Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) (31 page)

Chapter 33

Khlekluëllin
paused in his questioning. He was in a quandary with no clear path out. He needed answers but his prisoners refused to speak. Khlekluëllin knew he could make them talk, he had a wide variety of spells to choose from or he could call in the Túlkur. It had been a sobering revelation that his mother even had an Interpreter, which was what the elves called someone skilled in the art of torture and interrogation. Khlekluëllin’s dilemma stemmed from the fact that even though he could make them talk, the question was should he. He was still haunted by the memories of the time he spent as Blackfang’s prisoner. He and his brother had been tortured day after day. It was not a pleasant memory.

Khlekluëllin
looked down on the young assassin. He was young. If Khlekluëllin had to guess the would-be assassin was not any older than seventeen, which to a human was a young man at the beginning of manhood but to an elf, he was naught but a child. However, this prisoner seemed to be the leader of the assassins. He had lost his left arm during the failed assassination of the Queen. The gnome in the next room had not fared any better, he had lost both legs.

Khlekluëllin
decided to try another approach.

Pulling out a chair, he reversed it and sat down. Folding his arms and resting them on the back of the chair,
Khlekluëllin cocked his head to the side and took a deep breath. “You know, I don’t know why you just won’t answer my questions. We both know I could compel you, either magically or by force.”

“Why haven’t you?” whispered the prisoner.

Khlekluëllin stifled a small smile but rushed to keep him talking. “Many years ago I was the prisoner of a foul beast of a man with delusions of grandeur.”

“Bl…Blackfang.”

Khlekluëllin nodded. “Yes, I see you’ve met him.”

The prisoner shook his head. “Before my time but I’ve heard stories.”

Khlekluëllin tried his best to digest that tidbit of information while not letting on that he had let slip something important. He was determined to keep him talking but Khlekluëllin was tired of calling him prisoner. “You know this would a much easier conversation if I knew what to call you.”

The young man opened his mouth but closed it without saying a word as his eyes flicked to
Khlekluëllin’s left as a soft and very feminine voice came out of the darkness. “Go ahead, Weasel. Keep talking.”

Khlekluëllin
leapt to the side and drew his sword as he expected a knife in the back. Instead, he was confronted by a pair of green eyes peering out of the dark in the upper corner of the room. He was shocked that he could not see her even with his darkvision.

“Mouse! I didn’t tell him anything.”

The shadowy figure disengaged itself from the corner and seemed to materialize into a shapely young woman. Khlekluëllin could not tell much about the girl due to the form fitting black outfit, deep hood and a mask but he doubted that he would ever forget her eyes. They were a deep emerald green that seemed to sparkle as she talked.

She ignored the elf and stopped directly in front of the prisoner. “That shouldn’t have ever been in doubt. Didn’t the Kingslayer instruct you in
Puputan
?”

Weasel nodded. “I figured I would just escape and it wouldn’t be necessary.”

Tamina shook her head in disgust. The man was a fool and a liability to the Sicárii. Tamina was pointedly ignoring the Queen’s Regent until she noticed him shift his right hand to his lips.

“
Khlekluëllin, please don’t do that. If you call your guards then we will be forced to defend ourselves and your men will die. Trust me on this.” She turned to face the blue haired elf. “You are only alive for two reasons. One, you aren’t our target. Two, this idiot didn’t tell you anything important.”

“Why are you here?”

“A Sicárius is never captured alive and if so, they are required to kill themselves.” She thumbed at the prisoner. “This fool and the rest of his Aciês failed, not once but twice. They failed in their mission and then compounded their failure by being captured. They are a disgrace and the Dôminus isn’t happy.”

“What are your plans for him?”

“This.”

The assassin the prisoner had called Mouse moved with such lighting speed, that she complete caught
Khlekluëllin off guard. Even though he reacted out of instinct, drew his blade and brought it up to a defensive position, he knew that if she had attacked him, he’d be dead right now. Instead, Mouse had stabbed the prisoner in the heart with a silver dagger with a glowing purple gem in the hilt.

As Weasel screamed, the gem seemed to glow brighter and brighter until his screams stopped.

Casually, Mouse detached the gem from the hilt and stepped back toward the shadow-filled corner. She was only a step away when she stopped and turned back to face Khlekluëllin. “You know, I can see the family resemblance between you and your brother, although your face is much kinder.”

That remark took
Khlekluëllin completely by surprise. “You’ve seen Mortharona?”

