Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (49 page)

“And you are so inclined to do as
he asks,” Frisha remarked. “Then give me the general idea, since it is obvious
they had some profound affect on you.”

General Marcum growled. “Fine!
Rezkin had the trust of King Bordran.”

Frisha’s mouth dropped, as did
Tam’s and Adelina’s. Jimson smiled slightly. It was a
very
simplistic
summation of the certificate Rezkin carried. Frisha grabbed onto the boon with
the tenacity of a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“I-If Rezkin had the trust of the
king, then how can you say he is a soulless creature? How did he even
know
the king? If he really had the trust of the king, then how could I do any
better than such a man?” Frisha asked in a frenzy of questions. The multitude
of questions flying through her mind was more than she could process at the
moment, and she had to stay on task if she was going to make her point.

“There is much more to that man
than you know, Frisha. There is more than even
I
know, but what I do
know is not good! I cannot in good conscience give you to that man. I am sorry,
Frisha, but it is for your own good,” General Marcum stated firmly.

“For my own good? You have told me
absolutely nothing that supports your rejection of him as my prime suitor. If
anything, you have made my case for me!” the young woman yelled.

“He is a killer, Frisha!” Marcum
hollered back.

“So are
you!
And, so are
Tam and Captain Jimson!” Frisha shouted in return. Tam winced, but Frisha’s
attention was solely on her uncle and did not notice.

“This is different, Frisha! He is
not like us,” the general stated. “He…”

“That is enough,” a deep voice
asserted from the other side of the room. Everyone turned to see Rezkin
standing in the doorway. Rezkin met the general’s eyes with an icy glare. He
did not like to see Frisha so upset, and he certainly did not care for the
general to say more than was permitted. The more his
friends
knew about
him, the more it would place them in danger.

“Frisha,” he said quietly with a
sight bow, “your uncle is your guardian. He has been charged with finding you a
husband by your own father. On our journey here, you made it clear that you
accepted this arrangement. General Marcum has denied my request to be your
prime suitor, and by my honor, I have agreed to accept his decision.” The young
man’s face was devoid of emotion, but a dark shadow seemed to pass over his icy
eyes.

“Well, I don’t accept it,” Frisha
pouted. “I reject your rejection, Uncle, and if you won’t change your mind then
I will reject my inheritance, as well.”

“What?” Marcum and Adelina spoke
in unison.

Frisha raised her chin and said,
“That’s right. Rez already said he doesn’t require a dowry. He wants me either
way, so I have no need of the inheritance. Without it, I can choose to marry
whomever I please, just like my mother.” She added the last comment for effect.
The general had commented on several occasions that he had admired his little
sister for following her heart, even if she did marry a commoner.

Rezkin strode further into the
room to stand before the young woman. He did not want to replace Frisha, and he
did not like the idea of her marrying some noble who would not appreciate her,
but he did not think it fair for him to take her from the family she obviously
loved. It was a bond he could not comprehend but found himself envying in some
small way. Besides, he could not see how forcing her into the loss of her
inheritance and title could possibly be
honoring
her.

“Frisha, it is my duty to protect
and
honor
you. I cannot see that this is the best way to do that. I
cannot ask you to give up your title, wealth, and family for my sake,” Rezkin
stated as he stared into her large brown eyes.

“But, I don’t care about the
title. I never had one before, so why should I care for it now? As for wealth,
you have said you can support us and don’t need the dowry, so it’s not a
problem,” she argued.

“And, your family?” Rezkin asked.

Frisha scowled over at her uncle
as she answered, “If they cannot accept me and the man I choose, then they are
hardly any family of mine.”

“Frisha! You do not know what you
are saying,” Lady Adelina cried.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Adelina, but you
heard what Uncle said. How can I accept his decision with absolutely no
explanation?” Frisha inquired earnestly.

“That is true, Marcum. You have
not given any reason for the denial of Rezkin’s request,” Lady Adelina
remarked.

