The Warlord and the Assassin: A Fantasy Romance Novella (2 page)

Was the man insane?

He had to know she would be back, that she wouldn’t stop until he was dead.
 

It was an unwritten rule of her culture. The Inue never gave up.

On swift, light feet, Amina crossed the floor, reaching the open window. She was thankful for the dark garments that concealed her face. “Until next time,
Katach.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” In the shadows, Tarak hadn’t moved. But she got the sense he was studying her the way a hawk might regard a venomous snake, before swooping in for the kill.
 

Amina turned to look at him once more. In the shadows, he was nothing more than a broad-shouldered silhouette. She dropped from the window to a balcony below, landing on the balls of her feet. She swung over the railing and dropped to the ground.
 

It was only when she was making her way back over the southern wall, brushing against the night jasmine vine, with its intoxicating, heady scent, that a realization struck her.

The entire time she had faced Tarak, she had never once caught a trace of his
qwi
.

~~~

Tarak watched as the assassin disappeared from sight, like an illusion. Then, he was alone again. It was as if she had never existed. Maybe this was a strange, waking dream. Perhaps he was going mad.
 

Years of battle and bloody slaughter could do that to a man.

He had let her escape. He told himself he had his reasons, and this was true. But he could admit that there was something about her that had captivated him. He’d felt it in the wild, raging aura she’d quickly suppressed. He’d been drawn in by the alluring scent of night jasmine that trailed her. He’d become hard as he felt the heat of her body through her skintight black garb. She was small and well muscled, with pert breasts and a flat, toned belly. He’d savored the lush swell of her hips and the perfect curve of her ass.

Tarak snorted. Appreciation for a woman had never made him soft in the past.
 

But he had let her go.

She would be back to try and kill him. It was inevitable. That was the way of the Inue.
 

They were a fierce, secretive tribe.
 

And now he had one of them on his trail, seeking his death. Someone had put a price on his head.
 

Tarak stretched and found a pair of soft, cotton trousers. She’d woken him from sleep, unguarded and weaponless. The only time he was vulnerable. She would have killed him, too, if not for the sixth sense that had saved him.
 

A chill, early morning breeze entered through the open window, caressing his bare torso. Tarak tapped a lantern and its magelight came to life, illuminating the room with a warm glow.
 

“You can come out now, Kietesh.”

There was silence, then a dark figure dropped from the ceiling.
 

“You let her go.” The figure crossed the room, as soundless as a spirit, and came to stand beside him. Kietesh Amun was Tarak’s assassin. Born to an Inue mother and an Akuna father, he had inherited both the stealth of the Inue and the savageness of the Akuna. Tarak had never known a more formidable warrior.

“I thank you for not interfering, brother.”

Kietesh regarded him with calculating, unreadable eyes. There was an icy stillness about him. That was the usual way with Kietesh. “She will be back, Tarak.”

“I know. That’s where you come in.”

Kietesh waited, expectant. The flickering magelight caught his elegant, austere features. If the rumors told that Tarak had demonblood running through his veins, then Kietesh would be born of the elusive fae. Those who didn’t know him found his cold, silent manner intimidating.

But Tarak and Kietesh had known one another since they were children, and as Tarak fought to regain the Western lands from Eratean rule, Kietesh operated as his right hand man, doing the dirty work from the shadows.
 

They had built this empire together, taking back what rightfully belonged to their people.
 

And although they didn’t share the same blood, Tarak thought of Kietesh as his brother.

“She will be back, brother, and you will follow her. I need to find out who sent her, and make an example of them.”

“And if she manages to kill you before then?”

“Between you and me, you know that won’t happen, Kie.”

Aside from the most minute twitch of one eye, Kietesh’s expression remained blank. But Tarak knew him well enough to tell that he disapproved. “You think I should have killed her.”

Kietesh inclined his head, but said nothing.

