The Archon's Assassin (46 page)

Galen was sharpening his saber with a whetstone—short, sharp licks and the occasional long, slow stroke all the way to the tip. Seemed he’d already given what was left of his hair the same meticulous attention, the way it was plastered over his scalp in finely combed strands. Why he didn’t just face facts, was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t like he was fooling anyone. At least Aristodeus was honest about being a bald bastard. Although, you had to wonder if that skimpy little box beard was just to deflect attention from his barren pate.

Still, one thing Nameless had to say for Galen: the man was no coward.
Never leave a man behind
,
he’d heard the dragoon say.

Not even me
.

Galen acknowledged Nameless with a quick look. “We took quite a beating back there, but gave as good as we got, eh?”

“Aye, laddie,” Nameless said, trying to inflect some good cheer into his tone, and suspecting he failed miserably. “That we did.”

Galen tested the edge of his blade, licked his finger, and went back to his honing.

Ekyls was seated as close to the dragoon as you could get without touching. Wasn’t so long ago they’d been poised to rip each other’s throats out. The savage must have seen it, too, that quality Nameless most admired in a man: the refusal to withdraw while even a single friend was in peril. That made Galen the pack leader in Ekyls’ eyes.

Ekyls was covered in bruises of every possible color: yellow, brown, black, blue, all splashed about his swirling tattoos. There was hardly an inch of untinted skin on him. He saw Nameless watching; hawked and spat into the flames. When Albert handed him a sausage, he glowered at it for an instant, then relented and ripped into it with jagged teeth.

“Shadrak not back?” Nameless asked no one in particular.

Bird might have flinched, but Albert was the only one who indicated he’d heard the question.

“Nope. Not that that’s anything unusual. Left me to lug the supplies back by myself and slunk off to do his thing, whatever that might entail. Do you think I should save him one?” He held up a sausage, wrinkled his nose, and took a bite out of it. “Probably not much point.”

“Ho, Lorgen!” a man’s voice called from somewhere back in the trees.

Conversation around the camp died in an instant, leaving only the sound of spitting and crackling from the fires.

Fat sizzled loudly from one of Albert’s sausages, but he swiftly snatched it from the flames.

Lorgen rose to his feet, peering into the dark. Others started to stand also, but when a man in a bulging fur coat stepped into the clearing, they relaxed. He wore long wooden snow shoes, and an animal hide hat with flaps that covered his ears. As he tugged off a glove, he nodded acknowledgment to Lorgen, then gestured with his thumb behind.

Three more figures emerged from the trees: two men leading a woman by the arms. Her long coat was frosted over with white, and her dark hair was dusted through and through with it. Nameless didn’t miss the hilt of the sword at her hip, poking out from the front of her coat. He was on his feet and rushing toward her before he realized he’d even stood.

“Lassie?”

It was Rhiannon, sure enough, but there was something different about her, something about how she held her arms out in front of her when the men let go.

“Nameless?” There was a quaver in her voice. It might have been the cold. She pivoted left and right, trying to find him.

And then he understood. She couldn’t see.

“What happened, lassie? To your eyes?” There were no wounds, as far as he could tell; least not in the dim light coming off the campfires. But she had no focus. Even now, with him standing right in front of her, her gaze never settled.

She found his helm with her fingertips, lowered her arms till she gripped his shoulders.

The crunching of snow announced Lorgen’s arrival. He spoke to the man who’d first stepped from the trees.

“Who’s this? Where’d you find her, Eugen?” He raised an eyebrow at Nameless.

“It’s Rhiannon,” Nameless said. “She’s a friend.”

He started to lead her to the fire, but Ludo was suddenly there, putting his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to console her like an old woman.

Nameless started to object, but stopped himself. Ludo might not have known her well; might not have fought with her during the Unweaving, but he seemed to know how to offer comfort. It was a damned sight more than Nameless knew how to give. More than that, though, Rhiannon seemed relieved to have found him.

“Adeptus Ludo?” she said, feeling his face with her fingers and almost dislodging his spectacles. “I need to speak with you.”

“With me?” Ludo glanced at Galen, who was standing by the fire, saber in hand, Ekyls at his heel brandishing his hatchet.

Bird was watching passively, firelight reflected in his dark eyes.

Albert was the only one seemingly not paying attention. He was munching quietly on the last of the sausages and taking sips from a flask.

