The King's Assassin Collection

The King’s Assassin

The King’s Assassin - Book 1

M.M. Brownlow

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Prologue

Eryk came striding out of the castle, pushing his thick leather hawking gloves into his belt. Servants and courtiers scrambled out of his way as he descended the broad stone steps that led into the courtyard, especially when a look of irritation crossed his handsome face.

Where’s my horse? he demanded, glaring in the direction of the grooms. 

One man struggled through the crowd, leading a black stallion. He’s right here, your Highness.

Eryk grabbed the reins from the groom’s outstretched hand and practically threw himself into the saddle. His abrupt movement made the horse dance a little, and the prince reined him in sharply, taking his anger out on his mount. He was irate and distracted, thinking about the mess he’d just left behind him.  If only his father would realize he wasn’t ready to ‘settle down’ and choose a bride yet. He couldn't stand the thought of having a clingy, needy female following him around everywhere, curbing his freedom and leeching his will to live. It wasn’t like all the young men were heading off to certain doom, needing heirs waiting in the wings in case some of them didn't return home.

Branden, braving Eryk’s mood, guided his horse closer and leaned over in his saddle.

So what’s wrong this time? he asked.

The same as always, Eryk replied. Father and I were arguing again.

Branden laughed. "So that explains the quick exit, even if today is a perfect day. I would have expected you outside eventually, anyway." 

Branden was the only son of Lord Collin, the king’s chief advisor, and he’d been Eryk’s good friend for as long as either of them could remember. He was the opposite of Eryk in nearly every way – blond hair compared to his friend’s black, average height where Eryk was taller than most. Branden was grateful for being the opposite in this particular situation too, thankful that his father wasn’t as anxious to see him married. 

He could understand Eryk’s lack of interest in choosing the woman he would be with for the rest of his life. The prince was very handsome, and quite popular with the ladies around the court – nobly born and not. Branden knew that he wouldn’t want to have to choose just one lovely lady. Granted, there was a certain amount of leeway given to the men in the royal family, but nobody wanted bastard-born children running around.

Branden knew that Collin was hoping that Eryk would choose Alexius, Branden’s sister, as his bride when he inevitably gave in to the king’s demands. Branden smiled to himself, picturing Eryk as his brother-in-law, the three of them a tight-knit little group. It would be perfect.

When’s the Ball? Branden asked.

Two weeks. Eryk scowled, and then shook his head, as if to clear away bad thoughts. Well, I’m still free for the time being.  Father’s trapped in court for the next few hours, so we've suspended the whole mess for now. Let’s get out of here. 

With no more warning than that, Eryk squeezed his knees into his horse’s sides and moved into a quick trot. He had no problems leaving the rest of his entourage to catch up or follow along behind more slowly, as they wished. Branden hurried to keep up with Eryk, followed closely by their escort of red and grey uniformed guardsmen. 

Part of Eryk knew that his behaviour was irresponsible and dangerous, and that he should wait for his guards. Reckless was the word his father had been throwing around earlier. Eryk knew news of this would make his father angry, and that was just fine, as far as he was concerned.  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to escape from the arguments and the responsibilities, and if his actions angered his father in the process, so much the better.

Once out of the city, Eryk kneed his horse into a smooth canter, and he and Branden soon came upon their destination.  Eryk slowed to avoid startling their prey as the forest they’d been riding through ended abruptly, the trail opening into a lovely meadow. It didn't take long for the guards, the huntsmen with the birds, and the beaters to arrive, along with another few members of the court who were tagging along, but it was long enough for Eryk’s temper to cool a little more. Branden was a comforting presence too, which helped to settle him down. He was determined that they enjoy this impromptu hunt.

Eryk usually preferred the more active hunts – deer and boar – but he hadn't had time to get that sort of hunt set up, so hawking was going to have to do. It was still thrilling to see your bird bring down its prey, and it was definitely nice not to have the dogs along today. They did tend to be noisy, and he was enjoying the quiet. Eryk turned to look for his bird, eager to get started. 

Today, the huntsmen had brought a red-tailed hawk for him and a peregrine falcon for Branden. The courtiers who had accompanied them were only here to observe, and perhaps gain some inside court gossip. Gossip was better than gold, if you were the first to pass it along, and the heir to the throne was often a source of interesting stories, much to the king’s chagrin. Eryk turned away from the group, letting them fade into the background, unimportant and forgotten. His eyes turned instead toward the field, and he and Branden each held out their arms for their birds, ignoring the courtiers jockeying for position behind them.

The beaters had taken their places and started moving forward slowly though the long grass. Eryk and Branden unhooded their birds and loosened the jesses, being careful to avoid the sharp talons and beaks. 

Suddenly, a bird shot up out of the grass. Branden launched his falcon into the air, with Eryk’s hawk just a fraction of a second behind it. Both birds struggled for altitude, needing to get up above their prey for maximum effect when they attacked.  Eryk was really hoping that his hawk could get a lead, knowing that the falcon’s slimmer, sleeker profile would help it make a faster decent against the pheasant that was struggling to escape the predators. 

As both raptors reached heights they seemed to think were appropriate for the attack, Eryk’s horse suddenly danced sideways as one of the courtier’s mounts jostled it. The prince jerked on his stallion’s reins, his blue eyes never leaving the birds as they wheeled in the air to angle for their descents. 

The falcon arrowed down toward its prey, but the hawk veered away from the pheasant and dove straight for Eryk’s head, talons outstretched.

