Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1), Page 2

  "It’s dead, I assure you," he said, snapping their attention back to him. "You two," he demanded, pointing toward the two closest victims of his spoiled temperament. "Bring the body," All the Stunts gawked in stunned silence. Honmour and Jensai coughed hoarsely in feeble attempts to hide their laughter. The two he’d pointed at finally nodded and stepped closer to the corpse, but not much.

  "Viper hounds are very valuable, especially the venom," Kaltor explained as a few brave recruits gathered their wits and tentatively poked the corpse with their spears. "Be careful, though. Even the dead body can spray it in your face—" The Stunts looked as if they were about to either faint or lose control of their bodily functions.

  The ’spitting corpse’ was a lie of course. They were indeed rare creatures though. Viper hounds not only hunted Varadours, but they used similar power themselves once they tasted blood. Both viper hound and Varadour hearts were surrounded with the same pouches of liquid their bodies produced spontaneously. Each pouch yielded a particular function and could be injected directly into the bloodstream with a little training and discipline.

  It was the discipline part most Varadours had issues with.

  "Why don’t you all help these two?" Jensai suggested, pulling a large stick from the smallest of the recruits. "Make a cradle like this to carry it in."

  All the Stunts gathered ‘round, the first two smiling at him gratefully. Honmour rolled his eyes. He always thought Jensai was ruining the fun of it when he turned their taunts and teases into lessons. In minutes, Kaltor lay in a makeshift hammock made of two sticks with supporting ropes around its middle to carry him.

  "Alright then, you Stunts," Honmour said carelessly. "Make a carrier like this for the viper hound, but be careful. If you drop him, you could get sprayed—" He grabbed his eyes and feigned blindness while the victims of his humor gulped at the thought of the poison’s first signs of death. He then took the head of Kaltor’s hammock, while Jensai took the front end at Kaltor’s feet.

  "I trust there’s a reason for distracting the Stunts with the viper hound’s corpse?" Honmour whispered as he got a firm hold on his end of the supporting sticks. Kaltor nodded. Jensai shouted a cheerful farewell to the Stunts as they made their way out of earshot.

  "Okay, Kaltor, what really happened back there?" Jensai asked. "And don’t tell us you actually managed to stab that thing through the head so perfectly. You’re not that good."

  Not when I have to hold back, Kaltor thought in frustration, recalling the immobilizing fear that should have cost him his life, and the strange presence that had distracted the viper hound for that one vital second. Then there was his vision of Keevan. Kaltor’s spine cringed at the memory.

  Only my parents and Master Taneth can know about this, he decided.

  "First, what happened back there?" he asked, trying to change the subject despite their glares’ suggesting such efforts were in vain. "Why did it charge past four active Varadours and lunge for the only one NOT drawing it? Isn’t it our power they thirst for?"

  Honmour and Jensai sighed, relenting to their friend’s stubborn unwillingness to divulge the details of his miraculous survival. "Whatever it was," Honmour said seriously. "It was only a problem with that one beast. The rest of the pack did nothing. It almost seemed as if the first was ordered to attack," Kaltor shuddered at the thought of such a powerful predator on anyone’s leash.

  "Well, I have to say, you’ve earned my respect," Jensai admitted, his eyes vacant as he relied on his skin vision to see the path of stones along the river bed beneath him. "You managed to keep your focus well enough, even with that thing after you. I would have been too terrified to move."

  "Really? My saving your life last year didn’t accomplish that already?" Kaltor said, rolling his eyes sarcastically before they settled on his friend’s spear. I’ve seen you throw that thing, he thought a little too bitterly. You would have speared it through the head instantly.

  Kaltor glanced down at the daggers in his belt. Guess I’d better practice throwing these things more, he grumbled in his mind.

  Jensai ignored the sarcasm. "Just remember, Master Taneth says the greatest killer in the world is fear," he said compassionately. "And you managed to push it aside long enough to survive," Kaltor bit his lip as he recalled the rancid smell of the viper hound’s last meal as it breathed promises of death into his face.

  "How about you, Honmour?" Jensai continued. "Could you have taken that thing?"

