The Deathless Ones, page 13
"King Aadron is not other men," Ellora spoke. "Women are safe in his cities. Even his soldiers treat them with respect."
"That is true from what I've seen too, old mother," Layla confirmed.
"All men are the same!" Shira declared. "And we don't need their charity: the crumbs thrown by their big, generous hearts!"
"Have some perspective, Shira," Meia begged. "Our mission is more important than satisfying our egos. As long as Layla can destroy the Thieves and Assassins, I don't care how many men help her."
"The Assassins could be difficult, old mother," Layla said hesitantly. "Hamon was the liaison between the Thieves and the Assassins. Now that he's dead, another is yet to be chosen to liaise with them."
"Who chooses the one?" Meia asked.
"The Assassins make the choice. The Thieves might agree or not, but if they don't agree, it irritates the Assassins. They still change their choice, but their dealings could turn hostile."
"So, we need to get one of our own as the liaison," Shira said.
"That's easier said than done," Meia said. "We are no longer in the days when the Emperor was alive and the Sisterhood thrived. We don’t have legitimacy within the Empire these days, and the Sisterhood is all but extinct. We are the last of the great Order. It’s up to us to rebuild it now. For that, we need to put an end to the Thieves and the Assassins first. Then, we can turn our attention to the slavers, and then the so called Kings. We could help the one who offers us legitimacy."
“What if more than one offers?” Shira asked.
“No chance of even one of them offering right now,” Ellora whispered to Layla under her breath. “I love their enthusiasm, but I wish they would face reality every once in a while!”
Layla smiled, bending her head.
"I have a suggestion for getting rid of the Assassins," Layla said, aloud, lifting her head, and placing a finger at the corner of her mouth, keeping it straight.
"Tell us," Meia said, smiling benevolently.
"Lord Aadron was recently attacked by an Assassin," she said. "One sent by Hamon, but the assassin was new and botched the attempt, and now Hamon is dead too. If Lord Aadron believed that the Assassins are after him of their own accord, he'll wipe them out, leaving me at leisure to bring down the Thieves from within as we planned."
Shira's look of disapproval deepened, but she glanced at Meia and kept quiet.
"It's a good plan," Meia observed. "But is it possible to mislead the King? Rumours declare him to be clever."
"He may be, but he's also hot headed. That's what I am counting on," Layla replied.
"Then I suggest you do it quickly," Shira said, forcing the words out as if they were poison.
A small smile appeared on Layla's face and she dipped her head to hide it. Ellora was smiling broadly.
"As you say, old mother," Layla said respectfully.
"If we have nothing else to discuss, this meeting is adjourned,” Meia said, raising. She must have been tall once, but stooped now, and walked with the help of a cane. “We should all leave separately as usual, and ensure that we aren’t seen,”
“Yes, old mother,” Layla and Ellora murmured.
Shira too rose. She was diminutive and used no adjuncts for moving around. She followed Meia out of the door briskly.
“Have you any idea how they leave?” Ellora asked, still speaking softly. “I’ve never seen them come or go.”
Layla shrugged. “Not our business. What I want to know is why they insist getting rid of the Thieves and Assassins is so important. I mean, the Thieves are all but wiped out anyway, and both the organisations are illegal. The slavers would have made more sense.”
“History,” Ellora said. “The Thieves and the Assassins were partly responsible for poisoning the Emperor’s heart regarding the Sisterhood. The Thieves blackmailed a man in the council into speaking against the Sisterhood and the Assassins sent two of their women assassins after two other Councillors. The women were earlier attended a few sisterhood meetings, and were recognised by the guards who killed them. The Emperor outlawed the Sisterhood and exiled the Councillor who had spoken for them.”
“You mean, they planned it that way?” Layla asked, her hand on her chin and a thoughtful expression on her face. “What did the Thieves have on the other Councillor, I wonder?”
