by O. J. Lowe
“Well,” I said. “Remind me never to piss you off, my queen.”
Eleven.
The rebuilding was worse than the battle. That had wound down to a natural conclusion, I’d hurled myself into the fray once I’d satisfied myself that Moulton wasn’t still on the premises. Maybe he’d left High Hall forever now. I could hope. The idea of never seeing him again suited me down to the ground. That face would haunt me whenever I dreamed, I knew that much. Not Leanna’s, that had already started to soften into the fogs of memory. Moulton. He’d been broken by that stare, as if every bad and terrible thing he’d ever done had been hurled back at him tenfold. Maybe he’d never recover, perhaps one day we’d find a corpse that had just laid down and died. More than likely, he’d returned to the Novisarium to face the music, assuming he even did such a thing. A man like him, he might have a stomach for revenge, but I doubted he had the spine to face his consequences.
It didn’t stop me from wondering why he’d come, why he wanted revenge. It was a strange notion, revenge, I’d always found. It would consume the wielder as much as the target, in the end, nobody won. Someone might well die, but at what cost? Was it really worth everything?
I looked around the battlefield, studied the fallen bodies of fae and troll-ape alike, found myself leaning towards the negative.
“It’s never as glamorous as people think.”
I didn’t have to look up to recognise Valentine’s voice, she moved amidst the corpses with all the ease of a socialite at a function, no longer clad in her armour but rather in a simple woollen dress in grey, along with leggings and boots, though she still sported a pair of rather wicked-looking daggers at her waist.
“Excuse me?”
“War,” she said. “People write stuff about it, ballads and songs, believe me, it’s a piss-poor state of affair when they think something like this is glamorous.” She swept a hand around the field. “It just goes to show, even when you think you’re immortal, life can be so very fleeting. These fae, your people—” I wondered how much of that was true, even as the words left her lips— “They thought they would live forever and yet they were caught up in the schemes of another, someone they’d never met and now they won’t. Funny, really, how things can work out so differently to how we imagine.”
“What do you want, Valentine?” I tried to keep the ire from my voice, failed miserably. I truly didn’t care, if I was honest. I was in no mood for games and if she wanted to play, I’d gut the bitch myself. I didn’t trust her, no matter how much she’d come through for me before. That hadn’t been out of the goodness of her heart, she’d wanted to extract something from me, though what, I didn’t know.
“It’s time to talk turkey,” she said, her smile dazzling. “Gobble-gobble. We had an agreement, Sir Ronald, it’s time to talk about what my aid cost you.” She placed a finger on her chin, did her best to look lost in her thoughts. It came across forced and affected, I didn’t buy it for a second.
“I have no regrets,” I said. “I made a bargain in the heat of the moment; I did what I needed to and—”
“Oh, lighten up,” she replied. “What do you honestly think I’m going to ask of you? I’m a Valkyrie, not a demon. I’ve got no interest in your soul or your first-born child or something else you’d probably hold dear. Definitely not your soul, I’m full after the battle.” She put a hand to her mouth, suppressed a little burp that made me smirk, though I raised a questioning eyebrow.
“You eat the souls of the dead?”
“It’s complicated,” she admitted, though a little flicker of shame passed across her face.
“So, what do you want?”
“A vow,” she said. “Have you been back to the Novisarium recently?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t had need to. I go where my queen sends me. If that business is in this land, then I go. If it is in the Novisarium, then—”
“You have to do what you have to do,” she said. “But if you do go to the Novisarium, keep to your own business and nothing more. You have friends there. Don’t contact them for the time being.”
“I have one friend there,” I shot back. “You want me to avoid her?”
“We have need of you to do just that,” Valentine said.
“Who’s this we?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a smile. “Be glad you’re dealing with me and not him, for that exchange would be far less amicable.”
“What does Libby have to do with this?” I thought it was a reasonable question.
“There are trials ahead for the Novisarium,” Valentine answered. “Hard nights lie ahead, and change is coming. We all have a part to play. With this change, the city we know is going to be something we cease to recognise. Even as we speak, champions are being moved into place, they’ll play their part when that night comes.”
“What does this have to do with me?” I reconsidered. “Or Libby for that matter.”
“Being a champion is a double-bladed sword, to be chosen, but to choose. She’s drawn her line in the sand, by escalating her confrontation with the vampire, Xarence, standing against the Gentleman, it’s clear she’s made her choice. As for what it has to do with you, this fight is theirs. Not yours. If she calls you for aid, you make damn sure that you don’t answer. If the Novisarium seeks aid from High Hall, you beseech the queen that she does not give them it.”
“If the Novisarium seeks aid from the fae, they’re probably fucked anyway,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of betraying my friend like this.”
“It’s not betrayal,” she said. “Think of it as deliberate ignorance. You can’t help her with something you didn’t know about. Regardless, your vow stands. I’ve broken no conditions you laid at the start.”
“I didn’t think you’d bring Libby into it,” I admitted.
“Do you love her, Ronnie?”
“As a friend,” I said. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Anything more?”
“What do you mean?”
