by Ben Wolfe
Arizian smiled and Grendahl felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” he said, smiling. “The guild under my leadership has not discriminated on the basis of the races. But I have to ask you,” he said, raising a finger as if in admonition, how you saw past what no one else has seen in the fifty intervals since I took leadership of the guild. My elite guard are supposed to be invisible and have been for all this time. So how,” he said, waving his hand in Grendahl’s direction, “have you seen past the mazikeen cloaks to see them?”
Grendahl was stunned. A flash of insight had led him to a place of lethality from which he knew there was no return. “My Lord Arizian, I know that no member of the royal house of S’rila would ever be allowed outside the forest of the fen without bodyguards. None have ever been seen. I cannot see them. I only wondered how they had avoided detection of so many trained assassins for so long and now I know, just as I now know also why you have created a truce with Jericho, the king of thieves. It also explains why the assassins have been called before the conclave. The assassins never before left any reason for people to doubt the natural causes of the deaths of those who we did not want attention drawn to. It has been harder to do that when it has become known that many of the influential who have fallen victim to our guild have also been robbed penniless. It explains also how none in your personal guard would leave no trace even in mud or snow. The stealth boots of the thieves guild combined with a mazikeen cloak would leave your guards not only invisible but would provide them the noiseless stealth and ability to leave no imprint upon the ground.”
The air around the two assassins, the newest member of the guild and the grandmaster began to shimmer as cloaks were thrown over shoulders and hoods were thrown back revealing ten aelfen archers with intricately carved bows all pointed in his direction with several others standing at equidistant points, relaxed, but looking in other directions for signs of a threat.
Still kneeling, he brought his fist over his heart. Grendahl lowered his face to the ground. “Lord Arizian, I pledge my life and my service to you and to the Assassin’s Guild. I am no threat to you. My obedience is yours to command. Let me prove my loyalty to you. Name your price for my life. Whisper it’s name in my ear and with your help and guiding hand, it shall be done now and always.”
He left his eyes lowered as Arizian considered him. He was more intelligent and perhaps almost too cunning to be trusted and yet he was exactly the kind of soldier he would need in the weeks and turns ahead. “Arise brother Grendahl. I have need of your service. It would be bad form for me to take one so young an initiate to the order and one as clever as yourself. I had not thought a few thefts of high profile victims would be noticed by anyone.”
“My lord, if you used these in trade to obtain stealth boots, you have approximately fifty guards who cannot be seen or tracked. I cannot imagine how you obtained that many mazikeen cloaks or what that has cost you, but the enchanted boots that until now only masters of the thieves guild could obtain would seem to indicate that there is a degree of cooperation that would be missed by the common people but not by those who previously robbed the nobility and wealthiest of merchants when they died of natural causes without heirs. In short, the other members of the nobility. When you are called before the convocation, it would be best to have your guards there and know that they will be aware of the thefts that have accompanied high profile assassinations over the last five decades. They want vengeance and this is how they will guarantee it. They would not ask you there to perform an assassination of another ruler. They know that the rules of the assassin’s guild prohibit the assassination of another head of state. They will use this to demand your cooperation in something they have no other way of accomplishing without war or leaving themselves open to rivals for the status of high king.”
Weeks later, Grendahl was enjoying the soft plush feel of his new boots despite how his new dark brown burlap robe scratched his skin as he accompanied the twelve strangers through the halls of Eisengard. Greghor must have called up all of his guards for their entry to the city. The master assassins, commonly referred to as “the thirteen” had never before been called before a conclave. And while they could ignore the summons of any single ruler, perhaps could even send a message to any ruler arrogant enough to issue such a summons, the collective power of the conclave was such that none would dare ignore such a summons, not even the Assassin's Guild.
That the rulers of the western kingdoms and their chosen representatives had remained together in Eisengard together for weeks without a death occurring showed how serious the rulers of the west were when it came to dealing with the issue of the defections. The west, it seemed, had enough of this Lianshi in the east and the consistent defection of women from all walks of life. Women would simply disappear in the dead of night, never to be seen from again. Bands of women were observed by townships as far away as the Shonan Plains, leading the rulers of many nations to post guards in disputed territories, questioning any women traveling through the territory heading for the eastern passes. The guardsmen were not the only expense. The guards needed coin to pay villagers to inform of any women who were not local and were observed traveling through town. The guardsmen spent coin in these towns freely on women and drink as well as for information and the effort was bleeding the western treasuries dry with very little effect. Women who were turned away simply doubled back and avoided the townships. Those who were escorted back took men which diminished the effort of monitoring the towns and gave rise to new problems as guardsmen were not accustomed to dealing gently with women, particularly those of noble birth, which led to complaints by nobility about the treatment of their daughters and wives.
As Grendahl and the others accompanying him entered the throne room, dozens of archers lined the balconies sometimes used by the nobility to watch coroations and the king’s justice. Grendahl was the only guild member carrying an open weapon into the throne room and he could feel the eyes of every archer tracking his movement though he was sure they were watching the others just as closely, bows drawn.
Gregory spoke from one of the central thrones. “That’s far enough.”
