Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2012 21:29:32 +0000
From: Michael Offutt <kavrik@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter 11 The Assassin's Apprentice - Gay Science Fiction

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to do so.

      My website: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/books.html
      My email: kavrik@hotmail.com
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      Forum discussion thread: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html

You will find a full color picture of Kian and Constantine on my art
page. Kian is almost naked, and he's sporting some great abs and veiny
muscles!

Please note that one of my books, "Oculus," is on sale for $1.99 from my
website until December 31st. So if you're waiting for a time to read, do so
now :).

"The Assassin's Apprentice" is told in first person present tense and has
been heavily edited.

                                    *****

                               Chapter Eleven

      The clouds grow thick above the city as the afternoon turns to
evening and then evening to twilight and finally night. A thunderclap wakes
me. Next to me Talen stirs and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the
patter of rain against the glass panes of my window grows louder as the
wind slashes the heavy droplets against the walls of the guild house.  I
sit up in my bed and pull on my boots while Talen does the same. I grab the
bag that holds my equipment for the trip tonight.  Then, I wash my face in
cool fresh water and open my window to watch the storm.  Lightning flickers
and dances under the purple clouds, and the smell of the rain fills my
nostrils. The wind throws my hair about my face as I gaze into the
courtyard below my bedroom. I love the smell of autumn storms.

      I close the window to my bedroom and latch it tight before kissing
Talen passionately.

      "Good evening," he whispers, slipping into his shirt. He moves a bit
stiffly, and I comb his hair for him while he gets ready.

      Together we set out for the floor beneath the dojo where three
younger boys are playing darts on a makeshift board they've hung from the
wall near where we emerge. The corridor's gloomy, lit only by a few smoky
sconces that burn whale oil, an expensive fuel but practically the only
means to light a dark room when not using candles.

      I tread lightly past the boys who are spooked by my mask. They stare
at Talen and me with fear-filled eyes as if they think I might kill
them. This actually feels awesome, but I've no time to enjoy the rush of
power.

      We arrive in the mess hall, which is completely dark.  I follow Talen
to the kitchen. He lights a small candle using the coals from one of the
ovens.  With the flame happily bobbing about on the end of our candle and
casting its glow about the room, I open up a grease jar and scrape some of
it into a wooden drinking mug. Talen watches on with silent curiosity but
soon figures out what I'm doing.

      I sort through the ovens till I find one that's somewhat cool, and I
scoop soot out with a spoon and mix it with the grease. I stir the putrid
concoction for a bit; it has a nauseating smell.  The result is a thick
black paste which I place in a canvas bag that Talen finds in a cabinet
above the chopping block. I tighten the ends carefully and put this into my
pack which is now overflowing with stuff I might need, the capstone being
the end of my katana that juts out the top.

      I secure it tightly with some string and tie down the leather straps
of my pack. Then I sling it over my shoulder. Talen holds the door open,
and we leave through the mess hall, taking the outside exit which hangs
slightly ajar in the windblown deluge.

      "It's raining hard tonight," Talen remarks.  He positions himself in
the entrance under the awning as I step out to join him.  He has his jacket
on and turns the collar up to shield his pale neck from the cold.
Lightning continuously bursts above the city, and thunder quickly follows,
making every window in our home rattle.

      Talen strides boldly into the rain, and I fall-in beside him.  "I
don't think the horses will get spooked by the thunder, Kian. But we might
want to be prepared for it in any case."

      I nod as he walks to the far side of the guild house and over to the
building that we're using as a temporary stables.  It might have been
living quarters in its heyday.  But now, it's two stories of chipped and
painted rock, boarded up windows, and broken glass.  Someone at some point
knocked a hole in the side and mounted two large doors from a pair of frail
hinges. Directly inside these doors is a swinging oil lamp, and I spy
Ambrell, Elliot, and Swift who make ready, hitching the two horses to a
wagon equipped with large wheels and a connecting harness. The front part
of the wagon comes with a single board for a rider to sit on--not luxurious
by any means.

      I look around in the gloom, my eyes adjusting to pick out details.
The floor's covered in dry straw and horse dung, and I hear mice scurrying
inside a pile of rags, rotten blankets, and trash that resembles a nest in
the northeast corner.

      The entire place reeks of putrefaction.

