Night of Rain

by J. C. Owens

  Yet Ralnulian was so calm. It was pleasant to sit beside him and simply be, something that Zaran had only ever experienced with Taldan. His brother had that same calm, confident demeanor that Zaran found soothing.

  He had been told his brother was terrifying, his mere presence enough to enforce the belief of an emperor’s divinity tied to the bloodline. Zaran only saw the good. He appreciated spending time with Taldan. It soothed his nerves and made him feel protected and secure.

  Ralnulian was a pleasant surprise. Strangely enough, Zaran felt no threat from the man to his person. He almost felt as if he could trust him, his presence reassuring…and that was a shocking thought, as he barely knew the rogue assassin. If Ralnulian could make Zaran feel this way during one of the most stressful times of his life, then he was welcome to stay with them for as long as possible.

  His thoughts drove his words. “Are you staying with us for a time then, Ralnulian? You are more than welcome to remain. At least stay until you are rested. You and your horse look like you could do with a few days of recovery.”

  Ralnulian’s eyes narrowed, his usual laconic demeanor sliding into something deadly. “Are you imprisoning me then?”

  Zaran shook his head firmly. “No. You are free to leave when you wish, but whatever your motivation, you have done us a great service. One to be appreciated and honored.”

  Ralnulian eyed him skeptically, before changing his intense gaze to meet Hredeen’s. Once again, the two assassins seemed to have an entire conversation without a single word being spoken. Minute changes of expression seemed to hold vast meaning in no way that Zaran could interpret. It was fascinating, making him want to ask question after question. He restrained the impulse with admirable will. Such things could come later.

  Ralnulian broke his stare and glanced back at Zaran. “I would be grateful for a chance for my stallion to rest and be well fed. At least for a few days.”

  Zaran nodded. “Count it done then.” He gestured to two of the Shadows.

  Ralnulian rose to his full height and bowed to Zaran with a flourish. “My thanks, Your Highness.” He left the pavilion with the Shadows.

  Zaran glanced over at Hredeen and was struck anew by his worn, exhausted appearance. The amount of weight he had lost since Zaran had last seen him was severe and indicated that he had not been looking after himself in the least.

  That was about to change. They were closing in on the rebel army, and blood lingered in their future. But Hredeen was his friend, an intimate friend, and if Taldan was not here to care for the man, then Zaran would damn well do so in his brother’s name.

  They owed the man too much. It was time to begin paying some of that debt back.

  * * *

  Hredeen

  Hredeen woke slowly, warmth surrounding him, a sense of peace making it difficult to want to rise to full consciousness. He gradually became aware of an arm around his waist and warmth that lay all along his spine.

  His eyes opened slowly, his usual swift and aware awakening nowhere to be found. His body and mind knew where they were, knew who was behind him and savored the experience. Especially since he had truly believed that he would never have such a thing again.

  He had assumed that Zaran would turn against him even as Taldan had, once discovery of his true identity was revealed. In hindsight, that was massively foolish. The two brothers were nothing alike, despite their blood relation and training.

  Zaran was careful and insightful in a way that was not in Taldan. Zaran was closer to his emotions, and his empathy and insight would serve him well. Something had changed within him as well. He seemed to have accepted his emotions and no longer even went through the motions of pretending to contain the cold, emotionless logic of the emperor.

  He would make a perfect advisor for the new emperor. Hredeen was proud of who the young man had become.

  Thoughts of Taldan brought a pang so powerful that he almost gasped at the force of it. He closed his eyes, breathed through the pain until it was under control, tamped deep once more.

  He had thought that with time, even so short a time as they had been apart, he would begin to come to terms with what had happened. That his time with Taldan was over.

  So far, it had not come to pass.

  It showed how far he had fallen in his training that he could not simply slide back into who he had been, forget the pleasant interlude that would never come again.

  Yet, he now greatly feared returning to the guild. After hearing Ralnulian’s tale, he had become aware that all was not as it should be within that fortress. Ralnulian’s story had brought back all the doubts, all the memories that made him feel ill. He had thought that time would heal this ridiculous aversion to the guild. After all, there was no hope in any other direction.

  For the first time, he truly understood those assassins that had deliberately courted death. He could see no other way out.

  His thoughts fastened upon Ralnulian, as they often did since their meeting. It made no sense that the man could exist, that he could withstand the might of the guild and live.

  The fact that he had murdered a grandmaster would make them even more ruthless than usual in their hunt, yet perhaps it had also given them a healthy respect of Ralnulian’s abilities and the fact that he held no loyalty to the masters. Something that had to be hidden, the murder untold. Covered up. Suppressed. And what irony that a seer had not given prophecy of that grandmaster’s death. Hredeen gave a cold smirk. Or perhaps a seer had experienced a vision of the grandmaster’s murder at Ralnulian’s hands…and had kept silent about it.

  Intrigue. Plots within plots. Was it any wonder that he was not eager to return to Iskama Rael? He wondered who was in charge now, perhaps even using the former grandmaster’s name and remaining cloaked and hooded in an attempt to hide the truth.

