Warlord (13 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Fallon

BOOK: Warlord
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“Hang on!” Kalan interrupted, forgetting for a moment that she was in the presence of a god. “Half of Fardohnya is waiting over the border to
invade
us?”
“Well … maybe not half,” Dace conceded. “But there
are
a lot of them. Brak said there was some way of working it out by counting fires, but—”
“You spoke to Brak?” Wrayan cut in. “When? Where? Is he all right?”
“If you’d let me
finish,
” Dace retorted impatiently. “Maybe I’ll get around to telling you.”
“Sorry,” they both muttered contritely.
“As I was saying, before I was so
rudely
interrupted,” the god continued, “I spoke to Chellie and pointed out he’d have a lot more fun if he helped the whole healing thing along instead of just waiting for nature to take its course, and how Death was run off his feet, and Zeggie was just being a pain, and even Kali was feeling it with people too afraid to touch each other for fear of dropping dead or something, and how the whole world just generally reeked at the moment, and how all of us could get back to normal if things settled down a bit, and he said yes.”
“He said yes to what?” Kalan asked, thoroughly confused.
“To stopping this plague thing you’re all so upset about, of course. There’s hardly been a death from it in weeks now. I would have told you the other day when we healed your friend, Wrayan, but I was so excited over you finding me another soul, I forgot all about it.”
“Do you mean the plague is over?” Kalan gasped.
“Of course not!” The god sighed, rolling his eyes at her ignorance. “You can’t just stop a thing like that dead in its tracks. People would get suspicious.”
“Yeah,” Wrayan agreed wryly. “They might think their prayers had been answered.”
Dace took a step back in alarm. “Good grief, man! Do you have any idea what would happen if we started actually
answering
prayers?”
“More people might believe in you, Divine One,” Kalan suggested.
“Which is all well and good,” the god agreed. “But-you’ve no idea what the world would be like. We know humans. Nobody would do anything! You’d just sit down, say a prayer and wait for one of us to do it.”
“So the gods’ willingness to sit back and let untold pain and suffering torment the mortals of this world is really just your way of demonstrating your selfless concern for our well-being?” Wrayan asked.
“Exactly!” Dacendaran agreed.
The thief stared at his god in amazement.
“So many things Brak told me when I was in Sanctuary suddenly begin to make sense,” Wrayan said, turning to Kalan.
For her part, Kalan was dumbfounded, but she wasn’t sure if it was this god’s bizarre logic or merely the fact she was standing here talking to one that left her so bemused.
“Anyway,” Dace said, “I just thought I’d drop by and let you know that I’ve fixed your little problem so now you can fix mine.”
“What problem?” Wrayan asked suspiciously.
“Does the phrase
greatest thief in all of Hythria
ring a bell?”
Wrayan sighed. “Things have been rather difficult lately, Divine One …”
“And I’ve just put an end to all that,” Dace reminded him. “So I expect to see some action soon, Lightfinger, or we’ll be having a discussion about what happens when you break a pact you made with a god.”
“What’s to steal out here?” Wrayan asked, looking around the empty rolling grasslands flanking the gravelled road.
“You’ll be in Greenharbour in a matter of days. I’m sure there’s something
there
that’s not nailed down.”
“I’m supposed to be helping Princess Marla.”
“Help her all you want.” Dacendaran shrugged. “Just don’t forget to steal something in my honour every now and then.”
“Every now and
then
?” Wrayan echoed doubtfully.
“Oh, all right … you know I meant every chance you get. I was trying to be nice.”
“And I appreciate your forbearance, Divine One.”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” he warned, which sounded odd coming from a creature that looked like a child.
Then Dace turned to Kalan. “You could steal something too, if you like.”
“I’ll honour you in my prayers, Divine One.”
“I’d rather you stole something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That seemed to make Dacendaran happy. Smiling, he turned on Wrayan and pointed at him. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, Wrayan Lightfinger. I haven’t forgotten.”
He was gone even before his words had faded into the hazy sunshine, leaving Kalan and Wrayan staring at the empty space in the road.
After a long, astonished silence, she looked up at Wrayan, shaking her head in wonder. “So, that was the God of Thieves …”
“Yes.”
“He’s … not what I expected.”
“No.”
“Is he likely to come back?”
Wrayan shrugged. “How should I know?”
She gathered up her reins and remounted her horse. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, eh?”
“Don’t start.”
Kalan bit back her amusement, and said nothing further, convinced her strange and unexpected encounter with a god was simply more proof Wrayan Lightfinger was destined to be by her side.
Kalan Hawksword had plans, after all, to be High Arrion someday. Who better as a consort for the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective than a man who could put her directly in touch with the gods?
 
M
arla Wolfblade’s plans to destroy Alija Eaglespike involved more than simply having her killed. That was far too simple, far too easy and far too quick.
Alija is going to suffer
, she decided,
as much as I have.
Marla intended to play with Alija the same way a cat played with its prey before it killed. The High Arrion would experience the same pain and anguish she had caused Marla. She would suffer as Marla had suffered. Feel the loss Marla felt. Shed the same river of tears.
