Imperial Spy (16 page)

Femke was stunned. ‘Why?’ was all she could think to ask. ‘Why break your own precious Assassins’ Creed and force the two countries into another war?’

‘Oh, I didn’t break the Creed, Femke. Both kills were paid for. I’m always careful to obey the Creed to the letter. Besides – war is good for business. Why else?’
Shalidar said, his whispery voice thick with repressed laughter. ‘There are always people on both sides who want rid of key figures from the opposing force. Assassinations are far more
popular during wartime. I’m simply making provision for my livelihood. After you destroyed my previous plan I had to devise something to keep me comfortable in my old age. Being able to gain
my revenge on you at the same time added sweetening to the cake, of course, but was incidental to the plan.’

‘So now I know,’ Femke sighed. Her mind raced, battling with more than how to escape. Who had paid Shalidar to kill the exact people he wanted at just the right times? That was too
convenient for words. ‘What now?’ she asked, stalling for time. ‘Are you planning to kill me, or hand me over to the Royal Guards? I appreciate the chat, naturally. When you fall
into a whole pile of dung, it’s always nice to find out who pushed you. It puts everything in perspective and allows the hope that in time the tables will turn again.’

Shalidar laughed and his knife-point jiggled at Femke’s throat as he gave voice to his amusement. A trickle of blood ran slowly down her neck from the tiniest of cuts, tickling as it went.
Yet another injury to add to the tally, even if this one’s only a scratch, Femke seethed silently. There has to be a way out of this – there has to be.

‘What am I going to do with you now? Why, let you go, of course!’ Shalidar replied, still laughing, as he told Femke the last thing she expected to hear. ‘Oh, you’ll no
doubt avoid the Royal Guards for a while, but you’ll get caught in the end. You’ve got nowhere else to go, so I’m sure you’ll do your best to prove your innocence. I’d
be terribly disappointed if you didn’t at least try. Nobody will believe you, of course, even if you do manage to tell the King or his close aides what is happening. The weight of evidence
against you is overwhelming. Now, I suggest that as I take away this knife you remain very still. If you don’t then I
will
be forced to kill you, which would be most disappointing
after the effort I’ve spent setting up this little game. Stay where you are long enough for me to get clear of the house. Move too soon and I’ll kill you as you leave. Move too slowly
and you’ll be swamped in Royal Guards. They’re going to pick up your trail again within the next few minutes. Have fun, Femke.’

The knife was removed from her throat and Femke got the sense that Shalidar was moving, though she could hear nothing. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. How long should she wait? Was he
really gone? Shalidar was too good at moving silently for Femke to tell. Seconds ticked by, but Femke was determined not to give in to the fear that the assassin had instilled in her. If he were
still there, then she was determined to make him earn his kill. If not, then she was not going to let him get a long head start.

Mind made up and heart pumping with anticipation, Femke threw her body sideways off the chair into a rolling dive.

‘Phagen! Phagen! Have you heard?’ Kalheen gasped, bursting into their room, his face red with excitement.

Phagen sighed at the intrusion. Kalheen did not appear to understand the meaning of peace and quiet. The big man was the most irritating roommate he had ever known. Phagen put aside the tunic he
had been repairing and looked up at Kalheen, the patient expression on his face hiding the exasperation he felt. It was nearly lunchtime. He had hoped to finish the tunic by then, but that now
looked unlikely.

‘Ambassador Femke has been accused of murder!’ Kalheen continued. ‘Murder, Phagen! She’s fled the Palace and is on the run in the city. I would have come and told you
earlier, but the guards held me for questioning after I delayed them getting into the Ambassador’s rooms.’

‘Is she OK?’ Phagen asked, his voice displaying quiet concern.

‘I think so. I saw her escape over the wall. You should have seen it, Phagen. She was amazing! She jumped into a tree from the ledge outside her window. I swear I thought she would never
make it . . .’

Kalheen rattled out a description of Femke’s escape that was clearly exaggerated, but Phagen waited patiently until his story was complete.