Chapter 1

The sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows lining the upper right-hand wall, turning the dust motes in the air a kaleidoscope of colours. Sitting in the overly warm room, Tarren wondered again why everyone seemed to think that throne rooms needed stained glass. If only they had the ability to open the windows to the early summer morning outside…  He knew that Eryk was outside enjoying the sun and the flower-scented breeze, enjoying the hunt, while he was stuck here, bored and sweating in his heavy robes.

Courtiers lined the walls to the left and right, looking like bright flowers brought in from the gardens outside. The ladies are certainly wearing a wide enough variety of scents to be mistaken for a flower garden , he thought. The gowns and finery looked stunning against the dark wood of the panelled walls, but the nobility of the realm were just as warm as Tarren was, fanning themselves with whatever they had available. A few of the frailer ladies looked ready to faint, which would certainly liven up this session of court.

Tarren sat on the throne at the end of the long hall, an imposing figure facing the row of petitioners, most of whom had already presented their cases to him. To his left sat his chief advisor, Lord Collin, and the court secretary. All three of them were older men, with dark hair now greying and muscle turning to fat from lack of exercise. Tarren and Collin had been friends for a long time, had grown up together, in fact, and over the years they had substituted sparring and hunting for eating rich foods and listening to people complain. Tarren certainly looked older than he should for his fifty years, and Collin wasn’t far behind. To the right of the throne stood a serving man, holding a tray with cool water and glasses for the men on the dais.     

Just to the right and slightly farther back then Tarren’s throne, a smaller seat sat empty. Sometimes it seemed to Tarren that he could catch a glimpse of a young, dark haired woman out of the corner of his eye, even now. She was always smiling at him when he saw her there, happy to be near him. He sighed quietly, missing his wife as he always did, and his thoughts turned once again to the argument he’d had with Eryk this morning.

You know it’s time, Eryk. It’s actually well past time!

Why? What’s the rush? What makes you think that you know what’s best for me? You’re still healthy, so I don’t understand why I have to just pick some random woman NOW and marry her.

"You know it has nothing to do with me or my health. It has to do with the safety of the realm. This is your responsibility , Eryk. What happens if you fall victim to a hunting accident? We all know that you can be very reckless and goodness knows that you’ve spent every possible minute out of the castle these last weeks. Do you honestly think that an eight-year-old boy can rule this kingdom?"

Well if I pick one of the ladies you’ve been parading in front of me and then die in such an accident, do you think that an unborn child can rule the kingdom? Assuming I even managed to get her with child that quickly. Your ‘logic’ makes no sense, Father.

Tarren knew that it was definitely time for his son to find a bride, regardless of the circular arguments. The queen had been gone nearly a decade now, and Eryk was an only child. The next closest heir was Tarren’s eight-year-old nephew, the son of his deceased brother. Davin’s line on his mother’s side was questionable at best, but that hadn’t mattered when she’d been married into the family. Tarren was young and strong at the time, and Eryk was well past the age when children usually died. 

Regardless, the monarchy needed a strong bloodline, a solid line of descendants, which meant that Eryk, now twenty-five, needed a son and the sooner, the better. Eryk, of course, disagreed with his father’s assessment, and in a fit of anger, he had once again thrown together a hunt, leaving the castle as quickly as he could this morning. Tarren and Eryk had been having this argument almost daily now for a week, and the tension between them was palpable. The fact that Tarren had announced a Courting Ball hadn’t made things any better.

Sighing again, Tarren wearily pulled his attention back to the gentleman before him. The last case of the day was a farmer, by the look of him. He was dressed all in drab, worn clothing, dyed various shades of brown and grey. He held a soft hat in his hands, twisting it as he walked slowly forward toward the king.  He was an ordinary looking man, with dull brown eyes and dirty brown hair, and he looked nervous – maybe even a little bit scared. Tarren couldn't help but wonder what had brought him here today. It was not unusual for petitioners to be nervous when they came before their monarch, but this man seemed nervous far beyond what Tarren considered normal. He had presided over a large number of courts during his time as king, and something about this man just didn't seem right to him.

The man approached, still wringing his hat between his hands in what seemed to be an unconscious nervous gesture.  Suddenly, the petitioner’s hand flicked forward at lightning speed, launching something toward the king.

Tarren blinked, startled, as a streak of silver crossed in front of his eyes with a loud ping and a crash. It wasn’t until he registered the sound of smashing glass that he realized that it had been the silver serving tray.

Majesty!  Look out!

The tray, thrown by the serving man, had deflected the first of the darts thrown by the would-be assassin before striking the assailant in the head. The serving man was right behind his tray, throwing himself in front of his king as he drew a hidden knife, determined to protect his liege with his life if he needed to.  The other darts struck home as Tarren took shelter behind his throne, unsure of what, if anything, he could do to help.

~  ~  ~  ~

As the actions of the unknown man and of the serving man registered with the crowd, the throne room erupted into chaos. Courtiers screamed and tried to flee, while some of the guards stationed around the periphery of the throne room tried to fight their way through the people to get to the attacker. Still other guards tried to get on to the dais in order to protect the king, and the serving man, Rupert, closed quickly with the assailant while ignoring the darts protruding from his body and the poison coursing through his veins.

Rupert let the assassin make the first move, knowing that his job was to defend the king, not necessarily to kill the man in front of him. The guards were moving in as quickly as they could through the crowd, so it was just a matter of time until they managed to subdue the man. He crouched, weight on the balls of his feet, and he watched the assassin carefully.

The assassin obviously knew that he had to kill Tarren as fast as possible; delaying was not an option. He likely knew that he was going to die – attacking the king in his throne room essentially ensured that – but Rupert knew that he was still going to do everything he could to complete his contract. He watched as the assassin withdrew the hidden weapons from his clothing and rushed to meet the king’s defender.

