“Yes, I am awake,” she replied hoarsely. “I will be ready in a few moments.”
“Good,” he replied. “Come downstairs when you are done, and we will eat quickly, and be on our way.”
Ranhé was true to her word. In the bathroom, by the gray light of a single candle, she used the facilities, splashed herself with cold water, and then hastily re-braided her long thick hair. Back in the sleeping chamber, she put on her old travel clothes, pulled on her own old warm boots, and arranged daggers in appropriate places about her body. Last, came her longsword, and only then she wrapped her cloak about her, concealing all.
At the foot of the stairs, Elasand met her, also dressed for travel, wearing his plain gray cloak. For a moment his eyes looked at her intently, searching for any trace of her discomposure from last night. And then, seeing her calm expression, he must have been satisfied, and smiled lightly in greeting.
“By the way, the man whom you met yesterday in the Regent’s quarters is here already. He is Elasirr, Guildmaster of the Assassin Guild, and he will travel with us—but you know that already. Do not trust him.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
And with that, Ranhé entered the breakfast chamber, and saw the familiar blond, seated at the table and making himself quite at home, as he was buttering toasted bread, and biting into it with enthusiasm. He too wore very plain dark clothing, and she was almost surprised how easily his appearance had been transformed into that of a simple freeman. Only his hair, long and bright and groomed to satin, gave him away. That, and his strong beautiful hands on which two rings shone.
He saw her enter, and followed her with a stare, and possibly a smile—but she wasn’t sure, because he was busy chewing.
Giving him a curt nod, Ranhé sat down and ate hurriedly, otherwise ignoring him. When she was done, she drank down the hot strong tea, nearly scalding herself, because she wanted to be out of this room and away from him as soon as possible.
“Careful,” said the blond. “Vaeste will not begrudge you these extra minutes.” And he took another big bite of the toast, stuffing the side of his cheek, and grinning insolently at the same time. He then took a leisurely swig of tea.
“I’m done,” she said simply, looking back at him very directly, with impassive eyes. She then rose, and pulled her cloak about her, and went out into the corridor, where Elasand was waiting for them.
In a minute, Elasirr joined them, having stuffed a big chunk of bread and cheese in his pockets, and nonchalantly wiping crumbs off his cheeks.
“We have provisions packed in our travel bags,” mentioned Elasand.
“I’m sure we do,” replied the blond assassin, drawing his dark cloak around him. “But I plan to chew this stuff as we ride. Hope that doesn’t bother you, Elasand-re.”
Elasand, cool-faced, ignored that comment. “Let’s go then,” he said, and opened the door to allow in the predawn darkness.
Outside, servants held torches, and three horses were ready. Ranhé saw her own gray, and next to him she recognized Elasand’s pale great mount. The third one, greater even than that of Lord Vaeste, and dark as the night, she assumed was that of the master assassin. How appropriate.
They mounted and rode the empty predawn streets, passing in the pale darkness a bridge over the Arata, and were out of Dirvan into the common Markets area. Here, horseshoes rang against the cobblestones, and all the stalls were closed and dimmed for the night. Now and then, they passed straggling shadows of drunks, but otherwise, none dared approach them.
Elasand rode ahead, Ranhé just behind him, wary of any attempt against his life, while Elasirr brought up the rear. As they left the Markets area, Elasand turned directly South, toward the Free Quarter.
“We have no time for toll-gates,” he said, glancing backward. “Besides, with the lord of Bilhaar himself to protect our back, who have we to fear?”
“And once we’re outside the City,” came the deceptively lazy voice of Elasirr from the back, “which way exactly are we heading, Elasand-re, or is it still a secret?”
“We ride northwest.”
And then Elasand said nothing more, spurring his stallion into a gallop. He did not want to take any chances of being stopped in the dangerous Southern Quarter, even though the Guildmaster of the Assassin Guild himself was with them to guarantee safe passage.
