Flamecaster by Cinda Williams Chima
“What?” She sounded wild, bloodthirsty, and completely unfamiliar.
Ash shoved the body of the first assassin aside and stood up unsteadily. “Maybe we should try to find out who they are and why they’re trying to kill me.”
Lila stared at him a moment, and then brushed a hand absently across her face, as if to wipe something away. Then nodded. “Right.”
“Why don’t you go fetch the dorm masters and provosts and I’ll search these two for clues.”
“Fair enough.” She produced another dagger from some hiding place and slapped it into Ash’s hand. “I’ll be right back. If he moves, stick him.”
Ash stared at the dagger in his hand. “Actually, I have my own—” he began, but she was gone.
First things first. He pulled on his breeches, then stuck Lila’s dagger into the sheath hidden in the waistline. Dropping to his knees, he dug in the first assassin’s bag and retrieved his amulet, sliding the chain back around his neck. He palmed the jinxpiece, feeling the welcome flow of the magical energy called flash. All he had was what was stored in the pendant—he’d been completely stripped of power. It would take a while to recover.
Using his amulet, Ash kindled the lamp next to his bed. He pulled a cloth bandage from his healer’s kit and wrapped it snugly around his arm, using his teeth in place of a second hand. A more thorough search of the assassin’s carry bag turned up a traveler’s edition of the Book of Malthus, a few religious charms, two more runed blades, a stoppered bottle, and a wadded-up cloth.
Ash spread the cloth out on his washstand, thinking it might be a map or something. It was a handkerchief, made of white We’enhaven cotton, but stained brown with old blood. It was the plain, utilitarian style used at Oden’s Ford. In fact, the school’s laundry mark was faintly visible in one corner.
Ash looked from the handkerchief in his one hand to the pinkish scar that ran across the meat of his thumb on the other. He’d cut himself badly, chopping betony herb, a month before. He’d stopped the bleeding with a handkerchief just like this one.
It was not a random attack, then. But why had they come after him? Could Ardenine spies have discovered what he’d been doing with his school vacations? Or, worse, had they somehow figured out his true identity?
Lila was back, slipping in through the door like a wraith, her sword in her hand. She locked the door behind her, then pulled the window shutters closed and latched them.
“There were three more in the hall,” she said, turning toward Ash. Her hands were covered with blood. Her face was splattered with it as well, like a dark rash, and perhaps the whole front of her, although it was hard to tell with her back to the lamp.
“Three more?” Ash stared at her. “What did you—?”
“I killed them,” she said, rubbing her neck. “What a mess. It’s so hard to find that sweet spot between the . . . anyway. Sorry. So let’s hope this one has something to say.” She nudged the man on the floor with her boot. He groaned.
“I thought you went to get the dorm masters and provosts.”
“The dorm masters are dead,” Lila said wearily. “Here at Stokes, anyway. They must’ve killed them on their way in. Two provosts as well.”
The news was like a punch in the gut. After four years, it was hard to let go of the notion that this was a place of safety, with rules, and people to enforce them. He’d become accustomed to being the predator, not the prey.
Taking in his reaction, Lila said, “Look, the provosts are used to dealing with drunken students and domestic squabbles. Not professional killers.”
Ash was learning things about Lila Barrowhill that he had never known before, things he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His hard-drinking dorm mate had just dispatched multiple armed men without making a sound.
Ash had his secrets, and so, apparently, did she.
“By the way, thanks for saving my life,” Ash said. “Good that you came home early.”
Lila snorted. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
Ash extended the handkerchief toward her. “He was carrying this in his bag.”
Lila took it, examined it under the lamp, and handed it back. “I don’t get it,” she said.
“I think they follow a blood scent,” Ash said, wadding the cloth in his fist. “This is my blood. Somebody here at school must have given it to them.” He stopped then, realizing that he had nothing to say about why they might do that.
