Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (56 page)

Interesting
. Rezkin was certain that if anyone in
Ashai besides the king, the strikers, or the General of the Army were to have
known anything about his blades it would have been the Grandmaster of the
Riel’sheng. But, the man’s surprise and scorn were genuine. He knew nothing.

“They must have come from the outside,” the Secrelé
commented. “He knows of the Adana’Ro. He is obviously well-traveled.” She
huffed a mirthless laugh, and Rezkin thought he saw a smirk behind the mask.
“Only a man with his skills could retain
two
Sheyalin blades.” Rezkin
inclined his head in appreciation of the remark. He knew it was meant to be a
compliment even if it was a simple statement of fact.

The Grandmaster shook his head. “It does not matter. We will
see how well he uses them.” One did not have to be a Swordmaster to be an
assassin. In fact, many assassins did not use swords at all, although the
Masters were trained in many weapons including swords. Rezkin knew the Grandmaster
was
a Swordmaster, though. Not only that, but the older man had spent
time training with Masters in both Channería and Sandea in order to Master
multiple techniques.

The sword battle began in earnest with no additional
preamble. The blades clashed and sang as they whipped through the air. It was
not a duel with rules and bounds; rather, it was an outright fight to the
death. Rezkin spun as the Grandmaster’s blade sliced through the hood that hung
from his back. The man was fast and determined. The young warrior dropped to
the ground to avoid another swing aimed at his head. He popped back to his feet
and sliced at the Grandmaster’s legs, barely nicking the man’s thigh as he
pulled back his leg. Rezkin had scored first blood, but it was only last blood
that mattered.

Rezkin thrust his body forward to ram the assassin, but the
man was too fast and swept out of the way. The young warrior tucked into a roll
and came to his feet, Kingslayer in his right hand whipping over his body to
intercept the swipe from behind that might have separated his head from his
shoulders. As the blades clashed, he twisted his form bringing Bladesunder
across the Grandmaster’s midsection. The blade gouged into the man’s leather
armor but did not pierce his flesh as the Swordmaster darted aside.

The Grandmaster lobbed a dagger at The Raven, which the
young warrior deftly deflected with a flick of his blade. Rezkin ran at the
older man, catching him in a flurry of strikes and thrusts, which the
Grandmaster met with determination. Ultimately, the older man was unable to
contend with the speed, agility, and dual-blade techniques employed by the
young warrior. In fact, many of the techniques and combinations he had never
before seen. At times, The Raven did not seem to have any technique at all,
switching between beautiful, sensuous sword forms one moment and then becoming
an uncouth brawler the next. The Grandmaster observed steps and stances
reminiscent of nearly every kingdom the assassin had seen, and yet he could not
put a name to the style. The Raven was completely unpredictable, and that was
the Grandmaster’s undoing.

The Grandmaster lunged expecting The Raven to parry or
dodge, but he did neither. In an unprecedented flash of speed, the warrior
slapped one of his blades on either side of the Grandmaster’s, grasped both
hilts in one hand and then shoved the Grandmaster’s sword aside, forcing him to
either let go or cross his arm over his body. Opting for the latter, the
Grandmaster’s arm was trapped when the younger man lunged forward and enwrapped
the Grandmaster in an iron embrace. Rezkin shifted his grip to drop one of the
swords and brought the pommel of the other around into the Grandmaster’s
temple. He struck the man with enough force to split the skin but not so hard as
to knock him out completely.

The Grandmaster slumped to the ground where he lay on his
back in a daze as he gazed up at the darkening sky. The first stars appeared as
he blinked blood out of his vision. The man lay for a minute or two as he
regained his senses, during which time no one moved and some barely dared to
breathe. When the Grandmaster finally managed to sit up, he saw The Raven
standing several paces from where he lay. The Sheyalins were sheathed at his
back, and the young man held the sword of the Grandmaster in a loose grip at
his side as though it were just another practice blade. He supposed some might
even see the magnificent master blade as such when compared to a Sheyalin.

“You have not finished the challenge,” the Grandmaster bit
out as he spit a bit of bile.