As Rupert stepped forward to meet the assassin’s charge, he felt a wave of vertigo hit, rocking his balance. The world wavered, and he forced himself to focus as he brought his long-bladed knife up to block the assassin’s descending sword stroke. The assassin’s short sword struck Rupert’s knife with a loud clang, and the force of the blow sent Rupert to his knees, his arm stretched above his head.

He glanced under his arm toward the guards he could see in his peripheral vision. They were continuing to advance, moving slowly through the diminishing crush of courtiers, but they weren’t nearly close enough. Rupert knew that he had to get back to his feet, that he had to press the attack, but he could feel the poison’s weakness spreading outward. His arms were starting to feel heavy, and his vision was starting to go dark around the edges.

The assassin could likely feel Rupert’s arm quivering beneath his sword blade, the vibration transferring up to his own arm. With a wicked smile, the assassin drew his other arm back, a dagger glinting in the sunlight.

As the dagger flashed forward, Rupert somehow found the strength he needed to heave himself to his feet, twisting aside as he did so. The assassin’s dagger scraped his side, catching in his shirt but only scratching along his skin, and Rupert slashed his own knife across in front of him. The assassin danced back, easily avoiding the blade, and Rupert felt the world tilt around him again. As he fell to his hands and knees, unable to stay upright any longer, the first of the guards finally joined the fight.

~  ~  ~  ~

When the chaos settled after a few minutes, most of the throne room was empty. The mid-afternoon light coming through the windows added a surreal quality to the scene, though Tarren had to admit that the red hues seemed particularly appropriate with the sharp coppery smell of freshly spilled blood in the air.  There were three noble ladies who’d fainted and needed to be carried from the room, but they were unharmed with the exception of a few bruises. The unknown assassin was dead, lying in a pool of his own blood, having died of injuries caused by the multiple sword wounds across his body. He had put up quite a fight, and the guards had no choice but to kill him. A dagger lay near one outstretched hand, and he still grasped his short sword in his other hand. Tarren shook his head, trying to figure out where the man had possibly been able to hide the weapons. Finally, the serving man was lying in front of the dais with three apparently poisonous darts in his body, having successfully protected his king.  Tarren was only feeling shaken as a result, as were Lord Collin and the secretary. 

Tarren glanced at Collin, worried, and asked the guards to move Rupert to his study, which wasn’t too far from the throne room. He sent the secretary to summon the healers, and also requested the presence of the captain of the royal guard, Byron, as soon as possible. He and Collin followed along behind the guards, each of them silently lost in their own thoughts. The sudden end to the day’s court session was surprising and both men were visibly distressed by the turn of events.

The healers responded to the summons very quickly, and arrived in Tarren’s study just after the king and his escort. The guards laid their burden down on a convenient couch and excused themselves to let the healers work. Two of them remained stationed outside the door while Tarren and Collin moved over to the side of the room and began to discuss the situation in quiet voices.

What happens if he doesn't survive? Will they be angry? asked Collin, uncertainty evident in his voice. It had been a long time since anyone had actually attempted to assassinate the monarch of Bacovia, and Tarren felt that Collin looked visibly aged by the stress of the attack. Tarren knew that he, at least, certainly felt stressed and old, and his slowed reflexes saddened him.  He should have been able to do more than just cower when the assassin attacked.

No, they won’t be angry, he answered. Rupert was doing his job, after all. I’m sure they'll be upset though – I believe he’s a cousin. Tarren sighed and looked over at the healers, quickly and quietly working over Rupert’s too still body. I have to admit that it doesn't look good, and we should likely prepare ourselves for the worst.

As if this proclamation was a summons, one of the healers moved away from the others and came toward the king. Sire, he began, "I’m afraid that he’s fading quickly. The poison is spreading rapidly throughout his system, and without an antidote, he is going to die, and soon. 

"Unfortunately, with the assassin dead, we cannot know what type of poison he used, but we can try to find out by studying the darts we removed. The study takes time though, time that he doesn’t have, and there’s no guarantee that we will even identify the poison. 

I’m sorry that we don’t have better news, your Majesty, but we will work as quickly as we can, just in case he manages to hang on longer than we anticipate.

I know that you will all do your best, answered Tarren.  Is he in any pain?

No, your Majesty. He is unconscious, and is likely to remain that way.

Well, we can be thankful for small blessings, I suppose.

Tarren turned back toward Collin. What is taking Byron so long? he muttered, impatiently. Collin shrugged, but moved to the door to speak to one of the guards on duty there. Tarren was very uncomfortable with the whole situation, and he moved toward the still form of Rupert lying on the couch. He stopped a short distance away, not wanting to get in the way of the still working healers.

Looking down at the unconscious form of his friend and bodyguard, Tarren sighed again, thinking to himself that he’d been doing a lot of sighing today. He straightened at the sound of a knock on the door, and Collin moved to let Byron into the room.

Byron was an athletic man with a muscular build, below average height at a few inches over five feet tall. Other than his height, he was remarkably nondescript when he was standing still, with his short cropped, sandy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. Watching him move, however, was like watching a hunting cat in action, his motions flowing smoothly each into the next; there was definitely nothing nondescript about that. Byron, well respected by his men, was an excellent leader despite the fact that he was younger than the majority of them. He was the youngest captain in the history of the kingdom, having taken on the role when he was only twenty-one years old. 

Byron glanced toward the busy healers gathered around the couch, and seeing Rupert there, paled slightly. Not you too? he asked, turning back to face the king.

What do you mean, me too? asked Tarren. What happened?

