by Darian Smith
The man leaned in and Darnec smelled meat on his breath. “When you die,” he whispered in Darnec's ear, “it'll be the boy that wields the blade.” He kicked his mount and moved away.
Darnec took his own water skin and gave it to the prince. It was disturbingly light. He'd filled it himself and knew it was safe but it wouldn't last them much longer. When it was gone, there would be no option but to drink what was offered, no matter what it was laced with.
For the next few hours, Darnec refused to drink anything at all. The heat baked his head until it rang like a smithy's anvil, so when the group finally called halt, he wondered if he was imagining what he saw.
Nestled in the dunes was a rock formation with a polished metal door set into the stone. A young man with golden hair sat cross-legged on the sand in front of the door. His clothes were the color of the sand, rendering him almost invisible until he stood up at their approach. He bowed.
“Ah, my loyal servant, Mud.” The Father of Starlight's mouth twisted with sarcasm. “Waiting like a dog for your master's return?”
“Did you find him?” the young man called out. “Is he alive?”
The Father chuckled. “You'll see soon enough. We left plenty of breadcrumbs for him and his friends to follow. If his mind is still intact. And if he's still breathing.”
Mud rapped on the metal door and it swung open on silent hinges.
Darnec's camel lurched and he clung to both the saddle and the prince as the creature knelt down. He clambered off and helped Tommy do the same. His feet sank into the sand and he could feel the heat burning even through his shoes.
“It's hot,” Tomidan complained.
“I know. Hurry inside.”
The boy scampered across the sand. When he reached the door, Mud stepped into his path.
“Who is this?” Mud's eyes were wild and his voice high-pitched. He reached down and grasped Tommy by the chin, turning his face this way and that. “Who is this?”
Darnec hurried forward to intervene but the Father of Starlight blocked his path. “Wait for it,” he said.
“I'm Tomidan Sandilar,” the boy spluttered.
“Tomidan?” Mud let him go and stumbled back. “No.” He looked toward the Father of Starlight, his face white. “You didn't.”
The gray-haired man chuckled. “What's the matter? Not feeling special anymore?”
Mud lunged at Tomidan again, this time his hands circled around the boy's throat and squeezed. The momentum knocked Tommy off his feet and the two of them tumbled into the sand.
Darnec pushed forward and he and the Children of Starlight tried to drag Mud off the young prince.
“You have to die!” Mud fought them with all his strength, squeezing as hard as he could on Tommy's throat as the young boy's eyes bulged with fear. “You have to die! You can't let him use you. You can't!”
The assassins lifted the crazed man entirely off the ground and still he would not let go of Tomidan's throat.
Darnec gripped one of Mud's arms at the elbow, braced his foot on the inside of the other elbow and heaved with all his might. The elbows bent, then pulled apart, breaking Mud's grip.
Tommy scrambled back, gasping for breath and crying.
The assassins carried Mud inside. Darnec could hear him wailing as he disappeared into the shadows. “Kill yourself,” he screamed. “Do it now!”
Darnec knelt beside the prince. “Are you okay, Your Highness?”
Tommy nodded and rubbed his throat.
“We'll get him inside,” said Kreegin. “He'll be fine.”
Darnec stood and confronted him. “What the Hooded Blood was that about?”
The older man stroked the opal at his throat and smiled. “An internal matter. I'll ensure it's seen to. It won't happen again.”
“It better Hooded not.”
Kreegin's expression turned cold, an icicle in the desert heat. “You are not the one calling the shots here, Darnec Raldene. You are entirely superfluous to my needs. Remember that.”
Darnec swallowed and the motion only aggravated his dry throat. “Yes sir.”
Kreegin smiled. “That's better. Come inside. Have a drink. I'm sure Tommy will share, won't you Tommy?”
This time there was no sign of a tell. There was no need for one. The smugness was writ large on the assassin's face as Darnec turned back to his charge. Tommy, thirsty and distressed, took the silver flask he was offered and drank.
“He's one of us now.”
