The Assassin's Twisted Path

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  “Honey toast,” she repeated. Following Roark’s movements with Byronia’s deep-as-the-Expanse sapphire eyes. “You a ghost? Boo!” The child hid behind her fence and popped her head up. “Boo!”

  “Would you focus?” Corwin’s voice echoed across time.

  Roark noticed several dried corpses stacked in the corner. Each one’s body covered in welts.

  “A new disease is spreading,” Corwin said.

  The child smiled and laughed. Her laugh ended in a little sigh. There it was: Byronia was this child’s mother, but that was his auntie’s laugh, his sister’s smile. Oh, dear Goddess, Roark would never have chosen this. A War Ender promoted to House Master would always have a backup plan. This child was Corwin’s backup plan. Did that mean House Silba was fated to fall? Or House Eyreid.

  When Roark didn’t respond to her, the girl made a shriek-worthy of a dragon. A white-pawed black cat carrying a rat popped into the room, dropped the rat at Kian’s feet, and jumped over the fence and rubbed its head upon her.

  “Would you stop playing with that child and come back? You aren’t my only appointment today.”

  Roark wandered through the mists and back in time to where Corwin was leering over him.

  “You saw the future,” Corwin said.

  “Kian with a child. My child.”

  “I prefer to think of Alana the Second as Byronia’s child. A noble child whose curse is so strong that she will rewrite our legends.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  Corwin smacked his ear. “Then I will look to other Great Houses for the continuation of the Curse because our future grows short. However, I was trying to show you a possible epidemic. Byronia found it in Port Denwort. Keep those eyes and ears open.”

  •

  Careful his wrist was bound tightly and no longer bleeding, Roark moved through the rectory. He scanned for familiar faces which dotted the crowd. He found Alana, Eohan, and Kian at a table. The wrinkles on Alana’s face seemed more profound and more silver-lined than faded auburn. He hoped she cared for herself as well as she cared for her apprentices. She deserved his blood potions more than Corwin.

  Roark felt for Kian whose face had sprouted acne. Thirteen summers were rarely kind and especially awful when one had an elder brother of twenty to compare to. Eohan’s shoulders took the space of two ordinary Fairsinge men; he sat straight and tall. Still, Roark knew that one day Kian would be a grown man and handsome in his own way. He had foreseen it.

  He waved and hurried over. Eohan stood and crossed the room. Roark clasped Eohan’s muscular forearm in greeting.

  “Nalla and I are meeting later. Would you like a drink with us, Lord Roark?”

  Roark didn’t like his title on his friend’s lips. It made him more distant somehow. “I wouldn’t be imposing?”

  “Not for the drinking part.”

  “Sure. I’ll be heading back to Dynion soon, but I hoped to see you and my aunt.”

  Eohan frowned at the mention of a Realm—always such a rule follower.

  “Did my aunt tell you what I’ve been doing?” Roark asked, glancing over at her.

  “Of course not.”

  Roark lowered his voice. “Candlewick.”

  Eohan’s face twisted into a pained frown as his hands curled into fists which he rubbed along the seams of his pants.

  “I don’t want to hurt you—or Kian—but the Guild must know what Edar is doing and if he has any illegal tech. I didn’t want you to hear of it from someone else,” Roark said quickly. “Can I still stay for the drink?”

  “Yes, and I understand.” Eohan picked a callus from his hand. “I probably won’t tell Kian. He isn’t doing well. But yes, stay. I know we don’t get to pick our jobs, especially at the beginning of a journey.”

  “What’s wrong with Kian?”

  Eohan’s eyes filled with gratitude. Roark didn’t like that either.

  “He sasses our Lady; questions everything we do. He snaps at Pa whenever we’re here. He never listens to me. It was so bad on our last job, Lord Seweryn took him aside. Kian calmed for a few days, but once the lord left, it started again. Kian won’t talk to me; when I question him, he gets angrier.”

  “Alana would say we were all thirteen once.”

  Eohan met his eyes. “That’s what she does say. She never loses her temper.”

