The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (9 page)

The cleric studied the invitation between suspicious glances at the man of Leith. ‘Kale Glenwood?’ the cleric prompted. ‘Ward of the glen... that’s not a title I expected to see at the duke’s address. When did you arrive from Ro Leith?’

‘Earlier today,’ lied the forger. ‘I expected to meet the Lady Annabel here, but I’ve been told her husband is still unwell and I’m expected to represent Leith on my own.’ He let the nerves show on his face and hoped the story was believable enough, and his appearance unthreatening enough, to gain entrance. Name-dropping Lady Annabel of Leith had got him out of trouble in the past. The ploy was less likely to work on clerics than on the city watchmen, but currently it was the only trick in his arsenal.

‘And your bound man?’ the cleric asked, glancing up at Rham Jas.

‘I expected to see more Kirin servants, to be honest. They are quite the fashion in Ro Leith.’ He smiled smugly. ‘It pleases Lady Annabel to show our dominance over the lesser races of men.’ He spoke quietly and with a noble sneer on his face. ‘I suppose such shows of status are less necessary in Ro Tiris, yes?’

The clerics showed no sign of amusement and the forger realized that two other people were waiting behind him, also hoping to be allowed up the stairs. If the queue grew much bigger, he guessed that those above might become suspicious and things would go rapidly downhill.

‘We seem to be holding things up,’ the forger joked. ‘Could we hurry along? Our beloved ally in Ro Leith is eager to have her words delivered to the duke.’ It was a bold, and possibly foolish, plan, but he was running out of options.

The clerics looked up sharply, with surprise on their faces. ‘You are here with the Lady Isabel’s words?’

Glenwood made a show of wide-eyed astonishment. ‘Please refer to her as
our beloved ally
, my lord cleric, she dislikes having her name thrown around.’ He gritted his teeth and glared at the churchman.

His gambit seemed to have worked. After exchanging a look, the two clerics parted and motioned for Glenwood to ascend.

He held his breath for a moment and felt every muscle in his body tense as he climbed the ornate staircase. It was only when he heard the clerics talking to the guests who had been queuing behind him that the forger breathed out. ‘Fuck me, that was tense,’ he said to himself.

‘Did you even know her name?’ asked Rham Jas in a whisper.

‘Not until he mentioned it, no.’ He knew how reckless he had been and could not yet allow himself to be impressed at his wanton deception. ‘It got us in, didn’t it? Stop complaining.’

‘Wasn’t a complaint,’ replied the assassin. ‘You’re cleverer than I thought, Kale.’

‘Fuck you, Rham Jas.’

The Kirin didn’t respond.

The fact that the clerics knew his name and what he looked like made it unlikely that Glenwood would remain
clean
after Rham Jas had killed Katja. No other nobles had Kirin bound men and it would not take a great deal of investigation to deduce who had smuggled in the assassin. The forger did not particularly like Ro Tiris, but neither did he want to have to leave in a hurry with clerics and guardsmen after him.

At the top of the staircase, he glanced to the left. There were fewer people there, but they stood out more than those below. High-ranking Purple clerics resplendent in burnished plate armour stood toe to toe with gaudily dressed members of the house of Tiris and standing in the middle, the focus of much of the attention, was Katja the Hand of Despair. The Karesian enchantress was strikingly beautiful despite the distinctive wolf’s head tattoo on her cheek. She stood on the lushly carpeted balcony beneath ornate tapestries depicting knights in armour and scenes of glorious Ro victories. Servants moved swiftly from side to side, offering drinks and small items of food. Katja had a strange, euphoric effect on those around her. Even Lord Archibald Tiris, flamboyant in his regal coat and golden circlet, fawned over the enchantress as if she were all he cared about.

‘Wrong direction, Kale,’ whispered Rham Jas. ‘You go to the right and I go to the left... and stop looking at her, she’ll twist your mind if you let her.’

‘She’s surrounded by armed men, Rham Jas. I know you’re hot shit, but this looks pretty much impossible. How about we forget this business and go have a drink?’