Chapter Forty
Brannon pulled the trap door closed behind him and brushed the sand from his hair and shoulders. The temperature in the tunnel was a blessing compared to the heat of the desert outside. The strange glass blocks it was built from made it feel like standing on the dark side of a mirror, but they provided insulation from the sun's heat.
It was a small group he'd brought on this mission. Taran had insisted there would be no way to bring a large troupe across the desert quickly or sneak them into the Assassin House. Brannon had to admit he was right. Even the five of them, with little more than backpacks, weapons, minimal food and water had taken longer than he would have liked to reach the hidden entrance.
Ula, who didn't seem bothered by the heat at all, was holding Taran's hand. He twitched, his eyes darting back and forth, following something the others did not see. His scalp bled from where he'd scratched at it near continuously for the last several hours. It was the newest tic to develop. Between that and the frequent outbursts of emotion, Brannon had been wondering whether they would find this place at all.
Ylani took one of the dried leaves from Taran's pouch and tried to convince him to open his mouth. “You did well, Taran. You found the door.”
“Thank Ahpra,” Draeson muttered. “I was sure this was another one of his delusions.”
Brannon stared down the tunnel. It was empty as far as the reflected light of his lantern could reach. “I'm not entirely sure it isn't,” he said. “Side entrance or not, shouldn't this be guarded?”
“It is.” Draeson snorted. “Did you not see the desert? There's no way anyone finds this place without a guide.”
Taran pushed Ylani's hand away. “You're poisoning me,” he screamed. “No! No!”
“Keep him quiet,” Draeson hissed. “There might not be guards yet but there will be soon if he's yelling.”
“We be trying,” Ula growled at him. “He need medicine.”
Brannon stared up the tunnel, hand on the hilt of his sword. Any moment they could be discovered by an entire House of Children of Starlight.
Taran continued screaming and tried to pull away. The women struggled as he kicked and thrashed, even flinging his body to the floor. Each time Ylani brought the medicinal leaf close to his mouth, Taran tried to bite her fingers or turned away. Draeson brought his hands together and a light began to coalesce between them.
“By the Wolf,” Brannon swore at the mage. “Stop that.” He knelt beside Ylani and delivered a swift punch to Taran's solar plexus.
Taran's cries cut off abruptly as the wind was knocked out of him and he gasped for breath.
Brannon pinched the young man's nose and pushed the leaf Ylani had been holding, onto his tongue. He let go of Taran's nose and brought his palm up under the priest's chin, preventing him from opening his mouth again.
Taran's eyes were wide but as the compounds in the leaf were absorbed, his struggles eased.
“I'm sorry,” Brannon whispered. “That will be the last time. We're here now. We'll find you some stardust.” A worm of guilt shifted in his gut. He'd promised Taran he would capture the Father of Starlight and get the tonic he needed back in Alapra and failed. If they failed now, none of them would escape with their lives.
Slowly the young priest's breathing returned to normal and he sat up. “I'm okay. It . . . it's harder to come back from now.” Brannon could see the rest of the thought in Taran's eyes: It might already be too late to restore his mind completely.
“Take another leaf,” Brannon
told him. “I don't want to lose you again when we're about to get you what you need.”
Ylani held it out to him and he popped it in his mouth.
“Can you guide us to where they'll be keeping Tommy?” Brannon asked.
Taran looked down the tunnel. Brannon couldn't see anything that looked like a landmark, but the priest seemed satisfied with what he saw. “I think so. He'll be at the intake hall. They keep all newly acquired children there until they're properly addicted to stardust and can't leave . . .” He trailed off when he saw Brannon's expression. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It's fine,” Brannon said. “I'd rather know what to expect.”
“Maybe they don't plan on making him a Child of Starlight,” Taran offered. “He's a prince so maybe it's just a ransom.”
“Maybe.” A ransomed prince might not be kept at the intake hall. Brannon couldn't decide which option was better. Right now they were low on choices. He stood up. “Can you get us there without being seen?”
Taran nodded. “I think so. We'll go through some of the lesser-known storage rooms. It's where Fressin and I used to practice between classes.”