“Yeah,” Lila said, scowling. “Somebody must have.” Her expression suggested she had a candidate in mind. She leaned against the wall, where she could watch both the man on the floor and the door. “Well? What are you waiting for? Interrogate him.”
“Me?” Ash’s brain wasn’t working as well as it usually did.
“No, one of the other mages in the room.” She pointed her chin at the assassin on the floor. “Time is wasting. We’ve got to get out of here.”
His subject was as pallid and gaunt as the dead man on the bed. Ash gripped his amulet with one hand and pressed the other into the assassin’s chest. Then he concentrated and forced the assassin into consciousness, using the direct magical pressure called persuasion. Being a flatlander, the man would likely have little knowledge of or defense against wizard interrogation techniques.
The priest opened his eyes and fixed them on Ash. His hands scrabbled on the floor like claws trying to gain purchase. Ash flinched backward, then took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Who are you?” Ash asked in Common, his voice cold and hard. “What is your name?”
The man squirmed, as if to avoid the wizard mind pressing down on him, but there was no place to hide. “My name is Usepia,” he said hoarsely, in Ardenine-accented Common. “I am of the Darian Guild.”
“Darian Guild,” Ash repeated. “What’s that?”
“Redeemers of mages,” Usepia replied. He had stopped squirming and was staring at Ash, his eyes shining with desire. “We are the Blades of Malthus, who cleanse the world of sorcery.”
“There are lots of mages here. How did you choose me?”
“We smelled your blood. We tasted it when we were given the kill.”
“Somebody gave you the kill? Who told you to kill me?”
“A mage,” Usepia said, eyes slitted against the wizard light, as if it hurt his eyes.
“A mage? What mage?” Ash leaned closer. “What was his name?”
Usepia shrugged, as if mages were mages. “He said there were many mages here, but you were the one to be redeemed.”
“You heard him say that?” Ash pressed. “You spoke with him?”
The Darian shook his head. “The mage spoke to our master, and our master spoke to us. It seems that this mage is a man of faith.”
“What faith?”
Annoyance flickered over Usepia’s face. “The true faith. The Church of Malthus. Don’t pretend that you . . .”
Usepia’s voice trailed off as his attention was diverted. He eagerly extended a hand, palm cupped. Ash followed his eyes. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his arm and was again dripping onto the floor. The Darian brother was trying to catch the drops. Ash jerked his arm away, and Lila slammed Usepia’s wrist to the floor with a booted foot.
The Darian screeched like he was being tortured. “Aiiieee! That hurts!”
“Then stop that!” Lila said. Maybe it was the light, but her face looked to be a strange, gray-green color. The Darian brother went limp, and Lila removed her foot.
Ash pushed with his mind again. “Did he tell you why I was to be killed?”
“You are Adrian sul’Han, the get of an unholy union between a powerful mage, Han sul’Alger, and the witch queen in the north.”
Ash heard Lila’s quick intake of breath. He looked up, met her narrow-eyed gaze, and looked away.
Scummer. Never ask a question without considering what the answer might be.
Well, there was no jamming that cat back into the bag. After four years at Oden’s Ford, he’d been outed.
“What if you’re wrong? What if I’m not the mage you’re looking for?”
The man smiled an awful smile. “Ah, but you are. And even if you were not, we have our own reasons to kill mages. We free mages from the sin of sorcery by drinking their blood.” Usepia seemed all too willing to share the good news.
Ash recalled the little goblet that hung around the blade man’s neck, and shuddered.
Lila held something between her thumb and forefinger in front of the man’s face. “What is this?” It was the stone that had paralyzed Ash.
Usepia squeezed the words out, as if they hurt. “That is Darian stone. It keeps mages still so they can be cleansed. It takes up the mana’in, the taint of sorcery, so it can be used for the good of all.”
Ash had never heard of Darian stone. Maybe it worked in the same way as an amulet—by storing flash, the magical energy wizards constantly produced. Only in this case, a wizard wouldn’t get it back.
