Assassin's Charge: An Echoes of Imara Novel

by Claire Frank

  Rickson paused, breathing hard as the last of her spasms passed. He rolled to the side and lay on his back next to her while she looked up at the ceiling and caught her breath.

  She turned and glanced at him, his chest glistening with perspiration, his usually neat hair an unkempt mess. He looked at her and cracked a smile, dimples puckering his cheeks.

  “I’ve wanted to do that to you since I first saw you in Varale,” he said.

  “I thought you said I was dangerous.”

  He propped himself up on his side, leaning on his elbow. “That you are. But I’ve always enjoyed a little danger. I can’t seem to get enough of it.”

  “Is that why you brought me in here?”

  Trailing a finger from her knee, up her thigh to her hip, he smiled. “Was there something else? I can’t remember.”

  Rhis let her head sink back against the firm bed and her eyes drifted closed. Her body was relaxed, the tension melted away, and she enjoyed the feel of Rickson’s calloused fingers caressing her skin. “I don’t know either.”

  “Well,” he said, “as long as we understand each other.”

  NINETEEN: THE ATHENEUM

  Elbian clung to the hilly coastline, a shining city of pale limestone. The main roads were paved with cobblestone, a rigid and orderly grid despite the uneven landscape. The remains of a long-abandoned castle stood crumbling in the center, a reminder of a time when Elbian had ruled itself, before it was swallowed by the Empire.

  Rhis followed Rickson up the hill, with Asher straggling along behind. Clouds obscured the sun, threatening rain; although the temperature had dropped, the air was thick with moisture. The Atheneum itself was set at the top of the rise, overlooking the water, an imposing building fronted by tall columns. An ancient frieze stretched out along the top, the sculpture so faded and scoured by the wind it was almost indiscernible.

  They approached the massive double doors, and Rickson had to use both arms to haul one open. A puff of air blew out as the doors parted, drenching them in the scent of leather and decaying paper. Rickson peeked in, as if expecting to find an attack waiting, then glanced behind and shrugged before walking in. Rhis nodded for Asher to follow, and passed into the Atheneum.

  Rhis’s eyes immediately traveled upward and she gaped at the high ceiling, soaring above. Rows of columns continued through the interior, surrounded by shelves so high the upper halves couldn’t be reached without ladders. In the center of the cavernous room, a massive statue stood guard over the vast hoard of accumulated knowledge, a stunning marble sculpture of a man holding an open book in the crook of one arm, a feather-tipped quill in his other hand. It dwarfed the tall shelves, its head near the top of the peak in the center of the ceiling.

  “What is this place?” Asher said. Even his whisper seemed too loud, as if the act of speaking must be forbidden here.

  “The Atheneum,” Rhis answered, leaning toward him and keeping her voice low. “It began as a library, hundreds of years ago, and now it’s the largest depository of knowledge in the Empire.”

  “Who is that?” he asked, pointing to the statue.

  “It’s a depiction of Cennan, the god of knowledge and wisdom,” she said as they walked deeper into the room. “People here used to worship twelve gods and goddesses. They still do, somewhat, although the Emperor says he’s the true god.”

  “Is he?” Asher asked.

  Rhis paused. “You know what, kid? I don’t know. I saw him once and he looked like a man to me, but the statues of the gods always look like men. Or women. So I suppose he could be. He seems rather convinced of it.”

  “My mom and dad told me he isn’t, but they said I’m never supposed to say so. It could get me in trouble to talk like that.”

  “Good advice,” Rhis said.

  Rickson stopped near an empty desk, its surface piled high with books. “I’m not sure what we need to do to find an Archivist. This place looks empty.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t,” Rhis said as she looked around at the stacks. “The books in here must be worth a fortune.”

  “Yeah,” Rickson said as he glanced around, gaping.

  “Just yell fire,” Asher said with a shrug.

  Rhis whipped her head toward him. “Don’t you dare.”