  “Is Kian keeping up his knife work?”

  “Indeed. Still can’t hit a target blindfolded at thirty paces though, but his fast draw is impressive.”

  As they came back to the table, he noted Alana and Eohan’s cups held spring water. Kian’s addiction might never end. Perhaps that’s the source of Eohan’s worry; perhaps Roark should tell him about the vision.

  “You look pale. Have something to eat,” Alana said. She waited for him to lean down to her before she kissed his cheek.

  “Auntie, you saw Byrony’s future?”

  “I went into her future on her first steps as I did with you.”

  “What did you see?”

  “A child who will fall into madness if her father does not care for her. Corwin claims she will be the greatest War Ender to ever wander the Realms. He will go to great lengths to ensure that one survives. He has been sweeter since he saw the vision.”

  “I don’t want to be a father.”

  “I suppose if you don’t want to be a father, you won’t be.”

  He wanted to tell her where he had been, what he had learned but didn’t dare with Kian there. He leaned next to her and whispered, “I gave Corwin a sample. I could …”

  “I can’t live forever and don’t fear death or weakness. My path is clear; I must get these young men taught before the future catches up to us.”

  Looking down at his dinner, his back hunched, Kian snapped, “You don’t need to protect me, Roark.”

  “Lord Roark,” his brother said.

  “Fine. Lord Roark, I’ve known where you’ve been.”

  “I told you not to eavesdrop,” Eohan said.

  “I wasn’t. You were across the room.” Kian snapped. “But I knew the taste of the potion, and now he’s offering his dear auntie more.”

  “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m in the Guild; no one can hurt me.” Kian’s voice was acid.

  Thinking about the vision. “Aunt, how do you know your direction? I got lost in visions. And I was in the Guild House.”

  “Practice.”

  “You’re still maddening,” Roark said.

  “As you often told me, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need practice, dearling,” Alana said.

  “Lady Alana, my mother sends her regard and an invitation.” A pretty Daosith deckhand, Nalla, approached the table, inclined her head towards his aunt who stood and hugged the young woman. After their greeting, Nalla slipped behind Eohan and wrapped her brown arms around his neck. Her golden lips kissed the top of his dark curls. A surge of jealousy roared through Roark’s chest—not over Nalla—but the fellowship he missed. Maybe necromancy was a mistake. He was bringing a dangerous spell Edar couldn’t resist? To help Corwin learn what is possible?

  “Kian, let us go and leave Eohan and Roark to their pleasures.”

  “Why can’t I stay?”

  “When you’re his age, you will have the same freedoms and responsibilities as your brother.”

  Kian seethed, but ignoring the boy, Alana drew Nalla aside. Roark knew her question before she asked it. “You have protection, don’t you?”

  Eohan blushed.

  “Yes, Lady Alana. Thank you for your concern,” Nalla said.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you, Eohan, at dawn in the stables.”

  Eohan kept his eyes on his cup. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Be well, my dear nephew.” Alana kissed Roark’s cheek and left with Kian.

  “Why does your aunt insist on talking about lambsheads with Kian right there?” Eohan complained as the steward brought flagons of mead. “Kian will mention it to Pa. And Pa will carp a
bout how Lady Alana isn’t concerned with my morals. That we ought to get married.”

  Roark always knew which way the road turned, but since he began his journey, he felt lost. Alana spoke openly about everything she deemed essential for an apprentice to know and until his pa became a Guild baker, Eohan didn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry about my aunt.” He hoped that was enough.

  “No skin off my nose,” Nalla said, but her voice was sad. “Lady Alana is no worse about such things than my mother. Before I disembarked, she handed me a box and said she expected me to be deckboss before I’m a grandmother.” A tear rolled down her cheek which she brushed away. “Lillia’s passed.”

  “Oh goddess,” Eohan whispered.

  Lillia was the venerable Guild Steward of The Muirchlaimhte who cared for their needs. She had always been kind and encouraging to them, but moreover was a grandmother figure to Nalla who had grown up on the ship.

