SERPENT OR
(a Birthright Lord High Executioner Story: 7)
by Dru Pagliassotti
Corbin leaned against a lamppost and surveyed the Rhedenrhye house. Dark, almost black stone; two storeys and sprawling, surrounded by a cobblestone courtyard filled with fountains and towering junipers and pines, the whole thing ringed by a great iron fence with sharpened, barbed spikes along the top. Not the most prominent house in the Heights, but among the top ten, he'd guess. A small guardhouse by the gate sheltered two men from the storm; over the last day or two, Corbin had learned their names and rotation patterns. They wouldn't see him today, across the street in the drifting snowfall - but even if they did, it wouldn't matter. He'd been patrolling the neighborhood for the last five days, and the guards had yet to look past his constable's uniform to inspect his face.
If they had, there was a small chance they'd recognize the realm's Lord High Executioner.
But nobody ever looked past his uniform; not this one and not the one he wore when he stood on the scaffold plying his other trade. A month or two ago a mercenary had called him "nondescript," and ever since then Corbin had started paying more attention to where people looked when they met him. For years he'd worn the same black executioner's uniform day after day. Now he'd started changing his clothes, just to see if anyone would recognize him out of his trademark black and infamous red-noose-on-a-silver-field badge.
Very, very few people ever looked at him twice when he was out of his executioner's uniform. Even Captain Bracken, the closest thing to a friend he had in the city, had done a double take the first time he'd seen Corbin wearing a constable's uniform. Then he'd laughed and clapped Corbin on the shoulder, proud of his protégé.
Corbin straightened, pulled his dark constable's cloak closer around his shoulders, and began walking away from the house.
What Captain Bracken hadn't realized was that Corbin had started wearing the uniform as a disguise.
In three days, he was going to kill someone inside the Rhedenrhye mansion.
***
"Here's the guest list." The sickly mage dropped a roll of parchment on the scarred wooden table. "Here's the amulet." A ring with a clear stone, its surface marked with runes and sigils. "And here's the poison." A soft leather pouch.
Corbin stared at the three items with loathing. Only years of discipline kept his face emotionless, hid the disgust that crawled over his skin at the mere sight of the bent, hollow-cheeked wizard who sat huddled by the fire before him. He'd never liked Daved Gereint, the archduke's dying mage, but in the last two weeks the cool respect he'd once felt for the man had changed into helpless hatred.
He'd tried to save Gereint's life two weeks ago, and in doing so he'd given Gereint a hold over him that only the wizard's death would break.
Gereint had learned that, in defiance of an Anuirean law that dated back even before Emperor Roele's time, Corbin was Blooded. That was forbidden; no Blooded person was permitted to be an executioner because of the potential for Bloodtheft. Part of the oath every executioner took to his liege, the Oath of Proxy, was a solemn declaration that he was not Blooded.
Corbin, like his fathers before him for six generations, had lied when he'd taken that Oath.
"The stone will glow when you're close to Dafydd." Gereint coughed raggedly and closed his eyes. His skin was deathly pale, lined with blue veins and covered with a faint sheen of sweat. He'd grown progressively weaker in the last two weeks. Corbin's healing power had bought the wizard a little bit of extra time, but that time was swiftly running out. "He'll recognize you, so you must kill him quickly."
"Yes, sir," Corbin said stonily, finally reaching out to take the three items and tuck them into the front of his doublet, next to his shirt. They pressed against his chest. A stiletto's slim handle pressed against the small of his back. He'd begun to carry it with him all of the time, as a backup to the constable's sword he was now permitted to wear.
He was becoming wary.
"Are you certain Dafydd's in the house?"
Gereint opened his eyes, head still limp against the chair back, and fixed them on Corbin.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"The Rhedenrhye tombs were among those plundered by the facethieves. He turned some valuable of theirs into his soul-gem. When the constables returned it to the family, he would have had his chance to manifest."
"But you're sure it's with the Rhedenrhyes."
"Don't waste my time with your doubts." Gereint sounded weary. "When Dafydd's body dies, his soul will flee into the receptacle he has prepared. Look for it with the ring. When you find it, destroy it."
"Will it be close to him?"
"It doesn't have to be." Gereint closed his eyes again, clearly exhausted. "But it's likely, yes. He will value the item very highly." He coughed, and even the bloody, liquid spasm that wracked his body seemed weak. "It's his key to immortality."
