Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series

by Lindsay Buroker

  “That’s what I told him. More or less.”

  “Friends fight to protect friends. That’s how it works, Jev.”

  “I agree. I have an errand I need to run tonight—” an errand that, if successful, might make his chat with his father easier, “—but after that, I’m going to check some of the cultural events going on in the city to see if I can find Lornysh.”

  “Cultural events?” Cutter curled a lip.

  “Do friends not go to cultural events to protect friends?”

  “That’s asking a lot.”

  “I can check by myself. I just came by to see… I was hoping he’d come to say goodbye to you. If he means to leave.”

  Master Grindmor stomped out of the back, slapping her palms together and sending puffs of fine powder into the air.

  “You.” She pointed a finger at Jev. “Should’ve known it was some chatty zyndar distracting my apprentice. He’s far too old to start training, so it’s mostly charity that I’m teaching him anything at all. He doesn’t need interruptions.”

  “I was telling him about the hostile elven wardens in the city,” Jev said, not commenting on her charity—or the fact that silver dust coated her beard. “Cutter and I both fought in the war against their kind, so we’ll need to be careful.”

  “More elves? They come on that sissy tree that floated into the harbor, masquerading as a ship?”

  “No, they came on their own earlier in the week.” Jev wondered how long the wardens had been here looking for Lornysh and what kind of ship they’d arrived on. “I could use your apprentice’s help to make sure our friend is all right.”

  “You want to be the one responsible for delaying his training?”

  “It is three hours past the end of the work day,” Jev pointed out.

  “The human work day. It’s shocking your kind get anything done, what with all the sleeping and playing you do. Cutter, how much does this friend mean to you?”

  “A great deal, Master.”

  “Fine, go help him. But I expect payment in the morning.” She rubbed her dusty fingers together and stalked toward the back room again. “And take that hammer along. You need more than a pointy hook against wardens, not that I’m suggesting you cross elves with that kind of training, mind you.”

  “I will. Thank you, Master.” Cutter lifted his hook in a cheerful wave.

  “You have to pay her if you take time off?”

  “In pastries, yes. Now that a dwarven baker has set up in the quarry square, it’s easy to bring her quality ones.” Cutter headed for his faded tool pouch. He’d carried it all through the war, so Jev recognized it easily.

  “Quality ones with rock in the name?” he asked as Cutter opened the pouch.

  “A pastry isn’t worth eating if you can’t throw it and knock someone unconscious, Jev.”

  “Maybe we should get a dozen to use on the elves.”

  “You couldn’t carry a dozen, but I can pick you up some in the morning.”

  “Thoughtful. Thank you.”

  Cutter withdrew a smithy hammer that was blunt on both ends and had the heft of the aforementioned pastries. Jev had seen it dozens of times before, and he wondered why Grindmor thought Cutter needed it against elves. As far as Jev knew, it was just a tool. Cutter had used it to repair all manner of armor and weapons the soldiers had brought to him during the war.

  “Vastly improved.” Cutter smiled and brought it over, holding it reverently in his hands. “See?”

  Jev was about to say he didn’t see anything, but he noticed the hammer appeared newer than he remembered, completely free of scratches and dents. And was that a faint silvery-blue sheen to it?

  “She imbued it with magic,” Cutter added.

  “Oh? What does it do?”

  “It’s impossible to break now, and it’s attuned with the earth. Like me.”

  “Does that mean it doesn’t bathe often and smells like rocks?”

  “It means it’ll thwack an elf in the nose with extra oomph. Isn’t it wonderful? She did it as a reward for my adequacy.”

  “Adequacy? Is that the flattering word she used?”

  “It is.” Cutter beamed and held the hammer to his chest as if he planned to snuggle with it in bed. Maybe he already had.

  “A minute ago, she said you were old and barely worth training.”

  “She’s harsh because she wants me to work hard and live up to my potential. That’s how I knew I was doing good. When she said I was adequate.”

  “You’re an odd dwarf, Cutter.”

