by Aaron Pogue
At last, walled off from the distant sounds of joy, he heaved a weary breath and looked around. Avery and Kellen stood before him, watching. The others leaned against the walls or prowled the wide room, curious as cats and twice as deadly.
Corin licked his lips. Reason and emotion warred within him, so riotous, so deafening that he felt numb. One thought rose up as clear as daylight, though, and he bowed his head toward his friends. “Thank you. Thank you both for coming.”
Avery nodded in answer. “You earned it, when all was said and done.”
Kellen smiled a sad smile. “You have begun to learn the price.”
Corin ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t . . . I thought . . .” He heaved a sigh. “We won?”
Avery arched an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a question.”
“So many died.”
“That’s how it’s done,” Kellen said. “You claimed you were prepared—”
“I didn’t know,” Corin said.
The old elf nodded. “And now that you do, would you have chosen differently?”
Corin chewed his lip. He considered long and hard, but in the end he shook his head. “No. He sent the killers, not me.”
Avery cocked his head. “You did assassinate his prince.”
“Princes,” Corin said automatically.
“Just one,” Avery said. “The other lives. And he does not like you much.”
Corin thought on that. Giovanni’s throat he’d slit clean, so it had to be Pietro who’d survived, with a blade in his shoulder and another through his gut. Corin swallowed hard. “Even so. It needed doing.”
Kellen nodded. “There’s your answer. Don’t try to place blame, because it has a way of shifting like a snake. Either it’s worth doing, or it isn’t.”
Corin thought of Aemilia, and of everything he had discussed with the tavern keeper just yesterday. He nodded, more certain now. “I mean to see this through at any cost. Hurope deserves to see a day free of Ephitel’s dark shadow.”
“Then this might be the dawn,” Kellen said. “You are a most remarkable manling, Corin Hugh. And your Auric too.”
Avery nodded. “He’ll make an uncommon king.”
“And you will stand with us?” Corin asked. “The elves of old Gesoelig will fight for man?”
Kellen looked to Avery, and those two shared a silent exchange. Then both turned away from Corin, searching out the eyes of their other companions. As one, the warriors all nodded.
“It will never again be so easy,” Corin said. “You won the day because you were unexpected here. The fog her wizards raised worked to your advantage, and Ephitel sent no elves of his own into the fray. Next time . . .”
Avery lay a hand on his shoulder. “Next time, we’ll find some other way to catch them unprepared.”
Kellen nodded once, certain, and gestured to the men behind him. “I bring you these today. And I will promise more. We’ll never field an army—there are too few of us left—but I will bring you every man still loyal to the name of our fallen king.”
“For Oberon!” the others chanted, reverent.
“For Oberon,” Corin echoed. “Let’s see this through.”
Something of Corin’s tension drained at that. He sank back against the wall, exhausted, and listened while the others settled into a more casual conversation. They compared their exploits, bragging over their own feats and admiring each other’s handiwork.
Kellen never boasted of himself, but just among the deeds his companions had witnessed, the old warrior had answered for eight gladiators and half as many wizards on his own. The efforts of the other elves combined scarcely matched that, but Kellen only gave a modest shrug and turned away.
They went on boasting and laughing, and someone suggested a sortie into the camp to find some wine and brandy. In the midst of all of this, some instinct tugged at the back of Corin’s mind, and he raised his eyes toward the outer door.
A man stood there.
He was dressed all in white, cotton clothing of a plain cut, though he wore a belt of midnight black, and he had eyes to match. He entered the chamber like a ghost from one of Tesyn’s stories, drifting soundlessly across the floor, unseen by all the others in the room. Deadly warriors one and all, they ignored him, until Corin began to fear this was some hallucination.
And then he saw the wisps of mist that hung about the man, clinging to his plain white robes and glistening against his skin. He wore a glamour, and he wore it well. The intruder passed within a pace of Kellen, and perhaps the old elf’s shoulders tensed, perhaps his eyes narrowed, but he did not react. He shook his head and carried on his conversation.
