“I’ll do that right enough, Captain. But the sooner they’re gone, the better.”
Marl floated down the long corridor and through the empty dining hall. He heard voices and entered a room containing two men. One was sitting at a desk; the other was standing before him. The conversation was of little note, something to do with tax revenues and the shortfalls caused by the severity of the winter and the death of more livestock than expected. Marl took the opportunity to study the Moidart. The man was slim, the skin of his face drawn tight over high cheekbones. He had long hair drawn tightly over his skull and tied in a ponytail. His clothes were well cut, a jacket of black satin over a white shirt with lace cuffs. He wore no jewelry. Marl moved closer, staring at the man’s face. It was cruel and haughty. Here was a man very much like Winter Kay, a natural ruler who expected instant obedience. Marl could see arrogance in him and a steely determination. Not a man to flatter unnecessarily. He would read it instantly and feel contempt for the flatterer.
Marl moved on, finally reaching the room of the Moidart. It was less well furnished than the guest room he occupied. As he floated there, he felt another presence. His spirit spun.
The spirit of Kurol Ryder hung suspended in the air, scanning the room. In the flesh Kurol Ryder was a good-looking man, but Marl had never quite adjusted to the spirit features: the pale, sickly scaled faces and the bloody eyes. Happily, spirits caused no reflection in mirrors and Marl had never had to see himself in such a light.
“No problem here,” said Kurol Ryder. “The lock is old and will be easily picked. If I suffocate him, it might look as if he died in his sleep.”
“No,” said Marl. “Cut his throat as he sleeps. Less possibility of anything going wrong.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Marl could feel the pull of his body. Unlike the other Redeemers, he could not hold this ethereal form for long. Dizziness touched him, and he returned to his body with a start. His head was pounding painfully, and he took a pinch of willow powder from his pouch, placing it on his tongue. He felt a little sick and rose from the bed. From the window he could look out over the mountains to the north, towering peaks crowned with snow. Marl closed his eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for the nausea to pass.
He heard a light knock at his door. After a moment it opened, and the powerfully built Kannit Persan stepped inside. For a big man he moved gracefully, always in balance. Kannit spent an inordinate amount of time honing his body. Whenever time allowed, he would be found running through the hills or heaving weights. He maintained that had he not been from a noble family, he would have become a circle fighter like the great Chain Shada. Marl was not so sure. Kannit Persan, a handsome man with fine aquiline features, had a habit of pausing by mirrors and enjoying his reflection. The thought of a broken and twisted nose or scarred brows would be anathema to him.
“It is a fine house,” said Kannit. “A shame we will not be staying long. The grounds are extensive, and there is a track leading up into the hills. One of the servants told me it extends over four miles through some beautiful country. I’d like the opportunity to run it.”
“Another time,” promised Marl. “Kurol is prepared. Are you?”
“Of course. It will be simpler without the Harvester.”
“I would be happier had we seen his body,” said Marl.
“One shot in the center of his back, one in his chest. Even if he survived, he’s not going to be in any condition to save his master,” pointed out Kannit.
“What do you make of Galliott?”
Kannit shrugged his massive shoulders. “An ordinary soldier, no more, no less. I could take him in a heartbeat. There’s an interesting painting in the gallery,” he said. “A beautiful woman with one green eye and one gold. Just like Macon. Must be something that runs in the family.”
“The Moidart’s grandmother, I understand,” said Marl. “She was a real beauty in her day.”
A servant arrived, bowed, and asked them to join the Moidart in the dining hall.
Marl and Kannit strolled down the stairs. Kurol Ryder was waiting for them in the company of the officer Galliott.
The Redeemers followed Galliott to the doorway of a long room, where a fire was blazing in a deep hearth. There Galliott left them, drawing shut the door behind him.
“Welcome, my friends,” said the Moidart. “Please be seated.” He glanced at Marl. “You I know, young man. Be so kind as to introduce your friends.”
Marl did so. Both of the Redeemers rose and bowed as he named them. “Kurol Ryder,” said the Moidart. “Are your family from the Deppersom manor?”
