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  AMASKAN’S BLOOD

  The Boahim Trilogy Book One

  Raven Oak

  Grey Sun Press

  Seattle, WA

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Other titles by...

  Dedication

  Map of Boahim

  Prologue

  PART I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Continue Reading?

  About the Author

  Join the Conspiracy!

  Amaskan’s Blood

  Book One of The Boahim Trilogy

  Raven Oak

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Raven Oak

  All rights reserved.

  The scanning, uploading, copying, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase authorized print or electronic editions. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials hurts everyone. Your support of the arts is appreciated. For information, address: [email protected]

  First printing: January 2015

  Cover art by Jamie Noble

  Map by Raven Oak

  ISBN: 978-0-9908157-2-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014960295

  Grey Sun Press

  PO Box 1635

  Bothell, WA 98041

  www.greysunpress.com

  Books by Grey Sun Press may be obtained for educational, business, or promotional purposes. For more information, please contact: Grey Sun Press, PO Box 1635, Bothell, WA 98041, [email protected]

  This book is dedicated to my husband.

  My biggest cheerleader, supporter, beta-reader extraordinaire,

  and most of all, my best friend.

  You are still everything.

  PROLOGUE

  The Forest of Alesta, in the Year of Boahim 235

  She was thirsty.

  Thirsty was an understatement. Her tongue felt thick beneath the sour cloth jammed in her mouth, and Iliana swallowed hard. Tree branches thick with leaves whipped her shoulders as they passed. She did her best to make herself small, invisible, if only so the big one would stop looking at her.

  His eyes—pale blue moons set in skin so dark Iliana couldn’t tell what was skin and what was fabric. All three Amaskans wore solid black from head to foot. No ornamentation or lacings. Just tight, black silk, bound at the waist and wrists.

  The same black fabric that bound her wrists together.

  The big one glanced over his shoulder as the horses galloped through the forest. They traveled as fast as the muddy terrain allowed, which wasn’t fast enough as the big one shouted a lot and gestured—all stabbing fingers and waving hands. They spoke to one another in a strange language—but Iliana knew when they talked about her. They called her moquesh.

  Bait.

  Most of the words were foreign, but that one bore enough similarity to Alexandrian that she could guess the meaning. Another tree branch slapped her, this time across the cheek, and she closed her eyes against more tears.

  Why had her father sent her away? The big one peered over his shoulder again, and she shuddered. It didn’t help that rain poured down overhead—hard enough that not even the trees’ thick canopy could block it out.

  Had she been allowed to talk, she would’ve asked for a cloak. Either way she’d probably still be wet. The gag left Iliana able to do little more than groan as they traveled. And to think. And cry. Iliana stuck her bottom lip out, which trembled as she sobbed against the black rag.

  She hadn’t really thought her father would send her away. Tears rolled down her cheeks to mix with thick raindrops. Papa, why did you send me away?

  Something had been off.

  First, there had been her father’s unusual appearance in the playroom. When Iliana and Margaret had raced for him not even the nanny’s lurch forward and stern remarks had protected him from the onslaught of childish arms and legs.

  Second, he’d allowed it. They had clambered up his six-foot frame until he balanced one sister on each shoulder.

  But the final clue had been his smile. Lines had gathered around his mouth and eyes—lines that multiplied every time another rock hit the side of the castle walls. But as her father had smiled at his twin daughters, his eyes had remained muted and distant.

  One moment she was on her father’s shoulder and the next, he had rushed through the castle passageways until he’d reached the stables. Uncle Goefrin had been waiting with the three Amaskans, one of which he had told Papa was his brother. That was the first Amaskan, who led their horses at the front of the line.

  They didn’t look like brothers. His nose wasn’t big enough.

  Iliana had screamed until they gagged her. Then she’d kicked with her booted feet, but she’d been tossed astride a monster of a horse so ugly and large, she’d clamped her mouth shut out of fear it would buck her. Hands bound to the pommel, they’d left her feet free in the stirrups. A swift kick had done nothing.

  The horse had ignored her until one of the Amaskans, a female, had spoken to the gelding. Then the horse had moved forward at a canter. Her father had cried out to her, and Iliana had craned her head and seen Goefrin restraining her father by the shoulders as he shouted her name. Her father’s face had crumbled, and he had hidden it behind his hands as the Amaskans took her away.

  He had said it wasn’t safe.

  At first, she’d cried too hard to notice much more than a blur as they passed through the city, but as the small group reached the outer walls, blood painted the ground crimson and the cries of the dying left her mute astride her horse. Arrows and rocks flew overhead as they pelted the Alexandrian guards and bounced off stone walls. The clash of steel nearby frightened her, and when the female Amaskan slit the throat of a nearby enemy, Iliana huddled as close as she could to the saddle and shut her eyes tight.

  They were already halfway through the forest when she gained the courage to open them, and that was only because her horse stopped. “If you want to live, don’t run. Understand?” the female asked. When Iliana nodded, the woman unbound her hands and lifted her from the horse. When the woman set Iliana down on the leaves below, she slid in the mud and fought for balance. The Amaskan—Shendra, her father had called her—pulled a black tunic and boy’s breeches out of a bag and shoved them at Iliana. “Change into these.”

