Assassin

by Tui T. Sutherland

  “No,” she said. “You’re not. You have to stay here.”

  “Not according to what I heard,” he said. He held out his talons, still coated in Slaughter’s blood. “See? Mission completed. We can leave at sunrise.”

  She stared down at his blood-soaked claws. “What — what did you —”

  “Exactly what you’ve been training me for,” he said. He’d expected a slightly more delighted reaction, he had to admit to himself. “Slaughter is dead. No thanks to Morrowseer, who tried to warn him, which is pretty rude, don’t you think?”

  “You did it?” she whispered. “You really killed Slaughter?”

  He described the kill to her, the way she’d described her kills to him many times, using precise, swift language to capture the fight in as many heartbeats as it had taken to complete it.

  “Why do you look so worried?” he asked when he finished. “I was following Queen Battlewinner’s orders.”

  “I was going to tell you not to do it,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Because it was too dangerous.”

  “Oh,” Deathbringer said. “But … it worked out so yay?”

  “It’s still dangerous,” said Quickstrike. “Morrowseer will want to punish you. He won’t be pleased that one of his pets is dead.”

  Deathbringer shrugged. “He agreed to the deal. He should have known what would happen.”

  “He could still cause trouble for us. Or he could force us to bring Vengeance along as well, who will hate you and try to hurt you for what you did to his cousin.”

  Deathbringer wasn’t concerned. He knew he could take Vengeance as easily as Slaughter, even if both of them were more than twice his size.

  Quickstrike thought for a brief moment, then sighed a curl of smoke. “There’s only one thing we can do — leave right now,” she said. “If it’s already done, no one can stop us. Do you need anything?”

  “No,” Deathbringer said, feeling as if all his blood had been replaced with lightning. He could fly all the way to the sun if she told him to. “I’m ready. Let’s go!”

  Moments later, they were aloft. The Night Kingdom was fading away behind them, and Deathbringer’s great future as an assassin was spread out before him like the sunrise.

  Two weeks into their expedition, they paused on the east coast of Pyrrhia, a short flight north of the Diamond Spray Delta. Here the forest crowded up toward the ocean, leaving only a strip of pebbled beach populated by arrogant seagulls and befuddled seals.

  “Our first target is a SeaWing.” Quickstrike spread her wings for balance as waves lapped the rock below her.

  In two weeks of training and scouting, so far no NightWings had found them. Deathbringer kept dreaming of black wings descending from the sky, with talons clutching a scroll that commanded his return so he could be punished for murder.

  He wasn’t quite sure where these nightmares came from. During the day, he didn’t worry about that at all. He knew he’d followed his queen’s orders. He’d earned his place on this mission.

  And it was glorious to be here, flying through snowy mountains and thick forests and over the beautiful sea. They’d avoided all other dragons carefully — NightWings weren’t supposed to be seen, if they could help it — so mostly they’d been keeping to untouched parts of the continent, full of prey that could be caught and eaten as easily as picking fruit. Quickstrike had been running new training exercises with him every day, under blue skies, in wind that smelled like a million possibilities.

  Deathbringer had never been so happy. If NightWings came to take him back, he thought sometimes that he just wouldn’t go. He’d run off and live alone in the forests instead.

  Not really, of course. He’d follow orders, as he always had. But if they couldn’t ever find him to give him those orders, that would be fine by him.

  “What SeaWing?” he asked, circling over her head.

  “First, tell me who they’re allied with,” Quickstrike ordered.

  Deathbringer landed on the beach, not far from the boulder where she was perched. He started writing in the sand with one claw.

  “There are three sisters who want the empty SandWing throne,” he recited. “The oldest, Burn, who has control of the main SandWing stronghold. At the moment, she’s got the SkyWings on her side, probably by offering them territory along the Great Five-Tail River.

  “Next, Blister, the smartest sister. She’s allied with the SeaWings and the MudWings, and nobody knows where her base or her SandWing followers are.

