Assassin's Shadow (Veiled Dagger Book 2) (14 page)

In the hellish world in which Rothar was trapped, the flames continued to lap at the corners of his vision, and the shrieks and screams were never ceasing as hot, sticky blood splashed down upon him endlessly.

But now, something new, something hopeful had arrived. As Rothar stared out at the leering faces on the other side of the flames, he glimpsed someone beyond them, someone familiar. At first, he could not focus on the features, and his clouded mind would not recover a memory of the image, but then suddenly, there she was, as clear as the midday sun. Taria stared back at him from the edge of the shadows, her face clouded with concern. Then she was gone.

Rothar rushed at the flames, straining against an unearthly force of gravity to leap through an inferno and go to her, to run to wherever she had disappeared. He dove into the flames only to crash against an unseen barrier, as solid as a stone wall. Rothar tumbled to the ground. The flames still seared his flesh, and the hands of the damned reached through to grab and claw at him. He was unable to pass through. He was trapped in a dungeon built of flame and reinforced by hatred. But he had seen her, and that was new.

***

Harwin had never been one for the Banewood. As a child, he had been forbidden from venturing into it as the children of most sensible parents were, and as an adult, he still carried with him some of the cautionary revulsion that most of the people in the city had for the lawless forest.

However, Harwin had left no stone unturned in the King’s City, and Witherington in particular, for Taria. She was nowhere to be found and no one could remember seeing her. He had been on the verge of giving up completely when he had gone to Rothar’s place to see if the woman was hiding out there.

He had no intention of dragging Taria back to the castle, as far as he was concerned, if she wished to be elsewhere, then elsewhere she should be. But he had made Kind Heldar a promise that he intended to keep, and he himself would feel better knowing that Taria was safe.

He was dismayed to find that Rothar’s place was empty, but his disappointment soon disappeared when he noticed some food that had been half eaten and left on the table, as though someone had left in great haste. Harwin was certain that there had been nothing on the table when he came to retrieve the women and take them to Castle Staghorn.

Having determined that Taria must have been in the home, Harwin searched the ground around the house until he found a few small, human shoe prints in a patch of soft earth. Rothar’s home overlooked the rooftops of Witherington on one side, and faced the Banewood on the other. The tracks were heading straight into the forest.

So, much to his chagrin, Harwin called upon all that he could remember about tracking and set off into the Banewood, searching for the wily Southland maiden who had eluded them all.

It was mid afternoon when he left the golden light of day and ventured into the shaded and fabled forest. He had brought along a short sword for protection and to help him pass through thickets and brush. He swept the blade back and forth at intervals, clearing away anything that looked like it could be Quietus.

It did not take Harwin long to lose the trail, but he continued on anyhow, letting the forest guide him. A steep rise to one side and a boggy march on the other steered him in a decidedly sensible direction. Unless Taria scaled the rise or slogged through the swamp, she must have traveled this way. Of course, Harwin was entirely unsure of how much of a head start Taria had gotten, but he continued his search all the same.

After a couple of hours, the big blacksmith came to a small clearing. At a distance, it looked spectral: a wide beam of light cutting straight down through the permanent shade of the Banewood, as though a lighted stage had been built in the deep forest. Upon closer inspection, Harwin found that the clearing was, in fact, man made. Dozens of trees had been felled and dragged off, and their stumps had been burnt. The clearing appeared to be roughly egg shaped and was easily two hundred feet across at it’s widest point.

Sitting down to rest on one of the large trunks at the edge of the clearing, Harwin turned his eyes to the sky. Evening would be coming soon and the sun was beginning to hide behind the western canopy. He would have to make a decision shortly, whether to camp in the woods for the night or head back to the King’s City. He considered that he was probably in no more danger in the Banewood than he would be in the riotous city, but he did miss Esme.

Harwin had just resolved to start back to civilization for the night when an odd sound caught his ear. The low droning tone was faint at first, but grew quickly. He soon realized the sound was coming from the eastern sky, and he turned to search the horizon for it’s source.

A shape began to appear above the tree line, round and dark. Startled, Harwin knelt down behind a large trunk and peered over the top. The orb grew and came nearer, humming incessantly and frightening flocks of birds out of the trees as it approached.

