Saif & Kilig Page 10

  "How is Francisca?" he asked Nimdja.

  "She's dead," was the blunt reply.

  "Oh. I'm so sorry to hear that." This time he was being honest. Francisca had been a second mother for him and he'd been very fond of her. "When did it happen?"

  Nimdja turned to look at him. "A few days ago. A half-Fajrulo. We avenged her."

  "You and Saif?" Abhaya asked, knowing the trio had been the first apprentices of his father's school.

  "Me, Guisarme and Kilig."

  "Who is Kilig? And where is Saif?"

  "Saif wasn't available and Kilig had been his apprentice. He was used to teamwork, so we took him with us, even if he's a junior member."

  Abhaya scoffed. "Would that be the pretty boy Saif took on as apprentice after me?" he asked, unable to keep the sourness from his voice.

  Nimdja nodded and resumed walking.

  Saif, you're a bastard! Abhaya thought as they reached Talwar's door. But you shall pay!

  They all entered and Abhaya noticed his father's hair and beard had gone all gray, but his stare was as steely as ever.

  "Abhaya, I don't see you wearing the monks' frocks. Have you found the wife you were looking for and become a layman instead?"

  "I'm afraid I will disappoint you again, Father, but I never went to that monastery," Abhaya answered.

  "So where did you spend the past six years?" Talwar asked with a frown.

  "I've always wanted to be an assassin like you and Mother, not a monk, therefore I looked for another assassins' school," Abhaya replied. "Sorry I disobeyed, Father, but I had to follow my calling."

  Talwar grunted, then focused on Abhaya's companion. "Khopesh!" he exclaimed, incredulous. "Why did you leave Agharek?"

  Khopesh stepped forward with a mellifluous smile.

  "Greetings to you, Talwar. Long time no see. When your son came looking for us in Agharek, I welcomed him. Why are you so hard on him?"

  "Because he proved unworthy of this guild," Talwar snapped.

  "I found him an excellent student. He graduated with my son and has received his assassin's name, Shamsher."

  "Good for him. He's a member of your guild, not mine. You still haven't answered my question. What brings you to Godwalkar?"

  "Well, it's been a long time, old friend..."

  "Cut the shit, Khopesh. Khanda is dead. No need to pretend we even like each other."

  Abhaya noticed that Nimdja was as baffled as he was by the exchange. Obviously there was more than a common origin between his parents and Khopesh.

  "Abhaya, I'm sure he spared you because you have your mother's eyes," Talwar continued bluntly. "He lusted after Khanda and couldn't accept she was in love with me. That's why we eloped and hid as far away from Agharek as we could. We got married and started a new guild with new rules. Rules that you never fully accepted, in spite of the fact they came from your parents' hearts. It is your choice, Abhaya, and I respect it, but don't ask me to welcome you with open arms. Khopesh's rules go against everything we built here with your mother."

  Khopesh scoffed. "You're getting old, Talwar. I think it's time you step down from your seat and let a younger man lead your guild into the future. Your son is bright and..."

  "And he will never sit in my place!" Talwar slammed his hand on the desk like he'd done six years earlier, glaring at Khopesh. "My guild, my rules! My successor will be voted by all the active members when I'm gone! The Assassins' Guild of Agharek is like a rotten royal family, passing power from father to son in secrecy – but not here!"

  Khopesh shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shamsher, your father has really lost it."

  "You are a guest here, Khopesh," Talwar retorted through clenched teeth. "This Guild is independent. This is Godwalkar, not Agharek. You can forget dictating your laws here."

  "Peace!" Abhaya raised his hands, temporarily putting an end to the bickering. It was kind of fun watching the two old men tear each other apart with words. "I'm here to reconcile with my father, not to start a guilds' war!"

  Talwar glared at him. "Then you should have come alone."

  "I didn't know you were rivals in your youth," Abhaya replied, which was absolutely true.

  "So, did he give you one of his daughters in marriage, since he's so fond of you?" Talwar asked, sarcastic. "Have you come to tell me I'm a grandfather?"

  "No, Father, I'm still unmarried," Abhaya answered. "I was busy with the training..."

  Talwar stared at Khopesh but kept talking to his son.

  "And what did he promise you, Abhaya? The assassin's name and what else?"