  “No, I’m an adequate one.” Cutter stuffed the hammer through his belt. “I’m going to make a special holster for it later. I can still use it as a tool, but I intend to carry it with me when I go into battle now.”

  “For thwacking elven noses?”

  “Precisely. Once I learn how, I’ll imbue one of your weapons with magic, so it’s better at thwacking too.”

  Jev touched the pistol he’d grabbed from his room earlier, refusing to go unarmed now that he’d been attacked multiple times. “Any chance you can do it tonight?”

  “Probably not. I’m still learning about enchanting weapons. All of my original training was on carving gems and drawing out and enhancing the power of dragon tears. You could ask Master Grindmor, but even for her, it would take some time. And she has a long list of tasks. She’s in high demand, you know.”

  “And I haven’t proven my adequacy to her.”

  “Don’t feel bad. It’s a difficult task.” Cutter waved toward the door.

  “Do you think that could block an attack from a warden’s magical sword?” Jev asked as they headed out.

  “I have no doubt it could. Shall we go hunt them down and verify that?”

  “Let’s find Lornysh first. Er, after I run my errand.” Jev hoped Cutter wouldn’t want to try his shiny new hammer on Zenia’s father. Maybe he should have gone on his errand by himself before coming to get him. “I can handle it on my own if you want to meet me at the Lovariath Art Museum. There’s a gallery opening tonight, and they’re serving elven wine, so I thought Lornysh might be tempted. I won’t be long. My stop is nearby.”

  “Jev.” Cutter pointed his hammer at his chest. “Do I look like the kind of person who wants to arrive early to drink elf wine and look at paintings?”

  “The wine is free.”

  Cutter wrinkled his nose. “But elvish. And not ale. Where are you going that you don’t want to take me?”

  “You’re welcome to come. I’m going to see Zenia’s father.”

  “Why? Is he sick?”

  “He might be after I punch him in the face.”

  “You’re going to do battle and wanted to foist me off at a museum? What’s wrong with your noggin, boy?”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Clearly.”

  They walked out of the industrial area and toward a high-end neighborhood where many zyndar families kept townhouses. Along the way, Jev peered down all the alleys and into all the alcoves. Even though he couldn’t imagine why the elves would single him out again, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy after the attacks. He was nervous for Lornysh, too, and half-expected to come across his dead body abandoned in one of those alleys.

  But the route was free of bodies and elves. Jev stopped at a bronze gate in a brick wall that surrounded a house offset from the others on the street. Fountains gurgled in the courtyard inside, and windchimes tinkled gently in the breeze. Statues of huge stone golems stood to either side of the path just inside the entrance, and Jev grimaced. Even though they were simple carvings, he’d seen enough of golems lately.

  “This is it,” he told Cutter.

  The gate was locked, so he pulled a chain next to it. A gong sounded in the courtyard.

  While they waited, Jev wondered if he should be direct or sit down and try to make friends with Veran Morningfar before asking about Zenia. He doubted he could muster the enthusiasm to make friendly overtures to someone w
ho’d treated her so poorly, leaving her mother to die when a few coins would have won her treatment in a hospital. Would Morningfar remember the incident? It must have been close to twenty years ago. Jev remembered Zenia saying she’d only been about twelve when she lost her mother and went to stay at the Water Order Temple.

  Jev touched his pistol, and he felt a twinge of nostalgia for the old days. As recently as in his father’s youth, dueling had been legal and considered an acceptable way for zyndar men to settle their differences. It still happened from time to time, but it wasn’t legal anymore, and it was a crime to kill another zyndar, even in a mutually-agreed-upon duel. Jev might have a hard time marrying Zenia from prison.

  A silver-haired butler came out, his face stern. He met Jev’s eyes through the gate, then looked pointedly toward the night sky, as if to let Jev know it was an unseemly hour for unannounced callers.

  It wasn’t that late.

  “I’m Zyndar Jev Dharrow,” he said without preamble. “I would like to see Veran Morningfar.”

  “Zyndar Morningfar is having his supper.”

  “I’d love to join him. Thank you.”