      Ambrell tosses me a thick brown blanket that has fleas jumping off
it. "Should help to keep you warm tonight," she explains. She and Elliot
are both dressed in soiled brown smocks. Talen and Swift don non-descript
threadbare robes covered in many stains. I'm almost certain they're as
vermin-ridden as the blanket in my right hand.

      "Where's Logren?" I ask.

      "Marcel told me to pick him up at the one league marker outside of
Ladika," Swift states.

      "Marcel told you?" The challenge is obvious in my questioning tone.

      "Yes. He knew you were sleeping, and I told him that we'd best not
wake you."

      Talen crawls into the back of the wagon and offers me his hand.
"Come on, friend.  I want to get this night done and over with."

      I grasp his hand and pull myself up into the back of the wagon.
Ambrell and Elliot crawl in and settle down beside me, and Talen creeps
forward to guide the horses.  Swift opens the doors wide while Talen slaps
the flank of the animals with a riding crop; the wagon lurches forward and
pulls us into the rain-soaked night.

      Behind us, Swift closes the doors as best he can and runs after the
wagon. He grasps hold of the side and pulls himself in, landing next to me
with a loud 'whoosh' expelling from his lips.

      "Where are these cadavers going to be waiting for us?" Talen cocks
his head to stare at me.

      I stand up and bend my narrow frame over the front of the wagon so he
can hear me better.  "Go to the Mortuary up on Cemetery Hill," I
say. "There's five of them hopefully wrapped in burial linen."

      Talen laughs. "Hopefully? You seem unsure."

      I shrug my shoulders. "This is the first time I've bought dead
people. I'm not sure what to expect."

      "Come to think of it," Talen says, "I'm in virgin territory as
well. I seem to be saying that a lot lately." Then he jabs me in the ribs
with his elbow.

      I wink at him, and he giggles.

      Talen clucks at the horses, and they start down the alley and into
the city of Clothol. The streets of the City of Dreams are eerily quiet
tonight. The rain forges vast puddles that dance wildly in the falling
droplets.  And the only laughter and sign of life emanates from the taverns
and inns that stand on the threshold of darkness on the main road to
Cemetery Hill.

      Within minutes I'm soaked to the skin, and I throw my blanket on, not
caring much that it's so dirty. Besides, everything I know about fleas
indicates they're fairly helpless when wet.  So, in the end, it doesn't
matter all that much anyway.

      To my surprise, Talen has an easy time managing the horses even when
the thunder claps and resounds off of the windows and walls that loom on
either side.  Negotiating the seedy bureaus of Clothol is like traversing a
narrow and steep canyon.  There's an open sewer in the middle of the
cobblestone avenue that swells to a mini river, and the clustered houses
echo the uneven face of a gulch, their faux cliffs only an arm's length
from our rolling wheels.

      Few people are out braving the storm. In all, I spot two desperate
men: they're both beggars.  One's wearing a yellow and brown smock that's
been patched with bright red cloth. The other's equally mismatched. They're
old men with stringy gray hair falling in clumps about their wrinkled
faces.  The two eye our party from underneath an awning created by the
ceramic roof of a moneylender's shop.

      I also count a few desperate whores standing with soggy hair and damp
clothing. They too watch passers-by, makeup running in streaks from their
wet cheeks. Each hopes to score a John for the night, or it means a beating
from their pimp.

      "Hello little sister," I say to one of the girls near the bottom of
Cemetery Hill.  She nods at me, and I fish inside my pouch for a coin. I
toss it onto the cobblestones at her feet. "Get yourself something warm to
eat and get some rest."

      Tethyr's teeth, she can't be more than thirteen. I notice from the
swell of her tummy that she's with child.

      The girl smiles, and I see a little bit of color return to her damp
and clammy skin.

      "Kian," Ambrell states, "that's a very nice thing you did."

      I look at her and wink. "Don't tell anyone. I've a reputation to
keep."

      Talen guides the horse-drawn cart up Cemetery Hill with the wheels
rattling loudly on the bumpy road.  I see the Mortuary emerge out of the
mist, first as a fuzzy shape with torches hissing wildly in the downpour,
and later solidifying. It takes on a concrete shape of misshapen pillars
and a distinct oval profile that materializes out of the gloom like magic.