The Raven clenched the gold and red hilt and then loosened
his grip. “I have bested you thrice, now, Grandmaster. Once in
Stealth
,
an invasion of the Hall, to retrieve a symbol of your office from beneath your
sleeping head; once in battle against your army sent to defeat me on the
Gauntlet; and, once in rightful challenge held in the court of the Hall before
your guild and witnessed by the Adana’Ro. Do you deny it?”

The Grandmaster wiped blood from his eye and said, “I do
not.”

“Then, as acknowledged and unchallenged Grandmaster of the
Hall, swear to me the fealty of the Riel’sheng,” The Raven commanded, and then
he tossed the magnificent sword to the Grandmaster as though the sword and all
it represented were truly beneath him.

The Grandmaster caught the sword before it clattered to the
ground. He gazed at it with reverence before he drew himself to his knees. As
the Grandmaster knelt, so, too, did the other assassins. He held the heavy
sword before him, the hilt in both hands above his head, the tip pointed at the
ground but not touching.

“As Grandmaster of the Riel’sheng, I recognize thee, Raven,
as the superior strength, the superior skill, and the superior honor. I plead
to thee for mercy upon this Hall, such that we, the Riel’sheng, may serve thee
in life and death.” The Grandmaster’s next words were chorused by all of the
assassins who were present. “We grant unto thee the our fealty. To thee we
offer our vessels, our minds, our souls to use as you please. Thine will is our
will.”

When the oath was spoken, Rezkin restrained a shiver. He did
not care for anyone to offer him his or her
soul
, but such was the oath
of the Riel’sheng. It was an oath they had all sworn upon indoctrination to the
Hall. Now, they swore it to
him
. He had to accept the oath they offered
or all was for naught.

“I accept the fealty of the Riel’sheng. I accept the fealty
of the Hall,” Rezkin said as he surveyed the gathered assassins who knelt
around him. He returned his attention to the Grandmaster and said, “I recognize
your defeat, Grandmaster and honor you as a worthy opponent by granting you
mercy – not the mercy of an assassin, which would allow you a quick
death, but the mercy of a liege lord, which grants you life. I would have you
continue to serve as Grandmaster under
my
reign and lead
my
Hall
by my command.”

The Grandmaster lifted the sword so that it rested flat in
both hands and raised it high. Had the Raven ordered it so, he would have
instead plunged it into his own abdomen to prove his fealty even in death. “I
humbly accept your appointment, Riel’gesh Raven.”

Rezkin cocked his head curiously at the title.
Riel’sheng
translated to “
Giver of Death
” and was the honored and ancient name for
the Assassin’s Guild, known before now only by the upper echelons of the guild.
Riel’gesh
, by contrast, meant “
Giver of Life
”, and, ironically
for the Assassin’s Guild, was a higher honor. It meant that his power, skill,
and honor were so great that he could afford to grant life to those who would
threaten him; but, of course, he could retract that
gift
at his leisure.

“See to your wounds, Grandmaster. We have much to discuss
and little time,” Rezkin replied.

The Grandmaster took a few moments to clean and patch his
wounds. They were not serious, but head wounds tended to bleed profusely. The
older man eyed the young warrior who had so easily bested him. “You were
unscathed during our battle,” he observed.

“You damaged my attire. It was a challenge,” Rezkin replied.

The Grandmaster could not help but respond with scorn. “A
challenge for what? To survive? I think not. To remain unharmed? Perhaps. To
remain un
ruffled
more like. You look as though the Gauntlet and the
challenge were nothing more than a heated practice session.”

Rezkin threw the Grandmaster a sideways glance as he
motioned Rom and the small-men over to join them. The rest of the assassins had
already dispersed at his command, but they did not stray far. Everyone wanted
to witness these unprecedented events. “I have endured worse,” he replied.

The Grandmaster scoffed. “Worse than the Gauntlet? We have
lost more of our greatest members to the Gauntlet than any other way. Only one
will survive every few decades to become Grandmaster. I expected Briesh to be
the next, but he has shown no interest in walking the Gauntlet. Although, truth
be told, I think that he is not quite ready.”

“Perhaps he simply has no desire to kill you, Grandmaster,”
The Raven argued.