Ellora shrugged. “Some youthful indiscretion, I guess. Anyway, one of the councillors who was attacked died, and his son became the new councillor. Three out of four Councillors must have been too hard for the Emperor to withstand. Also, he was young in those days, and the Slavers were always complaining about the Sisterhood too.”
“I wonder what he was like, the Emperor,” Layla said thoughtfully. “All those adventures, building an army, and conquering the entire continent... Perhaps we should be taking lessons from his life.”
Ellora shrugged. “It was more than a hundred years ago, and despite all the extensive records they left, you can be sure there was a lot of white washing done. The magician for instance.”
”The one who died? The one whose name the Emperor forbade to be spoken?”
“The same. She was the Emperor’s friend and suddenly she turned against him, and the Emperor was forced to kill her in self-defence. Fishy if you ask me.”
“But... but you can’t kill magicians except in self-defence,” Layla said. “Everyone knows that.”
“They do, and I’ve no doubt the Emperor was counting on that too,” Ellora said darkly. “She was sympathetic to the Sisterhood and her vote was what kept us legitimate for as long as it did, but with her gone... I’ve no doubt there was something contrived about the whole incident, but unless we find out a magical means to travel through time, we shall never know.”
“It is probably forbidden,” Layla said. “Otherwise the magicians would have found a way already.”
“Still, it’ll be interesting to know what happened and why,” Ellora said.
“Well, if the Sisterhood was doing the same things we’re doing now, is that a surprise? They must have been helping women, taking in orphans so the slavers won’t take them, training them in arms and in other skills, but as free women... enough to put up the backs of everyone I should assume.” Layla was surprised at how angry and bitter she sounded.
Ellora nodded. “That must have been it, but that magician... she helped him get the throne, it is said, and yet... guess it’s no use thinking of ancient history now. I better be going. I’ve some place I need to be. I’ll be coming back later. I need a place to lie low for a couple of days. I agree that we should be thinking of bringing the slavers down, but for now, let us get rid of the easier enemy.”
Layla smiled as Ellora left through the door. She was alone in the empty room, and she waited until a suitable time had elapsed before she went out through another door and found herself in another corridor, but this one was crumbling and damp, and sloping upwards. She went up, stopping to listen every now and then. Only when she was satisfied did she push open a door to one side to enter a small room in what appeared to have been an inn at one time. She closed the door carefully, and listened once more. There were no suspicious noises anywhere, and she went out, skirting a tree, and making her way cautiously through the trees into a small clearing. Beyond the clearing lay another part of the woods, but with a path in the middle leading to Hardin.
She had taken barely a dozen steps into the clearing when the net descended on her. She struggled to get her knife out, but a noose was thrown around the net, so that her arms were pinned to her sides. A dozen men surrounded her. Four other men joined them, and one of them came towards her.
"We finally meet," he said. "I am Douel, of the Assassins. Hamon was my brother."
Layla glared at him. "Hamon was one of my people," she said. "It was King Aadron who killed him. Why are you attacking me?"
"King Aadron killed him, I have no dispute about that, but who gave him Hamon's name?"
"Maybe your assassin talked before he died," Layla suggested. The net was taken off her, but the rope was still around her, and her arms were still pinned.
Douel backhanded her across the face, making her lose her footing. She flailed about as if to regain it, loosening the noose around her body a bit.
"You are the one who did the talking,” Douel yelled. “My men saw you being escorted by the Royal Guard into King Aadron’s mansion. You came out after an hour. The next day, Hamon is hunted and killed by the King. The inference is plain!"
She wasn’t armed, but had a small knife in her waistband. Her hand could move but only slightly, and as she flailed her eyes had found the man holding the other end of the noose. He was too busy laughing and the rope in his hand was held in a slack grip. He was behind her, and she straightened, bringing her hands in front of her body as she did so. None of them appeared to have noticed her hands were in a different position now. She moved her right hand slowly towards her knife. As long as she kept Douel distracted, her body between her hand and the man behind her, and as long as she made no sudden movements, she might get her knife free.
“You’re making a big mistake,” she said, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her hands.