“Sometimes, I grow weary of killing, brother. After the bloodlust dies down, it’s always the same.” Tarak sighed, running a hand through his wild, unruly hair. “Why don’t we see if we can solve this without bloodshed?” It was a very strange thing for an Akuna to say. His people lived for the fight. He knew he was being idealistic.
 

Kietesh raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Tarak tried to read Kietesh’s expression, but failed. The assassin stared at him long and hard, before offering a brief nod. Then he was gone, retreating into the shadows like a wraith. Tarak walked to the open window, staring out over the thick, stone walls of Larion Fortress.
 

The fortress was the seat of power in the Varanada plains, and Tarak had taken it back from the Erateans after a long, bitter siege. Towards the end of winter, they had run out of food. After that, their resistance hadn’t lasted long.

The sun began to paint the sky with hues of violet and pink, revealing more of the outside world. To the east rose the distant, snow-capped Esskar ranges, intimidating and mysterious. To the west was the impenetrable Arama forest. And on the cool morning breeze, the scent of night jasmine floated to him, reminding him of a mysterious Inue assassin.

Under the faint, moonlight glow, he thought her eyes might have been the deepest green, like a verdant forest. But he wasn’t so sure.
 

If death was like her, then he might almost follow her willingly into the abyss, or even into the depths of the nine hells themselves.

Amina ran like the wind, keeping to the shadows as she travelled the narrow stone streets of Varanada Town. In the early morning darkness, the Market Quarter was deserted, the merchant stalls cleared of produce and locked shut. Windows were darkened, and even the taverns and pleasure houses were closed.

This was wartime, and Varanada had been occupied by the enemy’s forces.

The Erateans had all left the city, leaving only the native Varanese to occupy the town.
 

On the eastern side of Varanada, Tarak Chul’s Akuna army had amassed, setting up camp. The faint tang of woodsmoke hung in the crisp morning air, the only sign of life in the deathly stillness.

Amina ran until she reached the reached the dense forest that encircled the western side of Varanada. She followed an old, hidden path. Only an Inue would have been able to find the trail of worn earth that ran through the dense stand of trees. Here, the moonlight could no longer penetrate, and she relied more on her other senses, sending out her
qwi
like an extension of herself, allowing her to dodge oncoming trees and skip over branches with the grace of a gazelle.
 

It was only when she was deep within the forest that she allowed herself to think.

She’d had one target tonight.

And she’d failed.

The target, in some kind of arrogance, or madness, had allowed her to escape.

She remembered the sensation of his hard, warm body, pressing into hers, and wondered for a moment how his bare skin would feel against her own.

Stupid. She had allowed herself to be distracted by the man. This had never, ever happened before.

Fatigue threatened her, making her limbs heavy, but she never faltered. Amina drew her
qwi
around her like a tight cloak and forced herself to run faster, using her spirit energy to guide her. As she ran, the darkness of the forest started to lift, ever so slightly. Morning was coming, and with it, disaster, if she didn’t reach her destination on time.

The one who had hired her for this kill would destroy everything if news of her failure reached him first.

Amina ran until the sun began its arc across the sky, sending shafts of light through the thick canopy above. She ran for hours, until her black assassin’s garb was damp with sweat, until she reached the western edge of the Arama forest, breaking through the thick line of trees.
 

She had come to the edge of a cliff, where the Varanada Plains stretched out below. There was nothing on the cliff to mark it as special, but Amina knew it marked the true border of the Eratean Empire.
 

Tarak Chul’s army had driven the Erateans to abandon their occupation of Varanada, forcing them back across the border.

This was wild country, and in the end, it had proven too much for the Erateans to hold.
 

The sun was high in the sky now, the day’s heat making the horizon shimmer. The Plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, bordered by a line of mountains that appeared faint and indistinct, as if washed by the gentle hand of a watercolor artist.
 

