Guisarme
by Barbara G. Tarn
***
Barbara G.Tarn copyright © 2014
electronic edition by Unicorn Productions
November 2014
***
GUISARME
by Barbara G.Tarn
Guisarme woke up in anguish. She'd heard a desperate cry for help and now felt the emptiness of loss in the pit of her stomach. The bond was gone. Francisca was probably dead.
As she realized this, her eyes popped open and she gasped. The pearly light of dawn filtered through the window and the building, the seat of the Guild, was quiet. Which didn't mean much – the Assassins' Guild was always a quiet place since its members might need to sleep during the day.
She jumped off her pallet, her heart racing. Something had happened to her acharya. She rushed through the empty, darkened corridors, but the Head of the Guild was not in his office. She went downstairs to the canteen, and saw only three people were already up – or maybe didn't go to sleep at all in the case of the raven-haired young man who sat nursing a goblet of ale, looking dejected.
Startled to see him alone, Guisarme joined him.
"Kilig! Where's Acharya Saif?"
"Dunno," was the somber reply.
"Kilig, it's important! I think Francisca failed her mission!" she insisted frantically.
His brown eyes looked at her from behind the bangs.
"I don't know where he is, Guisarme," he said slowly.
"He didn't take you with him?" Incredulous she shook her head and slumped on a stool. "I wish Francisca had taken me with her on this mission!" She started biting her nails, frowning in concentration.
She knew her relationship with Francisca wasn't the same as the bond Saif and Kilig shared. Francisca had taught her the trade, given her her assassin's name – Guisarme the Throwing Spear – and then they'd parted, although there was still a strong bond between them. The three years of training were in the past, but their special relationship made any chance meeting a joyful reunion.
Kilig had finished his training a couple of years earlier, but didn't seem ready to cut the umbilical cord with his acharya. The adoration in his eyes whenever he looked at Saif was obvious, and Guisarme knew they were lovers and worked together.
"He's not on a mission," Kilig said, interrupting her musings.
"He's not?" She was startled. "And where is he?"
"I told you I don't know."
"Drat. I can't find Talwar, I need to know what Francisca was working on." More nail biting and frowning. "Think I could sneak into the office and look at the records?"
"It's locked," Kilig reminded her. "Unless you decide to switch trades with a lock-picker, forget it. We haven't seen her the past month, but maybe Nimdja knows something."
"Nimdja! Thank you, Kilig! Is he here?"
"I think he went out, looking for company," Kilig grumbled, averting his eyes.
"Oh." Guisarme's enthusiasm faded again. But by then she'd attracted the attention of the other two assassins and soon everybody gathered to listen to what she had to say, including the Head of the Guild, Talwar.
They knew she was half-blood and her Genn father had transmitted to her not only the pointed ears and sapphire eyes, but also some of his magic. She could "feel" some people she was very close to, and Francisca was one of them. She had visions and dreams and could deal with magical beings better than most Humans, who were usually too awed to even address any who crossed their path.
"I heard her scream, and then she was gone," she said. "I think she's dead! What was her assignment?"
Talwar, stared at her, then sighed, averting his eyes.
"Guisarme, we sent her because she is the best. If she failed…" He shook his head and looked at her again.
"Who is the damn bastard?" she exploded. "I will avenge her!"
"No. Especially not on your own. You're too young to succeed where an expert failed."
Guisarme cursed her Genn blood, which made her look younger and grow slower. She'd been an assassin for ten years already and she was still considered a newcomer! She glared at Talwar who turned to the senior members.
"Come to my office and we'll discuss what to do."
With gritted teeth Guisarme watched them leave the canteen. She punched the table and ignored the pain. The sense of impending doom hadn't left her and flashes of her dream kept replaying in her head even if she was wide awake.
"Are you all right?" Kilig's voice startled her. He looked worried.
"I'll be all right only when I'll have avenged Francisca," she muttered, furious.
"I'll go with you," Kilig said. The twenty-year-old who didn't seem to shave stared at her, determined. "I'll help you avenge your acharya."