General Marcum scowled heatedly at
Rezkin. He could not give a decent explanation without exposing Rezkin’s
secrets, and he was bound by Rezkin’s authority not to divulge them.

Rezkin recognized the general’s
dilemma. While the argument did work in his favor, he felt it was a
dishonorable way to win Frisha’s hand. He took Frisha’s hand as he had seen men
do to the women they were courting and looked back into her eyes. “Frisha, the
general is honoring my request by not divulging his reasons for denying our
courtship. There are things you do not know about me that, until speaking with
the general, I had not realized were considered to be undesirable by
outworlders. I have ever endeavored to live my life by the
Rules
and in
doing so felt that I have lived as a worthy and honorable man. I am learning,
now, that the
Rules
seem to be different for most outworlders.

“I cannot say that I understand
it, but the general does not approve of who I am, and I believe he has your
best interest at heart. I disagree with him, because I believe I can provide
you with a far more satisfying life than will one of the nobles who will not
appreciate you. However, I have many secrets, and these are what concern your
uncle. Your uncle has based his decision on what he knows of those secrets. It
would be unfair to allow you to make this decision without knowing those
secrets, as well. And, I am afraid I cannot, will not, divulge those secrets to
you at this time and perhaps never will.”

Frisha’s face fell and tears came
to her eyes, “So, that’s it? You’re just going to forget about me?”

Rezkin ran a hand through his
hair, pulling a few strands from his queue, in an uncharacteristic expression
of frustration. Keeping his friends close to him was more difficult that he thought
it should be. He thought he had come up with the perfect solution for keeping
his current
Girl Friend
with him, and it had failed miserably.
Rule 1
was by far the hardest rule he had encountered, except for perhaps
Rule 2
,
which he still could not even understand.

“Frisha, I have no intention of
replacing you – at least, not unless you choose to marry another. But, I
cannot marry you without your uncle’s consent. It would dishonor you,” Rezkin
explained.

Frisha’s eyes spilled over as she
heaved a heavy sob and ran from the room. Rezkin watched her flee and then
turned his fiery gaze on the general. He had no idea why the general had
rejected him. He had mastered all of his
Skills
far earlier than
expected and adhered to all of the
Rules
to the best of his ability. He
had embraced his purpose, found his
friends
, and was doing everything
possible to keep them together. Based on everything he had been taught, it was
an exemplary performance.

Yet, the general
had
rejected his request and seemed to think the worst of him. Rezkin had heard
Frisha’s shouts, which had alerted him to the argument in the first place. He
knew the general had called him a soulless creature. It seemed that nothing
Rezkin could say or do would change the general’s mind.

Rezkin turned and strode from the
room with purpose. He needed to work off some of his anger. Captain Jimson
waited a moment and then stood. He saluted the general and thanked the lady for
her hospitality and then followed Rezkin. Tam quickly excused himself and followed,
as well. Tam and Jimson walked slowly to give Rezkin time to cool off. They
eventually tracked him to the far back corner of the property that was shaded
by massive trees with thick boughs full of fluttering leaves that blocked the
direct heat of the setting sun. Rezkin had already shed his shirt and was
whipping his swords around in a fluid dance so quickly that they looked like
shining lights extending from his palms.

The young warrior noted his
friends
’
arrival and knew they wanted to speak to him. He was not yet ready to deal with
them. He ignored their presence and continued his training. Eventually, the two
men drew their own blades and began to practice their own techniques. Tam was
working on the newest series of forms Rezkin had shown him, and Jimson was
getting acquainted with his new blade. He would have to work hard to be
completely comfortable with the weight and length before the tournament.

Back at the house, Lady Adelina
sat with her husband in silence. Eventually, she spoke her thoughts. “It was
good of you to respect the young man’s wishes in not divulging his secrets. I
know it was difficult for you when Frisha was so upset.”

Marcum sighed and replied, “In
truth, Ady, I had no choice. Such was the authority given him by the old king.”

