Knight of Shadows, page 20
When Wesson returned to the inn, he found his wards on his room to be intact, and the door was locked. He allowed himself into the dark room and closed and locked the door behind him. Then he lit the lamp on the table beside the door. His vision wavered as though he were seeing the room through water, and his head felt strange. It felt like it was no longer attached to his shoulders. He fell back against the door. Looking down at his bleeding arm, which had gone numb, he realized he had been poisoned. When he looked up, he saw that he was not alone. An enormous, looming figure stood at the center of the room. He wore armor and had an entire armory strapped to him, but it was his dominating presence that caused Wesson’s heartrate to double.
Wesson stepped forward on shaky legs holding up the lamp to better illuminate the figure. He swallowed hard and said, “Rezkin?”
Just then, Wesson’s ward wavered then shattered as the door blasted inward. Wesson was knocked to the floor as the door collided with him. His head swam and his stomach lurched as he rolled over and shoved the door off him. He was woozy, but he could now see the men that were filing into the room and the marks upon their foreheads. They were the same men who had attacked him in the alley, but this time they wielded nocent power as they pummeled him with spells. Wesson managed to ward himself against their attacks, but he could not summon the mental acuity he needed to cast spells of his own.
It was a surprise when the first man fell, his head separated from his body. Wesson pushed himself to a sitting position just as a blast shook the room, shattering the window and causing Wesson to fall over again, his ears ringing. A light caught his attention, and he rolled his head to find the room on fire. The lamp had shattered, splattering oil across the floor and bedding. Wesson wrestled with his pyris power, desperately attempting to snuff the flames, but he could not gain control of it in his state.
He sluggishly turned his attention to the commotion by the door. One of the thugs—who Wesson now knew to be a battle mage—was slinging spells against the armored intruder who Wesson initially thought to be Rezkin. Obviously, it could not be Rezkin. Rezkin was dead. So who was this warrior who was holding his own against five battle mages? The battle mage’s spell seemed to ricochet off the warrior, and the warrior brought his sword around to lop off both of the battle mage’s arms. Then he ran him through. Something about the blade seemed familiar to Wesson, but as soon as the thought entered his mind, it flitted away.
Wesson tried to sit up again, but it was no use. His body had gone numb, and his muscles were like noodles. Nothing was responding the way it should have. As the warrior fought against the rest of the battle mages, Wesson laid back and gazed at the swirling ceiling. Pretty soon, his vision went black.
Chapter 15
Rezkin killed the last battle mage with an efficient slash to the throat then turned back to Mage Wesson. He was unconscious on the floor with a sickly pallor, and the fire was quickly encroaching on him. It was now a race as to whether the poison or the fire would kill him first. Rezkin gathered the mage up and tossed him over his shoulder then grabbed Wesson’s pack from beside the burning bed. He headed for the shattered window. He climbed through the opening into the alley and turned away from the burning building. Eventually, he hauled the unconscious mage onto a rooftop and laid him out.
Wesson’s skin was cold and clammy, and he did not respond as Rezkin patted his face. Rezkin checked his pupils and sniffed the wound on his arm. He pulled a small vial from a pouch at his belt and tipped it into Wesson’s mouth, rubbing his throat so that he would swallow. Rezkin was not certain about which poison had infected him, so he had used a broad-spectrum antidote that would account for the most common poisons.
Rezkin tucked Wesson’s pack under his head and spread his own cloak over him. Then he waited, checking on his patient every so often. The sun was just cresting the horizon when Wesson finally stirred. He moaned and gripped his head then blinked blearily at Rezkin.
“What happened? Where am I? And who are you?” slurred the mage.
“Greetings, Mage Wesson,” said Rezkin. “I am glad to see you are well.”
Wesson jerked in an attempt to sit. “You! It was you. W-what are you doing here? You’re dead!”
Rezkin spread his hands. “As you can see, I am very much alive.”
“Are you? Perhaps you are an imposter. Or are you a wraith like at the citadel?”
