father’s grip.
Sicarius knew that, dressed all in black accented with throwing knives and daggers, he wasn’t the friendliest looking man. He wished he could soften his face for the boy’s sake, but that wasn’t permitted either. As they’d long ago drilled into his head, the face must be kept devoid of thought and emotion, lest an enemy gather information from one’s eyes. He’d been punished relentlessly until he’d mastered a façade that they deemed acceptable.
Raumesys noticed Sicarius’s approach first and twitched in surprise before recovering a more regal bearing.
Hollowcrest did not twitch. He said, “Sicarius,” by way of greeting and eyed the sack. “Were you successful? Did you get them all?”
“Yes,” Sicarius said.
“Let’s see,” Raumesys said.
Sicarius glanced at Sespian.
Hollowcrest raised an eyebrow. Though thin, wire-framed spectacles perched upon his hawkish nose, his dark brown eyes remained sharp, and he missed little. “Concerned for the boy?”
Sicarius knew the words were a test. Everything was always a test. “No,” he said, giving the expected response. “Concern is a feeling, and feelings interfere with duty.”
Hollowcrest nodded his approval.
“Sespian will stay,” Raumesys said. “Time he learns what comes with the position.”
Anger simmered behind Sicarius’s carefully constructed mask. The boy was too young; he shouldn’t have to witness such atrocities. “Understood, Sire,” was all he said.
Hollowcrest twitched his fingers in a get-on-with-it motion.
Sicarius untied the bag and upended it. Four severed heads rolled out and bounced on the white marble. Though desiccated and distorted after weeks of travel, they were still identifiable: man, woman, and children.
Sespian screamed and jerked away from his father. He stumbled, recovered, and fled the room. Sicarius was the only one to watch him go.
Raumesys slapped a palm on his thigh. “Excellent.”
“Yes,” Hollowcrest said. “There’ll be no more talk of uniting the tribes in Mangdoria, with their most prominent chief dead, along with any hope of worthy scions.” He nodded to Sicarius. “Go relax. We’ll have something new for you in a day or two.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sicarius padded toward the exit, his soft black boots silent on the tile floor. He paused in the doorway and glanced at the backs of the two older men.
The emperor emitted a nervous chuckle. “You trained him too well, Hollow. The man bothers me.”
“He is loyal.”
“I know. You did a good job. I ought to give you Sespian to work with. The boy is disappointing.”
“He does seem soft,” Hollowcrest said.
“Did you hear that scream? I would’ve been fascinated by severed heads at that age.”
“You’re fascinated with them now, Sire.”
“True enough.”
They shared a laugh and headed for the door. Sicarius slipped away before they noticed him.
• • •
Darkness pressed against the windows overlooking the large gymnasium in the rear of the Imperial Barracks. Sicarius grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his face and bare torso. He’d warmed up with a couple of hours running sprints, scaling the climbing wall, and strengthening his muscles with sand-filled bags of various weights. Then he’d talked quasi-worthy, off-duty soldiers into wrestling and boxing with him. More precisely, he’d stared at them and pointed to the rings painted on the wooden floor until they’d joined him. Some of them knew who he was, and others did not, but nobody had disobeyed.
The bouts had been short and not particularly satisfying. For years, Hollowcrest had brought in tutors from all over the world to instruct Sicarius on different combat styles, and, even though the best soldiers in the army were chosen to work at the Barracks, it’d been some time since any had challenged him. Honing a blade on a dull stone was difficult, but better than letting it rust. Hollowcrest, Sicarius reminded himself, would send him to
Sicarius knew that, dressed all in black accented with throwing knives and daggers, he wasn’t the friendliest looking man. He wished he could soften his face for the boy’s sake, but that wasn’t permitted either. As they’d long ago drilled into his head, the face must be kept devoid of thought and emotion, lest an enemy gather information from one’s eyes. He’d been punished relentlessly until he’d mastered a façade that they deemed acceptable.
Raumesys noticed Sicarius’s approach first and twitched in surprise before recovering a more regal bearing.
Hollowcrest did not twitch. He said, “Sicarius,” by way of greeting and eyed the sack. “Were you successful? Did you get them all?”
“Yes,” Sicarius said.
“Let’s see,” Raumesys said.
Sicarius glanced at Sespian.
Hollowcrest raised an eyebrow. Though thin, wire-framed spectacles perched upon his hawkish nose, his dark brown eyes remained sharp, and he missed little. “Concerned for the boy?”
Sicarius knew the words were a test. Everything was always a test. “No,” he said, giving the expected response. “Concern is a feeling, and feelings interfere with duty.”
Hollowcrest nodded his approval.
“Sespian will stay,” Raumesys said. “Time he learns what comes with the position.”
Anger simmered behind Sicarius’s carefully constructed mask. The boy was too young; he shouldn’t have to witness such atrocities. “Understood, Sire,” was all he said.
Hollowcrest twitched his fingers in a get-on-with-it motion.
Sicarius untied the bag and upended it. Four severed heads rolled out and bounced on the white marble. Though desiccated and distorted after weeks of travel, they were still identifiable: man, woman, and children.
Sespian screamed and jerked away from his father. He stumbled, recovered, and fled the room. Sicarius was the only one to watch him go.
Raumesys slapped a palm on his thigh. “Excellent.”
“Yes,” Hollowcrest said. “There’ll be no more talk of uniting the tribes in Mangdoria, with their most prominent chief dead, along with any hope of worthy scions.” He nodded to Sicarius. “Go relax. We’ll have something new for you in a day or two.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sicarius padded toward the exit, his soft black boots silent on the tile floor. He paused in the doorway and glanced at the backs of the two older men.
The emperor emitted a nervous chuckle. “You trained him too well, Hollow. The man bothers me.”
“He is loyal.”
“I know. You did a good job. I ought to give you Sespian to work with. The boy is disappointing.”
“He does seem soft,” Hollowcrest said.
“Did you hear that scream? I would’ve been fascinated by severed heads at that age.”
“You’re fascinated with them now, Sire.”
“True enough.”
They shared a laugh and headed for the door. Sicarius slipped away before they noticed him.
• • •
Darkness pressed against the windows overlooking the large gymnasium in the rear of the Imperial Barracks. Sicarius grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his face and bare torso. He’d warmed up with a couple of hours running sprints, scaling the climbing wall, and strengthening his muscles with sand-filled bags of various weights. Then he’d talked quasi-worthy, off-duty soldiers into wrestling and boxing with him. More precisely, he’d stared at them and pointed to the rings painted on the wooden floor until they’d joined him. Some of them knew who he was, and others did not, but nobody had disobeyed.
The bouts had been short and not particularly satisfying. For years, Hollowcrest had brought in tutors from all over the world to instruct Sicarius on different combat styles, and, even though the best soldiers in the army were chosen to work at the Barracks, it’d been some time since any had challenged him. Honing a blade on a dull stone was difficult, but better than letting it rust. Hollowcrest, Sicarius reminded himself, would send him to
Similar Books
