Curse of Blades

1

The walls were wet with blood. It flowed from the images of the people he had killed, all perfectly arranged from the first to the most recent. They were there to remind him of his cruelty, to accuse him of his crimes. To drown him in the blood that stained his hands. He was suffocating, held down by the weight of the knowledge that he was a monster of the worst kind. A killer. These people had done no wrong, he had. Only letting them destroy him would right that wrong.

Then he was drowning. He held his arms out, accepting the end, accepting his death by their ever flowing blood. Perhaps this time it would truly happen. Maybe this time he wouldn't wake from his nightmares.

Then the familiar stranger arrived. Shrouded, as usual, in dark colors that masked all details, the figure moved through the sea of blood to his side. A gloved hand reached out and touched his face, lifting away all the guilt and misery. In their place was left a strange peace that he only felt when the figure appeared in his dreams.

And the dream vanished, leaving peaceful sleep.

Which was disrupted by a heavy pounding on his door.

Coulta sat up in bed and was amazed to see the brightness of the room. He rarely slept past dawn when the dreams haunted him. And he actually felt rested, which was just as unusual.

The pounding on his door came again and he reluctantly forced himself out of bed. At the door he found Yerik, the aging castle servant who seemed to have the sole job of fetching Coulta for their master.

Master Varin would like to speak with you, Yerik told him, as if his appearance at Coulta's door could mean anything else. At your earliest convenience.

Coulta knew enough to understand that he was expected immediately. Thank you.

Yerik nodded and left. Coulta closed the door behind the servant and quickly set about making himself presentable. He changed into black trousers and a tunic, yanked on his boots, and settled his shoulder-length black hair with his fingers. Shaving could wait until he returned. Whenever that would be.

Varin was waiting for him in his lavish office where the red-hued tapestries and upholstery reminded Coulta of the dream he'd had that night. It was a dream he was familiar with, a dream that haunted him through his days as well.

LORD VARIN WORE A GAUDY gold dressing robe and was eating his breakfast at his desk. When Coulta saw the other man in the room, he struggled to hide his scowl. Roane was dressed much like Coulta in dark colors, though he had pulled his brown hair back so it couldn't hide the half-healed cut on his left cheek.

A cut Coulta had put there.

Too bad he'd missed his mark.

Ah, there you are, Varin said when he saw Coulta walk into the center of the room.

Coulta bowed. I apologize, my lord.

Varin waved him off. I have a job for you. This one is more important than any other.

Coulta didn't believe that when Varin said the same thing about every assignment. I'm yours to command, he gritted out.

Varin grinned. "Very good. The bastard Grand King is sending an envoy here to attempt to bribe me into surrendering to their demands. You will kill the envoy and his escort. And I want his head delivered to me."

Yes, my lord. Coulta knew nothing about the politics that surrounded his life – he was kept ignorant and he knew it – but he doubted Varin had a good reason to want these men dead. The earl of Arren was just a cruel, bloodthirsty monster.

His name is Wildas, Varin continued. My sources tell me they left the capital yesterday. That gives you six days to prepare for the arrival. I will allow you to observe them on their first night in the city. They are a large group and you can only devise so much of a plan without seeing how they act here, I'm sure. If you do not take care of them the second night, however, Roane will finish the job for you.

I thought you could use the test, Roane told him with a sinister smile. I was offered it first and passed it on for now. When you fail, I'll have my fun.

Varin didn't comment on Roane's interruption, simply continued as if he hadn't spoken. The envoy is traveling with thirteen other men, all soldiers. One is a captain of some degree and will likely be guarding him closely. I want them all dead.

Coulta nodded. I understand. I will do it.

I know, Varin replied with a cruel smile. He picked up two sheets of parchment and held them out. Now, I have a few small jobs for each of you in the meantime.

Coulta didn't read his sheet of information until he had eaten, shaved, and made his way over to the room that adjoined his. Teeya was there working on someone's clothes, as usual. She hardly looked up when he entered.

How did you sleep last night? she asked.

She never asked about the jobs, because she knew he hated them, but she always asked how he was after them. The job the night before had been his typical work, as he was sure all the jobs on his new list would be. All citizens guilty only of taking up religion, wanting to have families, or being too poor to pay their taxes. If it were up to him, he'd help them all leave the city instead of killing them. But he couldn't.

He was physically incapable of stopping himself from killing those he was ordered to kill. The curse saw to that.

Fine, was all he said in answer as he took a seat on her narrow bed.