Adelina’s eyes widened. “What is
this? How can the boy have so much power over the General of the Army?”

“Yet, he does. Say nothing, Ady,
to anyone. This is deadly serious,” he said grimly. He rubbed his face in
frustration, “I should not even have told you.”

“Is that what you meant when you
said that he could have taken her at any time?” Adelina asked.

“Yes,” he sighed again. “If he
chose to claim her, there is nothing I could do to stop him.”

“And, yet, he respects your
decision. He could have done so even without exposing his secrets simply by
choosing not to speak up in your defense. Since you could not divulge your
reasons for denying him, Frisha would never have accepted your decision. Had he
said nothing, he could have won her hand, anyway,” Adelina observed.

Marcum nodded, “It is true.”

Adelina nodded and said softly,
“He is an honorable man, then. I believe what he said about always living by
that code of which he often speaks. He is ever courteous and protective of both
Frisha’s person and her honor. He truly does seem the embodiment of the term
noble
.”

The general scoffed, “He is
nothing of the sort. He is a killer, Ady.”

“So are you, dear,” Adelina
retorted.

“It is not the same. I have killed
in battle.
He
kills whomever he is order to kill,” Marcum argued.

Adelina considered Marcum’s
statement and replied, “Does a soldier not kill due to orders? If you were not
ordered to the battlefield, would you chose to go and kill? And, if you did
choose to go on your own without orders, would that make you a better man or
worse? Is the executioner a terrible man because he is ordered to kill the
criminals? If the king asked you to kill a traitor quietly so as not to upset
the public, would you do so? Is the king a terrible man for asking you to kill
anyone? Was Bordran a terrible man? Rezkin may be a killer, but Bordran
obviously trusted him to give him so much power. The fact that Rezkin chooses
not to use his power to force your hand says a lot about the young man. I think
most young men given that level of power would be tyrants.”

Marcum could not argue with his
wife. Everything she said was true, and still the general could not let it go.
Why
could he not let it go? The answer that came to him was not really a surprise.
He had known it all along.
Fear
. He was afraid of the young man. It had
been so long since he met anyone who could instill that kind of fear in him
that the general did not know how to react except with righteous anger. Marcum
feared for himself, for his family, and he feared for Frisha. He even feared
for his kingdom. That dangerous, mysterious young man would be completely
within his rights if he ran rampaging through the kingdom. Adelina was right. A
young man his age with that amount of power and authority and his level of
training could actually become the soulless creature he had accused Rezkin of
being.

Marcum hung his head. He had seen
it in the man’s eyes, in his bearing, in his noble demeanor. He had seen it in
the way he softened toward the lieutenant even when he was angry with Marcum.
He had seen it with the way Rezkin took Tam under his wing and provided him
with a weapon and the knowledge of how to use it. He had seen it with the way
Rezkin always treated his Adelina with the respect and dignity due the Lady of
the House, and he had most certainly seen it when Rezkin looked at or spoke to
Frisha. Rezkin was not a tyrant
or
a soulless creature. He truly did
seem genuine in his intentions toward Frisha, and the fact that he was willing
to accede to Marcum’s authority as Frisha’s guardian said much about the young
man’s honor.

One floor above, Frisha lay on her
bed crying a terrible mess. These were no ladylike tears of sorrow. She was
sobbing, her nose was running, and at one point she developed the hiccups that
just would not go away. She knew she was in a terrible state, but she did not
care at that moment.

“How can Rezkin do this to me?”
she thought.
“I was willing to give up
everything
for him, and he
rejects me for
honor
! I just cannot believe there is anything so
terrible about Rezkin that I wouldn’t desire him. He is the perfect man. And,
somehow, he even had the trust of the king! How could Uncle Marcum reject him
knowing that?”

A warm breeze caught at the reeds causing them to clack
together in a chaotic percussive cadence. Liquid silver ripples danced across
the black water under the cool light of the full moon, and in the distance,
ship hulls creaked and thudded as they knocked against the wooden piers. Rezkin
pulled his sodden feet from the thick muck of the riverbank, taking care to
place them firmly so he would not slip on the muddy tract. This night had been
his least favorite since leaving the fortress. Breaking into the bedchamber of
the Grandmaster of the Assassins’ Guild without getting caught
and
without
leaving any trace of his passing was not an easy feat. But, in truth, Rezkin
had relished the challenge. That had not been what made this night so
frustrating, though.

Earlier that night, after he had worked out his frustrations
at the general’s home, Rezkin met up with his contacts from the Diamond Claw
Guild in Justain. They informed him that although the Justain branch of the
guild now recognized him as their leader, he was unwelcome in Kaibain.
Apparently, the Guildmaster at the Kaibainian branch was just as reluctant to
give up power as Martius had been. Rezkin was merely irritated because he had
been forced to kill another twenty-six of his more experienced personnel. It
seemed the Diamond Claws were particularly stubborn and slow to learn.

Before he arrived in the capital city, the Diamond Claws had
been the least powerful of the three Kaibainian thieves’ guilds. Now they were
barely a guild at all. At least the Razor Edges were in line. Once the Crimson
Blades heard what happened to the others, he hoped they would be as well. He
did not relish needlessly exterminating additional resources.

The man he placed in charge of the Diamond Claw Guild was
not a particularly
Skilled
thief, according to his comrades, but he was
quite good with numbers. Rezkin did not care whether or not the Guildmaster
could steal anything. He needed someone who was intelligent and organized. He
would have preferred someone more intimidating, but the Second he selected
could cover that ground. The man was a brute and seemed particularly eager to
please The Raven. If the Second could keep the guild in line, then the
accountant could oversee its workings, and Rezkin would receive the resources
he required. Already, he had the members of the other guilds keeping an eye out
for Striker Farson. Rezkin had provided them each with a drawn likeness of the
man and a few of his known habits. If every criminal in Ashai was looking for
the man, Rezkin was bound to find him sooner or later, assuming the striker had
not left the kingdom altogether.

Taking Pride’s reins in hand, he led the horse to a slightly
higher embankment with less mud and more pebbles and grass. He shucked his
waterlogged clothes and boots and donned a clean, dry set from his saddlebags.
He led the horse back to the main road and mounted smoothly despite the pain in
his leg. He would never expose an injury or weakness with an unconscious wince
or groan. Although he could have walked the short distance from the city, he
knew Pride needed the exercise and change of scenery. Battle chargers were not
meant to be cooped up in a stable yard. Now, he was glad for the horse’s
service.

Rezkin considered the plans he had set in motion over the
course of the night. He had much to accomplish in the morning, and he would
have to do it as quickly as possible if he was to avoid suspicion, especially
from an already mistrustful general. After making it clear that the Diamond
Claws were now under his authority, Rezkin had taken on the more tedious task
of setting up his confrontation with the assassins. One could not brutalize and
intimidate assassins into cooperating.

Men turned to thievery for survival or to improve their
stations in life. They did what they did because they wanted to
live
.
Assassins, on the other hand, had a different attitude toward life and death.
Although they preferred to keep living, assassins knew there were often times
when one was just as good as the other, and they understood that there were
occasions when death was preferable. If Rezkin simply tried to push his weight
around, he would be outnumbered and overpowered. The assassins would have no
fear of his threats warning them against reprisal, and his
friends
,
whom
he was sworn to protect,
would be in danger. No, if he wanted the
assassins to cooperate, he would have to earn their respect and show them that
he, too, could be an asset – that collaboration would be in their best
interest.

It was to that end that Rezkin infiltrated the Assassin’s Guild.
He needed to show them that he was absolutely a threat, that he had no fear,
and that he was a Master of the
Skills
. The Master Assassins, in
particular, tended to have a sense of superiority, a firm belief that they were
the most
Skilled
men and women in the kingdom. They needed to know that
Rezkin could get to them at any time and anywhere, and there was nothing they
could do to prepare or prevent it.

The quarters of the Guildmaster, known as the Grandmaster,
were located in an underground sublevel in the center of the Guildhouse, which
the assassins referred to as the
Hall
, in honor of the Halls of the
Afterlife. Everyone else called it the
Black Hall
. The entrance to the
sublevel was visible from nearly the entire first floor of the Hall, and in
order to access it, one had to pass through the training arena, which was
occupied at all times by assassins of varying levels of
Skill
.

The Assassins’ Guild was not large in numbers when compared
to the numerous thieves throughout the cities. In fact, there was only one
Assassin’s Guild for all of Ashai, and they maintained a few smaller units in
other kingdoms that they referred to as
Chambers
. The guild boasted only
three Master Assassins in Ashai, including the Guildmaster, who they referred to
as the Grandmaster, and half a dozen Assassins, more commonly referred to as
Slips
.
The remainder of the residents of the guildhouse were trainees. At any time,
about two dozen young men and women were in training, starting as young as
seven or eight years of age. Only a few would survive long enough to become
Slips.

The Hall was located in the hills to the East of the capital
city across the Tremadel River in the northern Fendendril Forest. The location
of the Hall was not exactly a secret in the upper echelons of society, but
neither was it easy to find. The guild existed because corruption and
competition amongst the Houses demanded it. Therefore, the nobles whose very
job it was to oust such a villainous organization were its most lucrative
clients. The singular tower, plain and ugly, had no windows up the sides, only
a single door at the base, a conical cap of slate for a roof. The tower,
itself, was really just a giant, highly functional gatehouse for the extensive
structure below the surface.

Getting into the Hall had been tense and tedious but not as
difficult as Rezkin had anticipated. He watched and waited. After a few hours
of surveillance, one of the Slips who emerged from the Hall was sufficient to
suit the young warrior’s purposes. The man was a bit shorter than Rezkin, but
his frame was similar, and the dark clothing and long cloak the man wore could
conceal the discrepancy. Rezkin had tracked the man a way into the forest
before finally descending on him.

The Slip detected Rezkin’s presence at the last second, and
the man was fast. He ducked the strike intended to render him unconscious and
dove to the side. Rezkin spun, kicking out at the man, but only landed a
glancing blow to the man’s shoulder. As the Slip sought to regain his feet, he
launched two throwing daggers at the young warrior. Rezkin deftly avoid the
gleaming projectiles as he jumped to grasp a not-so-low hanging bough. The Slip
was surprised by the attacker’s agility only for a moment, shaking himself back
into action as Rezkin’s momentum carried him forward, straight toward the
assassin. Rezkin landed steadily on his feet and immediately assaulted the
assassin, preventing him from drawing any addition weapons. After a flurry of
kicks and punches interrupted intermittently by swift ducks, dodges, and
blocks, he finally managed to land a stunning blow to the man’s temple. This
was quickly followed by a strike to the back of the Slip’s head, rendering him
unconscious.

Rezkin had gone easy on the Slip. The man was
Skilled
,
but not a Master. The young warrior could have taken him out quickly with much
less effort, but he did not want to kill or permanently damage the assassin.
Likely, the Hall would not have blamed Rezkin for the death, determining it was
the Slip’s own fault for allowing someone to track him and failing to protect
himself. With Rezkin’s far superior
Skills
, though, it would have been
as dishonorable an act as defeating an unskilled small-man. In fact, Rezkin
wanted the Slip to live, to report back to his comrades and superiors about
Rezkin’s
Skill
and honorable mercy. Also, the young warrior did not want
any blood to get on the clothes. He needed them to get into the Hall
undetected.

Rezkin slumped as much as he could without appearing too
awkward and kept his face hidden beneath the hood. During his training, he
learned the silent language of the assassins – a series of hand and body
signals used to communicate without words. Properly used signs could not only
convey meaning, but also emotional state and feelings, much like the tone and
volume of voice when speaking. When questioned with these signals by the
sentries, Rezkin answered fluidly and strode forward with confidence. His
masters had insisted that if one
appeared
to belong somewhere, then
people would assume he
did
.

Once he was in the main Hall, Rezkin could see the full
extent of the tower’s usefulness. Extending into the flame lit darkness above
were a series of staggered lofts and platforms, each designed for particular
training exercises. He observed vague movements and distorted noises coming
from a few of the upper platforms, so he knew them to be occupied, probably by
older trainees.

Rezkin had to find a way to enter the sublevel. He did not
want anyone to see him doing so, lest they question his motives. He needed a
distraction. As he passed by a couple of trainees, Rezkin reached out and
snatched a practice blade from a young man’s hand. He smacked the small-man in
the side of the head, and the young man shouted in alarm. Rezkin’s signs
expressed agitation as he admonished the stunned small-man for his loose grip,
lack of focus, and the audible shout and revelation of injury and weakness. The
warrior finally instructed the small-man to perform a series of physical
exercises designed to both punish and push the young man to improve his
Skills
.
It was exactly the kind of interaction Rezkin would have expected from his own
Masters and trainers.

One of the Slink trainers standing nearby watched the
exchange with interest before nodding at Rezkin in acknowledgement. What
happened next surprised the young warrior. He had never trained with other
small-men, so he had not expected the
group
punishment and training that
resulted from his actions. Instead of the single small-man running off to
accept his punishment as Rezkin had commanded, the entire training class
amassed to one end of the training arena and began performing the exercises.
The Slink trainer stood before them in verbal reproach, listing each of the
young man’s offenses and reminding them that when one failed, they all failed.

While the trainer’s attention was focused on the class,
Rezkin used the opportunity to slip away and into the underground. It was not
the diversion Rezkin had intended. He had planned to use the minor distraction
of admonishing the trainee to sabotage some of their equipment. When the
equipment failed, he hoped it would create an even larger disruption that would
gain the attention of the trainer. The strange behavior of these outworlders
had surprised him, but it worked in his favor. He was not certain that
punishment of the entire group for the failure of one young man was the most
efficient training method. He knew, though, that it was a tactic used by
instructors and supervisors over large groups, particularly when they did not have
the resources or patience to deal with each student individually. He had
learned much of this from his military training.

           
Once he was in the sublevel, Rezkin saw few people scurrying through the dark
corridors. Even though he knew the layout, the darkness and solitude of the
passages rendered the place a labyrinth seemingly designed to confuse the dead
and keep them from escaping. Rezkin had never been the superstitious sort,
although many of the soldiers and mercenaries he had met were greatly so; but,
he was certain that if the spirits of the dead
did
walk the plain of the
living, they would definitely inhabit these walls. After all, ripping spirits
from their living bodies was the purpose for which the assassins lived.

           
The Grandmaster’s door was unguarded. Who in his right mind would consider
entering the Grandmaster’s chambers uninvited? Rezkin checked the latch and
lock for traps and then set to manipulating the mechanism. Halfway through, he
realized the Master Assassin had engaged a synchronic alarm. If the tumblers in
the lock shifted into the correct position to disengage, a mechanism
within
the room would activate and alert the inhabitant, in this case, the Grandmaster
of the Assassin’s Guild.

           
Rezkin adjusted his tactic as soon as he realized the truth. He focused his
mind to picture the inner mechanisms of the lock. Even though no wards were
present, his masters had explained that there was always the
potential
for a ward to exist. As such, a strong enough mind, even one with a lack of
talent
,
could manipulate the potential ward. Rezkin had practiced many hours, perhaps
more than all of his other
Skills
, to be able to manipulate potential
wards with nothing but his un
talented
will
. The concept was so
simple, and yet, according to his masters, no one in the outworld practiced the
technique.