The Grandmaster huffed humorlessly. “He has no love for me.
Grudging respect, perhaps, but no love.”

“I doubt any of you are capable of such a sentiment,” Rezkin
observed.

“Are
you
?” the Grandmaster shot back. “I recognize
your authority Riel’gesh, but I am an old man and you are young. You should not
be so quick to dismiss a man’s soul. Even a hard man who bathes in blood can
love.” The Grandmaster’s eyes grew distant in remembrance, as though he spoke
from experience, before he finally shook himself and continued. “No, I think
Briesh does not care to take on the responsibility of Grandmaster when there is
someone else to do it. Perhaps when I have grown too old to hold my sword aloft
he will acquiesce and honor me with a worthy death.”

“One can hope,” Rezkin responded, “but you are still of
use.” It was a strange wish, to desire one’s life to end in slaughter, while
others dreamed of dying in their sleep or surrounded by loved ones. It was a
dream carried by many a warrior, and it was one Rezkin thought he would
experience sooner rather than later. Few warriors lived to old age and even
fewer desired it. Rezkin did not care either way except that if he were too old
to perform his
Skills
or adhere to the
Rules
then he would be of
little use to anyone, especially if he lost his mind and knowledge with it as
many of the elderly did. It would be a waste of resources to continue to
support his useless life.

 Rezkin felt three sets of eyes boring into him. He
turned his attention to the three thieves that stood clutching each other
beside him. When he met Rom’s eyes, the big man quickly glanced away. The warrior
motioned to Broken and Ash and said, “The small-men are yours. They are to
master their
Skills
. They are sadly deficient of training, and I would
see them succeed.”

Broken’s mouth dropped, and he exclaimed, “Wait! We’re
s’posed to become assassins?”

Rezkin frowned at the young man who seemed rather upset.
They should be thankful that Rezkin was making the effort to see to their
education since no one else had. The assassins did not possess all of the
necessary
Skills
, and they were unfamiliar with many of the
Rules,
but
they were better than anyone else, except perhaps the strikers.

He replied, “If need be, but that is not my purpose in
bringing you here. You must learn the
Skills
the Hall has to offer. In
time, you may be transferred elsewhere to learn other
Skills
. I do not
have the time to teach you myself. This is the only way I have at the moment to
ensure you become proper grown men.”

“Wha-what about Cracker?” the small-man whimpered as his lip
wobbled.

“Your guild mate does not possess the countenance for this
Skill
set. He will be taught others more suited to his personality and abilities,”
The Raven responded.

Rom furrowed his brow and had to ask, “You mean you’re just
tryin’ to make sure they get a chance in life? Are you sure this is the only way?
I mean no offense, Master Raven, but I care about these boys. Maybe they could
apprentice with a carpenter or somethin’ – you know, somethin’
respectable.”

The Raven’s face darkened, and he replied, “Are you saying a
warrior is undeserving of respect?”

“No, no, of course not, Master, nothin’ of the sort,” Rom
sputtered.

Rezkin shook his head.
What is it with carpenters?
“I
know a carpenter’s apprentice, and he wishes to be a warrior. I am trying to
make these small-men into warriors, and you wish them to be carpenters.” He was
just about to make a comment about the nonsensical ways of outworlders when Ash
interrupted.

“We’re gonna be warriors?” the small-man asked as he bounced
on his toes. “Are we gonna be like you?”

Rezkin looked at the small-man and recalled what he had been
doing and how much he knew by the time he had reached the same number of years.
He shook his head and said, “No, not like me. But, you will succeed to the best
of your abilities or you will not succeed at all.” The small-man furrowed his
brow in confusion and pondered the statement as the grown men talked.
Eventually, The Raven and the Grandmaster walked away to discuss matters in
private.

“When did the Adana’Ro leave, Riel’gesh?” the Grandmaster
inquired. “I am afraid my head was not clear enough to notice.”

“Directly after your oath,” The Raven replied. “Why were
they here?” The Grandmaster nodded in acceptance. He was not ashamed of his
loss. It had been an honorable challenge, and no one who had witnessed it could
argue the fact that the Grandmaster had been outmatched by a man with inhuman
skill.