Wrath of the White Tigress

Chapter 6

When Jaska next awoke, the dim sunstone barely illuminated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pallet along the opposite wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska's stomach churned, demanding food. So with creaking joints and trembling muscles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the supply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.

Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uniform lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can't belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These . . . must have belonged to my students.

He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? Salahn couldn't corrupt every palymfar through sorcery. Most, if not all, must be the worst sort.

And Jaska had trained hundreds of them.

He took the razor from his pack and thought of slitting his throat but couldn't. After sitting there for some time, lost in thought, he began to shave, navigating around scar tissue through touch. His barely-lit reflection in the pool showed so much scarring that he cringed to imagine what it must look like in full light.

He paused, holding the razor near his face. His brightest students from over the years must now be some of the most notorious murderers in the world. And he was an assassin himself. He couldn't change that. He would, however, change his prey. He would excise the cancers he had helped unleash upon the world.

"Do you always brood while you shave?"

Having inexplicably let down his guard, Jaska flinched when he heard the priestess's voice. "I'm not at one with myself."

She spoke a command and the nearby sunstone flared to full strength, revealing the smooth lines of her face and her deep-set eyes. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"My burden is great, priestess."

"I am here to share your burden, that is one of the things priestesses do after all. But please, call me Zyrella."

Tentatively, Jaska spoke to her about the confusion of his emotions. He wasn't accustomed to sharing his thoughts with others. "The reality of what I've done, of who I have been . . ." He shook his head. "I have trained many assassins over the years. I thought them sincere students. I still picture them that way. I cannot see their evil for what it was."

Jaska finished shaving. "How did I do?"

"Well enough, considering."

"My head needs shaving as well, but I don't have the strength. My hands are beginning to shake and it's difficult to move my left arm."

"I can do it for you, if you wish."

"I guess I can allow that."

"You sound unsure."

"It's just that I'm used to taking care of myself."

"You didn't have servants like the other high ranking palymfar . . . or a companion?"

"I refused servants, but I did live with a beautiful woman, perfect and alluring, intelligent and playful. I loved her deeply, but now . . . I don't know."

Zyrella felt a stab of jealousy. "Who is she?"

"Mardha. Salahn's daughter."

"Oh." I should have known, she thought.

"Evil surrounds her in my nightmares, but I don't really know her in waking. You know of her don't you? I can see it in your face. She is nothing like I described is she?"

"I'm sorry, Jaska. Mardha is a bloodletter and demon-binder. Salahn's most devoted servant."

"It's just as well," he said, though it wasn't. He felt betrayed down to the deepest part of his being. The love he had felt for Mardha, and for his mentor, all of it was false and he had nothing except the pity of a priestess and the need of her goddess.