She looked into his brown eyes and slowly nodded, hoping he wouldn't put himself in trouble so Saif would come save him. He probably didn't know how to work on his own, though, and since she was older, he'd follow her orders.
They both went to sit in the cloistered courtyard, in front of Talwar's office. Guisarme's heart was still beating quickly as she waited. Visions of blood and torn flesh flashed in her head and she shivered in spite of the warm morning.
Kilig started toying with his brass wheels, absently making them spin slowly on his finger without throwing them. He juggled with two at the same time to keep both hands busy, but didn't look like he was going to use them.
Guisarme thanked the gods she'd left hers in her room. Although she could normally kill in cold blood, she was so upset at Francisca's disappearance, that she wanted to hurl all her throwing weapons at Talwar. Although there was no real hurry since Francisca was probably already dead. She better calm down before looking for her acharya's killer.
***
Talwar's office door opened and the elders came out, including Nimdja who stopped next to the seated youths and stared at Kilig who pointedly ignored him. Guisarme jumped to her feet, but Kilig didn't move, although he stopped toying with the brass wheels.
"Where's Saif?" Nimdja demanded. He was tall but slim, with his black hair cut short and his beard closely trimmed. He wore two brass wheels around his wrist and had two daggers in his sash.
"Dunno," the young man muttered, his face hidden behind his bangs. The shoulder-length hair curled up slightly at the end. Guisarme thought he was cute, but wanted to slap him for the reply, the very same answer he'd given her a couple of hours before.
"Kilig, we've been selected for this mission, so I don't care if you fought with him, you'll have to work with him again," Nimdja said sternly.
"Good luck in convincing him," Kilig retorted. "He dumped me. Said I should start working on my own."
"Where is he?"
Kilig looked up, his brown eyes glaring through his bangs. "I. Don't. Know. Which part of 'he dumped me' didn't you get?"
"I'll come." Guisarme chimed in. "Francisca is my acharya, I have the right to avenge her."
"She was mine and Saif's friend as well," Nimdja replied a little impatiently. "Talwar thinks it should be the three of us."
"If Saif is not available, I am," she insisted.
"Saif is no longer an assassin," Kilig said, hanging his head again and putting the brass wheels on his wrists. His foot tapped constantly on the stone floor.
Nimdja stared at him, then at Guisarme's determined expression. He sighed.
"Fine. Pack for a week, bring all your weapons. Let's go."
***
Guisarme packed her daggers, brass wheels, the pole-arm and a short bow with its quiver of arrows and joined Nimdja and Kilig in the Guild's courtyard. With the blade taken off and hidden in the packs, the shaft of their pole-arms looked like a walking stick.
They went to the river and took a barge to the coast, although it would be only a one-
day trip.
"Who are we dealing with?" Guisarme asked, seated on the wooden floor of the barge, narrowing her eyes at Nimdja.
"Rakshasa, lord of a small fief on the hills," the elder assassin explained. "His court is sick of him, but he's obviously a real demon, if he dispatched Francisca."
"We don't know for sure she's dead, do we?" Kilig asked, worried.
Guisarme inhaled deeply to calm the beating of her heart.
"I'm afraid she is," she muttered.
Nimdja nodded. "She'll be honored as heroine if that's the case. Now, we need to study our target. I know Francisca went there disguised as a dancer."
"She taught me the dagger dance if that's what you had in mind," Guisarme noted.
"Talwar thought it would be three men." Nimdja flashed a smile at her. "I didn't tell him Saif isn't coming and you're filling in for him."
She raised her eyebrows. "So what was the original plan?"
"To go in as knife-throwers," Nimdja replied. "Kilig would be the target boy, since he's the youngest. Although you're the girl, so you could do it as well."
"I'm better at throwing knives than at standing still," she retorted, glancing at Kilig who had stiffened but didn't say a word.
Nimdja chuckled. "I think the headstand looks more dangerous if the target is male," he said, staring at Kilig who shrugged and averted his eyes.
"I trust you," he muttered. "You're Acharya Saif's friend."
"And do you trust Guisarme as well?"