  Iliana tried to ask where, but the gag muffled the question. The woman must have figured it out as she only shrugged. “There’s no one here but the four of us. Change now, or I’ll do it for ya.”

  While the two men stood guard, Iliana tugged at the laces of her dress and tried not to cry. Always be brave were her mother’s words earlier that morning, and Iliana bit her lip. The knots came loose, but she struggled to get the thick, layered fabric over her head. The hem, caked with mud, clung to her face and tangled in her arms. In a panic, she shouted into the gag. When the sound of ripping fabric reached her, she twisted and screamed louder.

  “Stop it—hush,” Shendra hissed as she hacked away at the dress’s fabric. The ruffles of blue fell to the forest floor, and Iliana’s green ribbon floated into a muddy puddle, more earth-colored now than moss. Iliana’s cheeks flushed wh
ile goose pimples pricked her bare skin. She tugged the tunic over her head and the Amaskan helped her buckle the breeches. Before Iliana could grab the ribbon from the mud, Shendra plopped her back on the horse and bound her hands to the pommel.

  The trail of horses continued their gallop until darkness made it impossible to see, and by then, Iliana’s teeth chattered and her stomach rumbled. The big one watched her until Shendra stepped between them. The woman removed Iliana’s gag and unbound her hands. Iliana tried to swallow, but her mouth was too parched. “Here,” the woman said, and she held up her canister of water.

  Iliana coughed on the first swallow. The water only reminded her of her hunger, but she dared not speak. The look in the man’s eyes kept her silent as they set up a campfire. Only a droplet or three from an overhead leaf remained of the earlier rain, but Iliana huddled against her horse for warmth as her clothes were soaked through.

  “Here, make yourself useful.” Shendra tossed a brush at Iliana, and its coarse bristles poked her hands when she caught it. Iliana stared at the horse in front of her.

  She couldn’t brush all of him. She couldn’t even reach his forearms. Shendra whispered something in Sadain, and the horse lay down. Iliana touched the brush to his back and giggled as he squirmed beneath it with a whinny. The brush caught on specks of mud and blood; the latter Iliana tried not to think about. A good ten minutes left the horse much cleaner and drier than before. When the beast stood, mud and leaves from the forest floor stuck to his underside and legs.

  The big one spoke, the sound just behind her, and Iliana spun around to find him looming over her. He held a dagger in his hands, and she screamed before falling to her knees. The shadow over her shifted, and Shendra knocked the dagger from the big one’s hands. “What’s this now?” asked Shendra.

  His grin left Iliana shuddering. “We have our orders.”

  “Yes, to bring her to Bredych.”

  The man shifted on his feet, and Shendra matched his movements. “Someone hasn’t been given the full plan,” he murmured. “No matter, I’ll see my part of the job done.”

  A leaf crackled behind Shendra as the second man approached, but the woman didn’t move. Fear drove Iliana to the other side of her horse where she peeked through the gelding’s legs. “What in Thirteen Hells are you blatherin’ about? The job was to get the girl, take her back to Bredych for ransom.”

  “Not quite. Bredych’s orders are to kill her.”

  “I don’t believe ya—I know you’re fairly new to the Order—Sayus, is it?—but Amaskans don’t kill children. We aren’t Tribor.”

  Iliana cried as she clung to the horse’s leg. Her tears distracted the man, and in one heartbeat, Shendra moved. One moment she stood several lengths away and the next, she hovered over the man with her blade against his neck. He chuckled as he held out a piece of parchment, which she seized with her empty hand. “Damn,” she whispered.

  “Looks like you don’t know Bredych as well as you thought,” muttered the third man from behind Shendra. He held his blade against her neck, though his arm shook and a whisper of blood appeared.

  “That’s my brother you’re talking about. He wouldn’t order this. He couldn’t,” shouted Shendra, and the birds in the trees overhead cawed in protest.

  Iliana crouched down and slapped her hands over her ears. She didn’t see when the body dropped, but heard the thud as it landed in the soft soil.

  One of the men uttered a groan and then a pop as his lungs filled with blood. The second man fell after a scrape of blades and a few grunts. The squelching sound of boots in the mud approached, and Iliana clamped her eyes shut harder.

  When Shendra touched Iliana’s shoulder, she screamed. Iliana didn’t stop screaming until Shendra shook her. “Hush,” the woman whispered. “I won’t hurt ya.”

  Iliana pointed at the dead bodies. “I don’t b-believe you.”

  The woman pointed at the mark on her jaw. “Do ya see this mark? Do ya know what it means?”

  “It means you’re Amaskan.”

  “Yes, it does. Amaskans serve Anur, God of Justice. Have ya done evil?”

  Iliana wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I took my sister’s ribbon.” Her favorite. The green one.

  “That’s not evil. Would it serve Anur to kill ya?”