Tamina nodded. “He was one of our teachers but he’s with the Dark Lady now.”

Khlekluëllin was about to ask something else when some sixth sense warned him of another’s presence. He shifted his position slightly, enough to have his back to the wall when another assassin boldly stepped through the doorway. His outfit was similar but less form fitting and he had chainmail panels sewn into his tunic.

He held up a sparkling purple gem and also ignored the Queen’s Regent. “I’ve taken care of the other one. Can you believe that he begged for mercy and even tried to bribe me into letting him go?”

Tamina nodded. “Yes Falcon, I would believe that. Come, it is time for us to depart.”

Falcon nodded at the blue haired elf. “And him?”

“We let him live. He was not our target and isn’t trying to delay us. Besides, can you guess how upset Stalker would be with us if we killed him for no good reason?”

Khlekluëllin
imagined that she was smiling when she said this due to the twinkle in her eyes.

Falcon nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Mouse cast one last glance at the elven warrior before the two of them just disappeared into the dark corner.

Khlekluëllin
waited a minute or two before moving to investigate. There was nothing. No doorway. No marks. No sign that the assassins had ever been there, except the dead bodies and the silver daggers in their chest. Somehow, these Sicárii could move in and out of the shadows and not like a normal thief. The only logical explanation was that they were using the shadows as a means to travel. This was something that Khlekluëllin had to ponder on. And to add fuel to the fire, now he knew where his brother was….with Lalith, which explained a lot.

Lost in thought,
Khlekluëllin left the dungeons and made his way back to the throne room. It seems he had a lot of work to do in the very near future.

Chapter 34

When Shadow and Stalker entered the Lüdüs, it was almost like coming home.

They had spent seven years in these caverns, training and learning to be Sicárii. Two things immediately brought the memory home, the oppressive heat and the smell. One thing they had learned during their time in the Lüdüs was the simple fact that it was always hot inside the walls of the compound, not warm but hot. Now they knew that was just part of their training but at the time, the overbearing heat seemed overwhelming. Then, there was a distinct odor that permeated the entire region. Gray had spent many a night trying to categorize every smell and the best he could come up with was that it was a mixture of sweat, fear, blood and honing oil.

Gray knew that the Lüdüs was buried deep underneath the ground and adjacent to the Scar. According to recent maps that he had seen, the training hall of the Sicárii lay almost directly above the dark elf city of Timgâd. Exactly how close, he had no idea and hoped never to find out. He had heard too many stories about that dark elf city and none of them were inviting.

Galvorn looked around and frowned. There was nobody in sight. “You would think that the Kingslayer would have sent someone to meet us.”

Gray snickered. “I would like to say that it was just an oversight on his behalf but I doubt that. I’m sure he conveniently forgot that we were coming as some sort of snub to the Dôminus.”

“What would he gain by that? Surly he knows that we will remember our way around?”

The two friends began their trek through the winding passageways but paused when they reached the first corridor. To their left was the main compound and supposedly, where they were to meet the Kingslayer. However, both assassins were half-elven and with this heritage came highly sensitive hearing that brought them the sounds of crowds gathering in the Arena. According to the timetable provided to them by the Dôminus, they had a good three hours before the Cërtatüs.

Galvorn looked over at his counterpart. “You don’t think that the Kingslayer moved up the start time to prevent us from competing?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. The Dôminus is right. He needs to learn some manners.” Gray’s crooked grin had a mischievous flare when he asked, “You up for crashing a party?”

Galvorn nodded and the two assassins sprinted off down the passageways.

*    *    *   *    *

Aaron Kingslayer looked out over his students and smiled. These were the finest students he had ever trained. He could only imagine this was the same feeling parents had been having about their children since time began. Of course, that thought brought on the realization that every parent thinks their child is special and with it came misgivings. He had heard the uncertainty in the Dark Lady’s voice when she last contacted him. His last group of students had not fared well in the field. But then, they had been his first and although they had been well trained, he was sure that the fault lay not in his people but in the tactics used by the Dôminus. Either the operations were poorly planned or as the Kingslayer personally believed, designed in a way to sacrifice his students and not Kralm’s precious Sicárii.

The dwarven warrior took a deep breath to calm himself and glanced over at his assistant instructors.

To his left was Zivën the Blademaster of Timgâd and the finest swordsman alive. He knew that many in the Subterreth whispered that Darnac was the better swordsman but if that was true, then why did Zivën hold a seat on the Council of Shadows. Zivën was rumored to be one of the Three, the true power behind the council.