Impossible,
thought Harwin.

The hovering, droning contraption floated to the space directly over the clearing and stopped. There was a change in the pitch of the humming and a series of knocking sounds, then, slowly and eerily, the orb began to descend.

For the first time, Harwin noticed the stout wooden box that hung from the bottom of the orb. Also, he saw that long wooden legs were affixed to various points around the impossible machine, and as it landed, they held it perfectly upright.

Once the orb was firmly situated on the earth, the humming ceased. Harwin crouched lower behind the fallen tree as he watched a half dozen men climb out of the wooden cockpit. The men wore black and kept their faces covered, and they busied themselves unloading many parcels out of the flying machine.

Harwin’s instincts told him that these were not men with whom he wanted to associate, and he began to slowly back away, deeper into the Banewood. Suddenly, a loud snap came from beneath his right foot. He had stepped upon a small, dry branch. The shrouded men turned in his direction, drawing long swords.

Harwin knew he had been spotted, and he did not wait to see how the mysterious flying men would greet him. He turned and sprinted into the Banewood. A couple of the men shouted and Harwin could tell they were pursuing him. Leaping over downed trees and skidding down old riverbeds, Harwin kept his short sword clutched tightly in his hand.

After a short while he felt his pace begin to slow as his lungs burned and he gasped for breath. The sound of snapping twigs behind him told him that his pursuers had not given up. Harwin made a decision and headed towards a large swamp. At the very edge of the swamp he turned and took cover among the hanging limbs of a massive willow tree. There, he waited and tried to quiet his panting breath.

In short order, two black clad men dashed into view. They ran to the edge of the swamp and halted, looking down for Harwin’s tracks in the muddy earth. Harwin crept silently on the mossy ground, and neither soul had sensed his presence when he slit the first man’s throat. The second man spun to face him, sword readied, but Harwin had already launched a hard kick at the man’s midsection. The blow found it’s mark and the man let out a loud grunt before he staggered back into the swamp. He kicked and flailed for a short moment before he found his footing and stood, incensed, in the waist deep water.

The man’s scarf had fallen away from his face, and Harwin could see that he had dark skin and a black beard. His eyes were obsidian and filled with hatred and rage.

“Simpleton!” the man yelled, his words tinted with a subtle accent. “You will not make it out of the forest alive! You will die before all of your loved ones!”

Harwin heard the words, but he was distracted by movement in the water behind the shouting man.

“Or better yet!” the man continued. “We take you alive, back to Haval, where you can feed our garden!”

It seemed as if the livid soul was going to say more, but the alligator silenced him with a single snap of it’s mighty jaws. Harwin saw the man’s legs kick for only a moment before they disappeared beneath the green, filmy waters.

Harwin paused only long enough to roll the other man into the swamp before he hurried back on his way. The alligators would find the other body quickly. Any further pursuit would be slowed when the mysterious strangers could not find their companions, and never would.

Harwin escaped the Banewood with no further complications, although he had kept one eye on the trail behind him and his ears piqued for the sounds of pursuit.

At the edge of the wood, he strode out into a wide and grassy meadow. In the distance and silhouetted by the setting sun, he could see Rothar’s home, sitting high and proud on the hill. Harwin shared a view of Witherington with the house, the hills rolling gently down to the edge of the village. Even at such a distance, mobs could be seen moving about the city, although less and less rioters were moving about Witherington. Most had moved up into the finer parts of the King’s City proper. It was not surprising, there was hardly anything left in Witherington to destroy.

The sight saddened Harwin deeply. He had spent his entire life in the low village and he loved it very much. People watched out for one another in Witherington. The community was free of the brutal ambition that ruled the upper neighborhoods. Everyone had always made certain that their neighbors had enough to live on, and no one took anything for granted.

Now, as a gentle wind pushed the clouds of smoke away over the sea and gave a clear view of the destruction in the streets, Harwin cursed whoever had poisoned his home with Obscura. Witherington was unrecognizable, not only in physical appearance, but in spirit. Brother had turned against brother and every afflicted citizen was motivated only by their own depravity. Those who had stayed away from the drug were forced, nonetheless, to take up arms against their neighbors in order to protect their homes and their lives.

