05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.
Okay, and now on to the next chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own any part in David Eddings' work, and I do not intend to make a profit with this fic.
Current Music: Para Para Anime Euromixes, sung by Yoko Ishida (yeah, wave your arms!)
CHAPTER 17
Ctuchik paced on the stone ground of his room on top of the abandoned lighthouse he had set up shop in, swearing sulphurously. Not only had his first attempt on Anakha's life failed, he had hoped to at least thin out the group by sending the dominated people at them. Zoltach had told him that two of the impertinent Styric Godlings were riding with Belgarath and Polgara, and that Anakha was with them, as well. It would be next to impossible to compete in a battle with such an illustrious group; however, he would try along their way across the continent to pick off some of them, preferably the mortal shells of the Gods first, Sparhawk being a close second.
But the group, he hated to see, made good time despite the diversion. They had been on the road for a couple of days already and would reach Lenda in another three days.
"Not if I can help it, they won't," he grumbled to himself. He had bought another person in the court of Cimmura, a professional this time. That person would be sent to kill Queen Ehlana in the most painful manner possible. Her most effective guard, her husband, was gone. After she was found dead, they would send fast messengers after Prince Sparhawk, and he would insist on going back to Cimmura for the time being. Maybe the death of Ehlana would even manage to break his spirit, rendering him a sobbing wreck for the remainder of his life... anyway, it would delay him, if it did not manage to stop him, which would buy the new High Priest of Zoltach a little more time to dispose of them.
Ctuchik's lips peeled back in a grin as he reached into the darkness encompassing his God's prison to send out his fastest messenger.
A day later, the hideous thing the old Grolim had summoned, a being vaguely resembling a dragonfly from afar, reached the Red Lamork. In reality, the messenger was a winged snake, its long, curved teeth dripping with poison. In a hissing, toneless voice it quoted what Ctuchik had told it to say, mentioning the methods of payment after the job was done and warning that Zoltach's wrath would be terrible if his will not be done.
The professional assassin waved his hand impatiently. He was an atheist, and definitely not interested in any imaginary allmighty beings and their feelings about his work. The only thing that interested him was money – and that, he was assured, he would receive promptly after the Queen had succumbed to the mysterious illness that was the Red Lamork. His poisoned daggers, thrust right into the brain stem from below, would rob her of her life in the fastest and surest manner possible...
The snake hissed sharply, suddenly reminding him that he was used to speaking his thoughts out aloud. 'Ctuchik does not want the Queen to die fast. Hurt her a lot before you kill her – as much as possible. The more pain she feels, the more money you will receive. Now carry out your orders, or feel Zoltach's wrath!'
And with a small pop, the messenger vanished.
The Red Lamork shrugged. The customer was always right, and the Queen would be dead in a few hours - after she had been in a world of pain first, as ordered.
He was an assassin, but he did believe in work ethics.
Ehlana, who had no idea that yet another plot was about to come to a head by another assassination attempt, had just gotten ready for bed. Mirtai's little son Tassal kept her company, after his mother had excused herself for a couple of hours to help her husband shave his scalp. Although the Atana had boasted with Tassal being an accomplished warrior, Ehlana could not help but smile at the thought. True, the two-year-old was at least as tall as an Elene boy of six, and his stern behavior let him seem even older, but he still was a little boy who did not even talk very much yet! She would be very surprised if Tassal would be able to keep any hypothetical attackers off her at this point – not that she was afraid of anyone attacking her in the first place. The last attempt had been on Sparhawk's life, and she feared more for him than she feared for herself at this point...
She fondly looked at Tassal when she heard someone at the door.
"I believe that will be your mother, Tassal. I am sure she will send you back to your tent for the night. Thank you for watching over me."
"A child watching over Her Majesty? How quaint!"
Ehlana's head snapped up, her gaze directed at the door now. Obviously, it was not Mirtai who had just arrived. Instead, it was a man, dressed all over in dark burgundy. A long dagger glistened in his hand.
The Queen's heart sped up with fear. How wrong she had been about there not being another attempt while Sparhawk was gone!
The man grinned at her. "I am afraid I am instructed to have you suffer a great deal at my hands before I kill you – but I assure you, if you scream for help, I will just kill you without torture with a dagger to the heart, and be on my way. So why don't you keep quiet, so your life lasts a little longer? I might even listen to your begging and put you out of your misery painlessly, with a thrust to the brain... But first we'll try it the way my customer has requested. You sure are a nice piece of flesh – I gather we'll have a lot of fun before the end... well, I will, anyway. It's little things like this that make the job so uplifting for me... Hey, what do you want, boy? Out of my way!"
Tassal had gotten up from his chair where he had been polishing his small dagger, walked up to the sneering man and wordlessly assumed a fighting stance.
The Red Lamork felt a wave of laughter creeping up in his throat; he managed to force his amusement down into a condescending grin at the bronze-skinned child.
"Very cute, boy. Why don't you beat it now? The lady and I have some things to discuss, and I don't like to hurt children, but if you stay where you are, I will... aaaaargh!"
Still keeping his eerie silence, the boy lifted his knife and sliced in a quick slash across the Red Lamork's abdomen. The knife was as sharp as it could possibly be – Tassal sharpened and polished it himself every day. The blade cut a neat line into the man's belly, a line that gaped open a few moments later, releasing the Red Lamork's steaming guts into the open. The assassin had barely time to wonder about what happened to him; the boy climbed on his knee, which was bowed in pain and wonderment, and stabbed the knife straight into his heart.
Wordlessly, the Red Lamork, professional assassin, collapsed to a limp heap on the floor.
Ehlana stared at the dead man, half relieved that her thoughts about Tassal had been proved wrong, half stunned by the gruesome happenings which had ocurred in the last minutes. She did not even register the door opening again, admitting Mirtai this time. She looked at the assassin her son had killed and cast a disapproving look at him.
"Tassal, what did I tell you about gutting people inside buildings? The servants will have to spend hours on cleaning this carpet."
"I am sorry, mother." The soprano of a very young child, making the situation that much more absurd.
For some dreadful seconds Ehlana had to fight a hysteric yip of laughter from escaping her. She managed to say instead: "That is quite alright, Mirtai. Your boy saved my life. I am sorry I didn't quite believe you about the boy until now."
Mirtai raised an eye brow. "You should know that I would never lie to you, Ehlana. Now go to bed – I will stay here for the night. Tassal, go home to your father."
"Yes, mother." The boy rose and crossed the room, not even looking at the body of the man he had just killed. He flashed the queen a quick smile before he pulled the door shut behind him.
Zoltach, the Elder God representing the allmighty power of the lie in the world, roared in anger when he saw that his Priest's plan had been foiled again – and by a near-infant, no less! Ctuchik would hear about this... If he had not been so important to the Snake-God just yet, he would have gladly disposed of him, deliciously depraved though he was. Zoltach did not tolerate failure. The assassin could consider himself lucky that he died at the child's hands – otherwise, he would have punished him for his mistake for at least a thousand years...
But, flawed as his priest was, he was right in one aspect: A diversion would buy them enough time to dispose of their enemies conveniently. He decided that drastic measures would have to be taken to stop Anakha from getting to the point where the energy of the world Ctuchik had led him to coalesced into something that would not only free him, but aid him in dominating the world he had longed for for countless eons.
A huge, invisible hand began touching the solid beam of energy, caressing it... and then ripping a hole into it.
There we go, Chapter 17! Will write two chapters tonight, as a little apology for being late with my last update... next update some time next week! As usual – please drop me a comment!