The Agent (13 page)

Aniston’s face turned very serious. “Do you always speak so freely in regards to your lord and sovereign?”

The soldier stopped walking and stood at rigid attention. “No sir, sorry sir. I stopped by the reception earlier in my rounds and helped myself to a little too much wine. It’s made me a bit stupid.”

Aniston clapped the man on the shoulder and nudged him back into motion. “That’s all right. Truth be told, I’m a bit fonder of the Queen than I am His Highness. How about you, what do you think of our new queen?”

Owens swallowed nervously and mentally searched for the trap into which the man was leading him. “Permission to speak stupidly sir?”

“Of course. I’m paid by The Guild, not the royal family. My allegiance only goes so far as the orders I’m given.”

“I don’t give much of a damn about any of them. They all look down on us lesser aristocrats even though it’s our money filling their coffers. My father practically owns Hermleigh, thanks to our textile factory, and they act as if giving me a uniform with shiny buttons is some kind of reward for which I should be grateful. Drive them all over a cliff as far as I’m concerned.”

Aniston shuddered at the mention of how they killed Evelyn’s mother and younger brother and fought the urge to stab the man then and there. He exercised the self-control taught to him in school and stuck to the plan. Even so, he was glad to see the form walking toward them, a slight stagger in her step.

The fine dress and stuttering gait marked her as a woman who had been enjoying the festivities a bit too much and had begun to wander the grounds, perhaps for some fresh air to clear her head.

“Well, it looks like the real party is out here,” she crooned, slurring her words ever so slightly.

“Good evening, my lady,” Captain Owens replied. “Do you need an escort back to the party?”

“Such a gentleman.” She stumbled into him and ran a finger down his chest. “A gentleman in uniform. I love a man in uniform almost as much as I love a man…out of uniform. Why don’t you escort me someplace a bit more private, and we can have our own party?”

“Well, uh, as much I would like to, I’m on duty.”

Aniston gave the captain a shove. “Go on. You’ve had a long day. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll finish your rounds and come get you when I finish it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I have nothing else to do tonight.”

“Thank you. Do you know where my quarters are?”

Aniston smiled. “I certainly do. I’ll meet you outside in say…twenty minutes?”

The woman ran the back of her hand across Aniston’s cheek. “If you walk fast, you can meet us both inside.”

Aniston took her hand and gently pushed it aside. “I appreciate the offer, but I am holding out for someone else. I’m afraid I have gotten a bit spoiled of late.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied with a sniff.

Aniston watched the couple vanish into the night and began walking his circuit. It would take him the full twenty minutes to make the rounds, but he would be stopping by Captain Owens’ room before that. Aniston gave Captain Owens five minutes to reach his chambers and another five for his accomplice to have the soldier ready for his arrival.

The agent recovered the rope he had hidden in an empty rain barrel nearby and made his way to Owens’ room. The officer’s quarters was a small chamber on the very outside of the palace proper. While it did have a door leading into the palace, the primary entrance opened into an outer courtyard. He knocked lightly on the door and waited.

The door opened a crack, and the woman peered through before opening it, stepping out, and closing it behind her. “He’s all ready for you.”

“Thank you, Barbara.”

She looked around nervously and hugged her arms around her chest. “What are you going to do to him?”

Aniston averted his eyes. “It’s best if you don’t know.”

She sighed. “I suppose he deserves it after what he did to that poor child and her family, but I am definitely not cut out for this sort of work. I’m actress, not a spy.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure I am either.”

“I guess it will be worth it if it brings down that awful Guild and folks like my people can get the work they deserve.”

“It is going to be a tough road, but one thing Garran refuses to accept is failure no matter what he has to do to succeed. I still have not figured out if that is a vice or a virtue. I guess like most things in life, it depends on whose side you’re on.”

Barbara gave him a sympathetic smile. “You still don’t understand him do you?”

“Who can understand someone like that?”

