The God of Assassins (Wine of the Gods Book 11)

  God of Assassins

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright © 2013 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-80-1

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Epilogue

  The Royal Family

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Excerpt from an Upcoming Release

  Chapter One

  Winter Solstice 1393, day 1

  City of Karista, Kingdom of the West

  Captain Prince Staven Negue dragged his mind back from the tick of hard snow against the windows, and shook his head at his Uncle Fossi's latest plan to corral the Crown Prince's Heir. My baby brother.

  I remember how happy Father was, the day he was born.

  Now he just looks tired. So does everyone else. Grandfather—King Leano— and Uncle Rufi—who is his Spear. The other nations laugh at our two headed arrangement, but Leano and Rufi support each other and act as a check on each other's power. As Fossi with the Army will both support and limit Rolo when he takes the throne. And here I am. Rebo's spear prince. Old Gods help me!

  His stomach ached, but he knew what had to be done. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.

  "I guess I'm going to have to be the one to say it. Rebo is not, and in my opinion, never will be, fit to rule the kingdom. I move we summon the Head of the Council and request that he be formally removed from the succession."

  "But . . . " Crown Prince Rolo, his father and Rebo's, looked away, a sheen of tears in his eyes.

  The king shut his eyes; a vertical line of pain creased his forehead.

  Fossi met Staven's eyes. "That means removing you as well."

  "And I don't have any more sons." Rolo scowled at him, anger in his voice. "You can't do this to yourself!"

  The king lifted a hand. "Staven can be reinstated. Garit is a year and a half younger, if he was named your crown heir, Staven would be the obvious choice for his Spear."

  Rolo was shaking his head. "We can't pass over Mirk . . . who, frankly would be a much better administrator than Garit. He already is."

  Staven winced. No one is arguing to keep Rebo. But then, I knew it would be like this. Rebo has worked hard to make it clear how very unsuited he is to rule.

  "Mirk is forty-two. We'd have to find some distant cousin older than him who is in the army, to be his military leader." The king exchanged glances with Rufi. They both looked at Staven.

  Staven sighed. "My job, as Spear, is to be the support and the check on the Crown's power. And Rebo . . . has to be checked. After we've done that, we can hash over who to replace him with, and whether to reinstate me, or replace the whole set. We should do it openly and honestly, with plenty of input from the Council. Mirk would be an excellent king, and we all know it. We'll find him a Spear."

  Rufi shrugged. "Benni's got three or four grandsons who'd qualify. Kersh's sons . . . are a bit old." He shrugged ruefully. "All right, so they are younger than I am. Neither of them are in the army. Pity Fidel's younger boy is so young, he's a fire eater."

  Fossi grinned suddenly. "How about Franki?"

  "Too young, thank the gods." The old king couldn't suppress a smile, but it was brief. "Well. The only thing I'm not hearing is support for Rebo." He looked around the table, nodded. "Let's make it formal. All in favor of requesting the Council to remove Rebo from the succession?"

  Five raised hands. Even father knows it has to be done.

  "Very well. I will ask the Head of the Council to attend on me and make the formal request."

  ***

  Staven looked at the note and cussed. "Oh damn it, Rebo. Couldn't you behave for just another week?" He glanced over at the page, bouncing on his heels. No doubt word of Staven's exasperation with his brother would be all over the palace within the hour. "Fetch my horse, side door." The boy ran off and Staven headed for his wardrobe. He crumpled the note and tossed it in the general direction of his trash can. "Join me for dinner and entertainment? Old Gods know what he considers entertainment." He shut his mouth. Military Officers were not supposed to walk around muttering. Definitely civilian clothes for someplace out in the New Lands.

  Staven spotted his little brother, apparently waiting for him at the main entrance to the . . . Edge of the World. He swung down and handed his reins to the stable boy and stalked over to the insufferable brat.

  "Huh. Thought I'd get the Bastard, but you'll do." Rebo turned and walked through the open doors.

