Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (54 page)

           
“They are small-men, wise in the ways of the world, and they are old enough,”
The Raven replied without a hint of remorse.

As the Raven led the thieves through the forest, he
explained what was expected of them. “Rom, you will take each of their hands
and hold them tight. Do not let the small-men bolt. You will walk along the
path at a steady pace. Do not run. Do not stop. Do not veer from the straight
path. No matter what comes at you, do not stop moving, and do not let go of
their hands.”

“What will you be doing?” Broken asked in a voice that
reflected his name.

“I will be disposing of the assassins and protecting you,”
The Raven replied.

Ash released a heavy breath. “Oh, good, then we’ll be okay.”
Broken looked like he wanted to argue with his younger mate but said nothing,
and Rom simply appeared to be resolved to his death.

“Shouldn’t I be helpin’ you or somethin’?” Rom asked.

“No one walks the Gauntlet with charges to protect. The very
few who survive at all are executed at the end. Your assistance will only
ensure that happens,” Rezkin replied.

“And, how’re you gonna keep that from happenin’?” the Second
asked.

“Perhaps I will tell you after I have prevailed,” Rezkin
replied. The Raven suddenly stopped and gripped Rom’s bicep, drawing the big
man to a halt. “This is important, Rom. Absolutely at no point, for any reason
at all, will you get involved. You
will not
intervene or interfere. Even
if it looks like the lot of them are bearing down on you and will kill you any
second, you do
nothing
but walk straight and steady.”

“And if you’re dead?” Rom asked.

“Then you will have nothing to worry about, because you will
already be dead,” The Raven replied and began walking again.

After several minutes of trudging through the underbrush,
over stones, dried twigs, and crunchy leaves, Rom began to notice something
eerily unnatural. While he and the boys made enough noise to wake his deaf
grandmother who had been buried for the last two decades, The Raven made no
sound, nor did he leave any evidence of his passing. Not a single print or
trail was left behind as he swept through the forest silent as a wraith. A
shiver trailed down the Second’s spine, and for the first time, he truly
believed he was in the presence of something inhuman.

Everything that had happened and everything the thief learned
of The Raven began to make sense. No human being could have brought down the
Justainian thieves’ guilds in a day and then repeated the feat in Kaibain. The
way he moved, the way he spoke, the deep pockets with seemingly limitless coin,
the claims of mass murder beyond the scope of any man, much less one so young
– they all lead to the same conclusion. The Raven was a demon.

Perhaps The Raven was not concerned about death because he
was immortal; or perhaps if he were killed in this life, he would spawn again
in
H’khajnak, the demon realm. At this point,
Rom could not care less about what happened to The Raven, except that his and
the boys’ lives depended on the creature. The boys may be thieves, but they had
never really had a chance. They were street orphans with no other way of
surviving. Right now, Rom
hated
The Raven for putting the boys in this
terrifying situation that was certain to lead to their early deaths. Assassins
were not known for their mercy, and he knew they would not stop at killing
children.

After another hour or so of meandering between trees and
bushes and traipsing over rocks and streambeds, The Raven held up a fist
bringing the group to a stop. Ash started to say something, but Broken, sensing
the tension in the adults, quickly threw a hand over the younger boy’s mouth
and shook his head. The boy squirmed in an attempt to remove the older boy’s
hand so that he could stubbornly make his remark, but stopped his protests when
a thick, firm hand landed on his shoulder.

Turning to Rom, the smaller boy whispered, “I have to go to
the bathroom.”

The big man rolled his eyes with a silent sigh and looked
questioningly toward The Raven. The hooded demon was surveying their
surroundings, and he did not think the man had heard the boy, but The Raven
abruptly turned and waved the boy over to a bush. The wraith came to stand
beside Rom, and he spoke in a quiet voice that could not have carried further
than the few inches distance to Rom’s ear. “We are surrounded. From here, the
attack could come at any time.”

“Attack?” Rom asked. “I thought you told them we were
coming.”