That was what took me so long to get here, your Majesty.  There was an attempt on Eryk’s life, while he was out hawking.

Tarren looked very upset by the statement, and immediately found a chair to sit in. Tell me what happened, he ordered quietly.

"Well, it’s a little hard to say, exactly. We have no idea who the man was, where he came from, or especially how he managed to infiltrate Eryk’s small group… 

Eryk and Branden were having their usual competition, Branden with a falcon and Eryk with a hawk. Byron glanced significantly at Rupert before continuing. When the birds turned to begin their descent, the hawk seemed to head toward Eryk, but in actuality, it was aiming for the man behind him, who was about to stab the prince in the back. The hawk streaked past Eryk, catching the prince’s scalp unfortunately, and proceeded to attack the assassin. It made quite a bloody mess of his face, and the guards got to him just after that.

Where is Eryk now?

Getting a few stitches from the healers. The hawk caught his scalp on the way by, as I said. The darned thing has quite the talons. No need to worry though; it’s merely a scratch. The healers said it should heal in a week or so, and it shouldn’t leave much of a scar.

Collin had been standing silently in the background since his previous interruption. Now, he turned to the healers and gently asked them to leave. They assured him that Rupert was resting as comfortably as possible, and then they excused themselves.

So what now? Collin asked. We have two dead assassins and a nearly dead bodyguard.

Well, answered Tarren, I think that I should start by writing to an old friend of mine. This situation seems to be serious, more serious than I originally thought, with an attack against both Eryk and myself. Since neither of the attacks was successful, I imagine that they will try again, whoever they are.

What will happen if…? Byron trailed off, unknowingly echoing Lord Collin’s words from earlier. He didn't want to finish the thought; he and Rupert had been friends for years, ever since he became captain of the guard.

Well, Tarren answered, "at this point we need to at least pass along word of Rupert’s condition and let them make the decision. I suspect that they will send a replacement though, especially with his condition apparently so severe."

I wonder what he'll be like, Collin mused. I don’t remember Rupert’s predecessor very well. We've had Rupert here for how long now?

At least twenty-five years, Byron put in. Rupert’s been Tarren’s bodyguard for much longer than I've been captain. I remember being told about him when I assumed the office, and that was a good four or five years ago, now.

Rupert replaced Jackob, if you remember. Jackob wasn’t with us very long either, before he was called back to Evendell.  Tarren moved over to his desk and pulled out some paper and a pen. 

There’s no point in putting this off, he stated as he sat down to write. Someone summon a courier please. It’s a good three or four day ride, as long as the weather stays good.

Collin left the room to summon the courier Tarren requested. Byron also excused himself, with a quick pained glance at his comatose friend, to look in on Eryk one last time and to see how quickly news of the double assassination attempts was spreading through the castle.

Left alone, Tarren penned the difficult letter. He wasn’t just writing to request a new bodyguard, he was writing to inform an old friend about the imminent demise of kin. He thought to himself about Eryk’s attack, and made a very special request. One that neither Collin nor Byron would approve of, but one that had to be made.

It has to be done, Tarren muttered to himself under his breath. He blew on the paper to help dry the ink, and folded the letter into an envelope. Taking out some gold sealing wax and the eagle-in-flight royal seal, he sealed the letter and waited for the courier to come and collect it.

Chapter 2

Aislynn studied the task before her. The wall wasn’t as high as some she’d had to scale in the past, but it was more difficult. The bottom part of the wall was constructed from the stone typical to the region – rough and easy to scale. The upper part, however, was covered in cedar shakes, which wouldn't provide hand- and footholds with anything related to the same ease as the lower part.

Her path planned, she started up the wall, easily scaling up the first and second storeys, as she had expected. She paused briefly on a window ledge before continuing. From this point-of-view, the next part of her climb seemed a lot more difficult. It looked like she’d have to hang on to the bottom of the shakes, trusting the majority of her weight to her fingers, while wedging her feet up underneath the shakes a bit lower down.

Aislynn started upward again, more slowly this time. She tried to reach up as high as she could to minimize the number of movements she needed to make to reach the roof. Sound was likely to carry more easily while she moved up the wood, and she didn't want anyone to hear her. She stretched her left hand up and grabbed on to the next shake, then raised her right foot to continue moving upward. 

Once she settled her weight, Aislynn reached up with her right hand, stretching for the lip of the roof, but just as she grabbed on, her right foot slipped, leaving her dangling by her hands alone. She swung a little, smacking into the wall and knocking the breath from her body, but her years of training wouldn't let her fall. She clung to the wall and slowly pulled her feet back under her, gaining purchase on the shakes below. 

Once she had her weight settled again, she gave one final pull, and she was up and over the lip of the wall and lying on the flat roof of the building. She lay there for a moment, gathering her thoughts and getting ready to move on to the next part of her task.  This first leg of the assignment had been the easiest, just like usual. 

Now she needed to get from this roof to the one across the street and slightly below. Flipping her long brown braid back over her shoulder, she studied the situation in front of her. Her target was a building with only two floors, so she had a bit of a fall to handle, but she had chosen this building specifically with her destination in mind. The street was narrow here, and the buildings tightly packed, so she should be able to jump across the gap with relative ease. 

Aislynn backed up to the farthest edge of the roof, and took a running leap off the building, keeping her arms extended away from her body as she fell and trying to angle her descent properly. At the last instant, she pulled her legs up into her chest and bent her arms slightly at the elbow, catapulting her body into a somersault as she landed, and using the momentum to roll back up onto her feet. Unfortunately, the landing was a bit loud. She froze immediately, listening for any indication that anybody had heard her. Hearing nothing, she moved on.

Nearly there , she thought to herself as she moved carefully to the edge of the roof. Her final target was a second floor window, which was open to the summer breeze. She hooked her legs over the edge of the roof and leaned back, reaching down the wall for the top of the window frame. She stretched her fingers out, extending the whole of her long, wiry five-foot eight-inch frame, stretching and reaching, until she finally touched the rough wood of the frame. With a deep breath, she kicked her legs free and started into the flip that would bring her into the room, and to her target.

Suddenly, Aislynn felt a horrible burning pain in her left arm and she was falling, having lost her grip on the window frame. The ground hurtled toward her as she writhed in agony, not able to get her weight under her properly.

Concentrate!

The voice rang out of nowhere and seemed to wake her from her pain-induced frozen state, and she managed to align herself just as she reached the ground, rolling into an awkward tumble. This time she wasn’t graceful or controlled; she was in too much pain to care if someone caught her in the middle of the street, so she just lay there, panting. She heard footsteps and felt herself picked up from the ground as she slipped into unconsciousness.

~  ~  ~  ~

My dear friend,

It is with much regret that I pen this letter. I am so very sorry to inform you that your loyal subject, Rupert, is currently lying near death after saving me from an assassination attempt. The healers have not been able to identify the poison as of yet, and without an antidote, he will surely die. In fact, based on their assessment, it is very likely that he will be dead before you get this letter.

There was an assassination attempt against my son’s life today as well, which Rupert's eesprid foiled, thankfully. It seems that there is a serious attempt underway for the throne of this kingdom, and we both know that this jeopardizes both of our realms. The only information we have is that both assassins carried small gold tokens stamped with a black scorpion. Does that mean anything to you?

With this turn of events, I must respectfully request that Rupert’s replacement be sent as soon as possible, but not for me. I want the replacement assigned to Eryk. I have had my time as ruler, as you well know, and I want him protected – I value his life far more than my own. 

I trust that you will know whom to send, and I look forward to meeting the newest member of our little pact. I will have Byron waiting to greet the new arrival ten days from when I penned this letter. Have your party wait for him by the waterfall bordering our kingdoms.

I wish I were able to write with better news. I miss you, my friend.

Tarren

Jackob sighed as he put the letter down. He ran his fingers through his thick, brown hair and shook his head. Even after their time together years ago, Tarren obviously still didn't understand that he, Jackob, had nothing to do with choosing the next bodyguard in line or deciding when they leave for Bacovia. The magical pact joining the two kingdoms determined all of those details.  It had been that way for centuries now, so you’d think that the Bacovians would know how it worked! 

Of course, he thought as he chuckled to himself, they had the easy job . The monarch of Bacovia merely had to govern his nation and send his army to protect Evendell if needed. It was the rulers of Evendell that spent their lives preparing for the call, the rulers of Evendell who gave their lives, or the lives of their specially trained subjects, to protect the monarch of Bacovia. 

Now, with Rupert’s apparent demise, it was just a matter of time before the magic brought forth the next bodyguard. Jackob settled down to wait for his or her arrival, wondering which of the students it would be.

Chapter 3

As Aislynn regained consciousness, she felt a cold cloth on her forehead and another wrapped around the lower part of her left arm. The pain was subsiding, thankfully.

Keep still, said a calm, quiet voice. The pain will pass soon.

Do you know what this is?

Yes. And so should you, if you bothered to think about it, came the caustic reply. When the pain has passed, and you can think clearly again, you will know.

It seemed to take forever for the pain to subside, but Aislynn was soon able to sit up again. She stretched each muscle carefully, and her sensitive fingers probed along her skull under her thick brown hair, searching for any damage done by her fall. Her Master sat beside her, waiting patiently for her to finish her examination, seemingly pleased that she was disciplined enough to carry out the examination despite her pain and her curiosity as to the cause of it. Finally, Aislynn was satisfied that she was whole, though bruised, and she removed the cloth from her arm, peeking to see what had been causing the horrendous pain.

Her arm showed what looked like a bright red burn. It resembled an eagle, and occupied a spot just above her wrist, on the underside of her arm. 

Does this mean what I think it does? she asked hesitantly, turning toward her Master.

Yes. It means that the time has come for you to take your place at the side of the person you are to protect. You were born with that mark, though it fades during the first year of life, and that mark is why you have spent the majority of your life here, with me. Now, all of your training will be put to the test. You have been trained by some of the finest assassins in this kingdom, and now you are Called.

I don’t understand. Aislynn looked confusedly at her Master. There are many others who have been training longer than I have. Why not one of them?

"The magic of the pact that binds the realms determines the choice. Besides, most of the others don’t have the mark, just as they don’t have an eesprid . They are destined to be fine assassins, but nothing more. You will have to be better than that – you will be a bodyguard. Go now, to his Majesty. You are Called, and you must go."

She knew that tone, and knew better than to argue with the man. She stood, bowed low from the waist, and then turned away, whistling a summons as she left. The wolf rose from the ground where she’d been waiting for Aislynn to regain consciousness, and trotted along beside her mistress. Aislynn unconsciously rested her hand on the wolf’s back, and the two of them left the training arena.

It was a short trip into the main part of the castle since the Academy was part the palace complex. Despite her proximity, Aislynn still went to the throne room directly, not bothering to change or freshen up. When the Master told you to go, you went with no questions asked. 

It seemed like they were expecting her too, since the guards let her into the king’s presence without hesitation. The king was sitting upon his throne, and she approached immediately, bowing as she presented herself.

The Guild Master sent me, she explained. He told me you would be expecting me.

