"Thou are too far gone and thou now stand devoid of salvation.”
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Dar Minue Mol, the First Servant
Speaking to Dar Eherdir somewhere in Rida
Circa 189 NC
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Strike when the night is weary
Strike when the mind sleeps and the spirits stand eerie
Strike when the eyes dream and the hand is in doubt
In feast’s joyful dances Oras servants remain mute
Gifted are the spores of the poisonous fruit
Veiled your blade’s breath behind a loud chute
-
Dar Nalta,
Verbal Silent Servant’s Magna Codex of the Circle,
2nd Stanza
Unknown date
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Rhys Vardran
‘Dar Tulca’*
Dar Tulca
Part II
-Those standing outside of the Circle-
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“I know Lord Nattas,” Verano told them twenty minutes later. “He has a share in this venue.”
Rhys glanced at Selussa a little surprised. “Why would you ever accept that?” Selussa probed the old Lena. A name and the title of her profession.
“She agreed and we had to move fast at the time to save my girls,” Verano replied. She was talking about Maja. “He’s a very old customer.”
“A friend of the Guild?” Rhys asked mockingly.
“He had deals with Robart Barlow,” Verano replied defensively.
“Barlow is dead. That man was an impostor.”
“Are you certain of this? I’ve known him for years.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“Occasionally before I retired. Barlow used Horned Hen for his meetings.” Verano replied looking at him intently.
“I’m getting vibes you’re still working madam,” Rhys pointed out.
“If I’m in the mood,” Verano replied coyly.
Rhys breathed out slowly. “Anyways, the truth is Barlow has been dead for years now. That’s a fact.”
“Maja told him about you Rhys,” Selussa intervened. “This means she knows you’re in charge.”
“That’s not how it works,” Rhys griped and rubbed his eyes to clear them. “And why would she step down in the first place?”
“I don’t know.” Selussa pushed back on her chair enough to get a leg on the table. Verano stared at her sternly but the Cofol woman shrugged her shoulders.
“Could it be she wants us… ehm, where…?” He paused and Verano elucidated.
“The Baron is with the King. They were heading for Illirium and then Aegium.”
“Baron of what?” Rhys taunted.
“Moon’s Haven.”
Poetic.
“Right. Well, that doesn’t ring any bell,” Rhys muttered a little peeved. “Where is that?”
“It was a village inside the Golden Forest. Near Novesium. The Lesia Gulf right across from Cediorum,” Verano explained and checked her nicely painted red nails. Then raised the hand to lightly scratch at the valley between her breasts. If she pops another button on her dress that corset she has underneath is going to explode, Rhys noticed.
“Rhys, you talked about Cediorum,” Selussa hissed snapping him out of his reverie.
“I did,” Rhys retorted rubbing a hand over his short cut mostly white hair. He had some yellow in it when he was young but Rhys was more Issir than whatever else his parents were and the white won. “That’s a pretty good piece of real estate for a lowly Baron to get. Wasn’t that royal lands?”
“The Crown left them to Novesium.”
You needed the Crown to agree to sell them.
“Lots of moving parts here,” Rhys noted rapping his fingers on the table.
“He wasn’t a Baron at first.” Verano elucidated.
“Man’s moving up places,” Rhys commented.
“He killed a lot people back in 190 and High Magister Gordian.” Verano said. “Right here in Alden. He did it to kick the Priests of Uher out of the city and help the girls.”
“A saint. No doubt,” Rhys jested with a grimace. “But with a butcher’s apron to keep the blood off of his garbs.”
“Maja helped him.”
Hmm.
“Why would she assist him?” Rhys asked trying to figure out the connection. You don’t give an outsider the real name of a Servant, let alone the one leading the Guild to use. Oras wrote the names down if your prayers were heard.
“She’s posing as his daughter.”
“Are they fucking? Is it a sexual roleplay?”
He’d heard it was a big thing around these parts back in the day.
“She’s married to a Veturius.”
Rhys snorted. Selussa grinned at his expression. “You know him?” He asked her.
“Never heard of him,” Selussa admitted.
“His ancestor was a famous historian. Like a century back,” Verano informed them.
“The plot thickens,” Rhys said wryly. “Is it a scheme? Is the lad loaded?”
“His uncle is a Consul and a general in the Legions,” Verano said.
“Well then.” Rhys grimaced. “This is starting to get out of hand. Why would a Baron want a Servant when he has ready access to the army? The army can kill everyone without all the paperwork.”
Is this a trap?
“Maja would never go against Larn’s wishes,” Selussa said.
Rhys rolled back his eyes. “Yeah, his girls love him. Didn’t he have another one?”
“Mezera. She’s dead,” Selussa hissed.
“That’s right,” Rhys retorted and glared at her.
“I have a captain, a client that can arrange for transport down the coast. He deals in spices and the occasional diamond,” Verano said carefully after a long moment of awkward silence had passed.
A smuggler. Well at least we’re moving up in accommodations.
-
19th of Quintus 194
Aegium
The Salt Coast
Fucking bloodsuckers, Rhys cursed inwardly. They had to pay an arm and a leg to get a single room with a stone mattress in Aegium. The inns and hostels packed with dignitaries, visitors, merchants and rich fools following the king’s army around. Also a crap ton of officers, legionnaires, sailors and gnarly dudes from Demames battling for who was enforcing the law in the city. Not that Aegium was particularly lawless, more free-spirited but Rhys had more fun walking about in Rin An-Pur and you could lose your head back then bumping onto the wrong perfumed dude or lass.