“I like to think I do, even if only a little. Maybe because I know what it is like to have everyone around me assume the worst things because of who and what I am. I could have forced myself to be ‘normal’, but I would have been miserable, and the first time I tried to be what people expected me to be and failed, it would have been devastating. My walls are dresses and make up. Garran’s are made of crude behavior. It’s not that he wants to hurt people. It’s because he can’t bear to let anyone hurt him and keeps everyone away, and the easiest way to keep people away is to make it so they don’t want to come near him in the first place.”

“It sounds like a horribly lonely existence.”

“Safe usually is. He has what I like to call emotional rabies. He desperately wants friends and people to love him, but the thought of it terrifies him. It is not failing that fills him with such fear. It’s failing people he cares about. Since he can’t guarantee he won’t fail, he makes sure he doesn’t have people around who cares if he does.”

Aniston thought back to all the horrible things Garran had done and saw them in a new light. He was a young man straight out of a work camp, sent there by a mother who could not bear to have him around. He watched his only friend murdered before his eyes. He was barely literate but was sent to the most prestigious school in the kingdom and enrolled in the most demanding course in existence.

Garran had sworn a vendetta against The Guild, and the only way he could possibly achieve it was by becoming an agent. He should have failed within the first month, but he did not. He excelled to the top of the class the only way he possibly could.

“You don’t think he’s really a terrible person then?” Aniston asked.

“Oh, he’s an awful person, and I love him in spite of it—or perhaps because of it. Garran is the way he is because that’s what he thinks he has to be to survive, and survival can be an ugly business,” Barbara glanced back at the door, “as you well know.”

“Thanks, Barbara. You have put some things into perspective.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perspective is everything.”

Barbara left, and Aniston entered the room. He found Captain Owens naked and trussed up on the bed, silk bonds tying his hands together and his belt buckled around his ankles. He tried to force words past the wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth. Aniston walked over to the bed and removed the gag.

The soldier ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “Thank God you came! That
thing
tied me up and was going to do who knows what.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It had a penis!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes! I swear to God it was bigger than mine. Quickly, untie me and I’ll rouse the entire garrison to hunt that thing down before it can escape the palace grounds.”

Aniston sighed, shook his head, and tossed his rope over a roof beam. “You still don’t have a clue as to what is happening do you? You really are an idiot, but then, that’s the way The Guild prefers its flunkies. Stupid people rarely ask questions.”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing?”

Aniston looped the noose end around Captain Owens’ neck and heaved on the rope. The captain released a choking cry, rolled from the bed, and struggled to get to his feet to keep the rope from strangling him.

Sweat covered his body; his eyes bulged and darted around the room. “What do you want? Please!”

“You were in charge of Evelyn’s security detail when her mother and brother died.”

“No, I didn’t do that, I swear! I had nothing to do with it!”

Aniston tied the end of the rope onto the bed and lifted the loose end of the belt binding Captain Owens’ ankles. The rope snapped taut around his throat the instant his feet left the floor. He wriggled and spasmed like a fish on the end of a line.

“Do you know the most important component in an interrogation?” Aniston asked. “It’s already knowing the answers to the questions you are asking.” He relaxed the tension on the belt, and the soldier struggled to get his feet back beneath him. “Let’s try again. You were in charge. You knew what was going to happen, but you did nothing to prevent it.”

The captain coughed and drew in several deep breaths. “I was told to ride escort and was put in charge of a group of men loyal to Gregor. I knew whatever was going to happen was part of some scheme Gregor was running, but I didn’t know what was going to happen. It was Gregor and that other man—Dragoslav, I swear!”

“Tell me about this man.”

“I don’t know anything about him. I never met him before. I saw in the palace one or twice after that, but never before then.”

“What do you know about The Guild’s involvement?”

“Nothing. Gregor was my superior. Any orders I got came from him. Who pulls his strings, I cannot say. Why don’t you go ask him?”

