by Claire Frank
The assassin’s black clothes stood out against a tree, a dark splotch amid the brown. His back was to Rhis and he took a silent step forward, raising a blow gun to his mouth.
Without conscious thought, Rhis threw her dagger. It shot through the air, nothing but a whisper, and sank into the assassin’s back. Her aim had been slightly off, and it tagged him near the shoulder. The man grunted as it hit, and spun around. From the corner of Rhis’s eye, she could see Asher bolt from his hiding place, and she was flooded with icy cold resolve.
Calm as death, Rhis’s quick stride took her forward. The assassin fumbled with his needle. His face was largely hidden by a mask, but his eyes were pinched with pain. Rhis let her other dagger fly, and it plunged into his arm. The blow gun dropped to the ground and he staggered backward.
The assassin drew his own dagger, but Rhis’s mind was clear, the poison forgotten. “This was a mistake,” she said, as she battled his blade from his hand. Placing her hand on his chest, she pressed him back against a tree and pulled a small knife. “What’s on the darts?”
His other hand moved and she jammed the blade into the flesh of his upper arm. The assassin cried out, blood running down both his arms.
“Let me make something clear,” she said. “You tell me what the poison is, I kill you quickly. You want to hold out on me, you can suffer.”
She slipped another blade into her hand and rammed it into his gut. It was small, and the wound wouldn’t be lethal, but he groaned and his body shuddered.
“What is on the darts?” she asked, enunciating each word.
“Black maiseflower,” he said, his voice gurgling.
“From the roots or the seed?” she asked. The assassin’s legs buckled and Rhis pushed him harder against the tree to keep him standing upright. “Roots or seed?”
“Roots!”
Rhis pulled the knife from his gut and slashed it across his throat, stepping back to avoid the spray of blood.
“Asher!” Leaving her daggers in the body as blood poured out, soaking into the dry ground, she dashed for the road. Asher burst out of the trees, his eyes wide with fear. Rhis paused to give him a quick glance—he appeared unharmed—and turned and ran toward Rickson.
“Who was that?” Asher asked.
Rhis ignored him. Rickson lay face down, his arms crumpled beneath his body; a slim dart stuck out of the back of his neck. She plucked it out and tossed it aside, then grabbed him by the shoulders and gently turned him onto his back.
His face was pallid and his lips slightly blue, but as Rhis leaned her ear down to his chest she could feel a faint heartbeat. Reaching into an inner pocket, she pulled out a padded pouch.
“He’s not dead yet,” Asher said. “But I don’t think he has long.”
Rhis opened the pouch and pulled out several tiny vials. Each held a small amount of colored powder. She chose the one she needed, filled with gray granules, and put the rest back.
“Water. Now.”
Asher sprang to action, rifling through Rickson’s discarded pack. He produced a waterskin and a battered metal cup. Rhis poured in a small measure of water and tipped the vial, letting half the powder spill into the cup.
“How is he?” Rhis asked. “What can you see?”
“He’s fading.”
Rhis swirled the liquid until she was sure the granules had dissolved. With a hand on Rickson’s forehead, she leaned his head back and gestured to Asher to hold his lower jaw, opening his mouth. Carefully, so as not to choke him, Rhis dripped the liquid down his tongue. Leaning in, she could see it pooling at the back of his throat, then, with a jerk, he suddenly swallowed. Rhis dribbled more into his mouth and ran a gentle finger down the front of his throat to help it go down. The process was agonizingly slow, and Rhis’s heart hammered as she worked. Sweat trailed down her back. When the last of the liquid was gone, she sat back and looked at Asher.
“I don’t know if that will be enough,” she said.
“I think he looks better,” Asher said.
Rhis thought he was being overly optimistic. Administered quickly, her antidote should work. She’d distilled a powerful concoction and proved its effectiveness on herself more than once. But Rickson’s face was still slack and his breathing shallow. She didn’t know if she’d gotten to him in time, or if enough of the antidote had made its way into his system.
“Were you hit?” Asher asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you need some of that too?”
