by Ben Hale
"Are the Voidlings killing kids?" Breaker stepped off the wall.
Shorn shook his head. "They take their senses and amplify their fears. It hasn't happened to me, but watching an eighteen-year-old huddle and cry is enough. Their eyes are so dark it's disturbing, but after a while they return to normal."
"What's Tess doing?" Rox asked.
"What do you think?" he said, a grin spreading on his features. "She started the Order of White, and found a place where we can train. Even the Voidlings can't reach us there."
Rox's features were alight with interest as she listened, and her whole frame seemed to swell with strength. Breaker had never seen his daughter like that, and found it to be disconcerting. His first thought was that it was the boy, but as he looked at her he recognized it was something more. Then abruptly he recalled where he'd seen it before. It was the same charisma that Breaker had seen in the Prime, Tess, and a handful of others.
"No place is safe from them," Breaker said, disturbed to recognize such a trait in his daughter.
Shorn didn't flinch from his glare. "This place is."
The certainty in his gaze was sufficient to give him pause. "So what is she doing with this Order of hers?"
"She has her own plan," he replied evenly.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Breaker said. "She's going to get someone killed. The Voidlings aren't men. They don't show restraint. They won't stop because you are underage. They'll kill you—or worse—Twist you into something not human."
"Better than cowering and waiting," Shorn said.
His voice held no judgment or rancor, but it caused Rox's eyes to widen. Breaker took a step closer to him.
"I wouldn't expect a boy to understand a father," he growled. "Unless you are saying you are one, in which case I will personally ensure a boulder crushes your skull." His gaze flicked to Rox, but she vehemently shook her head.
"We don't—I mean—I've never—I don't do that, Dad."
"Neither do I," Shorn said. He didn't wilt under Breaker's glare. "I was raised by good parents, just as Rox was."
The resolve in the boy's gaze caused Breaker to gain a grudging respect for him. "The true test of a man is the knowledge he seeks to gain."
"And the code of morality he lives by," Shorn finished the quote, and offered a faint smile.
Breaker snorted. "You’re the first one to date Rox who isn't a—"
"Dad!"
He raised a hand to placate her. "Fine, I won't kill him, but it's time for him to go."
"But I just got here," Shorn protested.
"Don't push your luck, boy," Breaker said. "Say goodbye."
"Dad," Rox said. "Give me five minutes."
Breaker was inclined to say no, but the steel in her eyes kept him from voicing it. When did she get that? Against his better judgment, he nodded. "Stay in the room," he said.
He took a few steps into the hall. Out of sight, he bent a reflective section of wall so he could keep them in view. The kid did no more than hold her hands, but there was an intensity to their posture that seemed closer. Breaker frowned. Four minutes later Breaker reentered the room.
"Time's up."
Rox issued a grunt, but surprisingly didn't argue.
Shorn nodded as well. "The Harbingers may be monitoring the mage net, but you can still use this to send normal messages." He handed her a tiny orb. "It's from Iris. Just in case, I won't include anything about the Order than can get you into trouble."
Rox didn't even look to Breaker for permission. "I'll start writing today."
He leaned in and kissed her, and Breaker's lips twitched. The boy was bold, he had to give him that. Then he noticed him slip her a second purple orb. Obviously a reservoir of information, he'd waited until Breaker would be distracted by a kiss to give it to her. Apparently the boy was smart as well.
His rumbling grunt caused them to part. "Don't get yourself killed on the way back," he said.
"I won't," Shorn said, and stepped to the back door.
"I'll see you soon," he said to Rox, and then he slipped outside.
Breaker closed the door and turned to look at her. She looked up at him expectedly, but abruptly he decided not to ask about what he'd passed her. Whatever it contained he'd taken great care to keep it from falling into Harbinger hands, or his.
He sighed. "He's not the worst you've dated."
Her smile brightened the hall, and she gestured to the kitchen. "Lunch?"
Breaker nodded, and moved to help her prepare their meal. For the first time since he'd taken her from Tryton's she did not glare at him. Her movements were relaxed and easy, and the happiness in her eyes softened his heart. As they shared an amicable meal the same question kept hovering in his mind.
Was he doing the right thing?
Chapter 35: The Master Contract
The Swordsman took several random turns through the streets of New York City, disturbed by the changes he saw. Exactly one month had passed since Mt. Elbrus, and even this far from the Dark the aurens were scared. They scurried about as if their business mattered, but in their eyes he saw uncertainty.
Grocery stores were packed with people stocking up on supplies, hotels were booked up with a surge of international tourists, and the streets were jammed with people. Advertisements blared in neon lights, but few gave them heed. News about the Dark's expansion took precedence. Even those that refused to believe in magic could not deny the climbing death toll. As manifested in their hurried footsteps and wary expressions, the aurens sensed the gathering storm.
Dressed in a leather jacket that helped hide his sword, the Swordsman could have passed for any other tourist, and yet the other pedestrians gave him a wide berth. A spark of fear lit in their eyes when they looked at him, and they stepped aside as if afraid to incur his wrath.