“There,” Selussa whispered hiding in a dark corner to better watch the Baron’s villa from across the street.
Theirs was an unforgiving profession. It could go from complete inactivity to sudden ridiculous death-grasping moments and then right back to long hours of lurking next to a dumpster, talking to night owls and sleeping on your feet. Which wasn’t easy to do. And then there were the standard dangers associated with killing people for a living.
Or folk, dogs and birds of a variant plumage.
As the saying went.
“Recognize anyone?” Rhys whispered knelt on the roof above her. The tiled roof littered with bird droppings and discarded feathers. You breathed carelessly once and you might end up dying of sneezing a lung out. Other than that you start with checking out the place afore stepping inside. Yep. Look for anything suspicious.
No guiding lines to the latter.
Anything.
“What am I looking for?”
“Anyone with extra blades for the time of day? Hiding behind the entrance all sneaky? Maybe on the roof?”
“There are guards walking in and out,” Selussa hissed at his mocking tone.
“Soldiers?”
“Well-armed thugs. Do they count?”
Rhys nodded. He’d seen them too but it’s always nice to get a second opinion.
On the north corner of the wall surrounding the villa’s garden and this was a good Lorian villa, the main building leaving room at its center for a small pool and another garden. Large verandas and a shaded open-walled terrace to bout. Good access point though if you were determined to climb up a wall.
You had to at some point.
Anyways, on the north corner of the wall a sole figure stood. Coiled at the top of the two meter wall, this shadowy figure was watching the dark street before the villa. Not as dark as you’d preferred it, what with the lights and all coming from the King’s even bigger villa –that qualified for a palace surely- reaching two blocks away.
Effectively this figure did what they were doing only from the opposite side of the road and with far less real estate to work with.
Are you going to stay there all night?
I wager those knees are crumbing by now. The burning reaching up to the thighs and the back has started protesting.
“Pull back towards the edge of the alley,” he whispered keeping his eyes on the shadowy figure. Selussa moved away from the corner behind him and Rhys reached for his sack. He’d a custom recurved bow inside. Rhys got it out keeping his eyes on the figure that hadn’t moved at all. Stringed it using his teeth and he had to press the arm against the ridge to loop it. With the bowstring taut he got an arrow out with a field point head. He needed accuracy from that distance and in low visibility.
Rhys glanced back hearing Selussa’s coded owl call. She had reached the other end of the alley. The figure just didn’t seem to notice them. Well then, Rhys decided and placed the arrow back inside his open leather sack. He moved the bow over his head to carry it on the back and backpedaled away from the edge taking care not to break a tile.
One tile goes and then the whole line rushes after it like a dog after a bone. You end up skating over the edge for the concrete.
Cobblestone.
Granite tiles.
It doesn’t really make much of a difference.
You’ll scream seven times out of ten.
Three times out of ten you won’t have the time.
Eh.
Two minutes later a heavy-breathing, arms hurting Rhys had joined a fresh-looking Selussa on the ground.
“Are you tired?” She taunted, her breath in his ear. Rhys walked out of the alley but a stride in he stopped abruptly, his left arm extended backwards to prevent Selussa from getting out behind him.
Selussa gasped as Rhys’ forearm had mashed her breasts and the figure that had appeared on the street stopped appearing alarmed. Rhys retreated behind the corner slowly. Selussa moved behind him, her hand digging in her satchel to burn incense but Rhys gestured for her not to do it. He brought the hand near his nose next and sniffed silently.
The lithe figure moved after a minute of listening for sounds when a group of late-night citizens rolled down the street. Rhys and Selussa went after the fast moving female. They hadn’t seen her face but given her body-type the figure wasn’t a man for sure.
Well, make that eighty-five percent certain, after what he’d witnessed in the Peninsula.
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Aegium’s taverns worked deep into the early hours of the morning. Those near the beaches probably never closed at all. They just alternated shifts, brought fresh personnel in and kept on running until the rain season returned again in about four or five months. The massive tavern continued out the back side and turned into an open-air restaurant with music of sorts. Two bands playing, one inside and the other using a stand set directly on the fine sand.
“Beer in watermelon?” A very-tanned comely waitress asked, dripping oil and sweat, her undergarments fashioned into a uniform. The outfit having all the Peninsula dancers sash but without the class.
Rhys stared at the platter with the split in half small watermelons. The wench shook a carafe of frothy beer in front of his face expressively. “I’ll pass,” Rhys grunted.
“Rum is a silver and you’ll need four to get a table,” the wench informed him with a smile. “But I can fix you up. Are you a hunter?”
It’s the bow.
“Just arrived.”
“You want a table?” The wench asked while Rhys was trying to locate the female they were following. She had sneaked inside the tavern and they had entered right after her, but they immediately got ambushed by the boisterous crowd. “Coming!” The wench screamed at a customer complaining loudly. Everyone was excited and the noise made your ears ring.
Then pop.
Rinse and repeat.
Rhys turned around puffing his cheeks out. Selussa was crunching a piece of watermelon behind him. Seeing his incredulous stare she shrugged her shoulders. “She didn’t notice.”
“Let’s get to the other side,” Rhys said loud enough to be heard and a man got between them, his face flushed and sweaty. Smelling of fruit and beer.
