My musing was interrupted rather abruptly as I arrived home to find Aenar and Maegor standing guard either side of the extremely dishevelled former Prince Royal. I gave the men a formal salute which they returned duly remaining at attention as I handed my cloak to Aarin, studiously ignoring Jae’nt and enquiring first of Jalin.
The boy still lay stuporose in my chambers and as yet showed no signs that his state was improving in any way. I gave Jae’nt a pointed look and turned to Aenar who was holding a set of striking cutters in anticipation, I guessed, of the removal of the prince’s chains.
“Take the chains from his hands. Leave the others.”
Aenar raised an eyebrow at me but did as he was bidden without comment, handing the shackles to Maegor who dropped them into his satchel.
“You cannot mean to leave me fettered, Meriq. I am a prince.”
A signal from me to Maegor sent the young man to his knees. I stamped over to him grabbing his braid. “You are a slave. Nothing more. Now go and clean yourself you stink of the dungeons. Your very presence would offend even the street-sleepers. And when you are properly clean and suitably dressed you will attend to Jalin’s needs. Alna will show you what is required.”
The evening seemed to close in quickly. I set aside my quill and closed the journal I was writing. Stretching as I rose I moved quickly into my room. I would check on Jalin and then take some time to visit with the men. My friends in the guard had been sadly neglected over the past few moons and I felt it was time to visit them. Dispatching Aarin to the Green Man Tavern to buy a couple of hogsheads of ale I filled a bowl from the ewer on the nightstand and crouched beside Jalin, mopping his brow and moistening his lips.
The sound of metal grating against stone brought me around. Jae’nt stood in the doorway his eyes downcast as he approached. He knelt beside me taking the washcloth from me.
“He looks so small and frail,” the prince said quietly. Smoothing the boy’s hair, he stroked his face cupping his chin gently as if he feared the boy might break. “Ez’n. Is he going to die?”
I gave Jae’nt a hard look, relenting when I saw tears welling in his eyes. “He may well die, yes.”
The prince stroked Jalin’s face softly with the back of his hand. “If I could but take back my stupidity . . .” Jae’nt dropped the flannel into the bowl. “It is one thing to take a life on the field,” Jae’nt said, his voice hoarse with remorse, “but this . . . this is something else. Something awful—obscene.”
“Yes. It is.”
The prince regarded me stoically. The welling tears had vanished. “I will see to Jalin, Ez’n. You are planning to visit your friends in The House, are you not? You should not delay. Your influence there is sorely missed.”
I left the prince tending Jalin and, grabbing my cloak from the stand at the ingle made my way towards the Royal Barracks feeling somehow troubled. There had been something in Jae’nt’s tone. Something hidden. A warning? I doubted it. I was in no danger from the soldiers and never had I been. So what was it that Jae’nt was trying to say? I shook the thoughts aside. This day and its troubling events could not be gone soon enough, I thought.
I walked slowly to the barracks listening to the sounds of the night, the rough susurrus of the night breeze breathing up the alley, the soft, steady click of dripping water as the icicles on the gables thawed and the occasional crunch as one fell. The snow was leaving albeit slowly and reluctantly, heralding the coming of Spring, though it was still at least six settans distant. I smiled to myself. The fresh green shoots of the first season would be a welcome sight. Spring was a season I most looked forward to, the freshness of new growth, the return of the warmth—the arrival of the Morlans . . .
“You had to spoil it all didn’t you, Meriq,” I said to the night sky.
“Spoil what, lad?”
I jumped back summoning a firebolt and then dispersing it almost instantly as Dthor-Aid’n stepped from the shadows. “You numbskull, I nearly roasted you!” I almost shouted at the man.
“I am heartened that you have good reflexes, Ez’n.” Dthor-Aid’n said giving me an easy smile as he offered me his shield arm. “And that you do not startle too easily.” He added with just a hint of a tease.
“Consider yourself fortunate on both counts, Captain.” I admonished. “And exactly what were you doing hiding in the alcove?” I demanded as I took his arm.
