The God of Assassins (Wine of the Gods Book 11)

by Pam Uphoff

  No sign of the God of Art or the Goddess of Mercy.

  Did Wolfson actually manage to turn her into a statue? After taking away her ability to do magic? Speaking of Just Deserts—with Ricardo apparently eavesdropping and learning that spell and in turn messing with Wolfson's magic. Heh. Mighty wizard, my ass. He ought to have brought his captive deities back here, not left them out where anyone could just walk up and free them. I hope he at least hid them.

  Staven strolled over to Garit. "I see the vultures are circling you. Ready to be Crown Heir?"

  Garit snorted, dropped his voice. "Hell no. I sure hope Amilie has a boy."

  Staven blinked. "She's . . . "

  "Yeah. Rolo told me they were about to announce it when . . . they're going to wait a while, now. Get the grief in hand before people start congratulating them." Garit shot him a worried look. "I guess they figured you had enough changes to deal with already."

  "Yeah. Bet Wolfson was pissed."

  Garit sputtered on a mouthful of wine. "Old Gods, you really do not understand Xen."

  Fossi had walked up while they were talking.

  Drat, is this the real one or Wolfson?

  "Rufi's great grandson? You really ought to talk to Rufi about it. ­I certainly did! Talk about opening a can of worms! And he just grinned and said 'Exactly. There's no way they'd approve him, nor that he'd stand still for it. But now they're casting their nets wide, and when they choose, they'll be relieved to have . . .' Umm, well, we've got a substantial bet running, so I'm not going to finish that."

  Staven eyed the man in exasperation. "Do you mean to tell me it was all just a political maneuver?"

  "Oh, not just. I think Rufi disliked the way Xen's getting bashed into the mold of a proper officer, when what he wants is an extremely powerful wizard at his beck and call. I said then he needed to train Xen himself, and he said 'Hell no, he has to be known as a soldier, not an over-privileged dandy.' . . ." Fossi's eyebrows drew together suddenly. "There is a fellow over there who looks just like me." His eyes twitched away and sought the nearest guard.

  "Don't. That's Xen. He's being obnoxious—with an illusion of being you—to all my suspects."

  Fossi frowned. "You think the principal will decide to kill yet another royal?"

  Staven showed his teeth. "No. I think you were the target. I'm hoping someone will make another try."

  ***

  Xen spotted Lord Hell strolling past Prince Mirk and stepped closer. The effects of proximity to the God of Just Deserts were . . . appalling, when you got right down to it. And today, possibly very useful.

  "I don't know why I'm surprised you had the nerve to show yourself here." Mirk scowled at Hell. "At least you had the decency to not bring your daughter."

  Hell frowned down at him. The god was just about seven foot tall. "I am certain that you have either mistaken me, or my intentions."

  "Everyone knows your daughter claims to be pregnant with Rebo's twin sons."

  "All of the sisters of the Karista Bay Pyramid have been sticking close to home following a kidnapping attempt, so I fail to see how any of them could possibly have told anyone, let alone everyone." Hell's teeth showed in something not very much like a smile. "Would you happen to know how that gossip came to be so widespread?"

  Xen edged in closer. It was not a good sign when The God of Just Deserts started losing his grip on his own temper and speech.

  Prince Mirk stiffened. "Are you implying . . . "

  Captain Fossi Fitzroy—the real one—cut in quickly between them. "Not at the funeral, Mirk, for . . . "

  Xen flipped his illusions off and braced himself to possibly manhandle Hell.

  "Don't touch me, you miserable pretender. Royal bastard, my ass."

  Xen jerked around as Fossi drew back in surprise, and Mirk kept babbling.

  "If it weren't for you, I'd be the Crown Prince. I don't know how Staven got that message instead of . . . "

  Staven stepped out of the crowd, looking suddenly pale and sick. "It was directed, verbally, to the Spear Prince, with an added, 'my brother,' but I'm willing to bet that it was you who was talking to the page, not Rebo, however much you looked like him at the time."

  A stir in the crowd as Colonel Janic edged in. He was watching Mirk closely.