Well, not you exactly, but I’m not really surprised. I was honestly expecting either you or your brother, though I was hoping that it was neither of you. Jackob stood up and signalled to Aislynn to follow. Let’s go talk somewhere more comfortable, since it’s just you and I. And Cheta will be more comfortable too.

Aislynn smiled fondly down at her wolf, and then turned her smile toward the king. Thank you, Majesty. I’m sure we'll all appreciate something less formal. 

The three of them moved toward a small door set behind the dais, and Jackob’s fox rose from his place beside the throne to follow them. Cheta growled a low greeting to the animal, and he yipped quietly in return.

So, my dear, Jackob began as the humans settled themselves onto comfortable chairs in the study. It seems that your turn has come. The Master wouldn't have sent you to me otherwise. May I see it? 

He nodded toward her, and Aislynn held her left arm up for scrutiny, still a little thrown by how quickly events were moving. Cheta seemed to pick up her discomfort, whining softly. 

Jackob smiled slightly, and settled more comfortably into his chair. It seems that the time has also come for a bit of a history lesson, he said.

"You know that some of the people born in this kingdom are marked as you are marked, and are blessed with the eesprid , yes? Well, it’s time you learned exactly how that came about and what it has to do with you. 

"A long time ago, Evendell was under attack from a considerably more powerful force. We are small, and the rich mountains that provide our ore, gems and gold leave our people scattered and difficult to defend. We were attacked by two allied nations, one to the south and one to the east, and we were losing ground at a frightening pace. The nation to the north and west of us, Bacovia, hadn't been a part of the conflict up to that point. 

"Our enemies, seeking to surround us, sent an assassin to kill the king of Bacovia, and this attack happened just as an envoy from Evendell was arriving to ask for Bacovia’s help in the ongoing conflict. The envoy, having been highly trained as you have been trained, managed to stop the assassin and save Bacovia’s king. In gratitude, he sent his armies to our aid and drove the enemies from our borders.

"After the conflict was resolved, the kings of Bacovia and Evendell met to discuss what had happened. Even then, we had one of the best Academies in any of the nearby kingdoms, and our people were very skilled. Bacovia is a large realm, and shares borders with six kingdoms, including ours. The king felt that he could use someone highly trained in the position of his bodyguard, and in return, Bacovia would protect Evendell from her enemies. This seemed like a fair agreement, and the pact was formed, born of a magic spell cast by mages from both realms.

"It turns out that the pact was stronger than anyone had anticipated, in either of our kingdoms. The first bodyguard sent to Bacovia’s king was none other than the envoy who had saved the king in the first place. They grew close and eventually married and it was their union that made the pact what it is today. 

"Some of Evendell’s royal children, and some rare subjects of the kingdom, are born with an odd birthmark, which resembles the eagle-in-flight royal crest of Bacovia. These children also have companions, the eesprid , who come to them at birth. As you know, it is our law that all children with this birthmark receive training at the Academy, and these are the assassins who can eventually become bodyguards for Bacovia’s monarchy. 

"The eesprid are there to provide companionship during the long and difficult training process, and they also provide the bodyguards with someone they can trust without fail. Many of our eesprid have saved our lives. 

There are usually two or three marked children in each generation, which seems to account for the losses that are inherent in the position, and the next knows it is time to take their place when their birthmark burns and becomes visible again. I was Tarren’s bodyguard for a few years, and Rupert replaced me when the time came for me to take the throne here. Now you are going to take Rupert’s place.

Aislynn looked shocked, and she was speechless for some time, processing all of the information she had just heard. Finally, she nodded to herself and asked her question again.

Why me though? There are others in the Academy, all of them older and with more training than I have.

We do not choose who goes. The magic of the pact decides who among the marked is the most suitable for the job, and in this case, it happens to be you. You should go and pack.

What am I going to need? Aislynn asked, accepting her position and getting down to business. I can’t take everything, obviously, but I need to know what my cover will be. Rupert was a serving man, right?

He was, but you don’t need to worry about that. Your role is a bit different than his was, so you'll actually be going as yourself. Marja will be going with you, to help. Jackob smiled at this, waiting for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

You can’t be serious! I don’t know anything about being proper royalty – I've spent my whole life in the Academy. That’s totally insane. You’re totally insane! I’d be better off as a serving girl.

Jackob laughed. That’s why I’m sending Marja. She'll be able to help you along the way. Trust me though. Once Tarren fills you in, you'll understand why it’s important to be yourself.

Aislynn had to admit that Marja was probably the best person in the world to have along if you wanted to play princess.  She was totally caught up in the latest fashions and the latest gossip around the court, and she usually talked non-stop, which meant that Aislynn likely wouldn't have to carry on a conversation during the trip. Add Marja’s polished manners, her curly, golden hair, and her bright green eyes and that also meant that she would likely be able to hide in the background while Marja took centre stage.  Next to her, Aislynn’s straight brown hair, and plain brown eyes would go unnoticed. 

I hope you know what you’re doing, Father, she said quietly. 

I know that I'll miss you, my daughter. I know that you haven’t been around the court very much, but I've always been able to catch up with you at the Academy when I wanted to. You will have Cheta and Marja to keep you company while you’re gone, and I’m sure you'll make new friends. I'll have to put up with your brother and that noisy raven of his all alone! You know that your mother is absolutely no help when it comes to him.  Jackob rolled his eyes for emphasis. Now off with you. It took the courier four days to reach us, and the captain of Bacovia’s royal guard will be meeting you in six days at the border between the kingdoms. Byron is a good man, and Rupert spoke highly of him.  You'll be able to trust him, since he knows about us in his capacity as captain of the king’s guard.