Rhis picked up the vial. “No, Rickson will need this if he wakes up. I’ll just be sick for a little while.”
As if on cue, her stomach roiled and her head spun. She crawled away from Rickson as she felt bile rise in her throat. Her arms shook with weakness as she vomited, and a cold sweat broke out on her face and neck. Black maiseflower was nasty; common and simple to use, but even with Rhis’s resistance, her body protested the toxin. She vomited again, bringing up the last of her stomach contents, the acid burning her throat.
A gentle hand touched her back and brushed the hair back from her forehead. Asher sat next to her and she settled onto her knees, breathing hard as he rubbed slow circles across her back.
“Please don’t die,” he said, his voice a trembling whisper.
Rhis took a deep breath to steady herself. Her heart constricted at the fear in Asher’s voice. “I won’t die.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I promise.”
Asher drew his hand away and Rhis pushed herself up to sitting.
“Rickson,” Asher said.
Rhis scrambled to his side. Rickson coughed, groaning in between breaths, and his eyes fluttered open. He mumbled something, but Rhis put a finger to his lips.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “You were poisoned. You need to drink.”
Rhis dissolved the rest of the powder in the cup and helped Rickson take the liquid. He pulled a face as he swallowed, wincing at the flavor.
“That’s awful,” he said.
“I know. Drink it all.”
He swallowed the last of the antidote and lay back down on the ground. “I feel like my legs won’t hold me up if I try to stand.”
“That will pass,” Rhis said.
“What happened?”
“Assassin. He was trying for Asher.” Rhis glanced at the boy. He sat cross-legged next to Rickson in the middle of the road, but he showed no reaction to the news that he had been the intended victim.
“Dead now?” Rickson asked.
“Very,” Rhis said. She glanced toward town and wondered if anyone had seen their altercation. There wasn’t much she could do about that now. She was just relieved they’d all survived.
“I need to wash my hands,” she said. “And we should get you off the road. We’ll camp in these orange trees for the night. They’ll provide decent cover. You won’t be fit to move for a while.”
Rhis stood and helped Rickson to his feet. His knees buckled and he almost fell, but between Rhis and Asher they managed to keep him upright. They helped him across the road, heading for the orange trees.
“Rhisia Sen,” a voice said behind them. “You’re going to have to come with me.”
Rhis turned and her heart sank. A man walked up the road toward them with several bowmen behind. His cloak rippled, and he rested his hand lightly on the hilt of an ornamented sword.
A Gray Cloak.
TWENTY-FIVE: GRAY CLOAK
Rhis worked the tiny file across the bonds at her wrists, counting each painstaking stroke. The Gray Cloak had confiscated her weapons, but she’d managed to palm the tool. It was only her arms that were tied; they hadn’t bothered to secure her to the chair. She would be sure they didn’t realize their mistake until it was too late.
Resistance hadn’t been an option when the men had approached them outside town. With Rickson hardly able to stand, and arrows trained on each of them, they’d had no choice but to surrender and accompany the Gray Cloak and his men to the Guild hou
se. Rickson’s face had been sallow and defeated as two of the Gray Cloak’s men hoisted him up between them. Rhis had gritted her teeth while she let them lead her away, holding in her fury.
Dried blood from the other assassin was still smeared across her hands; she could feel it caked on the backs of her fingers. She needed a washbasin and a brush. Her heart rate rose and a feeling of dread crept through her gut. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she kept working at her bonds. Being forced to wait, knowing the man’s blood still stained her skin, made her feel as if the world would crash in on her. She fought against the feeling, focusing on the thought of escape.
The lock on the door clicked and Rhis stopped cutting her bonds, forcing her expression to be neutral. The Gray Cloak swept in, flanked by two armed men in Guild uniforms. Rhis crossed one leg over the other and stared at the Gray Cloak as if she had no fear whatsoever. He met her gaze, the tilt of his chin and set of his shoulders giving him an air of disdain.