  Lord Keith was waiting inside, and someone or ones were disappearing through a door across the lobby.

  He was glad to see that the place was tastefully furnished, tapestries on the walls, and an appetizing odor coming from the kitchens. Everything looked new, even the building. He relaxed a bit. "Someone has good tastes."

  Lord Keith sniffed. "Like I told Rebo, these women can cook, and they know how a man likes to be entertained, too."

  Staven gave Keith a dubious look. Not the worst of Rebo's pals. Unfortunately, Rebo hasn't got any "best." No guards in sight, of course. I ought to have notified someone.

  Rebo sneered. "You're what? Twenty-five years of age and already a confirmed old stick. You're going to be just like our mutual half-great-uncle. Who is seventy-three years old and never married. Huh. Maybe he likes boys."

  Staven ground his teeth. So much for the nice décor. I'm being set up for something. Hopefully just being left holding the bill. Rebo's allowance was minimal, as his father tried to make him pay for past indiscretions. He'd been supporting eight bastard children since a bit before his fifteenth birthday. And complaining bitterly about it every month.

  He was about to get another shock.

  Staven eyed him. Best I let him enjoy tonight. Maybe even tomorrow. Because as soon as we get back to Karista . . . Well. Grandfather has to talk to the Head of the Council. Officially. From the Throne, in full public view. Everyone will know, by the day after tomorrow, that the king will be disinheriting him. "Well, let's see what sort of entertainment you're going to inflict on me."

  Rebo turned and headed for the doorway arch to the left, where a devastatingly beautiful woman waited. Smiling her welcome, she led them into the dining room, and seated them in a private nook with a good view of the stage.

  The whole back wall of the room was windowed, looking out ov
er a drop to badlands that vanished into mists. It did, in fact, look very much like the edge of the world. Staven told himself it was just fog from hotsprings down below. Certainly he'd seen the Rip a few times in his nine years in the Army. The geologists at the college claimed the Rip was a "mid-continent spreading ridge." His Uncle Day had nodded as if it weren't news to him, and Staven believed the old . . . Traveler, however unlikely it sounded.

  Quiet flute music danced around in the background as beautiful women came and went with wine, bread and cheese, a delicate fish dish, an ice, something the waitress swore was a giant lizard that lived hereabouts, and fresh vegetables, steamed with a delicate sauce, and then medallions of wild bison.

  As the dishes came and went, dancers on the stage did likewise. Tasteful, yet very, very erotic. As the sun set, the foggy landscape behind them yellowed, reddened, darkened.

  The red wine that came with the bison was incredible. He reeled back in his seat and grabbed the arms . . . but couldn't decide if he was keeping himself from falling out of the chair or from throwing himself at the incredible dancer who was floating their way.

  Rebo snickered. "You get used to it."

  He and Keith swapped grins. "Gotta find the privy, be right back."

  "Yeah, me too." Keith was close on his heels.

  The lights dimmed, and a feminine form slunk up to him.

  He vaguely heard Rebo as the two walked off. "C'mon, let's see if there's any action in the hotsprings."

  The dancer ran fingers up his arm, and he hoped Rebo wasn't planning on coming back too soon.

  ***

  The dining alcove had curtains. Cushions.

  The dancer knew just what to do to please him. She was incredible.

  And finally they walked out to cool off a bit. Staven felt dreamy, could barely feel the ground under his heels. Even sounds were muffled. Red Devil neighing, thumps that might be him, or some other horse kicking the stall walls . . . "Devil doesn't kick . . . " Staven lifted his tired head and looked vaguely toward a barn . . . but the dancer leaned against him and urged him onward. Even with no moon, the path was clear in the brilliant starlight.

  "The view is so romantic, look up, at all the stars."

  Staven blinked at the edge of the cliff. Not really an abrupt drop, more a steep giants' staircase. Human sized steps off to the left. He looked up. The sky was clear of the foggy mists, filled with stars, the milky way stretched overhead.