  Staven pressed forward. "Bit of a slip there, eh? Should have said 'uncle'. How unfortunate."

  Prince Mirk's hand went to his lips, and he blinked rapidly as he suddenly realized he'd said entirely too much. Then Ricardo was standing beside him, and they both disappeared, flickered, crashed to the ground thirty feet away. Xen could feel something, some heavy weight twisting the shape of everything out of recognition, and flicked a glance at his father, then Nil. Concentrating. Hard. Blocking all travel? They never taught me how to do that!

  Ricardo grabbed Mirk and hauled him up the stairs, partially shielded behind the prince and aiming straight for the obliviously chatting princesses walking out of the Ladies' Parlor. In the general stampede after them, Xen warped light around himself and slipped forward as the guards halted. Ricardo dragged a princess around in front of Mirk and handed him a knife, guided his hand to the girl's throat. And bolted.

  The prince shot a panicked glance after his deserting assassin, and back to the guards.

  "Uncle Mirk?" The princess sounded more uncertain than frightened.

  The Prince looked down on her head and slumped, took the knife from her throat. Put the point against his own ribs.

  And as the Guards jumped toward him, fell on it.

  The Guards pulled back, appalled.

  ***

  Staven bolted past them. The running figure was well down the hallway.

  He pulled out the laser pistol, flicked the safety off, aimed and fired. A faint flick of light on dust motes . . . Ricardo screamed, fell. Guards charged down the hallway. Staven ran after them. He saw their swords swing, bounce off thin air. He could see the look of concentration on the killer's face.

  He aimed at Ricardo's right eye and pulled the trigger. A spasm, a scream. That eye exploded, the other bulged, blood erupted from his nose and mouth. The wizard fell back limp. No resistance now to the sword that tentatively poked the body.

  "That was for Rebo, by the way. I think he loved you. Why did you kill him?"

  He heard Wolfson's voice behind him.

  "He can't answer you. He's dead."

  "I know. But my Uncle Day always said to kill them first, then monologue." Staven turned back, leaving the body to the guards. He ignored their sidelong glances toward the laser pistol.

  He pushed through the crowd and looked sadly down at his uncle. Rufi knelt beside him, damp eyed.

  Mirk was gasping for breath, lips turning blue. Internal bleeding.

  "I didn't think you wanted to be king that badly."

  "That bastard, acting like he was one of us . . . Bumping me out of . . . and then Rebo and Marie . . . she gave him a son. I thought I'd make his bastard the loser who had to go fight all his life . . . then Marie would either give me . . . a son . . . or I'd divorce her and . . . marry a woman who would." His hand twitched toward the knife hilt protruding from his ribcage. "Didn't think it would take so long . . . "

  Wolfson touched Rufi's shoulder and offered his hip flask.

  The Wine of the Gods could heal him.

  Rufi bit his lip, then shook his head, a faint sheen of tears in his eyes.

  Easier and cleaner this way.

  "How did you find an assassin?" Rufi asked, as the family gathered in horrified silence.

  "I prayed . . . to the God of Assassins. And he came."

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Winter 1393, day 20

  Karista, Kingdom of the West

  Staven looked at the pistol in his hand. Holstered it. His heart ached too much to hold onto hatred.

  "We're going to need more information from him. Heal him." He swallowed, and turned away. He didn't wait to see, didn't want to see, if Rufi would yield.

 
; Uncle Mirk. Lord Fidel and his son. Old Gods help us. If I had given up on Rebo a month earlier, could all this have all been prevented? Now we need a clear line of succession established. Wolfson . . . Prince Xen and Prince Garit would do well. Although I'm beginning to suspect Wolfson may need to be hogtied and dragged to the confirmation.

  Me? It doesn't really matter whether my arm grows back or not. A police detective doesn't get into all that many sword fights, after all.

  Epilogue

  Spring Equinox 1393, day 90

  Crossroads, Kingdom of the West

  The far side of the gate boasted a stone paved yard, triangular in shape. High walls, with arched gates through to the two buildings to either side. They looked like rather stark manor houses.

