The Last Garrison (Dungeons & Dragons Novel) (20 page)

“A blade of this size can leave you open if you are not constantly in motion, child. Within the swing must be the dodge for the possible counter. Within the thrust must be the seeds of the final blow. You must know when the kill is at hand, Temley, because when you commit to the deathblow, you will leave yourself more open than ever. You must always be sure.”

Temley listened and learned. A year in, they began to train in the burgeoning powers granted as a divine boon to Temley by the Raven Queen. He learned to step with the shadows, to focus darkness, to armor himself in his faith. Thorne taught him the skills of ruthless, single-minded pursuit. “Above all, child, you will find the target that the queen has given you, and you will follow it. And with her grace, you will step through the target’s guardians or comrades like you step through a veil of shadows. You will slip by them, and continue after the one whom the queen has marked—the one given the great honor of death.

“Have no mercy for the prey, Temley. The Raven Queen calls them to her. This is the greatest mercy one can hope for. You do them a kindness, whether they know it or not.”

Temley learned well. He grew strong and resolute. And, though he knew it was wrong, he grew envious of those he would one day be sent to kill. He tried to keep the feeling to himself, but one day he found himself admitting it to Thorne. “Master,” he said as they sat eating their evening stew, “I have learned so much with you, and I worry. I will grant death to so many. So many will be so lucky. What if no one will be able to grant death to me?”

Thorne eyed him, picked a small bone from his teeth. “We all die, Temley. Have faith that one day you will meet someone who will spill your guts on the ground or put an arrow through your eye. The queen will not forget about you.” Temley felt calmed. One day, he would die. Just like one day, Thorne would not return.

And one day, he did not. Temley was nineteen and Thorne had been away for four days when into the temple’s isolated wing came the high priest. Temley recognized the vestments, but not the man wearing them at first. Eventually it occurred to him that it was the young priest who had purchased him from the road gang that had captured him years earlier. He
was much older, and had, it turned out, only recently taken on the role of the high priest of the temple. His predecessor had gone to the queen.

“Thorne will not be back, Temley. You are now the arrow sent from this temple to fell our queen’s enemies.”

Temley fell to his knees and kissed the high priest’s feet. “I will not fail you.”

“I am certain of it,” said the high priest. “I saw the winter in you. I knew you would be a worthy successor to Thorne. In a few years, I will perhaps send you a child to train, as well, but for now, we believe you will not fail us.”

Temley bowed and sharpened his sword. For his first task, he avenged the temple by killing, quickly and cleanly, the desert-dwelling witch who had managed to defeat his master. In her hovel, he found the long braid that had hung down his master’s back, hanging over the old crone’s cook pot, and he took it with him to the temple, where he hung it in his cell. In quiet moments, he would stroke it, and speak to Thorne, asking after his contentment in paradise.

And so he spent a decade doing the bidding of the temple and of his queen. When not tasked, he sat in his cell and he prayed and he waited. When tasked, he worked efficiently and happily. The years had been very good to him.

“Wake up, Claw,” said Temley. “We have a man to visit.” Within the weapon, something thrummed. Temley placed his hand on the blade again, and felt it gently shiver in pulses. He smiled and wrapped it again in its silks. He picked it up and slung it over his neck, holding it by resting his arms over it, like a water carrier balancing two vases on a pole. He had dropped his pack and his belt pouches. He wore only his black tunic and trousers and a long black cloak. He carried Claw and nothing else. It was all he needed for the coming hours. Everything else was a needless encumbrance.

Temley left the tent to find a quiet place to pray and prepare. The kenku kept a wide berth around the man, sensing that he was not to be challenged. Most did, anyway. The large kenku—the one Temley had seen dispatch three others—found a place to sit near to Temley, and stared silently at him. Other kenku would approach him and attempt to coax him to leave Temley be, but he brushed them aside with an intimidating noise, a clipped, chattering shriek. Temley knew the creature was watching him, and understood well the intent, but he did not encourage the kenku with provocation. It was unworthy of Claw, and it
was not his target. It was, Temley remembered, a dangerous warrior, to be sure, but the greatest danger was not in his talons or his skill. It was his pride, his desire to be seen as the greatest threat in the camp. His need to instill fear, and through that fear earn the respect of his fellow raiders. Temley did not fear him, and the kenku could tell.

But, then, Temley feared nothing. The kenku was unaware of that. Perhaps if he had access to the very soul of Temley, if he was able to, for a single moment, comprehend the nature of Temley’s faith, he would’ve cast away his pride and stayed very far away from him. The Raven Queen was the marrow in the man’s bones. He had known no life but the life of the faithful. Born of pilgrims, he had been only weeks old when his parents stumbled upon road agents looting the goods from a merchant’s wagon after they had killed him and his guards. The two had nothing of value, and had they not surprised the bandits, Temley’s parents would’ve been told to be on their way, deemed unworthy of the effort it would’ve taken to kill them. Instead, as they approached the wagon, a bandit caught only their movement, and in an instant, knocked two arrows in a longbow and let fly. Two perfect shots. Two arrows ripped into Temley’s parent’s necks, cut arteries, severed spines. They fell forward, and bled to death. Temley’s mother
held him to her breast, lay on top of him, and nearly smothered him in her bloody cloak. The archer went to check on his kills, and turning the woman over, he spotted the baby in her arms.

