It was strange to be above him, looking down at his feet. He stood in the courtyard of his estate with his hands on the bridle of a horse. A real horse colored smoky gray like the coat of a mouse. Saddled and bridled in the manner of man. among the normal dog and oxen-like creatures that were native to this Shadow, a real horse was an oddity. The gelding stamped a foot on the smooth flagstones.
“You have your currency, your maps and your travel supplies, Corbel,” he said. “It will take you a week to ride to Amber by regular routes.” He studied me. “Do you Hell Ride?”
“Hell Ride, Master?” There was a huge lump in my throat. I had lived with fear so long, I no longer recognized its symptoms.
“Never mind. You know what to do. Do not get captured, do not get killed. Come back as soon as you have accomplished your task. If you can bring back a hostage or pawn of political value, you know which target I prefer. Your mask will appear only when you have need of it, no sense drawing attention to your face or identity.”
“Yes. Master.”
“Will you miss our lessons, Corbel? The dance of the lash where she kisses you lightly with the Kiss of Death or the whisper of pain?”
“No, Master.”
“Go, Corbel.” I put my heels to the gelding’s ribs and cantered out of the yard onto the tollway. I drew a crowd. The gorilla men called Thrids by the Master patrolled the toll road and his borders, kept the traffic moving. Because I rode a horse, I attracted quite a bit of attention. I was also known as the Master’s Assassin and was a curiosity to the locals. It wasn’t until we’d gone several hours along the route entering the forest that we’d finally found ourselves alone.
The trees were old, gnarled and diseased. Not many leaves on them. The gray twilight that was the normal sky of this shade precluded much of anything growing. The road was dark gray gravel with scrubby brown grass withered into broom straws.
There wasn’t a sound under the trees except for the scuff of the horse’s hooves on the rocks. I pushed until the moons came up. These provided a wan light that barely penetrated the darkness under the thicket of branches.
It was enough to see by and make camp. I stepped down, tied the horse and fed him from the nosebag. My own meal was a heel of bread and a small piece of hard cheese, a flask of vinegary wine. I curled up under my cloak and waited to sleep. In my sleep, I dreamed. I dreamed of flying through the air like a bird, but not a blackbird tethered by the legs. No, I was an eagle soaring free above a beautiful blue ocean in a vast blue sky. I was alone, and best of all, not cold or afraid. When I awoke from this dream, there were always tears on my cheeks although I never remembered why I was crying or what I had dreamed.
I stayed in the hollow of my own warmth until the weak sun rose. The horse nickered at me until I fed him from the nosebag. It must have had a minor spell on it from the Master, it was once again full when I knew the horse had emptied it the night before. My meal bag, however, yielded only a handful of crumbs, a dried fig and a flask of water. I shrugged, it wouldn’t be the first or last time I had gone without food. Once, the Master had held me for three weeks without a single morsel, just a pint of water once a day. I had dared to steal a tart from his breakfast tray. My mouth watered, I thought I remembered the taste of Passionberry tart.
Once back up on the horse, I found the trail and continued on. By mid-afternoon, the forest opened up into a grass land, knee-high with golden tipped heads of seeds that brushed against my legs heavy enough to be felt, as if small pebbles were hitting me. The horse tried one mouthful and spat it out. The sun was up and had turned a golden brown making clear cut shadows of us on the trail.
Hoof prints had beaten down a track of sorts, I saw the distinct marks of the dog beasts called Weilors, huge pads of something akin to a dromedary and cat claws that made me nervous as they were as large as a horse. No other prints close to what I recognized but plenty of a cloven footed creatures. A scattering of dung among the tracks so that I knew something had come this way earlier.
We trotted for awhile and I took off my cloak, warm for the first time in ages. My black leather vest crisscrossed my chest and held an assortment of blades. I wore a short scabbard down my back and in it was a sword built like a Japanese Katana but smaller. My Master said it came from a Shadow world very like Japan. Sometimes, I almost knew the meaning of such words but they were an ephemeral trace through my mind.
I looked up and saw birds flying, the first since I’d left his estate. A blue backed kestrel circled me, its yellow eyes intent on my face. She landed on my outstretched arm and dug her talons into my flesh. Blood trickled onto the saddle bow; she screeched and spoke.
“Blackbird.”
“Master?” I was alarmed, I’d thought I was separated from his influence.
“Did you think I would leave you on your own, without contact, my lovely Black Crow? Be assured, my eyes will always be on you. You have come far. Already, you are in Prostheria. Watch for the Grass Lions, they lay in wait near the water ways and take down unwary travelers. When you reach the town of Anthis, I have arranged for Captain Ancet of The Mercat to take you and the horse across the Rainbow Sea to Desket. From there, ride east to Tissarette and pick up the caravan to Amber. They will hire you as a mercenary guard.”
“My face, Master? Will they recognize my face without the mask? Will they not know of the mask?”
“Do you question me, Corbel?” the bird pecked me, a slash across the cheek that ripped skin and drew blood.
“No, Master,” I said humbly.
“You do possess looks that are unique and striking, my beautiful bird. However, I have long had a spell on you since the day you were broken. Your eyes, your hair and skin are no longer seen as your own.”
He held up an image of my face and I did not recognize the black skinned, pointed eared, white blonde and silver eyed creature that he showed me. “You look like one of the Dark Elves of Nifleheim, my Blackbird. And I have given you the fighting skills of one of their greatest warriors. He was called Iowin. His magic is now mine, his soul one of many I have taken.”
“Thank you, Master.” I watched as the kestrel flew off to be hit mid-air by a larger eagle and explode into a puff of feathers.
Anthis was larger than I expected, a warren of streets that the horse and I ambled down. I followed the scent of salt water and was astonished at the vast expanse of ocean before me. The harbor was packed with boats and ships. Everything from dories to vast cargo containers with dozens of sails. High activity ran the place, men yelling, animals shrieking, the whine and groaning of cranes and ropes stretching. Feet echoing on hollow planks into the holds as the tars loaded bins and crates of fruit, grain, metal and even women slaves.
There was a plethora of different races, men, elves, monsters all merging together amiably in the world of commerce. I looked for and found an Inn, the sign painted out front had the picture of a two-tailed rooster. When I dismounted, a short child scurried out of the door and took the reins from my hand. He was a dwarf, his eyes were pupil-less and black.
“Room for the night and stabling, Sir Elf?” he asked.
“No. Directions to The Mercat and an ale to go,” I returned just above a whisper.
“The Mercat is at berth 407, West Harbor, leaves tomorrow on the second tide,” he said. “Go in, have your ale and your...” he looked at the horse. “Your horse will be ready to leave when you are.”
“Tomorrow, you say? I will take the room.”
“Number 6 is empty, large and clean. Do you have a saddlebag you want brought up? Perhaps a dinner plate, a lively woman?” He studied me. “Or, perhaps a boy? Fresh and willing?”
“Nothing but the ale and the room.” I pulled my saddle roll off, threw it over my shoulder and entered the tap room.