Chapter 64: Bunch Of Liars
The assassin’s lips curled in disbelief.
Elias returned to his side, flanked by the very lady who had previously delivered a bruising blow to his jaw.
He scowled at her presence.
Behind him, four elite guards of Aelgard sat mounted on their horses, their hands never straying far from the pommels of their broadsword.
The assassin’s hands were bound at the wrists with thick hemp ropes, the coarse fingers chafing against the bruised skin he had earned in the cellar. He looked miserable, his clothes still stiff with dried mud and the foul residue of Sanguine Bane. His youthful face carried the pale, hollow look of a man who had stared into his grave six hours straight. Yet, the temporary remedy administered had done its work.
The dark, necrotic veins that had begun to spider up his neck had receded.
"His Lordship is awake," Elias murmured, much to the guards and Martha’s relief.
He had hurried back the moment Francis brought the word, yet, for reasons unknown, he had been barred from entering the bedchamber.
The assassin let out a dry, mocking chuckle. "What did I tell you? You truly believed I would willingly swallow my own venom? Even if I were courting death, I would never choose so gruesome an end. And now that you have your confirmation, it is time to uphold your end of the pact— that is, if you still desire the remainder of the antidote."
Elias’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. With a stiff nod, he straightened and swung himself into the saddle of his black stallion.
"Very well," he replied, looking down at the assassin. "You shall have your escort and your gold. But the coin changes hands only when the final ingredients are in my possession."
The assassin offered a low, mocking bow, a masterclass in feigned deference.
"As you command. But why does she accompany us?" he shifted his gaze toward Martha, his eyes narrowing.
"Why? Does the presence of a defenseless woman unman you?" Martha asked, her tone flat, and devoid of fear.
The assassin sneered. He mentally marked her there and then as his next target.
"She stays behind," the assassin demanded, looking up at Elias, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Do not bring her."
"It has already been decided that I–"
"She will remain," Elias interjected, cutting Martha off cleanly. She snapped her gaze up to him, but his eyes never wavered from the assassin. "She’ll stay behind. Getting the rest of the ingredients is all that matters to me."
The assassin flashed a triumphant smirk as he was mounted on a horse by one of the guards, throwing a parting, malicious glance at Martha. Because he could not hold the leather reins, his mount’s bridle was tethered securely to the saddle of the guard on his left.
Elias looked down at Martha. He could see the sharp displeasure burning in her eyes, but he quickly averted his gaze. Signaling to the rest of the escorts, he spurred his mount forward, leading everyone out.
As the horses trotted past the boundary stones of the Devereux estate, entering the dense, pine-scented woods of the Aelgard frontier, the assassin let out a dry, hacking laugh.
"You look like you’re heading to a funeral, Captain," he mocked, casting a sideway glance at Elias through his matted hair. "Cheer up. Your master is still breathing, isn’t he? See, you should be thanking me instead."
Elias didn’t turn his head. His eyes remained fixed on the narrow, fog-shrouded trail ahead. "The only reason you are breathing, mercenary, is because the Marchioness willed it. Do not mistake my compliance for patience."
The assassin clicked his tongue, a bitter glint returning to his eyes. "The Marchioness...aye. She’s a pretty little viper, that one. I thought I was dealing with a standard noble doll. I didn’t expect the sole Marquis of Vandalia to marry a woman who speaks the language of the gallows so fluently."
"You never did grant us the courtesy of your name," Elias muttered over the rhythmic clatter of hooves as they set a steady pace.
The assassin let out a short, mocking scoff. "Mikhail."
"Your true name, or one of the many aliases you wear?"
The assassin offered no answer, his silence stretching out into the cool air.
Elias nudged his horse closer, riding stirrup-to-stirrup alongside Mikhail to keep him within arm’s reach.
"You must have immense faith in your own capabilities," Mikhail said, casting a sharp look at Elias. "Considering how closely you ride. What is to stop me from plunging a blade into your ribs this very moment?"
The threat did not so much as disturb Elias’s posture. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.
"To be disturbed, I must first perceive a threat," Elias replied, his voice entirely even. "As it stands, you are merely a boy who has been exploited by others solely because of the venomous hatred you bear for the Marquis."
Mikhail sneered, straining slightly against the ropes. "Jumping to conclusions when you know nothing of my life. Is that how the highborn and their lackeys operate around here?"
"Let me deduce the rest," Elias continued, unbothered. "The man you claim we murdered, I believe to be your uncle... he was one of those zealots who attempted to infiltrate the Marquis’s estate, was he not?"
