Assassin's Shadow (Veiled Dagger Book 2) (15 page)

King Heldar sat at one end of a long, oak table. Rothar was positioned at they other end. Between them, Queen Amelia, Taria, Peregrin, Harwin, the Huntsmen and Allette were assembled. A small contingent of soldiers stood behind the King, guarding the door.

The captain of the guard had just been dismissed after briefing the group on the state of things in the city. The fighting near the castle had been all but squelched, and not a moment too soon for the dungeons were teeming with apprehended rioters.

News from the rest of the city was worse. Most of the manors in the upper city had been looted and badly damaged. Noble families who chose to stay in their homes were dragged outside and beaten. Anything of value was stolen, although there were so many pilfered goods being peddled that there was hardly a way to sell anything more.

In Witherington, the chaos had diminished as the mobs moved into the more affluent areas, but the fires had continued unchecked with no one available or willing to put them out. More than half of the merchant district had been reduced to ash and rubble.

Rothar pressed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes as he listened to all of these things. The lingering affects of the Obscura left him weakened and distracted, and it took all of his focus to retain the information he was hearing. He had been asked several times to recount his experience in the red desert. What had he seen? Who had done such a thing to him? What were they up against? To this point, Rothar had not been forthcoming. He remembered a lot of things, but he needed time to sort out what had actually happened and what was a drug addled hallucination. What was real and what was the nightmare.

Now Harwin was speaking, telling of his foray into the woods in search of Taria, of seeing the flying machine and being pursued by it’s occupants. When he told of how the dark stranger was devoured by the alligator, Rothar saw Peregrin crack a small smile, while the women gasped and put their hands to their mouths. Rothar himself would probably have smiled at the recounting as well, under different circumstances.

Eventually, the room was quiet, and every eye was on Rothar, who sat at the end of the massive table, still rubbing his temples, eyes closed. He could hear the group slowly growing restless as he sat silent. They probably wondered if he had even been listening, or if his mind was adrift once again.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked at each person at the table in turn. He took a moment to consider what they were up against, and he took stock of what they had to work with. It was an unlikely bunch, to be sure. An assassin, as assortment of wild huntsmen, a Southland refugee, a blacksmith, a weaver turned apothecary in training, and a very angry King and Queen. Rothar decided that no better group of souls had ever spat in the face of evil, and he began to speak.

“On the other side of the Andrelicas and about twelve miles into the red desert, is a fortified city. The city, as far as I can tell, is contained within a wall which dwarfs our southern barrier and cannot be climbed. This is where the Reapers live, and this is where the Obscura, or the ladder, or the stairway or whatever the devil wants to call it, is produced.

“I do not know how great of a force they are, for I have seen only a part of the city, but I know that these are shrewd people, they are cunning and they are ruthless.”

Stone could no longer remain silent. “What of our scouts? Did you see anything of them?”

Rothar looked down at the table. The fate of the huntsman scouts was a thing of which he was certain, though he wished he could dismiss it as only a hallucination.

“There is a particular way which the Reapers feed the plants,” he began. “It seem the Obscura must… grow in bloody soil.”

It seemed as though everyone at the table took a sharp breath in.

“What are you telling us, Rothar?” spoke Stone, leaning grimly forward. “That our brothers were slain so that their blood could sour the earth, bringing forth this awful scourge?”

Rothar stared ahead. Stone’s words made his memories tangible, gave him focus. He felt strength returning, borne upon the wings of rage.

“I have seen it,” he replied. “Men, horses, I know not what else, it all feeds the Obscura. It is only by some cruel stroke of luck that my own blood is not in that soil right now.”

King Heldar spoke for the first time since sitting down. “So, this is the type of madness we are dealing with now.” The King shook his head slowly. “And what is the reason for it all?”

“I believe that Rothar and I may have learned something about that from Mortez,” said Peregrin.

“Mortez?” asked King Heldar.

It occurred to Rothar that Peregrin and himself had never filled his Highness in on the encounter with Mortez in the old hollow tree. For Rothar, it seemed like so long ago, he had nearly forgotten it happened. Peregrin quickly recounted the story of how Rothar had snared the smuggler in the tree.

“He said that the Reapers use the drug to weaken a people, and then come to overtake the city,” concluded Peregrin.

“Overtake the city?” Heldar exclaimed, raising his voice suddenly. “I should like to see them try!”

“I suspect you shall see exactly that very soon, if we do not act first,” said Rothar.

At that moment, there was a concussive pounding, as if someone were trying to knock down the door with a battering ram. The sentries flung the portal open, swords at the ready, but the corridor was empty.

“I will get that,” said Rothar, and he walked to the window at the far end of the room.

Rothar pulled back the heavy drapes and the women in the room screamed. Rothar suspected that some of the men did as well. A giant eye stared in the window, which Rothar casually pushed open.

“Talfor! It is good to see you again!” shouted Rothar. “What news do you bring me from the southern front?”

“It is good to see you again as well, Rothar,” boomed a voice from outside of the castle wall. The floor in the chamber vibrated as the ogre spoke. “I have seen the flying machines that you sent word of. I have also spoken to my brethren throughout the mountains who have seen the same.”

Rothar turned so that he was speaking to both the people within the room and the ogre outside.

“So they are landing in the Southern mountain range?”

The eye disappeared and reappeared, then disappeared and reappeared again as the ogre shook his massive head.

“Not in the mountains. From our vantage point, we see all that moves above the Banewood. Until recently, that was only birds and clouds, now, nearly five dozen of the air ships fly over the wood. They land far off, before you are likely to see them in the city.”

Rothar faced King Heldar. “Do you see what I mean? The devil is at your doorstep.”