Rezkin shook his head. So far, he thought this was going well, although he had thought that of all people, Mage Wesson might have conceived of the truth about his fate. He said, “I am no wraith. Only flesh and blood.”
“By the Maker, what a relief,” blurted Wesson as he finally managed to sit up. “You have no idea how much dread your death filled me with. I think I’ll finally be able to breathe again. Where did you come from? How did you get here?”
Rezkin reached up to where Seena sat perched on his shoulder and stroked her long neck. “I have her to thank for that.”
Wesson’s eyes widened as he noticed Seena for the first time. “What is that?”
“This is Seena, my dragon.”
“You have a dragon?!”
“She’s still a baby, but she’s growing quickly. She does not yet have her fire, but she can open portals to other locations within my memory.”
“She reads your mind?” said Wesson in awe.
Rezkin nodded. “Yes, to a degree. I anticipate the bond will grow stronger as she gets older.”
Wesson shook his head and poked at his singed pack. He said, “What happened? Where are we? And how are you alive?”
“Do you not remember? You were poisoned then attacked in your room. Who were those men?”
Wesson’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. When I first encountered them, I thought they were just street thugs.” He groaned as realization struck. “They were testing me. I must have been caught spying. They likely didn’t know I was a mage. And now they will report back to their master.”
Rezkin shook his head. “They will not be reporting to anyone. They are all dead and the inn burned down around them.”
Wesson swallowed and clutched his pack to him. “Still, the deaths of five battle mages will alert the battle master. He will know I am here—or at least that someone is here. I don’t know how much he knows.” He looked back at Rezkin, pain etched across his face. “We all thought you were dead, most of us did, anyway. I saw your body. I helped lay you to rest. How did you survive?”
“I did not. The Sen Berringish retrieved me from death with intents on joining me with a demon. I killed him. There will be no more coming back from the dead.”
Wesson lurched to his feet and threw his arms around Rezkin. Rezkin tensed, and Wesson quickly backed away. “This is great. You’re back. You can come be emperor again, and everything will be as it was. Where have you been all this time? Why have you kept yourself a secret?”
“It is important for Caydean to believe I am dead. With me gone, he has little reason to target the others, and he will let down his guard.”
Wesson appeared skeptical. “Okay, but why keep this from your friends? We care about you, Rezkin. You have no idea how much pain your death caused.”
“I am sorry for that,” Rezkin said truthfully. “It was never my intent to cause my friends pain. But I have a few reasons for keeping myself a secret from them. For one, there are spies in Cael. I cannot risk Caydean finding out I am alive. Two, I may now use my skills to do as is necessary for the advancement of this war. Without the burden of emperorship, I am free. Three, it liberates me from Entris’s interference. If he knew I lived, he would insist on following me around to ensure I do not go mad.”
“But are you mad?” blurted Wesson.
Rezkin sighed. “No, Wesson, I have not gone mad. I have reasons for everything I have done.”
“I’m sure you do, but are they good reasons? Rezkin, the empire—your empire—is on a knife’s edge. You don’t realize how much damage your death is doing.”
“My empire is stronger than you think. It will survive.”
“No, Rezkin, it won’t. The empire was built on your strength. Without that strength, it will crumble and Caydean will run rampant across the Souelian.”
Rezkin was suddenly filled with uncertainty. Had he really overestimated the resilience of his empire in his absence? He had only ever seen himself as a figurehead in Ferélle and Gendishen and as a threat in Lon Lerésh. He had wanted those kingdoms for their armies but had no desire to rule over them. Was the emperor’s reign really so tenuous?
Wesson must have seen his uncertainty because he said, “Rezkin, it’s been seven months, and they won’t even crown a new emperor because they won’t admit you’re dead. Everyone needs you to be alive.” When Rezkin did not respond, Wesson said, “Why have you chosen to reveal yourself to me now?”
Rezkin shoved away his uncertainty. “It is to my benefit to have someone involved in Cael who knows of my existence.”
“You need a spy.”
Rezkin shook his head. “No, I have spies.”
“You have people spying on your own kingdom?”