Corin let it pass. He waited, motionless, until the stranger came within three paces. Then he moved like lightning. He shoved off from the wall and drew his rapier in one smooth motion, slashing out until its point dimpled the intruder’s throat.
Everyone throughout the room fell still, staring, but they must have seen Corin threatening the empty air. Corin didn’t care. He met the cold black eyes of the intruder.
They showed no fear. They showed no surprise at all. He waited, silent, while Corin considered him.
“You’ve come from Ephitel?” Corin asked.
The stranger nodded.
“An assassin? To finish what his army couldn’t?”
The stranger shook his head.
“Then what?”
The stranger spread his hands, showing them empty to Corin, then very slowly reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a piece of folded parchment. He extended his hand and let it fall. As it touched the floor, half a dozen voices gasped.
Behind the stranger, Avery arched an eyebrow. While everyone else had been staring at the bit of paper, the old thief had positioned himself just beyond the tip of Corin’s sword. He had a knife in his hand, held low and perfectly positioned to perforate the intruder’s kidney.
He looked a question at Corin, and Corin almost smiled. Avery could no more see the stranger than the other elves, but he’d been faster than any other to interpret Corin’s actions, and the old elf had moved with confidence to act on his guess. But Corin shook his head no and returned his gaze to the assassin.
“Tell your master I can see through all his clever tricks,” Corin said. “Tell him if he sends anymore like you, they won’t return alive.”
The stranger nodded, still completely unconcerned.
Corin sheathed his sword and watched the stranger leave. Once again, the fellow slipped within a pace of Kellen, but Corin noticed that he left Avery a wide berth. Perhaps he had sensed what he could not see.
Here was something new. Corin had heard rumors of the gods’ assassins, but he’d scarcely credited them. What use could they have for such delicate tools when they had access to justicars and gladiators and wizards?
Yet today those all had failed, and if not for Oberon’s strange power, this one might well have carried out a different set of orders. Corin shuddered at the thought. Invisible assassins to add to his growing list of enemies. Delightful.
But there at his feet was the bit of parchment, and Corin could feel the anxious desire of all those elves to learn what the page contained. Corin knelt and unfolded it, leaving room for all the others to read with him.
The message was in the ancient language of the elves. It wasn’t long.
“Under the circumstances of today’s engagement, I must beg a meeting with you. I will not set foot on pagan ground, and I suspect you would refuse to meet me in my own dominion, so I recommend a neutral site. Join me in three days’ time, at sunrise, where last we spoke. Ephitel.”
Around the room, astonished gasps and busy chatter rose as the other elves comprehended the significance of that request, but Corin only nodded. His mind was reeling, but in a sense, he’d anticipated this moment since the day he’d gone after the Vestossi princes. He’d anticipated it when he suggested Auric build up this stronghold in defiance of the gods. He’d anticipated it when the old elves
joined him on the field of battle.
“You cannot mean to go,” Kellen said, earnest. “It’s obviously a trap.”
“Obviously,” Corin said.
Avery considered him a moment, and then he too nodded. “It is indeed. It is a trap our friend here has been laying out for Ephitel. How long?”
“Since he killed the woman I loved. No, longer. Ever since he killed your king. This has been my destiny.”
“And do you have a solid plan to overcome him?”
“Be faster,” Corin said. “Want it more. Get him before he gets me.”
Kellen nodded. “Brave. Noble.”
Avery showed his teeth. “Sincere and foolish.”
“I do have an idea,” Corin said, “but I need an answer first. Can Ephitel see through a glamour?”
The elves exchanged looks, considering, then Kellen shook his head. “Not easily. Not the way you seem to. But if he knows a strike is coming, he can dodge it anyway.”
