Читать книгу Hot Obsidian - Olga McArrow - Страница 10

Having killed a master, kill their apprentice as well, even if the apprentice is just a little child, for children grow, children learn, and children can hold a grudge. The child you’ve spared will become a warrior or a mage and come after you to avenge the master. Think of the future, always.

Assassin’s Handbook, part three

No Man’s Land. The territory of anomalies where each anomaly has a ‘heart’ that defines its centre and a circular border. Sometimes those borders cross, making the anomalous effects cancel or enhance each other but, more often, they barely touch.

Imagine a cook using a round biscuit-cutter on a thinly rolled layer of dough. Once the future biscuits have been all cut out of the layer, small, oddly shaped pieces of dough remain. This is what so-called ‘interstitions’ of the No Man’s Land look like, the territories between the neighbouring regions which don’t have overlapping borders. While still wild and unstable, the magic of interstitions is not explosive. Also, it is uniform, without any quirks an anomaly can produce.

Most interstitions are tiny, mere islands of peace surrounded by several anomalies, but some are long enough to be turned into trading routes. Brevir interstition is one of them. It looks like a trunk of a twisted tree on the map with all its tributaries and turns. Every tributary has a road of its own. Every road is a pulsing artery moving goods and people between the No Man’s Land settlements. While you’re following Brevir, you’re perfectly safe. There are villages and cities clinging to the road with lots of inns and markets; there are other traders to travel with. But once you’ve left Brevir, you’re on your own and the further you go, the more dangerous your journey becomes.

Chargas step softly. As graceful as cats, as powerful as bears, and as intelligent as human children, they are the best companions when it comes to travelling through dangerous lands. A grown-up man on a charga’s back looks like a fragile kid. And a kid riding a charga is the cutest thing ever.

Marin had just noticed one from afar.

His curiosity stirred, he opened a box of spyglasses he was going to sell in one of the big cities and grabbed one. Yes. The tiny figure on a young charga – almost a kitten – was a child. Some of his companions were children as well.

Children travelling through the No Man’s Land? That was worth investigating!

Marin expected no danger from the curious group. Firstly, his caravan was still on Brevir, which is safe, and secondly, the kids on the chargas were obviously Lifekeepers, members of a closed order with ancient traditions of peace and mercy. There was nothing to fear from meeting them.

The team on the chargas moved faster than Marin’s cart caravan, so the Lifekeepers caught up with it soon. The caravan’s taranders – elklike beasts of burden – were the only ones unhappy with that: taranders are afraid of chargas, their natural predators in the wild. As to the caravan’s people, everyone welcomed the young travellers.

“Safe journey to you!” Marin greeted them when the team reached his cart. “Where are you heading?”

“To Tammar,” answered their leader, a young man that looked like a pureblood Faizul.

“Oh!” exclaimed the merchant. “It’s dangerous to leave Brevir here. I wouldn’t do that, especially if I had children with me. Some gang might consider you easy prey… Would you like to join us instead? We’re going to Gurron. From there, it’s only a day’s journey to Tammar, on a safe road.”

“Thank you,” the Faizul nodded, so very politely, “but we are in a hurry. And we are not easy prey. Safe journey to you!”

The Lifekeepers passed Marin’s caravan and disappeared from view after taking the next turn on the road. Marin’s eyes followed them as they walked away. A flaxen-haired child riding a charga kitten was the last in their procession. The boy must have been about six years old but he wore a full Lifekeeper attire, complete with a real sword.

Seeing him had nearly made Marin tear up. No, Jarmin did nothing special; he was busy playing the wooden flute Orion had made for him and listening to Orion singing to the tune. But he reminded Marin of something, something precious, something lost forever…

For a moment, the merchant wanted nothing else but to abandon his caravan and join the Lifekeeper boys. The emotion was so sudden and strong that he felt drowning for a moment and gasped for air.

“Marin! Are you okay?” he heard his friend, Hasse, ask. Hasse had sped up his tarander to catch up with Marin’s cart and now was looking Marin in the eyes, worried.

“That boy…” the merchant muttered and shook his head. “His little sword is just like mine…”

“You have a sword?” Hasse raised his brows, surprised. He had never seen his friend wield a weapon.

