Nyphron rising trr-3

by Michael J. Sullivan

  She put her hand on his shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. She did not know what else to do. First her mother, then her father, Fanen and Hilfred-they were all gone. Mauvin was slipping away as well. The boy who loved his sword more than Wintertide presents, cake, or swimming on a hot day refused to touch it anymore. The eldest son of Count Pickering, who once challenged the sun to a duel because it rained on the day of a hunt, spent his days watching ducks.

  "Doesn't matter," Mauvin remarked miserably. "The world is coming to an end anyway." He looked up at her. "You just said Alric is sending that bastard Linroy on the Ellis Far-he'll kill us all."

  As hard as she tried not to, she could not help but laugh. She punched his shoulder, then gave him a peck on the cheek. "That's the spirit, Mauvin. Keep looking on the bright side."

  She left him and continued down the hall, as she passed the office of the Lord Chamberlin the old man hurried out. "Your Highness?" he called, looking relieved. "The Royal Protector, Royce Melborn, is still waiting to see if there is something else needed of him. Apparently he and his partner are thinking of taking some time off, unless there is something pressing the king needs. Can I tell him he's excused?"

  "Yes, of course, you-no wait." She cast a look at her bodyguard. "Tommy, you're right. I am hungry. Be a dear and fetch us both a plate of chicken or whatever you can find that's good in the kitchen, will you? I'll wait here."

  "Sure, but my name is-"

  "Hurry before I change my mind."

  She waited until he was down the corridor then turned back to the Chamberlin. "Where did you say he was waiting?"

  Chapter 4

  The Nature of Right

  The Rose amp; Thorn Tavern was mostly empty. Many of its patrons left Medford, fearful of the coming invasion. Those that remained were the indentured, infirmed, or those simply too poor or stubborn to leave. Royce found Hadrian sitting alone in the Diamond Room-his feet up on a spare chair, a pint of ale before him. Two empty mugs sat on the table, one lying on its side while Hadrian stared at it with a melancholy expression.

  "Why didn't you come to the castle?" Royce asked.

  "I knew you could handle it." He continued to stare at the mug, tilting his head slightly as he did.

  "Looks like our break will have to be postponed," Royce told him, pulling over a chair and sitting down. "Alric has another job. He wants us to make contact with Gaunt and the Nationals. They're still working out the details. The princess is going to send a messenger here."

  "Her Highness is back?"

  "Got in this morning."

  Royce reached into his vest, pulled out a bag and set it in front of Hadrian. "Here's your half. Have you ordered dinner yet?"

  "I'm not going," Hadrian said, rocking the fallen mug with his thumb.

  "Not going?"

  "I can't keep doing this."

  Royce rolled his eyes. "Now don't start that again. If you haven't noticed, there's a war going on. This is the best time to be in our business. Everyone needs information. Do you know how much money-"

  "That's just it, Royce. There's a war on and what am I doing? I'm making a profit off it rather than fighting in it." Hadrian took another swallow of ale and set the mug back on the table a little too heavily, rattling its brothers. "I'm tired of collecting money for being dishonorable. It's not how I'm built."

  Royce glanced around. Three men eating a meal looked over briefly, and then lost interest.

  "They haven't all been just for money," Royce pointed out. "Thrace, for example."

  Hadrian displayed a bitter smile. "And look how that turned out. She hired us to save her father. Seen him lately, have you?"

  "We were hired to obtain a sword to slay a beast. She got the sword. The beast was slain. We did our job."

  "The man is dead."

  "And Thrace, who was nothing but a poor farm girl, is now empress. If only all our jobs ended so well for our clients."

  "You think so, Royce? You really think Thrace is happy? See, I'm thinking she'd rather have her father than an imperial throne, but maybe that's just me." Hadrian took another swallow and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Royce watched his friend staring at a distant point beyond focus.

  "So, you want to fight in this war, is that it?"

  "It would be better than sitting on the sidelines like scavengers feeding off the wounded."

  "Okay, so tell me, for which side will you be fighting?"