He felt the Kirin’s hand on his arm. ‘Let me worry about killing Katja. You find a window to jump out of. Once she’s dead, events will move quickly, so you’d better get going.’

Glenwood took a last look at the nobles surrounding Katja before turning sharply and walking in the other direction, leaving Rham Jas alone at the top of the stairs. No guests stood on the other side and Glenwood was not interrupted as he walked towards several doors that led from the balcony. He was only a couple of storeys off the ground and he hoped that any random window would allow him to escape. A breeze came through the first door and he turned into a storage area for wine and silverware. The room had a large window which was slightly ajar and, after a quick look around, he was sure he wasn’t being observed.

He moved to the window and paused. He disliked Rham Jas – hated him even – but leaving him alone to get killed made the forger feel bad. He was not a good man, far from it, but he hated these puffed-up nobles even more than he hated the Kirin assassin. With strained resignation, Kale Glenwood, wannabe mobster of Ro Tiris, returned to the doorway and peeked out.

He couldn’t see the Kirin and his eye was again drawn across the carpeted balcony to the figure of Katja. She was tall, with a lush figure, and drew all eyes to her as she spoke. As before, her voice carried and each phrase she uttered was met with fawning approval and laughter from the nobles. Archibald Tiris stood next to her. The new duke’s bearing was much less impressive. He had the high forehead and receding hairline common to the king’s family and a look of vacuous euphoria on his face.

Just as he was beginning to think that Rham Jas had left after all, a slight movement caught his eye. Ironically, the presence of the enchantress worked in the assassin’s favour because it meant that those normally observant men were sufficiently distracted to let the Kirin get close. He’d ghosted his way along the far wall, keeping away from the balcony’s edge and making sure to stay behind the armoured Purple clerics. Glenwood knew how much Rham Jas hated the churchmen of nobility and he wondered if the Kirin would be tempted to kill more than one person before he left.

It was difficult to see Rham Jas now because he had hidden behind one of the tapestries. Then, through the throng of nobles, a hand reached out to a discarded drinks tray and took two crystal goblets. No one had seen this and Glenwood held his breath, waiting for Rham Jas to make his move. The man of Leith had one foot tapping nervously on the floor and he glanced back to assure himself that the window was close. He knew he should have left already, but curiosity had the better of him and he waited a moment longer.

Rham Jas appeared again, crouching behind a low drinks table. He lobbed one of the goblets into the air in such a way that its trajectory took it over the balcony’s edge to smash loudly on the stone floor below. No one had seen where the goblet came from, and the nobles on the upper floor reacted with surprise before moving to investigate. Glenwood smiled. The duke and most of the knights and clerics left Katja’s side to look down to the lobby. The enchantress herself appeared equally surprised by the sound but was far too demure to investigate what was, after all, merely a glass breaking.

When the assassin moved, it was with lightning speed. He sprang from cover with the second goblet in his hand. Two men either side, who had not gone to the balcony, saw the Kirin move forward but were helpless to react as he wrapped an arm round Katja’s neck and rammed the goblet into the side of her head, just above the wolf’s head tattoo. The glass drove into her temple and a high-pitched scream sounded out. Katja was thrashing around in pain, but Rham Jas didn’t let go. He twisted the goblet, driving the jagged glass further into her head, until her eyes rolled back and the screaming stopped. Blood ran freely over her tattoo to fall on her limp shoulders.

Everything froze as the high nobles stared at the Kirin assassin and the dead body of Katja the Hand of Despair. A strange haze flowed over the assembled nobles and many of them involuntarily closed their eyes as months of enchantment waned in an instant. The haze was quickly replaced by murderous anger directed towards the assassin. Glenwood’s hands shook and he was breathing fast, his feet now willing him to run for the window.

‘Kill him!’ shouted Archibald Tiris, with a crack in his voice.

Rham Jas grinned as fifty men drew their swords and advanced. He darted backwards and took a forward roll away from the dead enchantress, avoiding the clumsy nobles in their plate armour as he dived down the stairs.

