Time's Assassin, page 23
part #3 of The Islevale Cycle Series
“Yes,” Droë said, knowing she needed to proceed with care. “And yet there remains the matter of your boon.”
Ujie grinned, bearing her fearsome teeth. “You are clever, and you have come to know me far too well.”
Droë smiled, her cheeks warming.
“Do you love him still?”
Her smile fled as quickly as it had come. “I care for him. I expect I will until he dies. I don’t believe I love him anymore.
I would certainly never think to interfere in the commerce between the two of you. But neither will I allow this other human I know to kill him. Or the child.”
“And so you summoned me...”
“For guidance. I wish to know how I might gain entry to the castle. I wish to speak with the other human.”
“To what end?”
“I don’t know yet. To confirm my suspicions. To warn him of my continued loyalty to...” She trailed off.
Ujie was shaking her head. “This is a mistake, I think.”
“My mistake to make,” Droë said, knowing that she risked angering the Arrokad.
“Yes. You are free to do as you please.” Ujie’s voice remained level. “I will not try to stop you. I choose not to help you either.”
Disappointed though she was, Droë could not fault the Arrokad.
“Very well, cousin. Thank you. If there is a price to pay for my summons...”
She broke off at another shake of the Arrokad’s head. Ujie’s mien softened, and she canted her head. “We are beyond such things, Droë. Surely you sense that by now. We are kin, friends, companions. There is no cost to you in any summons, nor is there even the commerce of boon and promise, at least not for my part.”
“You honor me,” she said for the second time that night. She meant it even more in this instance.
“I honor what we share.” She shifted, appearing eager to be in the surf once more. “When you are ready to leave this place, you will call for me again?”
“Of course, cousin.”
Ujie nodded, sloshed back into the waves, dove. When Droë could no longer see her, she started toward the city. An idea had come to her, startling in its simplicity.
Impatient to see it through, she blurred into Hayncalde and through the lanes to the castle gate.
The guards there, the same ones she had seen earlier in the night, gawked as she slowed to human speed. To them, it would seem she had simply winked into view.
The man who had called to her was the first to regain his voice.
“Couldn’t bear to be away from me, eh, doll?”
She entered the gate, walked to where the soldiers waited. “I’ve come to speak with Orzili. Is he within the castle?”
They regarded one another.
“Who are you?” another guard asked. He had more years than the others. Their commander perhaps.
“I am an Ancient,” she said. “He knows me as Droë.”
“You’re an Ancient?” The lustful one. “I’m not sure I believe that.” Rude still.
She eyed him, blurred. An instant later, she stood behind him.
She grabbed him with both hands, lifted him off his feet, and shoved him against the nearest wall. His cheek pressed to the stone, she could hardly make out his words when he said, “All right, all right! I believe you!”
Droë set him back on the ground and faced the commander. “As I said, I would speak with Orzili. Is he here?”
“He’s not, Ancient One. He’s...he’s gone away for a time. I don’t know where, or when he’ll return.”
She hadn’t reckoned on this. After a pause, she said, “What about your Walker? You have one of those, don’t you?”
The soldiers exchanged another set of furtive glances. “We did, yes. She’s gone, too.”
Most interesting.
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Orzili refused to sleep on chairs in his own common room. Even this Lenna—the one from his own time, the one whose love he had taken for granted—didn’t want him anymore. Fine. As she said, they would go on as husband and wife. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they would remain as they had long been.
For his part, though, he would not live in his home as an exile.
Better to Span back and forth between Fanquir and Hayncalde each day. He told Lenna as much in a hastily scrawled missive that he left on their dining table. His wording might have been harsher than was wise under the circumstances. He didn’t care. If she didn’t like what he had to say, she could tell him as much when next they spoke.
He climbed the rickety staircase to the roof of their building, stripped off his clothes, aimed, and activated his sextant. This once, he welcomed the abuse of the wind. Let it scour away his anger, his hurt, his loss.
So it was that he reached the inner courtyard of Hayncalde Castle in time to see that blond, dark-skinned beauty blur to one of Sheraigh’s fine soldiers and hoist the guard off his feet as she would a sack of flour.
Orzili hurried toward the gate, saw Droë pivot away from the soldiers.
“Don’t let her go!” he called.
“Who—”
“This is Orzili. Give me a moment. Keep her there.”
He entered the castle and made his way to his chamber. He dressed in a pair of black breeches and a silk shirt he was still buttoning when he emerged from the stairway back into the courtyard.
Only then did he realize he was weaponless. He hesitated, walked on. From what he had seen in Herjes, he gathered that she was an Ancient, a Tirribin and much more. If she wished to kill him, a sword wouldn’t save him. Neither would a flintlock. So be it.
Reaching the gate, he stepped into the torchlight, nodded to the commander, addressed Droë.
“Thank you for waiting for me.”
“You’ve been Spanning.”
“Your kind can sense this?”
She shook her head. “Your hair is wild, your face is red from the gap wind, and you appeared quite suddenly in the courtyard.”
