Until All Curses Are Lifted

by Tim Frankovich

  Kishin prided himself on his uniqueness. No one else could kill like he did and get away with it. Antises had no greater assassin, perhaps no other assassin at all. In a world where harming another person could get you cursed, he stood alone. Lords and nobles of all kinds came to him, and only him, when they wanted someone dead.

  Yet he kept failing. He had now faced this target three times and failed each time. Each time, he had been thwarted by something beyond the normal. First, he had discovered this target had power. Then the Eldanim had interfered. And now they had given him special protection.

  He stumbled and grabbed a tree trunk for support. His strength bled out along with his blood. He needed to take care of himself, but also needed more distance between himself and the target. It seemed unlikely they would come after him, but he had learned long ago to always take precautions.

  The failings were his own fault. He recognized that. In each case, if he had struck right away, without speaking, this job would almost certainly be over. At first, he had been driven by his own desire to force his target to acknowledge his curse. But that was impossible for a man who couldn’t speak. Now… why say any more? He needed to return to a more simple assassination. No talking. Surprise. Kill. Nothing more.

  This would have to be far enough. He tried to lie down gently, but collapsed once he got to his knees.

  Lying on his stomach, he reached back and pulled as many shards of rock from his back as he could reach. Unable to get to at least two of them, he left them for now.

  He fought against unconsciousness. He fumbled at his belt until he found his own starshine pouch. It wouldn’t remove the shards, but would heal him enough until he could find other help.

  Reman. He would kill Marshal in Reman. That was their goal, their hope for lifting his curse. When they were most preoccupied, that would be the moment to strike.

  He would finally be free of this target.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  TALINIR STOOD BY his bedroll when they returned. He looked weak and pale, far different than his usual appearance. Sweat trickled from his forehead.

  “What did I tell you?” Aelia snapped at him.

  “Are they well?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  “No. But I can’t say much more than that yet.” Aelia helped Victor move closer to the fire. “If you won’t take care of yourself, Talinir, stoke the fire back up. These boys are soaked and probably half frozen by now. Get those pants off, Marshal.”

  She helped Victor remove his, also. Then she had to repair some of her earlier stitching work. The walk to the camp had pulled it loose.

  Aelia then insisted on looking Marshal over. She clucked over the bruises on his face, hip and stomach, but her eyes narrowed as she looked at the massive bruise that had spread across most of his chest. “This is wrong,” she murmured. She noticed the star marking above his heart. “What is this?”

  Talinir looked from where he sat by the fire. “A Star of Indalanim,” he whispered. “It’s a protection spell of a sort.”

  “Well, it didn’t protect him here.” Aelia gently touched the bruise and Marshal winced. “I’ve never seen a bruise like this before.”

  “Warpsteel,” Talinir said. “He was protected in this world, but not… It still caused damage.”

  Marshal didn’t understand, but at least someone knew a reason for that incredible pain he had felt. He might try to get Talinir to explain more when he felt better.

  “I think it’ll be all right eventually,” Aelia decided. “The best thing for you was probably that cold water. There’s not much else I can do right now. I’ll give you some willow bark to chew on. It should help with the pain.”

  Marshal chewed the bitter bark and shivered by the fire. Aelia gave some to Victor, also, then sat back looking troubled.

  “He needs more than we have,” she said at last. “The wound is too deep. I could make a salve to speed healing, but it might not be enough.”

  “Starshine,” Talinir whispered.

  “Yes, well, we’ve conveniently lost our supply of that, haven’t we?” Aelia sighed. “Yes, I realize the assassin probably stole it to create this situation in the first place. But we don’t have it now, and that’s what matters.”

  She sat in silence for a while, watching as Victor’s shivering slowed and stopped. Marshal helped add more fuel to the fire. Its warmth soon spread through him. After a while, he found some dry clothes and pulled them on. Talinir returned to his own bedroll. Marshal tried not to think about how he might feel right now.