  One side of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I wasn’t going to. It would work though. This place would light up like a barn full of dry hay if someone brought a flame near. I bet that would get someone’s attention.”

  As if Asher’s quiet utterance of the word fire was enough to summon him, an Archivist in a brown tunic and ink-stained apron appeared. His long hair was tied at the nape of his neck and small, round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He peered at them over the rims. “Can I help you with something?”

  “We’re looking for information,” Rhis said.

  The Archivist cocked an eyebrow. “You have certainly come to the right place, but I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

  Rhis darted a quick glance at Rickson. “We have an item we’d like to know more about, particularly where it might have come from.”

  Rickson pulled out the stone and held it in his palm. The Archivist leaned in and his eyes widened.

  “Where did you get this?” the Archivist said, swinging his gaze to Rhis. His voice was urgent.

  Asher shifted his feet behind her.

  “What can you tell me about it?” she asked.

  “You shouldn’t have this,” the Archivist said, reaching for the stone, but Rickson jerked his hand away.

  “We didn’t come here to donate to your collection,” Rhis said.

  Rickson took a step back and pocketed the stone. “We know this isn’t exactly an everyday item. We’ll take responsibility for having it, should it come to that.”

  “You don’t understand,” the Archivist said, adjusting his glasses. “I can’t let you leave with that stone.”

  Rickson cracked a smile and looked from the Archivist to Rhis. “I wasn’t aware men of learning like yourself were possessed of such a keen sense of humor.”

  “This is hardly a jest. Hand it over,” the Archivist said, holding out his hand.

  Rhis glanced over her shoulder, already forming an exit strategy, but her view of the entrance was blocked by the rows of shelves. What sort of guards might the Atheneum have? The Archivist himself certainly couldn’t do anything to stop them, but she wasn’t sure how difficult he might make it for them to leave. She nodded her head in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” the Archivist said as they turned and walked away. “You can’t leave.”

  Rhis grabbed Asher’s wrist and led him between shelves set so close together her shoulders nearly brushed against them as they rushed through.

  “Stop!” The Archivist’s voice echoed from the ceiling.

  Rickson stopped and Rhis pulled up short. Another Archivist stood in the center of the aisle, blocking their path. He wore a similar brown tunic and apron stained with ink blotches, various writing instruments tucked into the front pocket that protruded from the swell of his belly. His white hair was tied back and his chin covered in white and gray stubble.

  Heavy brows turned down as he eyed them like an old grandfather. “What is this disturbance?”

  “Archivist Hector, these intruders brought contraband and are refusing to hand it over.”

  “Intruders? Archivist Paolo, the Atheneum is open to anyone. By definition, we cannot have intruders here,” the old man said.

  Rhis’s eyes darted between the two Archivists. Paolo’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

  “We came seeking information,” Rhis said. “I was under the impression that knowledge was the highest ideal here at the Atheneum, but apparently your colleague believes robbery to be an acceptable substitute.”

  Paolo sputtered and the faintest hint of amusement passed over Archivist Hector’s face. “Robbery? How mundane. Forgive my colleague; his passion sometimes clouds his judgment.
May I see this shocking piece of contraband?”

  Rickson glanced at Rhis, and she nodded. He pulled it out of his pocket and palmed it, holding it out so Archivist Hector could see the symbol.

  Pulling a bent pair of spectacles from one of many apron pockets, Archivist Hector narrowed his eyes as if squinting into a bright light. He made no move to take the stone, nor did he come closer. “Fascinating,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He glanced past Rhis, his eyes lingering on Asher for a long moment, before he turned his gaze back to the stone.

  “Now you see,” Archivist Paolo said, crossing his arms. “We can’t possibly let them leave with it.”

  Archivist Hector shook his head slowly as he straightened, then blinked at Paolo. “You needn’t worry over this, Archivist Paolo. I will handle it.”

  “I must insist—”

  “That will be all, Archivist,” Hector said, his stern face leaving no room for argument. “I am quite sure you have other duties to occupy your time this afternoon. See that you attend to them.”