  It could not be true that the guild was based on ego, greed, and a lust for power. It must not be true. They carried out the emperor’s will. They arranged for the removal of those who would affect the future adversely. The blood on their hands was for the good of all humanity…

  For the first time, he pondered on that statement.

  The shamans who existed within the guild saw visions, told the masters of the future and the various paths that would lead there.

  Were they always correct? The mere thought was heresy, and he flinched away from it, cold sweat rising on his skin. There were those assassins who had unexpectedly disappeared throughout the years, rumors hinting that they had questioned the order of things.

  There was no questioning within the guild. Now, after all he had learned, he could not hold back the suspicion that they were hiding something. If not, why else would they be concerned over questions? If it was the truth, then there was nothing to hide.

  He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been so easy to simply comply. You took a wrong step, you were punished. You obeyed, things flowed smoothly.

  Those in training were not encouraged to think, in fact, they were harshly trained to eliminate thoughts, to only react and obey.

  His orders were to bring in any rogue, dead or alive.

  Yet here he was, sleeping in Zaran’s arms, Ralnulian asleep somewhere else within the camp. He had done nothing about the man’s presence. He had not told Zaran that it was Hredeen’s duty as an assassin of the guild to capture or kill Ralnulian. Hredeen hadn’t told Zaran that he might be facing his own death at the hands of the elites for coming to Bhantan, killing the Yoldis brothers, when he had been duty-bound to immediately head back to the fortress to submit himself to the masters.

  Perhaps it was the sense of impending disaster that had hung over him ever since his exile from Anrodnes. Nothing had felt right since then, his thoughts scattered and ragged, his body weakening when he could not eat, could not sleep.

  Perhaps it would not be so bad, if he did not go quietly with the elites, and they were forced to kill him.

  The lure of sweet death beckoned, an end to pain and loss.
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  The thought calmed him, buoyed him, gave him hope that no matter how bad things got, there was a way out.

  All assassins were trained from day one to abhor self-harm, told repeatedly that if they did so, when they passed beyond the gates of life and into the otherworld, they would be extensively punished, that their misery would be eternal.

  Was that a lie as well?

  He made a sound in his throat, pushing all the dark musings away.

  It was all too much. He felt unable to cope in a way he had never before encountered, as if his mind simply could take no more.

  The arm around his waist tightened, and he felt Zaran stir behind him as though even so small a sound of distress as he had made had woken the prince.

  Zaran hummed softly, then pressed a kiss upon his nape. The simple gesture, so caring, made unwelcome emotion swell to the surface, and he could barely restrain tears that he had to fiercely blink away.

  What in the hells was the matter with him?

  It was as if his time within the palace had damaged something, made him weaker and unable to be what the guild demanded.

  They would see this when they saw him again, and it was without doubt that they would send him for retraining. He shuddered. Death would surely be preferable.

  “You slept.” Zaran’s voice was husky with sleep. “I checked several times last night, and you were dead to the world.”

  Hredeen rolled to face him, pinning a smile on his face as he leaned forward to lay a gentle kiss upon Zaran’s lips.

  The prince eyed him, before gently stroking over his cheek, his gaze all too knowing for Hredeen’s comfort.

  “You are not a concubine, now. You do not need to see to my needs before your own. You do not have to present a mask whenever you have nothing left to give.”

  Hredeen recoiled, trying to pull away, uncomfortable with how clearly Zaran saw him.

  The prince’s gentle grasp held him more firmly than any chains possibly could.

  “Hredeen, the contract was broken when Taldan sent you away. It doesn’t exist anymore. You can return with me and be someone entirely different within Anrodnes. I will be doing a lot of traveling now that I am the Imperial Heir. I would appreciate your company and your protection, both.”

  Hredeen gave a choked laugh. “See him every day? Never be able to touch? I don’t think I can, my prince.”

  “You are not going back to those bastards in the guild! Not ever!” Zaran’s tone became fierce and forceful, his grip upon Hredeen tightening. “If Ralnulian can free himself, so can you.”

  He pulled Hredeen closer, wrapping his arms around him so that his head nestled against Zaran’s chest. “Taldan loves you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  Hredeen closed his eyes, found himself clutching Zaran as tightly as he was holding him. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough, my prince.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Zaran

  The imperial army formed their ranks outside the ramshackle Odenar encampment, upon a small ridge that allowed them to see the whole of the area below. They were silent and still, the horses left far below. It was barely morning, the thin light just barely piercing the darkness. There was evidence of conflict around and within the camp, yet it seemed that most, if not all, of the Odenar rebels had remained, though it was clear they were preparing to move out soon.

  Wagons were packed high with goods, and further back, toward the mine, an entire line of wagons were stacked with illenium ore.

  He glanced at Hredeen, whose eyes shone with feral intensity. They exchanged a look.

  Zaran’s sword lifted, an almost feral smile curling his lips.

  There would be no regret this day.

  His sword fell.

  With a roar, the Anrodnes army fell upon the Odenar contingent with rage in their hearts. This was no mere battle, no use of arm and sword to do their duty. This was so much more. After they had spent the last weeks cleaning up the horrors that Odenar had left behind, this had become personal. The Anrodnes men had seen too much, and the anger the destruction had caused had only built over the last few days.