“My job, Ez’n—making sure you are safe.”
“And that includes lurking in the shadows like a kayet does it?”
The soldier gave me a broad smile showing off his perfectly even white teeth. “On occasion, Ez’n.” he took a quick glance over his shoulder, “The men will be pleased to see you, lad. It has been too long that you have been away from us. The gifts of ale and porter are most welcome, but no substitute for your presence.”
I gave the Captain a disparaging look. “You are beginning to sound like Faedron.”
“I see no reason for you to be insulting, Ez’n-Kyr.” Dthor-Aid’n answered drily and pushed open the barrack room door, standing back to allow me through. When I turned to hold the door for him he was already making his way over to the sentry box at the far side of the square. I shrugged. Obviously the man was on patrol. And before I could think anything more of it my thoughts were scattered by a raucous cheer as Faedron grabbed my hand and practically dragged me over to the table where he, Maegor, Aenar and some others were sitting.
As I settled beside them and Faedron slipped away to get more beer I was besieged with slices of bread, a couple of plates of meat and four or five tankards of ale. But even as I made merry with my companions I became aware of a small pocket of silence at the far end of the salle. It was a little while before I realised that there was a small troop of about ten guardsmen huddled around one of the larger tables like a den of thieves dividing their spoils. An uncharitable view, I chided myself, but it seemed there was an obvious divide.
Aenar’s gaze followed mine. “It is always thus, Ez’n,” the veteran said, disapproval etched in every word. “And it does not do to dwell too long on the Company of Wolves or their tawdry pursuits,” he added indicated a trio of very young boys who were huddled in the corner. I shot Maegor a look and the sergeant merely nodded confirming my unspoken question.
“Street-sleepers,” Faedron offered as he set a pitcher of ale on the table and remarked the focus of my attention.
“Children.” I said, feeling instantly stupid for such a puerile observation.
“Aye,” Maegor said sliding a tankard of ale over to Aenar, “and tonight they will sleep warm.”
“If they manage to sleep,” Faedron said icily.
I looked from one to the other. The men merely shrugged. It was not because they were prudish that they disapproved so heavily of the group they called The Wolves, Zetan soldiers were renowned for their courtship and general pursuit of youths. But these boys were not youths, not even close to youths and it was obvious that most of the House in whose company I now sat did not like what they witnessed.
Maegor sketched a dismissal with his hands. “What can be said?” he asked me. “What can be done? They have the protection of The Crown.”
“What!?”
Conversation stalled at several nearby tables and heads turned at the sound of my raised voice. Maegor jutted his chin to signal I should look to a dimly lit corner by the men.
In the seclusion of a dimly lit alcove I could just discern the shape of a man. A tall, bearded man stretched out on a low couch sporting a heavily chased breastplate. On a sword stand beside the couch the jewelled hilt of a gladius glittered in the flickering torchlight. “Balten!”
I stood up abruptly as one of the men grabbed one of the boys and disappeared into sleeping quarters. “Attend me.” I said to Aenar.
The veteran placed a solicitous and gently restraining hand on my forearm. “Now is not the time, Ez’n.”
“Please, Meriq,” Maegor said quietly, “for the moment let it be sufficient that y
ou have witnessed it.”
I shook my head. “No, my friend. I cannot stand idly by while the law is so flagrantly broken.”
“The boys and girls come willingly,” Faedron said.
“They come so that they will not freeze or starve on the streets,” I answered.
“But they come willingly nonetheless,” Aenar said, “What happens in the Wolves’ den is how they pay for their food and lodgings. No it is not right, Ez’n,” the man said quickly in an attempt to assuage my rising ire “It is far from right. But as long as there are urchins on the streets, the Wolves will continue to feed.”
“And even if you burst in there now, Ez’n, with the entire House behind you it will make not one jot of difference. The boys or girls will say they are consenting because they will be too afraid to say otherwise,” Maegor stated matter-of-factly.