They rode, cloaks billowing, hoofbeats thundering against stone, as the dawn wind struck their faces, and milk-pallor began to seep onto the eastern sky. At the Southern Gates of Tronaelend-Lis, guards stopped them briefly, and they reined in the horses. But one of the guards obviously recognized the man with the beacon-bright hair, and his great black stallion, and bowed his head in obeisance.
“Ride well, lord!” he cried, then growled at his fellows, “Let them by, quickly now, it’s the Lord Bilhaar!”
Elasirr, lightly holding back the great midnight beast, came up from behind. Edging forward past Elasand and taking the lead, he barely acknowledged the greeting with a raised gloved hand. Immediately, the pikes were uncrossed, and they flew through the Gates and out of the City.
Outside, the sky was pale over a mist-filled landscape, with verdant flatlands in the immediate vicinity of Tronaelend-Lis, and beyond, the beginning twisting shapes of the great forest.
The paved thoroughfare leading out of the City became a wide gravel road, with flatlands of ash grass on either side, all imbued with the ghostly pallor of mist.
Elasirr slowed his jet-black stallion into a canter, then a trot, and came alongside Elasand. “How long do we follow this road?” he said matter-of-factly, glancing sideways at Vaeste.
Elasand was in no mood to talk. Looking straight ahead, he said curtly, “For as long as it goes west.”
“Then lead on, my intense Elasand-re,” said Elasirr, and dropped further back to ride alongside Ranhé.
Stonelike, she continued watching Vaeste’s back in a semblance of indifference, yet was intensely and unpleasantly aware of the man at her side.
The sun’s disk sailed up through the vapors of the horizon like a dull monochrome orb, and the sky grew metallic with early-morning glow.
The man with the sun-hair turned his face to the light, closing his eyes momentarily with pleasure, letting the wind sweep against his pale lashes. “A-a-ah . . . I am rather glad I’m here with the two of you now, charming as you are,” he said, “than cooped up in the Palace with His Grace, the barrel-of-laughs, and the devious vixen Deileala. Not to mention that giant scarecrow, Vorn.”
Neither Elasand nor Ranhé chose to acknowledge this. But Elasirr was determined to keep talking. “It’s the Third Day of your cousin what’s-her-name’s Wedding,” he spoke to Vaeste’s back.
“It is indeed.” Elasand did not turn around.
“So—did Daqua find her pleasing?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself,” came Vaeste’s cold ironic reply.
“I believe I will, when we return.”
At her side, without turning, Ranhé sensed the blond’s barely suppressed laughter. He was baiting Vaeste, and she began to recognize the instances of customary interplay between these two, based on antagonistic tension and something else. They went back far, the two of them, she realized. Such intimate animosity came from extensive practice.
“And you,” suddenly said Elasirr, addressing her, “how did this come about that you serve our Lord Vaeste with such loyalty? Indeed, who are you, silent, devoted Ranhé?”
She knew this time he was baiting her, sensed the double meaning behind the word “devoted.” He knew the one deep intimate thing about her, and was using it against her.
The best thing, Ranhé had learned though all her years of mercenary work, was to show no reaction at all. Especially during instants of the highest vulnerability. Another good thing was direct confrontation. She excelled at that.
“And who are you, Elasirr, Guildmaster of Bilhaar?” she said, turning her head sideways to stare at him coldly. “Whence comes your in
solence, that you address the Regent and my Lord Vaeste as equals?”
Elasirr, riding at her side, smiled, like a blade being slowly drawn. “I see I was wrong, you are not silent at all. It is good that you have a tongue, for you have little else to recommend you, besides your warrior skills. Certainly not much in the way of womanhood.”
A cold ice-anger began to rise in her, compounding upon her own already present inner wound—that dark pitiful thing that she was fully aware of at last, ever since last night, ever since her conversation with Vaeste under the glowing moon.
But in that instant, Elasand’s voice came from up ahead. “Leave her alone, Elasirr,” he said loudly. “Seal your own mouth, will you, and let us ride in peace.”
“If that will please you, I am at your service,” replied Elasirr calmly, still smiling, and then threw one razor-glance at Ranhé, before looking away.
Inside, she was like a storm, cold, deadly. But because of Elasand’s timely interruption, there was no need for the storm to break. And so she remained silent, looking straight ahead.