She glanced up with a small smile. I guess that means your mysterious man visited you.

We don't know that it's a man, Coulta reminded her, something he did frequently. We don't even know that it's human. I've never seen more than a shadow.

And felt what seemed to be a very human touch, but that was beside the point.

When you were a child you always called it a boy, Teeya pointed out. You'd tell me how the other little boy came and played with you in your dream so you weren't sad or scared anymore.

Coulta unrolled his sheet of parchment and shrugged. I'm not as oblivious to the world as I was then.

Well, I still think it's the person from your father's letter, Teeya went on, turning back to her sewing. He visits you in the dreams so you can remember that someday the two of you will meet and be free of the curse. He's trying to tell you not to give up.

Coulta snorted. So you keep telling me. There's nothing I can do, Teeya. I'm trapped here.

You'll just have to hope he can whisk in and take you away then.

Right. I've heard this idea of yours more times than I can count. Can we talk about something else?

She abruptly turned from her work. Yes. What happened to Roane's face? I saw him coming in as I was leaving for the market.

Coulta gave up trying to read the information Varin had given him. I did it, he admitted. I was going for his throat. My hand jumped at the last moment. It must have been the curse. I had told Varin I would work with Roane whenever I was requested to. I never promised not to kill him, though.

Why did you decide to try?

Coulta rubbed his eyes. The job was to destroy a cult that he'd gotten word of. We broke up a worship gathering and had to kill all fifteen people there. He tried to calm his breathing as the images flashed through his mind again. Some people had fled to other rooms. I cleared one. When I got back to what was their altar, Roane was torturing a girl. Cutting her with a knife while he raped her. I missed his throat but I still managed to throw him across the room. I think my magic got away from me, I was so angry.

And the girl? Teeya asked gently.

I did what I had to, Coulta answered quietly. The curse wouldn't let me help her anymore. So I told her I was sorry and I killed her. Quickly. I knew it was better than letting Roane drag it out all night. She looked right into my eyes. Another face that will haunt me for the rest of my pathetic life. Another life I cut short because I have no control over my own actions. If I could go back and save every one of them, I would.

I know. She came to sit beside him and took his hand. You truly are a good person. This curse is the only evil thing in you. That's what makes things so hard for you. Despite everything you've been through, you haven't let it destroy your humanity. Or maybe your mystery dream person hasn't.

I wish I had no humanity, Coulta whispered. At least I could live with myself.

She squeezed his hand. I know.

What if he told me to kill you?

She smiled sadly. I would understand. I would go peacefully and do my best to make it easy for you. But, she added, clearly trying to lighten the mood, I'm his best seamstress so I don't see why he'd want me gone.

Coulta forced a tiny smile. True. You aren't on my list, thankfully.

And I know I'm not on Roane's because Varin would want you to kill me just to hurt you more. I'm your only family, even if it's not by blood.

It was true that, though she was only a few years older than him, Teeya had raised him after his father had left him at Varin's castle when he was only five years old. She was both a sister and a mother to him, and Varin would love the pain that killing her would cause him. She was also right about being his best seamstress, though.

Coulta squeezed her hand. Do you have anything happier to talk about?

She smiled. I have to show you the ridiculous design Varin wants for his parade costume for his birthday.

Still not free of the pain – if he ever would be – Coulta forced a smile and followed her to her table.

YOU AREN'T CONCERNED at all, are you?

Crown Prince Wildas, heir of Grand King Deandre, ruler of Phelin, glanced over at his uncle, Prince-General Decus of the Royal Guard, riding beside him. Why should I be? I have you and twelve of the best men in Phelin with me.

The older man sighed. I'm shocked that Shelton decided to send you to Arren, of all places.

Wildas loosened his reins so his horse could grab a few mouthfuls of the tall grass beside the road now that they had slowed from a trot. It was the only option when I asked him to send me somewhere.

So this is a stall tactic, Decus stated. You're far too old for this.

Funny, you sound just like my father, Wildas remarked, gazing around him at the empty land.

Sharing blood will do that to you.

So I've been told.

Decus grunted and, thankfully, let the conversation drop for the time being.

Wildas didn't want to admit that he really was concerned about the visit to Arren. Shelton had warned him that there were assassins in the city and that the earl, a man named Varin, hated anyone with any ties to the crown. Shelton didn't believe he would go so far as assassinating the heir to the throne, however. He'd always done just enough to avoid sparking a civil war in the past, because he could never take on the crown alone. Arren would be destroyed without difficulty were it to come to war.