“Twelve days baby!” He yelled in Selussa’s face with enthusiasm dancing around her. “See you around!” He added with a twirl pointing at them with both arms, index fingers extended, while sashaying away.
Rhys smacked his lips frustrated.
“It’s the Bacchanalia,” a grinning Selussa explained. “First day of summer is right around the corner.”
“Yeah…” Rhys mumbled, not against having a good early celebration, but they were supposed to be after the woman here.
“She’s gone,” Selussa told him and hurled the leftover white bark of the watermelon away. Over the patrons heads and towards the sandy beach. “She knew we’ll get bogged down in the crowd.”
Rhys grimaced and got shoved back by a burly man escorting a well-dressed noble.
“Make way for the Mayor,” the brute grunted with a glare. “Fucking Issir shit.”
Ah, that’s hospitality right there! Rhys thought sidestepping out of his way.
“Enjoy your stay in Aegium,” the Mayor said with a friendly but tired smile as he walked past Rhys.
“Got some mixed signals there your grace. I’m not sure I’ll stick around!” Rhys yelled to his back and another Issir paused in front of him. A rare sight for the venue. A cute female at that with boyishly cut white hair, rather conservatively dressed in a leather top and a loose long skirt that left her taut midriff uncovered. She had a pearl earring in her right ear.
Rhys returned her stare.
“You are not from here,” the young woman said in a perfect Lorian accent. The girl had never stepped her foot in Kaltha one would think.
“How would you know?” Rhys retorted.
“Heard you speak earlier.”
“Work for these bigots?”
“Do you?” The woman replied and Rhys lowered his eyes down her modest bosom to stare at that skirt again.
“That a cloak turned upside out?” He asked brusquely back in business mode.
The woman smiled and glanced at Selussa that stood next to his shoulder.
“Is he bossy all the time? Difficult to work with?” She asked and Selussa didn’t answer. “A girl of few words I see. Not many Cofol sisters around,” she added looking at her. “But some are more famous than others.”
Are you fucking kidding me with this?
“Where is she?” Rhys grunted and she stooped near his face, her eyes ever rising. Rhys was a tad taller than her but she was as fit as Selussa he had to give the newcomer that. Rhys cast a side glance to his partner and Selussa returned it with a furious scowl.
Better you keep those close-enough comparisons on the hush-hush now, he counseled himself. Them girls are packing some serious steel.
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“Here,” Griet told them and sat down behind a small corner table next to the outer wall of the sea-facing portion of the tavern. Rhys glanced at the inebriated patrons going back and forth, with waitresses rushing to deliver orders and the general upheaval showing no signs of slowing down.
“We’re in the open,” he grumbled the obvious.
“It’s a seaside tavern. The biggest in Aegium,” Griet explained not offering much more in the argument and stopped a nimble wench carrying a bronze platter over the head with a pat on her hip. “Three shots of rum dear and add fat slices of lemon will ya? He’s paying.”
The individual doing the paying would be Rhys.
“What?” Griet asked seeing his scowl. “You’re the boss!”
“Fuck’s sake,” Rhys griped and grabbed a chair to sit down, keeping away from the table to better move in an emergency.
“Maja knew you’d come. Some are born ready to survive, the big bad wolf had told her. So you got to let them go their own way. It took this to get your arse out of Eplas,” Griet explained with a smirk. Her idea of an apology. “But you arrived sooner than we expected.”
It had taken a bit more persuasion than that and some pretty weird crap in general.
“Well…” Rhys started with a grimace not really expecting praise from Larn two decades later and after the callous bastard had kicked him away.
“No seriously. How the fuck did you make it all the way from Eplas?” Griet asked curious. “It’s been like a week?”
“We weren’t… why is this… we don’t talk about these matters in the open,” he hissed.
“When can we see her? Was the contract a ruse for us to come?” Selussa asked her soberly. Rhys scratched his nose and looked about them at the crowd talking, dancing and drinking, with two passionate couples fucking with zest near the short fence leading to the more than a hundred meters wide sandy beach. Three, if one counted the guy receiving a blowjob from a tavern wench in a side corner. Either sporting a small phallus or coming against a cavernous throat. They tried to be discreet bless them and the light was poor that much is true but everyone with two brain cells attached could figure out what they were doing. Several bystanders watching not as discreetly at their public gymnastics.
“She’s assisting the Queen Regent. After she departs Aegium would be ideal, unless you want to meet her formally or wait for us to bring her to the house. I don’t think it’s viable for many reasons.”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Rhys returned his attention to the two female assassins talking in a civil manner.
“Where’s the Queen Regent now?” Selussa asked.
“Staying with the King,” Griet replied a little sassy at getting grilled.
“Who is the contract for?” Selussa asked, a tick of annoyance marring her face, with Rhys listening in to their exchange still, but keeping his eyes on the busy crowd. Everyone was having a good time, some more than others but for a couple of dudes resting on the fence, a couple of meters away from their table that appeared either too drunk to speak or just sleeping on their feet.
“A bounty hunter,” Griet explained indifferently.
“What did he do?” Selussa asked and Griet furrowed her brows.
“Is that what he taught you? I thought you didn’t ask questions at first but you’re a regular inquisitor dear.”
“What you don’t know, can get you killed honey.” Selussa replied tacitly. “It’s cheaper to ask.”