“Then I will see to it that these wolves will starve from this day forward. You have my oath on it.”
Aenar nodded. “Good.”
The rest of the evening we spent in idle chatter, enjoying the music and song provided by a band of troubadours who had found themselves forced to wait out the winter in Kalina as they journeyed south to Lana. At the end of their first set Faedron called the band leader over handing him a hastily scribbled letter of introduction to his father.
“He has a fondness for Alfexan music,” Faedron explained as the group prepared to perform again. “I am sure he will appreciate their skills.”
“Aye,” Aenar observed giving the corporal a bawdy wink, “and the fact that the young women are comely will not go amiss either.”
Faedron gave the Provost a haughty frown. “I am sure I do not know what you are implying.” He stated snottily and promptly emptied a tankard of beer over Aenar’s head.
“Why you . . .” Aenar spluttered, his words cut short as he was struck in the face with a plate full of milk pudding. The Provost wiped the sticky mess from his eyes, wiping his hand on the rump of a passing companion. He reached down scooping up a handful of puréed fruit. “By your leave, Ez’n, I would teach this insolent cur a lesson.”
“Do not put me in the middle of this, Provost Sergeant. It is clearly a matter of honour.”
“Or lack thereof.” Faedron remarked, ducking as the purée shot past his head. The slimy missile struck one of the men at a neighbouring table squarely in the back of the head. The barracks erupted into a storm of high jinks and flying food.
“Ez’n! Beware!” Maegor’s warning was a heartbeat too late as half a winter melon struck me in the chest, bowling me off my seat. Silence fell like a dropped rock as I climbed to my feet wiping the mashed flesh from my tunic.
“Who threw that?” I demanded.
A young soldier, scarcely three cycles older than I stepped forward. “I did, my lord.”
“Your pardon, Ez’n-Kyr, but it was I. My consort is seeking to protect me.”
I looked the man over. He was dressed as a javelineer, his bared shoulder much scarred from battle, his broad, handsome face showed nothing but honest concern. I recognised him at once as Malek, the house guard who frequently paired with Faedron. “Your consort has a good aim,” I told the youth, turning to Aenar and taking the pomegranate he was holding. “Allow me to return the favour.”
I let fly. Malek ducked more by reflex than by deliberate action. The fruit whistled past his head striking the edge of the barrack room door just as Dthor-Aid’n came through it. The pomegranate exploded showering the captain with pips and fragments of fruit. The room exploded into laughter followed almost immediately by a storm of bread crusts forcing the captain to take shelter behind a cloak stand until the men ran out of ammunition.
A secta later the refectory looked like a battlefield lacking only in the usual blood and amputated limbs; a surprising situation given the amount of rough-housing that ensued from the food fight.
“Not exactly the quiet evening I had planned,” I remarked as I took a broom from a Companion and began sweeping around the tables.
“I am beginning to think that you are harbouring a grudge, lad.” Dthor-Aid’n remarked picking some dried pomegranate from the links in his gorgette.
I reached up and unfastened the captain’s throat guard and set to wiping it clean with a damp cloth. “I would not be using fruit to settle a grudge, Captain.” I told him as he stooped to allow me to refasten the armoured collar for him.
He nodded his thanks and laughed. “No, I suppose not.”
When the refectory was all but cleared I handed the broom to a nearby companion and took my leave.
†
CHAPTER 9
ASSASSIN
OUTSIDE THE moons hung high against the star-speckled backdrop of the night sky. In the distance the temple bell chimed the ninth secta of the night. Small wonder I felt tired, I told myself. The sun would be up in about four sectas and I had a meeting with Janir scheduled for the mid morning. I thought briefly of the street boys and the men called the Company of Wolves—and I had an edict to prepare if I was to make good on my promise to the men of The House.
When I reached the wynd leading up to the palace I paused. The lamps were all extinguished and the alleyway was in complete darkness. I made a mental note to send word to the head of the Lightmen’s Guild to make sure that the torches and lamps were kept good and set off picking out the path by the dim moonlight that filtered down through the eaves and awnings.