The most obvious target was Alija’s son, Cyrus, but even if the notion of killing a ruling Warlord wasn’t politically unwise, he wasn’t in the city at present and therefore was out of Marla’s reach. But Tarkyn Lye was here and he was the one responsible for tormenting Elezaar into betraying Marla. His death would not only hurt Alija, it would avenge poor Elezaar at the same time.
Two for the price of one. Revenge doesn’t come much better than that.
There was no question, however, of Marla being seen to be directly involved in his death. She wanted vengeance, not open warfare, and would reveal her part in his downfall when it suited her own agenda. So Marla did what any respectable Hythrun did when they wanted an enemy taken care of.
She hired the Assassins’ Guild.
The Raven himself came to call on her, after Marla had asked Rodja to let it be known she was once again interested in employing the guild to take care of a small problem for her. The Raven was an old man now. Quite a remarkable feat for someone in his line of work and probably the reason the speculation was so rife about his successor. Marla greeted him cordially, showing him into the main reception hall of her townhouse, inviting him to join her in a light supper. The old assassin lowered himself to the cushions carefully and accepted the glass of wine she poured with her own hand.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve done business together, your highness,” the Raven remarked, as he took a sip of the wine, nodding appreciatively at the fine vintage. He knew enough about wine to understand Marla was treating him as an equal by serving the best. That’s what Ruxton always advised.
Serve the commoners the good stuff, Marla, and they’ll follow you anywhere.
“I’m a woman, Master Raven,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “I tend to find other ways of dealing with my problems than just having them killed.”
“But not this time?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Not this time,” she agreed.
“So who is this miscreant who has incurred the wrath of Hythria’s most tolerant princess?”
“A
court’esa.”
“You don’t need my guild for that, your highness. You’re well within your rights to kill your own slave.”
“He’s not my slave.”
“Ah, yes, well that does complicate matters, somewhat.” He took another generous mouthful of wine. “Still, a slave, even a
court’esa,
is easy enough to dispose of, and not even against the law, should your involvement become public knowledge. It shouldn’t cost much.”
“What if he belongs to the High Arrion?”
The Raven studied her, looking a little doubtful. He knew as well as Marla there was only one
court’esa
in the employ of Alija Eaglespike. “I’ve no wish to buy into anything political, your highness. You know how we feel about interfering in things that might bring the guild unwanted attention.”
“Then why have you done nothing about Galon Miar?”
The Raven put down his wine and stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“He’s openly flaunting himself as the High Arrion’s lover. You might find that amusing, but I believe it seriously undermines your guild’s credibility.”
“Who Galon Miar sleeps with is his own business. I don’t believe he’s betraying our guild. Or bringing it into disrepute.” He smiled knowingly. “Are you sure you’re not jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“Galon’s an attractive man, your highness, and closer to your age than Alija Eaglespike’s. Women have done far worse than order a slave killed to get his attention.”
“And you think that’s why I want this done? To get a man’s attention?”
“Stranger things have been known to happen.”
Marla spoke with all the withering scorn she could muster. “Alija Eaglespike is an Innate magician, Master Raven. That is common knowledge. She can read minds. She can read your precious Galon Miar’s mind. Instead of worrying about
my
motives, perhaps you should be worrying about how many of your secrets she’s siphoned out of your lieutenant’s memory in the last couple of months.”
The Raven frowned. “You impugn the honour of one of my most trusted men.”
“I’m more concerned that he’s not compromising mine.”
He smiled reassuringly, leaning forward to pick up his wine again. “Only you and I know the details of our previous arrangement, your highness.”
“You sent Galon Miar here to remind me of that obligation.”
“But he doesn’t know the details.”
“He knows I’ve used your guild in the past,” Marla pointed out. “All I need is for Alija to learn that from Galon Miar’s mind and the next thing you know she’ll be trying to find out why. In light of whom I had killed, and the reason for it, I doubt it would take any giant leap of intuition to work out the identity of my victim.”
“These are the risks one takes when one arranges an assassination, your highness.”
“I’m prepared for the risks. For that matter, I’m prepared to stand up publicly and defend what I did. But logic and emotion are two entirely different things, sir. The man I paid you to eliminate was the father of two of my children and the only son of my closest ally. I’m not about to jeopardise those relationships just because Galon Miar can’t keep his trousers on.”
The Raven frowned. “Is this an opening gambit, your highness?”
“An opening gambit?”
“Are you trying to renegotiate our arrangement?”
“Not at all, Master. I’m trying to protect myself from your uncharacteristic sentimentality when it comes to your deputy.”
“What exactly did you want of me?”
“I want Tarkyn Lye killed,” Marla informed the head of the Assassins’ Guild. “And I want Galon Miar to do it and I want him to know who ordered the job.”
The Raven was silent for a moment. “Why Galon?”
“Firstly, because I want proof my secrets are safe with your guild, Master Raven. But mostly, because he has access to Alija’s household and can probably do the job with a minimum of fuss.”
