by Ben Hale
She barely deflected the blow, and then struck again, her blade coming from below. He parried and struck back, seeking to use her weakness, her pain, to find a gap in her defenses. She managed to block again, and then sidestepped the next blow. Leaning in, she punched him with her free hand, rocking him back on his feet. She hissed as pain crackled in her hand, but the burning fire drove the emotion away.
Unleashing her blade, she attacked with every ounce of skill she possessed, yearning to end the one that had killed her family. His features twisted in disbelief, Gendor retreated a step, and then another.
She saw it in his gaze, a weakening of his will. The man killed to survive, and the coin was just an excuse. Without her wings, injured and limping, Lorica fought like a lion, and Gendor foresaw his death.
He turned and sought to fly, but she stepped on a protruding rock and leapt, catching him by his feet. His tattered wings could not support them both, and she brought him down, slamming him into the shore. Darting in, she brought her sword down upon his chest.
He rolled to the side, the oathsword cutting his side and burying into the sand, severing Gendor’s left wing. The material had not been made to the same quality as hers, and it rent in two. He rolled to his feet and flung it away, before retreating again. But there was nowhere to go. The explosion had taken out a section of the battlements and shore, with great stones blocking his escape, beams burning above them. He came to a halt and brandished his dagger.
“I’m not letting you kill me.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
She slapped his dagger with her sword, knocking it up. He flipped the blade over his hand and caught it with the other, slicing across her arm. She retaliated in kind, reversing her grip and hiding her attack, flicking the oathsword out to cut him along the side.
Grimacing, he held the wound, and she lunged. He sidestepped and swung the dagger at her throat, but she leaned back, allowing the blade to swing above her face. She caught a glimpse of her dirty and bloodied expression before rotating and slashing him across the back. He cried out and swung his dagger backwards.
She blocked his wrist with her forearm, the dagger’s tip stopping an inch from her eye. Catching his wrist, she brought it down on her knee, snapping his fingers open and sending the dagger into the sand. Then she rotated his arm and brought his wrist behind his back, trapping it painfully. Swinging her sword forward, she placed it along his throat. Gendor froze when cold steel touched his flesh.
Lorica held him bound, the kill within her grasp. Her chest heaved from the exertion, from the triumph. She yearned to slide the blade across his neck, to spill his blood down his tunic and watch him fall.
But her hand did not move.
“Why do you stay your hand?” Gendor asked.
She kicked the back of his knees and used the grip on his hand, forcing him to twist and fall on his back. Then she stood with her sword on his chest. She’d expected fury and hatred in his gaze, but instead it was regret.
“I’m sorry I killed your brother,” he said softly.
“I’m not going to spare you,” she said.
“I know,” he replied.
She knelt, and again put her sword on his throat. Their eyes met and she saw his fear, and realized again that he didn’t want to die. The fire that had burned in her bones evaporated, leaving her aching and weak.
She pushed the blade until a drop of blood appeared, dredging up images of her fallen sister and brother, both dead at his hand. Her fingers trembled, but the sword did not move. She tightened her grip, but the desire to kill abandoned her, and she wilted.
“You’re not going to kill him?”
She looked up and found Shadow sitting on a nearby boulder. “How long have you been there?” she asked.
“Long enough to get bored.”
She looked down at Gendor. “I don’t understand. I still hate him, but I can’t do it.”
Gendor smiled in relief, a glint of his previous cunning appearing in his expression. “I knew you—”
She smashed her sword hilt into his skull, and his eyes rolled back. Rising to her feet, she stared at the unconscious assassin and clenched her eyes shut, anger flooding her body. Why did she not kill him? Why would she spare his life?
“I don’t understand,” she repeated.
Shadow hopped down from the boulder. “I’ve corrupted you.”
“You?” she asked, incredulous.
“I taught you a higher purpose.”
“Having fun is not a higher purpose.”
“I’m not talking about my higher purpose,” he said. “I’m talking about yours. Revenge doesn’t bring peace, and that is what you seek.”
She cast her eyes to the burning fortress. The Bloodsworn had fled, to where she knew not, nor did she care. She and Shadow had won, escaped their cages, and defeated those that had destroyed the guild. So why did she feel such conflict?
“He deserves to die,” she said. “And that is what I do. I kill those that do not merit life.”
“He does deserve to die,” he said. “But killing him now would be for revenge, and the Assassin’s Guild kills for honor.”
“What do you know of honor?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “But that does.”
He pointed to her hand, and she looked down to find light glowing from the ring, the ring of the assassin guildmaster. To her astonishment, it threaded up her arm. Purple and bright, the threads sank into her flesh near the shoulder.
She sucked in her breath, but the magic did not sting. Instead it seeped up her neck and throat, filling her mind and thoughts. Her eyes widened and she turned to Shadow, but he was absent, replaced by a wall of books.
The burning walls, the lake steeped in mist, even the sky and moon, all faded as the library appeared about her, closing above her head into great windows. The sun appeared, and a carpet of flowers appeared on the ground.
Bookcases extended away from her, each containing tomes and archives, the records of all the past guildmasters, not written in parchment, but inscribed in the memories of her predecessors.