Kilig took a quick look at her and nodded.
"Good." Nimdja grinned. "We could do a double ladder of death as well. A female knife-thrower is also quite sexy."
Guisarme scoffed. Yes, men could fall for that. Then she thought about their mission – her first teamwork.
"I don't know many assassins who work in pairs or groups," she said. "Kilig and Saif were an exception."
"But you've worked with Francisca before," Nimdja replied. "Besides, I heard you have found a new kind of dagger."
"Yes, it comes from the north, where those barbarians love to disembowel each other." She smiled briefly. "I'm good at throwing it as much as using it in close combat."
"What's the difference with ours?"
She took it from her sash and they huddled to hide it from the other passengers. She pressed the handles together and the blade split in three, becoming a trident. She heard Kilig gasp and Nimdja grunt his approval.
She quickly closed the trident and showed how the blade looked much like the other throwing daggers they used, with the two bars to hold it. Nimdja nodded. He had a twin-bladed dagger with the same handle with two bars perpendicular to the blade, albeit fixed.
"Good. We'll still have to figure out what hidden skill Rakshasa has. I can pass off Kilig as my son, but your dark-blond mane and pointed ears show we're not related, so you'll be his girlfriend. We're a family of jugglers, we'll entertain the lord for one night to get in the palace and study him."
Guisarme and Kilig nodded, one determined, the other a little worried.
"But." Nimdja raised his finger and stared at Guisarme. "I want you to remember we're a team. Nobody tries anything alone, understood?"
Slowly, Guisarme acquiesced. She understood the danger. She could still hear Francisca's cry for help.
"I won't try anything on my own," she promised. "And if I feel something about him, I'll let you know immediately, so we can revise our plans."
***
Rakshasa ran a fief on the river shore. A white palace at the top of a hill towered over lower houses, a small temple and a busy marketplace. A straight paved road took carts, wagons and pedestrians from the village to the river. Olive trees were the most common in the hilly area, interspersed by terraces of vineyards.
Nimdja, Guisarme and Kilig reached the main square in front of the palace and asked for a wooden panel to start their show. A shopkeeper told them they could use his old door, so they placed it against the palace wall and people gathered around them.
Kilig did a headstand against the improvised target board and Nimdja threw two knives, one into each of the top two corners of the old door. Kilig moved his legs apart until they touched the knives embedded in the board and Nimdja threw a series of knives in the "V" formed by Kilig's legs.
"Careful with my boyfriend," Guisarme teased as the knives progressed threateningly towards Kilig's crotch.
"Don't worry, I won't emasculate my own son," Nimdja replied, throwing the last knife.
The crowd laughed and cheered. Then Kilig stood straight and Guisarme joined Nimdja for the double ladder of death: standing side by side, they simultaneously performed a rapid sequence of throws around Kilig's body while aiming so the trajectories of their knives crossed, starting from the bottom and building the "ladder" on each side of Kilig on the opposite side of where they stood.
The crowd roared and applauded at the new stunt and Nimdja thanked the audience for their patience. They performed a few more tricks, and then everybody disbanded, going back to work. Nimdja and his "assistants" were invited to drink and eat at the inn on the square, where both the innkeeper and the serving maid gave them some information about the lord they had barely glimpsed as he watched their show from a first floor balcony.
Rakshasa was a meat-eater and imported venison, since the cows were not considered good enough for him to eat. Since he'd been entrusted with the fief, he'd eaten all the geese and most of the pigs, leaving only fish and frogs to his people. The innkeeper felt he should apologize for the vegetarian meal he provided the jesters. The wine, milk, cheese and oil produced in the fief were heavily taxed to allow the lord to buy his supplies of meat, and his tenants were tired of starving to feed him.
After the meal, Nimdja requested a room where they left their packs and then headed for the palace. It was the local courtiers who had actually requested an assassin to get rid of the lord, since they were the only ones who still had some means to buy the service.
Nimdja doubted they'd talk to him, though, so he asked to see the chamberlain, who came to the entrance hall to hear what they had to say.