Not for the first time, Corbin gazed coldly at the mage and wondered if he could draw his stiletto in time to kill him. Gereint was physically weak; was he magically weak, as well? Was he vulnerable to sudden attack?
Gereint opened his eyes and Corbin waited, hiding his thoughts behind his professional, impassive mask.
"That's all."
"Yes, sir." Corbin bowed and left the wizard's stiflingly warm chambers, pulling on his cloak again as he walked through Seaharrow's large, echoing halls. Servants stepped out of his way as he passed, and guards hardly gave him a second glance. The Lord High Executioner had never been a stranger to the castle and in recent weeks he'd become Gereint's regular guest.
Corbin shivered with a combination of anger and fear.
***
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
Corbin finished scraping the snow and mud off his boots and stepped inside, shaking snow from his cloak. His mother reached out and took the cloak from him, laying a hand on his cold cheek. He tried to smile, but the attempt felt hollow, and he could tell he hadn't fooled her.
"Nothing, mum." He walked to the dinner table and sat down, pulling off his boots. "I'm just tired."
Mhairi quietly hung his cloak and walked over to the fireplace to pour him a mug of tea. Corbin watched as she added honey and cream, luxuries that his recent work for the archduke had finally made possible. She walked back to the table and handed it to him.
"Thanks." He drank deeply, feeling the hot, sweet tea burn away some of the tension that was coiled inside of him. His mother sat down across from him, pale blue eyes intent on his face.
"It's nothing, really," he said, lowering the mug and his gaze.
"Corbin, darling, it's not nothing." Mhairi reached out and touched his hand, her eyes concerned. "Something's upsetting you. You haven't been yourself since...." she bit her lip and shook her head sadly. "Since Emmamir, really."
Corbin stared into the teacup, stomach clenching at the memories that called up. Suddenly his throat felt tight, and he closed his hands over the hot teacup to keep them from trembling.
"Or before." Mhairi kept gazing at him, reading her son with the ease of a lifetime of practice. "Corbin, I think we need to talk."
He started to answer, but nothing came out. He concentrated on the heat radiating from the teacup.
"This past year ...." Mhairi hesitated. "This past year has been a hard one for you, hasn't it?" She searched his face for any sort of reaction, but he'd retreated behind his executioner's mask, the one she'd seen both him and his father use whenever they needed time to think, to sort things out. She sighed wearily. "Sweetheart, I know you haven't had a very easy time. First that dreadful gipsy girl, and then being accused of murder, and the house burning down, and having to execute that traitor, and the Eve of the Dead...." She watched his hands tighten around the cup and saw him fighting back tears. Her face softened and she stood up, walking next to his chair and putting her arms around him. His shoulders were as tight as a drum. "Honey, you used to talk to me about your problems. You can still do that, you know." She crouched next to his chair and cupped his face in her hands. He looked much older now that he'd grown a beard, but it didn't fool her. "I'm not going to stop loving you."
Corbin closed his eyes, feeling all his pent-up anxiety and tension pressing against him, and leaned over to hug his mother. Tears burned his eyes and he bit his bottom lip until he tasted blood. Despite himself, he felt tears leaking out. His mother's fingers wiped them from his cheeks and he opened his eyes, staring desperately at her.
"They're turning me into a killer," he choked, feeling himself shaking and unable to stop it. "I - I -"
"Shh," Mhairi stroked his forehead and met his eyes with calm reassurance. "What do you mean, sweetheart? What's wrong?"
"F-first I did-didn't say anything about the bloodthief, and th-then they made me tear that traitor apart, a-and kill Ousel, and --" Corbin tried to master the trembling in his voice, although he couldn't keep himself from shaking, "then I killed D-Dafydd, and now they- they're going to make me kill him again--"
"Hush, Corbin." His mother stood and pulled her chair closer, then sat down and held his trembling hands between her own. "Sweetheart, you've just been doing your job."
"My job?" He gave her an anguished look. "I'm an executioner, not an assassin!"
She sighed and leaned forward, refusing to let him pull his hands away.
"Corbin, listen to me. You took an oath to serve the archduke. If you think that you're being asked to do things that are wrong, that aren't part of your job, then you owe it to yourself and the dignity of your profession to refuse."