“Dispatch every available man into the Banewood!” shouted King Heldar. “Seek out the flying machines! Kill the Reapers!”

Heldar, perhaps affected by loss of sleep or the sheer stress of the past several days, was ranting. His commands were not only foolish, but there was no one there to carry them out. The handful of sentries at the door were mere boys at best, they had no authority with which to convey a royal order. Besides, there really were no available men in the King’s City. Every last sword was busy holding back that flood of desperation that ran rampant in the streets; every sword, that is, except the ones now in the room.

“Eat something, old friend,” said Rothar, sitting back down at the table after thanking Talfor and reminding the ogre to be especially careful walking out of the city, although he suspected the giant might be of some use in - quite literally - stomping out the rioting in the King’s City.

“Eat something?!” hollered King Heldar. “There are sixty impossible machines in the Banewood, ready to attack my city, and you suggest that I eat something?!”

“Certainly,” countered Rothar. “You know how unreasonable you get when you are hungry.”

The King’s eyes widened. Everyone else around the table stifled a smile, especially Queen Amelia. They were relieved to see Rothar returning to his familiar, old self.

“I do believe that we may manage to destroy the machines in the Banewood, but I do not wish that upon your brave men nor the forest,” Rothar continued. “Furthermore, destroying the fleet will not destroy the enemy. No kingdom is safe until we have dealt with the Reapers in the walled city.”

“Haval,” blurted Harwin.

“Excuse me?” asked Rothar.

“I had forgotten, the alligator bait said something about dragging me back to Haval to feed the garden. At the time, I wondered if he intended for me to spend a life of servitude, tending to his plants. Now, I see that it would have been much worse. No matter though, he is dead.”

Rothar looked at his friend with admiration. The blacksmith always said exactly what he was thinking, a trait that was absent in most men.

“Haval then,” said Rothar. “No victory can be claimed until Haval has fallen.”

Everyone in the chamber nodded in agreement. King Heldar, who had calmed down considerably, asked Rothar, “How do you propose to take them down?”

Rothar looked out the window at the dark tendrils of smoke rising out of Witherington.

“We shall burn them out.”

***

Taria held on to Rothar’s arm as they left the chamber and entered the great hallway. Everyone had been given a duty, and each soul headed off in their own direction. Taria saw Allette hurrying off down the corridor.

“I need a moment,” she said to Rothar, releasing his arm. “I will be right back.”

Taria felt the need to cling ever so closely to Rothar, now that he had been brought back to her. She had spent too many years separated from him, and now to have him nearly torn from her again, it had been almost too much to bear. Yet she knew that Rothar could not be held too tightly. No, a man like him must be given the world to roam, and if he truly loved her, he would always return. Taria knew that he may not have been able to return this time, had it not been for the woman she now rushed to catch up to.

“Allette,” Taria called out softly, knowing how shy the girl was and not wanting to draw too much attention to their exchange. Allette stopped and turned around. Taria reached out and took one of the young woman’s hands in her own. Allette’s pale skin shone snow white against the sandy brown of Taria’s tattooed hand.

“Allette,” Taria said again. “I… I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what you were able to do for Rothar.”

Allette blushed slightly. “You need not thank me, friend,” she replied. “You believed in me, that is thanks enough.”

Taria smiled. “Yes, well you have proven that you certainly have a talent for this,” she said, nodding to the book that Allette still carried. “I know that you will heal a great many people in the future.”

“It does feel nice to be good at something,” Allette said, blushing anew.

Taria leaned forward and embraced her, giving her a small kiss on the cheek, before returning to where Rothar was waiting.

“It seems the two of you are getting along rather well,” Rothar said with a grin.

“Well, if you are going to make a city woman out of me, it only makes sense that I start making friends,” Taria shot back, coyly.

“Well, I am glad to see it.”

“I hope she can accomplish what you asked of her,” said Taria.

“She’s very clever,” replied Rothar. “She brought me back from hell, I feel confident she can do the same for the people of this city.”

Rothar had tasked Allette with a very unique and important duty, she was to attempt to concoct a cure for Obscura addiction. Rothar and Allette had agreed that it would be best if the tonic created a sensation similar to that of the Obscura, but less potent. With no Obscura coming into the city, the townspeople would be given the replacement substance in small amounts, and weaned off of it slowly. No one knew for sure if the plan could work, but everyone sensed that it was the only way. A complete and immediate removal of the drug or any replacement would certainly lead to the utter destruction of the King’s City.

“Allette was a user of the Obscura,” Rothar said to Taria now, as they walked through Castle Staghorn side by side. “She is in a unique position to help the helpless. She understands what the drug does and why it is so addictive, she understands their desperation. If anyone can do this, it is her.”

There was a sudden racket at the far end of the corridor and several soldiers rushed past them in the direction of the commotion. Rothar and Taria hurried ahead to see what was happening.

A group of three addicts had apparently managed to sneak into Castle Staghorn, and had just been discovered by a servant, hiding in a store room. The men were now engaged in hand to hand combat with the servant and a handful of sentries.

Taria was aghast at the condition of the pillagers who seemed to be in advanced stages of addiction. The men had yellowed eyes with matching skin that was stretched tight across their gaunt cheekbones. Their unwashed hair was matted and slick with grease, and their clothes were horribly soiled and tattered. One man had lost his shirt altogether, and his rib bones showed clearly though his skin. He looked like a man long dead.

Taria turned her eyes away as Rothar, always bound by duty, stepped in to help with the fracas. After a bit of shouting, a couple of thumps and gasps and a groan, the little battle was over and the soldiers dragged the men off to the already overpopulated dungeon.