He didn't give them a second glance. After the events in the Assassin's Guild, he'd been left with a quandary. For the first time in a decade he had no target. Hawk was busy gathering for an assault. Auroraq was in lockdown by the Voidlings, and the rest of the world was frantically retreating from the Dark.
It was disconcerting and reminded him of his chaotic earlier years after his brother had left. Back then he'd been adrift as well. Becoming an assassin had given him purpose. Now? He wasn't sure what to do.
He clenched his fists, causing those nearby to shy away from him. Ignoring them, he turned into Central Park. Darkened paths stretched away, forbidding to others and yet inviting to him. Muggers preyed on the weak within the park, and a few had accosted him in the past. The one that survived from the attempt never walked again. Even here the aurens sensed the air of danger about him.
Generally headed north, he continued to take random paths. Many times he checked his back trail, but saw no sign of someone following him. Although he wasn't a full techno mage, he was able to ascertain if anyone was tracking him with techno magic. These thoughts were secondary as he brooded on what to do.
He reached his goal and stepped off the walkway. Activating his black air board, he glided through the trees and came to a halt before exiting the shadows. From his vantage point he looked down on a small pond. Hidden from the path by hills, trees, and rocks, it was a forgotten corner of the park. Over time the growth of trees had obscured it from view. A rotting bench bore testament to its neglect.
For several minutes he scanned the surrounding area. Once satisfied, he glided from the overlook and dipped his board toward the water. Then he banked under the overlook. Hidden from any angle above, a recess of the rock led to a hole in the stone.
He ducked to avoid striking his head, and flipped into a roll that pointed him down. Then he followed the tunnel past several of his traps until he reached the end. Situated under an upscale apartment building, the secret entrance ended at a door. Dismissing his board, he dropped to the ground and opened it with a gray key. Fused with his unique magical signature, the material was of his own make. The door was enchanted to detonate if anyone else attempted ingress.
The lights brightened as he stepped inside, revealing a circular apartment unknown to the residents above. Broad and spacious, the place was devoid of walls or doors. A large training area dominated the center, and was similarly shaped in a circle. Ringing it were an open kitchen, sleeping area, small library, and mission planning space with a lightcast table and a map wall.
Weaponry of every sort lined the walls. Swords, knives, and other blades hung next to auren guns, grenades, and tactical gear. Most were not enchanted, but he'd taken to collecting them over the years. Tossing his jacket onto a rack by the door, he breathed a sigh of relief as he walked in.
Then he saw the food on the kitchen counter.
He froze, his tactical mind returning in force. His gaze swept the room, searching for something out of the ordinary. Who could have gotten in? Who would have wanted to? Then he spotted a figure lying on the bed and his tension eased—to a degree.
"Indigo," he said, and rubbed his forehead. "I should never have given you a key to this place."
The assassin struck a provocative pose in his bed. "But then how would we have enjoyed each other's company?"
He scowled at the reference to their former relationship. "It doesn't mean you have a standing invitation."
She flew from the bed and floated in a circle around him. "You are so guarded," she said, and affected a pout. "You'd think we’d be closer after what we shared."
"I didn't share everything," he said.
She sighed, her expression shifting to serious. "I wish you would have."
"I wish I could have, Inora."
Her eyes flashed. "If you aren't going to tell me yours, you can't use mine."
The Swordsman turned away. The deepest secret an assassin had was his true name, and a scant few chose to share it. When she'd revealed hers he'd been unable to reciprocate, and their relationship had ended because of it.
He didn't know what to say so he walked away. Stopping in front of a weapon stand, he removed his and placed it in the only vacancy. The act was a tacit admission that he felt a closeness to her, even if he couldn't voice it.
Indigo released a troubled sigh, and quoted an ancient assassin proverb. "A trained assassin seeks to control the kill, and the space he calls his own."
He turned to face her. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't a friend stop in to visit?"
He shook his head. "Not with what's going on. You wouldn't have come without a purpose."
She pulled a knife and rolled it through her fingers, an act he found he missed. Clamping down on the emotion before it could undermine him, he moved to the couch and sank into a seat.
"Harbingers found one of my hides. I wasn't sure if the others were compromised."
"How could they?" he asked. "I couldn't even find them."
"I'm flattered," she said. "The great Swordsman couldn’t find my hides?"
His lips thinned. "But why come here? Surely there are other places you could hole up." He folded his arms. "What aren't you telling me?"
She regarded him as her smile faded. Then she said, "I want you to kill Alice."
"What's the price?"
"Any one item that I possess."
His eyebrows shot up. Assassins didn't contract each other, and never paid for assignments from their own resources. It was a rule that was as good as law, especially considering the value of some of their weapons. Depending on what he chose, he could earn four times his regular price. But was it worth it? Alice would undeniably be the most difficult target he'd ever gone after.
"Why," he asked. "Why not do it yourself?"
"Oh, I intend to partner with you on the job," she said. "I just don't consider it wise to go in alone."
"Why her?"
"Why not?" she asked. "If we don't, who will? Or more importantly, who can? Pretty soon the Dark will own this planet, and I doubt Alice wants us in her new world."
He shook his head and waited. The silence stretched past a minute until she relented with a sigh.
