The Assassin's Twisted Path

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  “I guess you’re right. Still, once you get some rest, would you go out looking again? Perhaps you can bring a Guild mark to me? No one would miss them—and I’m sure you have some skill in making one wish for death.”

  Roark’s stomach dropped. “I suppose so.” He hoped the evasion wasn’t apparent.

  Edar scraped the sides of the pot with his wooden spoon. “Could I have a donation to sustain me? If I’m strong, I can keep control better.”

  “Yes, of course. After breakfast?”

  “I hoped I could get it now. Thomas is behind my eyes. I fear I will fall into madness or he will drag me down with him.” Edar rested his hand upon Roark’s who felt the tremble. A young hand shouldn’t tremble so much. Edar must be suffering.

  With his last burst of energy, Roark gathered the components of the potion. He sliced open his wrist and watched blood drip into the ceramic cup until he closed his eyes.

  Edar nudged him.

  He looked down at the cup; it was full.

  Edar finished the potion and drank deeply. Roark couldn’t see any change upon his youthful countenance, but he stood straighter and whistled as he moved back to the stove. That must be a good sign.

  Edar set a bowl down in front of Roark. “I know we’ll find someone. I know it. Tuck in now.”

  Roark leaned over the steaming bowl and inhaled the savory aroma before he took a large spoonful. The sausage was spiced perfectly; the potatoes had taken in some of the flavor of the herbs. His second bite was bigger than the first.

  Roark felt his eyelids droop. He glanced across the table at Edar who smiled at him. He realized Edar hadn’t touched his own bowl.

  A stupor washed over him. His head hit the table, and his body hit the wooden floor. Blackness took him.

  •

  Thomas hooked Roark’s arm over his shoulder and dragged the unconscious body to the cellar door. Edar hadn’t wanted it to be like this, but Thomas had to escape. As the two souls fought for supremacy, it felt like millions of spiders crawling on his brain. And it was his brain.

  The monster needed a home and Thomas already understood the monster’s weakness for beautiful things. The whore, his elfkin companions, even the elaborately carved brass mirror which Thomas had destroyed. If Roark wished to give the monster a body, then the monster could have Roark’s. He forced a thought to their shared mind. As Lord Roark, you might have the beautiful Lady Byronia. It was a risk.

  “Check for weapons,” Thomas said.

  Edar followed Thomas’s will. Thomas felt the invader’s sadness that Roark trusted him so much he remained unarmed in his home.

  Thomas reminded Edar of his loneliness.

  “Who knows an elfkin body might work better than a human’s anyway?” Edar said.

  Carefully taking the stairs step by step, Edar moved backward into the darkness, dragging Roark under the arms.

  •

  Roark woke feeling every bump of the stairs as Edar dragged Roark into the darkness. He didn’t know if it had been moments or hours. Another bump, another step. He opened his eyes. Sweat poured off Edar’s brow and soaked his silk robe. Roark tried to plan an attack, but his mind was murky from Edar’s drugs. The body might have been made strong by farm work, but he wasn’t a fighter.

  No plan, just attack.

  At the bottom of the steps, Edar let him go. He went to the table. Roark rose to his feet, his balance still off, but his muscles remembered his training. I must attack, I must not give quarter. Roark grabbed the mirror amulet which had been left on the north wall cupboard and slipped it around his neck. Then he grabbed one of Edar’s scalpels.

  Without pause, Roark plunged the scalpel deep into the carotid artery.

  Edar/Thomas turned in surprise, holding his hand to his neck as blood sprayed Roark in the face and the north wall’s specimens. He took a few steps and collapsed.

  Roark turned him over. Edar tried to reach for him, but his hands were weak.

  “May the Waters of Resurrection wash you clean,” Roark said.

  A tear rolled down Edar/Thomas’s cheek. The part of the person who was Thomas looked up at Roark in gratitude. He had been freed.

  “I can no longer go to the Waters of Resurrection,” Edar whispered, his dying eyes filled with fear.

  Roark grabbed a two-gallon empty jar and slipped it over Edar’s head. Edar gasped his last breaths.