Corin nodded. “Then I’ll have to make it quick. And from a direction that he won’t see it coming.” He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his cloak, and then tipped his head in a bow to all the elves. “Thank you once again for everything you’ve done. Go find your wine and welcome among the people that you saved. It is well earned.”
Kellen caught Corin’s shoulder. “You cannot mean to go alone.”
“If Ephitel sees elves with me, he will know it for a trap. He’ll show contempt for a manling, and that gives me my only edge. I have to go alone.”
Kellen still looked doubtful, but Avery clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s right,” the old thief said. “Let him go. Either he solves all our problems, or he ends this new rebellion at the start. Either way, he’ll save us trouble, eh?”
Kellen didn’t laugh, though it drew a smile from Corin. The warrior finally shook his head and released Corin. “Go in valor,” he said softly. “For Oberon.”
Half a dozen voices raised in exhortation. “For Oberon!” The ancient cathedral rang with the words. “For Oberon! For Oberon!”
Corin dipped his head. “For Aemilia,” he whispered. Then he slipped away to find his humble tavern keeper.
It ended back where it had begun. The abandoned cottage in the border woods of western Raentz was three days’ ride from the farmboy’s stronghold, but it felt a world away. A lifetime. Corin made the trip with time to spare, and as the sun rose on Ephitel’s appointed meeting, Corin waited already in the cottage’s tiny kitchen.
He couldn’t bring himself to look into the inner room. It would be empty but for dust, yet still it bore too strong a memory for Corin. He couldn’t bear it. Better far to hold his place and wait for his guest.
He thought he knew what to expect here. After all, he’d faced Ephitel more than once before. The creature loved to prance and preen, to wallow in his threats and bask in his imagined victories.
Corin had landed a cruel blow by conquering his force in the Wildlands. He’d spread the word that manlings might find refuge in Spinola once again—two thousand years after Ephitel himself had named the place anathema. One way or another, he’d gathered up the force that killed some of Ephitel’s most prized warriors. All of that would burn at Ephitel’s pride.
But worst of all, he’d killed the justicar. That had been the blow that earned him this meeting. Corin was sure of it. It hadn’t even been his plan, but three days’ journey to this place had given him time to understand the significance of that action.
Corin had the sword Godslayer. It was the only weapon in the world that could kill Ephitel, and Ephitel knew it was in Corin’s hands. He could never leave such a thing out in the world. Poor, mad Jessamine had offered Ephitel some hope before. She could sense the sword when the circumstances were right, and that had offered him the promise of securing it. But the moment that she fell, Corin had become too great a threat. So Ephitel set this trap to draw Corin in and seize the sword himself.
That was why Corin didn’t wear the sword. After Kellen’s caution, he didn’t dare carry it on him, even under a glamour. Instead, he wore only his dagger at his side, and a knife in its sheath on his wrist. They were his favorite weapons, but here and now, they left him feeling naked. He chewed his lip and prayed Fortune that Ephitel showed soon.
He did not have to wait long. The sun lay low on the horizon when the outer door creaked open to admit Ephitel. A dozen gladiators were crowded in the garden behind him, as well as two men in the plain white robes and clinging mist of the gods’ assassins, but Ephitel could see the room was empty.
He glanced to Corin’s side and noted the sword’s absence. He looked disappointed. He was an elf, after all, and Corin a mere manling. He doubtlessly believed that he could best any manling in a fight, even a manling armed with the one sword that could scar him. He’d have been all too happy to cut Corin down and secure the sword at once.
But without it, he had to carry on his ruse. He had called for this meeting, after all. He turned back, still in the doorway, and spoke a quiet word to his attendants. Then he came into the room and closed the door behind him.
“It is well you came to meet me,” he said.
“We have unsettled business, you and I.”
Ephitel shook his head. “You’ve made a valiant effort. I should have killed you last time we were here together. I thought the druids were the greater threat.”
“Not to you,” Corin answered, bitter. “To your ambition, perhaps, but not to your person. They want to see a stable world, and they will tolerate you if that is what it takes.”