“I take it you can now access the archives?” Shadow asked. His voice was smug.
“You knew I wouldn’t kill Gendor.”
She clenched her fist and the archives faded, to reveal Shadow still standing at her side, and Gendor still at her feet. His smile gave the answer, and he shrugged as if it didn’t matter. She shook her head.
“But how did you know?”
“Because I’m your friend,” he said.
She groaned, the sound washing over her, and she inclined her head. “You are indeed. The most annoying friend a person could have, yet better than I deserve.”
“Don’t tell my brothers you said that. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Lorica stared at the unconscious body of her foe. The desire to plunge her sword through the man’s heart was still present, but she knew she couldn’t kill him, not now. But the question remained, what to do with him?
A shift of motion drew her eye to the edge of the lake, where two figures stepped into the open. Both resembled Shadow in looks, and they raised their eyes to the still burning fortress. Shadow noticed them as well, and a smile brightened his face.
“It looks like my brothers got my message.”
Chapter 38: Shadow’s Brothers
Lorica eyed the two fragments as they crossed the lake, recognizing them from the battle in the assassin guildhall. They’d come to Mistkeep from the east, but instead of circling to the road, the pair approached the shore of the lake. To Lorica’s astonishment, two alligators approached and turned, providing a ride.
“I didn’t think Mind would come,” Shadow said.
“That’s the one controlling the beasts?” she asked warily.
He swept a hand to them. “Mind has his name for a reason, and I’d suggest you guard your thoughts, or he’ll know your darkest secrets.”
Disliking that prospect, she close
d her mind, a technique she’d learned on one of her earliest assignments as an assassin. Many regarded memory magic as a commodity, but some memory mages used their ability as a weapon to see into the minds of others.
As the pair crossed the lake, Lorica resisted the urge to raise her sword. From what she understood, they were fragments of a single guardian, powerful like him. And likely even more dangerous. The alligators came to the shore and the two fragments stepped off. Mind walked with a stiffness to his body, as if he had recently been injured. She noticed Fire had speckles of red in his dark eyes, and he smirked and pointed to the fortress.
“I thought you said you needed firepower.”
“I took care of it,” Shadow said.
“I approve,” he replied.
Shadow grinned. “I thought only Fire would come.”
“You’ve never asked for aid before,” Mind said, folding his arms. “Elenyr decided to send us both. She thought you were in trouble.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Shadow said.
“Fire,” Mind said, “search the fortress, make certain there are no more threats.”
Fire inclined his head and departed, and Mind’s gaze settled on Lorica. Although he hadn’t looked her way until then, she got the impression he knew everything about her, and the feeling only heightened when his dark eyes met hers.
She retreated a step. “Mind, I presume?”
He didn’t respond, only regarded her with a strange curiosity. “You may have learned of us from Shadow, but speaking the truth to another would invite swift reprisal.”
“He’s joking,” Shadow said.
“I’m not,” Mind said.
Shadow grinned and swept a hand to Lorica. “This is the Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild.”
“Lorica,” Mind said with a curt nod.
“You know my name?”
He gave a faint smile. “Your mental shields are admirable, but not formidable.”
She scowled, but Mind turned his gaze on the unconscious Gendor. “You defeated the Blade Ghost. Impressive.”
“Stay out of my head,” she said.
The faint smile returned and Mind turned to Shadow. “Tell me everything.”
“Why don’t you read my memories?” Shadow asked. “Or are my mental shields . . . formidable?”
For the first time, Mind betrayed a hint of irritation. “Just tell me what happened.”
Shadow grinned, and then began to speak. As Shadow detailed the events of what had occurred, Lorica fought the desire to retreat another step, irritated that Mind made her feel small. It was like he knew everything about her, and he inspired a touch of fear as none had before.
Although Shadow described the major events that had brought them to Mistkeep, she noticed he shared little of her, and did not mention her sister, or Zenif. His eyes flicked to her, confirming he chose to withhold that information for her, another reminder of their friendship.
“Light was here?” Mind interrupted. “Why?”
Shadow shrugged and motioned to the keep. “How should I know?”
“Elenyr will want to know of this.”
Lorica realized he’d spoken Elenyr’s name with ease, like he didn’t care if she knew it. Had he done so because he knew Shadow had spoken of her? Or was it an oversight? A lapse in his thinking—
“It wasn’t an oversight,” Mind said absently.
Lorica scowled and gripped her sword. “I told you to stay out of my mind. I won’t warn you again.”
Shadow laughed and leaned against a rock. “As much as I would enjoy witnessing a fight between you, I’d rather not see my friend die at the hand of my brother.”
“You don’t think I can defeat him?” Lorica demanded.
“He’s trained for five thousand years with a sword,” Shadow said. “He could defeat Mox, first of the Bladed, even if he doesn’t really have the magic the rest of us—”
“Shadow,” Mind said, his tone gaining the hint of warning. “You have the freedom of sharing your own secrets, not mine.”
Fire appeared on a boulder above and dropped to the ground. “The fortress is deserted except for the dead, and the fire has spread.”