To his right was Kieran, the Sultan of Otrar and legendary thief. He was a dark elf just like Zivën but nearly a hundred years younger. Where the Blademaster of Timgâd had a wide girth from too many rich meals, Kieran was stick thin. He was almost as gaunt as the dead. Kingslayer knew the shifty rogue ate his fill of meals but no matter how much he ate, it seemed he did not gain weight. Actually, it almost seemed opposite. The more Kieran ate, the thinner he became.

Both of these formidable men had stated to him time and time again that the students were ready. It was their reputation on the line every bit as much as his. The Kingslayer scanned the faces of his students and was once again filled with pride. He had sixty-nine students prepared to make take the next step in their journey to be Sicárii, the warrior-assassins of the Dark Alliance. He was about to begin his customary speech that would mark the beginning of the Cërtatüs when two dark cowled Sicárii walked into the Arena.

Zivën glanced down at the dwarf and hissed. “I thought you said they weren’t expected until tonight?”

Aaron Kingslayer shrugged. “I guess they arrived early.”

“Never underestimate a protégé of Darnac Penumbra,” whispered Kieran. “It would be unwise.”

Aaron Kingslayer wanted nothing more than to throttle the skeletal thief but that was out of the question at the moment, so he settled on glaring at the dark elf. It did not seem to do any good. The Kingslayer’s attention was drawn back to the approaching Sicárii as his students began to murmur. It seemed that they too had recognized the assassins. Knowing he had to put on a show for his students in an effort to save face, Aaron Kingslayer stepped forward and planted a big smile on his face.

“Shadow! Stalker! I see you received my message concerning the time change for today’s Cërtatüs. I am so pleased that you could make it.”

*    *    *   *    *

Both Gray and Galvorn were immediately aware of what the dwarf was trying to do, shift blame of his incompetency onto someone else but they were not going to let the dwarf off that easily. Gray nodded his head ever so slightly, just enough to show the proper etiquette but well shorter than what was due the dwarf’s rank. It would be both a subtle and overt slap to the dwarf’s pride.

“Alas Master Kingslayer, we must’ve missed your messenger. But as we were taught during our time in the Lüdüs, a true Sicárius never arrives at the expected time. Be early or late but either way, it is incumbent on the Sicárius to choose the time of the battle.”

Galvorn did the exact opposite of Gray. He completely ignored the dwarf and moved directly in front of the Blademaster. He made a huge presentation in greeting the pudgy Blademaster. Bowing low as was the dark elven custom when meeting a person of Zivën’s unique position, he ceremoniously held aloft an ebony box. “Greetings Zivën Tenëbráe Blademaster of Timgâd, I bear a gift of great urgency for you from my Kënnári, Darnac Penumbra Blademaster of Avaris.”

Zivën’s hands were shaking with rage as he took the box. He knew what was in it even without opening it. Nevertheless, since the damned half-breed had presented it to him in the formal fashion and in the presence of the students, decorum called for him to open it. His eyes never left the blue orbs of Galvorn’s as he pulled off the lid. A quick intake of breath from the students in the front row told him everything he really needed to know but even so, his
curiosity got the better of him. Eventually Zivën looked down to find a pair of violet eyes, the same shade as Darnac’s and a silver rune engraved with the symbol for nine. The message was clear. Darnac was watching him and in nine years, he would be free to enact his revenge.

It took a lot of control but Zivën was able to keep his voice even when he replied, “Ah Galvorn, your master is too generous. I had been looking forward to this year’s present, although I must admit that I’m disappointed that I will not get to see him this year.”

Galvorn knew that he was lying but continued the charade. “My Kënnári is off doing the Dark Lady’s bidding but he wanted to make sure that I passed on his well wishes.”

Zivën nearly snorted with laughter at Galvorn’s last remark, which upset him nearly as much as the gift. It would not be good for his reputation to lose his composure in front of his students. Unsure that he could keep up the farce, Zivën bowed his head and took a small step back. It was a subtle but proper way of signaling that the conversation was over. If the half-breed did not take note of it and pushed the subject any further,
according to the customs of the dark elves, he was authorized to consider that as a challenge to his position.