“The Archon,” Rhiannon said. “The Archon sent me.”

A patch of darkness seemed to unfurl behind her as Shadrak glided away from a tree, letting his cloak fall open. His pink eyes blazed red in the firelight. He shot a glare at Albert then looked back at Rhiannon.

“What’s that?” the assassin said. “The Archon?”

Rhiannon ignored him and spoke only to Ludo. “We need to talk.”

Ludo frowned; swallowed thickly. “I see. At least, I think I do. Alone? We are among friends.”

“I don’t know,” Rhiannon said. “Maybe.” She sniffed a few times, inclined her head toward the fire. “Is that food? Shog, I’m starving.”

“Sorry,” Albert said, with a barely suppressed belch. “All gone, I’m afraid.”

“Alone,” Rhiannon said to Ludo. “At least, at first.”

Nameless wanted to ask about her eyes again, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move toward her. It was as if he no longer existed. He was nothing to her. Nothing to any of them. They knew what he was, what he’d done. You could read it in their faces. Even Rhiannon. She’d seemed relieved to find him at first, until someone else had come along.

“Your eyes,” Ludo said, confirming there was no need for Nameless to say anything. “What happened to your eyes?”

“I changed my mind,” Rhiannon said. “About coming here.”

Shadrak insinuated himself between her and Ludo. “And he made you come all the same.” He gave a derisive snort. “What’s he do, blind you with his face?”

“What the shog would you know about it?” Rhiannon said.

Albert was studying them both now, a frown or a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You know what this sounds like, Eminence?” Galen said.

“No, Galen,” Ludo said. “I don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Galen said. “Ruddy heresy, is what.”

Ludo silenced him with a raised hand. “The Archon, you say, my dear? The Archon from the Liber? I know you’ve been through a lot—that’s clear from the state of you—but are you quite sure about what you think—”

“Save it,” Shadrak snapped. “The Archon’s real enough. Trust me.”

This time, it was Bird who glanced at Albert, but the poisoner was licking sausage grease from his fingers, as if the whole conversation bored him.

“And he did this to you, you say?” Ludo lowered his spectacles on his nose and peered into her eyes. “I can’t see clearly in this light,” he said, looking around in vain.

“Here,” Shadrak said, taking a slim metal tube from his belt pouch and twisting one end. A beam of illumination keen as starlight sprang from it.

Ludo took the tube and shone it in Rhiannon’s eyes. She didn’t even flinch. “Oh,” he said, stepping back. “Now that is unusual. It looks like scales. Silver scales.”

With a ruffle of feathers from his cloak, Bird bustled in among them. He waved the light aside and stared deeply into Rhiannon’s eyes. “No injury. Nothing to heal. It is akin to glamor.”

“Glamor?” Galen said. “Glamor?”

“You changed your mind?” Ludo said. “Is that why the Archon did this? In punishment?”

“He said faith is dark,” Rhiannon said. “Must be his idea of a joke.”

“Ah,” Ludo said. “Faith. It might be a message. No, a proof. A proof of who he is. We should pray.” Already, he was thumbing through his Liber.

“Like we got time for this,” Shadrak said.

“Galen will tell you,” Ludo said. “In scripture, there are dozens of people struck blind for their lack of faith. Sadly, in this case, the lack may be more mine than your own reluctance to come here. You say the Archon is real.” He looked from Rhiannon to Shadrak. “But to me, he’s just a symbol. A poetic device. Same with his sister, Eingana.”

Hearing that name gave Nameless his voice back. “Oh, she’s real, too,” he said. He’d seen firsthand beneath the Perfect Peak. “And I’ve a fair intimation the Demiurgos is, too.” The touch of the black axe had confirmed him in that conviction.

“The literal truth, Eminence,” Galen said like a chastisement. “It’s what I was saying.”

“Well, this changes things,” Ludo said, more to himself than anyone else. “Assuming there’s not another explanation.”

“Laddie, it’s in your book, you say,” Nameless said. “And you’re a priest.”

“Adeptus,” Galen corrected him. “More than a priest.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe your own scriptures?” Thumil did. Right down to the last letter. Not at first, maybe. But he’d come to believe his holy books only made sense if they were literally true. You either reject the whole, he used to say, or swallow it hook, line, and sinker.

“I do believe,” Ludo said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I do, only this is… This is quite unexpected.”

“Tell me about it,” Rhiannon grumbled.