By the middle of morning, the road had narrowed to a single wagon-width, and gravel became beaten-down dry dirt. The flatlands had ended, and they were at last within the outer rim of the forest.
Trees stood sparsely on the edges of the road, and they deepened as the forest came to surround them. They stood like filigree carved limbs of iron, and from up above, silver sprinkling sunlight came raining down through the intricate sieve of leaves in their remote crowns. Shadows and drops of sun danced all around, intermingling into all possible shades of gray, dark, and light, and occasional spiderwebs glistened in the branches with morning dew. The mists had receded completely, and the hum of the forest was lilting, filled with birdcalls and the chords of insect song.
Peace came to settle upon Ranhé, the longer they rode. She forgot her recent anger, forgot even the two men riding at her side, and simply listened to the living rich silence.
Eventually, at around noon, they came upon a clearing at the side of the road, and Elasand motioned for them to stop.
“We’ll take a small break now,” he said.
“Fine with me,” responded Elasirr, and they turned off the road.
Here, the sun was like lacework upon the forest floor—half sun, half shade. They dismounted, and gave water to the horses from the large traveling water-packs. Then, seeing that Elasirr unceremoniously took a couple of steps, turned his back to them and relieved himself into the bushes, Ranhé excused herself, and wandered off into the forest to take care of her own business. When she came back, both the men were settled against the trunks of the trees, eating the bread and dried meat from their packs of provisions. She glanced at them, as different as day and night—one pale and ebony-haired, with perfect features and clear ice eyes, the other pale of both skin and hair, and striking yet imperfect, with dark straight brows and hidden eyes. And yet, there was something like an invisible connection between them, as they looked up at her—one with softness, the other with concealed unreadable murk.
“Hungry?” asked Elasand, the one whose eyes were soft upon her—soft and gentle, she realized, ever since their intimate confrontation of the previous night. He pitied her, she suddenly realized. Pitied her, and knew what she felt toward him.
He was offering her the dry meat.
“Thank you, yes,” she said. “But I don’t eat meat. I’ll have something else.”
“You don’t eat meat?” said Elasirr as he tore off a piece of jerky with his teeth. “Why not?”
“Because I have no enmity with animals,” she replied without looking at him, and took a piece of bread from Vaeste. “And because I don’t believe we have the right to kill them as we do each other.”
Elasirr snorted mockingly. “And yet you are a warrior, and you kill human animals. Do you then eat them, since they are your enemies? For that matter, do you have an antagonistic relationship with bread and cheese? If I am your enemy, will you eat me?”
She understood yet ignored the suggestive taunt.
“I kill only as a last resort. And my human adversaries have a choice of not fighting me,” replied Ranhé in a very soft voice, as she settled across from them on the grass. “On the other hand, an assassin kills in stealth, without emotion, without honor and often from the back. It’s no wonder you eat meat.”
“You speak without full knowledge of me or my Guild. But one thing is true indeed, I kill simply as I am paid,” said the blond, then drank from his water flask. “And I eat meat also, as I please. You should too. It’ll strengthen your resolve, fire your blood-lust, and help you do your bloody job better.”
“She has done well so far, just the way she is,” said Elasand. Then, again coming to her aid verbally, “Let her be in peace, and let her do as she wants.”
Elasirr chuckled. “I see, Elasand-re, she defends you from physical harm, while you defend her from verbal attacks. Not a bad arrangement.”
“If you are done eating, we’ll be once again on our way,” stated Elasand. He got up to put away the remainder of the food, and Ranhé followed soon after, while Elasirr stood up to stretch.
As she passed Elasirr, he turned to her quickly, without Vaeste noticing. Gripping her by the shoulder painfully, he whispered into her ear, “Eat some meat, Ranhé. It’ll do you good.”
Just as quickly, he released her. Before she could react from the surprise, he had already mounted his jet-black stallion.
They mounted and once again followed the road. This time Elasirr rode in the front, and they followed.
“Elasirr,” said Vaeste suddenly. “What is the real reason you are here with me on this trip?”