“Of course. Also, because you needed my assistance. You would be dead right now had I not intervened.”
Wesson rubbed his throat as if the thought of losing his head had penetrated his mind. “I thank you for your timely assistance, then. I should have been faster, more aware, more—”
“Ruthless,” said Rezkin.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“I know. But it is the truth. Had you been faster to kill, they would not have poisoned you or come after you later.”
Wesson’s face fell. “You saw all that?”
“I was following you.”
“Why?”
“Because you were at Marcum’s estate.”
Wesson scowled. “It belongs to Battle Master General Avikeev now. What do you know of it?”
“Not as much as you. What did you find?”
Wesson ran a hand over his face. “He’s keeping mages as prisoners and experimenting on them.”
“What kind of experiments?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to find out.”
Wesson gave Rezkin a withering look. “That’s what I was trying to do. Apparently, I got caught.” He reached inside his tunic and pulled out some folded papers. “These were the only clues I could find.”
Rezkin took the papers from Wesson and examined the runes. “What do they mean?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Handing the papers back, Rezkin said, “They look Adianaik but slightly different.”
Wesson’s eyes lit with realization. “That’s why they seemed familiar.”
“Entris or Azeria may know something about them.”
“That’s a good idea. About Azeria—she’s been looking for you, or, rather, the Raven.”
“I am aware,” said Rezkin as a pang clenched his heart.
“If you tell no one else you are alive, you need to tell her. She took your death hard.”
“Regretfully, I cannot. If Azeria knew I was alive, she would feel obligated to inform Entris, and I cannot have him following me around.”
“Look, Rezkin, I’ve seen you two together. I know there is something going on between you. I don’t claim to be an expert on women, but I do know they don’t like to be deceived. You need to come forward before she finds out some other way.”
Rezkin bowed slightly and said, “Thank you for your counsel, Mage Wesson. I will take that under advisement. For now, you must swear to keep my existence a secret from everyone.”
Wesson shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t feel comfortable swearing a mage oath to that effect.”
“I will not ask it of you, but this is important. Swear it.”
“Very well, I swear.”
Before departing, Rezkin gave Wesson the location of a storehouse he could use as a safehouse. He turned to leave, but Wesson called out. “Rezkin.”
“Yes?”
“I am glad you’re alive.”
Rezkin nodded then disappeared.
Chapter 16
Seena closed the portal behind them, and Rezkin found himself standing in the forest that surrounded the northern fortress where he had trained since infancy. The conifers that dominated the landscape loomed ominously over the game trail. A cool breeze swept aside his hair, and Rezkin caught the scent of horses and men. His own horse shifted as Seena darted away, and he followed her path with his eyes. She stopped at the base of a large tree and began digging through the pine needles, no doubt in search of some small vermin she had detected. Redirecting his gaze, Rezkin peered through the trees to spy the fortress walls. The guards that manned the walls and towers remained vigilant as a hunting party exited the gates and entered the forest opposite from where Rezkin stood. The fortress looked different so filled with people. When he had been training there, it had been occupied by perhaps twenty people at any given time, and when he had left, it had been vacant save for the corpses he left in the yard.
Rezkin moved silently through the forest following the hunting party for a few minutes, getting a good look at its members. Then he returned to his horse and Seena. He stowed his swords with the horse and took up his bow. Then he asked Seena if she wanted to hunt with him. She gleefully scurried around his feet and then flitted up to his shoulder. Her wings were getting stronger since she had been using them more often. With Seena’s help, Rezkin found and felled a young buck quickly. Then he secured his bow to his saddle, donned the illusion of one of the hunters, hefted the buck over his shoulders, and headed toward the fortress. He covered Seena with the illusion of a hound pup, given her size.
The gate guards barely looked at Rezkin as he passed beneath the portcullis, and they eyed the pup beside him only fleetingly. The bailey was awash with soldiers going about their duties or performing drills. Pages scurried amongst them, and other servants skirted the edges. Rezkin dropped the deer near the smoke shed then promptly changed his illusion to that of a soldier. At his urging, Seena scurried up his leg and into the messenger bag at his hip. She was nearly too large for the bag, but he smoothed the bulge with illusion and headed into the keep.