  "This world has no large land animals, apart from a few horses and cattle we imported."

  Staven eyed the big man. God of War. "So they can leave the houses, if they wish?"

  Rufi nodded. "We'll deliver food, paper goods, occasionally clothing or linens. But the only thing we'll interfere with is their trying to get back through the gate. They'll do their own cooking and cleaning, or not. Their choice."

  "They'll probably get the women to do all that. Hardly seems like punishment, to lock them up with whores." Staven sighed. "Maybe they'll just all go away, and we can close the gate. Forget them." Once we decided against executing Mirk, we couldn't execute the others either. So, three nobles, four wizards, six council guards on one side, and the seven women on the other. With four more women being hunted.

  Lady Gisele snorted. "I've suppressed the hormones of both the men and the women, and of course, inactivated their power genes. There will be no babies. Probably no sex, either, once their hormone levels drop." She looked at the bleak houses, and shook her head. "Poor sad creatures." She turned away, stepping through the gate.

  Rufi cleared his throat. "They all pled guilty and accepted the King's commutation of execution. I wonder if they'll get so tired of this place that they ask to be killed?"

  "Thomu's twenty, some of the wizards are younger than that." Staven shrugged. "I'm afraid I won't be losing any sleep over them. We still haven't found the two missing witches, and Ricardo's girlfriend has disappeared. Or girlfriends, plural. There was a woman at the Jalasi's with 'Hugo' who cleared out before we got there. Goes by the name of Jade. We're looking for her as well. Wolfson found the real Hugo in one of those bubbles, just . . . stuck on the wall, invisible. He's . . . not recovering well."

  Rufi shook his head. "They'll turn up sooner or later. Without Ricardo, I don't think they'll cause much trouble." He led the way back through the gate. "Let's get back to town. The Council's settled down enough to start thinking about the succession again."

  ***

  Xen eyed the other men the council had summoned.

  I don't like being on the short list, and there are several more they ought to have brought in, especially if I'm under consideration.

  "Lord Franki, how do you feel about being in line for the throne or the command of the army?"

  On the far end of the table, Franki shook his head. "I'm ever so flattered, but no. Just . . . no."

  Duke Rondo Bois grunted. Amusement or agreement? "Lord Farit?"

  "I have just had a very personal and appalling look at the corruption that a hunger for power can cause. I think, under the circumstances, that I will bow out."

  "But you stopped your father. And your brother."

  "Not before they got a lot of guards killed. No, My Lords. Thank you for the honor of being considered, but I decline."

  Bois looked dyspeptically at Xen and Garit. "Prince Xen, you are a year older than Prince Garit."

  Xen stood and bowed politely to the men at the front, and to the larger collection of Councilmen behind them. "If I may point out, the Charter actually says that the Spear ought to be in the hands of a senior relative, to guide and support the Crown." Xen kept his voice mild. "While one immediately leaps to the conclusion that the Spear must then be older than the Crown, that isn't necessarily the only interpretation. "

  The Council members frowned at him. They were a mixture of truculent, appalled, and ashamed, on the heels of the Council President's attempt to assassinate Princess Amilie. Duke Rondo Bois of Three Rivers Province had been appointed by the King to finish out Fidel Iron's term of office. He'd summoned the four men whom he considered the top contenders for the positions of Spear and Crown Heirs, all the men more than ten years younger than the Crown Prince, and invited their opinions.

  Now the Duke's eyes were narrowing in suspicion.

  Probably thinks I'm angling for the throne. Ha!

  "I think an uncle would be within the meaning of 'senior relative' regardless of the relative ages of nephew and uncle." That got a stir from the Council, and a quick glance from Garit. "I think Crown Prince Rolo's son, Prince Staven, would make an admirable King, and his uncle, Prince Garit, a brilliant commander of the army, decades from now."

  "But Staven's . . . going to be asked to step down as Spear Heir . . . " Lord Denecil shut his mouth and looked like he'd started thinking. He wasn't alone. A faint buzz of whispered commentary filled the back of the chamber.