I still don’t quite understand why I have to go to Bacovia in full royal splendour. Wouldn't it be less conspicuous to take over Rupert’s job?

Well, yes and no. It would be odd for someone as young as you are to be in a position as prominent as Rupert’s was, especially as someone newly hired to the staff. However, there will be a number of other young ladies around the Bacovian court in the coming days, so you should be able to fit right in. Jackob smiled again.

There will? Why?

Because the prince is choosing a bride.

Aislynn’s jaw dropped. You mean you want me to go and parade myself in front of all of these strangers as a potential bride-to-be? I don’t think so!

She suspected that Jackob was having a lot of fun with this. Aislynn had always been antisocial, partially by personality and partially by upbringing, so knowing that he was forcing her into a very social situation made him chuckle. Aislynn knew that she was well trained, and had been a fully vested member of the assassin’s guild for nearly a decade, so the king’s mirth couldn’t be because he thought she couldn’t do her job. No… Jackob just couldn't resist turning the knife a little, so to speak. After a few moments, he turned a stern face toward his youngest daughter.

You will do what you are told. Your training makes you a highly skilled assassin, and assassins make the best bodyguards because they know all of the tricks of the trade. You have proven that you can infiltrate any number of situations, and this is no different. Marja will coach you on the latest trends and on your presentation. You will go and do your job, and you will do it well.

Aislynn bowed her head in meek submission, happy that her father’s words lent weight to her own thoughts. Yes, your Majesty, she said quietly, knowing that she was beaten. This was, after all, what she had been training for, even if the details of her assignment were not exactly how she had envisioned them.

Jackob knew she wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. I have a letter for Tarren, he said, matching her quiet tone. I’d appreciate it if you could take it with you and hand-deliver it yourself.

Yes, your Majesty. Aislynn had a little more animation in her voice now. I won’t let you down. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some packing to do, and an early morning, apparently.  With that, she stood up from her chair and, with a bow of her head, headed off to her little used room on the upper floor of the castle.

Marja was somehow already there, and she was picking through Aislynn’s clothing with sounds of disgust while she waited for her friend to arrive. Theirs was an odd friendship, with Aislynn almost constantly in training at the Academy and Marja living her life in the court that Aislynn loathed, but they were still close. 

How can you possibly be expected to present yourself wearing these clothes? And look at your jewelry and accessories!  You are truly a disgrace, Aislynn. It’s a good thing that your father is sending me along with you. You’d be sure to make a fool of yourself otherwise, and we can’t have that, what with the prince looking for a bride. How exciting!

Aislynn let her friend prattle on, listening with only one ear, while she packed what was truly important. On her bed, she laid out her assortment of weapons – paired daggers, a short sword, a crossbow and a sling, both of these last two with pouches of the appropriate ammunition. These were the weapons she was most familiar with, and most comfortable with, though she had training to use a number of others. She wrapped her weapons carefully, and laid them into the bottom of one of the trunks Marja was apparently expecting her to fill with her belongings.

Marja was just finishing going through her wardrobe, throwing clothing behind her and onto the bed. 

I guess that these will have to do, she sighed, turning around and surveying the piles of fabric scattered around the room. We will definitely have to pay a visit to a seamstress as soon as we arrive in Bacovia, she said.  Aislynn shuddered at the thought of being fitted for yet more unnecessary finery, and she started to fold her clothing neatly into the trunk. She was sure that one trunk would be more than enough.

When it was all over with, one trunk was indeed enough to pack all of Aislynn’s ‘worthwhile’ belongings. With only a nightdress and the next day’s clothing left out, Aislynn relaxed into a hot bath to ease her day’s aches and then she settled into bed, part of her eager for the next dawn and part of her hoping that this night would never end.

Chapter 4

The carriage bounced along the bumpy dirt road in the early morning light, throwing Aislynn around as she tried to dress. Marja had spent the past days horrified that Aislynn had been riding around wearing pants, totally uncaring about how she appeared before the men in their escort. Aislynn knew that the guards were more than used to women like her, having trained with Academy assassins on a regular basis, and she didn’t really care what they thought anyway. 

When Aislynn had planned to continue wearing her usual apparel today, Marja had thrown a hysterical fit. Today, after what Aislynn considered to be five gruelling days of boring travel, they were finally going to meet up with the escort from Bacovia, and Marja, at least, was determined that Aislynn would look the part of a royal princess when they got there. Since her father had sent Marja along to ‘help her fit in,’ Aislynn figured that she should at least try to make herself presentable, hence the current, rather uncomfortable situation.

With the pale green dress finally over her head, Aislynn struggled to make it sit properly across her shoulders, cursing under her breath. She was not a fan of the current fashions, with a tight bodice and tight sleeves, and the skirt hugging her hips before dropping straight to the ground. Even though the divided skirt was designed specifically for riding, she still felt constricted and unable to move freely, and she groaned as she turned her back to Marja so that her friend could lace the dress tightly up the back.  As she turned, she caught a glance of Cheta loping along beside the carriage, and she swore the wolf was laughing at her! 

You’re next, you fleabag, Aislynn snarled. "We should dunk you in the river, clean you all up, and tie a ribbon around your neck for good measure." 

Cheta didn't look at all frightened by the threat and just kept her wolfy grin as she jogged along, tongue lolling.

Turn around and let me look at you, Marja demanded when she finished tying the laces. She looked Aislynn up and down, appraising her appearance, and she sighed in disgust.  "There must be something we can do with your hair."

First my clothing, and now my hair, Aislynn complained, rolling her eyes. What, exactly, is wrong with my hair?

