Master Assassins by Robert V.S. Redick

Author:Robert V.S. Redick
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781945863202
Publisher: Talos
Published: 2018-02-21T05:00:00+00:00

All bedlam erupts. Talupéké climbs from the pool with a sustained howl of madness or agony. The Tirmassil step onto the rim and move swiftly toward Kandri and Mektu. The brothers try to double their speed and barely save themselves from a headfirst plunge. Talupéké backhands Chindilan, still reaching for her blindly, and when Eshett tries to steady him, they fall and vanish through the ice of the adjacent pool. Talupéké shows no concern for their plight, or no awareness. She draws her knives and slashes at random, screaming her bestial scream.

Kandri tries to shove his brother forward. “Move your ass, they’re drowning!” But Mektu has told the truth: he is very nearly blind. Kandri could force his way past him—but what then? Leave him standing here, waiting for Atau?

Curtains of fire, sprays of orange stars. Kandri blinks furiously. There, thank Ang, are Chindilan and Eshett, surfacing, clawing at the pool’s rim, breaking off large chunks of salt.

Behind them, the bald Tirmassil shouts with laughter. At the sound, Talupéké whirls, swaying in the wind. Then she lunges toward the sound, thrashing waist-deep through the turquoise pool she has just escaped.

Sudden, searing pain in his leg: one of the Tirmassil has thrown a rock. A second rock flies past his ear. What if they have bags of rocks? They could stand at a distance, stone the four of them to death. “Gods, brother,” he says, “I’m going to have to fight them.”

“We should split up,” says Mektu. “They want both our heads. I can’t fight; a six-year-old could kill me now. But I might draw one of them off.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Talupéké wades closer, smashing ice with her fists. Kandri shuts his eyes for a precious moment. They can’t have many rocks; the shore is all fine scree. Nock an arrow. Hold them off. He opens his eyes again: pain and fire. But for a moment, he does see more clearly. The effect is slight and lasts not half a second. But it is real.

He shuts his eyes for a full five seconds. Again, fleeting clarity, followed by deeper blindness, searing pain. As if his eyes have shed a burning garment and then passed naked, when he opens them, back into a flame.

“Kandri, why are you stopping? Talk to me!”

Red pinwheels, spools of burning wire. The Tirmassil are within thirty yards. Forget the bow. If one of them gets past it, you’re dead. Use the machete. Don’t kill Mek on the backswing.

Talupéké is closer than the men, still erupting with high, horrific screams. They reach the next pool, and Kandri kicks at it with his boot. The ice seems to hold.

“Step down, Mek. Hold my arm.”

It is a large pool. The ice crackles ominously as they run across it (like invalids, like clowns). Kandri is nauseous with pain, every blink is a nightstick, what if his balance goes, what if he faints? Maybe they will hesitate. Maybe the crackling of the ice will give them pause.

“Kan,” Mektu whispers, “we’ve got to fool them.

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