CHAPTER FOUR
THE ASSASSIN
I’d gladly do it myself, but I need to return to my duties in Venda. You’ll be in and out in a day. She’s only a royal, after all. You know how they are. And only seventeen at that. How hard could it be to find her?
I had smiled at the Komizar’s summation of royals, but an answer wasn’t necessary. We both knew it would be easy. A panicked prey doesn’t worry about leaving a messy trail. The Komizar had done my job many times. He was the one who had trained me.
If it will be easy, why can’t I go? Eben had complained.
This job is not for you, I had told him. Eben was eager to prove himself. He was skilled with both their language and a knife, and being small and barely twelve, he could pass for a child, especially with his mournful brown eyes and cherub face, which had the advantage of disarming suspicions. But there was a difference between killing in battle and slitting a girl’s throat as she slept. He wasn’t ready for it. He might hesitate when he saw her startled eyes. That was the hardest moment, and there could be no hesitation. No second chances. The Komizar had made that clear.
An alliance between Morrighan and Dalbreck could make all of our efforts futile. Even worse, the girl is said to be a Siarrah. We may not believe in such magical thinking, but others do, and it might embolden them or make our own people fearful. We can’t take a chance. Her flight is their bad luck and our good fortune. Slip in, slip out—your specialty. And if you can make it look like the work of Dalbreck, so much the better. I know you’ll fulfill your duties. You always do.
Yes, I always met my duty. Far ahead the trail forked, and Eben saw that as his last chance to resume his campaign. “I still don’t see why I shouldn’t be the one to go. I know the language just as well as you.”
“And all the dialects of Morrighan as well?” I questioned.
Before he could answer, Griz reached out and cuffed the side of his head. Eben yelped, sending a round of guffaws through the other men. “The Komizar wants him to do the deed, not you!” he shouted. “Quit yer whining!” Eben was silent for the remainder of the ride.
We reached the point where our paths diverged. Griz and his band of three had their own special skills. They would weave their way through the northernmost portion of Morrighan, where the kingdom had foolishly concentrated its forces. They’d be creating their own special brand of mayhem. Not as bloody as mine, but just as productive. Their work would take considerably longer, though, which meant I’d have a “holiday,” as Griz described it, while I waited for them at a designated camp in the Cam Lanteux for our return trip to Venda. He knew as well as I did that the Cam Lanteux was no holiday.
I watched as they went their own way, Eben sulking low in his saddle.
Not a job for you.
Had I been that eager to please the Komizar when I was Eben’s age?
Yes.
It was just a handful of years past, but it seemed like two lifetimes ago.
The Komizar wasn’t even a dozen years older than I was, hardly a full-grown man himself when he became ruler of Venda. That was when he took me under his wing. He saved me from starving. Saved me from a lot of things I’ve tried to forget. He gave me what my own kind hadn’t. A chance. I’ve never stopped paying him back. There are some things you can never pay back.
But this would be a first, even for me. Not that I hadn’t slit throats in the dark of night before, but those throats had always belonged to soldiers, traitors, or spies, and I knew their deaths meant my comrades would live. Even so, each time my blade slid across a throat, the startled eyes would steal a part of my soul.
I would have cuffed Eben myself if he’d brought up the subject again. He was too young to begin losing himself.
Slip in, slip out. And then on to a holiday.
They thought themselves
only a step lower than the gods,
proud in their power over heaven and earth.
They grew strong in their knowledge
but weak in their wisdom,
craving more and still more power,
crushing the defenseless.
—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV