The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5) (6 page)

Filista just shook
her head. “Even now, the devils’ language drips from your mouth like venom. Take her away.”  

* * *

Large red flags hung from the rooftop, drooping low in the breezeless night air. Vivid and easy to spot even in the black of night, they clearly marked the private hut. No one was to enter here without permission, and most avoided it altogether. Guards patrolled the hut day and night; spears in hand, they watched attentively through their wicker helmets. Tonight there were two at the doorway, three others patrolling around the building.

The night had been uneventf
ul as usual, but that was no excuse for growing complacent. Kelus’s orders were clear: protect the Shantie Rhoe...at all costs. The two at the doorway stood at attention, their spears locked together, crossed over the doorway. Their eyes remained focused straight ahead. The other three soldiers passed in front of their vision once again, continuing their march in an endless circle.

The moment the three disappeared around the corner, one of the door guards brought a hand up to his neck. The tiny jab felt like an in
sect bite. The other ignored his partner, eyes still scanning across the plentiful bushes and trees. Nothing seemed out of place. A tiny sting at the side of his own neck made him jump. The two looked at each other, eyes wide, the fast-acting poison already working. A white-hot burning sensation moved through their necks, all the way down to their toes. Voices failed when they tried to call out for help. The sky began to twist and spin as consciousness left them. But instead of hitting the ground, they each fell into waiting arms and were quickly dragged into nearby bushes.

Eric sat up o
n his bed. Not sure what had disturbed his sleep, he looked around the room. He detected no movement or any other evidence that something might be wrong.
Of all your senses, trust your eyes the least
, his father used to say.
Your eyes are always in a state of overstimulation. They see what they want to see. If you really want to see the truth, don’t use them
. “I remember, father,” he said out loud, then closed his eyes and began to focus, listening, feeling.

The
same three soldiers came back around again. They marched along at a quick step. Very little time had passed since their last round. They glanced at the two guards standing at the doorway, their locked spears crossing the entrance and faces covered by wicker helmets. The two stared straight ahead, scanning the bushes and trees just as before. The three rounded the corner again without so much as a backward glance.

With perfect timing, the door guards uncrossed their spears as three shadowy figures streaked from the nearby bushes, allowing them quick entrance to the building. Once
they silently darted inside and closed the door, the two imposters crossed their weapons again. There they stood, still as night, still staring out across the brush.

The
room was dark, but it only took a moment to locate the bed. The sleeping figure hadn’t stirred, remaining motionless under the blanket. Two small darts zipped into the blanket. One of the assassins pointed to the bed, fingers flickering in silent speech. The other two lunged forward without hesitation, sharp steel flashing in each of their hands. Both blades sunk deep into the unconscious victim, followed by a spray of white feathers. They stared down at the covered pillows, eyes wide with panic. The decoy had worked perfectly.

The man by the doorway
inhaled sharply when a large hand wrapped across his neck. “Looking for someone?” Eric whispered in his ear. His shrill screech quickly became a sickly gurgle as the fiery blade worked through his back and out the front of his chest. Eric turned and drove the corpse through the door. It exploded into a bloom of wood chips, the dead man skidding into the street.

Seeing the target
’s back, the remaining two rushed him. But when Eric turned, they stopped cold. This was the first time they had gotten a good look at the proposed target, who was large and muscular, with long, curly, brown hair that hung over his face. He possessed a face they couldn’t quite see, bordered in shadow from the subtle light coming through the broken doorway. Yellow eyes glowed through the curtain of brown hair. The man was gripping a jeweled blade pulsing with fire from hilt to tip. The assassins froze in place, petrified at the supernatural sight.

“Did
you think it would be so easy?” Eric hissed. “Well, here I am. Which one of you wants the glory?” The distinct smell of burned flesh filled the room as his fizzling sword steamed with dry blood. “Who sent you?” There was the sound of a quick skirmish just outside, followed by calls for backup. Eric ignored the commotion, calmly waiting for an answer to his question.