The two guards took up positions in front of the closed door while the Gray Cloak pulled a chair in front of Rhis and sat.
“Rhisia Sen,” he said, drawing out her name.
“And you are?”
“Brother Jeshor,” he said. “Of the Order of Gray Cloaks.”
“I can see that,” Rhis said. “The cloak gives it away.”
Jeshor glanced down at his garment. “It does, doesn’t it? That’s why we embraced the name, truth be told. It’s quite desirable to have residents of the Empire recognize us by our clothing.”
Rhis watched him as he sat back in the chair, appearing as relaxed as if they were at a social engagement. Her glance flicked up to the guards at the door. They eyed her with obvious suspicion, their hands twitching near their weapons.
“Why am I here?” Rhis asked. “I thought the Gray Cloaks dealt with Wielders.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me that none of your party are Wielders?”
“I am. It’s even the truth.”
“Is it?” Jeshor raised an eyebrow. “Well, be that as it may, I’ve been instructed to detain you.”
“What about the others?”
“You mean Captain Rickson, and the boy Asher?” he asked.
Rhis felt a twinge of disappointment. He certainly knew who they were.
“One of my Brothers is en route to take them back to Varale. It appears you and the Captain are both wanted for arson. And the boy is to be taken in for testing.”
Rhis started sawing into her bonds again, careful not to betray what she was doing. “Arson? There must be some mistake.”
Jeshor leaned forward. “Don’t play innocent with me. I watch as people try to lie to me all the time. I can see it—in the way they avert their eyes or clear their throat. Some tap their foot or fiddle with their clothing. But everyone gives away the truth, just as sure as everyone tries to lie.”
“All right,” Rhis said. Just keep him talking. “We did start the fire at the Guild house in Varale.”
“Do you realize you burned down the entire Gray Cloak wing? It is only by the grace of His Eminence that no one was killed.”
“We never intended for that to happen—”
“I don’t care what you intended,” Jeshor said, cutting her off. “You did an enormous amount of damage and kidnapped a child we took in for testing. Even without the fire, your capture of the boy is punishable by death.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
“I suspect you won’t be for long,” Jeshor said. “But as I’ve said, I’ve been tasked with holding you here until my Brother arrives. The captain will be hanged in Varale for his crimes, and the boy subjected to proper testing.”
“What about me?” she asked. Her fingers worked at the ties on her wrists. “Am I to be hanged as well?”
“You should be,” Jeshor said. There was an edge to his voice. “Someone else is coming to fetch you, and I suspect your fate will be worse than hanging.”
Athon. She wondered how the bounty hunter managed to convince the Gray Cloaks to give her up. This didn’t bode well.
“I’m surprised your order is willing to let go of a prisoner such as myself.”
Jeshor’s upper lip twitched. “That isn’t your concern.”
Rhis kept her eyes fixed on Jeshor as she tried to clear her mind. Her sense of impending doom grew greater the longer she went without being able to wash her hands, but she knew their lives depended on her. Jeshor stared back, the lines of his face hard, his eyes unreadable. Every man had a weakness. She just needed to probe until she found a chink in his armor.
“What an interesting life you must lead,” she said. “Devoted to the cause of the Emperor.”
Jeshor narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. It is a privilege bestowed on only a few.”
“Have you seen him?” Rhis asked. “I saw him once, but only from afar.”
A flicker of emotion passed over Jeshor’s face and his eyes drifted off, as if he were seeing something far away. “I have.” He drew in a quick breath and seemed to collect himself. “This is all beside the point. Who else worked with you in Varale?”
“No one,” Rhis said with a casual shrug. Her bonds were loosening.
“I find that extremely difficult to believe. It is my duty to help my Brothers in Varale find the perpetrators of this crime. You desecrated sacred ground.”
“You are very passionate about your faith,” Rhis said. “His Eminence is fortunate to have men such as yourself.”
Jeshor shook his head. “This will go easier for both of us if you answer my questions. Who were you working with in Varale?”