  "Alric's a good king."

  "Alric? Alric's a boy still fighting with the ghost of his father. After his defeat at the Galewyr his nobles look to Count Pickering instead of him. Pickering has his hands full dealing with Alric's mistakes, like the riots here in Medford. How long before Pickering tires of Alric's incompetence and decides Mauvin would be better suited to the throne?"

  "Pickering would never turn on Alric," Hadrian said.

  "No? You've seen it happen plenty of times before."

  Hadrian remained silent.

  "Oh hell, forget about Pickering and Alric. Melengar is already at war with the Empire. Have you forgotten who the empress is? If you fought with Alric and he prevailed, how will you feel the day poor Thrace is hanged in the Royal Square in Aquesta? Would that satisfy your need for an honorable cause?"

  Hadrian's face had turned hard, his jaw clenched stiffly.

  "There are no honorable causes. There is no good or evil. Evil is only what we call those who oppose us."

  Royce took out his dagger and drove it into the table where it stood upright. "Look at the blade. Is it bright or dark?"

  Hadrian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The brilliant surface of Alverstone was dazzling as it reflected the candlelight. "Bright."

  Royce nodded.

  "Now move your head over here and look from my perspective."

  Hadrian leaned over, putting his head on the opposite side of the blade where the shadow made it black as chimney soot.

  "It's the same dagger," Royce explained, "but from where you sat it was light while I saw it as dark. So who is right?"

  "Neither of us," Hadrian said.

  "No," Royce said. "that's the mistake people always make, and they make it because they can't grasp the truth."

  "Which is?"

  "That we are both right. One truth doesn't refute another. Truth doesn't lie in the object, but in how we see it."

  Hadrian looked at the dagger then back at Royce.

  "There are times when you are brilliant, Royce, and then there are times when I haven't a clue as to what you're babbling about."

  Royce's expression turned to frustration as he pulled his dagger from the table and sat back down. "In the twelve years we've been together, I've never once asked you to do anything I wouldn't do, or didn't do with you. I've never lied or misled you. I've never abandoned or betrayed you. Name a single noble you even suspect you could say the same about twelve years from now."

  "Can I get another round here?" Hadrian shouted.

  Royce sighed. "So you're just going to sit here and drink?"

  "That's my plan at present. I'm making it up as I go."

  Royce stared at his friend a moment longer then finally stood up. "I'm going to Gwen's."

  "Listen," Hadrian stopped him. "I'm sorry about this. I guess I can't explain it. I don't have any metaphors with daggers I can use to express how I feel. I just know I can't keep doing what I've been doing anymore. I've tried to find meaning in it. I've tried to pretend we achieved some greater good, but in the end, I have to be honest with myself. I'm not a thief, and I'm not a spy. So I know what I'm not, I just wish I knew what I am. That probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?"

  "Do me a favor at least." Royce purposely ignored the question, noticing how the little silver chain Hadrian wore peeked out from under his collar. "Since you're going to be here anyway, keep an eye out for the messenger from the castle while I'm at Gwen's. I'll be back in an hour or so."

  Hadrian nodded.

>   "Give Gwen my love, will ya?"

  "Sure," Royce said, heading for the door feeling that miserable sensation creeping in, the dull weight. He paused and looked back.

  It won't help to tell him. It will just make matters worse.

  ***

  It had only been a day and a half but Royce found himself desperate to see Gwen. While Medford House was always open, it did not do much business until after dark. During the day Gwen encouraged the girls to use their free time learning to sew or spin, skills they could use for coin in their old age.

  All the girls at the brothel, better known as just The House, knew and liked Royce. When he came in they smiled or waved, but no one said a word. They knew he enjoyed surprising Gwen. Tonight they pointed toward the parlor where she was concentrating on a pile of parchments, a quill pen in hand and her register open. She immediately abandoned it all when he walked through the door. She sprang from her chair and ran to him with a smile so broad her face could hardly contain it and an embrace so tight he could barely breathe.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered, pulling back and looking into his eyes.