  The butler’s eyes narrowed. “Please return in the morning at a more reasonable hour.”

  “I work for the king during reasonable hours. And often unreasonable ones. Please tell Veran that I’m here to see him and only need a few minutes of his time.”

  Jev was surprised his name wasn’t getting him invited straight in. Even if he personally was the subject of spurious gossip right now, the Dharrows were an old and honored family, and most zyndar were careful not to irk them. Not to irk his old man, anyway. Jev admitted he was barely known after his ten years out of the kingdom. He suspected his father would have been invited right in if he had shown up. The butler had the mien of someone who considered anyone under forty an unruly youth best ignored or taught some manners.

  “I will inform him that you are here, but I know his ways. He does not entertain after dark.” The butler turned without waiting for a response and strode back inside, shutting the large front door with a thump.

  “I wasn’t planning on entertaining him,” Jev muttered.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  Jev thought about mentioning his nose-punching fantasy again. “Negotiate with him. Veran Morningfar is Zenia’s father. Her mother was common, but he’s zyndar. If he were to acknowledge her as one of his children, it might make it easier to convince my father that she’s good enough for his son to marry.” He curled a lip at the notion that Zenia wasn’t already good enough—any man would be lucky to have a woman who stood at his back in battles and helped him solve problems for the king.

  “Human marriage customs are unnecessarily complicated,” Cutter said. “If a dwarf woman wants a man, she simply tells him, after he’s given her a suitable number of gifts to prove that his interest is true and unwavering.”

  “How many spice racks is considered suitable?”

  “No more than one spice rack. It would be an uncreative mind that couldn’t come up with more than one kind of gift.”

  “So, the woman instigates things in your culture?”

  “Not always, but it’s her decision in the end if she wants a man or not.”

  “Do status or bloodlines come into play? You’ve got kings, so you must have royalty.”

  “Not the way you do. You don’t get to be king because of your blood. You battle the other contenders, and then the Crafts Council chooses based on who fought well and who they think has the superior head for leadership.”

  “Crafts Council?” Jev imagined a bunch of old dwarf maidens making doilies and knitting scarves while pondering a future leader for their people.

  “The best engineers, metalworkers, and craftsmen in the tunnels. Master Grindmor was on the Council until she left for reasons known only to her to travel.”

  “It does seem a practical way to choose a leader,” Jev said. “Merit rather than blood.”

  “Yes, you humans are terribly backward and strange. By the way, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  Not only had the butler not come back outside, but he’d cut off the porch lamp that had been burning when they first arrived.

  Jev gritted his teeth, tempted to climb the wall and let himself in. It wasn’t as if his reputation could get much worse right now.

  “Shall I open the gate?” Cutter wiggled his bushy eyebrows and pulled out his hammer.

  Even though the tool had some heft—and would have probably required two hands if Jev were to wield it—it didn’t look like it could break down the gate. Not that he would agree to that. Climbing would be much simpler. Though a little destruction would make a statement…

  “How?” Jev asked curiously.

  “Stand back.” Cutter waved his hook at him.

  Jev obediently backed out of his swing path.

  “The good thing about being a fine craftsman is that it’s easy to fix what one breaks, but I’ll let you decide if you want me to do that.” Cutter hefted the hammer and swung it sideways into one of the bronze bars of the gate.

  Jev expected the ringing blow to dent the bar minutely. Instead, it bent it all the way to the next bar, partially dislodging itself from the cross bars above and below. Cutter swung again at the adjacent one. The blow rang louder than the gong had earlier, and the front door opened.

  Whistling, Cutter stuck his hammer back through his belt and stepped through the sizable gap he’d made. The second bar creaked and toppled to the cobblestone walkway.

  The butler rushed out. “What are you doing?”

  Jev stepped through after Cutter, glimpsing a second man coming to stand in the doorway. He rested a hand on Cutter’s shoulder.

  “Do forgive me, good butler. I’ve got a wild dwarf here straight out of the Preskabroton tunnels. I’m afraid I can’t always control him. He’s a whirlwind.”