Yep.
“I don’t know the details,” Griet retorted and the wench returned bringing their small glasses with the rum. The large slices of lemon shoved inside a bit hurriedly, with any luck not by the same dude that cuts the fish in the kitchen.
One would hope.
Ah, the famed south Jelin warm spring nights, passable tunes, cute company and the still uncertain details on a potentially straightforward mission.
Rhys felt a wave of dysphoria washing over him no sooner than he blundered into testing the gods.
“What’s his name?” Selussa asked just as the band stopped playing to rest their fingers and ask the crowd for orders. One of the two beefy Lorians, neither sleeping nor too drunk to listen, turned his head towards their table unwittingly.
You get too absorbed listening in you tend to do that, the alarmed Rhys thought reaching for his dagger.
“Lear Hik,” Griet casually replied and reached to take their shots from the stooping waitress. The man blinked, and then turned to his partner. The latter signed for him to go.
Don’t do it, Rhys warned the man staying behind.
The man looked about him for someone whilst Rhys got up, the chair tumbling down behind the assassin. Rhys had an eye on the departing stranger, the other on his friend. An officer approached, clad in a Demames uniform and the man stooped his head to talk with him quickly.
“Who? Where?” The frowning officer asked what you never want to hear and Rhys snarled baring his golden fangs, upon seeing the other man getting away through the wide open doors of the building.
His friend pointed a hand at them, the other hand reaching for a sword. A fucking gladius of all plaguing things.
“We’ve been made,” Rhys hissed in warning and kicked the chair on the waitress.
“They work for Laudus!” The man barked with a mighty voice which was the last thing Rhys expected to hear. Mostly because they weren’t. He had no clue who that fucker was. But then the furious man upped the scales to the heavens, raising his voice even more. “KINGSLAYERS!”
The wench screamed in panic but the flying chair smacked her in the face shutting her up abruptly, her nose splitting down the middle and blood splashing out. She bounced back and onto the officer coming their way. Selussa jumping over the table that buckled under her foot and then came apart whilst Griet twirled out of her chair, her left hand snatching it to bring it along. Rhys jumped over the furious officer and kneed him in the head, just as Griet’s chair was hurled on the advancing gladius-wielding stranger.
The man hacked at the incoming chair, the officer’s head was knocked back and Rhys landed just inside the doors leading inside. Rhys ducked under a swinging punch that caught an open-mouthed local squarely in the mouth, elbowed the culprit in the kidneys and then ripped his nose out, slotting two fingers in the nostrils, all in the same move.
A rugged breath and he stumbled through the tavern’s customers now trying to understand what was going on. Rhys shoved a protesting bard out of the way, the man’s lute hitting the ceiling and coming apart with a dissonant bang. A flushed legionnaire stood in front of him to bar his way, but Rhys stabbed him repeatedly on the side of the neck and brought him down. He stepped over the butchered soldier and dived out of the tavern’s front doors.
Rhys rolled on the cobblestone breathing heavy and spotted the first man legging it for the stables. Behind him the tavern’s crowd exploding in screams as Selussa and Griet had started getting rid of witnesses whilst cutting their way out. A lot of innocent bystanders are going to get killed tonight, a seriously miffed Rhys thought. And I’ve no fucking idea what the allhells is going on!
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Rhys sprinted after the first man and his opponent heard him just as he reached the stables. He paused and looked back at the dashing towards him assassin. With a grimace and breathing heavy he unsheathed a gladius, a sword shorter than a longsword, but nowhere near small by itself.
His scimitar was a bit longer for example. Rhys flipped the sword in his hand and caught it like the dagger upside down. Always advancing on his gnarly opponent, the assassin cracked his neck right and then left, keeping an eye out for anyone looking their way. With the ruckus happening twenty meters behind him at the packed tavern, no one was.
The man let out a roar and charged to meet him three strides from the large entrance. Rhys raised his scimitar to meet the opponent’s blade and lowered his right shoulder on impact, whilst rotating on his left leg. The steel blades clanged, Rhys stabbed his old dagger in the man’s exposed thigh, twisting around him sharply and then raised his scimitar with both hands, when the injured man doubled over with a groan, to hack him savagely at the nape.
The severed head hit the ground and Rhys moved afore the now headless body collapsed to grab it by the gore-covered collar, hot blood spraying out of the monstrous wound in thick spurts and pull it back inside the stable. He dragged the body deep into the stable breathing heavy from the exertion and angry with himself for agreeing with Griet’s idiotic plan.
A meeting in a blasted packed tavern, he thought sourly not believing the foolishness they had him involved with. My fucking mind is on tits and cunt is the blasted why, a frustrated Rhys mused going outside to retrieve the bleeding head with a look at the people coming out of the tavern. Nobody was looking towards Rhys. Yep. You don’t get involved with girls from the Guild fuck’s sake, he admonished himself. Them bitches are crazy.
The inside of the stable smelled of horse dung, other types of manure, hay and Redleaf. Rhys recoiled spastically on instinct, going on a crazy pirouette in the semi-darkness and then diving into a roll that brought him inside an empty stall. A bolt had whistled very-near to where he stood just a moment afore and was now lodged deep in one of the stables’ internal supports.
Motherfucking mule!