The thirteen hooded members of the assassin’s guild stopped their approach and stood patiently.
“Lord Arizian, we the conclave see that you brought the spear back that we asked you to look at. One of our members stands accused of treason. What can you tell us of the spear used by the Jintai?”
Grendahl stepped forward, holding the spear horizontal in both palms. “We cannot tell you if the weapon was forged in the mage forge of Arkenheim or of the innocence or guilt of Lord Warren. What we can tell you is that the silbony wood comes from the northernmost wood of the Morgovian Empire far to the south and the east. That we know of, the mage smiths of Arkenheim are not known to work with silbony wood. As you know, silbony is an ancient blackened wood nearly as hard as stone and difficult to work with. It even rings like metal when struck with steel but has a grip similar to wood. The inscription on the haft of the staff that can only be seen through the aether is unlike the inscriptions we have seen on other mystical objects created by the mage forge in Arkenheim. This is what we know. Other than that, it is a remarkably well-balanced weapon.”
“As are the other two. How do you know of the inscriptions?” Nicholas B’tal, the sandy-haired king of Medrigor blurted out. “You know that the practice of magic is reserved to the battle magi, mage knights and mage smiths in service to the high king.”
Gregory cleared his throat. “In service to the kings of the realm,” he said, ignoring the glare from Nicholas and a few of the other powerful nobles represented by the conclave.
Smiling beneath the shadow of his hood, Grendahl spun the staff upright and planted the butt of his spear down upon the ground holding the haft with his left hand. With a flourish of his right hand, a short bronze tube with glass on either end appeared in his hand. “An aether looking glass, sire,” he repli
ed simply and with such nonchalance as if everyone had one. Yet the kings and high lords had sat up and taken notice.
“Let me have a look at that,” said Gavon, King of Alkheir, by far the smallest kingdom represented, but well defended and one of the most strategically located to those who held the best claims to the seat of the high king.
Just as quickly, the eyepiece was gone. Grendahl inclined his head respectfully and replied, “My apologies, your highness. Bought and paid for. Asked and answered.”
The King of Alkheir looked about to burst a blood vessel in anger but took a breath to calm himself and seemed to think better of his initial response. Grendahl moved his thumb on the spear staff, a movement overlooked by all but members of the brotherhood posing as the masters and the unseen who accompanied them, led by Lord Arizian.
The King of Alkhier shared a smile with King Nicholas B’tal of Medrigor. “So you would clear Lord Warren of Arkenheim of wrongdoing?”
Grendahl waved his arm, “Kings, High Lords and Konigar of the conclave, we have not been hired to do any such thing. We were asked to assess the qualities of the spear you provided and we have done so when most would not be able to give you any actionable answer. In evaluating the spear, one of our apprentices who is expert in handling spears drew first blood in our culling ceremony claiming the weapon as is his right. He thus has claimed the right of ownership over the spear in payment for his assessment. For the services of our guild, even the conclave must pay. Thus you have our assessment and accounting.
Gregory stood, mage fire within his eyes. “Even the assassin’s guild is subject to the laws and authority of the conclave. When the Conclave of Kings, High Lords and Konigar ask for a favor, are you a fishmonger to bill them for the benefit of the realm?”
“I see little benefit to the realm should we provide testimony on the charge of treason by the Lord of Arkenheim who provides valued services to the realm and is both immortal battle mage and uncle to the high king.”
“You are a guild operating in the western kingdoms, guild master. You forget whose authority your guild operates under,” said Jurtan Torhig, the Heitar of Lief standing behind him, arms crossed.
Gregory raised his hand, palm up at waist level, aethereal flames leaping from his palm. As if on cue, Nicholas and Warren’s eyes lit with aethereal energy. “Perhaps it is time to remind you with whose authority you are permitted to operate.”
“We need no reminder from the conclave, King Gregory. You hold no sway over the assassin’s guild.”
King Gregory gestured with his other hand and arrows rained down upon his brothers from the archers in the balcony, dropping all but Grendahl, who waited until all of his brethren had stopped moving and made the same signal as Gregory with the hand not holding the spear. Lord Arizian’s guards acted on his signal and archers began falling over the balcony balustrades with their throats slit.
In that moment, the doors banged open and two of the guards were thrown back into the throne room. Lord Warren walked in wearing black dragonscale armor, carrying his helm, his black cloak trailing behind him with two of the Ebon Knights of Arkenheim in full armor with aethereal manifested swords in their hands. “That’s enough!” he called out, his voice carrying over everything else. “Arizian,” he called out.
His men moved in front of him on either side and pink energy shimmered into being in the shape of long shields. “Lord Arizian,” he called. “Whatever you have planned, this is a mistake. The guards of the conclave drew the first blood. Your men responded. But if you carry out any other actions against the conclave, you will be hunted by every remaining Battle Magus in the realm and the Mage Smiths, Ebon Knights and Dark Riders of Arkenheim will label you traitors and enemies. You don’t want that, do you?”