  “Finally, Blaze, the youngest and reportedly not the sharpest claw on the dragon. She’s hiding with the IceWings, but slowly winning support from SandWings who have fled the desert due to Burn’s cruelty.”

  “That’s right,” Quickstrike said. “As of now, Blister is the most powerful, to the point where we are worried that she could win the war in the next few months. She’s smart and devious and pays her soldiers very well, and her allies cover a vast swath of territory. We need to slow her down.”

  “Because we don’t want her to win,” Deathbringer said.

  “Because we don’t want anyone to win for another ten years,” said Quickstrike, her black eyes glittering.

  “I see,” said Deathbringer, watching a pair of green crabs march obliviously across his claws. “So our mission is to drag out the war.”

  “There’s a plan in place,” said Quickstrike. The wind buffeted her wings and she dug her claws into the rock. “Every piece of it must work in order to ensure the future of the NightWing tribe. This is our piece, and it starts with Commander Tempest.”

  “The SeaWing,” said Deathbringer. “Our target.”

  “Yes. Blister has found a military ally as smart as she is, but even more fearless. In the last few months, Commander Tempest has led forays into SkyWing and SandWing territory that have been devastating for Burn’s army. Between her and Blister, they could win this war.”

  “But they won’t,” Deathbringer said confidently. He sank his talons into the sand, spreading his wings to feel the sea breeze. “We’ll stop them.”

  “It’s not that easy.” Quickstrike shook her head. “The SeaWings have two palaces — the Summer Palace and the Deep Palace — but no one knows where either of those are, and they’re probably underwater. You’re very talented, but I haven’t noticed you sprout gills lately.”

  “What if we kill Blister instead?” Deathbringer suggested. “She must be out on land somewhere, right?”

  “Absolutely not,” Quickstrike snapped with sudden ferocity. “You must not kill any of the three queens! It would ruin everything! Leave them alive at all costs, do you understand?”

  Deathbringer blinked up at her. He didn’t understand at all — but he could see that he wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to follow orders and let the plan unfold according to someone else’s master agenda.

  “All right,” he said. “But Blister and Tempest must meet somewhere to discuss strategy — somewhere where Blister can breathe. If we can find that place, we can kill Tempest.”

  “Exactly.” She regarded him for a long moment, her wings outlined by the sun behind her. “And what’s the most important part of our mission?”

  “Don’t be seen,” he said immediately. “Don’t get caught. Never let anyone know the NightWings are meddling in the war.”

  Quickstrike nodded, looking faintly pleased, which was the most pleased she ever managed to look. “Very good. And if you do get caught —”

  “I’m a rogue NightWing, exiled from my tribe, causing trouble because I’m insane,” Deathbringer said. “Try to get them to kill me quick before they can torture me.”

  “Especially Blister. I’ve heard that her torture methods are … very effective.”

  “Don’t worry.” Deathbringer took to the air and shook the sand off his tail. “You’ve trained me well.”

  The Bay of a Thousand Scales was circled by a spur of land that resembled a dragon’s tail, getting narrower and narrower as they flew toward the end of i
t. They searched along the coastline first, looking for any signs of a secret encampment that could hide an entire SandWing army. Quickstrike didn’t know exactly how many SandWings had followed Blister out of the desert, but it had to be a substantial number, given how well they were doing in the war.

  Usually they searched at night, when their scales were camouflaged by darkness. Deathbringer had found his night vision growing stronger the longer he was away from the Night Kingdom. And they were lucky to have two of the three moons nearly full: Their silver light illuminated any movement on the beaches and cliffs below.

  On the second night, they flew over a spot where several fires glowed, and Deathbringer was sure that was it. But when they swooped lower, they found mysteriously small stone buildings, almost like a miniature castle surrounded by little fortresses, and upon further investigation these all turned out to be inhabited by scavengers.