"Because she's killed twenty million people? Because she's the worst person to ever walk the planet? Take your pick."
He laughed. "You? Kill a target because it's the right thing to do? I don't believe it."
She scowled at him. "I didn't say why I wanted to do it, I said why you should."
Something clicked into place, and he realized that her motivation was personal, not professional. Her words were meant to convince him, not manipulate him, which would have been more her style. But why? Why not try to trick him into taking out a target? She'd done it before.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to doubt the sincerity in her voice. When they had been together he'd cherished the times she'd spoken to him like that. It was enough to override his suspicion, for now. He let out an explosive breath.
"What do you have in mind?"
She grinned, her playful expression returning. "How should I know? You're the one with a gift for infiltration. We both know I tend to use more . . . seductive . . . techniques to get what I want.”
True. He'd learned that first hand, and still sometimes wondered if their relationship had been real for her. Then he remembered that she had shared her true name—and he hadn't.
"Fine," he relented. "But you should know I don't trust you."
She offered her signature pout. "You wound me."
"Not as badly as you wounded me," he said.
The ending of their relationship had involved no small amount of bloodshed. Assassins always carried a weapon, and mage assassins had their magic as well. Domestic disputes were a hazardous affair. Apparently she recalled their last encounter as well, but it caused a different reaction than he would have expected.
She laughed, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "You know, the only reason I didn't hold back on you was because I know you can heal yourself. If I didn't know any better I would say you had healing magic in you."
I never held back, he thought. I just wasn't ready to tell you my name. Instead of addressing the first half of her comment, he replied to the second.
"I'm not like Rook," he said. "I don't enjoy pain."
She issued a troubled grunt. "We might have to go through him to get to Alice."
"Or Harry," he said.
"True, so we'd better make sure this plan is a good one."
She cocked her head to the side and flashed him an odd expression. It's good to be working together again, it said. He expected her to comment on it, but her lips tightened and the look vanished. Sadness swept through him. Their time together was long past. They could work together for this single mission, and then part ways once more.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. There was more bitterness than he'd intended, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Let's just get this done," she said. Her tone was tinged with regret that sounded like it was meant for him. "The sooner the better."
Chapter 36: The Darkest Prison
For the last two weeks Robar had sat with his back to the bars, straining to hear the news. He sifted through the useful bits of information he was able to glean from the reports. His new roommate sat beside him, equally enthralled.
At six-foot-four the man wasn't too bad—for a serial killer. He smiled a lot, and was one of the better looking inmates Robar had met since his incarceration. The combination had earned the man the nickname "Ugly". Robar didn't trust him, but at least it didn't look like Ugly had been paid to kill him—yet. Ever since the transfer he'd been just as enthralled by the news as Robar.
Robar wished he'd learned more Russian. He'd picked up a smattering of the language in the Navy and a little more in prison, but his knowledge was sorely lacking when it came to the news broadcasts. The bits in English were the best for intel. The guards' behavior had also been telling.
In the first few days the guards had been skeptical. That had faded to somber as it became apparent that the Dark was indeed a threat. Further reports spoke of the Dark's advance into Russia, and the f
ailure of the Russian government to stop it. The hourly updates of men being swallowed by the Dark and turning into foul creatures fueled the guards' fears. Every day the guards' fears mounted as the Dark approached.
The rush of feet and arguing voices drowned out the television again, and Ugly cursed them. Robar didn't waste his breath. He sensed that he was going to need it. Another set of hurried footsteps elicited shouts from the other inmates. The guard didn't even bother to silence them, and raced to the guard station with the TV.
"What's he saying?" Robar murmured.
Ugly smiled and spoke with a heavy accent. "Dark is coming four kilometers away."
"How soon until it gets here?"
"Soon," Ugly issued a quiet laugh. "Some of guards—how you say—no show up to work today."
"That explains why lunch is late," Robar said, and rose to his feet. "How many didn't show?"
Ugly grinned, a mad glint stealing into his eyes. "More than half."
More hushed voices. Then a guard raced down the hall pushing the food cart. Grabbing multiple trays, he shoved them through food slots so fast that much of it spilled onto the floor. Some of the other inmates were pounding the bars, screaming, but most didn't question the extra food.
"Why give much meals?" Ugly asked, and stood beside Robar.
Robar felt the knot in his gut tighten. Because they are leaving us behind. A moment later his fears were confirmed when he heard another guard scream, "HA CTEHY! HA CTEHY!"
It's at the wall. Robar didn't need a translator to understand the sheer terror in the man's voice. The one shoving food through slots abandoned his efforts and bolted. Finally sensing what was occurring, the inmates went ballistic. Screaming, shouting, bellowing in rage and fear, the men of Black Dolphin prison slammed themselves against the bars to no avail. The guards were gone.
Ugly grinned. "Is end, yes?"
Robar didn't respond, but he shifted his feet so there was more space between them. If it came to a fight, Ugly had size and weight on his side. Then a piercing scream caused them both to turn back to the door. Loud and echoing, it was impossible to discern where it had come from. As hardened, mad, and psychotic as the inmates were, their mounting fear caused many to fall silent. Then it came.