The Assassin's Twisted Path Read online

  “It does, Lord Roark,” Edar replied with true eagerness in his voice and step. “But please call me Edar. Death has claimed many of my friends.”

  “Please call me Roark as my aunt does.”

  “Then change from those fine clothes, Roark, and let’s begin.”

  •

  Chapter 2

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Roark followed the lich down the stone cellar stairs to his laboratory which smelled of rot, vinegar, and lemons. A damp breeze brushed his cheeks, and a repetitive clicking resounded in the darkness, but he couldn’t see from where it originated until Edar lit candle lamps to illuminate the dead human in the middle of the room. On a large metal table, gray bloating skin drained of life into a bucket below. A three-bladed fan connected to a set of bellows spanned most of the south wall. To the north, wooden cupboards filled with ceramic jars of organs and eyeballs lined the wall. Empty beakers, scales, and ceramics of all shapes and sizes lined the east wall. On the west was another workbench with thick dusty tomes, writing utensils, parchment, and strange contraptions.

  “You aren’t squeamish?” Edar asked.

  “No. My aunt bade me dissect Fairsinge and Vodnik corpses so I’d know where the organs are.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen the inside of a Fairsinge or a Vodnik! Is that standard Guild training?”

  “Standard Alana training. Are all your specimens human?”

  “Yes. This one was a thief, hung not two days prior. The mayor’s man cut him down for the … ” he gestured below his waist. “Male enhancements I make.”

  “The mayor needs such things?”

  “An old man hanging onto the breath of life needs many remedies. And so many remedies and poisons come from the pickled organs of an evil man. Come, I’ve so much to show you.” Edar sliced a piece of hairy flesh off the corpse and brought it to his stacked lenses on the workbench. “Look, look at this.”

  Roark peeked through the stacked lenses. It took a moment to clear his eyes, but he couldn’t believe what he observed. Millions of tiny cells intertwined. “The skin doesn’t look whole … ”

  “None of us are whole. I have seen my skin and Kian’s. Yours is the same, but I rarely have an elfkin to experiment on. Kian was the last.”

  “I’ve a scar on my chest. I’ll reopen it for you. Perhaps, I could bring you some specimens from my Guild work. I can’t tell you where I’m bound, but if we study the differences between intelligent species, we might find the answers we seek.”

  Edar’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, yes.”

  The lich walked to his cupboard and removed a jar of some unspeakable component. “Roark will like this,” he muttered to himself. “And this one.” He returned, cranked the lenses higher in their base, set the first jar inside, and lifted the lid. “See this? It’s a human liver.”

  A foul, acrid smell filled Roark’s nostrils, but in the mass of decomposing flesh, he witnessed a world of heavy striations, circles and parabolas, and tiny dark specks that he could not see with his bare eyes. “Amazing. It’s its own tiny Realm.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Would you like to see the human heart next?” Edar asked. “I can’t wait to show you.” He removed the liver jar and replaced it with another.

  “Without the lenses, a human heart looks much like a Fairsinge or Daosith heart, but we have four ventricles, not the two.”

  “How wonderful!” Edar clapped his hands together and went to the cabinet for another few jars, muttering about what Roark might like to see next as if Roark could not hear him.

  He would have never guessed a lich might be lonely. That would be something he must plan for if he wished to live forever.

  •

  Edar retired to his bed, but Roark was unable to stay still. He had learned so much already, but nothing to send to Corwin. It bothered Roark he didn’t disclose that a Guild House Master had shown interest in necromancy. Now it was too late to speak of it. The lich would believe Roark had deceived him.

  Roark had never experienced such conflict when working with Alana. Her noble name was bound by noble deeds, but even she lived by telling people only what they needed to know.

  He quietly slipped into the back garden, but his brain—or perhaps the blood red quartz hidden under his undertunic—called him to wander. He was a man now, but he was also Edar’s apprentice and needed to remain in the man’s good graces.

  He reclined across the garden bench, slipped his finger around the gold chain and exposed the pendant. He pierced his finger with a blade and dripped blood onto the stone. It drank hungrily.