The Raven sipped his wine thoughtfully. “How we perform a job is not usually the concern of our clients, your highness. I have any number of men who could move in and out of the Sorcerers’ Palace, or Lady Eaglespike’s private residence for that matter, without being detected. And if what you say about the High Arrion’s ability to read minds is true, Galon would be in extreme danger if she was to learn of his deed.”
“That would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it,” Marla agreed.
“I don’t imagine she’ll be very pleased with you, either, should she learn of your involvement in this affair.”
“And how will the High Arrion learn of it, Master Raven? You seem fairly certain your secrets are safe in the hands of Galon Miar. Of course, should she find out who killed her favourite slave, I imagine that will put a swift end to their affair.”
The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I see. This has more to do with some problem between you and Lady Alija than the death of a slave or getting Galon’s attention, I daresay.”
“I don’t enquire into your affairs, Master Raven. I’d appreciate you not enquiring into mine.”
“In that case, your highness, you need to just accept that certain men among us are possessed of …
skills …
that make their minds impervious to casual scrutiny, and leave it at that.”
“You expect me to believe that old wives’ tale about assassins who can control their thoughts well enough to stop the Harshini reading them?”
“It worked well enough when the Harshini were around, your highness.”
Marla was unconvinced. “How would you know? You haven’t seen a Harshini in your lifetime to put your theory to the test.”
“Then accept that despite how many times the High Arrion has made physical contact with my deputy, she’s done nothing to indicate she’s learned anything from him other than a few interesting new positions for making love.” He smiled and added, “Trust me, given the guild secrets Galon Miar is privy to, we’d know about it pretty damn quickly if he’d been compromised.”
Marla wasn’t completely persuaded, but neither was this an argument she was going to win. She shrugged, and let the matter drop. “How much to remove Tarkyn Lye?”
The Raven nodded his agreement. “Ten thousand gold rivets.”
She was shocked. “For the death of a
slave?
He probably didn’t cost that much when Alija bought him in the prime of life.”
“You require one of my most valuable men to risk his life.”
“Every one of your assassins risks his life on a regular basis,” she reminded him. “This is no different. Let him use his much-vaunted mental skills to protect himself from his lover’s wrath.”
“I’m not sure Galon will see it that way.”
“That’s his problem, Master Raven. Not mine.”
“And what of our original agreement?”
“What of it?”
“You owe us an apprentice, your highness. I see no sign of one on the horizon.”
“I’ve been a widow for little more than two months, Master Raven. Surely I’m allowed some time to grieve before I start seeking a new husband with a child suitable for your needs?” She smiled then, aware she couldn’t afford to make an enemy of this man while her agreement remained unfulfilled. “It should make for some interesting pillow talk on my next wedding night, don’t you think?
Thanks for the lovely wedding, dearest, and did I mention I’ve promised your son to the Assassins’ Guild?”
The Raven didn’t seem impressed with her attempt at levity. “If you are planning to marry a man with a suitable child for us to recruit, make sure the boy is no older than eleven or twelve. They’re too old, after that, to undertake the training with any degree of success.”
“I shall add that to my list.”
The Raven’s eyes narrowed slyly. “Perhaps I could aid you, your highness, by providing a list of suitable candidates?”
Marla’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you have a sideline in matchmaking, Master Raven?”
He shrugged. “A natural consequence of being responsible for creating so many widows and widowers, when you think about it.”
“I suppose it is.” There was something very disturbing about the idea, she thought, but decided not to pursue the matter. After leaning forward to ring the bell to order supper brought in, she picked up the decanter and offered more wine. “And I thank you for the offer, Master Raven,” Marla added, as she refilled his glass, “but I think I can manage. I’ve done well enough so far, finding husbands, without the help of the Assassins’ Guild.”
It was three hours after the Raven left that Galon Miar banged noisily on the front door of Marla’s townhouse. Just enough time, Marla calculated, for the Raven to return to his guild headquarters, inform his lieutenant of Marla’s request, and for Galon to ride here in a fury.
Cadella, accompanied by two palace guards, opened the door to his insistent banging. Galon pushed his way in as soon as the door was unlocked, looking around impatiently.
“I want to see the princess!”
Waiting out of sight, just inside the main reception room, Marla watched the commotion in the foyer with interest.
“Her highness doesn’t see anybody this late,” Cadella scolded. “And you’ve no right to be here banging on decent people’s doors like that in the middle of the night.”
“Decent people don’t hire assassins,” he pointed out furiously. “Where is she? I demand to see her!”
Cadella waved the two guards forward, obviously intending to have Galon thrown back out into the street. Marla almost let them try, but reconsidered. Galon Miar was an assassin, and these men were palace guards, not seasoned Raiders trained by Geri Almodavar; it was debatable if either man was a match for him. They certainly didn’t deserve to die over something as trivial as this.
“It’s all right, Cadella,” Marla said, stepping into the hall. “You can let Master Miar in.”
Clearly unhappy at the notion, the housekeeper took a step backwards. “As you wish, your highness.”
Galon turned on Marla angrily. “You’ve got a damn nerve!”
“
I
have a nerve?” she repeated, raising an elegant brow. “I’m not the one barging into people’s houses in the middle of the night, yelling at the top of my voice.”

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