Still, Wildas wasn't looking forward to the conversation he needed to have with the earl about unpaid taxes to the crown and the way he treated his people. The night before he'd left, he'd dreamed of watching his guards get murdered in front of him while he was told he would be ransomed back to his father. The mysterious figure had appeared then, calming his nightmare with a simple touch. Wildas didn't know who the figure was, but he'd dreamed of it his whole life – or, rather, for as long as he could remember. It always calmed his nightmares and comforted him when he needed it most. In all his life, through countless dreams, he'd never seen its face. He didn't even know if it was a man or woman, or something else.

One of his mothers had taken him to see the castle priest when he first started reporting the dreams, and they were able to determine that it was nothing evil. Beyond that, no priest or seer could determine why he kept dreaming of this mysterious person – he would assume it was at least human until proven otherwise. Not even Second King Shelton, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, could offer any suggestions.

Wildas had stopped talking about the figure after all the excitement had died down. The figure felt like his private friend and he didn't want to share it. Now no one cared what he dreamed about. Now he was an adult and needed to give up his dreams.

So what are you going to say to Varin? Decus finally asked.

Wildas shrugged away his thoughts. Question him on the unpaid taxes and his treatment of the people. Bribe him. Let him know that we will help the people if he lets us.

And you honestly believe he will give in?

No, Wildas admitted. But at least I'm away from the capital for a while.

Decus snorted. And it'll be my head if you don't get back there in one piece.

Then keep me that way, Wildas replied as he nudged his horse into a trot again.

2

Second King Shelton was worried, and he hated worrying. He supposed it was his own fault, though. He had agreed to let Wildas go to Arren when his instinct told him it was a terrible idea. All he could do was remind himself that Varin didn't have the financial or political strength to risk a war.

Shelton sighed as he stopped pacing his office. He had wanted to double the size of the guard traveling with Wildas, but that would only have made Varin think they were trying to force him to bend to them. The conflict between the Earls of Arren and the Throne had been going on for eight generations, and no one had ever used military force in all that time. Now wasn't the time to start.

The fact they still had to bother speaking to the man annoyed him, though.

And Deandre was going to have a fit when Shelton finally had to tell him where he'd sent the heir.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Deandre himself entered the room. He was dressed in his typical deep blue silk and velvet. His graying brown hair was perfectly arranged and his beard was neatly trimmed.

You look morose, Deandre observed. Another magical idea bothering you?

Yes, Shelton replied, turning away so Deandre couldn't see his face and catch the lie. Gods, he hated lying to his husband. But making him stress and fret wasn't going to accomplish anything.

Shall I send for your sister so you have someone to express your frustrations to who actually knows what you're talking about?

Shelton shook his head. She's away from the city for the next several days. I'll just have to take my mind off it. Did you need something? he asked, turning back to Deandre.

I just thought to check in on you, Deandre replied. I'm also talking to Yvona about the ball at the end of the month. He will be back by then, correct?

Hopefully. He should be, Shelton said instead. And he's going to hate having to go to yet another ball.

How else will he meet potential spouses? Deandre questioned. We'll have to choose for him this winter if he doesn't choose before then.

I don't want to do that to him, Shelton stated.

Neither do I and neither does Yvona, but it'll need to be done. Unless he chooses on his own. It shouldn't be this difficult for him to choose a husband and two wives.

I'm fairly certain an arranged marriage would kill him like it killed Xiao.

We all cared about her. We all mourned for her.

But she was never truly happy, Shelton argued. She never overcame being the only spouse chosen for you. She was already dying on her own long before the winter sickness took her.

Deandre sat down heavily in a chair. Three years ago, almost, and sometimes it still feels like last night we all sat with her when she passed.

Shelton went to him and put a gentle hand on Deandre's shoulder. I feel the same sometimes. As distant as she always was, I still miss her.

So do I.

Shelton found himself suddenly worrying even more, not only for Wildas's current welfare, but his future. Even if he wasn't Shelton's own child, watching Wildas live in misery would break Shelton's heart. He'd watched his wife waste away in anguish, no matter what any of them did to show her that they did care. Wildas, whether he knew it or not, clearly had his mind set on finding that mysterious figure from his many dreams. A forced marriage would destroy all his hope for finding someone who could love him without wanting money or status.

It would kill him, Shelton was sure of it.

WHEN DUSK CAME, COULTA reluctantly left the castle of Arren and began to look for the first person on his list from Varin. He didn't know how he found the people he was required to kill, but he was always able to do so without difficulty. It was something he simply attributed to the curse as it was, after all, what forced him to obey Varin's every command.

