“I accept the fealty of the Riel’sheng. I accept the fealty of the Hall,” Rezkin said as he surveyed the gathered assassins who knelt around him. He returned his attention to the grandmaster and said, “I recognize your defeat, Grandmaster, and honor you as a worthy opponent by granting you mercy—not the mercy of an assassin, which would allow you a quick death, but the mercy of a liege lord, which grants you life. I would have you continue to serve as grandmaster under my reign and lead my Hall by my command.”

The grandmaster lifted the sword so that it rested flat in both hands and raised it high. Had the Raven ordered it so, he would have instead plunged it into his own abdomen to prove his fealty even in death. “I humbly accept your appointment, Riel’gesh Raven.”

Rezkin cocked his head curiously at the title. Riel’sheng translated to “giver of death” and was the honored and ancient name for the Assassin’s Guild, known before now only by the upper echelons of the guild. Riel’gesh, by contrast, meant “giver of life,” and, ironically for the Assassin’s Guild, was a higher honor. It meant that his power, skill, and honor were so great that he could afford to grant life to those who would threaten him; but, of course, he could retract that gift at his leisure.

“See to your wounds, Grandmaster. We have much to discuss and little time,” Rezkin replied.

The grandmaster took a few moments to clean and patch his wounds. They were not serious, but head wounds tended to bleed profusely. The older man eyed the young warrior who had so easily bested him. “You were unscathed during our battle,” he observed.

“You damaged my attire. It was a challenge,” Rezkin replied.

The grandmaster could not help but respond with scorn. “A challenge for what? To survive? I think not. To remain unharmed? Perhaps. To remain unruffled more like. You look as though the gauntlet and the challenge were nothing more than a heated practice session.”

Rezkin threw the grandmaster a sideways glance as he motioned Rom and the small-men over to join them. The rest of the assassins had already dispersed at his command, but they did not stray far. Everyone wanted to witness these unprecedented events. “I have endured worse,” he replied.

The grandmaster scoffed. “Worse than the gauntlet? We have lost more of our greatest members to the gauntlet than any other way. Only one will survive every few decades to become grandmaster. I expected Briesh to be the next, but he has shown no interest in walking the gauntlet. Although, truth be told, I think that he is not quite ready.”

“Perhaps he simply has no desire to kill you, grandmaster,” the Raven argued.

The grandmaster huffed humorlessly. “He has no love for me. Grudging respect, perhaps, but no love.”

“I doubt any of you are capable of such a sentiment,” Rezkin observed.