  A few of the little two-legged creatures looked up from the battlements as the dragons flew overhead, and one even shot flaming arrows at them, which was pretty adorable.

  “I didn’t know scavengers could build castles,” Deathbringer said to his mother.

  “I’m sure they can’t,” she said. “I’m guessing they found that den the way it was and infested it.”

  “But who else could have built it?” he asked. “It’s too small for dragons.”

  She shrugged, uninterested, but Deathbringer thought about it for the rest of the night.

  Finally they gave up on the coastline and began to search the islands, which was no small task given that there were at least a thousand of them as far as Deathbringer could see.

  He offered several ideas on how to lure the dragons out of hiding, but Quickstrike shot them all down.

  “Impatience is not a useful quality in an assassin,” she said sternly.

  “Neither is taking three thousand years to complete a mission,” he retorted. They were taking a rest on a small sandbar. Overhead, ominous gray clouds gathered, mumbling about their nefarious plans for the night.

  “NightWings play a long game,” she informed him. “We use our superior intelligence to tilt events our way, but we must never do it so obviously that the other tribes notice.”

  “I just want to set one palm tree on fire and see who comes to check it out,” Deathbringer argued. “They’ll never know it was a pair of NightWings.”

  “No,” she said. “Too risky.”

  “Bah,” he said, but didn’t press the point. Obey your elders, do as you’re told, he reminded himself. Even if it meant another long night of flying in what appeared to be an impending hurricane.

  The storm caught them suddenly when they were over a stretch of open sea. Rain pelted furiously in their eyes and dragged down their wings as if trying to feed the dragons to the roaring ocean.

  “We have to land!” Quickstrike shouted to Deathbringer. She pointed to the nearest lump of island they could see through the driving rain. But as he turned to follow her, another movement caught his eye, and he batted his mother’s tail to make her wait.

  Below them, barely staying above the waves, a bedraggled sand-colored dragon was flapping along with his head down. He looked neither left nor right, and he certainly didn’t look up to see the NightWings, who exchanged a glance and then followed him.

  The SandWing’s flight was crooked, but dogged — he was clearly determined to make it through the gale, whatever it took. After a while, Deathbringer saw an island ahead that had to be his destination. It looked wildly overgrown — the kind of place where an army might be hidden below the trees, and two dragons flying overhead could easily miss them.

  Deathbringer was fairly unimpressed with the SandWing, who didn’t even check once whether he was being followed before he crash-landed on the beach and hurried into the trees.

  “That must be it,” Quickstrike said. She flicked her forked tongue out and in with a laugh. “We found them.”

  “Now we wait for Commander Tempest,” said Deathbringer.

  Quickstrike stretched her wings as lightning flashed around them. “And then we kill her.”

  Lightning flashed again as she turned, scanning the horizon for an island where they could keep watch and wait out the storm.

  “Over there,” Deathbringer said, swooping below her.

  And then suddenly there was a crash like the sky ripping open. Blinding light sizzled against Deathbringer’s eyeballs and Quickstrike let out an agonized shriek. She thudded into him hard and he smelled burning scales.

  He scrambled for a hold on her, wet claws slipping on soaked scales. She was too big — he couldn’t possibly fly with her, not while she was unconscious, not as far as the next island.

  It was all he could do to steer their tumbling course down to the beach where the SandWing had landed. He rolled to land first, cushioning her fall with a jarring shock that vibrated through all his bones.

  The torrential downpour continued as they lay there, half buried in wet sand. Deathbringer tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like drowning.

  Quickstrike was splayed out in the middle of the beach, her eyes closed and her wings askew like ragged curtains. He couldn’t see the spot where the lightning had hit her — it was impossible in the dark against her black scales, with spots still flashing in front of his lightning-dazzled eyes.

  But he could see that they were completely exposed here, with Blister camped who knew how many heartbeats away. If she had diligent guards posted, they might have been spotted already. Their only chance was hoping that the hurricane had driven the guards under cover — but even if it had, that wouldn’t last.