“We’ve seen five of you,” Ash said. “Are there more?”
“There are many brothers in the guild, and we’ve all tasted your scent,” Usepia whispered. “You are a dead man, mage. We are the best, and we never give up. If you submit, I will take you quickly and painlessly. I am . . . quite skilled . . . with a knife.” Still flat on his back, he reached up with both arms, as if to embrace Ash. Light reflected off metal.
Ash jerked backward as the blade slashed past his throat. Then instinct took over. In one movement, he’d drawn his borrowed dagger and pinned the Darian brother to the floor with the blade through his chest. Lila all but impaled him a second time.
“Blood and bones!” Lila looked from the dead priest on the floor to Ash and back again, then shook her head in disgust. “I didn’t even search the bloodsucking crow. I’m too stupid to live.”
“I didn’t search him, either,” Ash said.
Lila pulled her blade free, using her foot to stabilize the body. “I’m sorry, Hanson, or sul’Han, or whoever the hell you are. He gave me the all-over crawls.”
Ash couldn’t argue with that. Usepia’s eyes were open, and it still seemed like they followed him around the room. Finally, he dropped his bloody handkerchief over the Darian’s face. Enjoy, he thought.
“Come on.” Lila spoke briskly, breaking the spell of indecision. “Let’s bind up your arm again so you don’t bleed to death. We need to change clothes, pack up, and get out of here.”
Ash stared at her, his thoughts muddled by loss of blood. “What are you talking about?”
Lila wiped her dagger on the assassin’s robe and shoved her sword back into its scabbard. She worked quickly, but spoke slowly, as if to the dim-witted. “The Peace of Oden’s Ford is broken. Clearly, princeling, Arden knows you’re here, and wants to cleanse the world of you. Unless you’re good with that, we need to go.”
I’m not a princeling, Ash thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
Lila crossed to the window, threw open the shutters, and scanned the empty, moonlit yard. Then pulled them closed again and latched them.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Don’t open the door to anyone but me.” And she was gone again.
Ash was beginning to feel dizzy and weak from loss of blood. He needed to do something about that before he was too far gone. He sat down on the hearth, his healer’s kit next to him. Look on the bright side, he thought. At least poison’s not a worry. It would have been washed out long ago.
Ash cleaned the wound one-handed, then packed a poultice of herbs over it. He was in the process of trying to wrap it again when there came a tapping at the door.
It was Lila, dressed in clean, nondescript clothing, saddlebags over her shoulder. She’d scrubbed the blood off her face and hands, too.
Dropping her bags by the door, she gripped Ash’s elbow and led him back to the hearth. “Here, let me help with that. We’ve got to hurry, and I can’t have you falling off your horse.”
She sat next to Ash and began wrapping, but not without wrinkling her nose at the smell of the herbs. “At least maybe the stink will keep those bloodhounds off your scent,” she said.
“Are you sure Arden’s in on this?” Ash asked, leaning his head back against the fireplace. “Odd that it was a wizard who ordered the kill. Our family has enemies at home. It could have been one of them.”
“Maybe,” Lila said, clearly humoring him, “but I don’t think so. I think Renard Tourant found out who you were somehow, and sent word to Arden, along with your handkerchief. Somebody set up the kill with the Darian brothers. Tourant threw a party to empty out the dorms, but he knew you wouldn’t come, so you’d be here alone.” She gave him a hard eye. “That’s what you get for being boring.”
“What tipped you off?”
“They turtled my ale. I knew something was up, so I hurried back here.”
“If they were in on it, why didn’t they stop you?”
“I swapped ales with Tourant, so he was down for the count,” Lila said. “Arden doesn’t want the academy on their necks, and I’m sure they’d like to keep training soldiers at the Ford. They were likely hoping that if things went wrong, the Darian brothers would take the blame for breaking the peace and not them.”
Ash knew Lila had edited something out, something she didn’t want him to know. “Why would your turtled ale send you rushing back to the dorm to check on me?”