Marin reached for his travelling chest where he kept his personal belongings and rummaged in it for a while. The object he was searching for turned out to be at the very bottom: a bundle of rags and papers with something long inside it. Marin unwrapped the thing and handed it to Hasse.

“Is it a toy?” the warrior asked with a smile.

“No. Unsheath it and see for yourself,” said Marin reproachfully. “It’s a katana made for a child. See? The hilt is thin enough so a small hand can grasp it.”

“No handguard,” noticed Hasse.

“I used to be a Lifekeeper. A long time ago.” Marin’s voice was deeply sad.

“Was? What happened?”

“Ah, my dear Hasse…” Marin laughed mirthlessly and put his old sword back into the chest. “Bad luck happened. I was six when a group of assassins ambushed my master and me. My master died. I survived, thanks to Urhan, but remained a cripple for life.”

“I had no idea…” Hasse shook his head. “I thought you were Urhan’s son.”

“I am. Urhan saved my life, nursed me back to health, adopted me, taught me his trade… he is the only father I’ve ever known.”

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s not what I meant,” Hasse apologised. “I just thought I knew you, old friend.”

“I, too, thought I knew myself. I thought I had buried my past for good. But those boys made me remember. Not that it matters now. Even if I weren’t a cripple, I wouldn’t be able to avenge my master. I have no idea who was after him. I was too young to be trusted with any secrets. So… so it just hurts.”

They rode in silence for a while. The sides of the road, overgrown with young willows being played with by the wind, were a mass of restless green and dancing sunlight patches. Marin kept looking at the turn the young Lifekeepers had taken. He still couldn’t let it go.

“What was your master’s name?” asked Hasse.

“Gerdon Lorian.” Marin smiled and turned to his friend. “He died on that very road those boys chose. This is why I never go directly to Tammar. Too many memories.”

***

The road to Tammar is overshadowed by a massive natural wall striped with multicoloured layers of shale and limestone that make it look like a giant piece of cake, the “cake” being a steep hill that had been cut through to make space for the road. Only its western half survived to this day. Covered with silky grass and dotted with bright ramniru flowers, it was still a sight to see. Travellers following the road in summer always found a free meal ready, for ramniru flowers are as sweet as raspberries.

Across the road from the striped wall, there was a young birch grove growing on the ashes of a forest where Gerdon Lorian had been ambushed. The young Lifekeepers were riding through one of their Order’s important historic sites but they were completely unaware of that. To them, it was just a place that looked unsafe for many reasons.

Orion set his charga to a run and quickly caught up with Juel.

“Do you think we’ll be attacked?” he asked.

“No.” Juel shook his head. “As I told that merchant, we’re not easy prey. Even if you don’t count children, we have three adult warriors and ten chargas. Attacking us would be too costly for any gang and we carry nothing valuable enough to cover the costs. I say we’re safe.”

“Heh…” Orion looked around, nervous. “I don’t like this place. There is something dodgy about it. I can’t explain it, I just feel it with my gut… I suggest we speed up, maybe tell the chargas to run all the way to Tammar.”

Surprisingly, Juel agreed. He might have had a similar feeling about the place or just wanted to shorten the journey. Anyway, he commanded the team to speed up a little. Orion thanked him and returned to his place, in the tail of their caravan, next to Jarmin.

“I told Juel about your forebodings,” said Orion to the boy. “I had to tell him they were mine, though, so he would listen.”

“Don’t you feel anything?” exclaimed Jarmin, anger and disappointment ringing in his thin voice.

Orion shook his head. Seeing reproach in Orion’s eyes, Jarmin sighed, his shoulders drooped. He leaned against his charga’s furry neck and scratched the big kitten behind the ears. Orion left the child to his brooding, thinking that little Jarmin needed to grow up a bit. Learning that other people are not obliged to feel what he feels and think what he thinks might be the first step on this way.

Pai had been in a gloomy mood since the morning, so Milian had no one to chat with that day. He rode beside his mage friend in thoughtful silence and killed time by daydreaming, recalling the Kuldaganian book he had bought in Aldaren-Turin, and looking around. He had a good memory but, still, comparing the copy of the No Man’s Land map he had in his mind with the landscape they were slowly moving through was not as easy as he thought it would be: the world was just so big!