“What is it he wants from you?” Ludo said. “You say he sent you to speak with me.”

“To protect you.”

“He has me for that,” Galen said. His sneer seemed to say, “What would he need you for?”

Nameless asked, “Protect him from what, lassie?”

“I think I know,” Ludo said. “If the Archon is all the scriptures make him out to be, my thoughts are open to him.”

“Oh,” Shadrak said, “and what thoughts are they?”

“Mine,” Ludo said. “Nothing any of you here need be concerned about. Now, if the Archon really did this to you,” he said to Rhiannon, “it must be a sign, a proof. In scripture, blindness is the result of a lack of faith, but sight is restored by Nous alone. According to the Templum, Nous only acts through the medium of his priests, which is why there are prayers for the restoration of sight in among all the other petitions for healing.”

Galen snorted, and Ludo turned on him. “You’re the one who believes the literal truth. What, doesn’t that extend to petitionary prayer?”

Galen dipped his head and muttered into his mustache.

“It will work,” Bird said with a conviction that brooked no argument. How a homunculus would know such things was a mystery to Nameless. But then, they were the stuff of the Demiurgos, and he was supposed to be the Archon’s brother. So, maybe it followed Bird would know a thing or two. Assuming, of course, he was telling the truth.

Ludo flipped the pages until he found what he wanted, and then he began to drone on in Latin. Or rather, it sounded like Thumil’s Latin to Nameless, but he’d heard Shader call it something else, and right now he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.

Ludo shut the book when he reached the end of the prayer. Everyone was watching Rhiannon attentively. Even Lorgen and his people had drawn closer. A wide circle of them had blossomed around the companions without Nameless hearing or seeing a thing. Instinctively, he clutched his axe.

“That’s it?” Rhiannon said. “It’s not working.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Ludo pulled off his glasses and wiped them on his cassock.

“So, it’s permanent?” A tremor had crept into Rhiannon’s voice. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Maybe it’s me,” Ludo muttered. “Maybe I’m to blame.”

He broke off and wandered away from the fire. The circle parted to let him through.

“Oh, that’s just shogging great,” Rhiannon called after him. “Now what am I supposed to do? I knew it was all bollocks; smoke and shogging mirrors.” She gasped and bent double, like she’d been punched in the stomach.

Nameless caught her by the arms. “What is it, lassie? Are you all right?”

Her breaths caught in her throat: swift, shallow rasps. She started to whimper, and would have dropped to her knees if he hadn’t held her. Tears streamed down her face.

Nameless wanted to say something consoling; tell her he knew what it was like to lose something. But he’d only lost his name, not his sight. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what that was like.

“Saphra,” Rhiannon sniffed. “How… if I can’t even see, how will I get her back?”

Nameless gripped her arms tighter, mindful not to crush her with the strength of the gauntlets. “I’ll get her, lassie. Soon as this is over. You have my word on it.”

“No,” Rhiannon almost wailed. “I have to do it. Keep Ludo safe. That’s what he said. What the Archon said.”

Nameless swiveled the great helm toward Bird. “So much for your conviction, deep gnome. Was that just another of your deceptions? Is that why you’re along for the ride? To lie, and trick, and cheat?”

“He’s all right, Nameless,” Shadrak said.

“Oh, is he now, laddie? But you would say that, wouldn’t you?” Nameless stepped away from Rhiannon and shouldered his axe. “What is he, your dad?”

Shadrak’s eyes simmered, and his fingers danced over the handles of his pistols.

“Stop it!” Rhiannon cried. “Stop it. I can… sweet Nous…” She was blinking ten to the dozen. “I can see.”

“Eminence!” Galen roared over the heads of Lorgen’s people. “Eminence, your prayer worked!”

Albert sniggered and shook his head.

“Yeah, right,” Shadrak said, still glaring vitriol at Nameless.

Ludo pushed back into the circle and took Rhiannon’s face in his hands. “Thank Ain,” he said, and then drew her into a hug. “Oh, thank Ain.”

Nameless couldn’t tell if he was pleased for her, or relieved that his faith hadn’t been shown to be a complete sham.

The giant’s gauntlets sent a prickle of heat through his hands. The shadows of the forest grew suddenly longer, and the flickering flames of the cook fires cast eerie patterns on the faces of each of his companions, and on Lorgen’s people watching them. Shadrak’s took on the leanness of a skull, and his albino eyes blazed like embers.