The cadet shrugged. “I came back here for weapons,” she said, “not to check on you. When I saw blood in the hallway, I thought I’d better take a look around. You’re lucky I did.”
“It’s an interesting theory, but there’s quite a few maybes and mights,” Ash said. “I’m not in line for the throne in the Fells. They had no reason to target me.” Unless his secret life had somehow become public.
Lila shrugged. “Maybe they don’t understand the Fellsian rules of succession. Or maybe they just don’t care.”
“Or maybe King Gerard is still working his plan to destroy my mother’s family and eliminate the Gray Wolf line for good. He finally found one of us that he could get at.” The anger that always smoldered in him flamed up again. “That means that the queen and the princess heir may be next.” Assuming it hasn’t happened already. That thought was like a knife to the gut.
“I’m sure they’ve been targets all along,” Lila said. “There’s nothing you can do about that.”
Yes, there is, Ash thought. Something I should have done, or tried to do, before now. For four years, I’ve been lopping legs off the spider when I should have gone straight for the heart.
“Ash? Are you listening to me?”
Ash looked up to find Lila scowling at him. “Oh. Sorry. What did you say?”
“What we do know is that they know you’re here. So it’s not safe here, not anymore. If it ever was. Which means we’ve got to get out of here.”
We? A traveling companion did not fit into Ash’s plans.
“Lila, listen,” Ash said. “I don’t want you to change your plans. Go to your posting in the Fens. I’ll just go on to Freetown tonight. Problem solved.”
Lila looked pointedly at the body on the floor, then the body on the bed. “Right,” she said with a sour grin. “How many people here know about your plans to go to Freetown? How long before those bloodsuckers are hunting you there?”
“I can take care of myself,” Ash said stiffly. “They won’t catch me by surprise again.”
“No.” Lila shook her head. “Now that your secret is out, the safest place for you is back in Fellsmarch. And that’s where I’m going to take you.” She gave him a sideways look. “It’s worth it to stay out of the swiving Fens.”
“So what’s your interest in this? What makes you think we should partner up?”
“I’m not talking about being partners,” Lila said. “I’m hoping there’ll be a reward in it for me. As soon as I collect, I’m gone.” She rubbed her fingers and thumb together. “Now change your breec
She had saved his life. Now it seemed there would be a price to be paid for it. Until he got his game going, as his father would say, it was better not to leave this loose end hanging.
“Turn your back, at least,” Ash said.
Lila heaved a great sigh, but she turned and faced the door. “I can’t believe you’re making a fuss about this, after everything that’s happened.”
Stripping quickly, Ash dropped his bloody clothes on the floor and yanked on clean smallclothes, a fresh set of breeches, and a linen shirt.
“Can I at least help pack your things while you’re busy being shy?” Lila said to the ceiling.
“I’m already packed,” Ash said, pulling his panniers from under the bed. “Let’s go.”
11
GOING EAST ON THE WEST ROAD
Either Ash Hanson sul’Han didn’t want to be rescued, or he had no common sense. It wasn’t like Lila expected a medal, but still—a little cooperation would be damned nice. She hadn’t planned on spending a month or two nannying a blueblood mage. She had business of her own to attend to. Pressing business.
Leaving the bodies where they lay, Lila and Ash carried their gear down to the first floor. The guards that were usually posted in the doorways were gone, and the corridors yawned, empty and sinister.
The kitchen yard, so busy during the day, was tenanted only by moonlight and by Scraps, the Mistress of Kitchens’ battle-scarred tomcat. The lock on the kitchen door easily gave to Lila’s practiced hand. Scraps watched balefully from the doorway as they gathered as much travelers’ food as they could carry: salted meat, bread and cheese and dried fruit, two skins of wine. Given the carnage in the dormitory, a raid on the kitchen would receive little attention in the morning.
While they worked, they argued, debating which road to take.