The man was a dead end from an intelligence standpoint, but information was secondary to his mission. “Drive them all off a cliff, you said.”

Fear destroyed Owens’ momentary bravado. “I was just talking! Please, I don’t want to die!”

Aniston jerked up on the belt and let the noose bear the captain’s weight as he swung. “Marcus was only twelve years old. He didn’t want to die either.”

It took less than a minute for the soldier’s struggles to cease. Aniston removed the silk bonds from his wrists and the belt from around his ankles, careful to avoid the ejaculate the man had released upon his death. He was grateful that he had at least maintained control of his bowels. The unofficial agent removed a tin of skin cream from his pocket and applied a bit to Captain Owens’ right hand. He took the captain by the wrist and transferred some of the lotion from his hand to his member.

Killing a man was an easy feat. Making murder appear an accident was a far more challenging task, but it was crucial if Aniston wanted to keep his cover and his life for as long as possible. He closed the door behind him when he left and sighed. This was but one of many murders he would commit tonight, and only the beginning of a rather long list.

CHAPTER 15

“Garran, wake up!” Adam ordered for the third time and punctuated his command with a swift kick to the underside of the cot.

Garran snorted, flung the cover off, and broke wind as he leapt to his feet several seconds before his brain registered consciousness. Three bottles vacated his bunk along with him and clattered to the floor. Two were empty, and Adam was certain it was not alcohol nearly filling the third one.

“Whah?” Garran slurred, blinking as if fighting an unseen force for control of his eyelids.

Adam fanned his hand in front of his face to ward off the stench emanating from Garran’s every pore and orifice as he backed toward the open doorway. “The clan delegations are here, and they are waiting for us.”

“Huh? Oh, good.”

Adam stopped him with a hand against his chest. “You’re not wearing pants.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I brought a wash bucket. I strongly suggest you use it.”

Garran spotted the bucket and picked up the rag floating inside it. “Thanks again.”

Garran scrubbed his face, armpits, and crotch, only in reverse order. Adam choked back his bile when Garran then poked a finger into the middle of the rag and began scrubbing his teeth.

“Whah?” he asked around the wad of cloth in his mouth.

Adam shook his head. “Nothing…just…nothing.”

It had been three months of almost cloistered existence. Thankfully, Adam’s life in the abbey had left him adapted for such living conditions. Garran was a variable for which no one could possibly prepare. Hygiene and drunkenness aside, the near-nightly sexual encounters acted out just a few feet away would likely haunt his sleep for years to come.

The passes were far from clear, but the southern range was navigable for those on foot or horseback, but it would be at least another two months before the caravans dared traverse the trade route with wagons.

Several new temporary lodges made of hide or oiled canvas dotted the steading, and scores of new faces mingled with those Adam and Garran had come to know during their stay. Most of those new faces looked upon the flatlanders with open hostility and disdain.

“When we get in there, let me do the talking for once,” Adam insisted. “I am trained in foreign diplomacy, and this is going to take a delicate hand.”

“You think I can’t be delicate?”

“I think it will be a miracle if we make it through the entire meeting without you exposing yourself.”

Garran looked down and cinched up his breeches. “Damn these laces. Fine, do it your way, but when you fail, I’m going to give you a big ole
I told you so
.”

“Fine.”

“Then I’m going to punch you in the crotch for doubting me.”

“If I fail at the talks and you get them to join us, you can hit me twice.”

“Deal.”

Adam and Garran entered the huge gathering hall but found it mostly empty. Only ten men occupied one of the long tables and benches with an equal number of mostly older men and twice as many warriors standing nearby. As host, Melkior sat at the head of the table and stood as his flatlander guests entered.

“Gentlemen, this is Prince Adam Altena, son of Remiel Altena, former king of Anatolia. The other is Garran Holt, agent to the crown and a transcended warrior.”