Brannon drummed a fingertip on the hilt of his sword. “Let's hope there isn't anyone practicing there now. Let's go.”
“Should we leave one of the backpacks here?” Ylani asked. “In case . . . you know.”
Brannon hesitated. “Draeson, will this be close enough for you?”
The mage shrugged. “My range is good but it depends how far we have to travel.”
“Okay.” Brannon scratched at his cheek, the smooth track of scar tissue amid the stubble was familiar and soothing to his fingertips. “Taran, leave your pack. The rest of us will keep ours for now.”
“I can carry it,” Taran said.
“Don't argue.”
They tucked the pack tight against the side of the tunnel where it was mostly hidden by shadow and likely to be overlooked, then followed Taran to the end of the tunnel. It forked in three directions, each looking similar to the next. Taran took the left fork without hesitation. Brannon hoped there was enough of his mind preserved by Master Jordell's leaves for him to remember the way. It had been several years since he'd escaped the House, after all.
The tunnel had a curve to it, meaning it was impossible to see very far ahead. Brannon's chest was tight and he listened for any sound that could indicate they might be about to encounter the inhabitants of the House. The soft steps of even this small group of invaders seemed like war drums in the hard glass corridor. Brannon could smell the sweat and sand on his clothes, but there was also an increasing hint in the air of the warm and earthy scent of livestock.
As the tunnel widened, Taran led them through an opening to a large chamber where goats milled around in a pen. The animals ran forward when they saw Brannon's group and brayed loudly.
“Blood and Tears, they're worse than a guard dog,” Brannon muttered. “How do we shut them up?”
Taran grabbed a bale of hay and tossed it over the fence and the goats rushed to start eating, their voices silenced by chewing.
“I was going to encase them in ice,” Draeson said. “But this works too.”
Brannon threw a second bale into the pen just to be sure. “How much further before we start running into people?”
Taran said nothing and walked away.
Brannon and Draeson exchanged a glance. The effect of the leaves was less and less each time. Taran's focus was the only thing keeping him going and it could be lost at any moment. For all he knew, it could already be lost.
“Ylani, how many more of those dried leaves do we have?”
The ambassador chewed her lip. “That was the last one.”
Brannon felt his fingernails dig into his palm. The physician warred with the warrior inside him. If they didn't find a Child of Starlight and take his stardust soon, Taran would be lost. But doing so risked raising the alarm and reducing their chances of saving Prince Tomidan to almost nothing. Stealth was vital to both sides of their mission and that stealth relied on the years-old memory of a young man whose mind was almost gone.
“He go,” Ula said, pointing.
Brannon turned in time to see Taran disappear through a doorway on the other side of the chamber. “Blood and Tears. Don't let him get away.”
He hit the doorway at a run with the others on his heels. The room on the other side was dark and there was no sign of Taran. Brannon stretched his arms out and could feel nothing ahead or to the sides. He took a few steps in. The darkness had the feel of a large open space but beyond that, nothing.
“Taran?” he called softly.
There was a muffled cry up ahead.
Brannon swore and drew his sword, keeping the point low to avoid skewering a friend. “Who's there?”
There was the sound of a match being struck and suddenly fire raced around the room, tracing the edges as a thin track of oil caught light along each wall. The flames reflected off the glass, shining back and forth until the room was shockingly brilliant. Brannon squinted at the sudden onslaught.
The room was large, but not so huge as he'd first suspected. It was sparse, with no furniture at all, giving the impression it was a storage area or a meeting hall. At the far end, two dark patches in the flames indicated doors that lead to other parts of the House. Between Brannon and those doors were five Children of Starlight, grouped in the centre of the room. Kreegin stood in front of them and a huge, muscle-bound man had Taran pinned in his arms to one side. The young priest's eyes were vacant and he showed no attempt to break free. A Djin man stood between the two far doors, his arms folded and his expression like stone.
The Father of Starlight smiled. “Welcome. I'm so glad you received our invitation.”