  Scratching an itch on his shoulder with his chin, Honmour rolled his eyes in their direction. "Hands down, I could have handled that thing," he said cockily. "Those of my family are well versed in the proper procedures to evade such attacks."

  "Your dad works for the town watch in Shaylis," Kaltor said accusingly, awaiting his friend’s attempt at a comedic punch line. "He’s never even seen a live viper hound. What could he possibly have taught you to fight off a frenzied one?"

  "Mom’s special lava-sauce bean soup!" Honmour announced proudly. "Eat that the night before and I guarantee that after ten hours no living creature downwind will even think of eating you!"

  They chuckled at Honmour’s relentless efforts to lighten the mood. The mirth didn’t reach Jensai’s eyes, though. His gaze still lingered on Kaltor’s broken leg, his bloody dagger, and the unanswered questions. Finally he shrugged in surrender and turned his head, hiding his quizzical expression from view.

  They followed the rocky trail downriver. The high cliffs next to the waterfall were only the height of a man now, slowly descending to a gradual hill of pines and shrubbery. After another few minutes of hiking they left the river, following a well-used game trail eastward, toward camp.

  Their passage was a quiet one, but tense like a drawn bowstring, still on edge from the viper hound’s unexplained frenzy. Kaltor glanced at his hands, lean and strong. I turned seventeen last month, he thought grimly. I’ll Blood Break soon. It was an important fact to consider. In the moment a Varadour’s powers fully matured, a price was paid with each use thereafter.

  Do I live a short, wealthy life in the king’s service? he thought. Do I desert the kingdom once I complete my training and go find Keevan? After ten years of searching, we still have no idea where he is. After all, with his lifespan soon to be halved by the Blood Break, precious little time would remain in which to find and protect his brother. He wouldn’t have time for political considerations once this last year of training lay behind him.

  He glanced toward Honmour and Jensai through his skin vision. Would the king send my closest friends to hunt me if I deserted? Since they know me the best? A different thought struck him, causing his stomach to writhe like a basket of hungry snakes. Would they follow orders and hunt me down?

  He sighed and thought of Honmour’s semi-funny jokes and Jensai’s kind practicality— these were the only friends he’d ever had. I hope not.

  They were within ten minutes of the camp when a runner arrived. So labored was his pace that they heard him a full thirty seconds before he emerged on the trail, like a wounded boar still stubbornly fleeing its attacker in spite of a pierced lung.

  The Stunt nearly collapsed to the ground when he saw them. "You have to hurry!" the boy said breathlessly. "There’s a royal summit meeting at the camp. I think we’re going to get our first job!"

  Chapter 2

  Jensai stumbled ahead as Honmour howled with delight and plowed forward, sending waves of pain down Kaltor’s leg as he clutched his makeshift stretcher helplessly. "Do you know what this means?!" Honmour shouted enthusiastically.

  "Yes!" Kaltor grumbled angrily. "The king wants us in the field a year earlier than planned, now slow down!"

  "Wrong!" Honmour spat. "We get to see the royal attendants. Women!" Suddenly Kaltor and Jensai found the simple act of not falling to the ground required their full attention. The runner tried to keep up, but in the end was left behind, fatigue and his under-developed Varadour powers strangling his pace to a crawl.

  Finally Kaltor
managed to shout, "But how will you talk with them? You ate the soup last night!" Honmour ground to a stop so fast that Kaltor flew right into Jensai, sending them both tumbling through the trail exit and onto the grassy outskirts of camp. Gasping and grunting in pain, Kaltor couldn’t spare his injured leg from the impact of the collision.

  "Way to go," Jensai muttered from beneath Kaltor’s leather body armor. "Next time keep your mouth shut, you idiot. Look at Honmour."

  Through his skin vision, Kaltor could see his friend’s crestfallen face. "How could I have known they were coming?" Honmour asked pitifully. "Why today? Of all days, why today?" He looked like a small child who’d won and lost his weekly sweets in a single moment.

  Jensai sighed, stood up, and put an arm around his friend. "Look at it this way, Honmour," He swept his arm in front of their camp of make-shift huts and thickly walled cabins. "If you hadn’t eaten that recipe, you could have been viper hound food long before you even got the chance to miss being with the girls!"