According to Sainar, they were to look for the obsidian somewhere close to Tammar, in the woods on the border of the Burnt Region. According to the map, they had a thin, winding road in front of them and zero chance of reaching the city before dark. Camping was unavoidable. It’s not that Milian hated camping – he had got used to it, actually – but, unlike Bala and Juel who had been travelling a lot with their masters, he still preferred a bed to a bedroll, a fireplace to a bonfire, and a house with walls and roofs to a flimsy tent. The only thing about their current journey that Milian liked was chargas. The idea of using one as a pillow at night seemed both cute and hilarious, the chargas’ ability to protect their riders was reassuring…

Kangassk Marini, Milian’s master, used to berate her apprentice’s lack of focus quite often. She’d do that now as well, no doubt, for her boy was the last to hear the alarming sounds from the other side of the hill.

“Sounds like a swordfight!” said Bala; he was the first to notice them.

“Yeah, it is,” confirmed Juel. “Lots of swords are involved, too…”

Orion moved to the head of the caravan and squinted his eyes, listening. Jarmin’s foreboding turned out to be true, after all: there were bandits nearby all right. Maybe they even watched the team from the hilltop. Only they weren’t after the Lifekeepers; they choose a different prey…

A reckless, fiery feeling filled Orion’s heart to the brim. ph, Lar would be so angry with him if he knew.

“I’ll help them!” said Orion Jovib in a tone that allowed no arguments, and ordered his charga to run.

“Get back, you fool!” yelled Juel but Orion didn’t listen; his figure grew smaller and smaller with every passing moment.

Juel uttered the foulest Faizulish curse he knew, spat to the ground, and turned to the team, “Irin, Bala, follow me! Lainuver, stay with the kids!”

Far away, in clouds of dust raised from the road by dozens of feet, under the crowns of slender birches, amidst the lazy symphony of distant bird singing, a battle was raging. It could be barely seen from where the younger part of the Lifekeeper team stood. The kids tried to distinguish their elder teammates in the dusty crowd but that was easier said than done.

Lainuver, the only adult among the frightened children, seemed so tall and so serious now. He did his best to look confident, too, even though he didn’t feel even remotely like that. To him, a shadow master, forests were alien territory full of unknown dangers he was not trained to handle.

He felt even worse when he glimpsed dark silhouettes moving among the trees. The creatures ran on all fours but didn’t resemble dogs of wolves. Soon, everyone saw why. As the first creature jumped out of the undergrowth and met Lainuver’s blade, their nature and origin became as clear as day. The animals were tamed shlaks – ugly, massive brutes that looked like a weird mix between a wild boar and a dog. Armed with sabre-teeth instead of tusks, heavy in their front part of the body, they flew forward like bricks. The shlaks’ masters followed their animals soon. They looked relaxed, even careless, so sure they were in their victory. For real: who were they to be afraid of? Chargas? Shlaks would deal with them. Kids? Pfft! They’re good enough warriors to deal with kids. Aren’t they?

Chargas growled and formed a line in front of the young Lifekeepers…

…Orion jumped into the battle with very little idea about the side he would be on. But everything became clear to him as soon as he saw the tamed shlaks: the bandits were Shlakers aka the cheapest professional assassins in the No Man’s Land. They are not very subtle in their ways but are brutally effective. Someone must really have wanted their current victims dead…

Now, once Orion knew which side he was on, he spent no more time pondering the situation and announced his appearance by cutting off two Shlakers’ heads with one stroke. Following his lead, Irin started sending arrows into the crowd, picking out the assassins with deadly precision.

“Oh, Jovib… you brainless son of a…” thought Juel as he bellowed a Faizulish battle cry and clashed into the assassins’ formation from the side while his charga took a juicy bite out of one of the shlaks that wasn’t smart enough to run away while it still had a chance.

…Chargas growled and formed a line in front of the young Lifekeepers. It’s not that they were determined to hold it, though: you just don’t do that when fighting against shlaks. A shlak is built like a brick armed with four sabre-teeth, a brick with its centre of mass skewed heavily towards the head. When that creature runs at you, it’s wiser to step aside and attack its back and thin hind legs instead. But to make that tactic work, you need the stupid beast to firmly believe that you’re holding the line. Pretend to be ferocious and determined or paralyzed with fear, whatever works for you. Chargas knew that. And their acting was top notch.

