by Mark Robson
‘There is more to this story than you’re telling, isn’t there?’ Surabar asked, his cold eyes boring into Reynik.
‘Am I that obvious, your Majesty?’ Reynik replied, flushing with embarrassment. ‘You’re right. There was something else – something most curious. The man was wearing a strange talisman around his neck. It was a silver replica of a wolf spider hanging on a leather thong.’
‘So what happened to the talisman? Do you have it? It wasn’t mentioned in my briefing by Commander Vascilly last night.’
‘That’s the strange thing, your Majesty. It disappeared. It melted away before my eyes, exuding a sparkling energy that did not look natural. I’m assuming that the talisman possessed magical properties, but its purpose remains a mystery. What’s particularly interesting is that it should disappear at the same instant the man died.’
‘Melted away, you say? When the man died – hmm, that is interesting. Have you ever seen anything like this before, Femke? Does Shalidar have one of these spider talismans?’
Femke shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know, your Majesty. I’ve never heard of the Guild having any sort of symbol before, nor of them using magic. A magician in their ranks would be a fearsome adversary.’ She paused in thought for a brief moment, then continued. ‘If they’ve adopted the wolf spider as their mark, it’s not something they’ve advertised. The wolf spider would be an appropriate symbol for their profession, but I find it hard to believe, given that we’ve not come across it before.’
Emperor Surabar scratched his nose thoughtfully for a moment. He looked first at Femke, then Reynik, then back to Femke again. There was much to consider, but he already had a plan in mind. The two young people had brought nothing new that would affect what he had in mind, so he decided to go ahead and put his strategy into motion.
‘I agree, Femke. The disappearing spider talisman is interesting, but I’m not convinced that it has any real bearing on what I’m trying to achieve. I need to know more about the Guild of Assassins. I intend to destroy them, but only a fool destroys something without knowing all of the implications of his actions. By declaring them anaethus drax I’ve made clear my intention to drive the Guild from Shandrim. I didn’t expect them to go quietly, but neither did I anticipate their strike against the Legions. It was a clever countermove on their part. Whoever leads the Guild is no fool. I need to know more about this Guildmaster whom I’ve set myself against. “Know your enemy” was a tenet I was taught very early in my military career, but how do you get to know an enemy you cannot find? It’s a difficult question. I have a solution, but it involves risks. Risks to my person I would never shy away from, but my plan will involve risking the lives of others.’
When Surabar paused again, Femke smiled. ‘By “others”, would I be right in assuming you mean us?’ she asked, indicating to include Reynik and herself. The Emperor nodded. ‘Then what would you have us do, your Majesty? I am yours to command.’
‘I too,’ Reynik added, bowing his head.
‘Another tenet I learned a long time ago was “Never volunteer for anything without knowing exactly what you’re letting yourself in for”,’ Surabar said with an amused grin. ‘I suggest that you listen to my idea before you agree. My plan will put at least one person in extreme danger. I will not order anyone to do it. I’ll only accept a volunteer.’
‘We’re listening, your Majesty,’ Femke encouraged.
‘I want someone to infiltrate the Guild. I need a volunteer who is willing to become an undercover assassin. Once we have someone on the inside, the two crucial pieces of information needed to bring the Guild down should be ours for the taking. It is of paramount importance to find out where the Guild headquarters is located. Second only to this is the identity of the Guildmaster. Once we know these things, breaking up the Guild will become relatively straightforward.’
Femke did not hesitate. ‘I’ll do it, your Majesty. I have the requisite background training. It will take me a little while to create a suitable new persona, but it should be possible with the appropriate support.’
‘No, Femke – not this time. You’re not suitable for several reasons. First, you have not fully recovered from your injuries. Do not think I’m going to cast aside my vow about your returning to the field before you are fully fit. Second, Shalidar must be a member of the Guild and he knows you too well. If he returns to Shandrim, you would be discovered and killed very quickly. We don’t know what sort of induction procedures the Guild has, or how they screen their recruits. Your various personas have all been seen around Shandrim for some years. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that you are already marked by the Guild.’
‘Which leaves me, your Majesty,’ Reynik said coolly. ‘If I were to accept this mission, would I have to kill in order to be accepted into the Guild?’
‘Yes,’ Surabar said grimly. ‘The hypocrisy of it galls me, but I am not blind to the necessity of giving you a solid cover. If it brings any comfort, I will feel any lives we are forced to take as darker stains upon my soul than any I gained for my decisions as a soldier. I can assure you that any targets I assign you will already have been marked for the death sentence. There are a lot of prominent Noblemen out there set on treasonous activities. I abhor the whole nature of killing for money, but it will be necessary for you to become a real assassin if you are to successfully infiltrate the Guild. Moreover, you’ll need to do something spectacular if you are to grab the Guild’s attention.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Femke interrupted, ‘if I might be so bold, Legionnaire Reynik, for all his good intentions, is trained neither as an assassin, nor as a spy. He will be spotted easily.’
‘That’s why I’m making it your job to train him. You have three weeks. No more.’
‘Three weeks, your Majesty! But that’s impossible! Three months would be hard, but . . .’
