Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers (29 page)

“Enough, enough!” the warrior begged, much to the amusement of the patrons of the inn. “Janna, I've been busy.”

“Oh,
busy!
Indeed, I can guess how
busy
!” She confronted him with her eyes narrowed angrily, standing on the last two stairs so that her eyes were level with his. Her hands were on her hips, and she thrust her chin forward stubbornly, not at all ready to make peace.

“Give ‘im a rest, lass,” called another fighter lounging at an outside table, one wearing the same scarlet-and-gold livery as Arton. “King's nervy; keeps 'im on ‘and most of th' time. 'E
‘as
been busy.”

“Oh, well then,” the girl said, seeming a bit more mollified. “But you
could
have sent word.”

“I'm here now, aren't I?” he grinned, with just a touch of arrogance. “And we ought to be making up for lost time, not wrangling in the street.”

“Oh—Oh!”
She squealed in surprise as he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her up the stairs.

He pulled the door open; closed it behind him.

Silence.

One of the serving girls paused in her distribution of ale mugs, sighed, and made calf eyes at the closed door. “
Suck
a man. Wisht I ‘ad me one like 'im.”

“Spring is aborning, and young love with it,” intoned a street minstrel, hoping that the buxom server would take notice of
him.

“Young
lust,
you mean, rhymester,” laughed the second fighter. “Arton's no fool. That's a nice little piece he brought with him out of the country—and cheap at the price of a room, a bit of feeding, and a few gewgaws. One of these days I may go see if she's got a sister who wants to leave the cowflops for the city.”

“
If
you can get any girl to look at your ugly face,” sneered a third.

The mutter of good-natured wrangling carried as far as the second-floor room, where the young fighter had collapsed into a chair, groaning. The room's furnishings were simple; a bed, a table, a wardrobe and three chairs.

And an enormous wolflike creature on the hearth.

“Warrior's Oath, Keth—you
might
make yourself lighter next time!” the warrior groaned. “My poor back!”

“If I'd known you were going to play border bridegroom, I'd have helped you out, you idiot!” the brown-haired girl retorted, closing the shutters of the room's single window, then snatching a second chair and plopping down into it. “Tarma, where the hell have you been these past few days? A note of three words does
not
suffice to keep me from having nervous prostrations.”

:I told you she was all right,:
the
kyree
sniffed. :
But you wouldn't believe me.:

“Warrl's right, Keth. I figured that he'd tell you if anything was wrong, so I wasn't going to jeopardize my chances by doing something marginally out of character. And I've been busy, as I said,” Tarma replied, rubbing her eyes. “Damn, can't you do something about the way these spells of yours make my eyes itch?”

“Sorry; not even an Adept can manage that.”

Tarma sighed. “Char has gotten the wind up about something—maybe he's even getting some rumors about
our
work, who knows? Anyway, he's been keeping me with him day
and
night until I could find somebody he trusts as much as me to spell me out. How is the conspiracy business going?”

Kethry smiled, and ran her hands through her hair. “Better than we'd hoped, in a lot of ways. Jadrek will be giving me the signal as soon as he's done with his latest client, so why don't we save our news until we're all together?”

“Fine by me; I don't suppose you've got anything to eat around here?”

“Why? Don't they feed you at the palace?”

“Having gotten leave to go, I wasn't about to stick around and maybe get called back just so I could feed my face,” Tarma retorted.

Kethry raised one eyebrow. “Char's
that
nervy?”

Tarma spotted half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese on the table behind Kethry and reached forward to seize both. “He's that nervy,” she agreed, slicing bits off the cheese with her belt-knife and alternating those tidbits with hearty bites of bread. She would have said more, but a gentle tapping came from the wall. Kethry jumped up out of her chair and faced the wall, holding both palms at shoulder height and facing it. The wall itself blurred for a little, then the door that had been hidden by Kethry's illusion swam into view. Jadrek pushed it open and stepped into the room.