      Talen stops the cart near the wrought-iron gate, and the steps that
lead into the courtyard of the Mortuary.  Three men in soiled white linen
step into the light of the sputtering torches near a pair of double
doors. Pillars on either side of the entrance rise up and above the house
of the dead, and I notice their wicked curves end in two sharp points at
the top. They face toward the center of the building.

      In the shadow of these pillars is a pile, a misshapen mass of lumpy
linen and burlap bags.  And it's these that the men bring to us on wooden
litters. I can smell the blood and the slightly rancid flesh quite
easily. However, there's also the scent of pungent chemicals. They drift
upward from the blood-spotted material forcing water from my eyes.  The
exchange at the Embalmer's Guild is like a scene drawn from one of my
nightmares: I'm chased by bands of the walking dead and am forced to hide
in a greasy sack to avoid being eaten.

      "How absolutely horrid," Swift comments under his breath.

      For the first time, Swift and I are in consensus.

      Next to me, Talen starts to gurgle, bends over in his seat, and
vomits over the side.  His hands are white around the knuckles, and he
grips the side of the wagon with wet fingers. His thin body quakes, and I
want to comfort him but think twice because the others are not aware of our
relationship. He shakes for a moment and retches again. Afterward, he wipes
his mouth on his sleeve.  He looks embarrassed and glares at me
accusingly. I, however, am rather proud of myself, all things considered.

      As repulsive as this is...my idea just may work.

      Ambrell hands Talen a water skin, and he accepts it with shaking
hands.  He pours some into his mouth, sloshes it around for a moment, and
then spits it out.  A second later, he takes another mouthful and then
swallows.  It's cold and fresh, and it helps wash away the nausea.  Then he
hands it back to her, mumbling a nearly intelligible "thank you."

      "Talen, let Swift take the reins," Ambrell suggests.

      "And ride in the back with those bodies?  I think not."

      As if to emphasize his point, Ambrell squirms a little as Elliot
pushes one of the burlap sacks into place beneath them.  Then he settles on
top of the sack, making himself as comfortable as one can in such a
position, like a hen warming an egg.

      I lower myself into a corner of the wagon near the front.  I don't
have any room to stretch my long legs, but I'm comfortable 'cause my back
has something to brace against, and I can steady myself using the rail as
we move.

      Talen turns his back to me and thanks the men that loaded our cargo.
Once again gripping the reins, he starts the horses in a trot back whence
we came.

      There are three gates into and out of Clothol. Talen chooses the
southern gate, which is a massive stone edifice.  The portcullis is drawn
and hangs over the stone road leading south to Ladika. Its steel teeth
point ominously down at us, and they look rusted in spots from all the
rain.

      The great spinning wheels that hold the chains to the drawbridge
stand unmanned, and there's only two guards. Both keep an eye on the
highway from inside a warmly lit room. I notice a table scattered with
cards, two mead cups, and a platter holding leftovers from dinner.  One of
the guards watches us as we roll by.  He looks up from his cards but pays
us no particular heed. Soon we're moving over the quiet hills directly
south of the Bay of Dreams.

      Talen halts the wagon after half an hour and lights two hooded
lanterns using flint and steel.  Once burning bright, he hangs them from
hooks on long wooden poles which he swings outward in order to light the
road. I soon find myself drifting into and out of consciousness, lulled by
the claptrap of the horses' hooves and by the cold steady rhythm of the
downpour. Finally, I succumb to sleep.

      Around midnight, I awake. Rather, I look up and clear my eyes, and I
see the rain has ended.  The night's clearing off and the lanterns continue
to bob along in front of us.  Talen's back faces me, and I glance over my
shoulder. All I see are hills rising there, black against the red light
coming from the moon Valinas.  The moon's halfway past the horizon and
resembles a large droplet of blood staining a dark canvas. There's a thick
band of stars looking almost like spilt milk on ebony velvet. I find them
beautiful and name several groups after tales I recall from my
childhood. We weave our way past the skeletal branches of barren trees, and
I'm spellbound. My pulse quickens to see the sky as it appears to me
tonight away from the light pollution of the city.

      "Is it always this beautiful?" Ambrell asks.

      I shrug.  "I don't know.  I've never seen a sky like this."

      Talen turns his head.  "Finally awake back there?"