  “N-no, I guess not. But you killed—”

  “Amaskans don’t kill children.” Shendra picked up the forgotten brush and set about picking the mud out of the horse’s hair. Iliana backed far away from the killer and leaned against a hollowed out tree trunk. The wet wood seeped into her already wet clothes. When a beetle climbed across her arm, she jumped.

  She wanted to go home.

  A howl from the trees sent her stumbling back toward the woman with the sword, killer or no, and Iliana watched the woman finish removing the mud from her horse before moving to the next. “Go sit at the fire if you’re wet.”

  Iliana’s jaw ached, but she stood by the woman’s side. “I-I’m fine.”

  Shendra paused mid-stroke. “You’re cold. Go warm up.” When Iliana refused, Shendra asked, “What? Why won’t ya go sit by the fire?”

  “If that–that Bredych wants me dead, who cares if I’m cold?”

  The hug was unexpected, and Iliana flinched at the contact. “No one’s gonna kill ya. I promise. On my life to Anur, I swear,” Shendra whispered.

  Iliana touched a grubby finger to the tattoo across Shendra’s jaw. She’d expected it to feel rough somehow, scratchy, but the black circle was smooth to the touch.

  “As long as you promise…” she whispered. Iliana peered out into the night made darker by the forest trees and shivered.

  PART I

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aruna, Sadai; 255 Agaen 20th

  Murder was a crime against the Thirteen, punishable by death. What I do, I do for the Little Dozen and all its people. Anur’s blessing upon my hand. The invocation wasn’t required before a job, but Adelei felt better having said it and swung first one leg and then the other over the ledge of the windowsill. She stiffened as her feet touched the wood floor. Sweat trickled down her face and neck but left no trail in the dark ebony grease smeared across all visible skin.

  Don’t get caught, her master had warned her—not that she ever had—but as she waited in the darkness, she remembered.

  Her roommate. Her friend. Sent outside of Sadai to the Kingdom of Alexander. A bitter taste tinged her tongue at the image.

  Limbs cut from her friend’s body and tossed across the border, where they had lain rotting in the Sadain Desert sun until a merchant’s guard had found them. He had uncovered the head a mile later and had recognized the tattoo at her stubborn jaw line.

  They’d said she’d be safe in Alexander. Adelei squeezed her eyes shut a moment; outside the open window, someone kicked a stray stone. It clattered across the cobble in the darkness, and she leaned against the wall, using the flapping curtains to hide her. Not that the child below could see her in the dark room, and he didn’t look up as he hummed his way across the alley.

  I am honored, Luthia, for your blessing of silence. The child rounded the corner, moving out of view. This Amaskan needs all the help she can get tonight.

  Amaskan—in the old tongue it meant assassin, though Adelei doubted many knew more than a smattering of the old language. Besides, the term wasn’t exactly accurate. A closed-mouth grin crossed her greased face.

  She waited ten heartbeats after the child had passed, alert and ready as she stood one shadow among many. Tonight her orders had come from the King of Sadai himself, though evidence to the fact would never be found since the Order protected its clients. If caught, no one would come to her defense. Or her rescue.

  Tonight of all nights, she had to be careful. To be sure. To be safe.

  Adelei listened again for signs of an awakening house, and her eyes scanned for a shift in the shadows. A fine layer of dust coated the silk bed sheets, and a heavy iron candelabra hung from the unusually high ceil
ing.

  Rich enough to have smooth wood floors but not wealthy enough to invest in enough servants to clean unneeded rooms until necessary. The knowledge matched what the Order had told her about the Magistrate. With hope, the map was just as accurate.

  Adelei pictured the map of the house’s interior. Two rooms to the left and through a sitting room. Across the hallway and through the fourth door on the right. That room would be the library. She’d take the back exit and go down the hall. He would be in the first room on the right.

  The hallway outside the door remained silent. Some grease from her pouch applied to the door’s hinges helped prevent any noise as she squeezed it open enough to slither through. In the corridor’s darkness, her black silk clothing clung to her body and hid her lithe frame, but even with the disguise, she trod carefully—each step placed with great care. Adelei counted the doors as she made her way through the house fifty times the size of her room at the Order.

  The pig lived there alone, except when he had “visitors.” Her lips curled in a grimace at the thought. It wasn’t his solitude that made him a mark, but his enjoyment of children—particularly young, defenseless children.

  Most criminal activity in the Little Dozen Kingdoms of Boahim fell under the jurisdiction of local constables. If necessary, a kingdom’s guards might bring the crime before the King. But a crime against the Thirteen meant the involvement of the Boahim Senate. Not even royalty could escape punishment.

  If caught, that was where she’d end up, assuming they had the balls to do it. The hinges of another door bore the hint of rust, and she rubbed more grease across them before testing it. A small squeak echoed through the library, but the only response was from the mouse that scurried across the woven rug near the entrance.

  The Order of Amaska had escaped their wrath thus far, though how, Master Bredych wouldn’t say. Her hand touched the wooden door of the library’s exit, and she flinched as another mouse squeaked in protest at her sudden appearance. Such a creature shouldn’t have startled her. Focus on the job. Politics later.