Harwin was about to ride down into the city and straight to the castle when the sound of approaching riders gave him pause. Shortly, a contingent of riders burst out of the Banewood, led by Peregrin, whom Harwin recognized. Several other wild looking huntsmen rode behind, and in the middle of the pack Harwin was shocked to see Taria, riding Stormbringer, with the limp body of Rothar jostling slightly on the saddle behind her.

Waving his hands in the air, Harwin caught the attention of the riders who veered in his direction. As he approached, Peregrin reached out a hand towards the blacksmith.

“Climb on, we must get Rothar to the castle immediately.”

Harwin obliged and climbed onto Peregrin’s horse with him. The steed grunted in protest.

“What happened?” Harwin asked as Peregrin spurred the horse towards the city.

Peregrin quickly related the story of all that had transpired since they rode out in search of the scouts.

“You saw the flying machine too?” exclaimed Harwin. “I thought perhaps I was losing my mind!”

“Perhaps we all are,” replied Peregrin.

The riders thundered through the streets of Witherington, causing scavengers to scatter in every direction when they galloped through the ruins of the town. Taria now rode beside Harwin and Perergin, and the blacksmith looked over at his unconscious friend. He considered that it might be merciful that he could not see what had become of these streets in the days past. No one cared more for the poor and meek in Witherington than Rothar. Harwin knew that if and when Rothar recovered, the destruction of Witherington would only fan the flames of his vengeance.

The streets began to rise and the group entered the upper city, where the rioters were still doing their worst. The riders turned a corner to find the street blocked by a mass of writhing humanity. Gaunt looking villagers screamed profanities and tore at anything they could destroy. The sight struck a revulsion and fear in Harwin’s heart that was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was as if the people had become more animal than human.

Peregrin gave a signal to the rest of the group and spurred his horse forward at a swift gallop. When horse and rider reached the mob, they simply plunged right in. People clawed at Harwin’s pant legs and someone threw a rock that narrowly missed his head, but Peregrin kept pressing the horse forward. The other riders followed suit, and the group slogged through the crowd slowly but steadily, finally bursting free on the other side and continuing towards the castle, leaving behind them a flattened trail of bloodied humanity.

The fighting around Castle Staghorn was fierce, but King Heldar had summoned so many reinforcements that the rioters were badly outnumbered. The air was alive with the sound of combat, and the street was slick with blood. The sentinels recognized Peregrin and ordered that the gate be opened. The riders galloped into the castle grounds without slowing and the gates were slammed shut behind them.

Inside the castle wall, it seemed as though they had crossed over into a different world. Most all of the noise of fighting was blocked out, and the grounds were as peaceful and pastoral as ever. Here and there, broken windows could be seen, where rioters had hurled rocks before the soldiers managed to push the fighting away from the castle.

A castle aid came out to meet them.

“Fetch Allette,” Taria ordered the boy. “Tell her that Rothar has need of her.”

Allette must have drifted off, for she was dreaming of another time when she was roused by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see a boy standing over her. Esme peered over his shoulder.

“Rothar has returned, he is afflicted and you are to come at once,” said the boy.

“Afflicted?” asked Allette, sitting bolt upright and smoothing her dress. “With what?”

“That is all that I was told, madam,” said the aid apologetically.

Allette bustled about the room, fixing her hair and gathering up the tinctures and herbs she had been procuring from the castle kitchen, tossing everything into a small bag. Lastly, she grabbed the ancient book that she had taken from the dead apothecary.

The aid led Allette and Esme down the narrow hallway to a large and more lavishly appointed chamber. Inside, Rothar had been laid down on a broad bed. Standing around him were Taria, Peregrin, Harwin and a handful of other men whom Allette did not know.

Taria saw Allette enter and hurried over to her.

“We do not know what is wrong with him, but he cannot seem to wake up,” Taria said. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest and Allette could see the strain of worry in her eyes. “I know how much you have been reading in Ariswold’s book. I was hoping that perhaps you may be of help.”

