William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

Hazin finally looked straight at him. “Better the threat you know than the one you don’t,” Hazin whispered. “For someone else to get at you, they will still have to contend with me.”

There was a subtle nod of agreement.

“The dynamic between us will keep the balance. If there is another rival within the order, such as Grishna or Ulva, they know that if they strike you down I will still take revenge, and if I should be stricken, then you will mete out revenge. As long as we are careful, we can both survive.”

“Are you pleading for your life, Hazin? I always thought better of you than to sink so low.”

“No, rather suggesting that we both can live or we both will die. I know why you assigned me to kill Hanaga. That was the business of our order, and I could accept it.”

He pitched his voice carefully. The master had trained him in the reading of the finest nuances of expression, the slightest change in tone, the flicker of an eyelid, the ever so subtle glancing away when a lie was spoken. That was yet another power of the Order, the training to be a truth sayer, one who could detect a lie in another, no matter how carefully crafted.

He thought of the human Cromwell for an instant, the sharp honesty that was so easy to read, and yet so difficult to penetrate. Then he pushed the thought aside. He had to remain focused.

“I assigned you to Hanaga to get rid of you. The needs of the Order are changing now that the civil war is ending. You, Hazin, thrive on conflict and manipulate it to your own advantage. I am not sure if you can survive now that it is ending.”

“We must still contend with the human rebellion to the north.”

The master snorted. “Time enough later.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“We encountered a ship of theirs.” He briefly explained the battle with the Gettysburg , but left out the detail of taking the two prisoners.

“Trivial.”

“An opportunity. We know that the Golden Throne is increasingly suspicious of the Shiv. The fact that we breed thousands more than will ever be needed for sacrifice, that we have trained them in war, and that they have fought to victory in every engagement makes the emperor nervous. Unleashing them against the human Republic will give us millions to rule and can perhaps reveal as well the location of a Portal.”

The Grand Master openly laughed. “You and that mad dream of leaving this place. Is not scheming for one empire enough?”

Hazin could see that the true focus of the conversation had wandered. His own life still hung by a thread.

“I want to ensure the survival of the Order, of our own personal survival.”

“Our survival or yours, Hazin?”

“My staying alive guarantees yours as well, Master.”

“Is there a threat in those words?”

“A statement of reality,” Hazin said quietly, his voice cool, even, without a hint of emotion.

The master stared at him and then ever so slowly put the dagger back down.

“For the moment, then, we shall leave things at that.” Hazin bowed and turned to open the door, using his left hand, which he had kept concealed in the folds of his robe.

Leaving the master’s chamber, he hurriedly went down the open flagstone corridor, past one of the pleasure gardens where several of the new initiates loitered, drifting in their hazy drug-induced visions, and entered his chamber, sweeping past the Shiv guards, careful to open and close the door to his room with his right hand.

Once alone he gingerly put a glove on his right hand, careful not to touch anything with his left. When his right was safely covered, he peeled off the dark, flesh-colored glove on his left hand and threw it into a charcoal brazier. Then went through the same ritual again, putting another glove on the opposite hand before using it to remove the other.

Finally he peeled off the robe he had been wearing, careful to not let the folds around the cuffs touch any skin.

The Grand Master was alone in his study. The ceremony for the ending of day would occur within the hour, and he would, as required, go to attend. The poison on Hazin’s left glove, placed on the door handle, would still be damp and should penetrate the skin of the palm. It was subtle. He would not even notice it against the cool metal.

Death would take awhile, a day perhaps, but then the convulsions would come, mimicking a brain seizure. Of course, he would carefully avoid going anywhere near him. No one would suspect, or if they did, they would never dare to speak without definite proof.

Hazin realized he was shaking for the first time in years, and he felt a surge of anger against himself for such lack of control.

The old one had sealed his fate on two points. First, he had been foolish not to kill Hazin immediately once he was in the room. Having sent him once to his death, he should have seen it through to the conclusion. That was a sign of hesitation, perhaps even of sentiment, a feeling unworthy of a Grand Master. Second, he had not seen the true danger that came with peace. If Yasim, who had masterfully engineered his plot over years of conflict, no longer had someone to plot against, he would now turn on the Order. He would do it subtly, cautiously, and then strike with blinding fury.

A diversion would have to be offered, one that would refocus the attention of Yasim, and all the others of the Golden Family, and Hazin realized that fate, if such a thing existed, had dealt him the perfect choice.

It was paradise.

A voice whispered to him that it was all illusion, drugs in his drink and food, but the sensations were so intoxicating that he no longer cared.

Occasionally the one with the blue eyes would come, smiling, speaking softly, reasonably, explaining how clear and simple his course; to submit fully to the Order, to become one of the Shiv and, most tantalizing of all, to one day return home to rule, to no longer be the forgotten son.

How Hazin knew these things Sean was not sure. It was hard to tell what he had actually said, what Hazin already knew, and what he could somehow sense, for he now knew that Hazin’s powers were beyond that of anyone he’d ever met, human or Horde.

Someone touched his shoulder and, half rolling over, he looked up at her and smiled. He didn’t know her name, he wasn’t even sure if she was the one who had come to him the night before, but it didn’t matter.

What she said was unintelligible, but that didn’t matter either. She was above any dream of loveliness he had ever hoped to know, almost inhuman in her perfection. He wondered if she, like him, had tasted of the lotus.

The land of the lotus eaters, he remembered his mother telling him of that myth.

Perhaps that is where I am now. He looked past the compelling green eyes of the woman to the garden. The riotous bloom of flowers had an iridescent quality to them. They actually seemed to glow with their own inner light. The sight of them made him laugh, and she laughed with him.

She stood up and walked ever so slowly-to his eyes she seemed to float. She plucked a flower and returned, offering it to him. He almost wept with the beauty of the precious violet and red blossom. She leaned over and peeled off a petal, holding it up, brushing his lips with it, then slowly ate it.

He smiled and did the same. She went to fetch another, and he waited with anticipation, feeling a stirring of desire, dreaming of what he would do next with her even as she floated across the garden.

A gentle whisper of a voice, and she seemed to disappear into a cloud, replaced by Hazin.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if he had drifted off to sleep, whether he and the green-eyed girl had made love or not. It was hard to remember now.

“I could send you away from here,” Hazin said, sitting down by Sean’s side.