I’d been on edge the entire time, eyes furtively scanning the guardsmen as they passed through the gates of the inner wall, expecting to see Erick, expecting one of the guards to gasp and point, then drag me away.
Instead, Baill had arrived, his bald head shiny in the sunlight, his eyes flat and impregnable. The moment I saw him, I knew we weren’t going to see Avrell or Nathem. We weren’t going to see anyone. Baill was a wall—dressed in armor, body solid, face scarred, but a wall nonetheless.
Borund sensed it as well. He straightened outside the gates, jaw tightening.
He told Baill of the attack at the tavern, told him of the attempt on his life, even implicated Charls.
“Can you prove it?” Baill had asked. His eyes were intent, attention completely on Borund and his story, noting everything—every frown, every glance, every nervous shift in position.
Borund motioned toward me. “Varis, my bodyguard, saw Charls outside the tavern, saw him give the order.”
Baill turned his gaze on me and inside I felt myself cringe. Baill was the man Erick would report to. If Erick had told anyone about me, about how I’d killed Bloodmark, it would be his captain.
But there was no recognition in Baill’s eyes. Nothing but the same harsh glare he’d given Borund. As if he were assessing me, deciding whether I was a threat or merely an inconvenience.
We were a distraction, one that he did not want to deal with right now. There was something else weighing on his mind.
“What exactly did you see?” he asked. His voice was low, rolled like thunder.
I told him—of the hatred in Charls’ eyes, of the nod.
Baill grunted, turned back to Borund. “I can’t arrest anyone based on a look and a nod.”
Then he headed back inside the gates, the matter already dismissed from his mind. In that single unguarded moment, when he was turned away, I saw something in his eyes. Fear, concern, uncertainty. Nothing but a flicker, there and then gone.
Borund watched Baill’s retreating back in shock.
Borund protested again, but there was no proof that the attack at the tavern had been anything but a simple theft gone bad, a consequence of the rich roughing it where they shouldn’t be. And when no more attacks occurred against Borund, the matter was shrugged aside by the guard.
The Mistress wasn’t informed. Any attempts to see her, or Avrell, or any of the rest of Avrell’s staff concerning the attack, were blocked by Baill and the guardsmen. Access to the palace had been restricted. On the Mistress’ orders.
Two weeks passed without anything suspicious occurring as Borund went about his business. No subtle threats except through words on the floor of the guild hall. No one following Borund or William on the streets between his manse, the wharf, and the warehouse district.
After a while, Borund began to relax, began to think that perhaps Baill was right, that perhaps having a bodyguard was unnecessary.
My stomach had tightened at the muttered thought, but he never approached me about leaving. He looked at me with a troubled glance, as if he didn’t know what to do with me, as if he wanted to let me go but found that he couldn’t.
Then the attacks had begun on other merchants. All of them had been described as accidents, or muggings. And all of them reeked of something else.
Borund stopped mumbling about letting me go.
He discussed the situation—Baill, the attacks, the threat—with William. We all knew who was behind it. But nothing could be proved.
Borund went back to the palace anyway, met with Baill again. But the answer was the same. There wasn’t enough to convince Baill that these weren’t simply random attacks. That had been four weeks ago, after the second death. Captain Baill had been so abrupt and condescending that Borund hadn’t bothered when the third merchant died. The palace guard wasn’t going to help.
Marcus. I suddenly remembered the dark blue-coated man at the merchant’s guild. The one with dimples. The one who didn’t want spice. From Marlett.
The attacks were no longer restricted to the merchants of Amenkor. They’d expanded to include merchants from other cities along the coast.
I heard something fall heavily, like deadweight, and glanced up. Borund had collapsed back into his chair.
“Marcus?” He stared down at the papers before him blankly, then said again, “Marcus?”
William moved into the room, shut the door behind himself.
At the small noise, Borund looked up and he slapped his palm flat against his desk, sat up straight. “That’s the fourth one since the attack in the tavern. And he wasn’t even from Amenkor. This merchants’ war has gone too far. It has to end.”
“It’s not going to stop,” I said.
Both William and Borund looked toward me. I rarely spoke, kept myself in the background, uninvolved unless one of them addressed me with a specific question, especially when it dealt with Borund’s business.
But this wasn’t business. At least, not normal business.
Borund’s eyes held mine, mouth pulled down into a frown. He didn’t want to believe what I said, didn’t want to think that Amenkor had degenerated that far.
“No,” he said, turning away from my blunt stance. “No, it must stop. It’s gone on long enough. I don’t care how ‘accidental’ some of the previous deaths looked, they weren’t accidents. And I don’t care that we can’t prove anything, that it’s all hearsay and circumstance. Baill can just . . .” He paused, steadied himself with an effort, then asked in a harsh voice, “How did Marcus die?”
“Knife to the throat, on the docks. It happened a few days ago, or at least that’s when he was last seen. They found him floating in the harbor this morning. It looks like another random mugging.”