There had not been a door there when they'd taken these two rooms; Jadrek's suite opened only into the inn, and Kethry's had two doors, the exterior and one like Jadrek‘s, opening on the inn corridor. But what could be done by hands could also be done by magic, and within one day of Kethry's taking possession of this room, she had made, then concealed, the door in their common wall. It was a real door and not a magic portal, just in case Jadrek ever needed to make use of it when Kethry was not present, for Kethry had set the spell of concealment so that he controlled it on his side of the wall.

“And how does the Master Astrologer?” asked Tarma, genially.

“Better than when he was Master Archivist,” Jadrek chuckled. “I think I shall have Stefan find a successor. Astrology is a more lucrative profession!”

“Why am I not surprised?” Tarma asked sardonically. “Gentle lies always cost more than the truth. I take it none of your ‘clients' have recognized you?”

“It wouldn't be likely,” he replied mildly, taking the third, unoccupied seat around the little table. “Most of my ‘clients' are merchants' wives. When would any of
them
have seen the Court Archivist?”

“Or, given your notable ability to fade into the background, noticed him if they'd seen him?” added Kethry. “All right—Tarma, love, you first.”

“Right. Jadrek, I managed to deliver all but one of your messages; the one to Count Wulfres I left with Tindel. Wulfres wouldn't let me get near him; I can't much blame him, since I have been building quite a formidable reputation as Char's chief bully-boy.”

“Is that why he trusts you?” Kethry asked.

“Partially. Don't worry, though. That reputation is actually doing me more good than harm. If anyone notices when I take somebody aside for a little chat, it doesn't do them any benefit to tell the King, because Char assumes I'm delivering threats!” She chuckled. “Keth, that Adept we took out was the only one Char had; the rest of his mages are Master and Journeyman class. So don't worry about this disguise continuing to hold.”

Kethry heaved a sigh of profound relief. “Thank the gods for that. That
did
have me nervy. How are you getting on with Char? You said far better than we'd hoped—”

“That's a good summation; he
doesn't
trust any of his native Guards, and he doesn't trust his nobles. That leaves him with me, a couple of other landless mercs, and a handful of outland emissaries. Since I'm trying to give an imitation of a freefighter with a veneer of civilization and a range of interests slightly beyond ‘food, fornication and fighting,' he seems to be gravitating more and more toward me.”

“And needless to say, you're encouraging him.”

:Idra taught you well,:
Warrl commented.
: You encourage familiarity with the King while never going over the line of being social inferior. That takes a delicate touch I did not suspect you had, mindmate.:

“Having you coaching me in my head hasn't hurt, Furball. Thanks to you, I've never once been even remotely disrespectful; been pounding heads when some of the Guards go over the line, in fact. And as a result Char's slowly taking me as cup-companion as well as bodyguard.”

“That's certainly
far
better than we hoped!” Jadrek exclaimed.

“Tarma, what about Idra?” Kethry asked, both elbows on the table, chin in her hands. She looked unwontedly sober.

Tarma sighed, and rubbed one temple. “Keth, we both know by now she's got to be dead.”

Kethry nodded, reluctantly, as Jadrek bit his lip. “I just didn't want to be the one to say it,” she replied sadly. “Need's pull just hasn't been strong enough for her to have still been alive.”

Tarma sighed. “I think I realized it—I mean, really
believed
it—a couple of days after—” She stopped for a moment, and looked squarely at Jadrek.
He's an outClansman—she
thought, weighing him in her mind.—
but
—
why not? No reason why he shouldn't know; if Keth has her way, he won't be an outClansman for long.
“—after I called one of the
leshya‘e
and got the Star-Eyed Warrior instead, that night in Valdemar. You know, the evening when Roald and I came back as best of friends? He saw Her, too—and She made it clear to both of us that we were all on the same side. D'you remember how She turned the set of his Whites I was wearing black?”