Glenwood again lost sight of the Kirin as he sprinted in zigzag lines, avoiding the multitude of men trying to apprehend him. With shaking hand, the man of Leith closed the door to the side room.

He could hear shouting as he reached the window and, as he climbed out and hung from the window sill in the cool night of Tiris, a bell began to sound from the knight marshal’s barracks.

* * *

Saara grabbed the sides of her head and cried out in pain. A dozen faces entered her mind and each one burrowed in further, causing a pain the like of which the enchantress had never experienced before. Each was a man whom Katja had enchanted, and each now belonged to Saara. She could feel the shadow of Cardinal Mobius, Lord Archibald Tiris, Animustus Voy and many others intrude upon her own thralls. Each of the men was now a little weaker, a little closer to the edge and a little harder to control. It might be a day, or a week, but if Saara didn’t focus her thoughts, she knew that they would all begin to lose their own minds. With both Mobius and the king as her shadow thralls, the Mistress of Pain needed time to plan and to ensure that the invasion of Ranen took place as she desired.

‘My sweet,’ Kamran Kainen said gently from next to her, ‘what has happened?’ They were still in bed and the sun had yet to rise.

‘I am... not myself,’ replied Saara, ‘please leave me.’ The pounding in her head made conversation difficult and she wanted her lover to go while she accustomed herself to her new shadow thralls.

Kamran stroked her naked shoulder and kissed her neck tenderly. ‘I can serve, my lady. As you like...’

She pushed the wind claw away and clenched her fists, attempting to shut out the pain. ‘Leave!’ she shouted; she had not even the strength to enchant the man. He frowned but rose quickly and pulled on a black robe to cover his muscular body.

Saara closed her eyes and held her head. Try as she might, she could not shut out the men enchanted by Katja. She was overwhelmed with fear, rage, frustration, pride... a hundred emotions felt by her new thralls.

As Kamran neared the door to her bedchamber, Saara felt a predatory urge.

‘Kamran,’ she said quietly, ‘come here.’

The wind claw turned.

‘I need you.’ She looked up, letting the satin bedclothes fall from her naked shoulders.

Kamran waited a moment, letting a smile come to his face and his robe fall to the ground before he crossed the room to kiss her. She returned his kiss, then gripped the sides of his head and stared into his eyes.

The wind claw did not realize what was happening at first and continued smiling as Saara’s grip became firmer, until Kamran’s eyes betrayed a hint of anxiety. ‘Shh, my sweet,’ she whispered, ‘I need your strength.’

It happened slowly. Kamran tried to move away, but he was helpless in her grasp. His face became a mask of terror.

‘My lady...’ His words were strangled as Saara slowly drew his life force into her, rejuvenating and cleansing her fractured mind. He flailed in her grasp as she slowly destroyed his mind. Blood appeared from his eyes, nose and ears, staining the white sheets. Saara cried with pleasure.

He died slowly and she used every morsel of the pain he felt to bring herself to the edge of ecstasy. She writhed in his blood and strangled every ounce of life from the man.

When Kamran Kainen had stopped screaming and lay motionless, Saara fell back heavily on the bed. Her head was clear and she felt focused again for the first time in weeks, though looking down at the desiccated corpse of her lover made her wince slightly. She was not squeamish, but she would need clean bedclothes before she took a new lover into her chamber.

Standing up and looking down at her body, wet with sweat and blood, her only thought was for her sisters. Those who were still alive would know of Katja’s death, and they would also know that a new Hand of Despair would take years to train, like the new Lady of Spiders, a young girl currently being tortured into compliance at the abbey of Oron Kaa. At the rate the dark-blood was going, they could not afford to wait. The Mistress of Pain was patient, but the subjugation of the Ro had been meticulously planned and her scheme for the Freelands had been years in conception. If Rham Jas Rami could despatch the enchantresses so easily, a back-up plan would be necessary. Sasha the Illusionist was still in Kessia with the Kirin assassin’s daughter. It would be wise to send for them both. She should also send for more hounds – five hundred thousand seemed a good number. With no enchantresses to keep the Ro in line, a more martial solution would be necessary.

CHAPTER 4