"Are you here to offer a private performance for our lord?" he asked.
"Actually, we're here to do a joint show with the dancer who came here four days ago," Nimdja answered. "Didn't she mention we'd be coming?"
"Uh… no." The man stared puzzled at them.
"Where is she?" Nimdja insisted.
The chamberlain frowned and pursed his lower lip, lowering his eyes.
"She vanished in the Lord Rakshasa's room," he admitted. Then he noticed the silken noose on their wrists and realized who they actually were.
They had left the brass wheels and daggers in their packs, so they weren't too obvious as assassins, but the noose they had wrapped around their wrist gave them away at a closer look.
The chamberlain gasped in surprise. "You come from the Guild too?"
"Yes, since Francisca never came back from her mission here," Nimdja answered. "We were sent to investigate."
"Oh. Well, I'm afraid she failed..."
"Why didn't you notify the Guild?" Nimdja asked.
"We don't have any money left to pay another assassin. She disappeared with the payment and…"
"If she was killed, like we think, it's a question of honor for the Assassins' Guild to avenge her."
"Oh. We weren't aware of that."
The fear evaporated as the man told them everything he knew. Francisca had come, asked some questions about Lord Rakshasa, and then she had danced for him – a very sexy belly dance, the chamberlain had wondered where she kept her weapons. The lord had invited her to his room, and she'd never come out. The nobles thought he'd eaten Human meat, since he'd come out of the room alive, healthy and strangely happy.
"Did the kitchen receive new meat?" Nimdja asked, puzzled.
"No. But I've seen him eat raw meat when he was very hungry," the chamberlain replied.
"What kind of monster is he?" Guisarme shivered in disgu
st.
"Did it ever occur to you to revolt?" Nimdja asked the man.
"He scares us." The man shrugged. "Come."
The chamberlain took them through narrow corridors meant for servants only and let them peep through a hole that opened on the great hall.
Rakshasa was a bulky man, seated on a pile of cushions on a platform that put him higher than the rest of his council. Guisarme thought he had a statuary beauty and probably enormous strength, but that wasn't what had beaten Francisca. She moved aside to allow Kilig to take a look and closed her eyes, trying to see with her mind.
She felt magic. The man had magical blood. He must be a hybrid, like her, but she felt none of the Genn magic. Probably another Magical Race, then. The Sila were harmless and certainly not meat-eaters. They belonged to Air, had wings, and were closer to birds than Humans. The Waiora favored fish and other water creatures, since they were Water's people.
She felt hot and as Fire breathed over her, she knew the answer. A Fajrulo. The man was half-blood, like her, but his Human parent had mated with the most unpredictable of the Magical Races. Probably unknowingly, since Fajrulo were shape shifters.
Her eyes snapped open as she gasped.
"Felt something?" Nimdja whispered.
She nodded quickly and motioned to get out of the narrow corridor. They left the palace and went back to their room at the inn on the main square.
"So?" Nimdja asked as soon as they were alone. They sat in a circle on the inn's floor and Kilig started fidgeting with the noose wrapped around his wrist.
"He's a half-Fajrulo," Guisarme said, worried. "I wonder if he's aware of his other nature… if he is, none of us can kill him!"
"What do you mean?" Kilig asked, puzzled.
"The true form of the Fajrulo is the dragon of legends," she explained. "Like the one who destroyed Arquon and wiped away the jungle in that part of the land. The desert born from it is still spreading and it certainly helped the fall of the southern kingdoms."
Nimdja nodded, thoughtful. Kilig was breathless and wide-eyed.
"Now, Rakshasa is a half-blood," she continued. "And our only hope is that he isn't aware of his true origins. Because if he is, much like me, only his Fajrulo parent can stop him."
"How do we find out?" Kilig asked.
Guisarme pursed her lower lip.
"His love of meat, his eating it raw, his bulky frame show his Fajrulo side," she said. "But we didn't hear of any dragon, and nobody ever said he used witchcraft, so I think we're safe. Francisca was probably taken by surprise, though. Half-Fajrulo are definitely harder to kill than Humans."