 “Of course I did. I had to give them the opportunity
to arrange the ambush.” The Raven said matter-of-factly. Rom looked at him
askance but found no words to respond. “Take the small-men’s hands when we
continue. Remember my orders. Stay the path no matter what. Do not fight back.
Do not
stop, and
Do Not
run.”

Rom nodded his understanding, even though he absolutely did
not
understand. How could The Raven think that he would walk into an ambush of
assassins who were trying to kill him and the boys and
not
fight back?
But, The Raven knew much more about the situation than did Rom, and he did not
think the demon would go to the trouble of bringing the boys all the way to
Kaibain just to get them killed. He had plans for these boys. That did not mean
the demon’s plans extended to
Rom
, though. For all he knew, The Raven
considered him to be nothing more than expendable fodder – a sacrificial
lamb.

           
When Ash finished his business, Rom took both boys’ hands in his and gripped
them tightly, reminding the boys not to run from him. The Raven led the way
forward until they came to a slightly worn path no more remarkable than a
simple game trail. It was at this point when the attack came. A glint of steal
flashed through the air, but Rom did not see if it hit its mark. His attention
was drawn to the shadows suddenly dropping from trees and emerging from the
underbrush. For a moment the big man hesitated, his survival instinct screaming
at him to draw a weapon or run or
something
other than hold onto the two
tiny hands in his grip. Rom stumbled as he was shoved from behind.

The Raven growled, “Go,” as he swept past.

The big man pulled the boys forward at a steady pace, at
least as steady as his panicky legs would withstand. All of his muscles were
tense, and he knew he would feel at any moment the overwhelming agony of a
blade impaling him through the back.

Deftly dodging the throwing knife that had been aimed at his
back, Rezkin bounded to the side and collided with an attacker who landed
beside him. At the same time, he noted that Rom stood in stunned stasis. The
young warrior rolled backward, coming to his feet behind the thief and shoving
into him with his back.

Rezkin grunted, “Go,” as he lobbed a rock at an assailant’s
head. The rock struck true, and the Slip dropped to his knees stunned.
 Rom finally got it together and started forward with the two-small men in
tow. Broken and Ash were clutching the big guy’s arms as they shouted in
surprise.

Rezkin flowed around the trio as they walked the path toward
the Hall. Assassins emerged from the forest as they progressed, and each time
Rezkin was there to meet the attack, passing in and out of view of the scared
thieves like a silent wraith with insubstantial form. His strikes and kicks
were solid enough, though, as he swept one assassin’s feet out from under him
and then stomped on his sternum. The black clad killer curled up around his
injured torso, and The Raven kicked him soundly in the head. Then, the wraith
was gone again.

Covering perhaps four times the distance of his companions,
Rezkin dodged back and forth making his way around the three. Up and down the
trail he sped, always staying close enough to ward off any projectiles the
assassins might pitch. A crossbow bolt launched at Rom’s back was met by an
expertly thrown dagger, which, through luck and skill, deflected the deadly
instrument. Ash screamed and squirmed, and Rom faltered in his step when one
assassin’s blade descended toward the small-man’s neck, but Rezkin was there to
meet it.

Rezkin was relieved the assassins had elected to allow him
to walk the Gauntlet. If they had rejected his challenge, they would have
attacked all at once instead of smaller numbers along the path. He could not
afford an error or escape would end in failure. Death was not the only possible
failure, though. Even if he lived, that did not mean he would succeed in his
efforts to advance his influence over the Hall.

From the darkness of the thicket, two Slips suddenly
attacked at once. One came for Rezkin while the other went after his charges.
Ducking and dodging a flurry of knife wielding strikes, Rezkin grabbed the
woman by the tunic. The black-clad assassin expected to be pushed away and
braced accordingly, but Rezkin yanked her forward, knocking her off balance. At
the same time, the young warrior dropped to the ground and rolled onto his
back. He thrust his feet into the Slip’s midsection and launched her into the
air over his head. The woman collided with her cohort just as the man prepared
to strike at Rom.