“You retreated to High Hall the same night she was abducted.”
I laughed at that. “Yeah, anyone who wanted to do that to her would have to be stronger and nastier. I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Regardless,” she said. “When that fight is over, your vow to me and my master is obligated. Whatever you do with the rest of your life beyond that is entirely your own choice. We’ll all be picking up the pieces of that reckoning.”
“A reckoning, eh?”
“That’s one word for it,” she said. “These things never go as planned. A fight for the future.”
“One that I’ve got to sit on the side-lines for?”
“I hope choosing Queen Leanna over your city was worth it,” she said. “You didn’t hesitate, did you?”
Bitter anger flashed through me, I glared at her, part of me wanted to strike this bitch down so hard, punish her for her words. How close would the fight be? I’d seen her take down one of the andah, but some part of me screamed for blood. Maybe it was the mantle inside me, twitching, demanding the fight. All those years I’d sparred against Rasputin and the sadistic bastards that made up his personal guard, it’d left me hungry for challenge. It didn’t change one thing though. “The Novisarium hasn’t been my city for a very long time,” I said deliberately. “It never felt like home, even when I lived there. It didn’t want me; it didn’t miss me.”
“No,” she said. “Why would it? Penniless street rats are a dime a dozen, you were never going to be missed when you left. You had to do that to achieve greatness. Don’t get me wrong, I applaud you for it. It’s the sort of initiative more should show. You stand with a foot in each world, yet the more you do, the less you become part of either. I don’t dislike you, Ronnie. I quite admire you, but a man divided can never be whole.”
“You seem to be under the impression I care what you think.”
“Now there’s no need to be churlish,” she replied. “Did you ever find Moulton by the w
ay?”
I shook my head. “The guard have been searching for him for hours, but no sign.”
“They won’t find him,” she answered. “He’s ensconced back in the Novisarium as we speak, though his life as he knows it is over. The Shining Council can’t tolerate what he’s done. In the coming weeks, they’re going to try and remove him, take back the power they granted him in good faith. They’re going to weaken themselves to save face. Rest assured, Ronnie, you’re never going to see Garrett Moulton again. His life is sure to be a very short and shattered one from this point forth.”
“Good,” I said. “Hey, do you know why he wanted revenge?”
“A man’s secrets are his own,” she replied. “I wouldn’t dream of spilling them.”
“I’ve been informed Moulton has left High Hall, Majesty,” I said, looking up from my bow in front of the form. “The intruder found a way out; he has returned to the Novisarium.”
“And who gave you such information, child?” she asked with a smile. Rasputin had returned to her side, the throne room empty but for the three of us, though if I looked outside at the city below, repair efforts would have been underway, they’d have pulled dwarven smiths from nearby demesnes to help fix up what had been damaged beyond fae ability to fix. I’ve always found they’re good with illusions. Anything that lasts, it’s not really their forte.
“A Valkyrie scouring the battlefield,” I said. “It’s largely thanks to her efforts I was able to return in time.”
“Beware making arrangements with the choosers of the slain, my knight,” she said. “Those deals are never what they appear to be.”
Coming from a fae queen, that was high warning indeed. Shame it was a bit damn late to make any difference now. I’d made my choices; Valentine had been right. Not a damn thing I could do about it now.
“Our arrangement has concluded,” I said. “I will honour the choices I made.”
“Good,” she replied. “This intruder. He can’t be permitted to remain at large, lest he return to High Hall. He was bent on revenge—”
“Do you know why?” The words fell from my mouth before I could stop myself, the look Leanna gave me a fearsome reminder of just how dumb interrupting her was.
“Should I? I’ve long given up wondering why mortals do anything. They’re always going to look to blame us for something. They don’t know better.”
“Yes, Majesty. I apologise, Majesty,” I said. “My mouth got the better of me.”
“Well, you don’t know better,” she said dryly, the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth. “You’re only mortal after all. To cut aside the jests though, you did well today, Sir Ronald. You did your duty; you were here for me when I needed you. You’ve reaffirmed my faith in you. There have been times when I wondered if my choices regarding you were ill-advised, but for now, you have my gratitude. More importantly, you have my faith.”
“That’s all I ever wanted, Majesty,” I said. “Someone to give me a chance to prove myself. Someone to believe in me, to trust me.”
“That’s the nature of life,” Rasputin said, surprising me with his sudden comment. “We all want to find somewhere to belong. You’re not one of us, knight, but you’ve done more for us than most. You took your beatings, all because you wanted to belong. I respect that.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I’ve made my choices. I know where I belong. I know who I’d die for.” I gave Rasputin an apologetic shrug. “And it ain’t you, pal. Sorry.”
“Oh, the feeling is very much assured,” he said with a smirk. “We have that much in common.”
“What will you do now, Sir Knight?” Leanna demanded of me, fixing me with that radiant gaze.
“Whatever you demand of me,” I said, surprised to find that the words didn’t weigh me down the way they once had. I’d once considered duty a burden. Now though? Now, I didn’t know any more. It was no more a burden than a family and friends. It was something to be embraced, being part of a collective, your own little part in a bigger picture.
