David Wells - Linkershim

“Well now, that wouldn’t be good,” Jack said. “I’ve been contracted to sing at the king’s funeral so I can’t just vanish without raising suspicion.”

“He’s pressed for time, so he’ll come for you the moment he figures out who you are.” Alexander said. “Funeral or not, you need to flee the city.”

“What about you?”

“I’m working on that,” Alexander said. “Vasili Nero, turned wraithkin, is here to transport me to Karth. I figure my best chance to escape will come once I’m out of Mithel Dour …”

Suddenly, he snapped back into his body, gasping for breath. A soldier was just closing the door to his cage, having replaced the collar around his neck. It released its grip on his throat the moment he returned from the firmament.

Satisfied, the Babachenko left without a word, after posted two guards in the room to watch Alexander.

The Babachenko returned a few hours later, pulling a chair up to the cage once again. Alexander didn’t bother to get up. He’d spent the time poring over every detail his memory contained about his completely unexpected experience in the firmament with Siduri. Unfortunately, he was under duress at the time, so his memory was suspect.

He’d tested the collar by slipping into the firmament, only to find that it worked as expected, constricting his throat until he returned of his own accord or his duress drew him back … which only led him to another question: Why did he project bodily into the firmament when he was being strangled by the collar when always before he was drawn back to his body by serious physical danger?

More importantly, how could he do it again?

He was pondering these questions when the Babachenko entered.

“I’ve been giving this situation a lot of thought. When I met you in the slave yard, I realized immediately who you were and understood just as quickly that you had hidden the Sovereign Stone. What I didn’t suspect was just how far out of reach you had placed it. Now that I know your fairy is real, it all makes perfect sense.

“I’ve been using all of my powers, casting every divination spell I know in an effort to locate the Stone and I’ve failed each and every time. Now I understand why.

“That leaves me with a dilemma. In time, I may be able to devise a means of retrieving the Stone, provided I knew precisely where it was when your fairy moved it out of this world and into the aether. Unfortunately, Nero is becoming impatient.”

“Why don’t you kill him?” Alexander asked, still lying on his cot. “You said yourself, Phane can’t see inside Mithel Dour and you could always blame it on me.”

“That thought has crossed my mind, but Nero is a wraithkin. If I missed, things would go badly.”

“So don’t miss,” Alexander said.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Watching your enemies kill each other? No, I have another idea,” he said, motioning to the guard at the door.

A dozen men filed in, dark and angry colors all, but Alexander didn’t need to see their colors to know the truth of these men. Each had the eyes of a hardened killer-eyes dead to empathy or remorse, windows into blackened souls.

“These men are assassins,” the Babachenko said. “Each is quite capable in his own right, but together they are deadly beyond measure. Give me what I want and I will send them away. Refuse, and I will send them after those you love most, starting with your sister.”

Alexander started laughing, just a chuckle at first but it turned into a deep belly laugh.

“You think this is funny?” one of the assassins asked. “You won’t be laughing after I get done with your sister. I hear she’s something to see.”

Alexander sat up and looked at each of the twelve men intently, burning their images into his mind before he stood and faced them from behind the bars of his cage.

“You are all murderers. I can see that in your eyes. A few of you have magic … not much, but enough to make the difference some of the time. Mostly what I see in you is cowardice-abject fear that people will see you for what you really are, just as I see you, and the perfect knowledge that if they did, if they truly understood the evil within each of you, they would hunt you down and kill you without mercy, just like each of you has done to so many others.

“So here’s your choice, walk away now or be marked for death.”

A few of the men fidgeted; all of them showed a tinge of fear mixed with indignant anger in their colors.

“You’re hardly in a position to make threats,” one said.

“He’s just blustering,” another said.

“Don’t be a fool, Alexander,” the Babachenko said. “None of this needs to happen. Just give me the Stone and you will be free of this war.”

“Did you really think this was going to work?” Alexander asked. “Do you have any idea what Phane has already sent against me and my family? These men are nothing compared to the creatures summoned from darkness that have hunted me for the past year. In fact, Nero could kill all of these assassins by himself. Your threats are empty.”

The Babachenko shook his head sadly.

“You have your contracts,” he said to his assassins. “Abigail Ruatha was last known to be on Fellenden in the central city. Bring me her head and you will have your silver.”

The men started to file out, but hesitated when Alexander started chuckling, several of them looking back nervously as they left the chamber.

The Babachenko looked at Alexander intently, a frown slowly creeping across his face that morphed into an expression of new understanding. His colors began to shine with hope and unexpected optimism.

“You would let our own sister die,” he said, pausing to look intently at Alexander before continuing. “I see now that I was mistaken about you. I thought you were a subject pretending to be a ruler, but now I understand the truth; you truly are a noble. Had I known that, I would have made you a far different offer.”

“What are you talking about?” Alexander asked.

“Oh, come now, Alexander, you understand as well as I do; there are two kinds of people in the world: subjects and nobles. Subjects are encumbered by so many imaginary concepts like empathy, remorse, and honesty. Nobles, on the other hand, are free of such limitations.”

Alexander stared at him as if he’d just transformed into some unspeakable creature from the darkness.

“It’s all right, Alexander, you don’t have to maintain your façade with me. You and I are cut from the same cloth; we’re both nobles. I see that now. And I have to say, you’ve constructed such a masterful story of yourself as the everyman, champion of all those delusional values that subjects hold so dear, even I was taken in. But that was my failing and you have my sincere apologies for all of this unpleasantness. Had I known the truth of you, I would have invited you to my table with open arms.”

Alexander wasn’t quite sure what was happening, except that the Babachenko’s colors revealed as much genuine sincerity as he was probably capable of feeling.

“We could have been allies … in fact, we still can be.”

“What are you saying?” Alexander asked.

“I backed the wrong horse,” the Babachenko said with a helpless shrug. “Phane would rule with fear and force. As you well know, every noble must be willing to strike fear into the hearts of his subjects from time to time. But you … you are the rarest of nobles. You’ve crafted so masterful a lie that your subjects actually love you and believe in you.

“That kind of power can’t be matched by magic or steel.”

Alexander schooled his expression and held his tongue.

“I don’t blame you for being skeptical, I certainly would be, especially after how I’ve treated you, but I’m hoping we can get past all that.”