  Paolo’s nostrils flared, and he held the older man’s gaze for a moment before turning. His footsteps rang out as he walked away.

  “Apologies,” Hector said. “Archivist Paolo is young and relatively new to our order. He is a bit … overzealous. I will help you, if I can, but I have to warn you, our resources on this subject are limited. If you’ll follow me?”

  Rhis nodded and Hector turned, leading them through the aisles. The shelves seemed like a maze, and were it not for the massive statue in the center Rhis would have quickly lost all sense of direction. They veered toward the far side of the chamber, passing more shelves, and pillars so thick Rhis wouldn’t have been able to get her arms around them.

  “Where is he taking us?” Asher said, leaning in close and whispering as they walked.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Rhis shrugged. As they turned through a gap in the shelves, Hector ducked around a ladder and led them to a small door. He pulled a key from one of his pockets, wiggling it around as he pushed it into the lock, as if it didn’t quite fit. After another tug on the handle, the door opened and he ushered them through.

  Hector reached into another pocket as the door closed behind, plunging them into blackness. Rhis’s hand darted to one of her daggers, but a light winked to life, bathing the corridor in a soft glow. The Archivist held up a small stone, clutched between his thumb and two fingers, radiating light.

  “Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to have this,” Hector said.

  “Never saw a thing,” Rickson said, and Hector gave him a small smile.

  The corridor led to a staircase, plunging down, and they followed Hector as he descended, his stone casting enough light for them to see.

  “What is that?” Asher said, his voice low as they made their way down the stairs. “Is it magic?”

  “I think it’s a glowstone,” Rhis said. “I’ve seen them elsewhere, but they’re illegal in Attalon.”

  “It looks like magic,” Asher said.

  At the bottom of the staircase, hallways branched off to the left and right. Hector led them to the left and through another locked door. The air was musty, the smell tickling the back of Rhis’s throat. The circle of Hector’s light cast a dim glow on haphazard stacks of books and papers. The Archivist reached up near the door and pulled a cloth from a lamp, bathing the room in soft light. Another, larger glowstone sat in the base of the lamp. As he uncovered several more, Rhis blinked, her eyes adjusting.

  It looked like a storage room, with shelves pressed close together; the aisles in between were so narrow it would be difficult for even Asher to get between them. A few tables stood near the door, stacked with leather-bound books, scroll cases, and piles of loose papers. Everything was covered in a layer of dust.

  “Pardon the mess,” Hector said as his eyes roved around the room. “There aren’t many of us with access to these rooms, so they don’t get cleaned as often as they should. Or, ever.”

  “What is all this?” Asher asked.

  Rhis opened her mouth to tell him to be quiet, but Hector spoke.

  “Officially? Copies of copies of copies. Things we don’t need to keep on the shelves above.”

  “But, unofficially?” Rickson asked.

  “Unofficially, a place where we might find what you’re looking for,” Hector said. He poked through the stack of books on one table. “I presume you want to find out what it is you have in your pocket, there.”

  “We’d like to know what it is, and particularly where it came from,” Rhis said.

  Hector nodded absently as he rifled through some loose papers. “I can tell you what it is. As to the where, I have some ideas, but it’s going to take me a minute. Just as you’re in possession of something you aren’t supposed to have, we’ve kept things that were supposed to have been destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” Rickson asked.

  Hector let out a heavy sigh as he opened a book and turned a few pages, grasping the corners with the tips of his fingers. “Yes, destroyed. It isn’t wise to disobey the orders of the Emperor, but those of my order have a passion for knowledge.” He put the book down and pulled out another. “That stone you have is for warming. The people that made it used to make scores of them. Bigger ones could keep an entire room comfortable without a fire, even on the coldest winter night. A small one like that could be left in a pocket or sewn into a pouch—even wrapped in a baby’s blanket to give warmth.”

  “Does this one still work?” Rhis asked.