Ephitel arched an eyebrow. “You won’t? You hate your god so much?”
“You are not my god,” Corin said. “I have met Oberon while he still sat his throne. I have glimpsed the world this world was meant to be. I will never bow to your tyranny.”
Ephitel considered Corin a moment, then shook his head. “I would so love to know your story. Perhaps when the rest of this is settled, I’ll take the time to wring it from you.”
“Is that why you called me here? To offer threats?”
“You seem glad enough to seize the opportunity.”
“But I did not summon you. Why have we come here, elf? You can’t possibly believe you’ll end this thing by taking me.”
“I can end this thing in an afternoon. A thousand filthy refugees cannot stand against the united armies of the gods.”
Corin sneered. “They stood against your first strike.”
“Impressive as that was—I’ll even say astonishing—that one heroic stand was nothing but a gesture. Your rabble survived a strike force one-tenth their size, but I could send ten thousand men against them. A hundred thousand, if that’s what it takes. We’ll unite the world against this wretched band.”
Corin showed his teeth. “If you believed it would be so easy, you would not be here now.”
“You presume to know my heart?”
“I know what my eyes show me, Ephitel. Three days ago, you lost this war.”
“There is no war! There is one pathetic enclave huddling in the godless wilderness. If they have blasphemed our names, we will strike them down. It’s a distraction, not a war.”
“I can’t decide if you honestly believe that. It doesn’t matter. You are wrong. You have seen the first engagement of a war that will change this world, that will rip it from your hands and restore it to the rightful inheritors of Oberon’s ancient dream. You’re finished, Ephitel.”
The elf was incredulous. “You killed a handful of my men—”
“Not I. It wasn’t I who killed your elite slaves, but a farmboy who dared to dream of a world governed by justice and honor. His followers are not gathered there out of need, but out of hope. The whole world waits in quiet desperation for something better, and Auric has now shown it to them. Even if you crush him, the world will remember what happened here. Your easy tyranny is at an end.”
Ephitel considered this in silence for a moment. Then he shook his head, disbelieving. “Does he t
ruly believe that? Do all his silly followers think his legacy can be so powerful? Does he honestly believe he can defeat me with a romantic gesture? That’s why he does this?”
“No,” Corin said. “You give him too much credit. He doesn’t see the subtle truths that will play out over generations. Auric defies you for a much simpler reason. He does it because it’s right. Because you are a cruel, petty master, and the whole world groans beneath your wickedness. Auric stands—at any cost—because someone has to stand against you. And his followers stand behind him because they believe in him.”
“Noble heroes live short lives,” Ephitel said dismissively, but Corin answered over him.
“Perhaps, but legends live forever. Auric drew first blood. He has shown that you are vulnerable. And while you’re gathering your armies to destroy him, he’ll be gathering followers as well. Not just pathetic refugees, but elves long lost in hiding and druids who have waited all these years to fulfill their promise to their fallen master.”
Ephitel’s nostrils flared as he huffed in frustration, but he didn’t answer back. Corin nodded, masking the shock that bloomed behind his breastbone. He was right. He’d known it, he’d believed it, but he hadn’t dreamed that Ephitel would see the truth.
But if the elf could see it through the bloody haze of his own arrogance, it must be true. It must be. Corin’s desperate scheme was going to work. The sad alliance Auric had pulled together was going to change the world. Those who had died before the city walls would not have died in vain.
Finally, frustrated, Ephitel asked, “And you? Why have you done all of this? For Oberon? He was never perfect. He enslaved the dwarves. He welcomed insurrection and challengers for the sport they gave him. In the end, he was weak.”
“He was,” Corin said. “I saw him in those days. And he knew his own shortcomings, but he did his best.” Corin drew a heavy breath, thinking hard, and despite his best intentions, his eyes cut toward the inner room. He nodded to himself, and answered loudly, “I did not do it for Oberon, but for Aemilia.”