He arrived at a cramped shack built against the city wall in time to watch the people inside settle down to bed. Using some of his magic he hid in the shadows of the dark street outside the shack. He didn't have a great understanding of magic, but he knew he had some separate from the curse. The curse controlled him. The magic he could control – most of the time. It came from his parents, who were both people of magic, and his father had taught him basic uses for it – including how to hide the mysterious marks on his skin – before abandoning him. Everything else he knew he had figured out for himself by trying new things whenever he got the chance.

He'd also learned the restrictions of his curse over the years. That had been done by fighting it, trying to stop himself from killing each person Varin instructed him to kill. He'd even tried to tell Varin exactly how he felt about the bastard, but that had just resulted in a coughing fit. He had sworn to respect his master, after all.

Still hidden, Coulta peeked into the shack's only window. Three adults – a young man and woman, and a much older man. They all slept in one room, on two separate mats on the floor. The two younger ones shared a mat while the older one had his own.

Coulta waited until it seemed that the people were asleep, then slipped inside the window. He moved silently, even as his hands began to tremble. He wanted to leave, to let these innocent people live. But he drew a dagger from his belt of weapons.

He closed his eyes and let the curse use his body, let it kill the people he was powerless to save.

It forced him to speak as it struck down its victims, used his very voice to terrify before killing. Your cult of Favi is no more. There is no god or goddess in this world. Your death is as empty as your life.

The power of the curse abruptly released him and he opened his eyes. He tried not to look at his victims as he wiped his dagger on a blanket with shaking hands and returned it to his belt. At least the curse had let him kill swiftly and without much bloodshed. As always, he cringed when he saw Varin's name carved into the flesh of each person, to remind others just who held their lives in his hands.

He stumbled from the shack, only remembering to conceal himself at the last moment, and began the long walk back to the castle and a quiet space.

The pain and guilt followed him into his room, just as expected. He sighed and undressed for bed, hoping that maybe he could escape in his sleep. Maybe he could have a few moments of peace before the nightmares started. He saw their faces in the shadows, heard their voices in his mind, saw their blood all around him.

Many times before he had tried filling his room with candles when he slept, to chase away the torment, but the color of the light reflected on the plain walls and ceiling reminded him of blood, and the dancing shadows looked like his victims. There was no escape.

Coulta grew restless as the night passed. Unable to sleep at all, he finally climbed out of bed, pulled his black clothes back on, along with his black boots - complete with hidden blades, as a precaution - and headed for the open window.

Calling up his magic, he jumped out, landing effortlessly on the covered doorway of the kitchen two stories below. The fall to the ground was much shorter, and he was running even before his boots touched down. He sprinted across the deserted castle yard to the stables, easily hopping onto an iron fence as if it were just a step in a staircase, and jumping onto the stable roof from it. He ran along the length of the stable roof until he reached the other end, and from there he leaped onto the roof of the barracks thirty feet away. It was an easy jump from there to the wall surrounding the yard, and he hopped it effortlessly, landing on the roof of a house below.

Coulta had learned, years ago, that the best way for him to clear his mind was to go out at night and run the roofs of the city. The feel of the wind in his loose black hair and the calm of the night made him feel the closest thing to peace that he had ever felt while awake. And knowing that he was alone up here... that comforted him even more. He'd never seen anyone else running roofs, not even thieves trying to break into homes or shops after dark.

As he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, he passed over the central market, deserted for the night. He hopped street after street where not a sign of human life could be seen, only to pass over other streets where people bustled in and out of taverns and whore-houses. He stopped on the roof across the road from one such establishment and watched a pot-bellied man saunter out the front door. His sharp senses caught the sounds of pleasure from within through the many open windows, and he cringed. He knew why there seemed to be several of these places on almost every street; denied the ability to marry by Varin's obsessive control, women turned to prostitution when they wanted to have a baby and avoid the risk of a lasting relationship. From the spying he had done, he had noticed that many older women often helped raise their own grandchildren, and he rarely, if ever, saw men involved in those households unless they were other children of either generation. He couldn't help but wonder if the men within the city ever knew their own children, or if anyone knew who their father was.

He shuddered at the thought of a woman unknowingly sharing pleasures with her own father or brother, and he forced himself to continue his run through the city. Before he'd even realized it, he was standing atop the city gate, looking out at the farmlands beyond.