  “Oh, it works,” Rickson said. “I thought I might be going a bit crazy, but it’s warm.” He pulled it from his pocket and held it out. Rhis took it and felt its odd weight, heavier than it looked. It was warm, although the sensation was subtle. She wasn’t surprised she’d missed it before.

  Hector pored over another book, running his fingers gingerly across the pages. “The people who made your stone were once a common sight throughout the lands of the Empire, but it’s been more than a century since they’ve been seen. I’ve had a personal interest in them for most of my life here. As a young acolyte, I discovered these storage rooms and took it upon myself to learn lock-picking.”

  “How did you learn that?” Asher asked.

  “A book,” Hector said with a shrug. “I began scouring these rooms, but it is true that most of their contents are nothing but copies of copies of copies. We hate to throw anything out, you see. But among the rest, I found bits and pieces of things that I couldn’t find elsewhere. No copies existed above, and I had to know why. Eventually I discovered they were the last remnants of knowledge the Emperor had ordered destroyed, over a century ago. As I said, it isn’t wise to disobey His Eminence, but my predecessors knew that it’s far less wise to allow such knowledge to be erased forever. They kept what they could, hidden away in these rooms, and I have been studying the texts.”

  Rhis shifted on her feet, the stuffy air heavy in her lungs. “As fascinating as this is, can you tell us where the stone came from?”

  “Ah, yes,” Hector said, rifling through more papers.

  “But why would the Emperor order all those books destroyed?” Asher said, stepping forward to look at the books and papers on the table.

  “I have only theories,” Hector said. “I suspect many of the people were powerful Wielders, given the nature of the items they left behind, and some of the references in these texts. Perhaps the books and scrolls we housed here provided instructions and learning for those who utilize that art. Given our Emperor’s feelings on the matter, I suspect he wished to cut off access to such resources.”

  “What happened to the people?” Asher asked, his voice quiet.

  Hector looked up. “The people?”

  “You said they haven’t been seen in a century. Why?”

  “It pains me to admit this, but we don’t know,” Hector said. “Yes, the Atheneum, depository of knowledge and history, doesn’t know the fate of an entire people.” He narrowed his eyes and peered at Asher. “Al
though I’m beginning to suspect they did not disappear from the face of the world.”

  Asher rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Rhis. “I know about my mother. My real mother, I mean. I know I wasn’t born to Maida and Demmen.”

  “Is he one of them?” Hector asked, nodding at Asher.

  “I don’t know who ‘they’ are,” Rhis said, “but the stone was his. His birth mother left him with farmers outside a village called Harmoth before she died, and she had the stone with her. That’s all I know, which is why we’re here. The stone is all we have, and we need to find out where he came from.”

  Hector watched Asher for a long moment, then carefully opened another book. “Ah, yes, I knew I had it here.” Smoothing out the pages, he turned the book so it faced them. A faded map spread out across both pages, the names of cities penned in a careful script. Rhis recognized the coastline of the Narobian Sea, with Altia near its mouth on the eastern side. Hector pointed a finger at a spot in the midst of a line of peaks, clearly meant to indicate mountains.

  “Senlas,” he said. “That was where the people who made that stone lived. According to what we have left, it was a city high in the mountains, a place where the air is so thin it makes you gasp, and snow falls most of the year. It’s on the outskirts of the Empire’s power, if it can be said to be a part of Attalon at all. From what I’ve gathered, the people there may have fought the Emperor once, long ago, and retreated back to their mountain home. It was around that time that the order came here to burn all record of them.”

  Asher turned to Rhis, his face full of hope. “Can we go? If it’s outside the Empire, maybe I’d be safe there.”

  Rhis looked down at the map. The distance was difficult to determine; the map didn’t appear to have been drawn to scale. She felt as if she’d already been halfway across the Empire, but at least most of her travel had been by ship. Unless there were river routes to this supposed city, it would be a long trip overland, and who knew what they would find when they got there? But she needed to know why the Emperor wanted a child dead, and the Archivist’s pieced-together history wasn’t enough.