  You have the curse. Use it, the quartz whispered.

  “It always comes to the curse, doesn’t it?”

  The curse is why I am happy you liberated me. I was separated from my family and hung about a stupid neck.

  He carefully slipped the pendant back under his shirt and shifted his weight for comfort. He released his spirit from his physical form.

  Port Denwort was a human city, but in such a large port with ships coming and going, peoples of all species moved about the pubs. The market was closed, but wagons circled the square. The merchants tucked soundly into their carts. In pairs, guards strolled along the main streets. Stopping into a pub or two, they received a pint on the house.

  The ship which he and Byronia had arrived in, rocked upon the sea, tied to the docks. As soon as his mind imagined her name, his spirit transported to a sprawling plantation where a dark Byronia-shaped silhouette hid among fruit-laden brambles. Beyond the orchard stood a great brick house, several tatty wooden structures, and another brick building where seven men, armed with knives and thick ropes, played cards with no understanding how close they were to danger.

  Roark briefly wondered why she was there. Perhaps she was still rescuing slaves. But then why was she wearing the Weave? The black Guild fabric was created for ease of movement and silence once it hugged the skin. It was made for assassinations.

  Byronia’s errand isn’t my business. Learning how to defeat death was his business. He returned to his body.

  Nausea swept over him. He missed how, when he was a boy, his aunt would place a cool cloth on his brow.

  His lips flaked. Light punctured his retinas. The songs of crickets filled his ears, followed by a howling scream. Roark took a step on a long desert and broke through the thin crust spread across thick goopy muck. The heat of an unseen sun beat upon him and the evaporated liquid formed a mist. Every step, he stumbled through the crust. Salt flew in the air.

  Stone columns rose from the plain. On top of the pillars lay an orange, leafless tree covered in large hairy pods with white birds, bats, and small rodents asleep in the branches. Another scream and growling echoed from behind him.

  Millions of insects, several rodents and other small animals, a few vodnik, humans, and elfkin—all rotting flesh—lurched and swayed towards the Lowest Realm. Telchine shed particles of clay and the dwarves lost pebbles of stone with each step.

  Roark’s only comfort was that this time his cousin, Saray, was nowhere in sight. She must have passed from the Long Way to the Lowest Realm. Roark wanted to say a prayer for her, but he didn’t believe it would help. Instead, he chanted his living friends’ names as a mantra: Alana, Eohan, Kian, Byrony, Kajsa, Doriel, Seweryn … he added Edar to the list. He thought of their faces with the hope they would not leave him in this terrible place. His research would ensure that they never came along this Way either.

  •

  Chapter 3

  On the outskirts of Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Clothed in the Weave, Byronia sat hidden amongst the brambles of the berry plantation and waited for the correct moment. On Corwin’s command, she must collect illegal technology before the humans shattered the centuries-long relative peace shared between dwarves, elfkin, gnomes, humans, telchine, and vodnik. Humans were an inquisitive species. They did not know this technology brought the falling of the Veil.

  Each step broug
ht her future closer, but she categorized all her option—including suicide and self-mutilation. It didn’t matter. How naive she had been to think the curse could change her path for the better. Foresight allowed her to squash fear of battles, disgust of assassinations, and the darkness which blighted the Seven Realms because she knew that she would live beyond that night. In eight years, her path would open. She would stand witness to wonders and terrors. The other option was to take her consort and run to the furthest reaches of Fairdhel. She might live a commoner’s life until Corwin’s assassin found her.

  She observed the seven human overseers to ascertain their schedule, habits, and favorite haunts. She even learned some gossip from the slave quarters about how the elfkin slaves had gained their freedom via two angels from the lowest Realms. She wished she could free all those who lived in bondage without fault of their own. She understood the need for criminals to lose their freedom, but the average poor citizen who was sold or stolen? She silently let these thoughts consume her until the last light was extinguished in the slave corridor and the overseer’s barracks went dark.

