Exploitable Weaknesses, Brian Keller [best ereader for graphic novels .TXT] 📗

later, it hardly matters; but for those imprisoned or chained in work camps, every day matters.” Utsef had no reply for that, other than a curt nod. He turned and stepped into the trees to prepare his own hammock.

Cooper slept well in the Forest, despite the fact that the weather was becoming cooler. The following morning, Utsef resumed their earlier conversation, “A couple of the kids aren’t progressing as well as I had hoped. Whether more time is the answer, or they’re just not cut out to be Assassins… it might be difficult to tell if we continue to simply rush them through.” He turned to point out the Journeymen, each in turn, “You already know Loryn. You’ve met Gaff. That’s Naro, Balat, and Spen.”  Naro was a blond haired, slender kid with a pronounced Adam’s Apple and hands too big for his arms. Balat had brown hair and dark brown eyes. His dimpled chin was tightly tucked under his lips. Spen looked like a Northerner, with blond-almost-white hair and pale blue eyes. He had a certain nervous energy which led him to constantly observe everything that went on around him. He kept himself busy with small tasks in the campsite. Utsef took a breath and let it out slowly, “As they’ll be working for you, I’ll leave that decision in your hands. If it were left up to me, I might slow the curriculum down to see if they improve. It may be that they were just brought to me too early; but then again you came to me earlier than expected, but for different reasons.” This gave Cooper something to think about as they walked to their actual campsite. He hadn’t considered that Journeymen progression could be a factor that could affect their return to Paleros. He’d hoped to return with everyone within a few weeks, or even a month. Now it appeared that the earliest they might return would be in mid-winter. Getting back as soon as he could was his main priority, but he also needed fully qualified people. He felt comfortable with Loryn. He could use the next few months to assess the others.

*****

Some mornings Iona would wake early, before dawn, and go to one of the sitting rooms and watch the light from the rising sun play over the city, but as the weather grew colder, drafts and chilled corners seemed to multiply within the stone walls of the Palace. On mornings like these, she tended to remain in bed. She had considered rising to use the privy on a few occasions already, but so far, the need was not great enough for her to emerge from under her cocoon of blankets and furs. A rough knock at her door shocked her into attentiveness. She’d pushed back the blankets and managed to call out, “Just a mo-” before the door was pushed open. Yoren Aporigh stood in her doorway. She gathered her robe around her, ignoring the cold stone floor against her feet, and asked, “What is it, sir?” Upon seeing her state, his expression rested somewhere between disappointment and disdain, “Still in bed at this hour? Get dressed. You’re coming with me. I’ll be in my chamber when you’re ready. Hurry up.” He had become less pleasant since the Guild raid. Whether that was because he had played only a minor role and thus got little credit, or whether he now found himself without an organization to uncover and plot against, she couldn’t be certain. “Still,” she supposed, “it was far better than being at the University.” She dressed quickly, knowing that his impatience would be growing with each passing minute. He responded immediately when she knocked on his door. Now that she could see him from arm’s length, she wondered when he’d last slept. He had changed into fresh clothes as well. He reached out a hand and cupped her elbow, “You’re coming with me today, to Serpent Tooth Prison.” She asked, “That’s where you’ve been these last days?” He nodded, “Every day since the raid. The criminals are remarkably resilient, or perhaps they just don’t know the answers to my questions.”

As they stepped out of the Palace, a carriage pulled up, manned by two armored guards. Two others were seated at the rear. They were brandishing crossbows. The driver hopped down and opened the carriage door, lowering the hinged steps with a flourish as he backed away. Iona kept her comments and questions to herself until they were seated inside and the carriage had begun moving. She asked, “Are you expecting to be attacked?” He gave no indication that he’d heard her as he looked through a gap in the heavy curtains. She started to ask again when he replied, “I can’t imagine that the Lord General netted all of the Guild in one fell swoop. Those remaining will be angry. Desperate. And desperate men will do desperate things.” Iona had no doubt that the Spymaster had correctly assessed human nature in a broad sense, but she couldn’t help wondering whether he’d correctly assessed this situation. She’d witnesses at least one Assassin’s behavior first hand. He’d exercised discipline; restraint, even.”

The carriage stopped at the Trade Quarter boardwalk. They transferred onto a longboat and the oarsmen propelled them swiftly across the water. Iona was thankful that they looked practiced and efficient. It was her first time crossing any body of water larger than the Whitefoam. Still, she looked across the water with a sense of excitement and wonder. As the Prison loomed closer, she realized that the structure was much larger than it appeared when viewed from the city. She asked Yoren, “How far down does it go?” Yoren replied quickly, “Not far. There are a few cells under a building in the center. There are a few partially-carved cells in other places, but those were left incomplete because there was a danger of weakening the stone beneath the walls. Any deeper and the cells would start