  Godwalkar, Abhaya thought. We're taking it from you.

  He could tell there was unspoken animosity between his father and his mentor, and wasn't sure he should speak.

  Khopesh leaned on Talwar's desk with a smirk.

  "I trained and molded your son, Talwar," he whispered mockingly. "I used him in my bed as if he were Khanda. You stole her from me, Talwar, so I took her son instead."

  Abhaya stiffened. He wasn't expecting Khopesh to tell his father how he'd forced himself on his apprentice. The training had been full of abuse, but Abhaya had been so determined to complete it that he had accepted everything. He'd get back at Khopesh, eventually – through his son Nikhil, who seemed to have a crush on him.

  Then things happened so fast neither Abhaya nor Nimdja had time to react. Talwar rose with a scream of hatred, a dagger in his hand. Khopesh chuckled and took his twin-bladed weapon blocking Talwar's attack: Talwar's blade hit between the twin-blades and Khopesh only had to twist his wrist to make Talwar lose his grip on his dagger. Before Talwar could take another weapon, the twin-blades were stuck in his throat.

  Abhaya gasped as his father collapsed on his chair, eyes wide open and filled with hatred. Khopesh retrieved his dagger, grabbed Abhaya's arm and dragged him away with a sneer. Still stunned, Abhaya followed him outside of the building and into the streets of Godwalkar.

  "Wait! What did you do that for?" he protested.

  Khopesh stopped and looked at him. "Feel free to go back now. Tell them you killed me and avenged your father. See if you can find your father's pole-arm when you're elected new Head."

  "But why did you kill him?"

  "You want this Guild or not? He'd never have named you his successor. Now go back there and take your inheritance. I'll be waiting at the inn."

  Abhaya frowned but obeyed.

  ***

  Guisarme waved Sanjana good-bye and headed back for the Guild's building. She had taken Francisca's bangles to her daughter and sister, and told them of Francisca's passing. Nimdja had already told them, though, and little Sanjana didn't cry. Guisarme cuddled her for a couple of hours, telling her how wonderful her mom had been, and then she had to leave.

  She quickly walked back to the Assassins' Guild, wondering if Abhaya had reached it or not. The doorkeeper let her in, wide-eyed. "In the canteen," he said quickly. Obviously something was very wrong since he locked the main door behind them and followed her.

  The canteen was the biggest room of the building and the only place – besides the courtyard – where people could assemble. And unlike the morning she'd dreamed of Francisca's death, it was full: senior and junior members, house servants including the cook, and Abhaya facing Nimdja who had his arms crossed on his chest.

  "What's going on?" Guisarme asked Katar, the youngest member of the guild, trained by Nimdja.

  "Abhaya came with a man who killed Talwar. And now he wants his place," Katar explained in a low voice.

  "Who killed Talwar?"

  "Khopesh of the Assassins' Guild of Agharek. He ran away and Abhaya says he has killed him to avenge his father, but won't show us his body as proof."

  Guisarme cursed under her breath.

  Abhaya saw her and scoffed. "Guisarme, I thought you were on assignment!" He called from the other end of the big room.

  "No, I was busy out of here," she retorted.

  "Glad you're back," Abhaya replied mockingly.

  Gui
sarme stepped forward, undaunted. She was older than him and knew him well. "I heard you were back in town."

  "Were you missing me, honey?"

  "Not at all. You always meant trouble. And that's why I came back here as soon as I could."

  "Since we're all here, we're now going to vote for a new Head of the Guild," Nimdja said through clenched teeth.

  "Wait, and poor Kilig?" Abhaya protested. "He doesn't get to vote? And Saif?"

  "I believe there are enough of us to settle the matter without the few who can't be here today. I know very well what Saif or even Francisca would want for this guild," Nimdja retorted.

  "So your vote counts for three?" Abhaya asked, sarcastic.

  "I know who Kilig would vote for, and I'll vote for him," Guisarme said. "So, before you say it, yes, my vote counts for two. Who are the nominations for the Head of the Guild?"

  "Nimdja and Katana," Katar said, mentioning the other woman trained by Khanda herself, now a senior member of the guild. Katana was the same age as Nimdja and Saif.