Soldiers began to filter in from outside. Some quickly walled off the Shantie
Rhoe with their bodies, even though it was clear he was in no danger at all. The others surrounded the assassins, spear tips pushing at their necks. “Take them alive,” said Eric calmly. “I’ll be having words with them soon enough.”

“We cannot continue taking such risks,” said Kelus, driving a fist into his open hand. “Double—no, triple the guard from now on.” The usually calm chieftain was more than a bit rattled. “How did they ever get so close to him?”

“And do we even know who
they
is?” said Wara, her sharp green eyes burning like emeralds. Her yellow dress drooped loosely below her shoulders, as if the fabric were wet. Several gold hoops ran up and down her thin, boney arms, so many it seemed impossible they wouldn’t burden her frail body. Yet the old woman moved about with an unnerving grace, a sort of finesse no one that age should still possess. “Have you learned anything new about the attackers? We must gain some understanding of their motives.”

Kelus walked across the bearskin rug
and stood before one of the tan canvas pictures strung to the wall. Although he’d seen them many times before, he looked on, pretending to admire them. “The interrogation is already underway,” he said, never lifting his gaze from the wall. “We’ll have some answers soon enough.”

“We have our answers now
, sir.” The curtain of colored beads scattered to the side. In walked a burly soldier with black tattoos running up and down his bare arms. “At least, we know more than before.” Despite the apparent good news, the man did not look particularly pleased. With a solemn expression, he pulled a red-stained white cloth from inside his vest, then snapped the wrapping like a whip, sending a small flap of skin to the floor. “They all have the mark, I’m afraid,” he said, staring down at the chunk of flesh. In a flash he was gone, beads clicking against each other in the doorway.

Kelus sighed as he
picked up the fresh, wet strip. He held it up and pulled it tight, revealing a tattoo of a blue rose floating in a cloud of white smoke. “They won’t talk,” said the twins, voices dry and emotionless. Their bald heads bobbed down and then up with a cracking sound.

“
I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” said Wara. She nervously ran her slender fingers through her long, white hair. “I’m afraid Eric has made some powerful enemies. And no, there is no chance they’re going to talk.”

“That has yet to be seen
,” said Eric, slapping back the stringed beads and entering the room where the private meeting was being held.

“You were not invited
to attend,” said the toothless twins, heads bobbing down then up.

“Yes Kikuro, that’s correct,” said Eric flatly
, focusing on the tattooed skin. He picked it up and took a long look. The flower blossom was bright and well detailed. “So, who are we dealing with here?” Ignoring the circle, he looked directly at Kelus.

Kelus paus
ed a long time before answering, “I think you better come with me.” He faced the circle and nodded. “If you will excuse us.” The two of them left in a hurry.

After a time, Kikuro spoke. “He has draw
n much attention.”

“Yes, too much,” said Wara, rubbing her neck.
“The woods have eyes. They watch his every move despite our best efforts to conceal his identity. His reputation is rapidly spreading beyond the borders of our village.” She sighed, fingers rising to her temples. “He can stay here no longer. We don’t have the means to protect him, and I will not risk the safety of our people. We must begin the trials.”

* * *

“I can’t prepare if you continue keeping me in the dark, Kelus,” said Eric while they walked down the dirt path. He rubbed a hand down his bare arm, feeling the black symbols burned into it. Even after the horrible scarring occurred, he never made an effort to cover his arms. They were a part of him now, and he would do nothing to hide them. The subtle motion stopped Kelus from staring at the markings, and seemed to help get his attention. “Are
these
the reason they came for me?” Eric continued.

“They’re not talking yet, but I’m sure it is,” said Kelus.

“And who is they?”

Kelus
groaned, clearly not wanting to discuss this. “Those tattoos; those symbols inked to each of their backs. It is the symbol of the Tryads.” He shook his head, finding his own words hard to believe. “Professional killers.”

“You mean like mercenaries or leathers?”