  Had they really not considered Staven for the Crown? It seems pretty obvious, when you get down to it.

  "You are older than Prince Staven." Bois pointed out.

  "By a few months. And Garit younger by a few months. Staven and Garit were born in the same calendar year, so their relative maturity is more a matter of their personalities rather than seasoning. Certainly they would make a very acceptable set of temporary heirs, while the status of several very young relatives is considered." Xen noted the narrowing of eyes and stiffening of backs. They don't like being told their business by a young punk lieutenant. Xen bowed again. "For myself, I am better suited to intelligence work, rather than command of troops. I will correct that, if you choose me, but I am simply not your best option." He sat, having realized that a shut mouth might be his best option, at this point.

  Garit, however, had also been thinking. Now he stood. "I think Prince Xen is correct in that I am better suited to the Spear than the Crown. And . . . bringing Staven into the small group of potential Crown Heirs is an excellent idea. I am embarrassed to realize I hadn't thought of that."

  Bois leaned to speak to a page, who trotted off. "He has no political backing."

  "Other than his half brother, Duke Martin Succurro?" Garit glanced toward Governor Harris, proxy for the sixteen year old Duke. "And he has a sister who will doubtless marry into one of the noble families."

  "Y . . . yes. Doubtless." Bois's eyes flicked to the side door.

  Prince Staven was in civilian clothing today. Getting his mind out of the military?

  "Thank you for coming so promptly, Prince Staven." Duke Bois's voice was a bit ironic. No doubt the Prince had been observing the proceedings. According to Garit, the decorative pierced and carved panels on the south side of the council room covered windows into private observation rooms. No doubt Staven had been in one of them. And no doubt, in the least, people reporting directly to the current King and Spear, and the current Crown Prince and Spear Prince were still there.

  With a good chance they are all there, themselves. With some really nasty guards. Xen hoped he'd be back to being one of the guards, soon. I have too much to do, to take the time to be a proper heir of either sort.

  Staven swapped a stern glare from Xen to Garit, then sat in the chair a page fetched. Then he turned and studied Duke Bois.

  Who ducked his head in a minimal gesture none of the other candidates had received. Ha! I got that one right. He's got the family charisma, draws the eyes and gets the respect.

  "Prince Staven, we've heard from the other candidates. Will you give us your opinion on your own candidacy?"

  "Frankly, My Lord Councilor, in the three months since the Crown Heir was killed, and myself badly injured, I have settled into a position in the law enforcement branch of the King's Own. Tha
t has kept me too busy to consider much beyond the realization that a crippling injury so early in my military career ought to remove me from the position of Spear Heir. The possibility of taking up the Crown had not occurred to me . . . I would need a lot of training . . . but I am just twenty-three years of age. I do realize that the position may be preempted by the determination of the legitimacy of any of Prince Rebo's children. But consider well the possibility that you might be stuck with me permanently."

  Heads nodded around the chamber.

  "Thank you, Gentlemen, for attending upon us. You may leave now, and we will keep you appraised of our progress toward a decision."

  They all stood and bowed. Staven and Garit minimally.

  Naturals.

  I think I'm off the hook.

  ***

  Staven swapped glances with Garit, and they bracketed Wolfson as they left. Cornered him as soon as they had him alone.

  "Brilliant commander? That was laying it on a bit thick, wasn't it?" Garit scowled up at the wizard.

  Poor Garit, just a bit over average height, in a family that runs toward excessive height. He is starting to make up for it in breadth of shoulders, though.

  "And I'd have appreciated a bit of warning before you dropped something like that on me in public." Staven showed his teeth. "Rufi was back there, grinning like a loon, and said he was beginning to despair of the Council ever seeing the obvious, and thank the Old Gods you told them, not him. Was this his idea?"

  Wolfson snickered. "We never talked about it. I suppose he thought you'd get better backing from the Council if it was the Council's idea, not something pushed by the King."

  Garit crossed his arms and scowled. "So you get to weasel out of contention, and leave me holding the bag?"