  As his soul left his body, Roark snapped the jar shut. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  Roark wiped his hands down his face and stared at the jar with the swirling mist glimmering inside. He could smash it, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it. More to the point, because he smashed the jar didn’t mean the soul would die. Edar could not face the Waters of Resurrection. What would happen? Would he haunt this cottage? Port Denwort? Roark himself? Who knew?

  He caused Edar so much pain in the transmutation ritual. He wished any of his friends were available to advise him. He didn’t trust Corwin. He didn’t even trust the quartz around his neck. It hadn’t brought him wisdom but led him into this mess with Edar and Corwin. Maybe Roark had no business in the Guild. He certainly wasn’t wise enough to be a necromancer.

  “Goddess, I miss Alana.” He thought of the look in Thomas’s eyes as he cried out for his mother and Edar whose mother had been an inspiration for his life’s work. Alana wasn’t his mother, but she had been the person who protected and guided him. And he betrayed her. He ripped the quartz from his neck, leaving a red mark and tossed it upon Edar’s exam table.

  •

  Chapter 21

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Roark no longer cared if the whole of Dynion was taken over by a new species; he wanted to escape. He dashed upstairs, pumped water, cleaned himself off as well as he dared. Still, he wouldn’t leave The Great Work behind, and he had to ensure he took it legally.

  He sprinted to the mayor’s House. The routine niceties annoyed him, slowing his pace, forcing him to catch his breath. He didn’t want to catch his breath; he wanted to get out of Port Denwort. His master was dead; he wanted to see the Expanse and know freedom.

  Once inside and facing the mayor, Roark said, “We failed, Mayor Kleidmacher. Edar and Thomas are dead.”

  The mayor’s wizened jaw twitched. His eyes held glimpses of anger, defeat, guilt, and a hint of relief. He scratched his grizzled chin then met Roark’s eye. “It was a long shot anyway. Enjoy your youth before it’s gone.”

  “Yes, Mister Mayor.”

  “And, Lord Roark, I wouldn’t have hurt your horse. It pains me that you thought I would.”

  “Forgive me, but I wasn’t sure.” Roark stood and bowed.

  “Your aunt would kill me if I laid a hand upon you or yours. Edar must have been in dire need to try, but no one is mayor for fifty years by being a fool. Remember that.”

  Yet, Roark thought, there is no wisdom in this house either. “May I have Edar’s notes?”

  “And his equipment I suppose.”

  “Yes. And I’ll dispose of anything that would make it hard to lease the cottage.”

  The mayor laughed. “So, you do have some of your aunt in you. Good to know. Just take the equipment.”

  Roark thanked the mayor. He left the towering stone house and made his way past the town square. He wasn’t ready to face the jar which held Edar’s soul or the darkness of the workroom any longer. Just the thought of it caused dread to clamber into his chest and icy sweat to drip under his arms and down his back. Better to be in the daylight.

  Feeling the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, he wandered to the sandy beach and drifted to the riverbed watching the small current shape the shore. When he was a boy, Roark believed if he squinted, he could see to the next Realm. His sister told him that it was sea mists making mirages on the horizon. She was correct, of course, but her words made his world a little less magical.

  He lifted a large rock and saw several tiny crabs scurry from the sunlight. He gently set the rock back
. If two adults couldn’t both live in the same form, perhaps an infant would provide the shelter an old soul would need.

  He shuddered at the thought, but The Great Work pulled him to continue. With hope and dread he would find an abandoned child, Roark roamed the beach.

  A faint mewing drew him near a private dock. Below, he found a cat with several kittens, their eyes were open, playing together between the rocks and sand. One was white with black paws, he recalled his vision. Kian had a cat that looked like that. What if it was Edar?

  He left the cat and continued on to the town proper to find a fishmonger.

  “Have you any old scraps?” Roark asked.

  “You sure you want scraps, elf?” The man spoke slowly as if Roark didn’t understand the language of Dynion. “Over here is fresh fish. Best fish.”

  Roark nodded. “Need to tame a cat.”