  “If I understand our location right, we are miles from any town large enough to have sufficient healing supplies, let alone something like starshine,” Aelia said at last. Talinir looked up enough to nod.

  “In that case, I can think of only one place where we might find what we need,” she said, standing. “The war camp.”

  “You can’t…”

  “I can’t let Victor die. That’s what I can’t do. Besides, I think I have a plan.”

  She looked over her own clothes. “I’ll need to change. And Marshal, you’ll need to dress as I tell you. We’re going to fool some soldiers. Wait here.” She took her pack and moved off into the woods for privacy.

  Marshal looked anxiously at Victor. Once again, he was injured trying to help Marshal. And yet, because he hadn’t actually saved him, the Bond still held. It had alerted Victor to Marshal’s danger, but hadn’t helped him much at all. What was the point? In their own way, Bindings caused almost as much trouble as curses.

  Aelia returned and Marshal gaped at her. Her practical traveling clothes were gone. In its place, she wore an elegant dress like many he had seen in Intal Eldanir. It was a rich burgundy, lined with gold trim on the sleeves, waist and neckline. The top was tight and form-fitting. Aelia kept adjusting it as she approached. Marshal heard her mutter something about Eldani women and their chests.

  “I’ll have to wear my usual boots, but that only makes practical sense,” she said. “Now, Marshal. You’re to be my loyal bodyguard. Your face will actually serve us well here. We just need to gear you up a little.”

  Following Aelia’s guidance, Marshal put on Talinir’s vest, leaving his shoulders and arms bare. He strapped the warpsteel sword to his belt and put both his and Victor’s swords on his back. Finally, Aelia showed him how to attach Volraag’s dagger into a makeshift sheath on his left forearm. She stepped back to look him over.

  “That should do it,” she said. “Keep an angry expression on your face and you’ll be intimidating enough.” She took a deep breath. “I hope.”

  They set out and Aelia was silent for quite a while.

  “If we are unable to find help, I am seriously worried about Victor’s chances,” she finally said as they walked up another hill toward the war camp. “Keeping a wound of that size from getting infected will be very difficult. And even if we prevent that, the depth of the cut will cause him severe problems for some time to come.”

  Marshal paused and looked around. He felt pretty sure this was the right direction. He hadn’t been paying close attention when Talinir led them the day before. He remembered the clearing, and then… was it this hill?

  When they reached the crest of the hill, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was the right one. The war camp stretched out below them, just as before.

  “Follow my lead,” Aelia said. “Just try to look intimidating.”

  With that, Aelia pushed through the final branches and strode confidently down the hill toward the camp. Marshal followed, doing his best not to limp. Look intimidating? He’d be lucky if he managed to keep the pain off his face. Even so, he tried to scowl as several armed men approached.

  “You can’t imagine how delighted I am to find you!” Aelia called before any of them could speak. “I need to speak with the officer in charge of this camp immediately!”

  Talinir had described men like the four who came near as “conscripts.” They certainly didn’t look like professional soldiers. They carried sp
ears, no swords, and only one had armor of any kind - a rough leather breastplate. Even so, one of them leered at Aelia. Marshal put his hand on the hilt of the warpsteel sword and stared at that one. The leer disappeared.

  “Who, ah, who do I tell ‘im wants to see ‘im?” asked one of the conscripts, a red-haired, gangly sort.

  “You may tell him that the Lady Aria of Reman is here,” Aelia said coldly. “Go on. Run ahead and tell him that. My guard and I will follow with these other gentlemen.” She made a shooing motion.

  The conscript hesitated, glanced at Marshal, and then hurried back into the camp. Aelia resumed her leisurely but confident pace, escorted by Marshal and the other three.

  Marshal’s eyes darted about, observing everything he could. They passed a series of poorly erected tents in a semblance of a line. Only a handful of conscripts were sitting, lying, or otherwise occupied around them. Marshal assumed the rest were training or something. The ones they did see gaped open-mouthed at Aelia. A woman in the war camp, especially one in such fine clothing, had to be an oddity. If they spared a glance for Marshal, it was brief but curious.

