Chapter 41: The Mark of A Fool

Chapter 41: The Mark of A Fool

The shape of a man unsheathed itself from the shelter of darkness. An Eastern porcelain mask covered his face and his hair was smothered by dark wrappings as tight and dark as his clothing. He didn’t give them more time to observe him before he dashed forward, cutting a straight line that would inevitably lead him to Lucan.

Clifton yelled, but even the vigilance that had allowed him to spot the assassin didn’t help when it came to cutting him off. He was too slow.

Ryder wasn’t.

One moment, nothing was between the assassin and Lucan, and the next, Ryder was there, two blades in hand and moving.

Two long daggers, that might or might not have been in the assassin’s hand all along, met Ryder’s sawtooth blade and stiletto in a tempest of metal that only lasted for a moment. Ryder acquitted himself well in the short exchange, but a violent clash of metal had the tip snap off his stiletto and then the assassin stepped into his guard and shouldered him out of the way before resuming his dash.

Lucan was only partway through unsheathing his sword, having been embarrassingly frozen for the first half of the attack.

As the assassin covered the last stretch of distance between them and Lucan’s sword slid out of its sheath–still in no position to guard him–a surprise caught the assassin in the side.

Having been bought a sliver of time by Ryder, Cordell had thrown his heavy spear straight into the assassin’s ribs. The spear took the black-clad man off his feet and threw him to the side.

Before Lucan could step over the still-struggling assassin, Cordell followed his spear, nearly flying through the air and landing on their foe. He gripped his spear with both hands and drove it well into the assassin. A wet gurgle escaped the latter’s masked face before he stopped struggling.

Cordell pulled his spear free from flesh and bone, letting blood and bubbles escape the pierced lung.

All of them soon gathered around the dying man, who was evidently still fighting for breath through a sea of blood. Clifton knelt down near the assassin’s face while Ryder cursed a storm. Lucan patted the latter on the shoulder and muttered a shaky thanks in his ear before turning to Cordell and speaking in a more discernible voice, “We should’ve kept him alive. We don’t know who sent him.”

Even though the middle-aged man-at-arms showed a bit of sheepishness at the notion, it couldn’t overwhelm the prevalent relief on his face. Lucan couldn’t help but be grateful to him too but before he mouthed his thanks, a shake of Clifton’s head grabbed his attention.

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Clifton said, the assassin’s mask in his hand and the man’s face bare before him. His face was ordinary, though his skin had a heavy tint of bronze unlike any Lucan had seen before. His mouth was filled with blood and his eyes were wide open as he gurgled air through blood, then his struggles ceased and he stilled. Clifton continued, “He’s a Far Eastern. He wouldn’t have needed to meet the one who hired him. It’s unlikely that we would’ve produced any knowledge of value from him.”

“An Eastern?” Lucan asked.

Clifton nodded heavily. “The Union’s routes haven’t only been bringing spices to the Elder Lands. Some, like this one,” he tapped the dead man’s head with the mask, “come to sell their services to the highest bidder. Eastern assassins have a dreadful reputation, though. This one’s capabilities seemed tame compared to that reputation.” He proceeded to search the body thoroughly and ended up finding nothing of note.

“We shouldn’t linger,” Cordell said after he finished cleaning the bronze tip of his spear.

Lucan, having crouched beside the body, nodded his head and rose. “Right you are. Let us make our way to the surface. We ought to hasten up to the palace”

Subdued, the whole party obliged without much noise.

They climbed the slope with a quick pace appropriate for their circumstances and soon made it out of the Elder Root.

“Should we talk to the guards?” Lilian asked.

Lucan hesitated.

“We will?” Lucan asked.

His father nodded. “Wildermen raids have begun in earnest back in the South. Word came yesternight. Attacks, too many attacks, have begun plaguing all the Southern territories. I expect the King to bid us return to our lands soon, tomorrow at the latest.”

Lucan nodded, attempting to absorb all that he’d missed during his venture into the Labyrinth. It seemed that even back home things weren’t very peaceful. Their territory didn’t border the Wilderlands, but Lord Arden to their south would be suffering the brunt of the Wildermen raids in that corner of the Kingdom. His father and his fellow knights would be expected to bolster the lord’s forces against the encroaching savages. Lucan had caught brief glances of their three neighboring knights during the gathering for the King’s announcement. They would all have to ride home posthaste once the King gave them leave.

His father interrupted his thoughts by taking hold of an item Lucan hadn’t initially noticed was on the table and tapping the wood softly with it. “Cordell brought me this. He said he took it from a tunnel dug by Archsal’awas?”

Lucan raised an eyebrow. Cordell had shown him no such thing. Had he intentionally kept it from him? The item was made of two interlacing rings of gold, their make reminding him of the Trial Orb back in Arpague, severe and ascendant beyond reach. Something that could not be crafted by the people of this era.

“He hid it so your company wouldn’t get any ideas,” his father said, perhaps after reading his face. “It’s nothing but a trinket of no real value, I believe. But certain collectors buy anything found in the Labyrinth. Perhaps we could exchange it for some coin, which would be of real value.”

Lucan nodded, then he paused, remembering something important. “We found this as well,” he said, procuring the grain of mythril from his pouch excitedly. “I imagine it can be of much more value.”

Even his father’s eyes showed a hint of wonder at the sight of the mythril but it was soon suppressed as the knight shook his head. “I know of that as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as well hidden as this.” He let out a rare chuckle. “Let us see if the princess will allow you to keep it.”

Lucan’s excitement died down as he remembered his agreement with the princess. The purpose of this delve into the Labyrinth was to serve her interests. Would she demand the mythril? It only took him a moment to arrive at an answer. Because in her place, he would certainly demand it.

He put the mythril back in his pouch and gave his father a nod of understanding.

“Speaking of the princess,” his father continued. “She should be expecting you now.”

Lucan looked askance at his father.

“I had Cordell smuggle you here before her servants could deliver you her summons,” his father said. Then his eyes sharpened as he continued. “Don’t contend with her, over that,” he nodded at the pouch where Lucan had stored the mythril,“or any other reason. Don’t let her drag you into anything else, but don’t make us another enemy. Elders know we have made enough for one visit to this damn city.”

Lucan nodded numbly, his mind whirling with a thousand more thoughts than the ones he’d arrived with.

“Don’t be anxious,” his father’s voice softened. “Even he isn’t foolish enough to bring an assassin into the palace. You’re safe here. Now go. I would be growing impatient if I were the princess.”

Lucan nodded again, more firmly. Then he turned around and opened the door. Before he could step outside, his father stopped him.

“Lucan,” Sir Golan said. “Cordell also told me of how you carried yourself down there. You did well. And you brought all our men back alive, as you promised you would.”

His father’s approving tone shot a current of new energy through Lucan and he listened as he continued.

His father stood up. “I’m proud,” he finally said, giving him a firm nod of acknowledgement.

Drunk on his father’s rare approval, Lucan could only spill out his gratitude. “Thank you, Father.”

The knight only grunted in response, signaling him to be on his way.