“Yes, lord.”
“I knew your father many years ago. He served at Eldacre back during the first clan rising. A fine soldier. Utterly ruthless and totally dedicated. Such men are rare. Is he well?”
“He died, lord, five years ago.”
“But you follow the family tradition of service to your lord. Commendable. It is what raises the Varlish above lesser races.” He swung to Kannit. “You, sir, I do not know, but you have the look of the Varlish about you. Cold eyes. Most becoming.”
The Moidart seated himself opposite the three Redeemers, who were sitting side by side and facing the window. Servants brought food: a pie of good steak and braised kidney, some freshly baked bread, and three flagons of strong ale. Marl noted that the Moidart did not partake of the ale, and so he, too, refused, requesting water. The meal was finished in near silence. Once the servants had cleared the dishes, the Moidart leaned back.
“I do miss the life at court,” he said, “the intrigues and the politicking, It makes one feel alive. Enemies who become friends, friends who become enemies, each person desperately trying to read the runes and see where the ebb and flow of power will take him. I understand you are particularly adept at such games, Master Coper. I congratulate you. Not an easy life.”
“I am just a simple man, my lord,” said Marl, “serving my lord as best I can.”
“And how is Lord Winterbourne?” asked the Moidart. “I hear he has been having problems of late.”
“Problems, my lord?” queried Marl.
“A troublesome general who just does not seem to want to die. Is that not so?” The smallest of smiles touched the Moidart’s lips, but his eyes remained emotionless. The room suddenly seemed very still.
“You have the advantage of me, sir. Of whom are you speaking?”
“Why, my son, sir. Gaise Macon. Is that not why you are here?” The question was asked innocently, and Marl thought fast.
“I think someone must have overstated the situation to you, sir. The quarrel was never between Lord Winterbourne and Gaise. Lord Ferson challenged your son. Lord Winterbourne was merely acting as his second. The matter is now resolved. There is certainly no ill feeling between the two men. Lord Winterbourne speaks highly of General Gaise, who is a masterful fighter and a fine cavalry commander. He is a credit to you, sir.”
“We come from a family of fighters, Master Coper,” the Moidart said smoothly. “More than that, we are intriguers. I have forgotten more about treachery and malice than you have ever learned. So let me tell you how I see the situation. Were I Lord Winterbourne and I desired the death of Gaise Macon, I would—as he did—try to arrange it in a way that could not be laid at my door. I would do this because I would be concerned about the Moidart. I would think, What do I know about this man? The answer is simple. The Moidart is a killer. He has no sense of remorse, is not held back by principles of honor or chivalry. If I kill his son, he will find a way to kill me. Are you following me so far?”
“I hear what you are saying, my lord, but it has no meaning for me.”
The Moidart gave a small smile. It did not reach his eyes. “Bear with me, then, young Coper. Think of it as a political lesson. A duel is arranged. This is an excellent plan. If Macon dies, all is well. If he lives? Well, other plans can be hatched. The idea of pistols is a pleasing one. So much can go wrong—and pass undetected. A misfire, perhaps. O
r . . . who knows? A badly loaded weapon? Yes, I think this is the route I would have followed.” The Moidart filled a goblet with water and sipped it, his pale eyes watching the three men intently. “Yet it failed. Plans do, you know. The best of them. Rogue elements appear. They cannot be planned for. Are you a student of history, young Coper?”
“I am, sir.”
“Then you will recall the legendary Battle of Vorin Field. The Keltoi battle king, Bane, had been betrayed, and his forces had been led into a trap. Yet he won. History tells us it was because of his bravery and his heroic leadership. This is only partly true. It was won because an officer leading a cavalry troop got lost. The man had been sent with six hundred riders to intercept a supply caravan. In the maze of canyons and valleys he took a wrong turn. This brought him and his troops out behind the Stone army. Bane was hard-pressed, but when the officer led his men to attack the enemy rear, the battle was turned. Rogue elements, you see. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the killing of the troublesome Gaise. The duel failed to achieve its purpose. Now comes the first error. Killers are sent. One of them is a noted swordsman, the other a backstabber. Surely no rogue elements can spoil this plan.” The Moidart shook his head and laughed. “Who could have foreseen the arrival of an ugly dog? Hmmm. Most amusing. Added to this, Gaise Macon is also a fine swordsman. I take the credit here, for long ago I hired Mulgrave to teach him. However, that is by the by. For now the snake is out of the basket. The killers were Redeemers. Only one man could send Redeemers. Now his problem has truly doubled. Once the Moidart discovers the plan, he will become an enemy far more deadly than the naive young general. Therefore, speaking still as Winter Kay, before I can take my vengeance on the son, I must see the father slain. How does that sound to you, Marl Coper?”