He cursed irate and jumped out of the stall into another dive for the crap-covered floor. Rhys twirled to a knee, a gnarly expression on his sweaty face and ogling eyes trying to penetrate the darkness. Someone chuckled and he heard feet tapping on the roof. Rhys grinded his teeth and reached for the smaller compact satchel resting on his left hip.
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Rhys touched the tiled roof and rolled into a shadow at the other edge of it. He came out at the roof’s end, having traversed the span of the two-storey elongated building in a second and caught out of the corner of his eye a small silhouette leaping across the looming road, right on a warehouse belonging to the Customs Office eight meters away. Rhys ran after it but paused at the gap breathing heavy, regaining his wits and then cursed through his teeth afore he started climbing down the side of the stable to reach the road.
“What in Oras Shadow?” He cursed running towards the warehouse. Rhys reached the front and headed for the east corner. The assassin rounded that, sprinted like he was fifteen again across the long building and came out at the other end inside an alley leading to the public forum through another market feeling shattered by the ridiculous exertion. The public forum building more a theater now apparently, according to the posters nailed on a nearby board.
Rhys had stopped to read it mostly to catch his breath before he collapsed.
“In feast’s joyful dances, Oras servants remain mute,” the small creature Rhys was chasing sang all of a sudden. That ruffian was sitting on a stand about ten meters away, cross-legged, the dress pulled to show a good amount of skin for the package and that armed metallic crossbow trained on him. Eh, rotten fish turds. The creature added with a chuckle. “Forgot that you did, he-he. Can you move?”
Huh?
Rhys licked his dry lips, feeling his throat hoarse and coated with gravel, whilst drenched in sweat that smelled mostly of horseshit. “Wanna talk about it?” He barked brusquely in his customary manner.
“Maybe later. If you’re a good boy,” the Gish said. Rhys couldn’t tell if it was a male or a female. “Does it matter?” The creature asked guessing his thoughts, still aiming the crossbow to his chest.
Not really at this particular moment.
“You’re going to take that shot? Feeling lucky?” Rhys queried aggressively. “Better hurry up, I’m a bit pressed for time.”
“Haven’t decided yet. Should I?”
“If you miss I’ll split you in two.” Rhys warned matter-of-factly to get the small creature rattled.
“Hmm. Many wanted to,” the Gish replied hoarsely, a bit of color on his heavily painted cheeks. “But only a few succeeded, he-he.”
What is this creepy ungodly bullshit? A freaked out Rhys wondered and reached for his satchel, whilst eyeing a thick patch of darkness near the creature to get the distance right.
When running on fumes every extra meter matters.
Rhys Vardran original quote right there.
“Look,” the Gish said mirthfully and when Rhys stared it blinked out of existence. Just dissolved into nothingness.
Well, that’s a sucker punch right on the blasted gonads, a stunned Rhys decided.
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“Where in the all-hells have you been?” A peeved -but also worried- Selussa asked him three hours later standing anxiously outside Lord Nattas’ villa. Rhys had to loop around half of Aegium to avoid the bloodthirsty patrols. “Griet is inside to talk with the Baron.”
Rhys took a big breath and put his back on the wall to rest his tired legs. You walk ten kilometers after a scrap and you appreciate horses something fierce. Mules even. He brought a cloth on his face and wiped some of the dirt and gore away. Worked it on his nape and neck next. He then tossed it to Selussa.
“I ran on an Imperial Assassin I think,” he told her hoarsely. Selussa paused still holding the dirty cloth and looked at him.
“That’s your excuse? We had to fight our way to the beach and swim across to lose them!” She snapped angrily and hurled the cloth catching Rhys on the shoulder.
“You missed darling.”
“Ah, I had enough of your bullshit!” Selussa growled and a forty something year old man, clad in opulent green robes with gold details at the hem stepped out of the gates. He paused hearing their argument stooped over a cane with an intricate silver and ivory pommel, then pursed his mouth in a sour expression.
“In ten minutes a patrol will march down the street,” he told them a hint of razz in his cultured voice. “Usually they walk by every hour but some fucking idiots went on a killing spree earlier tonight so it got them guards all wound up. In the spirit of cooperation I shan’t point any fingers.”
“Ramirus’ men,” Lord Nattas told them a bit later. A couple of hours of night still available but running out fast. “Legion Intelligence. They multiply like cockroaches.”
“Ayup,” Grin agreed with a nod.
“There you have it then,” Nattas continued with an irked glance at his lackey. “You guys were lucky in a sense.”
“How?” Griet asked and a resting on a leather armchair Rhys had the same question but less spit to speak it to existence.
“It could have been an ambush. Ten or twenty of them waiting at the near,” Nattas explained.
“Why do you want to open a contract on this Lear Hik? He seems to have done what he was supposed to do.” A thoughtful Selussa asked the Baron. She had been guarded against him from the start.
“He fucked my mother and didn’t pull out,” Nattas snapped aggressively and glanced at Griet. “What the fuck is this?”
“She’s a bit of old school,” Griet taunted sipping at the Baron’s wine.
“What? She seems younger than you!” Nattas grunted.
“Seems?” Selussa asked narrowing her eyes.
Griet was younger than Selussa by a couple of years.
Having clarified that, this is an inopportune time to delve into such gory details.
“What’s the deal with mister Hik Baron?” Rhys asked hoarsely rubbing at his shoulder as he’d overdone it earlier. “I understand he might have caught this Laudus as Selussa pointed out. You’ll hold his success against him?”