"What the devil are you saying?" Mikhail frowned at him, his brows furrowing, a flicker of genuine anger breaking through his smug facade. "My uncle is not a zealot. He hates people like that. He never infiltrated the estate. You butchers simply chose to execute him."
"And who fed you that tale?" Elias let out a cold, humorless scoff. "Are you truly going to claim ignorance at your uncle’s zealotry? Even the poison you employed hails from Caledonia."
Mikhail tensed at that.
"That is precisely why the cure is so exceedingly rare, for not even the Caledonians themselves possess the antidote. That means, for someone like you to possess the antidote, your late uncle must have taught you how to make them."
Elias finally turned his head to look at Mikhail, catching the briefest flicker of apprehension written across the youth’s features.
"That is why I am counting on you to deliver the complete antidote," he said, his voice flat and unyielding. "Fulfill your end of the bargain, and our paths need never cross again after today."
Mikhail kept his gaze locked on Elias, his mind racing.
"You’re all nothing but a bunch of liars!"
"Silence," one of the escort guards barked from the rear, nudging the assassin’s horse forward with a sharp kick to its flank.
Mikhail gritted his teeth but forced his mouth to stay shut.
He wondered how this lackey could possibly know that his late uncle had possessed the antidote. A deep, stubborn resolve hardened within him; he refused to credit a single word falling from the man’s lips.
His uncle was no zealot.
The man had labored for years in the distant East, earning renown as a highly respected physician in Caledonia. His cures were so miraculous, his understanding of medicine so profound, that he had soon been summoned to treat the Caledonian nobility themselves.
Why would a man of such immense prestige, a man cloaked in fame and honor, suddenly turn to zealotry? It defied reason.
Mikhail had only learned of his uncle’s tragic demise through his contractor, the very man who had given him this mission. Everyone knew the Marquis had never been a righteous man; his hands were steeped in blood and corruption.
So why, Mikhail thought, his jaw tightening as he stared at the man beside him, should I believe a single word that falls from the mouths of his hounds?
They rode in tense, suffocating silence for another league, the trees thinning out as they approached the rocky, jagged cliffs that marked the border of the imperial territory. Down below, the rushing waters of the border river cut through the ravine, also known as the gateway out of Aelgard, and the place where the rogue had demanded to be released.
Elias finally called a halt, pulling his stallion to a stop at the edge of the clearing. The guards instantly fanned out, forming an unbreakable semi-circle around Mikhail.
"This is as far as the estate escort goes," Elias announced, his voice dropping to a freezing, absolute register. He slid off his saddle, his boots crunching loudly on the gravel as he walked over to Mikhail’s horse. With a swift, clean stroke of his dagger, he sliced through the ropes binding the rogue’s wrists.
Mikhail groaned, rubbing his circulation-starved hands together. He looked around the clearing, then back at the formidable captain.
"And the rest of the agreement? The gold?"
Elias reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a heavy, leather pouch. The distinct, metallic clinking of high-denomination gold pieces echoed in the quiet woods. He tossed it carelessly at the rogue’s chest. Mikhail caught it clumsily against his ribs, his greedy fingers immediately loosening the string to inspect the glinting metal inside.
"Ten thousand pieces, exactly as requested," Elias said, his hand returning to the hilt of his sword. "You have your gold. You have your freedom. Now, give me the location of the permanent antidote. If you speak a single lie, I will hunt you across every border in Vandalia, and there will be no Marchioness there to save you next time."
Mikhail tucked the heavy pouch securely into his belt. He looked out over the river, a dark, complex expression crossing his face—a mixture of lingering hatred for the master of Aelgard, a newfound fear of the Marchioness, and the primal satisfaction of survival.
"Two miles down the riverbank, inside the hollow of the weeping willow near the old fisherman’s hut," Mikhail uttered, his voice losing its mocking edge. "There is a sealed ceramic jar. The dried leaves inside must be boiled in white wine for an hour before administration. That will purge the remaining venom from his blood entirely."
He gripped the reins of his horse, turning the beast toward the downward slope leading to the river. Before he spurred the horse into a gallop, he looked back at Elias one last time, a twisted smirk on his face.
"Let us meet again," he shouted over the roar of the wind.
Then, with a sharp whistle, the rogue disappeared down the rocky path, leaving Elias and the guards watching his retreat from the clifftops.
"I hope her plan works," Elias muttered under his breath before exhaling softly and mounting his stallion. For now, he needed to get the ingredients.