Aside from the fact that it has been in that braid every day since we left? There are more hairstyles in the world, you know. Marja sighed again, shaking her head in disbelief and making her perfect curls bounce around her shoulders, apparently not understanding why Aislynn didn't care about her appearance at all. 

Marja reached into a small box that was sitting on the seat beside her and started sorting through accessories, looking for something that matched the dress. You really are quite something, Aislynn, she commented.

Well whatever you do, just make sure you don’t do something that’s all elaborate and going to fall out when I ride. I have no intention of staying in this carriage all day with you or of riding in this carriage when we enter into the city, Aislynn said, and don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise.

Marja shut her mouth with an angry snap, swallowing the comment she’d been about to make. The king may have sent her along to try to civilize Aislynn, but Aislynn was still a princess, despite her lack of refinement, and she definitely outranked Marja, who was only a daughter from a noble family. Besides, this really wasn’t worth arguing about, and Marja had long ago learned to pick her battles with Aislynn. Once Aislynn made her mind up about something, there was no changing it, so it was just easier to let her have her way unless it was something really important…like riding in pants!

Marja hummed to herself as she pinned up Aislynn’s hair, happy to be doing something to help her friend, even if she didn't appreciate it. Aislynn knew that Marja had never minded doing some of the duties of a maidservant for the princess; she seemed to love the fact that Aislynn would let her do pretty much whatever she wanted to. Marja applied a few cosmetics to bring out Aislynn's best features – her dark brown eyes and her high cheekbones – and sat back to admire her work. 

There, she said. All presentable. Does the hair meet with your approval?

Aislynn reached up and brushed her hands gently along her hair, not wanting to disturb the delicate-seeming pins that held it all into position. It felt solid enough, so she gave her head a shake. 

Perfect, Aislynn said, smiling, when her movement didn't seem to disturb Marja’s careful work.

When did you get a tattoo? Marja asked.

Tattoo?

Yeah, there on your left arm. I saw it when you lifted your arm up to touch your hair.

Aislynn examined her left arm, looking at the tattoo she'd apparently gotten at some point. It was the eagle mark, which had faded from a burning red to a series of pinks, purples and blues.  It was quite pretty, really. The question made Aislynn uneasy though, and with a quick thank you to Marja for her help, she sprang from the carriage like an anxious child cooped up inside for too long. She was in her saddle and riding up to the front of the caravan within seconds.

Marja, watching her friend kick her horse into a canter, just shook her head. I spend all this time making you presentable, and you just don’t care! she called after her friend. You’re incorrigible!

It was just a short time later that the meeting place came into view, and the Bacovian escort was already there waiting. Aislynn slowed her horse to a trot and rode ahead, with Cheta alongside, to greet the party of men who had gathered to meet them.  She scanned the area quickly, analyzing the terrain and her opponents, just as she’d been taught. 

The ground here was soft due to the spray thrown up by the waterfall tumbling down the mountainside, which resulted in a thick carpet of grass alongside the road. This would make for a softer landing if it became necessary to jump from the saddle for any reason. The river itself was not a good option for a quick getaway though, with the waterfall churning the water here into a violent maelstrom of rapids and riptides, so either back along the road or into the nearby forest was her best bet for an escape route. 

The men themselves, her potential opponents, were all armed with swords and spears, and they were all dressed in the red and grey uniform of the Bacovian royal guard, all of them essentially alike. Except for one. He stood out because he was younger and shorter than the others were, and he was definitely the leader – his men deferred to him even though he’d said nothing as of yet.  Their attitudes were similar to those of dogs awaiting orders from their alpha, their attention always on him. He was the one who strode forward to meet her, and to be polite, Aislynn slid down from her saddle to meet him on even terms. 

As he approached, Cheta uttered a low growl of warning.  She sensed that this man was dangerous, and she tensed at Aislynn’s side, ready to defend her if necessary. Aislynn could only agree with Cheta’s assessment – this man walked with perfect balance, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Seeing Cheta’s alert stance, the man slowed and stopped a safe distance away. 

I’m Byron, captain of the royal guard, he introduced himself. You, I assume, are the new emissary to the court?

Aislynn smiled, and nodded. I’m Princess Aislynn, of Evendell. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Take that , she thought at Marja. I do know my manners, thank you very much.

Byron smiled. Shall we talk? I think it would be a good idea if we went for a short walk along the river. As he spoke, he began moving toward the riverbank, fully expecting her to follow.  Aislynn wasn’t sure what she thought about that assumption, but after a short pause, she moved toward the riverbank anyway, curious to hear what he had to say.

Once they were out of earshot of the Bacovian group, Byron turned toward her. I’m very sorry about your cousin. Rupert was a good friend of mine, and I will miss him.

Thank you for your condolences. Aislynn really didn't know what else to say. Rupert had been Tarren’s bodyguard for longer than she’d been alive, and she had never met him. He may have been kin, but he didn't matter to her. She changed the subject.

So do all visitors to Bacovia get the honour of an escort into the capital city by the captain of the royal guard, or are you here specifically for me? Aislynn turned toward him, eying him openly, trying to appraise his speed and strength. He was handsome enough, she supposed, but nothing spectacular. His blond hair was short and his eyes a bright blue that stood out against the tanned skin of his face. If she hadn’t seen him move, Aislynn likely wouldn’t have ever given him a second glance.

Byron laughed, a warm sound, leaving nothing back. No, I’m here just for you, and I'll admit that you’re not what I was expecting. 

He calmly looked her up and down, appraising her just as she was appraising him. Aislynn looked just as she was supposed to look - a young lady of royal blood, prim and proper. Her long brown hair was pulled back from her face in a mass of pretty twists, and the pale green dress clung