  “I know a man with cats. Better cats than you find on the street. Buy a cat already trained and you can eat fresh fish.”

  “Just the old fish, please.”

  The wetness soaked his tunic. The rotting fish was sure to smell up his clothes. Maybe he would burn them.

  •

  Roark bowed to the mother cat who eyed him suspiciously as he shuffled closer. “I’m sorry to cause you pain. May this ease your sorrow.”

  He placed the fish on the ground. The cat sniffed it and left her kittens to play. He gently gathered the white-pawed black kitten and left.

  “By taking you, I ensure your brothers and sisters will live better.” Roark gently ran his hand along its back, but he didn’t believe it.

  The kitten purred in response. Roark didn’t know if the mother cat would weep over the loss of a single kitten or what the cat even felt, but his heart felt buried in guilt.

  He opened the garden gate and carried the kitten into the kitchen. Roark poured the kitten a dish of milk. The feline purred contentedly the entire time he lapped it up. Roark found a large wooden box and put a layer of dry sand at the bottom and set the kitten inside with his milk.

  Roark carefully packed each of Edar’s machines in fresh straw. He copied each spell, each entry of Edar’s work into his own newly purchased journal. Then packed Edar’s tome.

  In his mind’s eye, Roark felt Edar watching him from the jar. Stuck in a body that cannot speak. How long should Roark keep him there? He wanted to walk away again, go upstairs into the light, but he must finish it.

  Roark cast a circle of protection around the jar. He donned the mirrored amulet and then carefully opened the lid enough to drop the kitten inside.

  “Spirit of Edar Candlewick, enter this form.”

  Dark mist swirled around the kitten who pawed at the glass and mewed. The soul of Edar slid into its open mouth.

  Roark pulled the kitten from the jar and set it on the work table. He kneeled down to meet its golden eyes and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. Are you there?”

  The kitten took a feather in its mouth and scrawled onto a parchment “Here.” Then the kitten played with the feather.

  “We could try again.”

  “You first.”

  Roark carefully created a blood potion and mixed it in with another dish of milk and small bits of fish. Once the bowl was licked clean, Roark tucked the kitten into his tunic and put up a sign.

  Apothecary Retired. For interest in this property, please contact Mayor Kleidmacher’s office.

  •

  Chapter 22

  Guild House of Olentir in the Realm of Fairhdel

  Roark lugged the crate down the long corridor with the kitten on his shoulder. He could have asked for assistance from a guard or a mechanic. He didn’t want help. He wanted to feel the strain on his arms, the splinters in his hands and the ache of his back. Corwin opened the red door to his private meeting room and depository as Roark struggled through.

  “So, the original soul overtook the trespasser,” he asked, not even hiding his giddiness.

  “Yes, House Master.”

  “And you feel it is not a viable option?”

  “It is not a viable option, House Master.”

  Roark took a step forward and bumped his hip into the wooden table. The pain shot through his leg and into his aching heart. When he looked at Corwin’s face, he saw how old and weak it was. He hated the Guild’s hypocrisy. Roark slowly opened the crate of instruments. “I brought these.”

  “Bring them below.”

  Roark could imagine several places he’d rather be than below in the Guild Vaults. Yet, he followed the House Master a stride behind.

  “Did you know Edar would fail?” Roark asked, careful of his footing on the narrow stone stairs.

  “I believed he would succeed. And to a certain extent, he did.” Corwin gestured to a case marked 741.

  Roark stacked the instruments on the tall bookcase and Corwin took down descriptions of each. “The brass alone is worth hundreds. I’ll see the cost of the brass is deposited into your accounts. And when you are ready to start again, these will be returned to you.”

  Roark didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. He turned from the case. “Yes, House Master.”

  Corwin lifted the quartz pendant out of the crate and held it to the light orb. “Did it not guide you well?”

  “No, I don’t believe it did. It took something from me, something more than blood.”

  “I feared as much. So much illegal technology is littering the Seven Realms. I’ve another job for you. Come.”