Rezkin continued with his momentum into a backward roll and
bounded to his feet. He spun and ran full speed at the attackers, intercepting
them just as they were untangling themselves to regain their feet. After
blocking a punch, the warrior smacked the male assassin in the head with a
steel reinforced vambrace and then brought his clenched fists down on the back
of the man’s head. As the Slip crumpled to the ground, the woman kicked out to the
side in an attempt to strike at Rezkin while he was distracted. He caught the
extended leg and brought an elbow down into the side of her knee with an
audible crunch. To her credit, the woman did not cry out with the pain she was
obviously experiencing. Instead, she managed a half cartwheel as she reclaimed
her damaged leg to bring herself back around to face him. She braced on one leg
as stormy grey eyes filled with unshed tears.

The woman drew a curved sword reminiscent of a very small
scimitar and swung at the hooded warrior with the icy blue eyes. It was
difficult to get a good view of the man’s face while he was fighting under the
cowl, but his eyes were inescapable. The man’s gaze was cold and unflinching.
It held nothing but hard ice and winter’s stroke of death, as though the mind
behind the gaze had never experienced a single ray of light. If the eyes were
the windows to the soul, then naught but darkness resided in this man.

Rezkin did not have time to deal with the woman. Others were
emerging along the path, and Rom and the small-men had already progressed a
dozen steps further than Rezkin would have preferred. The Slip swung at him
with the curved blade. The warrior spun into the woman’s defenses, grabbed the
sword hilt, and used his considerable strength to yank the weapon from her
grasp. At the same time, he smashed the back of his head into her face and then
brought the weapon around to strike the side of her head with the flat of the
blade. The Slip fell to the ground atop her comrade, and Rezkin dropped the
ill-gotten blade. The entire exchange between the warrior and the two Slips had
taken less than two minutes.

The Raven caught up with the thieves just in time to fend
off another wave of attacks from a couple of sword wielders and half a dozen
throwing stars. That had been an interesting choice since not many people in
Ashai used the small spinning blades.  He doubted anyone even made or sold
the weapons anywhere in Ashai. The star thrower, like the miniature-scimitar
wielding assassin, had been wearing an unusual style of dress and armor
uncharacteristic of the Slips of the Hall. Likewise, their faces had been
covered up to the eyes, also not typical of Ashaiian assassins. Together, it
was evidence of an altogether different group, which would also explain the
numbers.

As they neared the end of the Gauntlet, Rezkin and the three
thieves experienced an increase in attacks from all sides. Rezkin tightened his
circle around his companions, and while several times he used throwing knives
to deflect projectiles, not once did he draw his swords or any other weapon on
an opponent. Still, they fell. One by one, the ground was littered with
black-clad bodies until finally they reached the steps of the Hall.

“Halt,” The Raven said, and Rom and the boys abruptly
stopped.

Rom managed to keep his shaking under control as he stood in
the center of a cobbled yard surrounded by motionless bodies and an unscathed
demon who looked no worse for wear. The demon was not even breathing heavily.
The experienced thief felt only relief once again that he had stood with Attica
and opted not to attack the creature on that fateful day when first they met.
He gripped the boys’ hands tightly with sweaty palms, but neither boy seemed
anxious for release as they clung to his sides. Of all he had witnessed this
day, nothing frightened the big thief more than the astonishing, brutal skill
and undeniable inhuman speed of The Raven.

The Raven walked forward to stand before the small group
assembled at the top of the steps leading into the Hall. At the forefront stood
striking man of average height stood with regal bearing. His stark white hair
was pulled back into a slick queue, his black clothes and armor fit perfectly
upon his solid frame, and his face, although lined with age, looked as though
carved from stone. Straight planes and sharp edges defined his visage, and the
hard look in his dark eyes was nearly enough to rival the coldness of The
Raven. The man’s eyes flicked over the thieves, but having found the trio to be
of little note, he focused on the true threat.

“You have walked the Gauntlet,” he stated succinctly in a
calm but commanding voice. “You not only survived, but you brought
guests
through, as well.” The observation was saturated with scorn and disgust.