‘You have three weeks, Femke,’ Surabar interrupted. ‘Events are moving quickly. With hindsight, I was rash to declare the Guild anaethus drax. I should have waited until I had more information. Three weeks is as much time as I can allow. The longer we delay, the more people are likely to lose their lives for no purpose. Legionnaire Reynik will have to learn quickly. He has proved himself resourceful before. I’ve no doubt that he will be able to absorb enough information in that time to become convincing. Accept and your first hit will take place in three weeks. I will place any resources you require at your command. What do you say, Reynik?’
‘I remain yours to command, your Majesty. I will do as you ask.’
‘We will both do our best, your Majesty,’ Femke added.
‘See that your best is good enough. Good people are dying because of my miscalculation. A location and a name – that is all I ask.’
Reynik bowed, recognising the dismissal in the Emperor’s final statement. As he turned to leave, his mind raced. In three weeks, he would be expected to kill someone in cold blood. It was not a thought that filled him with joy.
‘How is your search going? Have you found me an assassin willing to kill the Emperor?’
Lacedian shook his head. ‘No one has responded. Are you sure this is a good idea, Tremarle? Others have tried and been hanged for treason recently. It would only take one word in the wrong ear and it’ll be us swinging from the gallows next.’
‘I’m not about to back down. Find me someone who won’t fail. I want revenge for the loss of my son and the loss of my House. Surabar must die.’
A shiver ran down Lord Lacedian’s spine. There was a look of madness in his old friend’s eyes. It was possible that the death of Danar had unhinged Tremarle’s mind. Should he continue to act on the request? He wanted to see the Emperor replaced by one with true Noble blood as much as anyone did, but was an assassination truly the way ahead?
‘I’ll try, my friend,’ he said finally, feeling forced to speak in order to break the pregnant silence. ‘There are few who are likely to accept the hit, but I will enquire.’
‘You can offer them four thousand
gold pieces to see if that will help them to decide.’
‘Four thousand! Have you got that much gold? There may even be some in the Guild who would overlook their creed for that sort of money.’
‘Lacedian, I would beggar myself to see Surabar dead now. He has destroyed my family’s future. I will not rest until he dies.’
By chance, a passing cloud eased in front of the sun. The light in Lord Tremarle’s drawing room dropped dramatically. Lacedian shivered again. He was not normally superstitious, but the timing of the sudden darkness gave the feeling of an omen. No matter how Lacedian tried to shrug it off, he could not shake the feeling that he should back out now before it was too late.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He bowed his head and his heart sank. It was no good. He could not deny his friend. Doomed or not, Lacedian would find someone willing to take on the hit. Four thousand in gold would buy a lot of interest. The problem would be keeping the contract a secret from the Emperor’s spies. If he failed, it would mean death – a powerful incentive to keep from making mistakes.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘This way, Reynik,’ Femke ordered, striding off through the corridors of the Imperial Palace as if she owned the place.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked, jogging for a moment to catch up.
‘Firstly to find some civilian clothes for you to wear; then to find a man who can teach you to use a sword.’
‘But I can already fight with a sword,’ Reynik protested. ‘I admit I’m not the best swordsman around, but I can hold my own.’
Femke stopped abruptly. Reynik tottered slightly as he fought to stop and maintain his balance. She gave him a hard stare and when she spoke it was in a low voice that would not be overheard.
‘You walk like a soldier. You talk like a soldier. As far as I know, you probably fart and swear like a soldier! We have three weeks to beat that out of you, Reynik, or the Guild will see right through you. I don’t want to think about what they would do to you then. I’m starting with the obvious. You will need to handle a sword differently. You will also need to acquire other less usual weapons skills. We’ll not be able to hide your military training entirely in such a short time, but we should be able to build you an identity as a military drop-out. I see you as a disaffected soldier who has turned to killing for a fee. The trick to making this persona convincing will be to eliminate some of your military habits and style, but leave evidence of your past.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Of course it does, so please don’t question my judgement. Do as you’re told like a good little soldier and things will be fine. I’ll conduct some of your training myself, but for those things that I can’t teach you, I’ll find those who can. I happen to know of an expert swordsman who could do with a paying job right now. If anyone can teach you how to use a sword effectively, it’ll be this man.’
Femke had a word with one of the Imperial Palace staff, and Reynik was given access to the guest wardrobes. Stores of clothing suitable for most sizes were kept in order to save visitors embarrassment in the event of their arriving during poor weather, or after a difficult journey, with nothing suitable to wear around the Palace. Reynik did not take long to find something in his size. An off-white tunic, black leggings, calf-length riding boots and a mid-blue jacket with silver decorative stitching suited him well.
They bundled his uniform into a bag and dropped it off at Femke’s quarters. Femke took the opportunity to change into nondescript clothing before they set off again, heading out of the Palace towards the south west quarter of the city. It took a while to reach their destination. The streets were busy with the bustle of daily life. The smells of cooking meat wafted on the air, as food vendors began utilising the tantalising scents to lure in custom. Traders called out to them, extolling the virtues of their wares, and young boys tried to cajole them into inns and shops, undoubtedly looking to gain a commission for bringing the proprietors custom. Femke ignored them all with a single-minded intensity, leaving Reynik to deflect interest onto other potential customers.