There was a modicum more respect in the men’s looks and muttered words directed toward Garran than those regarding Adam, although few were complimentary for either of them.

“Are you sure you want the reins on this one?” Garran whispered. “These guys look pretty hostile.”

“Melkior was hostile too, but I am the one who swayed him to our side.”

“You’re right. I’ll leave you here and go pitch their sons to some hungry bears.”

“It is one of your few skills.”

Karmund, one of the ten clan lairds, openly sneered his contempt. “So you’re going to give us our lands back are you? I’ll believe the words of a flatlander prince the day I shit gold.”

Adam grimaced and nodded. “Gentlemen, your distrust for me and my people is well deserved. The actions of my forefathers were nothing less than criminal, and I make no excuses for them. Neither will I make promises I cannot keep. I lack the authority to give you back your land even if I am able to return the throne to my family.”

“Then why the hell did we trek across scores of miles of snow-covered mountains to hear you out?” Olaf, another clan laird demanded.

“I will promise you this: if you help me, I will urge my sister and parliament to return all the lands wrongfully taken from you as well as enacting very favorable trade agreements. I will use every last copper of my inheritance to buy that support or even the land itself if I have to in order to return it to you.”

Aurel scoffed. “Empty promises written with a quill without ink. You think we’re nothing but a bunch of backwoods barbarians, but we aren’t as ignorant as you believe. Your father bankrupted himself building his roads. You inherit nothing, and upon that you want us to commit the lives of our warriors.”

Melkior raised his hand for peace. “I had the same reservations as you all, but I have found them both to be honorable and men of their word. Prince Adam saved the life of my son, and the fact that he does not make boastful claims as to what he can do makes me trust in his words.”

“Fine,” Karmund said, “let us take him at his word. He says himself that he cannot give us back our lands even if he becomes king.”

“I cannot become king, that is why I cannot return your land,” Adam interjected.

“He promises something he cannot give!” Karmund continued. “Being a man of his word is meaningless when we do not know if we can trust his sister or whoever takes the throne even if we can wrest it from the usurpers. Melkior, if you trust him and want to gamble away the lives of your clan, then so be it, but I won’t do the same with mine.”

The other clan chiefs grumbled and nodded in agreement with Karmund.

Garran looked to Adam. “Are you done now? Mind if I give it a try?”

Adam sighed and nodded. “Go ahead, but try not to be insulting.”

“As if I ever have to try.” Garran faced the clan chiefs, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “You all are a bunch of idiots and cowards.”

“Shit, Garran!” Adam yelped as every man sitting around the table leapt to his feet, several of them grabbing for steel.

“You were once a strong, proud people, but now you live in scattered settlements stretched across some of the most inhospitable land anywhere in the twelve kingdoms, but when you are offered the one chance you will ever have at reclaiming it, you balk and mutter like old women.”

“What do you know about strength and courage?” Karmund shouted. “You’re nothing but sneaky little backstabber and glorified thief!"

“I defeated Dyre in single combat and claimed his wife for bed rights. How many of you can say that? How about your best champions, have any of them beat Dyre?”

Karmund looked to the enormous rager standing near the wall. “Is that true?”

Dyre nodded. “It’s a good thing he’s so small, or he would have wrecked my wife.”

“I’m not that small!” Garran said defensively.

The big warrior grinned. “She said it was like threading rope through a doorway.”

Karmund waved a hand. “This means nothing for what you propose. When all is said and done, when you weigh the risk with the likelihood of reward, it doesn’t come close to balancing.”

“Then let me add this to the scale,” Garran continued. “I have spent the last several years studying, of all things, history. What I have learned is that you all may well have placed your blame and hatred on the wrong people.”

“What are you saying?” Melkior asked.

“You blame Adam’s great, great, great uncle something or other for the war and driving you off your land. I think he was but a vehicle for those who are truly responsible.”

“Who is that?” Olaf asked.

