The Assassin King

47

Consider this,” Rhapsody said as she unrolled a sheet of parchment on the worktable in front of Achmed, Grunthor, and Omet. “The lower-mid spectrum, the blue and green sections, Kurh-fa and Brige-sol, are more innocuous in their powers; they alter less of the reality of the world as it is. Part of this is because of the length of the waves of light, the song that they emit is the longest in duration. This is because so much of the blue spectrum is present in the reflection of the sky, which is why the Liringlas are so attuned to this lore, revering the sky as they do. Knowing the blue is key to the rest of the spectrum. So since their primary powers in the Light-catcher are scrying and obscuration, perhaps these would be the safest to test first. The risks are not as great as some of the others, at least of the primary powers.”

“Indeed,” said Achmed. “Though the secondary powers may be even more risky.”

“I’m not in any way prepared to begin experimenting with the secondary or tertiary scales,” Rhapsody said seriously. “The consequences of misuse are far too great. But if you want to try and see if the blue spectrum will add further cover to the realm, and keep prying eyes even farther at bay than they are at the moment, I suppose I am ready to attempt it. It’s not without risk—nothing with this instrumentality is. But it’s the safest of the ones we have, a little like only leaving your hand unarmored upon entering the lion’s den instead of your head.”

Bolg king. Achmed went rigid. The voice in his ear was light and strained. I am in the causeway. The wind went silent for a moment, then rustled in his ear again, this time the voice weaker. Come.

Achmed was on his feet before Rhapsody could blink. She and Grunthor followed him out of the mountain peak and down to the outer battlements of Canrif overlooking the canyon that separated the city from the Blasted Heath.

In the tunnel Rath was waiting, crouched on the floor, his arms around his middle, struggling to breathe. His head was shiny with sweat, his skin sallow in the dim light from the torches beyond the causeway.

“The—news I bring—could not be—worse,” the Dhracian said, gasping between breaths. “The Gaol—know of this— but—you could not—hear me—”

“Tell me,” Achmed ordered as Rhapsody knelt beside Rath, loosening his shirt. The Dhracian attempted to wave her away. “I found—the— beast’s host and—had her in— Thrall, but I was— interrupted—”

“By what?” the Bolg king demanded. “What could even have entered the area with all that power in the air?”

“A—man of Living—Stone,” Rath whispered as the Lady Cymrian began to softly sing a chant of sustenance, the healing reserved for those on the battlefield at the point of death. “Titanic—and able—to walk under his—own—power. The demon—escaped—and has found—a new—host—in him. “And it is—invulnerable.” The two Bolg looked at each other as Rhapsody continued her ministrations.

“We are going to need to take risks earlier than we planned,” Achmed said finally. “While it’s imperative to test the blue spectrum, tomorrow the first rays of the sun should be aimed at the Blood Saver panel—I assume you agree, Rhapsody.”

She looked up at them, then somberly nodded. “Grunthor, carry him to the Lightcatcher,” Achmed instructed. He turned to go, but Rath seized the edge of his robe and dragged him back a step. “Hear me,” the Dhracian whispered, his eyes alight with fire. “You—now no longer—-have a—choice. Someone has to—kill—this titan. It is beyond—the skills of—the Gaol. No—more can you remain—a king—” Achmed snatched the hem of his garment from the Dhracian’s failing hand. “That is where you are wrong, Rath,” he said flatly. “I will remain a king for as long as it suits me. One of the few things Ashe has ever said that I agree with is that a king must stay and hold the land, until there is no choice but for him to leave. For now, no matter what goes on in the world outside, I will remain here. I have a Child to guard, and if nothing else, I am the last bastion in that fight. “But,” he continued as the Sergeant-Major lifted Rath from the ground, “now that the F’dor has chosen a host who is formed of Living Stone, elemental earth, I happen to have an assassin who is just perfect for the job.” Grunthor broke into a gigantic grin. “Oh, goody! An’ it ain’t even my birthday! Thank you, sir.” He proceeded back up the tunnel, whistling a merry tune.