Stephen Deas - The King's assassin

Tarn stretched his arms over his head. ‘Prince Syannis ever tell you about his sword-mistress? Shalari? They shared a bed more than once before Radek and Meridian and their mercenaries came to Tethis, or so I hear. She died in the fighting. Whispers say that Prince Syannis never forgave Radek for that.’

‘He was always a bit funny about women,’ muttered Berren. He laughed, the drink in his head making his thoughts fuzzy. ‘I thought this was all about losing his family and his kingdom and his birthright. On the whole that did seem enough.’ He laughed again. ‘Gods!’ Maybe Syannis would understand then. Maybe, if he’d lost someone of his own, he’d understand why Berren could never forgive him for killing Tasahre. ‘There’s one lady I can tell you about.’ He drained his cup again and grinned. ‘I can tell you about the lady that gave birth to me. The lady of Deephaven.’

The evening wore on. Boats scurried back and forth from ship to shore and men ran about their business around them. Berren talked about Deephaven and everything that had happened there, of the older, happier times before Tasahre and the warlock. By the time he was done, the sun had set and it was dark and Berren’s head was spinning and stuffed full of wool. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d told Tarn and what he hadn’t, but they were laughing and leaning against one another like two drunk old men.

‘I need a piss,’ slurred Tarn. He stumbled up the beach, ignoring the grumbles from the men around them already trying to sleep in their tents.

‘Me too.’ Berren followed. ‘Then I think I want to punch something.’

‘Find yourself a new woman.’ Tarn nodded sagely. ‘Clear all that old rubbish out.’ He lurched into a tree, staggered sideways and dropped his breeches. ‘Ahhh. Better! Sunfire! I think I need to go to sleep now. Did I have a tent somewhere? I don’t think I did. Bugger. And don’t punch Hain again. It’s not his fault he’s a prick.’

‘No, brother, no!’ A raised voice cut through the quiet of the woods. Tarn wobbled. He put his fingers to his lips and made an exaggerated gesture to Berren. ‘Shhh! What was that?’ The two of them stood still, swaying gently from side to side. Then, with the clumsy stealth of the drunk, they tiptoed between the trees towards the voices. As Berren drew closer, he recognised them. One was Talon. The other, the quiet one, was Master Sy.

Tarn leaned against a tree. He flashed Berren a huge grin and set about making a great show of listening . Berren simply stood where he was, swaying.

‘You know my opinion. Everything in our lives started to go wrong when father let that man into our kingdom.’ Talon.

‘He saved Aimes, remember.’

‘Did he really? And even if he did, so what? He saved the idiot! Do you ever stop to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t?’

There was a long pause. When Syannis spoke again, his voice was low and Berren only heard pieces of it. ‘I know. . hated. . but. . ever speak like that again.’

‘You can’t have an idiot for a king! It doesn’t work! But that aside, I’m talking about the here and now. I’m telling you that your warlock has been poking his nose around our homeland again. I thought he was gone, across the ocean for good, but no! And he’s right up to his neck in this.’

‘He came back, did he?’

‘Yes! And have you not seen him?’ Talon’s voice rang with accusation, but if Syannis replied at all, Berren didn’t hear. ‘You have, haven’t you? Don’t! Don’t say anything, brother! I can see it in your face. You sought him out when he crossed the ocean, and now that he’s back, you’ve done so again!’

‘ He sought me .’

Talon was snarling like a wolf in chains. ‘What hold does he have over you? Does he promise you that you’ll be king one day? Is that what it is?’

A burst of scornful laughter. ‘Is that what you think?’

Talon was almost growling. ‘I will rejoice to see you on the throne, brother, and well you know it, but I will kill him if I see him, however much he is a friend of yours. Whatever he did, he did it for his own reasons, not for love of you or of anyone but himself!’

Tarn turned and mouthed something at Berren. Do you know what they’re talking about?

‘And what about my little protege? Will you suffer him to live? Kuy has touched him too.’

Berren’s blood quickened. Syannis was talking about him !

‘I’ve kept him close and watched him well and I see no sign of taint in him. Which is more than I can say for you , brother. I begin to wonder, how did you find him? What made you choose him to be your apprentice all those years ago? Is it really just because he looks a bit like Aimes?’

‘A bit like Aimes? I could find you a dozen men in Kalda who look a bit like Aimes. Probably a dozen in Tethis. I don’t know what drew him to me.’ Syannis paused. He muttered something too quietly for Berren to make out. ‘But it’s more than that. It’s not what he looks like; it’s what he is , inside. He is Aimes.’

Whatever else Talon and Syannis had to say, Berren missed it as Tarn tugged at his elbow, pulling him away. ‘Hey! I’ve got an idea!’

Berren growled at him. ‘Shh!’

Tarn lurched a little. ‘There’s still some barrel in that beer. Maybe if we empty it, we can sleep in it? Because I don’t know where my tent is.’ Syannis and Talon had fallen silent. Berren heard their footsteps moving away through the woods.

‘I think it’s on the ship,’ muttered Berren. ‘Because you never put it up.’

‘Oh no, they took all the tents off to make space for the bloody horses.’

The two of them walked slowly back through the trees and staggered to Tarn’s barrel. All around them the sands rang with snores in the darkness. The Hawks, drunk and happy, asleep.

‘Oh, it’s not so bad out here.’ Tarn slumped down and yawned and a moment later he was snoring. Berren looked around the beach. There were men everywhere, soldiers lying in their bedrolls. There were piles of blankets, also evicted from the ship. He picked up a couple and threw one over Tarn, then walked back towards the woods. The trees would keep the wind off. He could already hear other snores coming from among them. He stumbled on, looking for a quiet place to call his own. He was about to throw his blanket down when a twig snapped behind him.

‘Hello, Berren.’ There was just a shape but the voice was unmistakeable. ‘Just one thing: did you actually see her die?’

He shook his head. He was so drunk he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. ‘What?’

‘Did you see her die, boy? Your sword-monk. Did you actually see her die? Did you see the moment her heart stopped?’

‘Yes.’ And now he could see it all over again and tears rolled down his cheeks. Stupid beer, making him cry.

‘Are you sure?’

The apparition turned and walked away through the trees, silent. Berren stared after it.

There was a faint whiff of rotting fish in the air.

He crawled and dragged himself out of a hut he’d never seen, inch by inch out of a village he didn’t know, to the reed beds on the edge of a lake he couldn’t name. He was going to die and he wanted it to be outside under the stars, not in the dark. He reached the water’s edge, rolled onto his back and waited. One by one the stars winked out. Tears filled his eyes. He wanted to live, not to die. He wanted to live but the choice had been taken away .