The shlaks charged, putting everything they had into that. The chargas let them come close, jumped aside with cat’s grace, and attacked their backs. The Lifekeepers did the same. Stepping aside from the line of a direct attack is a simple skill every child warrior knows, so even Jarmin had no difficulty evading the shlak that tried to ram into him.

The shlaks tried to slow down and turn around, but it wasn’t easy, considering all the effort and force they had put into that charge. Most were gravely injured or killed before they could regroup and do any damage. That was when the Shlakers joined the fight.

Most of their assassin brethren were away, fighting their main targets, only five were here to deal with the ambasiaths. With chargas busy fighting the shlaks, the boys had to deal with the Shlakers themselves. The boys: eighteen, six, twelve, thirteen, and… thirteen years old. Milian totally forgot about his birthday today…

Four of the Lifekeepers stepped forward to meet the assassins, shielding Jarmin from them. Every handguardless katana was already red with shlak blood. Every young face was grim and deadly calm.

Adult assassins couldn’t hold back their sneery comments as they faced the boys. But a cry from one of their brethren that fell on the ground with Jarmin’s knife in his throat wiped the smirks from their faces in an instant. The remaining four assassins charged, with a roaring battle cry.

…Orion’s charga got careless or maybe he did… anyway, he found himself in the air – and time slowed down for a moment – before hitting the ground so hard it knocked all the wind out of him. As he staggered up to his feet, he saw Juel and Bala fighting their way to him. Bala was good but Juel… Juel was amazing! Orion made a note to himself to never get on the Faizul’s bad side.

Three skilled warriors and a master archer that had unexpectedly joined the fight messed up the assassins’ plans completely. Soon, the Shlakers were retreating. No one pursued them.

Silence fell on the battlefield, only to be replaced by the forest’s careless symphony of singing birds and rustling leaves. The saviours and the saved ones took a good look at each other for the first time.

The saved ones wore simple black clothes, well-worn and salt-stained, and carried heavy, broad cutlasses bearing an uncanny resemblance to butchers’ tools of the trade.

Shoving his people aside, the leader of the saved ones approached the Lifekeepers. He was a ghastly pale man; the way he was dressed suggested that he wanted to hide as much skin from the sun as possible. He wore a cloak with a tall collar; his thick gloves reached his elbows and were wrapped with extra cloth where they met the sleeves; a pair of obsidian-black glasses and a wide-brimmed hat with a broken feather completed his outfit.

Even though it was obvious that the saviours’ leader was Juel, the pale stranger looked at Orion alone and gave his thanks to him.

“Thanks for your help, guys!” he said in a voice that seemed strangely familiar to Orion. “I’m in your debt forever! If you need any help, any problem solved, just ask for Sumah – that’s me! – in any tavern of Tammar, Gurron, or a port city. I always pay my debts.”

“May I take a look at the wounded?” Bala interrupted him. In a moment, all the eyes were on his dark, lanky figure. “I’m a healer,” he explained.

“Do that,” said Juel. “Orion, let’s go check on the kids.”

“Allow me to keep you company,” Sumah unceremoniously chimed in. No one argued with him. “Meanwhile, my people will stay here and help your healer… So, what are your names, my saviours?” he asked.

“Juel Hak.”

“Orion Jovib.”

“Ah, nice to meet you,” the pale man smiled. “The worldholders’ immortal apprentice’s name! Very interesting!”

Juel shrugged. He didn’t find any of that interesting. Or amusing. He still felt like hitting Orion in the face for endangering the mission and being a reckless fool.

“I see you guys are Lifekeepers,” Sumah kept rabbiting on. “But I must admit that you’re quite good at killing people too.”

“Some lives can’t be saved. Some shouldn’t be,” Juel quoted Kangassk Abadar, his master.

“The situation was desperate,” said Orion, apologetically. “I just had no time to plan anything properly… Had I tried to spare anyone, I’d just die myself…”

“Oh yeah, fascinating philosophy,” nodded Sumah, obviously thinking of something else. “Very, very interesting indeed!”

The picture on the other side of the half-hill changed everyone’s mood in an instant: there was a battle too and that battle had ended just recently. Juel and Orion run to the site; Sumah, now grim and frowning, followed them at a steady pace.

