‘You’re Sumnian?’
‘Shamaathan.’
Cole tried to recall what he knew of Shamaath. The small country was further south even than Sumnia, bordering the immense jungles that formed the absolute boundary of civilization where the Sun Lands ended and the unknown began. A nation infamous for its intrigues, political turmoil and extensive use of poison in times of both war and peace, Shamaath was also commonly known by another name: the Kingdom of Snakes.
‘You’re a long way from home,’ he observed. At that moment he felt like he, too, was a long way from home — though compared to Shamaath, Dorminia was barely a stone’s throw away.
‘The more distance between my homeland and I, the better,’ the Darkson replied. ‘You ask a great many questions. My time is precious, so allow me to curtail further interrogation and fill you in on the basics. This,’ he said, sweeping a gloved hand around to take in the dank, crumbling walls surrounding them, ‘is your home for the next fortnight.’
Wherever they were, the place bore little resemblance to the Thelassa Cole remembered. The sandstone from which the small chamber was built looked ancient and the air smelled of damp and decay. Torches burned on sconces on the walls, but they were the only sources of light the young Shard could discern.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘Deep underground,’ the Darkson replied. ‘In the ruins of the metropolis that existed here before it was razed and Thelassa rebuilt on its corpse. The holy city. Sanctuary.’
‘Sanctuary?’ Cole was lost.
‘During the Age of Strife, before the wizards rose up to smite their creators from the skies, Sanctuary was the stronghold of the Mother’s faith in these lands. Her high priestess ruled the city with wisdom and compassion.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Or at least so the history books tell us. One can never be sure of anything without first ascertaining the motives of the writer.’
‘Why build Thelassa on a pile of ruins? That doesn’t make much sense.’ Cole felt somewhat embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. Garrett had encouraged his protege to pursue a broad range of studies to prepare him for the time he would assume command of the Shards, but Cole had quickly grown bored of poring over dull texts. He was a hero, not a scholar.
The Darkson pursed his lips. ‘Who can guess at the White Lady’s motives? Perhaps my employer has a sentimental side. More likely she chose to make a statement. Where better to display her power than standing upon the bones of the faith she renounced and later destroyed?’
It took Cole a moment to digest the Shamaathan’s words. ‘You mean the White Lady was once high priestess of this ruined city?’
The man opposite him sighed. ‘We should not speak of such matters. The White Lady tolerates no discussion of the past. In that, she is not unlike other Magelords. It is not for you or me to question. We are here to serve.’
Quick as a flash, the Darkson pulled a curved dagger from beneath his black, thigh-length robes and launched himself at Cole. The young Shard tried to turn and roll out of the way but the Shamaathan was on him with the speed of a striking cobra. The dark-skinned man kicked out, collapsing Cole’s knees from under him. Before he knew it, he was on his back with the edge of the Darkson’s dagger tickling his throat.
‘I was told you would be more formidable,’ said the Shamaathan. He sounded vaguely disappointed. ‘We have much work to do.’
Cole winced. His back hurt from where it had struck the floor, but the wound to his pride irked him even more. ‘I was unprepared,’ he protested. ‘What do you mean, “We have much work to do”?’
The Darkson pulled his dagger away and sheathed it in one of his sleeves. The motion was so smooth and fast that Cole barely registered the movement. The southerner reached down one gloved hand and pulled the younger man to his feet.
‘You are to be the White Lady’s secret weapon in the coming war with Dorminia.’
Secret weapon? Cole liked what he was hearing. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘The dagger you so foolishly lost. Magebane, I believe. It is the only thing that can guarantee Salazar’s defeat. There is but one man who can harness its power against the Magelord.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘That man is you.’
Cole’s heart skipped a beat. Excitement flooded his veins. ‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed. ‘All of the pain and suffering… It was all to prepare me for this. My moment. My chance to shine!’
The Darkson frowned slightly. ‘If anyone but you should attempt to wield the dagger they will find that its magic does not function. Your attunement to Magebane is an accident of birth.’
Cole couldn’t keep the smile off his face. ‘It was no accident, my friend,’ he said. He reached across to give the Shamaathan a companionable pat on the shoulder. ‘I was chosen. It was destin- argh!’
He gasped in agony as the other man grabbed his arm and twisted it around, pinning it behind him. ‘Rule number one,’ said the Darkson in an angry hiss. ‘You do not touch me without my say so. Ever. Rule number two,’ he added. ‘Do not presume I am your friend. I am here to teach you the ways of the assassin in the little time we have available to us. You will refer to me only as “master”. Am I understood?’
‘Yes,’ Cole managed. His arm felt as if it was about to be wrenched from its socket. ‘Yes, master.’
‘Good.’ The Darkson released him. ‘I trust your time in the Tower of Stars was not too debilitating. You will need to be at your best for the trials that lie ahead.’
Cole nodded. He still ached in places, and his nose would never be as straight as it once was, but he comforted himself with the fact that such minor imperfections could often prove endearing. Like Sasha’s thighs, he thought with a sudden smile. Let’s be honest, they always were a little on the hefty side.
‘Something amuses you?’ The Darkson’s expression was grim.
‘No, master,’ he replied quickly. ‘I’m ready when you are.’
‘Five minutes,’ lisped that velvety voice. Cole barely heard it over his own gasping. He dropped to his knees, sucking in air. ‘An impressive time,’ the Darkson continued. ‘You might yet make a passable assassin.’
He wanted to retch. Instead he straightened up, placing his hands on his hips as if the gauntlet he had just navigated was a trifling matter. ‘The pit nearly had me,’ he admitted.
The Darkson nodded. ‘You are agile enough. But can you handle yourself with a blade?’ He reached under his robes and pulled out a dagger that looked very similar to Magebane. ‘The White Lady’s adviser, Brianna, had this made for you. She is… familiar with your erstwhile weapon. It should handle very similarly.’ He tossed it over to him.
The young Shard retrieved the dagger from the floor. The assassin had spoken truly. It was exactly as he remembered Magebane feeling in his palms.
‘Now then,’ the Darkson said. ‘Let’s see what you can do. Attack me.’
Cole looked at the assassin uncertainly. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Don’t concern yourself with me. Worry about you.’ The Shamaathan lifted a hand and beckoned him forwards.
Cole went into a crouch, holding the dagger up before him in a fighting stance. He and the other Shards had sparred often, and he had usually bested them in their mock duels. The Urich brothers were the exception — the twins often overcame him with sheer strength, though they usually walked away from their sparring with almost as many bruises as he did.
‘Get ready,’ he said, and he feinted one way only to spring in the opposite direction. Somehow the Darkson had anticipated his ploy and moved out of the way. Cole spun at the last moment, dodging a kick aimed at his head. ‘Missed,’ he said with a satisfied smile.
The Darkson’s other leg swept around and knocked his legs from under him.