Grendahl moved his head enough to see Lord Warren from the corner of his hood without taking his eyes from the mages in the conclave. “I have half the battle mages in the realm in front of me right now and could kill them all in the amount of time it would take you to try to stop me.”
“Try it,” Nicholas sneered. “We are shielded from your men in mazikeen cloaks. Yes, I know what they are now. I have the mage sight up and can see them all.”
“You don’t see them all,” replied Warren.
“There are none who can avoid the sight of a battle magus,” Nicholas replied.
“My son,” replied Warren, “Duncan, created a forge with the waters of Lake Eriteba, the sacred lake of the Aelfen. The first new mage forge seen since Dakheil Sadow created mage forge they called the Stone Helix that divided the north to hold back Baphomet and her minions. It was the first elemental forge to hold back Baphomet’s twisted magic by turning it back upon itself and my son, Duncan, created the second. An elemental mage forge that can create objects of elemental power that are resistant to magic, including the sight of a battle mage. It is called the water forge and the Mage Smiths of Arkenheim have called the place where it is kept hidden the Well of Souls.”
Jurtan Torhig sneered, “You are a traitor conspiring with traitors.”
“Actually, while I was here with you, Jurtan Torhig, my son was forging a water cloak that would allow a user to remain invisible even to mystical detection. He was making it in exchange for the services of the Grandmaster of the Assassin’s Guild. He did it in exchange for verifying that the spears were created by the Lianshi or those in her service. He did it so they will find the Wraith or wraiths responsible for the attempt on the Konigar’s life. If the Lianshi has those responsible under her protection, the contract is for her life. If not, the lives of those involved in the assassination attempt are forfeit. If she happens to be harboring your wives and concubines, they will be returned and the Lianshi’s death should send a message.”
“It doesn’t look like the masters are in much shape to do anything now,” Torhig replied. “And his cloak does not appear to be anything so amazing as what you describe.”
“That’s because these are not the masters,” replied Warren, “and that is not the Grandmaster or the Water Cloak. Do you really think it would be so easy to kill a dozen master assassins or that they would be so foolish as to appear in person when summoned before you? Do you think the head of their order would be anywhere except with a sword to the throat of the host of the conclave while ready to kill the rest of you? Arizian!”
The shield around the conclave rippled as a figure stepped from amongst the kings through the barrier to stand behind Jurtan Torhig. Pulling back his hood, Lord Arizian replied, “You do have a terrible tendency, Warren, to remove all the fun from everything.” As Torhig moved to one side swinging around with his spear angled towards him, Arizian continued, “And next time, Jurtan Torhig, when you send underlings to do your business and that business involves a request for the guild of assassins rendering a service to you without payment and issuing commands to the guild in your name, it will be the Heitar of Lief’s head you will find stuck on the spear you now hold. I promise it will be by my hand rather than the Jintai.”
He flipped the shimmering cloak, flowing like water and seeming to disappear into the air around it when still. Inverting it over each shoulder to reveal himself to those within the hall, he stepped forward to stand next to Grendahl, swinging the cloak about so as to make it seem a simple traveling cloak. Yet wrapped around the shoulders of the tall, slender aelfen, it looked oddly out of place with his long white hair and pale skin standing in contrast. Lord Arizian turned back to the conclave. “You killed my men. We killed some of your men. Does it matter who they were now? They were sons, fathers, brothers, and friends. I’m not keeping tabs on how many died today at the hands of the conclave. Will you? But so that we understand each other, I had a blade to each of your throats and the only thing that stopped my hand was my inability to decide who to kill first so that I would have the best chance to survive to kill the rest of you. You need to remember this day as the day that I could have killed each of you but chose not to. I have no desire to rule and your people wo
uld never accept me even if I wanted to rule here in the west. Because I am S’rila’s son, there would be war with the aelfen if I were killed by you. A war I’m not sure who would win but which I know would decimate both sides.”
Gregory dropped the shield of shimmering aetherical energy and looked at the grandmaster suspiciously, rubbing his neck where the imagined knife had been. “But if you are the grandmaster, then who is this?” he gestured to Grendahl.
The other battle magi were reluctant to give up their hold on the aether but realized that they did not understand the situation fully and needed to diffuse the situation until they understood what was going on. War with the aelfen was not something any of them wanted to be responsible for.
Nicholas gestured at the fallen members of the brotherhood. “Who were they? And why are members of the guild wearing mazikeen cloaks?”
“Scarcely out of their apprenticeships, each whispered the name of a king or high lord, yet told that the first to act without my signal would be marked for a slow and very painful death. Those with the mazikeen cloaks are my personal guard,” replied Arizian. “And given what happened here today and who initiated it, the other answers to your questions should be obvious to a king, Nicholas.”
“And the other masters?” asked Gregory before the others thought to ask.
Arizian turned and looked at Warren. “Duncan’s water cloak has proved to be everything that was promised. The masters are on their way to the settlement of Karsova in the east. The encampment of the Lianshi. Within weeks, Lord Warren, we will know if your gambit has borne fruit. Twelve master assassins should be more than enough for this Lianshi and her band of Jintai and their encampment of women, but half of the brotherhood went with them. They should be halfway there already.”