“The problem is….” Rhis said, then paused. The guards behind Jeshor shifted on their feet. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“Am I? I presume you mean to tell me what I should ask.”
“Of course,” Rhis said. “You should be asking why the Emperor didn’t task his most loyal and trusted Order of Gray Cloaks to deal with the problem of a single child.”
“I fail to see—”
Rhis cut him off. “You believe you can tell when people are lying, which also means you’ll know I’m speaking the truth. I was hired by the Emperor himself to kill that boy you have. To kill Asher. Now tell me, why did the Emperor hire me? If Asher is such a danger to His Eminence, why not task his faithful Gray Cloaks with finding and subduing him? After all, he’s only a child. What does a god-king have to fear from a boy?”
Jeshor’s face went still and he turned to the guards. “Leave us. I will handle her.”
The guards’ eyes flicked between Jeshor and Rhis, but they nodded and left, closing the door behind them.
“What is this nonsense you speak?” Jeshor asked.
“You know it isn’t nonsense. I was hired by the Emperor to kill that boy. Why would His Eminence be so afraid of a child?”
“Our glorious Emperor has nothing to fear,” Jeshor said.
“The amount of money he was willing to pay for the child’s death says otherwise.”
“And yet he lives. If you were hired to kill him, why do you travel with him now?”
“A fair question,” Rhis said. She recrossed her legs to hide a shift in her hand position. “The details aren’t important, but of course it’s obvious I did not fulfill my end of the contract. That’s why I have a bounty hunter coming for me, if you hadn’t yet deduced that part. But at this juncture, I am interested to know why the Emperor hired me. The Gray Cloaks’ reputation is fearsome. You have the authority of the Emperor behind you. No one would dare cross your Order, not if they expected to live. You go where you please and your word is law. You could have been given his name and location, just as I was, and dealt with it far better than I have, obviously. Yet he was willing to pay me three hundred thousand Imperials for that boy’s life.”
Jeshor’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but Rhis pressed on before he could speak. “Why, with that amount of gold, you could fund this Guild house for years. I’m sure he keeps his coffer
s quite open to you, but such an investment certainly indicates a strong desire to see the boy dead. Perhaps he has reasons not to trust his faithful servants with his most delicate problems.”
“His Eminence has complete and utter faith in his Order,” Jeshor said, anger leaking into his voice.
“That’s interesting, because this certainly isn’t the first time he’s hired me to clean up one of his messes.”
Jeshor leaned forward, his nostrils flaring. “You are nothing but a filthy murderer.”
“Apparently even a god-king isn’t too good for the likes of me. I’ve made a fortune doing his dirty work.”
The pain of Jeshor’s backhand took Rhis by surprise. Her eyes watered and she tasted blood. She clung to the file, careful not to let it slip from her fingers, and used the blow as an excuse to pull against her bonds. She was almost free.
She turned back to Jeshor and licked her lips, working her jaw. “You know I’m not lying. I can even prove it. Maybe your Emperor isn’t as divine as he says he is. Why would a god fear a farm boy?”
Jeshor leaned in to hit her again but her arms broke free. Grabbing the cord that bound her, she surged forward and threw it around his neck. She pulled him off his chair, twisting the cord as he struggled, and he fell to his knees. Jeshor clutched at the cord and Rhis pulled a dagger from his belt.
“Get in the chair,” she said, holding the knife to his neck, and released some of the pressure on the cord. His face was flushed red and he sucked in a shallow breath. “Chair.”
Jeshor gave a faint nod and struggled into his seat. Rhis’s eyes darted around. She only had the cord she’d been bound with to restrain him, but as soon as she let go, he’d attack. With a quick jab, she stuck the dagger in his shoulder. Jeshor cried out and Rhis quickly pulled his arms behind him and tied them off.
Blood ran down his arm and he stared at the blade with a look of horror.
“For all your swagger, you Gray Cloaks are fragile,” Rhis said. She flicked the dagger and Jeshor gasped. “I don’t suppose you have to use the weapons you carry very often. You rely on the sight of those hideous cloaks to subdue people.”