  And he was falling.

  She pushed me.

  All vagueness fled as he hit the first ledge down, rolled, was rolled over the next. He hit. Was ready this time for the light footfalls and grabbed for the woman, but she laughed and dodged. He was so slow . . . couldn't seem to stand . . .

  Drugged.

  She kicked and he slid off the ledge.

  He threw a hand out to break his fall. A shooting pain. And she was there again.

  She kicked him and he scrambled to grab the lip . . . went feet first this time. Hit and rolled like he'd been taught to fall off a horse. He staggered, turned to face the woman as she floated down steps to the left.

  "Hey! What are you doing!" An alarmed male voice, echoing up out of the steamy mist.

  "Rebo?" Staven spun, was hit broadside and stumbled forward over the next drop. Crashed, rolled.

  Saw two men standing a few feet away. Even in the dark the shape, the stance . . . the other man pushed Rebo and he dropped from sight. Yelling. Splashing. Anger turning abruptly to fear and pain. Screaming.

  Staven staggered to his feet, rushed the man, skidded to a halt at the edge as the dark figure dodged. Ten feet down, in a confused dark mist, Rebo screamed, splashing, some huge something heaved up, briefly clear. The armored head and long toothy mouth shown clear. The jaws opened and snapped at something. Rebo.

  Staven was reaching for his knife when he was shoved from the rear. He landed on the giant lizard, rolled off into shallow water, scrambled away, drawing his belt knife. The short blade was more of a tool than a weapon. One foot sank deep and he reversed course.

  Get out of the water!

  "Rebo! Rebo?"

  No screaming.

  Movement to the left. A lizard. Big. He backed, feeling with his feet, heading for shallower . . .

  From the other side another lizard. Half walking, half swimming. Huge armored head. The merely big one opened its mouth and hissed. Staven kept backing up. The huge one whipped its head, open mouthed toward the big one. The big one stopped. Staven threw himself backwards, turned to run. The jaws whipped back and lunged.

  Pain ripped through his arm as jaws clamped on it. He was thrown about like a rag doll as the lizard shook its head, and suddenly he was flying, crashing into something hairy, large . . . A stallion's scream blasted in his ears. The horse reared and struck out. Staven threw himself away from the lizard Devil was attacking. Tripped over a ledge of rock, tried to catch himself. Screamed as pain shot through his right arm, but he couldn't feel his hand. It was a staircase. He scrambled up to the first ledge. He was so weak. He crashed down on the next set of stairs. Felt with his left hand . . . his right arm ended at the elbow. Bleeding. Pumping blood. A shred of cloth from his torn shirt. He couldn't tie it, couldn't tighten it enough . . .

  "Old Gods!" A woman's shocked voice. Solidly low class, familiar, not the dulcet accents of the dancer. Light bloomed. "Oh! Oh, gods!" Small hands took over from his clumsy paw, tied the rag tight. Something under it. Twisted. "Get up! We have to get higher." Hands pulling at him. "Dusty! Run and get help! The lizards got a man!"

  "Rebo!" Staven convulsed. Managed to turn back and look down.

  Devil was trapped, lizards around him. Blood streaked.

  "Were you drunk! To ride your poor horse down there!" She waved her left hand.

  The lizard nearest the stairs slithered away. Devil spun and ran. A lizard lunged, grabbed a hind leg. Released its grip as it slithered and slipped. The horse scrambled up a few steps.

  "Up, up damn it!" The woman hauled at him and he shoved with his left hand, backed up more steps. The steps widened and he rolled out of the panicked horse's way.

  "Good boy, good boy, saved me." And suddenly he was crying. "Rebo. He pushed Rebo . . ."

  "Rebo?" The woman looked at him and her jaw dropped. "Staven! Old Gods!" She ran away, and Staven could hear her yelling something about dusty. Strange, but it was probably just a hallucination, like the blackness that was descending on him.