“It’s not that. I don’t give a shit about him really, other than the fact that he can now talk to the king and sprout out whatever nonsense come to mind for lofty rewards and warm appreciation. Too much power to place in the hands of one man. If my enemies get to him first they might convince him to accuse me. This was the deciding factor.”
“Accuse you of killing King Jeremy?” Selussa asked.
“What else?” Nattas snapped with a scowl.
“I don’t know. Is there more?” Selussa mocked him.
“Do we need her?” Nattas asked Rhys. “I asked for you. She’s a Cofol for crying out loud!”
“I need her. And you didn’t really ask for me,” Rhys replied tiredly. “Maja gave you my name mister Nattas.”
“Milord Nattas is a Lord,” Grin corrected him.
Receiving the Baron’s admonishment and brief praise soon after.
“Thank you Grin. Shut up now. Continue mister Vardran.”
“Call me Rhys for expediency’s sake.”
“In that vein I prefer to be addressed as Baron Mister Rhys,” Nattas said.
Rhys scratched his right ear with an index finger in silence.
“You need justification to call on the Silent Servants Baron,” Rhys finally said. “You should know it having worked with Maja in the past. You get aggrieved by someone and he gets punished for that. To act prematurely or pre…”
“Preemptively,” a sour-looking Nattas helped.
“Yep. Well, you open yourself up to retribution.”
“By whom?”
“Others.”
“How would they know to call you?” Nattas asked with a pleased smirk.
“Oras whispers our names to those in need. It is how it’s done,” Rhys replied calmly.
“Cut the fucking bullshit Mister Rhys,” Nattas retorted angrily. “Maja setup an attack that killed two children back in Alden! You come here and talk to me of decency? Scales? Fucking retribution?” Nattas had started foaming at the mouth. “Fucking killers with a code? You murdered nine people tonight! Six of them were innocent! What is this god darn nonsense you’re sprouting?”
“Are you done?” Rhys asked raspingly.
“I haven’t even started yet!” Nattas bellowed and struck his cane down. The wood rattling weirdly as it probably hid a blade inside.
“Maja told you she took a contract to kill those children?” Rhys asked calmly.
“Argh,” a frustrated Baron growled and stood back on his armchair. “Do you want to know whether she pulled the trigger or not? She was there. What does it matter?”
“What did she say?”
“A couple of… I don’t know… fanatics or something got involved. Can we get back to the problem at hand?”
Rhys stared at the silent Selussa. “What’s the charge?”
“He murdered a Lord’s son and killed another Lord’s daughter. There. Can you work with that?” Nattas hissed grinding his teeth.
“Where is he now?”
“He was last seen in Badum. Mayhap traveled to Irde, then the trail gets cold. He either cut through the Narrow to reach Ikete or braved the bogs across Lotus River and is heading for Tollor. If he catches a ship there he might make it to Asturia and the Duke there might shield him.”
“Duke Holt?” Selussa asked. “His daughter is married to the King of Regia.”
“Why, who would’ve thought? You got it right!” Nattas mocked her with a grimace.
“Where is the Duke now?”
“Aldenfort with Asturia’s Regulars,” Nattas replied.
“Who rules in Asturia in his stead?” Rhys insisted.
“Lord Bernard, Queen Monica’s brother,” Nattas replied. “That’s a cunning son of a dog.”
“You have people in Asturia Baron?” Rhys asked.
“Sure.”
“So you’ll know,” Rhys added.
“Rhys I’m not sure about this,” Selussa murmured and Nattas eyed her peeved.
“We’ll look into the matter,” Rhys said and got up from the armchair although he’d rather stayed there for a while longer. “I’d like to speak to Maja.”
“Maja works as the Queen Regent’s maiden of honor of sorts. It’s a cover. I need her there,” Nattas argued scrunching his mouth this way and that.
“I can get inside the palace.”
“I rather you didn’t,” Nattas retorted. “This is a sensitive period. Lands and titles in the fucking balance and up for grabs, folk struggling to avoid the chop and the King is looking to find his footing after a turbulent time and ease himself into normality.”
“Normality requests Hik’s head?” Rhys asked evenly.
“It’s how things work Mister Rhys in this realm,” Nattas hissed. “I don’t want any stupid waves at this junction. A tiny spark creates a big fucking fire and then your house turns to ashes! Once matters get back to normal… there, then we can sit around a bonfire at the beach, talk of gallant old tales, sing of romance and family, whilst sipping at fruity liquor and have big-titted harlots suck on our cocks!”
The look on Selussa’s face said it all. Even Griet was uncomfortable.
But the Baron could only see what he could see and think of himself.
Survival works like this in the end.
“I need a safe place to rest for the evening,” Rhys replied. “A piece of the Golden Forest by the coast.”
“You can rest here. It’s a big fucking house,” Nattas grunted and pursed his mouth. “How big?”
“Big enough to build a house, as big as this one,” Rhys replied.
“For yourself?” Nattas asked thinking about it.
“The Guild, Baron.” Rhys had replied.
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“I don’t like him,” Selussa insisted standing outside the door of his bedroom. The upper floor had four. Two on each wing.
Rhys nodded looking into her frustrated face. “All nobles are like that darling.”
“Not all,” Selussa replied and grimaced.