  They approached a larger tent that appeared much neater than all the others. The redhead conscript emerged from inside and held a flap open for his superior to exit. This man had a completely different demeanor and appearance from the others. He wore a gray uniform topped with a red cloak trimmed in gold. Marshal recalled the soldiers that had ridden into Drusa’s Crossing with his half-brother weeks ago. Those soldiers and this man must belong to the same order of the military.

  “What is all this?” he exclaimed, looking quickly at Marshal and Aelia. Unlike his untrained minions, his eyes immediately went to the sword at Marshal’s side.

  “What is your name, officer?” Aelia said.

  “I am Decanus Scaevola. Who in the diabol’s hells are you?”

  Aelia was unperturbed. “I will overlook your language in light of the unusual situation,” she said. “As I told your man here, I am Lady Aria of Reman. This is my elite guard.”

  “What are–”

  “I am disappointed to find only a mere decanus here, but perhaps you can outshine your rank and assist me.”

  “Mere?”

  “I assume you have a clinic here, of some kind. I am in great need of some medical supplies.” Aelia went on rapidly, though maintaining her cold and aloof attitude. “My caravan was ambushed on the road back that way.” She waved in the general direction they had come. “While my guard here was ultimately triumphant over the brigands, I’m afraid my attendant was not so fortunate. He was gravely injured. We spotted the smoke from your fires and came here hoping to find what we needed to treat him.”

  “Brigands? In this region? And what would a lady–”

  “Oh, you aren’t going to be bothersome, are you?” Aelia rolled her eyes. “My husband has such a low opinion of the military as it is. Before we left Reman, he warned me to steer clear of any of your camps along the way. But Prince Volraag told him–”

  “Prince Volraag?”

  “Yes, a personal friend to our household, thank you. My guard here is quite close to him. They’ve sparred many a time.” She looked to Marshal. “Do you still have that dagger the prince gave you?”

  Marshal blinked, then pulled the dagger from its sheath on his forearm. He held it up with what he hoped was an intimidating glare.

  Scaevola stared at the dagger, at Marshal’s scarred face, the swords on his back and especially that one at his side. Then he looked back to Aelia.

  “My pardons, Lady,” he said, though Marshal could still hear some skepticism in his voice. “You were quite possibly the last thing I was expecting to encounter out here. May I ask where you were bound?”

  “I was already on my way back to Reman, if you must know,” Aelia said. “We had visited several towns along the border here. My family has been sellers of purple to this region for decades. I was trying to finish one final tour before any hostilities began.” She sighed dramatically. “It looks like we were perhaps just a little too late. Those brigands were probably Rasnians, now that I think about it.”

  Scaevola nodded. “Of course, of course.” He glanced at the men around him. “Valens, Rufus, Otho. You three escort the lady to the clinic and let her procure what she needs.” He looked back at them. “And then escort her back to her caravan.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary–” Aelia began.

  “I insist,” Scaevola said, this time cutting her off.

  “Very well. Gentlemen?”

  Two of the men straightened up and gestured toward another tent not far away. Scaevola pulled a third aside and whispered something to him. Marshal eyed them, but couldn’t overhear the conversation.

  “Thank you, Decanus!” Aelia called as they moved away. “I will remember you to my husband. And the prince!”

  Aelia searched the clinic as quickly as decorum allowed. Marshal could tell she was tense, but she managed to make it look like she did this kind of thing every day. She put her hands on her hips and gave a loud sigh.

  “This is a meager assortment,” she said. “You! Rufus, was it?” The redhead blinked and nodded. “Rufus, is this all the medical supplies you possess? I would have expected more for such a large band.”

  “No, ma’am, this is it.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a drop or two of starshine,” Aelia said. “I don’t suppose you even know what that is.”

  “I do,” one of the other soldiers said. “Decanus Scaevola has some in his tent.”

  Aelia turned to him. “Which one are you?”