Marl sat very still. He could feel the tension in the two men on either side of him. Here they were, three Redeemers in a room, alone with the man they had come to kill. And he was taunting them.
“An interesting story, my lord,” said Marl. “Respectfully, however, there are flaws in it.”
“Pray enlighten me.”
“Firstly, the duel with Lord Ferson followed Gaise Macon’s accusation of cowardice. Lord Ferson had no alternative but to issue a challenge. Secondly, though I know of no attack on Lord Gaise, if two Redeemers did seek to kill him, they could have done so for their own reasons. It does not follow that they were instructed to harm him. Lord Gaise has a habit of speaking his mind. Perhaps he insulted them. All I know is that I have been instructed to come to you, offering the friendship of my lord.”
“Splendid,” said the Moidart. “I congratulate you. Had you come alone, I might even have been tempted to allow myself to be convinced. Unfortunately, you brought these two fools with you,” he said, waving a hand toward Kurol Ryder and Kannit Persan. “Their eyes betray them. Young Ryder is like his father. When he is threatened, his face adopts the look of a frightened rabbit.”
“Hell! Let’s do it now!” snarled Kurol Ryder, pushing himself to his feet and drawing a knife from his boot.
Something bright and shining slashed through the air. Blood splashed from Kurol’s open throat. His head lolled absurdly, and his body crumpled. A huge hand grabbed Kurol’s hair. The scythe slashed down again, and the head came clear.
Marl’s heart was hammering, and he felt dizzy. Glancing to his right, he saw the huge figure of Huntsekker, a bloody scythe in his hand. Beyond him a hidden paneled doorway lay open. Another man was standing there, small and white-haired. He smiled at Marl, who saw a flash of gold teeth. Huntsekker tossed Kurol’s head to the tabletop. It rolled to the left and lay there, the sightless eyes staring at Marl.
“Ah, I see the rogue element has arrived,” said the Moidart. Kurol Ryder’s headless body toppled to the floor.
Kannit Persan, his face drenched in sweat, was staring at the Moidart and the long pistol he had produced from beneath the table. “So now,” said the Moidart with a cold smile, “we find ourselves in a pretty fix. Three assassins come to my home, sent by the king’s foremost general. What am I to do with them?”
The small white-haired man moved out from behind the panel and approached the Moidart, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
“Ah,” said the Moidart, glancing up toward the ceiling. “Apparently we are joined by Winterbourne himself.” Transferring his gaze to Marl, he asked: “Do you wish to commune with your lord? Perhaps he can offer some way out of this predicament.”
“I feel certain, sir,” said Marl, “that there has been a great misunderstanding. I am sure we can resolve this matter without further bloodshed.”
“I don’t think so,” said the Moidart, lifting the pistol. The shot sounded like a thunderclap in the enclosed room. Kannit Persan, his throat torn out, surged to his feet, staggered several paces, then pitched to the floor, where he lay for several moments noisily drowning in his own blood. The Moidart laid down the pistol and poured himself a goblet of water. He spoke to Marl, but his words were drowned by the gurgling gasps of Kannit Persan.
“I did not hear you, sir,” said Marl.
“I asked if you would like a little water, sir. You seem pale.”