“Ah, the story of the pirate queen. A heart of gold and jewels for eyes,” Rhys teased her and she pushed him away but he caught her arm and they wrestled for a bit outside the door much as people do. Rhys turned her arm to lock it at her ribs but she kneed him in the stomach. He had to turn to avoid getting doubled over and Selussa tried to slam him on the floor raising her other leg. Rhys caught it this time and shoved her on the wall with a bang and then he kissed her.
Selussa froze for a moment and in the heat of the moment Rhys bit at her lip, felt blood flooding his mouth. She groaned in pain and twisted away from him, holding a hand on her cut lip.
“Apologies,” Rhys murmured. “Got carried away for a moment.”
A cursing Selussa spat blood down with a grimace. “You liked what the Baron said? Is that it?”
“Nothing to do with him,” Rhys argued. “Come on now. You know I like you since… eh, this came out wrong.”
“Since when?” A frustrated Selussa asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Rhys murmured and licked her blood from his lips. Fuck.
“What kept you away?”
“Larn.”
“Larn doesn’t care about our partners fool. He only wants us safe,” Selussa snapped. “You cut me.”
“I did.”
“And if that was true you wouldn’t have gone after Moira.”
“Larn doesn’t control Moira. It’s the other way around,” Rhys told her tiredly. “It’s much more than that really because they know each other for such a long time and they aren’t human. At some point you’ll know it. Nothing comes between them.”
For him.
“You are wrong,” Selussa hissed and walked to her bedroom. Opened the door and then slammed it close. A second later the lock was heard.
I don’t believe I am, Rhys thought and breathed out. Glanced at the night out of the window and decided he had an hour of sleep afore the morning.
Rest.
Rethink the whole matter on the morrow, he decided. Opened the door and walked inside the spacious bedroom. The columned bed in the middle of the room, two cupboards on one wall, a big mirror on the other and a table with two chairs on the side facing the door. The side across from that having two large floor-to-ceiling windows with their drapes closed.
Rhys removed his boots, the weapon harness, keeping the old dagger under his pillow and then loosened the cords on his tight leather armour. He’d patches of chainmail on the front and the back, the leather jacket heavy and smelling like a latrine. Need to clean that mate. Rhys placed it on a chair for tonight. He had pulled the chair away from the table and moved next to the bed. He dragged the other one as well and placed it on the other side of the bed. Moved the table behind the door next and went to close both windows shut.
Fuck’s sake, just get some sleep, he thought.
> ‘Move with the breathing wind’, Larn hummed in his snarly voice, named Ralnor as a stray before becoming Dar Eherdir way before the Boy’s line was even created. Not that he knew it anyway. The Boy didn’t have a name and Larn never bothered to give one to him. ‘Pick your own name. It’s your responsibility. I named the horse Dar and all other horses afore him. He doesn’t mind it,’ Larn used to say checking whether his ‘flesh cubes’ were dry enough to have them stored in his special bag.
>
> The Boy had tasted one but didn’t like how it made him feel afterwards. Larn had found it funny. He didn’t laugh about it because Larn never laughed. He might crack half-a-smile at something, but it wasn’t what most people would take as a jest.
>
> He found peace, Larn did, only when he counted the Numbers. Seeing the patterns evolve, for Larn knew of things the Seers knew. He showed the Boy how to do it. Secret things. For whatever Larn heard, he learned as best as he could. Fighting every second of every day to stay afloat in a realm where all other creations were much more skilled than him. More beautiful, much cleverer, spiritual and talented in all things.
>
> But for one that had come natural to Larn and he wanted to teach this skill, mimicking the world he had grew up in. As unforgiving and even more bigoted.
>
> ‘Move when the branches creak and when the leaves whistle’, Larn used to murmur in Imperial showing him how to sharpen a blade without harming the metal. What arrowhead to use and how to call on the shadows. ‘When in the in-between kingdoms, you need to move and not linger,’ Dar Eherdir preached and you had to get the lessons quickly else you got hurt. Badly. ‘In and out. Always know where you’ll end up. See it in your head afore you take that first ‘quickstep’. Where you’ll start and where the shades will take you. The shades are doors but doors lead in all places.’
>
> ‘How do you get out of the Circle?’ The Boy had asked for this was a fascinating subject to him and Larn could turn talkative from time to time when they were alone in the wilderness. ‘When will I see the Moon of Dan?’
>
> The times he replied rare and few in between.
>
> Sometimes though when the desert winds or the colds of the Steppe touched something in him Larn would speak more. About Dar Nym who had dared the darkest routes following a strange creature’s calling. ‘In the unspoiled black of pure darkness. There stands a glittering reflection.’ Larn used to croon staring at nothing. Haunted. ‘Dar Nalta walks those dark paths and it’ll call on you if you dare enter. You’ll hear it approach. Feet on the walls. Feet on the ceiling. You mustn’t lose track of the Fading Light. In order for Dar Nalta to let you go, you must leave something of you behind, not of your own choosing. But if you lose the Fading Light, you’ll never come out. Ever.’
>
> The Boy had tried to remember as much as he could, but years had gone by since then. Decades of traveling the Khanate looking for a way to find ‘the goddess in the flesh’. He found her in the end but while the experience had been exhilarating the Boy had grown up in the meantime and had seen things.
>
> And could now understand a whole lot more.