From the outside, the fortress was rough and functional, but the interior had been designed as an exact replica of the palace in Kaibain. Thanks to a lifetime of training there, Rezkin was familiar with every corner and crevice in the palace, and he had no trouble navigating the labyrinth of corridors as he sought General Marcum. He found the general in the suite that had served as his former masters’ office and study. The rooms were filled with people engaged in deep conversations, and it was no trouble to sneak in unnoticed. Rezkin hovered around the perimeter as he listened to the bits of information while making his way toward where Marcum met with a couple of dour gentlemen. The conversation eventually shifted to something of interest to Rezkin.
“Yes, Atressian will be there,” said the general.
A tall man with a short beard replied, “That will not sit well with Wellinven. The two are sworn enemies.”
“It is true,” said a shorter man with dull grey eyes. “I doubt even this trouble with Caydean can get them to set aside their animosity.”
Marcum shifted his calculating gaze to the shorter man. “Wellinven knows what is at stake here. He will restrain himself from acting against Atressian. I cannot say Atressian will do the same.”
“We will see soon enough,” said the bearded man.
“Yes, we move out in three days’ time. It will be a small contingent. I do not want to draw Caydean’s attention,” said Marcum.
The short man added, “So far as we know, he is unaware of this conference.”
Marcum shook his head. “We should conduct ourselves as if Caydean knows all.”
A page interrupted the exchange at that point, drawing Marcum’s attention away from the two men. Rezkin had heard enough, though. He had arrived at the fortress in time to join the contingent destined for Wellinven. But first, he had to make sure he would be accepted. He quickly made his way out of the fortress and into the forest where his horse awaited him. He would camp in the forest and return to spy on the inhabitants of the fortress while he came up with a plan. It did not take him long to find his mark, and the plan fell into place from there.
On the third day, before the sun rose, Rezkin used a locked side entrance to access the bailey. It was not hard to identify the soldiers chosen for the mission as they were already awake and preparing to leave. He watched them surreptitiously for a while as he stalked his mark, a man named Gonery. Gonery was a lanky fellow with brown hair that curled over his ears and a mustache. He was quite unpopular with his comrades, and they tended to ignore him or, in some cases, taunt him. When Gonery headed for the latrine, Rezkin followed. He waited until the man had finished then shot him with a poisoned dart to the neck. He dragged Gonery behind a stack of crates and barrels. Gonery would not die. The poison was merely a strong sedative that would have the man out until the dinner bell at least. By then, the company would be long gone. Rezkin doubted Gonery would be taken seriously if he reported his incapacitation, or, more likely, Gonery would believe he had been the butt of some joke.
Rezkin joined Marcum’s contingent disguised with illusion as the unpopular Gonery. Seena was not happy to be relegated to the messenger bag. She had ample energy and enjoyed running about hunting small creatures and attempting to fly. But Gonery did not have a companion animal besides his horse, so showing up with one now would draw notice, and he doubted Marcum would approve. So Seena stayed in the bag, shifting about anxiously as Rezkin held the illusion still. She spoke to Rezkin often using her mindspeak. She was learning new words and even forming short sentences, and Rezkin found their conversations intriguing as they rode.
They moved quickly toward Wellinven, with long days of riding, rising before the sun rose and making camp well after dusk. No roads existed between the northern fortress and Wellinven, so the company was forced to cut a path through the forest. For the most part, the other soldiers ignored Rezkin, and therefore he did not have to make excuses for not knowing their names or associations. Rezkin snuck away from the camp at night for two reasons: one, he was not certain he could maintain his illusion in his sleep; and two, to allow Seena time to play and hunt. On occasion, when she had cornered an animal, she would emit a screech and a small puff of smoke would stream from her maw. They continued with her flying lessons by moonlight. She could glide much farther now, but she still could not manage a takeoff or sustained flight. Rezkin was certain it would not be long, though, before she was soaring with the birds—and likely snacking on them.