  Honmour nodded somberly. "I must sacrifice for the cause, I suppose."

  Kaltor waved his arm in the air. "Hello, remember me? Near death experience and a broken leg? Little help? If I have to crawl, those girls will be all over me, instead of adoring you for the ‘heroic’ rescue."

  With a sigh and a chuckle each friend grabbed an arm and helped Kaltor up. In a few minutes they reached the largest structure of the camp. The building stood out from the rest as a two-story "town hall" of sorts for serious discussions during wartime. It held all the maps and strategic information Master Taneth used for training and coordinating missions.

  The whole area was strangely devoid of any attendants, female or otherwise. A few Stunts sat before the fruit trees just outside their camp, trying to push their vitality into the trees before them— a vital technique for any Varadour on the move.

  Only one thing obviously did not belong. A lone horse outfitted with a harness and saddle from the capital, its reins wrapped around the post in front of the main building. They paused on the front steps, a loud argument inside easily audible once they used their power to accentuate their hearing a bit.

  "They are not ready for a job!" Master Taneth rumbled threateningly.

  "It’s not even an assassination," a familiar voice reasoned, coated in an odd mixture of honey and frustration. "It’s little more than a protection detail. Bodyguards," Kaltor’s insides tightened up like a bowstring as he recognized the speaker.

  "Then you’re wasting our precious time with a job any hired soldier could perform!" Taneth cut in. "Get Kaltor bandaged and healed, you two!" he bellowed suddenly, sending Honmour and Jensai scampering away with Kaltor in tow.

  "It’s a wonder we need spies at all," Honmour muttered. "That man’s senses are so well attuned he could stand outside the king’s own castle and repeat his most private conversations verbatim," Kaltor nodded in agreement. Many Varadours had a knack for one aspect of their power or another. Master Taneth had quite a few, though he never divulged the details to his students.

  They reached an empty cabin and pulled Kaltor alongside an elevated bed for medical uses, stuffed with plush white feathers. "Who do you think that other voice was?" Honmour asked.

  "I’ve heard it once before," Jensai answered, helping Kaltor lean back onto the bed and undoing the makeshift bandages. "He’s Lord Gereth, the king’s personal advisor. It sounded like he’s trying to enlist us in some personal project of his, maybe something that doesn’t have to do with the kingdom’s security. He’s as smart as they come, I’ve heard, so the king puts up with his hobbies— to a point," They rarely saw visitors so far in the mountains, so what visitors they did have were well remembered.

  "I doubt Master Taneth will be so understanding," Honmour chuckled, moving to the fireplace. "Maybe he’ll offer this guy a deal. If he can wrestle one of us to the floor he can take us along," He pulled a handful of small branches and tufts of flammable material from a stack in the corner, snatching the flint from the mantelpiece.

  Jensai snorted. "That’s a good joke, Honmour. The man’s a Sight Seeker, a strong one," He tore away the last of the cloth, exposing Kaltor’s broken leg and discolored flesh.

  Honmour paused. "Oh. Yeah, that wouldn’t be much of a fight."

  "Unless he got into your head and convinced you he was a viper hound," Jensai joked. "That would be worth seeing for a different reason," He shot his friend a sadistic, but playful glance. Kaltor simply nodded with a non-committal grunt, not really listening.

  I know that voice, he thought as he curled his toes nervously. And now he knows I’m wounded. He glanced to his left and right, chewing his lip in frustration as he tried to think of a way out of his situation.

  Aside from his existence as a Remnant, his noble heritage was something else that he preferred his fellow students not be aware of. Taneth had recruited most of them from among the local population, people without money or influence, who saw the nobility as either symbols of gluttony or injustice. They were always grateful for the training, however, since in exchange they were provided enough gold to make their family’s lives considerably easier.

  Are they ready to meet him? he wondered. Would they see me the same way afterward? He grimaced, an expression that had little to do with the physical pain he endured.

  "How’s that fire?" Jensai asked. "Kaltor’s leg is ready."