“Anyone’s wounded?” cried Juel in that thunderous voice of his. He was still running but the question couldn’t wait.

“I am. Now what?” grumbled Lainuver. He was sitting in the middle of the road, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

Pai answered too, not with words but with a single pitiful wimper. Curled up on the road’s side, he was holding onto his slashed thigh. Had that wound been deeper, he would have been dead already, but, luckily, the wound was shallow, so it was extremely painful, yes, but not life-threatening.

Milian didn’t answer at all: he had no breath left to do that, having had suffered a blow of a battle staff to his ribs, a glancing blow, not direct, though: otherwise the ribs would have been broken.

The rest of the younger Lifekeepers looked battered too. Still, no one was dead or dying. Both Juel and Orion sighed with relief.

“Jarmin?” Orion called for the boy. “You okay?”

Jarmin raised his head and whispered:

“They killed Varro…”

“Who?” Juel turned to Orion.

“His charga. The kitten,” he explained and turned to Jarmin. “Varro died in battle protecting you. We will remember him as a true hero.”

Jarmin could no longer hold back the tears. He didn’t run up to Orion like he often used to before, he didn’t make a single sound. The six-year-old warrior mourned his friend in silence, alone, and didn’t want anyone to share his pain.

“There were five Shlakers,” muttered Juel, looking around. All the bandits had died of sword wounds, all but one who had a little throwing knife between his clavicles.

“That’s Jarmin’s work,” explained Lainuver. He was not so grumpy now with his charga taking care of his wounded shoulder.

“Great throw,” nodded Juel. “But I wonder why there’s no blood…”

“Because I didn’t kill him!” Jarmin’s voice rang with anger. The boy jumped to his feet, ran to the fallen assassin and took the ‘knife’ out of the wound.

It was a weapon built for throwing all right but it was no knife: instead of a blade, it had a little lead weight to move the centre of mass forward and a short, thick needle. Jarmin sheathed the strange weapon and said,

“He will wake up by the evening. He’ll think twice before hurting anyone again!”

“I should’ve guessed!” Orion slapped himself on the forehead. “Kangassk Eugenia is a master poisoner and paralyzing poisons are her speciality! Well, Jarmin, looks like you’re the only true Lifekeeper today.”

“No!” retorted the boy. “Varro died because of me!”

“Oh my! That kid will have quite a character when he grows up!” That was Sumah, who had kept up with his saviours and now quietly stood behind them.

Orion winced: that remark suddenly hit home and hit hard. He knew what Sumah was talking about. Behind Jarmin’s naivete and kindness, behind his childish cheerfulness, his love of stories, his curiosity, his artistic talent, loomed something dark, something menacing. And it took a stranger to make Orion properly notice that! Shame.

“We forgot about Milian,” said Jovib with scorn. “Mil, how are you?”

“Fine…” hissed the boy, straightening himself up. Speaking was still hard for him, so his reply was more like a self-soothing chant, “I’m fine… fine… fine… I will be okay in a minute…”

With a huge effort, Milian managed to stand up, and leaned against his charga for support. The charga praised his bravery in her own, cattish, way: by gently nudging him with her nose.

The chargas were all wounded, not seriously though. Only Varro was unlucky today. Mourned by the humans and the beasts both, the big kitten lay there in the dust, looking as if he were asleep.

Of all the human part of the team, Lainuver’s and Pai’s wounds were the worst. Lainuver had to fight several adult opponents at once and one of them was quick enough to get through his defences. Pai had simply repeated Gerdon Lorian’s mistake: he preferred reading, meditation, and daydreaming to swordplay and was now paying for his carelessness.

Still, no one blamed Orion, the reason for all the trouble. No one, not even Juel.

When the assassins saw three warriors leave their group and rush to help Sumah’s, they decided that the whole Lifekeeper team was Sumah’s friends. What did that mean? Right: that meant that they would get paid extra for their heads. So the Shlakers attacking the kids was entirely Orion's fault.

But why was no one judging him now? First, seven human lives had been saved today and second, staying out of the battle would have had its own consequences for the team – like all of them having to live with the fact that they stood and watched people being killed and didn’t lift a finger to help them.