“Did you do the spreading?” Shadow asked.
Fire grinned. “Of course.”
Lorica looked up to the structure and saw flames burning in the windows above, spitting sparks into the mist. Before long the entire citadel would be on fire, and only the stone structure would survive. It would require a fortune to renovate, and she doubted the Bloodsworn would return.
“Did you see the cells for us in the basement?” Shadow asked.
“What was left of them,” he said, his tone darkening.
“That room had to have been filled with fire,” Lorica exclaimed. “How would you have seen them?”
He raised a hand and his hand turned to pure, liquid flame. “One made of fire does not feel the heat.”
“Serak was prepared to capture us all,” Mind said, his forehead creased in thought.
“He made a deal with Relgor long before Wylyn’s arrival,” Shadow said. “But we don’t need to worry about him anymore.”
“Why not?” Fire asked.
“He was killed by a lesser being,” Shadow replied, and finished the tale of their battle in Mistkeep. By the time he was done, Gendor had begun to stir.
Lorica stooped and used a section of Gendor’s torn wing to bind his hands behind his back. Then she raised and leaned him against the rock. His eyes fluttered open, rising to see Lorica and her companions. He yanked his arms, but when he saw they were bound, he scowled.
“Why do you keep me alive?”
“Who says we will?” Lorica asked.
Gendor snorted derisively. “You’re not going to kill me. You know your honor now.”
“But I will,” Shadow said.
“As would I,” Fire said, a blade of fire appearing in his hand.
“Not yet,” Mind said, and crouched before Gendor. “Tell me of Serak.”
Gendor regarded Mind, and then shivered. The motion was subtle, and for the first time, Lorica sympathized with the man. Looking into the eyes of Mind left one feeling cold, and it seemed Gendor, too, felt small.
“You don’t want to know of Wylyn?” Gendor asked.
Mind’s smile was as disturbing as his gaze. “Wylyn is a threat, Serak is our foe.”
“Serak has been hoarding records from the ancients for ages,” Gendor said. “But I don’t think he has found what he seeks.”
“Why?”
“Because his search continues,” Gendor said. “All I know is that he is looking for an ancient tower called the Shard of Midnight.”
“Relgor spoke of a rising tower,” Shadow mused.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Lorica asked.
“I always know,” Mind cast over his shoulder, and then looked to Fire.
“Ever heard of it?”
Fire shook his head. “Perhaps the Hauntress knows.”
“What will Serak do with Relgor dead?” Mind asked.
“Wylyn already thinks Serak is her ally,” he replied. “And Serak always has a plan. Even for this.” He jerked his chin towards the destroyed fortress.
“And the Bloodsworn?” Lorica asked. “What will they do?”
Gendor hesitated, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. Thorg is dead, and without me they lack a leader. I suspect the Raven will absorb some of the killers into her ranks, while others will probably join the Order.”
Mind searched his face and then stood. “We have what we need.”
“I told you everything,” Gendor said. “You’ll still kill me?”
“Without hesitation,” Mind said, drawing his sword.
Lorica’s gut clenched, but she couldn’t tell if she wanted him dead or alive. Before she could speak, Shadow began to chuckle, the sound tinged with a trace of excitement. Mind looked to him in irritation, the expression exactly like an older brother annoyed with a you
nger.
Lorica was surprised to realize that Mind’s chilling demeanor was not constant. Rather he chose to instill fear, using it as a weapon. In that glance to Shadow, Lorica saw a wealth of history, for Lorica had seen that same look on Loralyn, and Zenif. He may have sought to intimidate, but he also loved his brothers.
Mind’s scowl deepened, as if he’d heard her thoughts about them being brothers. If he had, he chose to ignore it, and spoke to Shadow. “You have another idea?”
“Of course,” Shadow said. “You may have missed the fun, but perhaps there is some amusement yet to be had.” His eyes settled on Gendor.
“Do what you will and be done with it,” Gendor spat. “I’m not a means of your humor.”
“Remember Hosin?” Shadow asked.
Fire inclined his head. “It is a clever tactic.”
Mind grunted in annoyance and sheathed his sword. “You know such magic can be broken. Are you certain you wish to leave him alive?”
“We can always kill him after Wylyn is dealt with,” Shadow said with a shrug.
Lorica looked between them, confused and irritated. “Will you stop talking like I’m not present?”
“Let her decide,” Shadow suggested.
To Lorica’s surprise, Mind turned to her. “He is your enemy. Would you have him dead, or alive with no memory of his past?”
“You can do that?” she asked.
Mind flashed his faint smile. “It’s powerful memory magic, but it could be broken. If it is, he will know everything of his former self.”
“Will he return to being an assassin?”
Fire shook his head. “New memories change people. He could return to being an assassin or forsake that life altogether.”
“We’ve seen it before,” Shadow said with a nod.
“Lorica,” Gendor said. “You can’t let them do that to me. I’m an assassin, not some blasted farmer.”
Lorica didn’t hear him. Instead she heard Loralyn’s voice when they’d decided to join the Assassins’ Guild. “Assassins deliver justice, whether it be by death, or other fate, that is our code.”