  “Valens, your ladyship.” Valens looked slightly more professional than the other two. His dark hair was trimmed neatly, unlike most of the conscripts they had seen so far, and he carried himself with an air of strength and competence. His stature and bulging muscles probably had a lot to do with that.

  “Valens, I have two gold coins back at the caravan. If you bring that starshine along and let me have just one drop for my attendant, the coins are yours.”

  Marshal heard all three conscripts’ sharp intakes of breath and almost smiled. He had no idea what Aelia planned to do once they got back to their camp, but just getting the starshine there would be an accomplishment.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Valens promised. He stepped out of the tent.

  Aelia gathered up some cloth bandages and a jar of ointment. “This will do, if nothing else.” She left the tent with her escort and walked resolutely back toward the Decanus’ tent.

  Valens met them, holding a tiny pouch. Scaevola stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression barely short of an outright glare. “Here we are,” Valens said.

  “Excellent. Let us proceed.” She looked to Marshal. “If you will lead the way?” He nodded and started back the way they had come. He glanced back frequently to make sure none of them bothered Aelia. He observed Rufus bore a slight limp, not enough to slow him down but noticeable.

  Along the way, Aelia did what she could to draw some more information from their three escorts. All of them came from small villages many miles to the north. Rufus had been a farmer, Valens a blacksmith. Neither had planned to join the military, but when the soldiers had come to their town, they hadn’t been given much of a choice.

  The third, Otho, was more close-mouthed. Throughout the walk, he said very little. Marshal gathered he had also been a farmer, but couldn’t ascertain more than that. Otho was tall, almost like one of the Eldanim, though not as thin. His face held a bitter expression that never left him.

  “How long have you been out here, training?” Aelia asked.

  “Three weeks, is it?” Rufus said, looking to the other two. “Three weeks.”

  “How interesting. Are you eager for the fighting to start? To teach those Rasnians a thing or two?”

  “We’re just here because we have to be,” Valens said before Rufus could answer. “We do as we’re told.”

  Aelia nodded as if this was the answer she had
expected.

  The closer they got to their own camp, the more worried Marshal grew. He tried not to let it show, but he stole repeated glances at Aelia. She strode on, full of confidence.

  When they arrived, the fire had burned itself out. Both Victor and Talinir were asleep. Aelia knelt next to Victor and checked his breathing.

  “What is this?” Valens said. “This is not a caravan.”

  Rufus looked bewildered. Otho immediately dropped into a defensive posture, aiming his spear at Marshal.

  “There’s no need for conflict,” Aelia said. Satisfied with Victor’s condition, she stood again and looked at the conscripts.

  “You lied to us!” Valens said. He also aimed his spear. “Decanus Scaevola said to bring you straight back if we discovered any deception!”

  Otho took a step toward Marshal and glanced toward Valens. In that moment, Marshal stepped forward and grabbed the spear by its haft. He released just enough magic to make it vibrate. Otho swore and let go of the spear. Marshal swung it back around, drawing the warpsteel sword at the same time. He held both weapons at the ready.

  Aelia held her hands up. “The deception was only necessary to save lives,” she said. “As you can see, I have two injured men here, and–”

  “This one’s not a man!” Rufus exclaimed, looking down at Talinir.

  “One injured man, and a sleeping Eldanim warden,” Aelia clarified. “And I would be careful about disturbing him. If he wakes up angry, and knows what you carry there, Valens, I might not be able to hold him back.”

  Otho backed away from Marshal. “What about scar-face here? He just took my spear!”

  “I don’t know,” Rufus said, stepping away. “Eldanim. My old gram said they could steal your soul.”

  “Stop it!” Valens said. “We have our orders.”

  “And you do as you’re told, is that right?” Aelia asked.

  “That’s right. I’m a loyal soldier of Varioch, I am.”

  “Valens. All I’m asking of you is one drop from that pouch on your belt. One drop. Then you three can leave us, and we’ll go our separate ways. We don’t need any trouble.” Aelia’s voice had shifted from commanding to soothing.