“Curiosity,” said the blond man, without turning around.
Ranhé meanwhile watched his glistening silk mane of hair, wind whipping the flax tendrils against the darkness of his travel cloak. “Lord Bilhaar,” she said. “If you did not send a pack of your assassins against my lord, then who did?”
That made the blond turn his head briefly, and glance at her. “Why don’t you ask your Lord Vaeste? Ask him to recite to you his roster of ill-wishers and outright enemies. Excluding myself.”
“And why should I exclude you, Elas?” said Elasand. The use of the abbreviated form of the name that they both shared sent a pang of unexpected emotion through Ranhé.
“Because I have no reason to kill you, Elasand-re,” said Elasirr lightly. “And I am getting tired of repeating it.”
“All right. It’s possible you did not send your Bilhaar,” mused Ranhé. “So, let’s assume that someone else sent impostor non-Guild assassins against my lord. I do seem to remember that those men fighting us were not as proficient as your Guildsmen are purported to be—not that I would know, since I still hardly believe in their existence, or yours for that matter, Lord Bilhaar. Back then I attributed it to the element of surprise at my lord’s superior fighting skills. I didn’t stop to consider for a moment who they might’ve been. An oversight on my part.”
“It no longer matters,” said Elasand softly. “I am no longer careless now. It will not happen again.”
Elasirr glanced back at them momentarily, shrugging. “I may be ignorant of this mysterious enemy of yours, Vaeste. But one thing is sure—this enemy could be anyone you know, including the Regents.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” said Elasand.
“Ah-h-h, suit yourself!” Elasirr exclaimed with some irritation. He then spurred his beast, and broke into a canter, racing far ahead of them, along the bend of the path, his long hair flying.
“Good, we’ll have a couple of moments of peace,” grumbled Elasand, continuing at the same pace, at her side. And then he turned his clear gaze upon Ranhé, saying, “Do not take the things he says to heart. He plays with all, like a cat, deceptively charming and deadly. If you can, try not to fall into the cat’s trap. Even now, I know he is up to something, that’s why he is here with us.”
“My lord,” said she softly. “Wha
t if there’s an ambush of some sort up ahead? What if this whole thing had been carefully planned?”
Elasand smiled. “No, not this time,” he said. “He knows nothing of where we go. Of that much I am sure.”
But Ranhé loosened her sword in its sheath, before they turned the bend of the road.
On the other side, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Elasirr had paused his mount at a fork in the path, his expression unreadable, and now sat in the saddle waiting for them to catch up. The main road continued to the left, while a smaller path branched off to the right, together with a deepening of the forest.
“Right or left?” Elasirr asked loudly.
Elasand looked up at the sun, and saw it beginning to dip to one side of the sky dome, toward west, more in the direction of the smaller path. “Right,” he replied, and then turned off the main road onto the smaller one.
For over an hour they rode in silence. The path was reasonably wide for two horses to pass side by side, and yet in places there were branches twisting and crossing it, so they had to remove their swords and cut through the thick growth. A rich smell of fresh tree sap arose from the severed gray branches, and wafted on the afternoon wind.
“Do you think that anything you do will prevent the war?” said Elasirr abruptly, hacking at a low branch with a short dagger that he used instead of his sword. “Is that where you go now, in search of allies for the City?”
“I don’t know if anything can prevent war,” replied Elasand. “However, there are things that can give us a chance in this war. Without them the City will not withstand a single attack.”
“Hestiam is willing to let you do his work for him. He is terrified of this Vorn. Maybe more so because he has no idea what comes after.”
Elasand was silent for a long moment, and then said, “What comes after is darkness.” And he spoke no more.
It must have been the weight of his words, for Elasirr grew pensive also, and again they rode without speaking, while the sun continued to sink toward evening.
At some point, the air grew cool, and the forest closed around them with a subliminal menace that Ranhé felt with an intuitive sense. Maybe it was the deepening silence, the lack of insects, the beginning of evening mist. They came upon a small stream running alongside the path, so this was as good a place as any to make camp for the night.