“No,” Kelus said softly. “They are far beyond that, my boy. If a man owes you money and you need a brute to shake him up a bit, you might attain the services of what you call a leather.” Eric was beginning to see where this was going. “If the revenge you seek is with a wealthy landowner or any man with significant rank, if you have enough coin, you could hire mercenaries to deal with them. But if your target is a king or queen; if your goal is to change an entire political landscape by one significant assassination—”

“You hire the Tryads,” said Er
ic.

“Not directly, but yes,” said Kelus.
“As with most powerful factions, there is a chain of command. No one ever speaks with their leader directly. Technically, they don’t even exist. They are unseen ghosts who move in, get the job done, then move out without leaving a trace. The only evidence they leave is a corpse.”

“So the Tryads themselves are not my enemy.”

“A compassionate way of looking at it, I suppose,” Kelus said dryly. “But that’s really not the point here. Someone wants you dead. And what’s worse, to have hired the Tryads, they must have quite a bit of coin, power, or both. The operation was probably backed by several lords, maybe even an entire territory. We just don’t know.”

“Then allow me to question
them,” said Eric.

“They are
renowned for their ability not to break under any circumstances, torture or otherwise. But since you seem so eager, here comes your chance.”

Off in the distance they could see several so
ldiers doing their best to force back a growing mass of people. The crowd was eagerly pushing their way forward, trying to get a peek at the gruesome show. Two sacks hung from a tree nearby. Even from this distance, Eric was certain of what they contained.

“You
executed them?” Eric asked, puzzled by the odd strategy here. After all, they were supposed to be questioned, not killed.

“Yes,” said Kelus,
voice hard and emotionless. “We hung two of them while making the others watch. The execution was slow and prolonged. Our hope was to frighten the others into talking; show them we intend to do whatever is necessary. So far, nothing has worked.”

Eric nodded
acceptingly, a little surprised at how easily he dismissed these actions. How does one get used to death so quickly? When had he become so desensitized? He eyed Kelus, suddenly seeing him in a different light. This man had far thicker skin than he had first imagined. He was not afraid to make tough choices and stick to them. To do the unthinkable without blinking, only because it was a means to an end.
A born leader
, Eric thought.
Could I choose between life and death so easily?

As they drew closer,
people began to point and whisper. Eric hardly noticed anymore. His focus was on the men hanging from the tree. They were wrapped up to their chins in brown sacks, the bottom portions damp with human waste. Their faces remained exposed, no doubt so the other assassins could watch the horror build in their eyes while they strangled slowly.

Eric and Kelus
moved deeper into the crowd. There was no need to push—people practically climbed over one another just to get out of their way, many falling to the ground, then scrambling away on hands and knees.

Amoshi stood at the
center of it all. As usual, he wore a sleeveless shirt, green and gray with white buttons, placing his thick arms on display. They were nowhere near as muscular as Eric’s, but plenty big enough. Soldiers worked hard around him, pushing back the crowd, making hollow threats as to what would happen if they didn’t back off. Amoshi didn’t appear distracted by all the attention. His focus was on the job at hand.

At his fee
t were two exposed heads protruding from the sand. The two remaining assassins were buried up to their necks, facing each other in the hot sun. Their heads were shaved and covered in sores. Red ants swarmed all over their faces, biting and leaving puffy welts. Every few seconds, one would blow air from his nose, expelling some of the ants in a moist spray of blood and mucus. Many of the sores were beginning to bleed, leaking thin lines of red that streaked down into the sand.

Amoshi sat
down between them, crossing his legs. “Did you enjoy watching your friends suffer?” he said, tugging his own collar away from his neck. “I know it’s hard to imagine now, but those two were the lucky ones. I promise you both, before long you’ll wish you could trade places with them. That is, of course, unless you tell me who paid for the contract.”