“I am sure that the King has the finest physicians in all the land at his disposal,” replied Allette. “I do not see what more I could do for him.”

“Please, at least look at him.”

Allette nodded sheepishly. “Very well.”

She approached the bedside where Rothar lay. The clan of huntsmen parted to make way for her. Allette looked at Rothar for a few seconds and turned back to Taria.

“I need not be a physician to know what is wrong with him,” she said. “He has smoked too much of the Obscura, against his will I am sure. I have seen people like this in the smoking dens in Witherington. Usually they just get dragged out into the alley… I do not know if they ever wake up.”

Taria put her hands over her mouth and gasped. Some of the huntsmen grunted in concern.

“I should have known,” said Peregrin. “He must have come up against the Reapers and they did this to him. They have made an example of him.”

The group began talking at once, discussing what could be done to bring Rothar out of his state. Someone suggested dunking him in a horse trough, to which Harwin responded that Rothar should not be made to suffer such an indignity. The debate continued as Allette slipped away to a corner of the room and opened the apothecary book.

Slowly and deliberately, she began leafing through the pages, checking one remedy against another, poring over symptoms and complications, ingredients and methods for application. There was no remedy for an over consumption of a drug, but there were instructions for making a myriad of other medicines that were intended to revive the unconscious, repair damaged minds and restore fortitude to the afflicted.

Allette began to remove jars and vials from her bag. With a mortar and pestle, she set about grinding herbs and minerals together, adding water to make a paste. Several minutes later she was back at Rothar’s bedside. As the arguing and conjecture continued around her, she spooned a bit of the paste into Rothar’s mouth. Allette drew a cup of water from a decanter next to the bed and carefully poured some into Rothar’s mouth as she gently supported his head.

The group gathered around the bed grew quiet as they watched Allette administer the mysterious substance. Eventually, the room was perfectly silent as every eye watched Rothar and the woman cradling his head.

A full minute passed, and nothing happened, then, quietly, Rothar coughed. His eyes fluttered open and then closed again, his chest rose and fell as he drew a deep breath. His eyes opened once again and stayed open. He seemed to be trying to find focus, and a wildness danced behind his eyes.

***

The transition was dizzying for Rothar. He had been kneeling in the center of the circle of fire, peering at the faces, beyond the faces, trying to find Taria again. It was all so real, he could feel the hot sand under his feet, the blood raining down on him grew sticky as it dried. His ears rang from the horrific screaming and squalling that came from the inky black sky.

Then, all at once, he felt different. It was as if the reality he had been living in for… how long had it been now… was being pulled away from him. At first, he resisted, fearing that Taria would be left trapped amongst the leering faces if he went. But the stronger the pull became, the harder it was for him to resist, to stay in the ethereal hell.

It seemed as though the sky was cracking open, letting golden light stream in through countless fissures. Rothar felt weightless, cool, fresh air washed over him and he realized for the first time that he had been breathing torrid air since he had been trapped in the netherworld.

The light above became brighter and overtook him. Rothar could see nothing, but could now feel that he was lying on his back. The brightness burned his eyes when he tried to look around. Someone was holding his head, the sensation of being touched caused him some alarm. Forcing his eyes open, Rothar could see human figures. He blinked and tried to focus. He could make out faces.

Did he know them? An unfamiliar fear gripped him. He felt at his waist. No weapons. Rothar sat bolt upright, shaking off the arms that held him. He heard his name being spoken. Rising to his feet, he prepared to fight. That is when he saw her.

A face he would recognize in any light, and in any madness. Taria stood before him and instantly his confusion dissipated. He looked from face to face. Peregrin. Stone. Harwin. Esme. Allette sat on the bed, next to the pillow where Rothar had lay. On the table was a cup and an apothecary’s mortar.

“You brought me back,” Rothar said to Allette. It was not a question, he knew exactly what the woman had done for him. “Thank you.”

Allette said nothing, simply gave a shy little smile and bowed her head. Rothar turned to Taria and embraced her. He had never been so pleased to see anyone, yet the infernal hell still played at the back of his mind.

He wondered if it would ever leave.