  Eohan drew her hands in his. “I’m sorry, my heart. May the Waters of Resurrection bring her soul to the highest station.”

  That epitaph rang hollow to Roark, but he did not speak. He fumbled to find a handkerchief and give it to Nalla. “What happened?”

  “Mother already made her report to the Guild, but we ought to go to the garden. Loose lips you know … ”

  “I rented a cell for the night,” Roark said.

  “Even better.”

  They carried their mead to Roark’s small private chamber. It was empty except his gear in the locked trunk and the large bed in the center of the room. The three sat on the bed. Nalla rested her hands in her lap as she spoke.

  “We saw a ship floundering in the waves of the Expanse. We pulled alongside to offer assistance. And Gnomes shot crossbow bolts at us. They had terrible aim, the only one of us hurt was Idas.”

  Roark nodded.

  “We took their ship within minutes. Eventually, Mother spoke to their captain. They attacked us because a slave ship had attacked them. They didn’t know if they could trust us with their ship so badly damaged.”

  Eohan nodded.

  “Here’s where it gets strange. The Gnomes had taken one prisoner, a Fairsinge slaver. The slaves revolted while his crew attacked the Gnomes. His crewmates are most likely dead. We took him off their hands with Guild payment.”

  Roark wished he could be surprised that it was one of his people who was behind the atrocity, but he wasn’t. No Realm was safe anymore, and no people had the moral ground.

  “Our prisoner said his ship attacked the Gnomes because they were attacked by another ship of large hairy humans who ‘rescued’ all the humans and Vodnik crew and slaves. They left the dwarves and Telchine.

  “But the slaver was suffering from a rash. He was sick. And it spread to Lillia who cared for him during the journey. I know she was an old woman, but she was in fair health.”

  Eohan drew Nalla closer to him. “She died from the sickness?”

  Nalla shook her head. “She bled to death while in a bath. It looked like she cut open her left ankle. That was where most of the rash was localized.”

  “When Mother reported to Corwin, he told me I’d see you, Roark, and I must tell you. And you ought to tell your contact in Denwort.”

  “Should we tell Alana?” Eohan asked.

  “Captain will tell her,” Nalla and Roark said together. Speaking the same thought would have customarily made Nalla laugh, but not when she was mourning her friend’s death.

  “What will happen to the slaver?” Eohan asked.

  “He’ll face Guild justice for attacking a Gnome Merchant Ship. Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

  “I don’t think anything will.” Eohan wiped the tears from Nalla’s eyes. “I was horrified when my mother died, and Lillia was as good as any mother to you and us. I still remember the first time we met … ”

  The quartz whispered, Taste the joy of life now, but all entities will walk The Long Road unless you stop this.

  Watching Eohan gently comfort his paramour with stories of Lillia’s kindness, Roark bet if he could give them the chance to love forever, they would take him up on it.

  •

  Chapter 10

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  On the journey back to Port Denwort, Roark studied The Great Work carefully. The spells Daena had tried upon herself crossed the border into madness. Several would have caused severe physical trauma.

  Against the quartz’s advisement, Roark decided he would tell Edar everything. He would tell him about the quartz, the Guild’s interest in his work, even that the Guild killed Daena.

  Only with that knowledge could Edar decide if he still wanted Roark to learn from him. Then Roark would show him the things he’d brought: the Vodnik blood, river water, heart and transmutation spell. If Edar dismissed him, he could start researching his own Great Work alone.

  Roark entered the cottage’s front garden, the front door had a sign that read, “Ring Bell for Service.”

  Edar must be in the basement, Roark thought and turned the key. The ground floor was empty as expected. He put his gear in his room and brought the samples with him to the cellar.

  “Roark?” Edar called expectedly.

  “Yes, I’m here and I … ”

  However, Edar interrupted him, rambling about Byronia’s visit and a new rash on a corpse. “We must keep our eyes on our patients. As soon as it spreads from the first whore, they will be coming, mark my words.”

  “But Edar, we must speak.”