In the centre of the Plains was an encampment of roughly three thousand men. A disorderly patchwork of tents was scattered across the dry earth, a thin haze of smoke hanging above them. This was the camp of the Eratean forces, who had retreated across the border after a long winter siege.
 

Amina made her way down the cliff face along a clever path of footholds and notches that had been used by the Inue for hundreds of years. It was impossible to find, unless one had been taught.
 

She hated traveling the Plains. She was a creature of shadow, and under the wide, open blue sky, with no trees or buildings in sight, she felt vulnerable. There was nowhere to hide.

But she had no choice.
 

Amina ran until she reached the edge of the Eratean camp. She pulled away the headscarf covering her face and used it to wipe the sweat from her pale skin. A group of soldiers sat in a clearing amongst their tents, sipping cups of potent black
khafa
and smoking pungent cigarettes. Their uniforms were faded and torn, hanging off gaunt frames. They stared at Amina with hollow, flat gazes. They had the look of men who had been at war for too long.

Terror had stolen a part of their souls, leaving them just a bit emptier.
 

One of the men stood. The worn, golden stripes marking his sleeve told her he was a sergeant. “What business do you have here, woman? It’s too early in the day for the camp whores to be getting to work.”

The soldiers around him managed to snicker. It was a bitter, empty sound.

Amina didn’t waste time. In three fluid steps, she was by the sergeant’s side. Before he could even blink, she drew the short battle sword sheathed at his waist and held it to his neck. “Not all women are whores, sergeant.”
 

The man froze, looking her up and down. His eyes grew wide. Amina knew he was taking in her dark garb and the markings on her face. Three small, tear-shaped scars adorned her face on each side, at the prominence of her cheekbones.
 

They were the markings of a fully-fledged Inue assassin. One only received all three after completing a hundred kills.
 

Amina had received all her markings by the time she turned eighteen.

“I need to see Lord Garul. I have business with him. You will take me to him. Do not waste my time, sergeant. I’ve had a long night, and I’m not in the mood.”

The sergeant’s men were staring at her openly, wearing mixed expressions of horror and surprise. She heard the words “
Inue devil
” muttered amongst them. The men whispering to one another didn’t realize how good her hearing was. Glancing nervously at his subordinates, the sergeant swallowed and nodded, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “This way, ma’am.”

With the short sword at his back, Amina followed the man through the dusty camp. More and more Eratean soldiers turned to stare, but the sergeant silenced them with a single gesture of his hand. “She’s here to see the Lord,” he called out. “Carry on. Pay no heed.”

As they reached the centre of the camp, Amina saw a round tent that was larger and in better condition than all the others. Two guards were posted at the entrance.
 

“Oy Dargon,” one called. “What in the nine hells are you doing?” He narrowed his eyes, his expression turning ashen. “Bloody Ourephos,” he swore, invoking the name of the twin gods. “Is that-”

“I need to see Lord Garul,” snapped Amina, before the man could finish. “Go tell him. He will grant me an audience.”

“Are you crazy, woman?” The guard stepped forward, drawing his sword. “There’s no way I’m letting the likes of you inside that tent. How do I know you haven’t been sent to kill the Commander?”

“Ask him yourself.” Amina moved closer to Dargon. “Quickly now, before my blade kisses your man’s spine.”

Eratean soldiers started to appear behind them. Amina got a taste of their
qwi
. The men were weary, their auras deflated. But they sensed a threat. Her presence had roused them into alertness.
 

If the entire Eratean army decided to surround her and take her down, Amina would be as good as dead. But she would not go easily. Blood would be spilt. A lot of it.

Still, the guards hesitated. Losing patience, Amina stepped forward, the point of the short sword digging into Dargon’s back, causing him to gasp in pain.

“Jerik Garul,” she yelled. “We need to talk. Call your men off.”

The guards just stared at her.
 

After a tense silence, the tent flap opened. “Let her in,” called a hoarse voice.

“But my Lord-”

“She works for me.”
 

Amina pushed Dargon aside and strode into the dark tent as the guards stepped back, obeying their Commander. She was grateful for the shadows after crossing Varanada Plains in the daytime heat.