  Now, they could let it free.

  Zaran let the army pour past him. He gritted his teeth as the Shadows stood around him, preventing his surge forward.

  Never had the mantle of prince, and now imperial heir, hung so heavy upon his shoulders.

  In the swirl of movement, the rush of men, he caught sight of Hredeen.

  The assassin had almost a maddened look about him, the usual calm changed into something feral, deadly.

  Zaran feared that look, for he was concerned for his friend’s state of mind. He had seen that expression before, on those who had nothing to lose and had no care for their fate.

  He drew a sharp breath, about to send one of the Shadows after him, when he caught a blur of movement and saw Ralnulian in Hredeen’s wake.

  His fear died down to manageable proportions. Somehow, he knew the other assassin would have Hredeen’s back. There was a solidity about the man that gave Zaran faith. Zaran was not known for being trusting in any form, yet this stranger had slipped under his shields so quickly. He should have feared that the tall assassin would take the opportunity to kill Hredeen, eliminate any possibility of the guild knowing about his continued existence. Ralnulian could have done such a thing shortly after their meeting.

  For whatever reason, the man held no ill intent toward Hredeen.

  Zaran’s fingers flexed upon his sword hilt, the need for conflict rising to unmanageable heights. He needed to act, to fight…

  One of the Shadows bowed to him, then gestured him forward toward the battle, swelling now that the rebels had woken and were struggling to fight back.

  Zaran eyed the man in disbelief and saw the amusement in dark eyes above the veil that concealed his face.

  This Shadow understood Zaran’s heart, his need for this battle, and was offering to protect his back, along with the others. Zaran was quite sure that this went against their orders, but he was wildly grateful for the opportunity.

  He pulled his visor down, let out a roar of sound, screaming the Anrodnes battle cry, and charged down the hill toward where he had last seen Hredeen. The assassin was now hidden in the melee, but Zaran wanted to fight at his side. He didn’t want anything to happen to Hredeen. He intended to drag the man all the way back to Persis, and maybe he would give his thick-headed brother, the emperor, a swift kick for exiling him in the first place.

  The battlefield was pure chaos.

  The Odenar men were half dressed, some with armor, some without, and the shock of waking made them less agile, more clumsy. Here and there, Zaran could see them fleeing for the trees—where they would be cut down like the cowards they all were. The men he had posted within the forest were hungry for blood.

  His orders had been clear.

  None left alive.

  Ahead, he caught sight of Hredeen and then Ralnulian, and he almost paused, taken by the grim beauty of what he was witnessing.

  The two men were back to back, their fighting style so similar, though Hredeen’s motions were faster, his shorter stature giving him speed. Ralnulian was all grace, his movements almost seeming too slow until Zaran realized that he was cutting down those around him like ripe wheat.

  They were beautiful, mesmerizing, deadly.

  A man charged forward, perhaps recognizing Zaran’s heraldry and realizing who he was. If so, then he was suicidal. The Shadows had formed an honor guard around him. Even a fool knew who they were. Perhaps the man thought he could take Zaran down before anyone realized, earning himself immortality in Odenar history.

  A fool indeed.

  Zaran flowed into motion, his body remembering every move he had been taught. The training that Taldan had personally overseen. His brother had not been easy on him, and there were times he had almost hated him for it.

  Now he saw the reasoning, blessed the harsh lessons. His body reacted, there was no hesitation between thought and movement.

>   His sword swept to the side and with a twist of his wrist, the Shadow-made steel severed the man’s head from his body in a single overhanded blow.

  He didn’t so much as glance back to see the body fall. He was pressing forward into the fight, backing up fighters where it was warranted, claiming his own victories when needed. A slice upon his lower leg, just past his greave, stung fiercely for a moment, then the fury of the battle overtook his senses and the pain faded into the background. Still, his balance was off for a split second as an Odenar soldier, someone important by his insignia, ducked his swing, spinning with surprising speed, sword flashing…

  Suddenly something was in front of Zaran. He cursed, trying to step to the side to continue…

  The enemy warrior fell, surprise on his face, his throat cut neatly. Blood sprayed over Zaran and his protector.

  He looked up, ready to swear at the Shadow who had taken his prize, encountering instead Ralnulian’s heated stare.

  Zaran was not used to being made to feel small. He was tall enough that even the Shadows were only slightly higher. Yet Ralnulian towered over him. The assassin’s nostrils flared, dark eyes blown wide, blood spattered so thickly over his body that he would have been unrecognizable except for his distinctive black helm.

  Zaran saw the archer aim, the bow release, and he yanked Ralnulian to the side, both of them stumbling. The arrow found a mark in one of the Odenar rebels instead of Ralnulian.

  Ralnulian grinned at him, wild and mad, helping him up.

  “We are even, my prince!” He swept his hand into a courtly gesture, as though the battlefield were the ballroom back home.

  Zaran laughed, charged forward, and he was intensely aware of Ralnulian at his shoulder. The assassin seemed to have the remarkable ability to adjust his style to whomever he was allied with, for now he held ground at Zaran’s side, not dominating, not attempting to take over or protect Zaran more than necessary. Instead, he worked with him.