“You were always observant.” He opened a hand, a welcoming gesture, he hoped. “Would you care to speak in my chamber?”
“Your gardens, I believe,” she said. “My kind do not like to enter human habitations.”
“The gardens then.” He took a step in that direction, eyes on her. She followed, as did two of the guards.
“No,” Orzili said. “We’ll be fine.”
The guards frowned—all of them. Fear of Ancients ran deep.
“You will guarantee my safety?” Orzili asked Droë.
“So long as you make no attempt to harm me, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”
The soldiers didn’t look satisfied, but Orzili walked on, Droë with him.
He regarded her sidelong as they walked. Moon glow and the occasional torch illuminated her features. Most of the time when he thought of her, he imagined her as she was long ago. A normal Tirribin, childlike in stature and behavior. In those odd moments when he remembered that she was now grown, he envisioned her as menacing, more demon than person. He had forgotten how exquisite she was, how desirable.
“I did not come here to lie with you,” she said.
He missed a step and nearly sprawled on the stone path they followed. “I didn’t think you had.”
“No? I’ve seen how men look at women when they think they won’t be noticed. I saw how you were looking at me.”
“I was... Yes, I was staring. Forgive me.”
“That’s more polite of you than I expected. Last time we met you were very rude.”
“Last time we met, you denied me something that would have made my life much easier.”
“Tobias’s death.”
“And that of the princess, yes.”
Droë shook her head, faced forward again. “I haven’t come here to speak of them. Not really.”
That was disappointing. “Why have you come?”
She didn’t answer immediately. A faint crease roughened her forehead. “Perhaps I have come to speak of them. You have been using a Walker. Repeatedly. In doing so, you have spawned misfuture upon misfuture until this city is steeped in them. My kind live here, and you’re hurting them.”
He sensed an opportunity, knew there were risks to pursuing it.
They reached one of the gardens and he slowed, indicated a stone bench on which they might sit. Droë remained standing and crossed her arms over her chest.
“It wasn’t my intent to hurt any Ancient,” he told her. “That said, I can’t concern myself with such things. I have a task to complete, one that will have great implications for the future of every human in this city. I can’t worry about a couple of Tirribin.”
She bristled, as he had known she would.
“You dare to dismiss Ancients in that way.”
He remembered that rasp in her voice from their earlier interactions and feared he had miscalculated.
“I’m merely telling you what you would tell me if our positions were reversed. If I were to inform you that commerce among Ancients was doing harm to humans, I think you would tell me that your affairs were not our concern. What I’m saying is no different.”
The furrows in her forehead deepened, but she didn’t argue.
“You had your chance to help me, on that ship near Vondehm. You chose instead to offer your aid to Tobias and the woman with him.
Now, you see that you made an error. I seem to remember that whatever bound you to the two of them was no more significant than the friendship we once shared. And of the three of us, I am by far the most influential, the one best able to negotiate not only with humans but also with Ancients. I have access to power and wealth. At a word from me, the Walks from this castle that are harming your friends will cease. But I need something in return, namely your help in finding Tobias and Hayncalde’s princess. My Walker goes back to prevent their escape, and each time, Tobias and the woman elude me anyway. Which means I have to try again, and again. As I said, I intend no harm to anyone but my enemies, but what can I do?”
He didn’t mention, of course, that his Walker was gone, that there would be no further Walks from this castle. He didn’t have to.
“Your Walker has left you,” she said. “Your guards told me so.”
“A temporary absence.” He said it too quickly. Not for most humans, but Pemin would have noticed. He expected Droë would too.
Her thoughts took her in a different direction. “They said ‘she’
when they spoke of the Walker. Is it your friend from Windhome?
The one you loved? Lenna. That was her name.”
His cheeks heated. Again, not enough for a human to notice. Droë though was an Ancient, a predator. Gauging such reactions was in her very nature.
She smiled, baring teeth that made him want to back away. “It is her. I can tell.”
“Yes. We’re...we married long ago.”
“I’m glad for you,” she said in a voice devoid of irony. “I recall that you missed her very much. It’s good that you found each other again.”
He remembered this about her as well. She could be cold and shrewd one moment, caring and innocent the next, and terrifying the one after that. They had spoken of Lenna a good deal when he was a boy, newly exiled from the Travelers’ Palace, living in the lanes of Windhome. It wasn’t a conversation he wished to have now.
“She may come back here,” he said. “Though our home is elsewhere.
So I might have to find a different Walker. One way or another, I’ll have to send someone back. I have to find the boy.”
“Tobias isn’t a boy. As I recall from that night, he nearly bested you. And clearly he has managed to defeat you repeatedly.”
Shrewd was certainly the right word.
“He was fortunate that night. Your arrival saved him. He may be Windhome-trained, and I’ll grant that he’s both clever and brave, but in the end, he will die. Since we knew each other I’ve become far more than I was. I’m a man other men fear, and for good reason.”
“You’re a braggart.”
“I’m an assassin.”
She considered him, unimpressed. “Lenna is, too?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “It won’t matter. He loves the woman and the child too much. And the woman loves him. You can’t beat them.”