  “Roark, my lad, whatever you brought can wait. This might not. Port Welliver has been burned to the ground.” Edar mixed lanoline with quicksilver.

  “But,” Roark said.

  Edar slammed his mortar and pestle on his work table. “Enough. In this, I am the master. We must find a remedy for this new disease and begin to test them before the disease sweeps through Port Denwort. Now, be a good lad, put those things away, and crush some wormwood.”

  The quartz shivered. Wait. The vision of rash-covered corpses flew into his memory. Roark tried another tact. “A sailor friend of mine saw the rash.”

  Edar stared at him. “And did you make love to this man?”

  “No. She’s not a man.”

  “Good because I don’t know how it spreads yet. Where’s that crushed wormwood?”

  The quartz shivered again. Roark did as he was bid.

  •

  Chapter 11

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  The setting sun was covered by dark clouds and snowflakes fluttered to the ground, but Byronia didn’t think it was cold enough to stick. Waves crashed against the shore, spraying the docks with icy water. The smaller ships were huddled together. The larger ships moved out to sea or back into the Expanse. She didn’t want to go back to the Salty Eel Tavern, but she needed to keep her eyes open.

  Byronia observed one of the finely-dressed being’s hair sliding around a rentboy like tentacles until the tips pressed themselves into his flesh. The boy became withered, older somehow. Once the being released him, the boy yawned and fell back against a wall. His flesh reddened with small pimples left where the hair had touched him.

  Uncle said it might be a new species, perhaps from an Eighth yet unexplored Realm.

  Byronia sensed eyes upon her. She glanced over her shoulder and caught the one in the blue and gold robes staring at her. She turned the page in her journal and scribbled down a list in code.

  He/She/Sie/Ze/It? came to her table. The one was larger than her, as it was larger than most humans, so size did not dictate its masculinity; as her habit, Byronia settled upon she.

  The one’s eyes were veiled by a long, tangled mane of golden locks, but she wore no beard, not even fuzz, though it seemed as if she had some thick body hair. Even in the loose azure robes, Byronia could see brawny shoulders and trim waist. Her golden hair swayed against the movements of her body.

  The one leaned towards Byronia; her voice spoke each word in a soft musical cadence as if sh
e sang her words. “I’ve seen you the past few nights, sitting in the corner, scribbling in that book. What are you writing?”

  “I’m a poet,” Byronia lied. She didn’t like being seated while the taller being stood over her. It gave the taller too much of a tactical advantage.

  “Can I see your poems?”

  Byronia rose to her feet and slipped her journal into her waist bag. “I have nothing on me ready to recite, excuse me.”

  “Can I buy you an ale?” She placed a hairy-knuckled hand upon Byronia’s forearm. Her golden locks floated towards her and swept her face. The being frowned.

  “No.” Without putting power into her defense, Byronia turned quickly, forcing her to break her grasp. She went to the bar, hoping her skin wasn’t reddened and pockmarked.

  The being followed her. “I’d really like to see one of your poems.”

  “I said no. What does a woman have to do to have some peace?”

  “The woman said, no.” the bartender said. “Plenty of rentgirls if that’s what you fancy.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” The being threw a few silvers on the bar. The bartender pocketed them and went to look on other customers.

  There were too many unknown factors in the tavern; Byronia had to escape. She wouldn’t let down her cover in Port Denwort. She hurried out the door to the abandoned market. With a quick pace, she crossed the empty square. The wind whipped her braids and carried her veil down the street. She hoped her ears weren’t showing. The flurries had not let up, and mists rested between the buildings.

  Byronia dashed down the alley. She paused as she hit the next road and looked back. The being didn’t run. She didn’t seem to believe she had to. Perhaps those enlarged violet irises gave the beings excellent night vision.

  She quickly contemplated her options. She could go back to the Golden Sea and get Guild help, but she didn’t know that many human Guild members. If it went badly, she didn’t want to lead the being to where she slept.

  She could hide in the mists.

  She could go to the mayor. Alana had told her before that he loved the nobleborn elfkin.

  She could go to Edar … and Roark, if he had returned.