  Royce marveled at Gwen's ability to read him. He refused to answer, preferring instead to look at her, drinking her in. She had a lovely face, her dark skin and emerald eyes so familiar yet mysterious. In all his life and all his travels he had never met anyone like her.

  Gwen provided use of a private room at The Rose and Thorn, where he and Hadrian had conducted business, and she never blinked at the risks. They no longer used it. Royce was too concerned that Sentinel Luis Guy might track them there. Still, Gwen continued banking their money and watching out for them just as she had done from the start.

  They met twelve years ago, the night soldiers filled the streets and two strangers staggered into the Lower Quarter, covered in their own blood. Royce still remembered how Gwen appeared as a hazy figure to his clouding eyes. "I've got you, you'll be alright now," she told him before he passed out. He never understood what motivated her to take them in when everyone else had the good sense to close their doors. When he woke, she was giving orders to her girls like a general marshalling troops. She sheltered them from the mystified authorities and nursed them back to health. She pulled strings and made deals to ensure no one talked. As soon as they were able they left, but he always found himself returning.

  He was crushed the day she refused to see him. It didn't take long to discover why. Clients often abused prostitutes, and Medford House was no exception. It did not matter if he was a gentleman or a thug, the town sheriff never wasted his time on complaints by whores. In Gwen's case the attacker had been a powerful noble. He had beaten her so badly she didn't want anyone to see.

  Two days later, the noble was dead. His body hung in the center of Gentry Square. City authorities closed Medford House and arrested the prostitutes. They were told to identify the killer or face execution themselves. To everyone's surprise, the women spent only one night in jail. The next day Medford House reopened and the Sheriff of Medford himself delivered a public apology for their arrest, adding that swift punishment would follow any future abuse regardless of rank. From then on Medford House prospered from unprecedented protection. Royce never spoke of the incident, and Gwen never brought it up, but she knew just as she knew he was part elven before he told her.

  When he returned from Avempartha last summer, he decided to reveal his secret to her, to be completely open and honest. Royce never told anyone about his heritage, not even Hadrian. He expected she would hate him, if not for being a miserable mir, then certainly for deceiving her. He took Gwen for a walk down the bank of the Galewyr, away from people to lessen the embarrassment of her outrage. He braced himself, said the words, and waited for her to hit him. He would let her. She could scratch his eyes out if she wanted. He owed her that much.

  "Of course you're elven." She touched his hand kindly. "Was it a secret?"

  How she knew, she never explained. He was so overwhelmed he never asked. Gwen just had a way of always knowing his heart.

  "What is it?" she asked again.

  "Why haven't you packed?"

  Gwen paused and smiled. That was her way of letting him know he would not get away with it. "Because there is no need, the Imperial Army isn't attacking us."

  Royce raised an eyebrow. "The king himself has his things packed and his horse at the ready to evacuate the city on a moment's notice, but you know better?"

  She nodded.

  "And how is that?"

  "If there was the slightest chance that Medford was in danger, you wouldn't be here asking me why I haven't packed. I'd be on Mouse's back holding on for dear life as you spurred her into a run."

  "Still," he said, "I'd feel better if you moved to the monastery."

  "I can't leave my girls."

  "Take them with you. Myron has plenty of room."

  "You want me to take whores to live in a monastery with monks?"

  "I want you to be safe; besides, Magnus and Albert are there too, and I can guarantee you they're not monks."

  "I'll consider it." She smiled at him. "But you're leaving on another mission so it can wait until you get back."

  "How do you know these things?" he asked amazed. "Alric ought to hire you instead of us."

  "I'm from Calis. It's in our blood," she told him with a wink. "When do you leave?"

  "Soon, tonight perhaps. I left Hadrian at The Rose and Thorn to watch for a messenger."

  "Have you decided to tell Hadrian yet?"

  For the first time he looked away.

  "Oh, so that's it. Don't you think you should?"