Borund snorted. “This was no mugging. We all know that. I’m beginning to think even Baill knows it, and he’s simply choosing to do nothing about it, for whatever reason.” The longer he sat behind his desk, the angrier he became. His fingers were tapping at the papers, his eyes flicking blindly from sheet to sheet.
Finally, he slapped his palm down on the desk again and stood. “No. It has to stop. Get Gerrold to ready the horses. We’re going to the old city.”
“The guild?” William asked, moving to the door.
“No. To the palace. I want to speak to the Mistress herself this time. Or at the very least Avrell. If I have to, I’ll tell Baill it’s guild related. He’ll have to let me in then. It’s my right as a member of the merchants’ guild, damn it!”
William paused at the door, back rigid in shock, but nodded and left without a word.
* * *
“My apologies, Master Borund,” Avrell, the First of the Mistress, said as he emerged from an open arch into the sitting room, “but the Mistress is not seeing anyone today.”
Borund rose from his seat among the pillows, stiff with angry irritation. William rose as well. I was already standing, back to a wall so I could see the entire room. It was small, scattered with low seats, piles of cushions, and tables holding pitchers of water and plates of fruit. A few lattice-worked screens placed near the corners of the room sectioned off areas where people could meet more discreetly.
“I don’t understand why it’s taken so long for someone to see us,” Borund said. “We’ve been waiting for an audience all afternoon!”
“I know. I was informed just now by the Second and came immediately.” The First bowed his head and cast a measured glance toward me.
For a moment, he stiffened, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Then he seemed to catch himself, his expression going blank, revealing nothing.
I frowned, felt a tingle of worry across my skin. I concentrated, pushed beneath the river.
The First swirled both gray and red. When I shifted the focus to Borund, the First was simply gray.
Avrell had raised his head and was now regarding Borund,
but his attention seemed fixed on me, as if he were still watching, still . . . assessing.
I shifted uncomfortably. The First wore dark blue robes, an eight-pointed star symbol stitched on the chest in gold. His hands were clasped inside the wide sleeves, hidden. But he wasn’t a threat to Borund, and wasn’t an immediate or direct threat to me, if the red-gray coloration was any indication, so I forced myself to relax.
Instead, I took in his dark blue eyes, the lines of his face, his dark features, eyebrows and hair black. I listened to his voice, steady and soft, and watched his movements, every motion precise, considered. Occasionally, he would look in my direction. Nothing direct, but enough to make me stir. After a moment I realized why.
I never faded into the background for him as I did with almost everyone Borund dealt with. I never became gray.
Avrell was far too interested in me.
“I’ve tried to see you or the Mistress repeatedly over the last few months,” Borund said, “and I’ve been turned aside by Captain Baill at every attempt. I’m beginning to think the rumors about the Mistress are true!”
Avrell froze, every muscle stilling with sudden interest. For the first time, his attention seemed to focus completely on Borund. “The Mistress is simply unavailable today,” he said, voice hard as stone. “And, in general, I have been extremely busy. As you know, the coastal cities are in a stage of flux, everyone uncertain about the meaning of the passage of the White Fire six years ago. Now we’ve lost contact with Kandish and the other nations on the far side of the mountains, and winter is bearing down on us. . . . It is a difficult time. Surely, as a merchant of the guild, you see that?”
Borund sighed. “Of course. Business has been rough lately. That is precisely why I wanted to speak to you. Forgive my irritation, but Captain Baill. . . .” Borund clenched his jaw, shook his head slightly.
Avrell’s stance relaxed, so subtly that Borund didn’t seem to notice. The First seemed relieved.
In much too casual a tone, he asked, “Baill?”
“Yes, Captain Baill,” Borund said shortly.
“He did not inform me that you had come to the palace to see me regarding guild matters before this.”
Borund winced. “This does not pertain directly to the guild. I used the guild to gain access to the palace. To you.”
Avrell did not react at first. “I see,” he said finally. His brow creased in confusion. “So what did you need to see me or the Mistress about then, if not for guild matters?”
Borund hesitated, shot a quick glance toward William and me, then straightened. “I trust you will bring this to the Mistress’ attention?”
“Of course.”
Borund nodded in relief. “Another merchant has died. Master Marcus, a representative of Marlett.”
I felt the air in the room grow tense.
“ ‘Another’ merchant?”
Borund stared at Avrell in shock. “Yes. I would have thought you would have been informed.”
“I should have been informed,” the First said, his tone harsh. He stared for a moment at a blank wall, gaze abstracted and annoyed, as if he were looking at something deeper inside the palace. Unnoticed by Borund or William, he mouthed “Baill” as if it were a curse under his breath. Then his attention snapped back to Borund. “Captain Baill has not kept me informed of your . . . complaints,” the First said. “Nor of the deaths of any merchants. When did this happen? How?”
Borund sighed, the sound short and sharp. “Marcus’ body was found this morning in the harbor, a knife wound in the throat.”
“And there are more deaths? How many have there been?”
“Four.”
The First’s eyes narrowed. “Four? Amenkor has become extremely dangerous for merchants lately.”