  Roark gulped the ever-freshening air as they climbed the steps. “What of the Eighth Realm Beings?”

  “Byronia and several human Guild members are still doing reconnaissance. We must tread lightly now, we don’t want to start a war with a new species if they come in peace.”

  “From what I saw they came to dance, play, and drink wine.”

  “That may be. The truth is we don’t know. We don’t even know if they truly are from an Eighth Realm. Wars have been fought, and people died over hasty actions.”

  “But people are dying… the rash … ”

  “The Guild will take Edar’s first remedies and mix it with others until we find a true remedy—just ensure you always use lambsheads when hiring whores.”

  Roark’s breath felt shallow as his heart dropped into his stomach. “We were never able to find a salve for the rash. The entire experiment was a failure.”

  “Was it?” Corwin asked. “I learned many things about you, the Eighth Realm beings, the possibility of transmutation, and some common combinations that don’t work.”

  Roark’s heart sank lower. “Is my aunt in residence?”

  “Going to run to Auntie?”

  “Just for advice. I lose my sense of direction when I project away from my body. Especially if I’m inside and unable to see a landmark.” Roark sprinkled truth in his words, so Corwin didn’t hear the lie.

  The light behind Corwin illuminated his wiry white hair and white robes as he snatched the kitten off Roark’s shoulder and smacked him across the head with the dossier.

  “I will allow you to continue your research between jobs, but don’t defy me, Roark, or I will put you in the darkness until madness takes you.”

  “I’m not a boy any longer and tire of your threats. Please return my cat.”

  “I do so only because it pleases me.”

  Corwin placed the dossier in Roark’s hands, then set the kitten on top of the folder and gestured for him to leave. “I believe your aunt is in the library.”

  Ignoring Corwin’s ridicule and clutching Edar to his chest, Roark left the cell and raced down the corridor, half expecting Guild guards to capture him and bring him below to the eternal darkness or perhaps just crucifixion. No one stopped him.

  •

  Roark was still trembling when he came to the entrance of the library. He leaned on the stonewall and listen to the soft ruffle of paper and voices from within. He set Edar on the floor and wiped his face with a handkerchief. He checked his compact
and smoothed his clothes. Watching the kitten play with a stray bit of dust, Roark decided it would be best if he stayed in the hall.

  Inside, Alana instructed Kian on Larcian grammar. Kian chewed on his thumbnail as he scribbled something on a slate. At a nearby table, Eohan read scrolls. His brow showed he was deep in thought. It felt good to see something normal for a change.

  His aunt glanced up from Kian’s slate and smiled at Roark. Kian peeked over his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and set his slate on the table. Ignoring his lessons completely, he crossed the room, chalk in hand and clasped Roark’s forearm. Thirteen still wasn’t kind to Kian, but he looked different somehow. More at peace.

  “I can hit the target at thirty paces, blindfolded,” he said.

  “Hey, that’s wonderful,” Roark returned the gesture.

  “How have you been?” Kian said.

  “I’ve been good,” he answered automatically. Then frowned. “No, I haven’t. I came to ask my aunt for advice. I’m so glad to see you all.”

  Once Kian released his arm, Eohan greeted Roark in the same fashion. “Can we help? What’s with the cat?”

  The kitten had followed him, playing with the edge of his cloak. Roark set the kitten on the table. He made a little sneeze and pounced upon the edge of a tome.

  “I don’t know.” Failure piled upon Roark’s heart as he looked at his aunt’s calm but withered face. She kissed him on the cheek.

  He might have made her young. She might have fought on forever. She would have defeated this new enemy whose very hair was a weapon, but she was old now. Her best option was to teach Eohan to take her place.

  “Why are you sad?” Alana said.

  “I must speak with you, Auntie.” Roark’s heavy arms hung at his sides.

  The four sat down at the table where the kitten had found its own tail. Roark quickly explained everything that happened, leaving out Corwin’s part entirely. He waited for his aunt to denounce him, to strip him of his title or to call a guard and ask for his crucifixion.

  She did not do anything except clasp her hands together and nod. “Edar chose his fate.”