The gate was closed for the night, and the guards were asleep at their posts, as usual. Coulta couldn't help but look out over that vast land beyond the dirty streets and cold castle he knew. A wide, though lightly used road cut through the farmsteads and vanished into the woods and hills in the distance.

Coulta caught himself wondering what would happen if he jumped down to that road, and followed it for days on end. Where would he end up?

His toes were on the very edge of the stone arch above the gate. He looked down, then out at the stars in the sky and the road vanishing away. He jumped, knowing exactly what would happen.

He turned in the air without thinking, and his hands caught hold of a ledge in the stone just above the gate. He hung there, willing his grip to give way so he could hit the ground, but his hold never weakened. After nearly an hour of trying to let go, he finally climbed back onto the wall, defeated as usual.

His hands ached as he ran back toward the castle, not even bothering to look back. He should have known better than to try to leave. It was a waste of his strength.

He couldn't leave the city, no matter how hard he tried.

3

The day that the envoy was expected to arrive, Coulta waited at the city gate, sitting atop the wall and gazing out over the land beyond. It was a long wait – he saw no signs of the approaching group of horsemen until dusk had begun to set in.

Coulta watched them enter the city gate below him, and counted fourteen men in total. Thirteen of them wore red uniforms, and one of those thirteen wore a golden cord of rope tied from his left shoulder across his body to his opposite hip, a symbol Coulta took to mean that he was the captain. Riding beside this man, at the head of the group, was a man dressed in blue and tan. He also had a cord of rope draped across his body, but it was thicker and there was blue braided into the gold which Coulta assumed was a mark of higher station. All the soldiers, even the captain, wore helmets of silver metal, but the envoy did not and his chestnut hair shone in the setting sun. He was also the only man in the group who was clean-shaven.

The man looked up abruptly and directly at Coulta, a momentary look of puzzlement crossing his face before he shook his head and focused on the direction he was riding. If Coulta wasn't certain he was hidden from sight, he would have thought the envoy had spotted him. He shook off the sudden strange desire to show himself to the man and forced himself to pay attention to the entire group of soldiers.

Coulta couldn't help staring with wonder at the sight of them. They must have stopped before reaching the city to groom their horses, because they all gleamed far more than any steed ridden for several days could have. They were clearly there to remind Varin who was truly in control of the city.

The group moved down the street and Coulta followed silently on the rooftops. As he had expected, they stopped at the best inn the city had to offer. Coulta knew the layout well. There was a tavern on the ground floor, above which there was a floor with two large group sleeping rooms, and on the top floor were two smaller group rooms that could fit five men each, and two private rooms. He was fairly certain the group would take the top floor.

He waited and watched from the roof across the street, crouching in the shadows. The men stabled their horses in a public stable beside the inn, and made their way into the tavern. Coulta slipped soundlessly from his post and found a place where he could watch from a closer vantage point, still hidden in shadow.

He could see a large portion of the tavern from his new location thanks to the shutters being wide open and, as he had expected, the soldiers were already busy getting drunk and flirting with the girls working inside. Though he kept track of what the soldiers were up to, his gaze returned frequently to the envoy and the captain, who were speaking to the innkeeper.

Moments later, coins changed hands and the two guests made their way upstairs carrying several traveling packs with them.

As they went up the stairs, Coulta climbed easily onto the stable roof, which allowed him to see into the window on the second level. As expected, the men did not stop there. So Coulta grabbed the handholds he had planted in the wall the night before. These allowed him to climb up to just below the window and rest almost comfortably there to listen.

Luckily for him, the men chose to enter that room and not the other private room at the opposite end of the building. Coulta heard them enter and glanced up to see the window gradually grow lighter as the candles in the room were lit.

Oh, let the men have their fun, the older man was saying. They're soldiers, Wildas. They've spent six days on the road, away from the comforts of ale and female companionship.

If what I have been told of these Arren whores is true, they're likely to be leaving a part of themselves here when they go home, Wildas grumbled.

Coulta could hear them moving around, as if they were getting their things organized while they conversed.

Well, at least none of them will have to worry about fatherly duties.

There was a sigh, then, Do you think Varin knows we're here?

I'm sure he has his spies. We won't know until you speak with him tomorrow. And if he does know, there's nothing we can do, except keep alert for those assassins he has.

I suppose you're right.

I'll keep an eye on the men, you get some rest, Prince.

Coulta's eyes went wide and he gripped the spikes harder to keep from falling off. Prince?

He knew then that he couldn't make himself kill the man. Even knowing that Varin had ordered it, he couldn't make himself climb up through the window when the man was