I was about halfway along the alley when a blow to my back sent me sprawling. Surprised though I was I managed to roll over catching my assailant’s wrist just as the curved blade of his dagger sliced towards my throat. But before I could gather my thoughts and focus them there was a bright flash and the chime of steel on stone.
Suddenly I was blinded by something hot and slick like oil. The taste of blood filled my mouth. Something heavy like a stone hit me in the face and my attacker rolled off me jerking wildly. He fell heavily and lay twitching for a moment or two before falling still. Shaken and still blinded by the thick, cloying liquid I scrambled to my feet spitting and retching. Hands grabbed me and Dthor-Aid’n’s voice brought my struggles to an abrupt end.
“Meriq. Meriq! Are you hurt?”
I was vaguely aware of light and someone pulling me to my feet and wiping my face.
“What?” I blinked blearily through a red haze into the torchlight.
Maegor was standing with a torch, concern etched into every line on his face. Faedron and Aenar were crouched by the fallen body and Dthor-Aid’n stood clutching me against chest as if still protecting me from the dead assassin. “Are you injured?” Dthor-Aid’n said again. His hands ran over my shoulders, arms, chest, abdomen and thighs with the quick practised ease of a field warrior as he checked me for signs of hurt.
“I am alright, Captain.” I told him, “I am just a bit shaken.” I wobbled away a couple of steps and stared down at the headless assassin.
“He was a kayet,” Maegor said pulling amulet from the bloody mess that was the man’s neck.
I took the pendant and examined it under the uncertain torchlight. It was a kayetim device right enough. With my composure now almost fully recovered I stooped to pick up the severed head and unwound the mask dropping it as I was suddenly overcome with nausea. The head hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled away only stopping when Maegor put his foot on it. The world lurched for a moment and before I knew it Dthor-Aid’n had scooped me up as if I was no more than a doll. “I will take the Ez’n home,” Dthor-Aid’n said.
“WE will take the Ez’n home,” the men answered in chorus and before I could think to object I was being carried up the alley and across the courtyard to my apartments.
My arrival caused much consternation. Guards began shouting, the servants were running in all directions grabbing towels and tearing them into bandages. It was not until Dthor-Aid’n set me on my feet inside the main door that I realised I was almost completely covered in blood.
“Be still, all of you!” I shouted above t
he din. “The blood is not mine.”
“What in the nine hells happened?” Jae’nt demanded clattering over to me as fast as his chains would allow.
“The Ez’n was attacked.” Faedron said, taking my blood-spattered cloak and giving it to Iannos.
“And where were you?” the prince demanded almost poking Aenar in the chest.
“They were right behind me, fortunately.” I answered. I gave Jae’nt a cautionary glance. “And you seem to have forgotten your place.”
“My apologies, Ez’n” Jae’nt said sullenly, “for one foolish moment I was concerned for your safety.”
When at least a semblance of order had returned to the household Dthor-Aid’n brought me a brandywine tonic and sat with me while the boys readied the bathroom. I watched as Aarin and Iannos went about their tasks with well-practised ease though I was hardly seeing them. I felt distant and disconnected. It was Faedron’s voice that brought me back to myself.
“You look as if you have spent the evening wrestling in an abattoir,” Faedron observed as I peeled off my blood-sodden tunic and swathed myself in a large towel.
“Given the way the night went, Faedron, I might as well have.”
“We were a little high spirited, I have to admit,” Maegor said.
“That, Maegor, is an understatement to say the least,” I replied. “Thank you.” This as Aarin announced that the bath was ready.
When I emerged from the bathroom it was to find the soldiers ranked at attention. I raised my eyebrows, genuinely surprised to see that they had remained despite the presence of the door guard just beyond the suite.
Alna had set a table with light breads and cakes and a samovar steamed steadily on its stand beside the spread. The men did not move.
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