Douel snarled, and took a sword from one of his men. "Time to die, bitch!"
The Pupil and the Master
Mylwin stared at the ceiling in his room. He had been lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling for over an hour now. He could hear the noise of the men practising down in the courtyard of the mansion. The ring of steel on steel, the thud of bodies slamming into one another, loud laughter, grunts, all were clearly audible. Normally, he would have been with them, training as well as supervising, but for the last two days, he had not joined the men. What was the point anyway? They were not his brothers-in-arms. They were Syamin's men. It was a galling thought. He wondered vaguely why Syamin was still in Rhenon. Mylwin had expected Syamin to leave for Mirrel after that revelation that had left Mylwin aghast and shocked. The worst of it was that the man had removed his sword without any effort, so he did not even have a weapon to plunge into the traitor's black heart. He couldn't believe he had been so foolish, that Lady Myra had been so foolish. But they had been, and now they were going to pay the price. He had no doubt Syamin was going to imprison Lady Myra, and then what? Kill her?
He had contemplated making a break for it, to warn Lady Myra, but he hadn't. He could have; he wasn’t being watched and as far as he could tell, or followed. A part of him feared that he was being watched without his knowledge. He wouldn’t put anything past Syamin at this stage. If Syamin had put spies on him, he didn’t want them to know what he was planning. So, he tried to behave as if everything was normal, except that he avoided Syamin.
He knew it was childish and served no purpose; that it did no good either to him or to his liege, but somehow he couldn’t even look at the man. It made no sense. He had known he was a traitor when he thought of him as Lyam, but Lyam, an adventurer using an opportunity that presented itself didn't seem as bad as Syamin, the Lord of Mirrel forming this scheme to cheat Myra and her soldiers. Oh, he could admire the man's acumen, but that didn’t make his cold-bloodedness any less repugnant. Mylwin felt ashamed that he had been so weak as to allow Syamin to disarm him so easily. Even though he knew Syamin for a traitor, he hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Somehow, he couldn’t forget that he had looked up to him, liked him, admired him. Lyam had been like an older brother, and he had allowed that attachment to weaken him, just as Syamin had said.
That weakness was at an end now. The knowledge that Lyam was Syamin was enough to make him hate the man. If he had attacked them, as Semil did, and conquered them, there might have been some honour in that. Syamin had told him he wanted to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, but Mylwin only felt contempt towards him for that. If he was completely honest, Mylwin had to accept that what Syamin did, did do some good. Rhenon was secure now, even though it was Syamin's armies that secured it. Their people were free to go about their daily business. Syamin kept a tight rein on the soldiers so that the citizens were never molested or bothered in any way. Also, the training he gave was what made Mylwin a soldier. Until then, he had only been a boy playing at being a soldier. Syamin had taught him to fight. He had taught almost the entire Royal Guard of Myra to fight. Except the few veterans who had served with Myra's father, the late Lord Keriven, all of her guard were inexperienced young men. It was Syamin who had turned them into a united band of fighting men. Even the armies that he had taken from Myra had become a cohesive fighting force under him. Without him, they would have been under Semil's thumb, and Myra imprisoned or dead. He too would probably have been dead. So, perhaps Syamin did help them, but Mylwin wasn’t certain how he felt about that.
A knock came on the door. Mylwin contemplated ignoring it, but it was likely one of his friends. He got up, went to the door and opened it. It was Bale.
“You haven’t been coming to train with us since you got back from that mission,” Bale said, looking concerned. “Are you ill?”
Mylwin wondered what Bale would say if he chose to tell him the truth. Would he turn against Syamin, or would he choose not to believe Mylwin? The latter was more possible. Bale and many like him had joined the army after Syamin's arrival and after the victories he had won. Their loyalties were to him rather than to lady Myra.
“I'm fine,” he said, more to allay the anxiety on Bale's face than anything.
“All right. Will you come down to the training area today?”