The archer was a worshiper of the goddess of fate. He took the child’s survival as a sign, and split from his compatriots for a few days to take the child to a monastery in the Hawkspire Mountains. Temley grew up knowing only the faithful of the Raven Queen, and it filled his spirit entirely. He had been trained to exact revenge for her when she asked, and he had done so many, many times. When followers of arcane knowledge attempted to use their magic to circumvent fate, Temley was called on to make things right. When divine intervention was asked to lessen the effects of a sudden frost on the crops of a town, and the Raven Queen’s glorious season was cut short, Temley was sent to punish the celebrant who issued the prayer. Temley did as he was commanded. And he knew that one day, he would be rewarded. He would die. And he would meet his mistress.

Wishing for death was a blasphemy—he knew that and did all he could to put such feelings aside. But he had accepted his death. And that is why he feared nothing.

Inevitably, the large kenku decided he would test Temley. As the human sat before a campfire, sipping the broth from a root vegetable soup another of the kenku had given him, he saw the shadow of the creature surround him. For a moment, he admired the silhouette that surrounded him; a bird figure, beak and ruffled feathers, enveloping his shadow, taking its place. But Temley’s reverie was broken when talons grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up. An unfortunate turn of events; Temley had been enjoying the soup.

The creature spun Temley and stepped back from him. He chittered loud and gruff and pointed at Temley’s chest. And then he struck his own with his fist. The kenku around the fire stood and flocked around the two. Temley stood perfectly still, wondering if the creature would
squawk
for a while and then lose interest. Claw was back in his tent, but he did not think he would need it.

The large kenku feinted left and bobbed his head forward as if to strike, but did not. Temley flinched, and the crowd erupted in noise. And so did the large kenku. He seemed to laugh. He feinted and bobbed two more times, but knowing what to expect, Temley did not flinch again. He followed the creature with his eyes, not his head. And he took a moment to survey his surroundings. He spotted exactly what he would
need just as the large kenku feinted a fourth time, but that time struck out with his right arm. The blow landed square in Temley’s chest with no little force. Temley reacted as the blow struck. His skin went black, and his body seemed to fall to pieces. Each piece fell toward the ground, but quickly spread and changed. Each piece had a body and wings. Each piece was a black bird. A raven. The pieces became a flock, spun away from where Temley had been standing, and moved swiftly to the edge of the crowd, where they struck one another and reformed from bird, to swirling black shape, to Temley again. The man reached out and pulled a short blade from the belt of one of the gathered kenku. He spun toward his opponent, who was still trying to comprehend what had happened, pointed the sword at him, and quietly said, “You belong to my mistress now. You will be delivered.”

He rushed forward, blade aloft and struck out, but the kenku dodged the blow. “You will be delivered,” Temley said. The kenku struck back with an open palm that Temley ducked away from. The kenku stumbled forward and Temley attempted to hit him in his side. The kenku’s heavy tunic was sliced, and feathers, sprinkled with blood from a shallow cut, dropped away. Temley used the momentum of the slash to continue shifting to his right and spinning, and soon was in the position the kenku had been
moments earlier. The kenku, left side bleeding and painful, tried to lash back at Temley, but he was not where the creature had anticipated he would be.

“You will be delivered!” shouted Temley, and he raised the blade over his head. Around him it appeared that the world went darker. He appeared to grow. And, again, his nose and chin seemed to sharpen. It looked to some that in his shadow on the ground, wings appeared from his back. The large kenku was facing Temley when the human rushed forward again and brought the sword down into his shoulder at his neck. With his free arm, Temley struck the creature in the chest and pushed him toward the crowd; which didn’t part quickly enough, and the kenku rammed into them, sending them to the ground. The blow was deep, hacked through flesh, and broke the creature’s bones. It may have lived, but that day it would not rise again. Temley did not spare him. He raised the sword, blade down, over the kenku’s chest and plunged it in. He did not pull the blade back out, leaving that instead for the sword’s owner. He returned to the campfire to procure another helping of soup, which was given to him without delay.

The kenku chieftain clucked when he saw what had happened, but did not speak to his brethren. He approached Temley, tapped him on his shoulder, and when the man turned, nodded his head once. The
attack would begin in the morning. Haven would be taken, and Temley would be given a chance to hunt his prey. The frost was on the ground in Haven and the queen’s chill was all around them. Temley was ready. The blades were sharp and the portents good. It was time.