Brannon scowled. “What invitation?” He raised the tip of his sword.
“This one.” The gray-haired man waved his hand and the Children of Starlight parted to reveal two figures in their midst.
Darnec and Tomidan were bound to posts with thick rope around their necks, chests, and feet, and their arms pulled behind them. Tommy's shoulders quivered as the boy sobbed silently. Darnec stared off into the distance. He had blood on his face and a dark bruise around his left eye.
“Let them go, Kreegin.” Brannon's voice was low and dark like the fury in his chest.
A crackling ball of lightning formed in Draeson's hand.
“Uh-uh-uh.” The Father of Starlight pulled Tommy's head up by the hair and pointed the tip of his dagger at the boy's throat. “There'll be none of that if you want your prince to stay alive.”
The lightning vanished.
“That's better. You too, Sir Brannon. Drop the sword and kick it away. Daggers too.”
Brannon looked around the room. They were outnumbered but not by much. The leverage was Tommy. There was no way he could cross the room and fight off trained assassins before they killed the prince. He did as he was told and the metal blade struck the glass floor with a sound that rang like a bell. He kicked it and it slid away, coming to rest next to the flames that lined the walls.
The sound seemed to wake Darnec as if from a trance. The young man pulled at the ropes holding him in place. “Sir Brannon, I'm sorry. I tried to keep him safe. I tried—” One of the assassins struck him in the mouth and he fell silent.
Brannon felt his stomach churn at the words. He'd allowed his doubts and his experiences with his previous apprentice to cloud his judgement of the young man. He'd swallowed all his suspicions about Darnec and now, seeing him imprisoned and abused, found them poisonous. They were yet another move in the Father of Starlight's twisted game.
One of the assassins picked up Brannon's sword and casually snapped it in half with his bare hands. It was a display of impossible strength, and to Brannon's mind that meant only one thing: a Risen. He glanced at Ula and the Djin woman nodded.
“How many?” he mouthed to her.
“All of them,” she replied. She nodded toward the Djin. “Shool's doing.”
<
br /> Brannon's heart sank but his warrior training kicked in—when one weapon is lost, seek another. He glanced around the room. The flame could be useful in a fight but not something he could wield personally. The other weapons were in the hands of the assassins. Draeson was his own weapon of course, and while Ula didn't carry a blade, her lips were already moving in silent chanting as she worked against the Risen. As for Ylani . . .
Ylani was nowhere to be seen.
Brannon caught his breath. The one-time spy had made herself scarce. She was still free to act without the Father of Starlight seeing. Ylani was his new weapon. He stretched out his empty hands and faced Kreegin. “So what is it you want? I'm guessing this is about more than just punishing Taran for running away from home.”
Kreegin laughed. “Very good, Sir Bloodhawk. Although I very much wanted to punish Taran, you're correct—I do have a bigger scheme in all this.” He turned to the group of his people behind him. “Come forward, Mud.”
A golden-haired young man stepped out of the left doorway at the far end of the room. He looked to be maybe in his late twenties, with soft skin and familiar eyes.
Taran began struggling in his captor's arms. “No, no, no,” he moaned. “A ghost. You're a ghost!”
Brannon exchanged a look with Draeson. A ghost indeed, but of someone still living. “Do you see who he looks like?”
The mage shrugged. “Maybe. The hair. And the eyes.”
“Don't spoil the surprise,” Kreegin warned. “Tell them your name, lad.”
“Mud,” said the golden-haired man.
The Father of Starlight slapped the back of his head. “Your other name,” he snapped. “Your true name.”
Mud's eyes widened.
Brannon felt a jolt of shock go through him. It was more than just a passing similarity. Even the name had meaning. It was a play on words. Mud . . . or clay.
The young man straightened his spine and lifted his chin, a rebellious gleam in his eye. “I am, and always have been, Claydan Kalanon, Son of Aldan. Crown prince of Kalanon.”
The room was silent but for Taran's whimpering as he faced the friend he'd thought was dead but was now not only resurrected but revealed as a prince.