>
> Those conversations left in the distant past. About the mythical Dar Nym and the Circle of the Fading Light inside the Darkness. The Three ageless Servants. The loyal Dar Minuet Mol, the ever-cunning Dar Fenog and the demon beast Dar Draug who Dar Nym had found washed ashore and helped him grow. Dar Nalta then fixing what wasn’t there. Finally Dar Vranga, the lowly servant who had opened the door and let Dar Nym out before the last Queen’s reign. The name a wordplay for the roaring inferno. The one that hides the fire or keeps turmoil inside. Whom Dar Nym’s black heart loved the most and wouldn’t let go. For years upon years. Preserved in Dragon’s blood for Dar Vranga would have been dead many centuries ago otherwise. ‘For no Gish ever lasted that long.’
>
> You’ll know Dar Vranga is near, for in drugs he found solace.
>
> ‘Strike when the night is weary’, Larn had repeated again and again. Fae O’ Elum, Eherdir O’ Lome the Spirit of Twilight and the Master of Shades. The Fifth Servant that changed it all breaking away. ‘Strike when the mind sleeps and the spirits stand eerie. Strike when the eyes dream and the hand is in doubt.’
No Gish…
Rhys thought coming out from his slumber, aromatic smoke blowing on his face and feeling a weight parked on his groin. The room came to view slowly and the hanging open windows that brought some of the strong moonlight inside. The late night breeze coming from the Scalding Sea blowing the curtains inwards and making shadows appear on the walls of Nattas’ guest bedroom. The shades took shapes and moved as if dancing to an unknown tune or acting for an absent audience.
A King riding a magnificent horse in battle, a maiden tying a scarf over a knight’s wrist and a majestic Wyvern with its golden wings extended landing on the top of a massive flat-roofed pyramid. A pale-faced ghostly Zilan placing a long index finger on her mouth and a young Gish giggling exhilarated for they now shared a secret.
Rhys moved to get out of the drug-induced slumber and he heard a soft rhythmic whistle coming from somewhere very near, an alien song in an alien tongue Rhys could understand, long hard nails tapping on a steel blade to keep up the tempo and that weight still pressing down on his groin area.
Heavy.
But also soft.
The gleaming of a blade dancing before his face.
Rhys groaned and reached for the dagger.
The Gish’s chuckle stopping him.
“Tsk-tsk. Gone it is, your blade.”
“…what… you piece of…”
“Not lost though,” the Gish explained barely controlling small chuckles in and pressed his fat arse down more, mashing Rhys balls painfully. “I have it here. Found it… I did, he-he. Under your pillow. You left it there for me?”
“Get off my cock you bloody freak…” Rhys growled and the Gish stooped over his chest. He pressed the tip of the dagger on his neck.
“I cut here maybe. What do you think?”
“Let’s talk… about it… some more?”
“Want to play? Hmm?”
No?
But when presented with such bad odds, don’t be a rebel.
Be a collaborator.
“The dagger…” Rhys grunted feeling the sharp tip cutting into his neck. “It’s razor sharp.”
“Thrice sharpened and thrice oiled,” the Gish hummed flipping the dagger on his small hand but returning it before Rhys could raise his head. The tip touching his nose in an almost naughty manner. “Ironwood to make the handle sturdy and clean leather to never slip yer grip. Such nice skin. Where did you find it?”
“I made… it. Eh… argh!”
The dagger had cut him on the chin with a tap.
He felt blood dripping down his neck.
“Shush, it’s just a tiny nick.” The Gish stared at him with big red-rimmed gleaming eyes. Always moving his arse on Rhys’ cock in a deliberate manner. “Will I find the missing skin? Should I look?”
Blasted… fucker… Rhys cursed a little panicked now.
“Don’t,” he croaked thinking of Selussa. Could she hear noise? Better that she didn’t.
“Ah… there’s a bit of fear but not for you,” the Gish droned and then let out a deep moan overcome by pleasure. “I noticed the teeth, then the girl,” the shivering freak murmured and Rhys ogled his left eye at a spot near the cupboard where the shades still pooled strong, untouched by the invading moonlight. “This is Ralnor’s blade yes? It’s rare to find his pupils. Wow, I think your cock stirred. Hmm.”
“We have no beef with you,” Rhys croaked, whilst trying to gather some of the blood dripping down his chin to use. Burn the blood, Larn cautioned him. If nothing else is at the near.
“We? Three killers under this roof,” the Gish hummed. “Two touched by Dar Eherdir. What did you get for what you lost?”
What?
“The Circle is gone Dar Vranga,” Rhys grunted and the Gish paused, then reached with his free hand back, found Rhys’ thigh and then his animated cock and rubbed it once, the small hand immediately digging inside a fold of his dress.
A sweaty Rhys glanced at the shades then at the window, turning into a ball of nerves.
The Gish chuckled and flipped the dagger with his right hand again, bringing the left forward closed in a fist. It was the chance Rhys was looking for.
Vanda Imi E Mori…
“The Circle isn’t gone Dar Tulca. Even those standing outside can still feel it. A hot, strong vibration in the Aether,” the old Gish purred before the stressed Rhys could finish the incantation and opened that small fist to let a milky stone drop on the immobilized assassin’s naked chest. “You can call me Flix.”
The next moment pure white light exploded inside the bedroom chasing the shades away.
Rhys would have been more impressed by the phenomenon, but he’d seen it before for starters and the cursed lightstone blinded him the moment it flashed coming alive.
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