A growing sense of unreality gripped Marl Coper. He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
At last Kannit was silent. The Moidart sipped his water, his gaze never leaving Marl’s chalk-white face. “I have always been a vastly unforgiving man,” said the Moidart. “I have no ill feeling concerning the attempt to kill me. As I have already said, I would likely do the same if the circumstances were reversed. What does irritate me, however, is the fact that it was organized with such a blatant lack of subtlety. It insults my intelligence.” The white-headed man spoke quietly to the Moidart once more. “Ah, you are alone now, Master Coper. Apparently we have bored Lord Winterbourne.”
Marl took a deep breath and summoned the last of his courage. “As you are aware, sir, your son is in the south. His life hangs by a thread. Release me and I shall see that no harm comes to him.”
“No, no, no,” said the Moidart, shaking his head. “You cannot guarantee that, Marl Coper. My son will live or die depending on his skill and his luck. I cannot shape those events. Neither can you. If I could, I wouldn’t have killed your comrades. I would have found some other way to deal with Winterbourne. As it is, I am extremely displeased. I am a king’s man and have no sympathy for the covenant rabble. They were always going to lose. Now I am forced to their side. My own lands, mercifully free of the inefficiency of war, will now see battles and disruption to trade. My wealth, gathered by my family for generations, will be squandered on armies and guns and swords. It is most vexing.”
“Please don’t kill me, lord,” said Marl, tears dropping to his cheeks.
“I won’t be killing you yet, Master Coper. Oh, no. First there is much you can tell me. I need to know all there is to know about Winter Kay and his plans. My man Huntsekker will show you to your new quarters. I will join you there presently. Then we can talk.”
“I’ll tell you anything you need to know, lord. I swear it.”
“I know. People in my dungeons always do.”
10
* * *
Two hundred twenty-three cattle had survived the long drive to Eldacre. Fourteen had been slaughtered en route to feed the nine herders and sundry other folk who had begged food along the way. Five had been stolen, and Maev had forbidden Kaelin to lead his men after them. This had galled the young Rigante.
“They are my cattle, Kaelin,” she said quietly. “If anyone is entitled to be outraged, it is me.”
“Maybe so,” Kaelin told her. “But what would you have said had I been leading this trip and had come home to tell you that I decided to allow a few cattle to be stolen?”
Maev Ring suddenly smiled. Her hard face softened, and she seemed years younger. “I would have berated you, Nephew. Long and hard.”
The answer eased Kaelin’s anger. “So why this unaccustomed softness?”
Maev climbed do
wn from the long supply wagon and strode out to the edge of the trail. Far below they could see the towering gray castle standing proud above the town. Maev gazed down onto Eldacre, seeking out Five Fields, where every year the games were held. She felt her throat tighten as she remembered Jaim Grymauch giving the fight of his life against the Varlish champion, Gorain. Maev sighed. “A long time since I’ve been home,” she said. “Didn’t think I could face it before this. Not sure I can even now.”
Kaelin moved alongside his aunt, placing his arm around her shoulder. “I can still remember the pride I felt when Grymauch knocked the man out of the circle. I can hear the roar of the clansmen and see the stunned astonishment on the faces of the Varlish crowd.”
“Aye,” said Maev. “The man could punch.” She shrugged off his protective hug. “I need no mollycoddling,” she said.
Kaelin grinned and shook his head. “You’re the least huggable woman I ever met.”
“Aye, that’s true enough,” she agreed. The last of the sunlight fell upon her red and gray hair. Maev Ring at forty was still a handsome woman, straight-backed and tall. She had put on a little weight in the last four years but still walked with the easy grace of the highlander. Hitching up her heavy green skirt, she climbed back to the wagon. “Join me,” she said, sliding across the seat. “We need to talk.”
Kaelin stepped up alongside her and took the reins. The four horses leaned into the traces, and the wagon trundled toward the sloping road.
Behind them the herders prodded the cattle forward.
“Two weeks we’ve been on the road and now you need to talk?” said Kaelin.
“I’ll be seeing the Moidart tomorrow. I thought you might like to come with me.”
Kaelin Ring said nothing. Carefully he guided the wagon forward, keeping his foot poised above the brake. Maev watched him closely. “Has the Morrigu stolen your tongue?” she asked at last.
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