The Touch of Astoroth

Chapter Eight

"So your friends," Slay asked, when they paused at the base of the hill that led to the academy, "You sure they'll want to come with you?"

"Of course they will!" Coyra snapped, "The academy's just over this ridge, so –''

"About that," Slay interrupted, "I can't see a bunch of assassins being very pleased to see me. How about I wait here and meet you when you get back."

Coyra narrowed her eyes at him, it sounded like a plan to abandon her, but then again, she wasn't keeping him anywhere, he could go if he liked, she didn't care.

"Sure," she told him, "this shouldn't take long. We'll be back before nightfall."

She turned and set off up the hill, without a backward glance.

Just before she crested the hill, Coyra heard a shout, and then Fyn and Lemric were there, right in front of her, springing from their ponies with delighted yells, flinging themselves in her path with wide grins on their faces.

For a moment, they stared at her, and she stared back, then Lem pumped the air with his fist, and cried, "I knew it! Knew you were all right!"

"What are you doing all the way up here?" Coyra asked, even as she felt a weight lift from her shoulders: They were pleased to see her, however temporarily.

"Just worried about you," Fyn said softly, his smile so wide, Coyra was sure it reached both his ears, "but that doesn't matter now. You made it back! You killed him! You're a master assassin now, Coyra."

Master Assassin.

His words hung in the air, and two worlds hung in the balance.

Coyra remembered what Slay had said. Lord Fangtor had been killed. She could tell the masters that she had done it, and no one would be the wiser. She could still stay here and be a master assassin, just like she'd always wanted, before Slay turned her world on its head.

She stared at Fyn, and knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't lie and pretend that everything was normal, not now. Now she knew the truth, she had to do something about it, and the first step was getting out of Izmeel.

"Um," she began, not sure how to phrase what she was about to say.

Something must have shown in her face however, because both Fyn, and Lemric's expressions changed, and Lem held up his hands, "Whoa, wait. What happened?"

"I didn't kill him," Coyra began, "I – I met this thief, and he convinced me not to. I think we should stop killing for the war, and I think we should get out of Izmeel. I mean," she hurried on, before either of them could interrupt, "I'm going to leave Izmeel, and you can come with me if you like, but it's fine if – if you want to stay behind."

They stared at her for a moment, then Fyn stepped forward, and punched her, hard, in the shoulder.

It was so unexpected, that Coyra merely stumbled backward, hardly managing to stay on her feet.

She opened her mouth to shout at him, but Fyn was talking over her, "You idiot Coyra! Of course we'll come with you! Thornin's boots! Who do you think we are? Kermerranians?"

Coyra winced at the question, but she didn't have time to tell them everything here, so she just grinned, "Well good. We should get going, before the masters realize. You've both got ponies, so let's go."

"So you're leaving?" said a voice behind them, and all three of them whirled around in unison.

In the excitement of meeting Fyn and Lem, Coyra hadn't heard Twilnik arrive, but she was certainly there now, and she looked anything but welcoming.