised dais near the fireplace, and I had an excellent view of them. The guards sat or stood in various locations around the chamber. They did not speak, they hardly moved, and their faces were as stony as any I’d seen. I knew I would have no chance against them.
At last, a rustling and dragging sound came from an adjoining chamber, together with a harsh cackle that lifted the hair on the back of my neck. A wizened figure shuffled ungracefully into the room. The dragging left foot and withered left arm told the story—this man, if it was a man, had suffered an affliction of the brain. I saw the guards drop to one knee and bow their heads, and I saw the golden crown through the gr
ayish-brown straw of the man’s hair.
“Oh, get up, you fools. Have you brought me what I desire?” The voice was like metal scraping on roughened glass, and it sent a chill through me that I won’t soon forget. Come to think of it, I will probably remember everything I saw, heard, and smelled there until the end of my days.
The figure shuffled to the dais and placed a pale, claw-like right hand on the lid of the casket in a fond caress. “Excellent. My pain has been very bad lately, Brodda, and the sparrows—they just won’t stop screaming and chattering! Can you hear them?”
One of the guards bowed again. “Yes, My King.”
“Then why can’t you make them stop?”
Brodda thought for a moment. “There are too many, My King. But we have brought something to help you.”
Darius lurched onto the dais and sat carefully down on his throne, obviously in pain. “Ahhh, yes. Your reward will be great, my friends and protectors. You have brought my enemy to me, and I will now feed off the treachery in his black heart.” He turned his face upward for a moment, and I saw the ravages of disease there—the scars, the flesh eaten away, his nose a ghastly breathing-hole, the muscles of his jaw visible through the skin of his cheek. He has been marked…marked by the Sickness. It has made him mad, like the others, only he’s worse…much worse!