Reynik had not spent much time in the commercial areas of the city when he was growing up, so he felt awkward about ignoring people. His upbringing had instilled certain manners in him that he found difficult to shake off. Surely it was common courtesy to at least shake one’s head, or to wave a negative, when someone called out to you? Not even acknowledging someone’s presence seemed the height of ignorance and bad manners.
It suddenly occurred to Reynik that if he were having problems with the simple matter of manners, then how much harder would it be to change more critical inbuilt habits? Femke was right, he decided. He would need a lot of help to make his disguise believable.
When they arrived at Femke’s chosen destination, Reynik was thrown off guard again. The house that they approached was not at all what he was expecting. Femke’s assertion that the swordsman he was to meet was in need of work did not fit with the large, plush-looking residence at which they were knocking. The house could not belong to a poor man.
A servant answered and Femke spoke to him in such hushed tones that Reynik could not make out what they said. The servant did not look happy, but after a moment of indecision, he ushered them inside. The hallway to the house was spacious and grand in appearance. A polished marble floor boasted a complex mosaic depicting two fighters locked in combat, and there were several wall hangings and beautiful paintings with similar themes. A life-sized statue of a swordsman in arena style protective gear stood menacingly on guard to the left of the sweeping staircase that climbed in a majestic arc to the upper floor. The wrought iron banisters were beautifully crafted with many swirling patterns, gleaming black against the creamy marble.
‘This way, my Lady. Sir.’ The servant did not look to see them follow. He simply set off across the hall to one of several impressive solid oak doors set again with wrought iron hinges and handles. The room they entered was a large living area; tastefully decorated, but again with the underlying tones of someone obsessed with fighting. Even the little drinks tables had legs in the shape of swords, embedded point down into small spheres of iron.
They did not stop in the living room, but crossed to another door that opened into the strangest room Reynik had ever seen. It was about ten paces square, with no furnishings or decorations other than two walls that were covered with mirrored glass. In the centre of the room was a man whose gaunt face seemed hauntingly familiar. He was aware of them the moment they entered, but continued in his pose for a few seconds before relaxing and turning to greet them.
‘What’s this, Aneki? Did I not tell you I wasn’t to be disturbed?’
‘Yes, Master, but the Lady here has a proposition that I think you would be interested to hear.’
‘Indeed. Well, let us retire back into the lounge then. Bring us some drinks, please, Aneki. Would you good people prefer dahl or water? I’m afraid I don’t keep any stronger beverages in the house. I find that removing temptation makes it easier to resist its draw.’
‘Two glasses of water would be wonderful, thank you,’ Femke assured him. Aneki bowed and withdrew to fetch the drinks.
‘Please excuse me changing my shirt, but it will quickly become uncomfortable if I do not,’ the man apologised, indicating his sweat-soaked garment. He crossed the room to a small cupboard and removed a clean white shirt. As he raised the garment he was wearing over his head, Reynik gave a gasp of shock at the horrific wound in the man’s back that glared at him like an accusing red eye. He turned, and to Reynik’s further shock, there was a matching wound in the man’s stomach. Someone had run this man through with a sword.
Suddenly, Reynik recognised the reason for the familiarity of the man’s face. The man was a legend – a gladiator who had built his reputation in the arena as the deadliest swordsman alive. He had killed dozens of men during his rise through the ranking system. The killing was his trademark. Gladiators normally fought until one yielded. Not so with this man. With him, ev
ery fight was to the death. During his three years in the arena, he had never left an opponent alive to face him a second time. It was said that he had faced up to five trained gladiators simultaneously in a single confrontation, and not one had survived to fight another day. At least, none had done so until his final bout.
The man watched with amusement as recognition dawned in Reynik’s eyes, together with a look of disbelief. ‘Serrius!’ Reynik mouthed silently.
Serrius gave a small nod of admission and then turned to Femke. ‘I take it this young fellow didn’t know you were bringing him to see me today,’ he observed casually. ‘It’s good to know that you’re not spreading word of my survival all over the city, Femke. Now, what brings you here today to disturb my recovery?’
‘Serrius, this is Reynik. I want you to train him in some of the more advanced arts of swordplay.’
‘You know I don’t teach. Why would I teach a man the skills he might one day use to kill me?’
‘So you intend to return to the arena then? I thought you would quit after . . .’
‘After I was run through by that young Thrandorian?’ he finished. Serrius laughed aloud, his mirth looking strange on his normally impassive face. ‘Your thinking is correct. I have quit. I would be a fool to return to the arena now; I would be diced on my first bout. My former skill and fitness levels are gone for ever; the Thrandorian’s blade through my gut ensured that, but it does not do to have too many men who can better you with a sword when you have spent your life killing others in order to prove you are the best.’
Aneki entered the room with three tall glasses of water, which they each took from the tray with polite words of thanks. Reynik took a long draught, but despite sweating profusely, Serrius was more restrained. He took only small sips from his glass, unconsciously demonstrating his control over the thirst Reynik felt sure the gladiator must feel. The servant left again, bowing as he exited the room.