"But- but I work for him -"
"You're no man's assassin, Corbin," she said firmly. "And you have to decide in your own heart what the limits of your oath to the archduke are."
He flinched.
"It's not just the archduke. I - I can live with what the archduke wants from me." He swallowed. "It's Gereint."
"You don't owe that mage anything."
"He knows that I'm Blooded."
Mhairi drew in a short breath, squeezing Corbin's hands.
"What does he want you to do?"
"Kill Dafydd again. The skinshifter. He's still alive, in somebody else's body. Gereint's narrowed down the search to one house. I'm supposed to go in, find out who it is, and kill him."
"Why doesn't he tell the archduke and send in guards?"
"I don't know." Corbin finally pulled his hands back and ran them over his face, rubbing his stinging eyes. "I don't know. He must have a good reason."
"If you knew what that reason was, you might have a defense against him."
He dropped his hands and looked at her, a glimmer of hope sparking inside of him. His mother always knew what to do in a pinch. She was a survivor.
"He said that Dafydd was using the same source of magic that he does. That he could feel Dafydd's presence...."
Mhairi looked thoughtful.
"I thought that only Innis could tap Boeruine's Source," she said slowly. "Although Innis did send Gereint to represent him in Seaharrow. Still... it doesn't seem likely that he would let anyone else share his power with him. He's selfish, in that respect. I'm certain he would never allow an undead necromancer like your Dafydd Celtchar to tap from his Source. And I would be surprised if he let Gereint do it."
Corbin gazed curiously at his mother.
"You sound like -- do you know Innis?"
She glanced up, startled.
"Oh, years ago, sweetheart, long before I met your father. It's not important."
Corbin nodded, closing his mouth on the rest of his questions. He didn't know anything about his mother's life before she'd agreed to marry Rafe Rook, except that she'd killed her first husband after he'd done something terrible to her. She didn't talk about her life before the time she married his father, and Corbin knew better than to ask.
"Could Gereint have a second Source?" she asked, looking at him. "A lesser Source that Innis doesn't use?"
"Is that possible?" Corbin didn't know much about magic, although like everyone he knew that each realm had its own magical Source that could be tapped in its defense. Where and what that Source was, however, seemed to change from story to story, and he'd always half-suspected that the whole thing was just a fairy tale.
"Yes. Sources can be lost and forgotten, or deliberately abandoned. But it doesn't happen very often, and if a Source is abandoned, then there's usually a good reason for it." Mhairi glanced at the table. "Drink the rest of your tea, honey."
Corbin quietly obeyed her. Finally his mother sighed and shook her head.
"Oh, Corbin, I wish I could help, but I don't know anything about Boeruine's Sources, and even if I did, I'm not sure how you could use it to your advantage." She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and gave him a concerned look. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." He sighed. Telling her what was wrong had made him feel better, but it hadn't solved his quandary. "I killed Dafydd once already because otherwise he'd have told Laile that I was ...." he shrugged, not willing to say the word aloud. "He knew what Line the Rooks carry."
"Oh, no," Mhairi whispered. She knew, too, but she had never betrayed her second family with that secret.
"I murdered him in cold blood once; there's no reason why I shouldn't do it again," Corbin continued relentlessly. "Except, the first time I did it in self-defense, and now...."
"You're doing it for Gereint." Mhairi sighed. "Oh, Corbin. In a way this is self-defense, too. If you don't do what Gereint says, he could take away your job, or even have you killed."
"It's not the same."
"The skinshifter is a threat to the realm. One way or the other, he does need to be stopped."
"But why does it have to be me who stops him? And why do I have to keep it secret?"
"He must know something that Gereint doesn't want revealed." Mhairi sighed. "Something he might reveal if he were captured by the archduke's guards."
"So what do I do?"
"What you have to," his mother said softly, reaching out and taking his hand again. "He's a necromancer and a facethief, Corbin. You may not like why you're killing him, but there's no question that he needs to be killed."
"So now I'm an assassin," Corbin said bitterly.
"Not if you're working for the Realm," she said gently. "Let me talk to Halder, dear. I might be able to help, a little."
"You can't tell him about --"
Mhairi laid a finger over his lips.
"Trust me, sweetheart."
Corbin fell silent.