  Cutter cocked a single eyebrow at Jev.

  The butler stared at the broken gate, too flustered to speak.

  “Zyndar Dharrow,” the man in the doorway said.

  Veran Morningfar stepped outside, wiry arms folding over his chest. He was as rat-faced as Jev remembered, and far balder than he had been ten years ago. Jev had a hard time imagining him as someone beautiful young women had once flocked to. Had his title alone won him that attention?

  “Your behavior is unseemly,” Morningfar said. “Your father would be ashamed.”

  “He’s busy being ashamed of me for other reasons this summer. Zyndar Morningfar, I only need a few minutes of your time.”

  “Since I fear you would break down my door if I said no, you have them.” Morningfar stood on the path, as if he would block the way if Jev tried to go inside.

  Jev decided the option of befriending the man was definitely out. “I’ll get straight to the point so you can go back to your dinner. Do you remember a woman named Zenia Cham?”

  “No.”

  “She would have been a girl the last time you saw her. A twelve-year-old girl asking you for assistance with her dying mother, a woman you once slept with.” Jev watched Morningfar’s dark eyes, hoping to see some recognition in there. With the lamp out, it was hard to see much of anything.

  “I slept with hundreds of women in my youth. I remember few of them.”

  Hundreds? Jev barely managed to keep his mouth from falling open.

  “That’s a lot of women,” Cutter observed quietly. “He must be better at making gifts than it looks like he would be.”

  “Surely, you remember the daughter of this one. She came to you personally, and you refused to help her. Her mother died of a disease that could have been cured if she’d had enough coin to afford a hospital stay and the attention of a good doctor.”

  “Commoners die. It happens.”

  Jev gritted his teeth. He couldn’t tell if Morningfar remembered the incident or not. Maybe such things had happened often to him.

  Hundreds of women, dear founders. Maybe it was hyperb
ole, but Jev supposed it needn’t be. His wife was either an oblivious woman, a patient woman, or a long-suffering woman.

  “You may not remember Zenia, but she remembers you, and she can prove that she’s your daughter.” Jev had no idea if she truly could, especially if she had only her dead mother’s word for it, but he suspected that her dragon tear would allow her to see into Morningfar’s mind and extract the truth. The problem was that she wouldn’t want to and might be irked with Jev if she found out he had come here.

  “Doubtful, whoever she is. Look, Dharrow. My wife is waiting for me to play Thuzen Lin for her on the piano while she reads. If you’re done abusing my gate and my ears, I’ll take my leave.”

  “Your wife?” Cutter asked. “You’re married and you sleep with hundreds of women?”

  “More like dozens now. I’m not as insatiable as I was in my youth.” Morningfar quirked a lip.

  Jev curled a lip, not wanting to hear about the man’s insatiability.

  “Your wife doesn’t mind that you hammer in all those nails around town?” Cutter asked. “Or does she not know about all these mistresses?”

  Morningfar squinted at him. “If you think you can threaten to tell her as a way to manipulate me, she is not unaware. We have an open relationship. When your parents arrange your marriage, what else can one expect?” He cocked his eyebrows while looking in Jev’s direction.

  Jev doubted Morningfar’s wife was as accepting of his unfaithfulness as he implied. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have rushed to have a young Zenia thrown out by the guards before his wife heard her pleas.

  “Fidelity,” Jev suggested. “Living by the Zyndar Code of Honor.”

  “Please. You’re naive if you think that code was ever anything but a children’s tale. When you’re as superior as we are, with as advantaged a position in society, there’s no need to be bothered by such trifling rules.”

  “Or when you’re in an advantaged position, there’s more need than ever to be scrupulous and honorable.” Jev took a deep breath, reminded that he’d come to ask for a favor, not irk the man. “It’s never too late to change one’s ways, to do the right thing. If you were to acknowledge Zenia—”

  “Your father wouldn’t be on your back about plowing her field? Please, Dharrow. You dare come here talking to me about honor when the whole city knows you’re trying to wheedle your way out of your arranged marriage? I’m not the unscrupulous one here. You are.”