  “Quickstrike,” he cried in her ear. He shook her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. “Mother, wake up. We have to hide. Mother!”

  Nothing. He wiped raindrops from his eyes and scanned the beach. Up by the tree line there was a cluster of fallen palm trees, perhaps hit by lightning in an earlier storm. That would have to work.

  Deathbringer tucked his mother’s wings in close to her and dug himself into the sand below her, using all his weight to roll her up the beach, one struggling, aching, muscle-screaming step at a time. Wet sand clumped between his claws and splattered into his mouth and coated Quickstrike’s scales. He felt as if he was metamorphosing into a MudWing, and maybe from there into some kind of worm, squashed under someone’s talon at the bottom of a mud puddle.

  But finally, finally he gave one last shove and she slid over the rise and down into a hollow between the fallen trees. With the last bit of his strength, Deathbringer dragged over the biggest palm fronds and rammed one of the trunks into a better position. Make sure it looks natural. Like it always fell this way. He scooped sand into an embankment all around his mother until she was as well hidden as he could possibly make her.

  His legs were shaking as he returned to the beach with one of the palm fronds. One more thing to do. Wipe away all our prints, all traces that we were here. Quick, before someone sees.

  The rain might take care of the evidence for him, but his training wouldn’t let him risk it. Deathbringer gritted his teeth and swept the beach, trying to hide not only his talonprints but the churned-up sand trail that led directly to their hiding spot.

  The rain was helping, as were the towering waves that were trying to eat the entire beach. Deathbringer tramped around making a mess of the whole area, until at last he felt as though he’d done everything he could. He dragged himself back to his mother, dug himself a hole in the sand, and fell instantly asleep in the howling storm.

  Two days passed, but Quickstrike didn’t wake up. She was breathing, but nothing Deathbringer did could get a response from her. In the daylight he could see an awful burn zigzagged across one of her wings, but all he could do to treat it was keep it cool and wet.

  Will she ever fly again?

  How am I going to get her home?

  And what about the mission?

  He knew what Quickstrike would say. The mission comes first. The mission is everything.


  If I were the one hit by lightning, she’d have gone ahead and finished the mission already.

  That’s what she’d want me to do.

  That’s what she’d order me to do.

  If I get it over with, I can focus on how to get her home.

  So at midnight on the second day, he left their hiding spot and crept into the island jungle, feeling his way cautiously through the unfamiliar terrain. Strange hoots and yelps came from the trees; he couldn’t tell what was bird, monkey, frog, or insect, but they all seemed to have strong opinions about something.

  Finally he heard an indisputably dragon sound: talons stamping and voices muttering.

  “I hate being on night watch,” said one of them. “I swear things are crawling on me.”

  “Can’t see anything anyway with all these toad-spawned trees in the way,” grumbled the other.

  Deathbringer slipped past them silently. Soon after that he came to a break in the trees and saw a lagoon below him, the still water dappled with silver moonlight. Tents were set up all along the beach. He studied the encampment for a moment, noting that there were no fires and that the tents were all the same color as the sand. From the sky, it would be easy to overlook them.

  There also weren’t as many tents as he’d expect for a whole army camp. Perhaps the rest of the soldiers were hidden in the trees, or scattered on other islands. That’s what I’d do — spread out over several islands so no one could attack us all at once.

  He crouched lower as three dragons slithered out of the largest tent. In the moonlight, it was hard to be sure, but he thought that two of them had the broad, flat foreheads of MudWings. He could see the dangerous curve of the third dragon’s tail; that was definitely a SandWing. Was it Blister herself?

  “It’s a smart plan,” said one of the MudWings. “Did Commander Tempest come up with it?”

  “No,” said the SandWing coldly.

  “Well, we’ll need her to make it work. The SeaWings will only risk it if she convinces them to.”

  “I know.” The SandWing lashed her tail. “It would be helpful if they would listen to me a little bit more.”