  ***

  "I know it's a silly kids' rhyme." Xen sighed. "But, saying it twists the mental effort you are making in the direction of what you want to do."

  Sergeant Jeff Lovett scowled. "I don't believe in magic."

  "Yeah. We noticed." Xen sighed. It would be easier if he was a wizard, instead of a mage. I can't send him off to Nil for training. That red hair, bet he's related to the Ash mages. One of Bran's perhaps?

  "It's late. Let's try this in the morn . . . " He broke off at the sound of the bell. The alarm. "Crap." They both ran for the stairs. By the time they hit the street, the double cadence had them turning for the barn. This late, the Headquarters of the King's Own had been nearly empty. There weren't more than a dozen of them rushing to mount up. Their tack was always ready, right in front of each stall. Xen tossed his saddle onto Pyrite's back, tightened the cinch and leaped aboard. No doubt there'd be some sarcastic comments about the lack of a bridle . . . The commotion was at the Main Gate. Pyrite slid to a halt at the edge of the crowd.

  A hysterical female voice. "I don't know! My friend just yelled that Prince Staven was hurt and he was babbling about Rebo. She told me to get here fast."

  Xen suddenly recognized the disheveled woman and swung down, shoved through the crowd of guards. "Dusty? Calm down. Where was this?"

  She sucked down a deep breath and grabbed his arm like an anchor. "Xen! A place called the Edge of the World. You go to Havwee, then Two Trees and then it's like ten miles away right on the Rip."

  "Right." Xen plucked her h
and off his arm and ran for his horse.

  A few troopers had headed for Commerce Street already. Janic popped up at his elbow. "Xen? Can you get there faster?" Janic was Intel, not Security, but the highest ranker present . . .

  "Yeah. Want to come?" Xen reached for the horse, for Janic, and mentally . . . damn it, he'd never been there. "Dusty! Which friend? A witch?"

  "Mihaela." She called back.

  Xen cast his mind east, taking deep breaths. Mihaela, not a relative, but he'd seen her, talked to her in Ash . . . :: Mihaela? Open your mind. Let me see where you are. ::

  It wasn't a strong recognition, but it was enough for two people. He stepped forward, stumbled over the girl. She had her hands clamped around Staven's . . . the stump of Staven's right arm . . . The Prince was unconscious, and Xen wrapped a healing spell around him . . . very weak. Loss of blood. Shock. "I need to get him to a doctor immediately."

  "Leave me here, I'll look for Rebo." Janic looked around. "Go. Miss? Will you stay?"

  Mihaela nodded, looking frantic.

  Xen knelt and put his arms around the Prince. Reached for home. The hotsprings behind his father's winery were his strongest, easiest recognition point. He lifted Staven and stepped through a thousand miles. Concentrated again and stepped a final mile into Lady Gisele's herb garden. The Goddess of Health rushed out, held the door as he staggered in, placed the Prince on the bed. "I have to get back."

  She didn't even glance at him. She was glowing, painfully bright. Waved a hand as she reached for a bottle on the shelf. "Go."

  Xen stepped back outside and braced himself. Recognition of the distant point slithered off his brain, replaced by a spike of pain. "Too far, too many times." He turned and trotted for the Grange barn. Which would be closest? Rip Crossing or Gemstone? Gemstone. But the Rip had hotsprings that he knew well. Or better yet . . . He walked into the wall of the barn, the illusion of boards that covered the dimensional corridor. Out of the side of the Tavern. He jogged across to the barn, through that corridor to his little barn in Karista, down the street mentally calling Pyrite. The horse met him a block away, wearing a halter and trailing a lead rope. Xen scooped up the rope so it wouldn't get stepped on and headed for commerce street. A corridor to Havwee, then through the arch labeled "Two Trees." Easy to find; mounted troops were trotting through it.