“Lenna and I love each other.” The words rang hollow.
She said nothing. No doubt she would have thought it rude to argue the point.
“You have to choose, Droë,” he said, forcing himself past the dull ache in his chest. “Do you care about Tobias more than you do about your fellow Tirribin? You can help him or them. You can’t save them all.”
“I could if I took all your years.”
It seemed that ice water dribbled over him, prickling the skin on his scalp, his neck, his chest and arms and hands.
“You swore that you wouldn’t harm me.” He silently cursed the flutter in his voice.
“And I won’t this night, in this garden to which you invited me.
I swore no oaths beyond that.”
She blurred, as she had in the gate when he first spotted her this night. In less than a heartbeat she was so close to him that her breath warmed his neck. He caught the elusive scent of decay that clung to all her kind.
He tried to pull away, but she grabbed hold of his arm, her grip like iron, and put her lips to his throat.
“You presume to dictate to me what I must choose and when I must do so?” she whispered. The words tickled and chilled. “That is beyond rude. It is a mortal affront. You claim friendship, but you seek to twist me to your purposes. You still think of me as a child. I’m not. Truly, I never was. I am older than you by centuries. I’m smarter than you, stronger and faster than you, far more deadly than you ever will be, no matter how many times you kill.”
Orzili thought he might die then. He had watched her take years, had seen in more than a few nightmares the shifting, oily glow that emanated from her when she fed.
Instead of killing him, she stepped away and laughed, not kindly.
“You will not send Lenna or any other Walker back from this castle again. If you do, I will consider it an assault on all Ancients, and I will respond accordingly.”
He drew breath to respond.
“Do not think to challenge me, Cresten. Or next time I will feed.” She started away, back toward the gate.
First Lenna and now this. “My name is Orzili,” he said, mustering what little pride he had left.
“Not to me,” she said over her shoulder. “To me, you will always be Cresten.”
She blurred again, and he lost sight of her. His legs, already shaky, gave way, and he lowered himself to that stone bench.
Chapter Sixteen
4th Day of Sipar’s Ascent, Year 634
When Orzili could stand again, he left the castle by way of the west gate. Fewer guards there, fewer questions about where he was headed.
Droë thought she had defeated him, but she couldn’t have known all that transpired between the Arrokad and him that night on the bay in Herjes.
He strode through empty lanes to a lonely stretch of shoreline and spoke a name to the wind and the rush and retreat of the surf. Soon, he spotted a pale form slipping through waves like a porpoise, approaching the strand at speed.
The Arrokad emerged from the brine scaled from his waist down, moonlight gleaming on his wet shoulders and broad chest. Watching him walk out of the gulf, Orzili tried to control his breathing.
He hated treating with Ancients, this night a stark reminder of why.
“Human,” Qiyed said by way of greeting. Silver, serpentine eyes scanned the coastline before settling on Orzili.
“Good evening, Most Ancient One.”
“You summoned me.”
Carefully. He did not wish to owe anything to this creature. “I did as you instructed.”
The Arrokad’s gaze sharpened. “You have seen her?”
“Just now. She’s here, in Hayncalde.”
Qiyed glanced around again, lifted his chin as if sniffing the air. “I sense...something. Tirribin. More than one.”
“She said there are Tirribin in this city. She’s concerned for their well-being. I have been using a Walker, and she told me that the misfutures we’ve created have been harmful to them.”
“That could be useful. Thank you.”
“Have you seen Tobias?”
The creature stilled and for a second time that night, Orzili feared for his life. “Did I not tell you that if I did I would inform you?”
“Yes, but—”
“That is what I will do.”
“You have much that occupies your time, Most Ancient One. I merely thought—”
“I know what you thought. You believe I am likely to disregard your wishes, to take all I can from you and offer little in return. You believe I bargained in bad faith. You are correct about all but that last. I do not care about human squabbles. But commerce is all to an Ancient. If I find the Walker, you will know of it.”
He wasn’t certain he believed the Arrokad, but he could only say,
“Of course, Most Ancient One.”
Qiyed flashed a cold smile—Orzili wasn’t fooling him—and began to wade back into the surf. “You have done well. I will remember that you have done me a service.”
“Thank you,” Orzili called after him. Already the Arrokad had slipped under the water’s surface.
Orzili stood on the strand for some time, too weary and dispirited to walk back to the castle. Not so long ago, he had been a man others respected, even feared. He had love, he had gold, he had whatever future he might choose for himself. Or so it seemed.
Now Lenna was gone, Ancients treated him with contempt, and Tobias remained a threat to all his ambitions. It was infuriating.
Eventually he left the shore and trudged back to the castle, his boots as heavy as stone. He would Span in the morning. To Lenna.
Perhaps to Belsan as well. He had seen to it that the Walkers would not easily find a chronofor. So long as they were trapped in this time, there was only so much they could do to reestablish the Hayncalde Supremacy. And after all that had gone wrong these past few turns, he had to believe his fortunes were due to change.
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