  Byronia waited until the moon dropped one finger-width in the sky before sprinting down the row of harvested berry bushes to the back of an old barn. She slunk around to the front, careful not to step in the moonlight and cast a shadow. A single guard sat on a stool in front of the barn door, his back leaning against the wooden slats.

  She tossed a rock over his head. It landed with a small clack. He faced the sound. She sprinted towards him with her dagger outstretched and sliced open his throat. He gurgled out his last breath. She dumped him onto the ground, picked the lock and dragged him inside the barn.

  In the darkness, seven mechanical bulls stood unmoving. Beside them was a work table covered in tools. She stuffed them into her bag. Then found a box of gears and washers and took them as well.

  She ran her hands over the first bull’s enormous muscular body. At the base of its neck, she found a lever she’d observed earlier. She pressed it towards the head. The motor ticked and reverberated, and the bull slowly grumbled to life. She turned on each one and yoked them together. She secured the body of the guard onto the back of one of the bulls before she herded them south.

  As if they were living beasts, they snorted and swayed their heavy metal horns as they moved. Every heavy footfall clanked and clopped on the stone ground. She hoped they didn’t wake anyone. She didn’t kill lightly. She drove them to her cache where her saddled mare, Joy, grazed among the long grasses.

  The mechanical bulls kept pace with her horse’s trot as they moved further south, deeper into the forest. Every few hundred feet, Byronia would dismount and sweep their hoofprints away until they came to a stone hillside. She led her horse, who in turn led the bulls up the embankment until they came to a tall cliff face where a small occupied Guild safehouse stood. She knocked on the door.

  An old human woman answered, “I’m coming; I broke a hip last winter, not that you’d care.”

  Byronia cupped her hand slightly in front of her chest and made a sweeping gesture. “Of course, I’d care.”

  The woman responded in kind and glanced over Byronia’s shoulder. “You claim to be House Master’s Corwin’s daughter?”

  “I claim to be his niece. His daughter fell in a great battle.”

  “Ah. My condolences. It’s hard to remember all the elfkin relations,” she said. “Time for tea, my lady? I’ve a nice citrus blend from Si Na.”

  “Perhaps, on my way back? I believe the House Masters are waiting.”

  “Shouldn’t keep them waiting then, but I look forward to your return, my lady.”

  “As do I.”

  The old woman opened a closet door and threw some cloaks to the floor which covered a crank. She turned the crank, and a passage opened a wall.

  Within the passage, a vortex of blinding light spun. Byronia led the bulls to the vortex one by one, their heavy horns flashing with the light before disappearing into the Guild House. After each one was through the gate, Byronia ushered Joy through. Unlike the mechanical bulls, Joy danced with fear before she allowed herself to be escorted through the vortex.

  •

  Guild House of Norcrest in the Realm of Dynion

  The night breeze chilled her wet body as Byronia stepped out of the crystal lake and onto the meadow. Beside her, Joy shook the water from her mane, soaking her all the more. Several human and elfkin guards and two dwarf mechanics welcomed her. Byronia made the common sweeping Guild greeting. They did the same. The mechanics gathered each bull and herded them west to the vault. A Daosith asked Byronia a few questions about Joy’s care before leading her to the stables.

  A hooded human approached, saluted in kind, and accompanied her into the Guild House. Thick grasses pulled at her tired legs, but the immense stone house soaring up the hillside offered shelter from the night breeze. A young Fairsinge apprentice, her brown braids flying, hurried over with fresh clothing. “I’ll have your weave dried for you, milady. I’m here to care for House Master Corwin’s needs; he bids me to care for you.”

  Byronia didn’t recognize her from a noblehouse, she might not be an apprentice, but the daughter of one of the Guild Trades. If so, Corwin probably barked at the girl, so Byronia ensured she thanked her. She peeled the wet weave from her body and accepted the fresh robe.

  Her footfalls silent against the stone floor, she followed the girl down a long, blue corridor with black numbered doors and a stained-glass skylight, which would have created dancing colors in the day, but with the night sky behind it was dim. The girl pointed at a door and then disappeared.