  "And Shamsher," Abhaya added, pointing at himself. "I earned my assassin's name in Agharek. I'm Talwar's son. I deserve to take his place."

  "I believe Talwar refused a dynastic succession for this Guild," Katana commented with a scoff.

  "Abhaya belongs to Agharek's guild," Nimdja said bluntly. "Godwalkar's guild is independent from Agharek. And only Godwalkar's members are eligible or can vote."

  "Abhaya never made it into the Assassins' Guild of Godwalkar," Guisarme teased.

  Abhaya glared at her, but she stared back defiantly at him. "You failed to poison Saif. Now you managed to get rid of your father. Good for you. But you're not welcome here, Abhaya the Fearless. You're not part of this guild. And since your father is dead, you have no more reason to be here."

  "Pointed-eared bitch!" Abhaya spat. "You always hated me!"

  "No, I never gave a damn, and that's why you hate me. Because I was never on your side."

  "That's enough!" Nimdja stomped his foot. "Abhaya, you are not a member of this guild, therefore we're asking you to leave. You brought death to our door, so be thankful we don't retaliate. You can come back for your father's funeral, but you must leave now – this decision is not for you to make."

  Abhaya roared in frustration, but since he was outnumbered, he stormed out. The doorkeeper and a couple of younger members made sure he was out of the building before coming back.

  "Khanda loved Talwar and hated Khopesh," Katana said. "I'm sure they're mourning together that their son has been following that snake. Maybe Abhaya would be better off dead for his parents to rest in peace."

  "Khopesh was damn fast, but Abhaya's refusal to show the corpse after claiming he avenged his father is not a good sign," Nimdja grumbled. "For all we know, Khopesh could be still alive and backing Abhaya's claim."

  Guisarme sighed. "Fine, let's vote. Nimdja or Katana?"

  ***

  Abhaya exited the Assassins' Guild still fuming. Expelled again. Talwar's men were still Talwar's men, and he was not one of them. It was all one man's fault.

  "Saif will pay," he muttered to himself, stomping down the street without turning back. He reached the inn he shared with Khopesh who was relaxing in a bathtub he'd requested in their private room.

  "They kicked me out again," Abhaya fumed, throwing himself on the bed. "And I still don't know where Saif is."

  "It doesn't matter." Khopesh slowly smiled. "You will set up your own school. I will help you. And then you can come back and claim that Godwalkar's guild doesn't have the seal of approval from the main branch in Agharek while you do, therefore the only licensed assassins are the ones coming from your men."

  Abhaya groaned in frustration. "It will take years!"

  "Which is just perfect." Khopesh chuckled. "You'll have time to cool down and find that Saif. I waited twenty-six years to see Talwar dead..."

  "Did you have to tell him that you used me in bed?" Abhaya muttered.

  "That was the best part," Khopesh chuckled. "I hoped it would kill him on the spot."

  "You're still fast. Very fast."

  "I kept in shape. With my last apprentice." Khopesh winked.

  Abhaya snorted, frustrated. It hadn't really sunk in yet, but his father was dead. He was still bitter over the new rejection from Godwalkar's Guild – supposedly his extended family who didn't want him, no matter what he did.

  "Revenge should be served cold, Shamsher," Khopesh continued. "Trust me. Soon you'll be powerful enough to wipe away your father's guild."

  "I'll kill Saif first," Abhaya said through clenched teeth. "If he hadn't had me thrown out of training and the guild in the first place..."

  Khopesh got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist and sat on the bed next to Abhaya, putting one hand on his shoulder.

  "You shall have your revenge, son," he promised with a sneer. "But you must promise me something."

  "What?" Abhaya asked, puzzled.

  "Your father's pole-arm. Give it to me."

  Abhaya shrugged. "Of course. Maybe I can claim it right now. After all, it's my father's legacy, it should belong to me."

  That night Abhaya attended his father's funeral. The pyre burned in the courtyard of the Guild's building and then the ashes were gathered in an urn, but they weren't given to him.

  "I'll take them to the temple in the morning," Nimdja muttered.

  Abhaya asked him if he could have at least his father's pole-arm as a memory of Talwar. Nimdja stared suspiciously at him, but nodded. He soon came back with the requested weapon. The blade was rusty from lack of use, and Abhaya took it to the inn, giving it to Khopesh before slumping on the bed with a sigh.