      "Yes.  I'm sorry...I must've dozed off."

      "Well, you didn't get any sleep this afternoon with all the hard work
you put in," Talen jokes, knowing that only I will catch his drift.

      I snort derisively, and playfully slug him in the arm.

      "My hands are so cold I can't feel them." Elliot states.  "Is it all
right if we stop for a moment so I can stretch my legs and get my blood
pumping again?  Anyone?"

      We all look at each other, but no one objects.

      "All right then." Talen guides the horses off the road and pulls them
to a stop. I push myself to my feet, and I feel blood returning to my
limbs. My toes tingle painfully in my boots, but it only lasts a minute. I
curl them to assist the circulation and watch the others hop down out of
the wagon.

      "How much further do we have to go?"  Elliot asks.

      "We're about halfway," Swift remarks.  "In another three hours, we
should be meeting up with Logren."

      Talen stretches his back and places his hands against the side of the
wagon, spreading his feet against the soft mud.  "Is he really a
half-giant? That's what Marcel mentioned in Kian's debriefing."

      "Yes...yes he is," Swift says. He pulls out a wooden smoking pipe and
fills the bowl with tobacco from a pouch that he produces from inside his
jacket. He walks over to a lantern and lights the bowl, puffing on it
occasionally to really get it going. "I've worked with him a couple of
times.  He doesn't speak...he can't actually.  But he can communicate to
you through telepathy."

      "Telepathy?"  Elliot questions.

      "Yes, telepathy.  It's a form of mental communication. He was born
with it--you'll see. He can send pictures into your mind...thoughts...etc.
He can also pick them up, so be careful what you project around him."

      "How big is he?" I ask.

      "Hmm..."  Swift calculates a number, scratching his chin. "Bigger
than all of us combined.  You're six feet tall, right?"

      "Yes."

      "If Talen sat on your shoulders, he'd still be taller than the both
of you.  And he weighs a thousand pounds easy. He also carries a cadel with
him.  The name comes from an old Windwalker term for 'bison cleaver.' Take
an axe, give it a double-bladed edge about three feet wide and then attach
this axe head to a shaft of oak about as big around as your waist, and
you've got yourself a cadel.  It's a monstrous weapon that's absolutely
terrifying to behold in battle."

      "What are windwalkers?" I ask, hopping down.

      Swift finishes his smoke, tapping his pipe out on the bottom of his
leather boot. "The windwalkers were a tribe of men that lived in the region
that stretched between the moors around the Valis-Dur Mountains all the way
to the Mirimar jungles far to the South.  In their day, all of that land
was rolling prairie covered by spots of dense forest and a holy place,
known as the Razor's Edge. It's a ring of dense thorns where they worshiped
the great Chaggeroth, or four-armed ghost spirit of the rolling plains. The
Chaggeroth is said to be a great shaggy beast with spider-like eyes, and
great lengths of swampy hair. It's a horrible creature that hunts with the
cadel--the bison cleaver.  The fact that the cadel exists is testimony that
the Chaggeroth is a real creature and not a faerie of legend dreamed up by
the shamans of the Windwalkers."

      "You're just trying to scare us," Elliot states "There's no such
thing as a Chaggeroth."

      Swift grows quiet and looks at the lot of us.  "Aye, think what you
wish, but the Chaggeroth is now urban legend. It is said that he that hears
the cry of the Chaggeroth shall not live to see morning.  It's a horrible
and terrifying monster that roams these plains to this day. Sure, it shies
away from the cities of man.  But lo be the traveler that's caught outside
on the roads between the hills that used to be its hunting grounds during
the darkest part of the night."

      "What's that sound?" Ambrell fidgets, looking into the dark.

      "I didn't hear anything," Elliot replies.  But he looks about his
shoulders into the cold dark.

      I don't hear anything either, and my hearing is acutely sharp.  It's
just like Swift to go and scare us half to death on my first mission.

      Talen smirks. "Barking spiders.  If ya'll will excuse me just a
moment...ladies," he says, tipping his cap, "I've some...err...business to
take care of before we continue on the road."  Then he struts off into the
night.

      I shake my leg and follow after him, realizing I too can use a good
piss.

      After all, we still have several more hours to go, and I don't want
to stop again.

                                    *****

      I look forward to posting Chapter Twelve.