Borund barked a short laugh that held no humor, then caught the intent look in the First’s eyes and went still. They watched each other a long moment, something passing between them wordlessly. Borund’s expression grew grim.
Eventually, the First stirred. “Thank you, Master Borund. I’ll see what can be done. I’m sorry to say that I’ve been extremely distracted lately with other matters pertaining to the Throne and outside the guild. But perhaps I can pay you a visit sometime, so that we can discuss this problem,” he cast a quick glance toward me, “and perhaps other issues, in more detail?”
Borund hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.” He wasn’t totally placated, that was clear in his voice, but he motioned William to his side. William nodded as well.
The First acknowledged them, then turned to leave, but not before glancing once more toward me.
I didn’t move, kept my eyes hooded, unreadable, stance rigid.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of the First’s mouth a moment before he passed through the arched opening into the next room. He seemed somehow satisfied, as if a nagging problem he’d been fretting over for days had just been solved.
* * *
“Do you think anything will change?” William asked Borund as we passed through the gates of the inner ward of the palace into the middle ward containing the guild halls. William and Borund were both mounted. I stood between the two horses and slightly forward, on foot.
“Perhaps,” Borund answered distractedly. He’d been deep in thought since the meeting with the First. “There’s more going on here than a shifting of power in the guild of merchants. Much more.”
“But what?”
Borund shook his head. “I don’t know. Something in the palace? Something to do with the Mistress? I don’t know. If Avrell and Baill are involved, then it must have something to do with the throne.” Borund’s voice was lowered, as if speaking to himself.
I was more concerned about Avrell himself. He’d watched me too closely, had been far too interested in me for comfort.
They fell silent and I scanned ahead. We were on one of the narrow streets behind the guild halls, headed toward the large market square with the horse fountain. The last of the sunlight was fading from the sky, and the shadows were collecting beneath the buildings, dark and thick like on the Dredge.
The thought sent a shiver through me, and with a cold start I realized the Fire inside my gut had shuddered to life. Low, almost nonexistent, but there, trembling.
I straightened. But there were few people out this late, not in the middle ward of the old city. The old city was dead.
I shifted back, moved in closer to Borund, William, and the horses. None of them seemed to notice.
“What can they do to stop the killings?” William asked again a short while later.
Borund didn’t reply. Not even with a grunt.
William sighed and gave up, staring forward into the darkened street.
The Fire was burning higher now, curling up into my chest. We passed a cross street and I tensed, glancing down the new street in both directions, but it was empty. Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark as well, only a few glowing with internal candlelight. Torchlight flickered on the old city’s surrounding walls, but it was distant, out of reach.
The cross street fell behind. I glanced back once, but saw nothing.
The cold Fire began to travel through my shoulders, prickled the base of my neck.
We passed into the shadows of the next building and I looked up, toward the thin band of the night sky, toward the stars. The stone of the buildings seemed suddenly too close, too confining, pressing down, cold and immobile.
And then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
My gaze snapped down to the street, to the sides of the buildings, and in the patterned gray I saw the darknesses: the arch on the left side that led to an inner courtyard, the niches on the right that led to small doors. The movement had come from one of the niches twelve paces ahead, but we’d already drawn abreast of the first niche, were pulling up alongside the arch to th
e courtyard.
The Fire inside suddenly flared, but it was too late.
I drew my dagger, yelled out, “Borund!” in warning, but the figures hidden in the niches and in the arch dove out of the darkness.
Borund’s horse reared as he pulled on the reins, then it screamed, hooves kicking the air, and came down hard, caught one of the men with a crushing blow, trampling him underfoot. The sharp scent of blood flooded my senses, staggering in its intensity. I turned and surged forward, but Borund’s horse foundered, fell to one side, knocked William’s horse away. Startled, William lost his seat, slipped sideways in his saddle as it danced for footing, but the motion forced me back.
And then I felt the man behind me.
I stilled, plunged deeper, beneath the scent of blood, beneath the chaos of the men and the huff and stamp of the horses. Like that first fight on the wharf, with the merchant’s sons, I sank deep enough I could taste the metal of the knives the men held, could feel their sweat, their desperation. Deep enough that I could sense their movements before they made them.
The man behind me swung, the blade silent as it slashed through air. With the cold grace and brutal quickness Erick had trained into me, I ducked to one side, beneath the man’s too wide slash, and thrust backward, hard, felt my dagger slip in and out of flesh, scrape against bone, and then I shifted forward, before the man had even gasped. I felt his knees hit the cobbles at the same time as William’s body struck the wall of the building to the right. For a moment, a horrible pain swept through my stomach as I thought he’d been crushed between the building and his horse, but Fetlock gained his balance at the last moment, William slipping gracelessly between the horse and the wall to the road, foot still caught in one stirrup.
One of the horses screamed again. The other snorted in terror.
My attention flicked to Borund. His horse had separated from William’s. Borund and the horse stood in the center of the street, one of the attackers crumpled at the horse’s dancing feet, three others closing in tight, hemming in the terrified horse. Of the three, two were too close, a danger to Borund. The third wouldn’t get to Borund in time. I could finish him off later.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 21