‘This murder happened last night, you say?’ he asked when the big man finally paused for breath.

‘Yes. Late last night.’

‘You were out late last night. Did you see anything unusual?’

‘No, nothing. I was . . . er . . . chatting with Neema, the maid we met in the servants’ common room yesterday. We met again after dinner. She’s a lovely girl,’ Kalheen
replied, his round face reddening further.

‘Well, I think we should start our own investigation,’ Phagen said thoughtfully. ‘If we can help Ambassador Femke, we should.’

‘Absolutely, Phagen. I totally agree. I’ll go and get Sidis and Reynik. I’m sure they’ll help.’

‘Mind if I join you?’

After attempting to follow several sets of directions, Reynik had finally found the secluded weapons training area at the rear of the Palace. It had not been easy to find his way through the
maze of corridors in the Palace, but now he knew where it was, Reynik decided he would walk around the buildings rather than through them on his next visit.

Several of the Royal Guards were engaged in sparring with blades. They all looked accomplished swordsmen. On hearing Reynik’s polite enquiry, the nearest pair of soldiers paused their mock
fight and saluted one another. They both eyed the young Shandese soldier with suspicion.

‘Shandese?’ asked one of the men quizzically.

‘That’s right. I’m here with the Ambassador on a diplomatic visit. My travelling companions, however, have not been very enthusiastic about sparring and I’d like to get
some practice. Would you mind if I joined you?’

‘Not at all,’ said the taller of the two guards with a wicked looking grin. ‘I didn’t get a chance to cross swords with any of your countrymen at Kortag, so it’ll
be a pleasure to see if you Legionnaires are as good as the rumour-mongers whispered. I assume swords are OK, or do you have a preferred weapon?’

For a moment, Reynik’s mind flashed back to his recent exploits with a staff, but he dismissed the thought. ‘I don’t really mind,’ he said. ‘I’ll appreciate
the workout whatever the weapon.’

The Royal Guard looked at him sharply, trying to determine whether the young Shandese soldier was being cocky, or whether he really was adept with all weapons. He looked too young to have been
trained to any level with more than one, but there was something about him that belied his youth.

‘Can I borrow a blade to practise with? I had to hand in my weapons when we arrived at the Palace. They’ve not been returned to me yet.’

‘Here. Borrow mine,’ said the shorter guard, passing his weapon to Reynik.

‘Thanks.’ Reynik took a couple of moments to swing the blade experimentally, feeling the weight and unfamiliar balance. It was different from his sword, but Reynik had fought with
enough practice blades in the past that it would not make a significant difference in a sparring session. Lifting the sword in salute, Shandese style, Reynik settled into a defensive stance.

‘Just like that? No warming up? Are you sure you’re ready?’ Reynik’s opponent asked with a frown.

‘I’ll warm up as I go,’ he answered with a grin.

The Royal Guard shrugged, gave a quick salute, and took up a similar pose to Reynik’s. Without further warning, the Thrandorian attacked. His blade flashed at Reynik’s body in a
fierce slashing cut. Reynik deflected it easily, ignoring the instant opening for a counterattack. He swung again and Reynik blocked the blade a second time, slightly taken aback by the ferocity of
the guard’s blows. The metal ringing on metal was far louder than that of the other sparring pairs around the training area. The sudden vigorous clashing of blades drew attention to the pair.
Many stopped to watch.

The guard launched into a rapid sequence of strokes, all dealt with far more force than was customary in a sparring contest. Any one of his strokes could easily have maimed, or even killed if
they had landed. For a moment, Reynik wondered if coming here had been such a good idea after all.

It was obvious from the outset that the guard was looking to impress. Reynik, however, was up to the challenge. He blocked and parried the guard’s strokes with a grace that could not be
denied.

The guard lunged and Reynik deflected the blade so that it passed harmlessly to one side, drawing a slight gasp from the watching guards. The Thrandorian was quick, but not enough to worry
Reynik unduly. He did begin to wish he had not been quite so casual about a lack of warm-up, though.