  "No, just because a lunatic wizard-" he paused. "Listen, if I tell him what I saw he'll only get himself killed. If Hadrian were a moth, he'd fly into every flame he could find. If I tell him, his reason will disappear. He'll sacrifice himself if necessary, and for what? Even if it's true, all that stuff with the heir happened centuries ago and has nothing to do with him. And there's no reason to think that Esrahaddon wasn't just-wizards toy with people, okay? It's what they do. He tells me to keep quiet, makes a big stink about how I have to take this secret to my grave. But you know damn well he expects me to tell Hadrian. I don't like being used and I won't let Hadrian get himself killed at the whim of some wizard and his agendas."

  Gwen said nothing but looked at him with a knowing smile.

  "What?"

  "Sounds like you are trying to convince yourself and you're not doing very well. I think it might help if you consider you're one kind of person and Hadrian is another. You are trying to look out for him, but you're using cat's eyes."

  "I'm doing what?"

  Gwen looked at Royce, puzzled for a moment, then chuckled quietly. "Oh, I suppose that must be a common saying only in Calis. Okay, let's say you're a cat and Hadrian's a dog and you want to make him happy. You give him a dead mouse and are surprised when he isn't thrilled. The problem is that you need to see the world through the eyes of a dog to understand what's best for him. If you did, you would see that a nice juicy bone would be a better choice, even though to a cat it's not very appealing."

  "So you think I should let Hadrian go off and get himself killed?"

  "I'm saying that for Hadrian, maybe fighting-even dying-for something or someone may be the same as a bone to a dog. Besides, you have to ask yourself, is keeping quiet really for his sake-or yours?"

  "First daggers, now dogs and cats," Royce muttered.

  "What?"

  "Nothing." He let his hands run through her hair. "How did you get so wise?"

  "Wise?" She looked at him and laughed. "I'm a thirty-four-year-old prostitute in love with a professional criminal. How wise can I possibly be?"

  "If you don't know, perhaps you should try seeing with my eyes."

  He kissed her warmly, pulling her tight. He recalled what Hadrian had said and wondered if he was being stupid for not settling down with Gwen. He noticed for some time a growing pain whenever he said goodbye and a misery that dogged him when
ever he left. Royce never meant for it to happen. He always tried to keep her at a distance for her own good as well as his. His life was dangerous and only possible so long as he had no ties, nothing others could use against him.

  Winters had caused him to crack. Deep snows and brutal cold kept team Riyria, idle in Medford for months. Huddled before the warmth of hearth fires through the long dark nights, they grew close. Casual chats turned into long intimate conversations; conversations changed to embraces and confessions. It was impossible to resist her open kindness and generosity. She was so unlike anyone, an enigma that flew in the face of all he had come to expect from the world. She made no demands and asked for nothing but his happiness.

  It was Gwen who led to his and Hadrian's longest imprisonment six years ago. It was in the spring, and they received a job sending them all the way to Alburn. The thought of leaving her dragged on him like a weight. On top of everything, Gwen was sick. She had a spring flu and looked miserable. She pretended it was nothing, trying to be brave to make it easier on him, but she looked pale. He almost did not go, but she insisted. He could still remember her face as he left her with that brave little smile that quivered oh so slightly at the edges.

  The job went bad. His concentration suffered, mistakes were made, and they were left rotting in the dungeons under Caren. All he could do was sit and think about Gwen and whether she was all right. As the months stretched out, he realized that if he survived he had to end their relationship. He resolved never to see her again, for both of their sakes, but the moment he returned, the moment he saw her again, felt her hands and smelled her hair, he knew it was impossible. Since that time, his feelings only increased. Even now, the thought of leaving her, even for a week, was agony.

  Hadrian was right. He should quit and take her away somewhere, perhaps get a small bit of land where they could raise a family. Somewhere quiet where no one knew Gwen as a prostitute or himself as a thief. They could even go to Avempartha, that ancient citadel of his people. The tower stood vacant and would likely remain that way indefinitely, far beyond the reaches of anyone who did not know its secrets. The thought was appealing but he pushed it back, telling himself he would revisit it soon. For now, he had people waiting, which brought his mind back to Hadrian.