“The Guild. The Guild was coming into prominence just before the Hillman wars. They needed the crown to become dependent upon them, so they orchestrated the war. They used their financial and political influence to urge the nobles and even the commoners to push into your territory, thus sparking the inevitable conflict. Once the war began in earnest, the crown needed money to finance it. Where do you think they got it? With the crown indebted to them, their power soared.

“One thing I have learned about history, other than it is boring as shit, is that it repeats itself as it is doing now. The Guild has enormous wealth and power, more than the King in some ways. So why risk everything on the coup that killed Adam’s family in a most cowardly way? Simple…because it wasn’t enough and it will never be enough for The Guild. The people who run The Guild can never have enough. Even when they have the most, most is not all, and anything less than all is grossly insufficient.

“You keep asking why you should risk what you have in the slight chance that you might get back what you had. The answer to that question is also simple. You once possessed the best agricultural land in the kingdom. You lost that, but now you occupy land with rich veins of iron, copper, tin, and even gold if you knew how to exploit it. Do you think The Guild doesn’t know what you’re sitting on? The only reason they haven’t moved to take it from you is that you are still a strong people and the cost is prohibitive. That is going to change very soon.

“With their control of Anatolia and the trade roads Remiel built, they will be able to strengthen their positions in Opatia, Arnao, Artemisia, Southlea, and the rest of the surrounding kingdoms until they can replace those monarchs with leaders of their choosing just like they did in Anatolia. With those armies under their control, marching in from the three nations bordering this mountain range, how long do you think you will last? This isn’t just about Adam, his throne, or even a desperate attempt to reclaim some farmland. It’s about preventing your own extinction, and I think that’s something damn well worth fighting for.”

Karmund turned to his Truth Speaker. “Is what he says true?”

The god-touched men huddled and spoke in low voices. Karmund’s Truth Speaker, his face blanched and drawn, spoke. “His words are true and very likely prophetic.”

A chill ran through the bones of the Hillmen that had nothing to do with the snow outside. The clan chiefs spoke heatedly for several minutes, arguments frequently punctuated with a fist pounding against the table or, occasionally, a rival’s face.

As host, Melkior spoke for them all. “Some are concerned that we may not have the numbers necessary to lay siege to Leva and force this usurper from the throne. He controls the largest army of the twelve kingdoms, and The Guild can purchase mercenaries at least equal to our numbers.”

“If all goes according to plan, you won’t have to fight them. Not many of them anyway,” Garran explained. “Your warriors are not experienced in siege warfare, but you are fantastic at raiding and scaring the living crap out of flatlanders. That will be your job. You will descend into Anatolia and create as much havoc as you can.”

“While not killing the populace!” Adam interjected.

Garran rolled his eyes. “While doing as little lethal damage as possible. This will force Gordon to deploy an army to deal with you. While that army is busy chasing your band of lunatics from one end of the country to the other, our other army will move in and lay siege to the capital. Hopefully, Adam and I can get inside before the fighting starts and rescue his sister. With her safely out of the way, our army and those who still support the Altena line will remove Gordon, The Guild, and the crooked nobles who support them. Evelyn becomes the true ruler until she produces a son, and you get your land back.”

Adam looked to Garran with a question written across his face. “What other army?”

“The ones we are going to recruit from the other leaders. What do you think I have been doing these past years? I have strong suspicions of those who were supporting your father and who are likely to support you. I should be able convince them to lend us their military to aid our cause much the same way I have done here.” Garran faced the clan lairds. “Right?”

The leaders looked to each other before all gave Garran a nod.

Garran slid a stool out from under the table with his foot. “Stand and address your new allies.”

Adam stepped onto the stool and beamed. “Gentlemen, I can’t thank you eno—”

Adam doubled over and collapsed when Garran’s fist collided with his groin. He fell to the floor, curled into a fetal position, and desperately tried to draw breath.

Garran knelt beside him, a grin splitting his face. “That’s one.”