But these
men were clearly resigned to their fate. From their earliest days of training, they had always known it would end this way, or in some similar fashion. From day one of recruitment, Tryads began living what remained of a shortened life. None would ever live to see old age. How do you break a man who has no fear? How do you threaten to take away what he has already lost? Amoshi understood this all too well, but still needed to try and break them. “Neither one of you has anything to say?” He leaned in close so no one could hear. “Good, it’s more fun this way.” In reality it sickened him to have to continue this. But it was imperative he come across as cold and remorseless.

Amoshi glanced
at Kelus, then motioned to one of the soldiers. “That one,” Amoshi said, pointing down to one of the heads, then smiled. Then he scooted closer to the other head and sat down. “You and I are going to watch. Don’t worry, your turn will come soon enough.” He backhanded the man for good measure. Ants, blood, and sweat sprayed across the sand. 

The soldier reached
down to his boot, retrieving a small, brown leather pouch. He stepped closer with it, then kicked the chosen man in the head. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” the soldier grunted. At first, the man did nothing more than spit to the side. That earned him a second kick, much harder than the first. With little choice left, he did as he was told.

The soldier bent down and shook the bag over his open mouth. Out fell a tiny blue scorpion, no bigger than a man’s fingertip.
Its two front claws were bright orange and the tip of its coiled stinger was dark red, almost black. It spun in circles around the man’s tongue, confused and disorientated. “Now close your mouth,” barked the soldier. The man gently retracted his tongue and sealed his lips. He could feel the pointed, crab-like legs jabbing his tongue as it walked around the warm, moist cave. Its rigid claws probed up and down the sides of his mouth, searching for a way out.

“Do you recognize that breed of scorpion?” Amoshi said softl
y to the other man, who was looking on helplessly. “Yes, of course you do. The rang-tail scorpion is very aggressive, possessing a rather unique brand of poison. Then I suppose you also know your friend here had better keep perfectly still. If it stings him, and eventually it will, there won’t be anything anyone can do to save him.”

Amoshi began to graphically detail the different stages involved, all the while making sure the man with the
scorpion in his mouth could hear every word. He described how all of the body’s functions shut down immediately—well, nearly all. Awareness and pain were unaffected by the poison. Even as his heart slowed and vital organs began to shut down, he would remain conscious through it all.

The soldier continuously flicked the man in the back of the head,
the little jolts attempting to irritate the scorpion. The buried man tensed with each thump, not knowing which one would spell his doom.

Ke
lus and Eric watched in silence. Much of the crowd taunted the two men, some throwing handfuls of dirt. Still others turned away, unable to watch the spectacle any longer. “How many of your men did they kill?” Eric asked.

Surprised by the question, Kelus
tore his eyes away from the spectacle and looked up at him. “Well...none, Eric. My men were not the target. You were.”

“I thought you s
aid they poisoned the guard last night?”

“They did. It knocked them o
ut for several hours. We eventually found them unconscious, tied, and hidden in some nearby bushes.”

Eric’s icy stared could have frozen a river.
“It would have been easier and more efficient to just kill the guard, but they went out of their way to spare them.”

“Eric, they were paid to kill you!
We need to find out who sent them. There really is no other way to—”

“There is always another way,” he interrupted.
“They were paid to do a task. One in which they’ve failed, and that alone has already sealed their fate. Any honorable soldier will blindly follow his orders—die if necessary. I see no greed or selfishness in their actions, only blind soldiers who weren’t given a choice. But in the end, all men must make their own choices.” Eric brushed past the little man.

“What are you doing
?” said Kelus.

Soldiers and village folk alike moved out of his way.
They need to know who their target really was. Then I’m giving them a choice
. Eric knelt down between the two heads. “Spit it out,” he said to the first man. “Do it as quickly as you can or it will sting you.” Amoshi began to protest, but Eric cut him off with a raised hand. A heartbeat later, the angry scorpion bounced across the loose dirt. The two captives stared up at him, faces solemn and stony. Not the look of men who believed they might be spared, but that of soldiers ready to die for someone else’s cause.