I was happy to be here, happy to be the queen’s knight. And long may that continue.
The End.
Fake It ‘Till You Make It.
One.
I am not a good man.
Doubtless you might think this is weak-willed self-loathing, some namby-pamby declaration of a fault in my character. Nothing is further from the truth. I am the sort of man to be avoided, I’ve often held life and death in the palms of my hands, had the choice whether to squeeze or not.
Today, I was going to have to be a bad man once more. I studied myself in my bathroom mirror, winced at the dark circles beneath my eyes, reached to my head to pluck a greying hair from my head. How much time did I have left? A question I didn’t have an answer to. Getting old isn’t fun, and I should know, I’ve done it countless times before. The human body wears itself out, it’s inevitable and sooner or later, you’ve got to pay the price for a life well lived. My eyes themselves were black, like a pair of voids amidst tanned skin. I’ve been told some people find them unsettling, hence the reason I’ve been known to favour Ray-Bans as my shades of choice. In a city of eternal night, there are two types of people who favour sunglasses, those with eye conditions and those who have something to hide. Guess that makes me the latter.
My name, for the record, is Cassius Armitage. You might know the name, you might not. If you do, then doubtless the subtle hint of fear is growing in the pit of your being. If you don’t, then permit me to elaborate. For a long time, I’ve killed people. More recently, the last century or two to be precise, I’ve been semi-retired, more concerned with building a legacy. Why be a lone wolf assassin when you can run a stable of the most brutally efficient killers in all the Novisarium? Murder Incorporated, that sort of thing, turn it into a business rather than a calling. Makes financial sense more than anything.
I confess a moment of woolly-headedness for thinking this a good idea, but the truth was I was too enamoured with my own self-satisfaction. I didn’t believe I could fail, for the Novisarium has always been a city where those with power are willing to do anything to defend it, the same goes for those with a grudge and the desire to see their enemies destroyed. Five assassins working on five separate contracts would be far more profitable than them squabbling over the work. Specific skillsets for specific targets.
I named my group the Red Claw and since our inception, we’d become the best at what we did. I recruited, cherry-picked the best talents from all the other assassin guilds around the city, plucked the promising youngsters and offered them advice and wealth beyond their wildest expectations. For two centuries, we were terror incarnate, our failures were few and our legends immortalised. To have us know your name was a death sentence, for we were swift and decisive, angels of death swooping down on our targets.
Then came the Levitt fiasco, as I’ve rather begrudgingly come to think of it. A rather promising contract came my way, they wanted a god killed, or rather a fallen god. Tricksters are always interesting characters; I’ve always relished the challenge of having them killed. You never know for sure, they’re full of mischief, the bodies have a nasty habit of disappearing on you as the smoke fades from your gun, the horrible realisation that they’ve tricked you, sold you a puppy. Then comes the effort of tracking them down once again. A figure I truly wouldn’t want to cross wanted Loki killing. Granted, he probably wasn’t alone in wanting the stuttering freak to be put down, but he was the only one willing to put a dozen golden bars in front of me to make sure the job was done.
Five of my best I sent after him, I encourage competition after all when necessary, the winner would take the payment and the rest would get nothing. Four of them are dead at the hands of Levitt and one rots in a Vigilant prison. That was not a profitable night, even worse in that the gold was withdrawn because of our failure. Loki lies dead, yet not at our hands.
Hey, business is business and we were unable to fulfil the contract. No point crying about
it. You dust yourself off and you carry on with it. It’s about the only thing you can do. Those who lament the past inevitably fail to learn from it.
Of course, going from having five world class assassins at your beck and call to having untamed rookies is always going to be the challenge. If I’d sent those not ready after Loki, that bastard half-breed elf would have had a field day. Perhaps the most rankling thing about the way Levitt defied me was that I’d trained him, he could have been one of us. I wanted him to join the glorious cause and yet he’d found another calling. Okay, I’m big enough, my shoulders are broad enough to take that. I don’t particularly like it, but you can’t change what you can’t control so I got on with it. You learn more from your mistakes than you do your triumphs.
It meant having to take a more active role in proceedings, that much was true. And the strange part was, I didn’t find myself bothered by that prospect. Peace is the mortal enemy of a warrior; it lets all those finely-honed skills of murder and mayhem go to rust. While administration wasn’t exactly peace, the Novisarium cuts up men who cannot abide by violence, the theory was the same. I wasn’t the assassin I used to be. As much as I’d not wanted it to happen, I’d allowed myself to slide into disuse. I’d become obsolete, become elder statesman of the death game rather than all-star.
A distasteful realisation, yet what could I do to arrest this slide Once, the name Cassius Armitage had struck fear into those who dared antagonise the coins of destruction. Just a pet name on my part, a way of describing someone so wretched that they’d pay for the death of another human being. Back in my day, when I was a young man, I believed if you wanted someone dead badly enough, you sucked it up and did the job yourself. You didn’t hire it out, you didn’t let it go, you stood up, put on the boots and gave them a good old-fashioned arse kicking.
What more can I say? I’m a traditionalist.