  Byronia knocked. A human woman with the dark coloring typical to the Dynion’s equatorial region opened the door to a sprawling windowless cell. Her gray curls created a halo around her withered face, but her wrinkles cast her expression in a perpetual mischievous grin. “Welcome, Journeywoman Byronia,” Jaren said. “We’ve a nice new brew, can I offer you a pint?”

  As with every time she met Jaren Oweleye, she thought how nice the human House Master seemed compared to her uncle, but one didn’t become a House Master on kindness.

  “Please,” she said.

  As with all Guild strategy rooms, the exact measurements were as elusive as the walls withdrew into dim gloom. As she stepped toward the center, the murkiness parted enough to see the outline of a massive oaken table and seven guild master’s thrones where two were occupied with aged representatives of their respective species.

  Her uncle, Corwin, the House Master of the Olentir Guild House, rose from his chair while Gabena Longroot, the Larcian Dwarfkin of the Malraindom Guild House, remained seated and poured Byronia a cup.

  Corwin’s habitual white linen robes moved as if he was surrounded by ether. His pale, deep wrinkles and piercing eyes made his smile look like a mask. Corwin’s long, manicured fingers rested upon her shoulder, and his black eyes did not leave her face. “Please join us, Journeywoman Byronia.” The touch was the only affection he would give in front of others.

  “Thank you, House Master Corwin.” Byronia bent her head towards her uncle and the other masters in turn, speaking to the human last as she was the host. “House Master Gabena and House Master Jaren, I brought the bulls from Port Denwort. They were brought into the vault. From my observations, humans used them only as mounts, not war beasts, but they are sturdy and have no fear.”

  She set her notes on the table and took a sip of the offered mead. Perfectly light and refreshing on the tongue, she didn’t care if it was poisoned.

  “Did you see the humans work on them?” Jaren asked.

  “No, House Master. The overseers rode them, then guided them to a barn, turned them off and went to play cards. I brought the tools which were kept with the beasts, though none look too specialized to my untrained eye.”

  “Deaths?”

  “A single guard. I brought him with the beasts, but there is no doubt blood on the floor of the barn.”

  “Thank you, Lady Byron
ia,” Jaren said. “The rest of the House Masters will assemble and discuss this. If you discover the inventor, please report immediately. Where are you staying?”

  “The Golden Sea due to their long Guild association.” She took another sip.

  “Excellent. Then we look forward to your reports.”

  She wished to speak with her uncle but knew she was dismissed. Her cup of delicious mead was still mostly full. At least, she had been invited for tea at the safehouse.

  •

  Chapter 4

  Port Denwort in the Realm of Dynion

  “There’s a thief to be executed today,” Edar said at breakfast. “Would you be a dear and cut down the body? I’ll send a message in the morning post to the mayor.”

  “Is your executioner decent?” Roark asked.

  “The neck will snap. He should be quite dead.” Edar sighed. “It is really too bad. The man is only twenty-one. I’d like to walk in a young man’s form.”

  “You can do that?” Roark’s insides trembled. If Edar could transmutate, he must report it to Corwin.

  Edar tapped his fingers upon the hearthstone. “Two necromancers have tried … and failed. I have the history of one in my labs. Read it prudently, Roark. The other is a tale of a potion that allows the drinker to jump bodies. However, I don’t have a complete recipe. But imagine, if I had a living body, we could dine at the Black Lion. Maybe I’d even find a pretty maid to dance with. It’s been some time since I was with a maid.”

  Roark nodded, glad Edar had not considered stealing his body as an option. “When is the hanging?”

  •

  The hot afternoon sun beat his head and burned his tripoint ears as Roark examined the condemned. Edar wouldn’t have wanted this body; the human male was emaciated. The condemned’s eyes were opened so wide that Roark could see the jaundice as the executioner tied his hands to his back and legs together. He moaned, opening his toothless mouth as the executioner put a rope around his neck.

  Through gasps, Mayor Kleidmacher stated, “You have been caught stealing by our magistrate, and you have been judged guilty.