  "Are you sure it's the right one?" Khopesh asked with a frown, handing him back the weapon.

  Abhaya sat up and observed it closely, touching the old wood of the staff.

  "Yes, it's my father's pole-arm," he said, offering it to Khopesh.

  "It should have a bronze cap on the blade-less side," Khopesh snapped.

  Abhaya whirled it around and checked the end of the staff. It looked neatly cut, but also ruined, since it was the side that was usually on the floor. "Nah, there was never a bronze cap here," he said. "It's been like this for as long as I can remember."

  Khopesh cursed under his breath. "Useless!" he grumbled.

  "Don't you want it?" Abhaya asked, puzzled.

  "No, it's missing the most important piece," was the blunt reply.

  Abhaya shrugged, dumped the rusty pole-arm on the floor and lay down to get some sleep.

  ***

  Kilig came back from his assignment feeling numb. He missed Saif so badly, he wondered why he kept living. His sense of duty and his survival instincts were obviously stronger than his inner sorrow.

  He knocked on the Head of the Guild's office door and was surprised to see Nimdja sitting in Talwar's place, but didn't comment. He deposited the purse of coins on the desk and bowed.

  "Do you have another assignment for me, sir?" he asked. His voice sounded dull and uninterested, much like he felt.

  "Sit down, Kilig," Nimdja answered, looking concerned.

  "I'm not tired, sir. Can I have another mission?" His eye fell on Nimdja's hand – Talwar's seal was on Nimdja's finger now. He'd missed an election, obviously.

  "You don't even care about what happened here during your absence and want me to give you another assignment?" Nimdja chided. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? I've buried enough friends this year, and I do not wish to add you to the lot."

  Kilig cleared his throat and glanced at his feet.

  "What happened to Talwar, sir?"

  "He'd dead. Killed by an assassin from Agharek brought here by Abhaya."

  Anger flashed inside him but was soon numbed by his pain. "Sorry to hear this, sir," he muttered.

  "Guisarme voted for you," Nimdja said. "I was the only one who voted for Katana, so here I am in Talwar's place. I've lost my acharya, my woman and my best friend in the sp
ace of a week, but you don't see me moping around like a brooding beau, do you?"

  Kilig glared at him. "Saif is not dead."

  "He's gone. It's as if. And don't tell me you're not hurting. I know he broke your heart," Nimdja replied bluntly.

  "And that's why I need to be busy at all times, or I'll get lost in the emptiness inside me," Kilig retorted.

  Nimdja sighed. "I don't have anything for you today," he grumbled, averting his eyes. "Try again tomorrow."

  Kilig nodded and retired to a room. He chose one with a single bed. Double beds felt so empty without Saif... He dropped his travel pack on the floor and slumped on the bed.

  He closed his eyes and conjured Saif, like he'd done so many times since his acharya had dumped him. He started stroking and touching himself with both hands, imagining it was Saif. But when he came, he moaned more in pain than in pleasure.

  ***

  Saif didn't mind the village on the edge of the forest where Mirabella was born. As wisewoman she had inherited a cabin in a clearing not far from the village, but secluded enough to allow her and her patients some privacy.

  Saif discovered he couldn't communicate with some of the locals. Many were bilingual, like Mirabella, but not all. Hakeem had the same problem, but since he was only a child, he'd probably become bilingual soon – while Saif felt too old to learn a new language.

  So here he was in a foreign land, unable to understand the local language, and he hadn't learned to read or write, so he wasn't at liberty to keep a correspondence with Nimdja and Francisca, unless he asked Mirabella to help him. And there were things he'd rather not discuss with her.

  He adapted to the north by becoming a woodcutter. Mirabella told everybody they were married, and he never contradicted her. The three of them slept in the same bed in the one-room cabin, which was good especially when winter came.

  When the first snow covered the ground, Saif wished Kilig was still with him. He missed the young man very much and hoped he was doing fine. His only source of joy in the gray northern winter was Hakeem, who loved him as unconditionally as Kilig.

  Hakeem was a bright, cheerful child, and Mirabella a wise young woman. Saif settled in his new life as husband and father – although he never actually married Mirabella and couldn't remember making love to her – trying to forget his one and only love, Kilig the Sword.