Kethry nodded slowly, then real enlightenment dawned. “Black ... is for vengeance and blood feud....”

“Right,” Tarma nodded. “She could have left my clothing alone; She could have changed it to brown, if She was truly offended at me being out of Kal‘enedral colors, which I think is rather unlikely. She doesn't get that petty. But She didn't leave the Whites white—and She'd already convinced me that Roald and Stefansen were on the side of the righteous. She can be very subtle when She chooses, and She was trying to give me a subtle message, that I was back on blood-trail. So who would be the logical one for me to avenge—and who would be the logical target for vengeance?”

“Idra—and Char.”

“Right and right again. My only questions now are—was it accident or premeditated, and how he did it.” She tightened her jaw, and felt very nearly murderous at that moment. “And the closer I get to him, the likelier I am to find the answers to both.”

She let the sentence hang for a long moment, then coughed slightly. “Jadrek? Your turn.”

“I've been approached by three of those nobles you contacted for me, via their wives,” he said, visibly shaken by Tarma's assertions—and yet, un-surprised by them, as if her words had only confirmed something he had known, but had not wished to acknowledge that he knew. “They were already planning some sort of action on their own, which, given their temperaments, was something I had thought fairly likely. In addition, I have been approached by those I did not expect—prelates of no less than five separate orders. It seems
they
had already spoken quietly with my chosen highborn—”

“And went on to you. Logical.” Tarma nodded thoughtfully. “And what prompted
their
dissatisfaction ?”

“Oh, a variety of causes—from the altruistic to the realistic.” He wrinkled his brow in thought. “Mind you, I don't personally know as much about the clergy as I do the Court, but they seem to be appropriate responses given the personalities of those I spoke with and the philosophies of their orders.”

“Huh. When we start to get
clergy
on our side....” Tarma propped her feet up on the table, ignoring Kethry's frown of disapproval, and sat in thoughtful silence for a long time. “All right,” she said, when the silence had begun to seem unbreakable, “It's time for some hard choices, friends. We're getting the support, and not only are we moving a bit ahead of schedule, but we're getting some unexpected help. So which of the plans are we going to follow?”

She tilted her head at Jadrek, who pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I'd rather not run a full-scale uprising, frankly,” he said. “It's too unwieldy for this situation, I think; your commanders really have to be in the field for it to succeed. Tarma, you are the most militant of us, and we
need
you here—so that would leave me or Kethry.”

“Not me,” Kethry objected. “Fighters don't like following a mage, and I don't blame them. I'm no strategist, either.”

“And I am neither fighter nor strategist,” Jadrek replied.

“Stalemate,” Tarma observed, flexing her shoulders to try and relax the tense muscles there. “Not that I don't agree with you both. Warrl?”

“All right, we're agreed that rousing the country-side is out, then?”

The other two nodded, slowly.

“Assassination.”

:That, I favor,:
Warrl replied, raising his head from his paws.
:It would be an easy thing for me. Wait until he is in the garden with a wench
—
over the wall
—: He snapped his jaws together suggestively.
:It would give me great pleasure, and I could easily be gone before alarm could be effective.:

“Not clear-cut enough,” Jadrek asserted. “There will always be those wanting to make a martyr out of Char. It's amazing how saintly a tyrant becomes after he's dead. We want Stefan
firmly
on the throne, or this country will be having as many problems as it already has, just different ones.”

Warrl sighed, and put his head back down.

“Sorry, mindmate—I sympathize. That leaves the small-scale uprising; here, in the city. Can we pull
that
off?”

“Maybe. By Midsummer we'll have the working people solidly behind us; those that aren't losing half their incomes to Char's taxes are losing half their incomes because the others have less to spend,” Kethry said, nibbling at her thumbnail. “What I've been working with are the merchants, and they are vastly discontent with the way things are going. If there's an uprising, they will be on our side of the riot. The problem is that these are
not
people used to fighting.”