Galvorn kept his mouth closed and just nodded his head in acknowledgement. He had been instructed in the proper rituals and customs of his mother’s people since he was a toddler. Much of the dark elven culture was based around honor, whether it be personal or family honor. Of course, Darnac had a different take on the whole subject. He had said time and time again that his people’s fixation on honor was all a big lie. It was nothing more than an excuse to inflate the egos of the nobility. He had once gone on to explain that it was not about honor it was about face, or perceived honor. The difference was that honor was an internal sentiment while face was external. Face was all about pride. Honor was a feeling. No one could take another’s honor from them, no matter how they acted or what they said. Honor was how a person, warrior, thief or
tradesman carried themselves in everyday actions. A prime example would be how a person treated those that could do nothing for their reputation. This was true honor.

All this ran through Galvorn’s mind as he gazed on his teacher’s
longtime rival. The Blademaster of Timgâd still had the hard eyes of a warrior but he had let the easy life of a teacher get the better of him. It was obvious in the soft girth of his protruding stomach. Galvorn was certain that he was still formidable but probably not as deadly as he once was. Turning his attention fully to the current headmaster of the Lüdüs, Galvorn dropped to one knee and bowed his head low. This act would seem gracious to those watching since it would put him on eye level with the dwarf but to anyone with knowledge of the dwarven culture would know that he was actually insulting him.

“Aaron Kingslayer, I bring you tidings from my mother and orders from the Dôminus. Will you accept both?”

The headmaster clenched his jaw tightly. By the Shadow’s actions and eloquent question in view of his students, he had no choice but to agree and accept the terms of Kralm’s orders. “Of course, I live to serve the Dark Alliance.”

Accepting the offered scroll, the Kingslayer unrolled it and quickly read its contents. Looking up at Galvorn, he knew the answer before he asked the question but spoke the words anyway.

“Are you aware of what this says?”

It was Gray who answered. “By direct order of the Dark Lady, we are here to test your students.”

Zivën snatched the scroll out of the dwarf’s hands and scanned the document. “It says here that the students are required to use live blades.”

Galvorn acknowledged the unspoken danger with a simple nod.

Kieran chuckled. “Are you two also using live blades?”

Gray shook his head. “Negative Master Kieran…that would not be fair to the younglings.”

Aaron Kingslayer ground his teeth together so fiercely anyone nearby could hear them pop. “You know you could die doing this?”

“Death is only the beginning of a different journey,” responded Galvorn in a calm voice.

Gray grinned at his half-brother’s remark and decided to add fuel to the fire. “A true Sicárius walks besides death on every mission. He is a trusted friend and ally that will visit his reward on either your mark or the Sicárius before the end. It is a certainty.”

The Kingslayer was so mad that he could barely contain his anger. Pushing past the two Sicárii, he stood up to his full height of four feet and gazed once more at his students.

“Today is a special day. It will be one of those days that you recall from now until you are old and grey. It is a day that you will tell stories about, for not only will you become Sicárii, you will have a chance to become a living legend.” The Kingslayer paused for effect and gestured at the two assassins behind him. “You will not be hunting each other today in an effort to see who is the best, you will be hunting Shadow and Stalker.”

Zivën understood what the headmaster was doing and stepped forward. “We have trained you to be the best but the Dôminus and the Dark Lady doubt you.”

There was a murmur of disapproval from the gathering. Gray and Galvorn looked on impassively.

Kieran joined his fellow instructors. “It is time to set aside all doubt and for you to prove your worth.”

The Kingslayer grinned with pride but then a devious thought entered his mind. “I will even sweeten the pot. For the individual that kills either one of these two, I will personally assume their debt to the Dark Alliance and you will be free to go.” With a nod from his head, the gong was rung and the Cërtatüs had officially begun.

Galvorn began to laugh at the complete absurdity of the situation while Gray just clapped his hands at the dwarf.

The student’s murmurs changed to grumbles and their looks became hard.

In one brief remark, the Kingslayer had summed up the difference between his students and the true Sicárii. A Sicárius does not dwell on the future and has no dreams of returning home. A Sicárius is a tool to be wielded by the Dôminus whenever and however is best for the Dark Alliance. He or she serves at the will of the Dôminus, who in turn speaks the words of the Dark Lady, who directs the will of Clotho.

It was obvious that these new students had not been taught the same mentality or code.

Gray boldly moved over to the table of weapons and picked up a pair of
kukris. Making sure they were fitted with the proper
cantatis lapis
, he strapped them on and grabbed a different set of knives. He kept his back to the students and seemed to be ignoring them.