There were plenty of opportunities for counterattack, but Reynik ignored them all. Instead he concentrated totally on defence. He had no intentions of hurting anyone. He had come to build
bridges, not destroy them. In his own way, he considered this his ambassadorial role for Shandar. He did not taunt. He did not rise to the baiting of the other soldiers. He did nothing provocative.
He simply blocked and parried the guardsman’s attacks, whilst making certain that those around could see that he was doing so deliberately. After a few minutes of fierce swordplay, his tactic
paid dividends.

‘Enough, Espen! He could have killed you a dozen times, or more.’ The shorter of the two Royal Guards stepped forward between the two combatants, forcing them to part or risk hurting
the unarmed guard.

‘You are skilled indeed, Legionnaire. I am Faslen. What’s your name?’

‘Reynik,’ he replied, shaking Faslen’s proffered hand with a firm grip.

‘Welcome, Reynik. I apologise for my companion’s lack of friendliness in his sparring. You handled it well and your skill does your Legion credit. Tell me, how many weapons are you
proficient with?’

‘I’m good with a staff, reasonable with longbow and crossbow, and can use pike, axe and mace adequately. I’m told my best skills lie in my unarmed combat, though,’ Reynik
added modestly.

‘Unless you’re a lot older than you look, your instructors have done an amazing job. I’m sure we could learn a lot from you. Come, let’s do some more
friendly
sparring, shall we?’ he asked, giving Espen a pointed look.

‘Sorry, Reynik, I got carried away,’ Espen apologised.

‘No harm done, Espen. I’m sure that a Thrandorian visiting the Legions would have received a similar test. Why don’t we try again before I take on Faslen? I’ve warmed up
a bit now,’ Reynik suggested with a grin.

‘Enter,’ the voice of Emperor Surabar ordered brusquely.

Lord Danar took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped smartly inside. There was something in the Emperor’s voice that required one to stand straight and look smart, as if anyone
entering the door was on parade. Long years of military leadership had honed Surabar’s voice so that it instilled an instant feeling of inferiority in anyone listening. Danar appreciated this
was a useful asset for an Emperor. The Emperor’s voice had him on edge before he had even entered the room.

Stepping through the door did little to relieve the feelings of smallness and scrutiny. The room had minimalist furnishing and décor. The single large desk, behind which Emperor Surabar
was sitting, faced the door across the room. The only adornments on the walls were some crossed weapons and a few depressing battle-scene paintings and wall-hangings There was nowhere for Danar to
sit so he closed the door behind him and walked forward to stand before the desk.

The Emperor was studying some parchments intently as Danar approached the desk. The young Lord came to a silent standstill, feeling uncomfortably like a schoolboy called into his
headmaster’s office, not knowing if he is there to receive praise or a reprimand.

‘So, Lord Danar, what can I do for you?’ Surabar asked bluntly. ‘I trust this is not a social call, as I’m led to believe you move in specific social circles.’

Danar clasped his hands behind his back to prevent them from betraying his nervousness any more than he knew his voice would. His palms were already slick with sweat and he knew he would fiddle
with his fingers unconsciously if he did not do something positive to prevent it.

‘Well, no, your Imperial Majesty, not social exactly,’ he said quickly. ‘I come seeking information actually – information about Lady Alyssa. Lord Kempten advised me to
speak to you, as he indicated you might know where Alyssa is.’

Surabar looked up into Danar’s eyes with a gaze that would have pierced rock.

‘Lord Kempten said that, did he? And did Lord Kempten say anything else about Lady Alyssa, or why I might know anything of her whereabouts?’ the Emperor asked, his voice pointed and
his eyes flashing dangerously.

The young Lord had felt awkward to begin with, but now he felt that he was about to be grilled alive. Listening to Lord Kempten had not been such a good idea, he thought, as he struggled to give
tongue to a coherent answer.