  "Almost there," Honmour answered, throwing another crooked stick in the fireplace. After a few firm strikes with the flint against his short sword a thin trickle of smoke seeped into the chimney. A small metal pot hung over the fire, suspended by three poles anchored in the log walls.

  "Just waiting for the water to boil," Honmour finished, pouring the contents of his canteen into it and adding a few medicinal herbs.

  "Great," Jensai said. "Now, help me make sure this doesn’t get infected."

  Honmour walked over to Kaltor’s small bed and pulled it away from the wall. He slipped into the small space between the cot and the wall to face Jensai, their patient’s leg broken and bleeding between them. The wounds in his back would take some time to heal, as well, chunks of flesh visible through the torn armor. Thankfully, a viper hound’s claws were not poisonous.

  "One on each side," Jensai ordered, pulling a thin needle from his belt.

  Honmour did the same thing and after three tries managed to prick his shaking finger. "Hate this part," he muttered. Both Varadours put their bleeding finger tips on Kaltor’s wound and nodded, awaiting their friend’s silent command.

  Kaltor closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Slow and easy, he reminded himself. Don’t slip into using your full power. He could almost feel the sac above his heart contract, releasing the valve holding the healing liquid back.

  Energy surged through his arteries and skin. With a practiced effort he managed to tighten his muscles and constrict certain routes, forcing the substance to flow into his leg. He could feel the shape of the broken bone, similar to his skin vision’s black-and-white image, though this was more of an instinctual feeling than a concrete image.

  Two other Varadour powers rushed in against his own, opposing currents struggling for control. "Hold the bone in place, you two," Kaltor ordered, wincing as their combined wills put pressure on the break. Their strength receded, holding the bone and cleansing the surface of the wound.

  Kaltor focused his thoughts on the break, coaxing the bristling energy to gather there. Move! he ordered. Slowly, the liquid enveloped the wound. After a few minutes a very thin layer of hastily forged bone connected the two pieces, enough to hold it in place and direct additional re-construction, but not enough to support any weight.

  The door opened, and a fresh breeze swept into the room, disturbing Kaltor’s concentration as his stomach spun in circles. He’s here, he thought. Time to stomach the blade.

  "I need to speak with Kaltor," ordered the familiar voice from the previous argument in the town hall, still frustrated and coarse. "Is he stable enough for you to
give us some privacy?" Both his friends’ wills receded, and through his skin vision he could see their confused faces. He did not open his eyes to witness the event in vibrant color.

  Maybe he’ll manage to hide our connection, Kaltor thought hopefully.

  "With all due respect, sir," Jensai said. "Kaltor will be busy healing for another day or so. If you need a message delivered or something we would be happy to–"

  "Call me Gereth. He can speak, can’t he?" the man asked grumpily. "Why would a broken leg prevent a father from talking to his son?"

  Kaltor groaned audibly as both his friends stepped back as if struck. He opened his eyes and sat up. "Go ahead, guys. We can finish setting the frames in my leg later," They nodded stupidly, too stunned to speak, and walked out of the hut. When he reached the door Honmour pointed to Gereth from behind his back and mouthed the silent question, "Seriously?"

  "Go take care of the attendants, you two," Kaltor suggested with a nod of affirmation. Honmour’s features brightened, his curiosity overwhelmed by momentary hope.

  "I came alone," Gereth said with a shake of his head. Honmour looked torn between falling to his knees in despair and thrashing Gereth on the spot, or both. Thankfully, Jensai appeared behind him and pulled him away, firmly shutting the door as they departed.

  For a moment, they did not say anything. They just hovered there with a quiet tension between them. "So, I see you had some trouble today," Gereth said, his eyes bursting into a vibrantly deep shade of blue as he approached Kaltor’s bed, putting both hands on the wound with enhanced vision of a different nature. There was little instinctual or even physical about a Sight Seeker’s powers. Most of it had to do with the mind.

  "A viper hound chased me into a waterfall," Kaltor said simply. "It surprised us," Now that the door was closed again, the vapors from Honmour’s boiling herbs swirled around the room. The fire licked the bottom of the cauldron greedily, drawing the plants’ tender juices into the water.