“Let me just get my sword,” he said, feeling ashamed of hiding in his room like a sulky child. Perhaps he should have mingled with the men as he used to. He had no intention of going down to practice. He hoped that after two days, Syamin’s spies would have left him alone so he could go and warn Lady Myra. Myra. Even though they had a head start on him, they would be going slowly since some of the women attending Myra were aged and wouldn’t be able to travel fast. On a fast horse, he might be able to catch up with them before they reached Mirrel.
The morning went by fast. Syamin did not make an appearance at the training area, but Mylwin knew he was still on the premises. He wondered if Syamin was planning to leave for Mirrel as well. In that case, he would need to head him off before that. He couldn't have Syamin leaving and catching up with Myra before him. Mylwin decided to leave at sundown.
He slipped out, wearing civilian clothes, a hooded robe, and his sword underneath it. He took a horse from the stables, one that was strong and would last the journey. He made it through the gates, and stopped near the bridge. The gate there was closed, but there were no soldiers to be seen. Mylwin dismounted, tied his horse to one of the posts, and walked towards the gate, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He unlatched the gates and led his horse out, before latching it again. He had taken the Northern gate which meant that he would have to circle back to the East to the road leading to Ceatin. He was afraid that the Eastern gate would be watched.
When Syamin blocked his way, it was almost an anti-climax.
"I can't have you warning Myra," Syamin said apologetically. “Return to the city, Mylwin. I promise you she won’t be harmed.”
“As if I can believe your promises!” Mylwin snarled before drawing his sword and lunging, his fury lending him speed. Syamin's sword fell from his hands as Mylwin's blade went through him.
"I... taught... you... well..." Syamin gasped, as he fell to his knees.
The Magician and the Soldier
Amrose was tired, but he wasn’t going to complain. He knew Cadgen was afraid of him, but the man also held him in contempt. Amrose had never learned how to fight because he had never needed to, but to men like Cadgen, a man was worthy of respect only if he knew how to brandish a sword or to shoot an arrow. Amrose's lips curled at the thought. Cadgen also laboured under the misapprehension that Amrose didn’t know how to ride a horse. Amrose had learned to ride at an early age. One of his neighbours was a groom in the stables of Lord Brennan.
Now Cadgen was trying to wear him out, but Amrose wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He was determined to go on until Cadgen tired of his childishness. He gave the other man a sidelong glance. Cadgen sat straight on his horse, his face grim and weathered. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp and rivulets of sweat were running down his face. He was more than two decades older than Amrose, and it showed in his behaviour. He had also been with Semil for longer, and Amrose knew he was jealous of his closeness to Semil. Not that he cared, but he wondered if that was part of the reason for this silly game that Cadgen was playing.
“We'll stop for tonight,” Cadgen said, after the last moon has risen. He got down from his horse briskly, and set out to make camp once he had attended to his horse. Amrose thought he might fall down from exhaustion, but he led his horse to the stream nearby and rubbed it down, let it drink, and then tethered it near Cadgen's. By that time, Cadgen had a fire going and had set up a crude shelter near a rocky outcrop towards the west. Amrose sank down next to the fire, so tired he felt himself nodding off. Cadgen was boiling some water in a small pot. He handed some hard bread that travellers tended to eat to Amrose.
“It’s all there is. You need to eat, or you won't be able to ride tomorrow.”
Amrose took the bread, looked at it with a frown, and then tapped it with his finger, muttering an incantation, changing it to a plate of steaming soup and a piece of fresh bread. Cadgen frowned and muttered “unnatural,” before biting into his own bread and turning his face away from Amrose. Amrose paid no attention to the other man. He was feeling tired from the spell, and he was eating his bread and soup fast. Having finished eating, Cadgen started making tea while Amrose finished his food and went to have a drink of water. When he returned, Cadgen pushed a mug towards him without a word and went off towards the shelter. He spread his cloak over some sand and lay down. Amrose followed suit. The little bit of magic had exhausted him, but he knew that the hard bread would only have made him choke and throw up.
