by DAVID B. COE
Over the next few days, Cadel began to see that she had chosen well in a husband as well. Clearly he loved her, doting on her at every opportunity. But he was more than just a love-struck old man entranced by his young wife. He had a fine humor and good business sense. He agreed with much of what Cadel suggested by way of changes in the way they performed various pieces, but when he disagreed, he held his ground, and on more than one occasion Cadel relented, seeing the merits of the man’s arguments.
Kalida and Anesse could be strong-willed as well, and their musical instincts were every bit as good as Cadel’s and Jaan’s. Even Dunstan, who said little most of the time, suggested slowing their performance of “Tanith’s Threnody,” which improved the piece immeasurably.
After having heard Cadel sing, the piper began to warm to him. He was a kind man, if rather simple, but there could be no mistaking his skill with the pipes. There could also be no doubt of his feelings for Kalida. Whenever he wasn’t playing, he watched her, looking unsure of himself, as if hoping that she would declare her love for him and save him the ordeal of speaking first. For her part, Kalida appeared to have no interest in him. He had a kindly face and a quick smile, but beside Jaan, whom he clearly admired, he looked plain and soft, with a round body and slightly stooped shoulders. Add to that the fact that he was so terribly shy around her, and Cadel could see why she didn’t return his affections. This, after all, was a woman who had been drawn to Jedrek, with his lean wiry frame, wild black hair, and jaunty manner.
On only the third day after their first practice together, the five musicians gave their first performance. The tavern was packed, as it had been every night since Cadel’s arrival in Ailwyck, and though he had sung before dukes and thanes, and placed himself in gravest danger to earn gold in his other profession, he could not remember being as nervous as he was this night. Not that he needed to be. They sang and played flawlessly. Their performance of the Paean drew cheers and applause so loud that Cadel actually feared that the tavern roof might collapse. Even the innkeeper, a dour man who had shown little interest in their music the previous nights, whistled and smiled.
The following night, the tavern began to fill before the ringing of the prior’s bells, hours before the musicians were to begin their performance. By the time the company stepped onto the small wooden stage, the entire courtyard outside the tavern entrance was full, and many of those both inside and outside were drunk. The innkeeper had to promise a second performance to those beyond the door in order to prevent a riot. Cadel and his friends didn’t mind, for they were paid double their usual wage, and the others agreed without dissent that Cadel should receive an equal share of the extra gold.
It was a late night, which became a sleepless one when Kalida let herself into his room after the others had gone to sleep. Cadel had already climbed into bed, but was still awake. He sat up, lighting the candle beside his bed with a flint. She closed the door behind her, then stood there, as if awaiting an invitation to join him.
She was wearing a simple shift, and her hair hung loose to the small of her back.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” she said.
“Actually, I am. Won’t Dunstan be disappointed?”
She shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was quite lovely, really. And it had been a long time since he last passed a night with a woman. “All three of them will be.”
“They will?”
“Dunstan is Jaan’s oldest friend,” she said, beginning to wander about the small room. “They’re like brothers. And so when Jaan was joined to Anesse, they all assumed that I’d be a dutiful girl and promise myself to him.”
“A woman could do worse.”
She paused by the wardrobe, regarding him, an eyebrow arched. “She could do better, too.”
“I’m not certain that I’m the joining kind,” Cadel said.
Kalida laughed. “I don’t want to be joined to you, Corbin. To be honest, I don’t think of myself as the joining kind either. If I did, I’d still be with your friend, Honok. As I recall, when we were in Thorald together, I spent Lovers’ Night in his bed. Where Anesse and I come from that’s the same as a betrothal.”
“In other words, you wish to share my bed so as to make it clear to the others that you have no intention of being joined to Dunstan.”
She walked to the bed and sat beside him, running a finger down the center of his chest. “That’s not the only reason.”
He felt a stirring in his groin, saw Kalida glance down at the sheets covering him and grin. Pulling the shift off over her head, she slid under the sheets beside him and kissed the side of his neck.
“Your sister may object,” he said, closing his eyes as her lips began to travel his body.
“How can she? She’s married to Jaan.”
With all of them sleeping under the same roof, it took only a day or two for the others to realize that Cadel and Kalida were sharing a bed. Despite his fears, Cadel saw no evidence that Dunstan was angry with him. The piper was downcast for a short while, but it seemed to Cadel that whatever sadness he felt was tempered by a profound sense of relief. Indeed, the only one of the other three who did show any sign of being angry was Anesse, who said nothing to either Cadel or Kalida for a full day after seeing them emerge together from Cadel’s room. Jaan, on the other hand, seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps seeing in their affair proof that he needn’t be jealous of the singer any longer.
Within six nights of their first performance, the innkeeper more than doubled the musicians’ wages, in part because they were now doing two performances each night, and in part because he was unwilling to risk having Cadel leave. He also gave Cadel his room for free, though it quickly became a wasted expense. Cadel and Kalida spent nearly every night together, either in her bed or his. She was a skilled lover, far more so than he, and the singer found himself anticipating their lovemaking even more than he did the company’s performances.
His one concern in the midst of all his newfound success was that word of the company’s performances would travel beyond Ailwyck, drawing the attention of the Qirsi conspiracy or Lord Tavis of Curgh. In Mertesse, Cadel had allowed the fame he and Dario enjoyed to lull him into carelessness. As a result, Tavis surprised him in the upstairs corridor of their inn, and nearly succeeded in exacting his revenge for Lady Brienne’s murder. And over the past several years, the conspiracy had managed to find him no matter where he went, giving him gold he could not refuse and demanding that he kill for them yet again. Upon leaving Mertesse, Cadel had decided that his days as an assassin were over, and now, having found a company with which to sing, a city in which their music was appreciated, and a lover with whom he could share his nights, he was ever more determined to embrace this new life.
Midway through the waning of Elhir’s turn, however, it became clear that indeed their fame had started to travel the land. Late in the morning, as they practiced a new piece that Jaan had written, a messenger arrived at the inn from the marquessate of Fanshyre in the Ailwyck countryside. The marquess, it seemed, had heard tales of their extraordinary talent and requested a private concert. He offered to host a feast in their honor two days hence and to pay them ten qinde each for a single performance.
As an assassin Cadel had spent little time in Wethyrn, and so he had little fear of being recognized. Still, he was certain the marquess had at least one Qirsi minister, and there was always the danger that this person might be a traitor who would have heard whisperings of the singer-assassin. More to the point, such a performance would only serve to widen their renown, increasing the danger that he would be found.
Unfortunately, none of the others shared his concerns. Nor could he voice them himself. Invitations like this one were exceedingly rare for all but the most talented performers. Any musician in the Forelands would have been delighted to receive one and deeply envious of others who did. Cadel could no more object to making the journey than he could admit outright that he was a hired blade.
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They accepted the invitation immediately, sending the marquess’s messenger back to Fanshyre with word that they would be at his castle on the appointed day. The others were far too excited to continue with their rehearsal and Cadel did his best to make it seem that he shared their enthusiasm. That night, however, as he and Kalida lay in bed, she made it all too clear that he had failed.
“Why are you reluctant to go to Fanshyre?” she asked, staring up at him, her legs still wrapped around his hips.
He forced a smile. “I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me, Corbin. You tried to seem as pleased as the rest of us, but it took an effort. I could tell.”
He exhaled, leaving the warm comfort between her legs and sitting on the bed beside her. How many lies were too many between lovers?
“It has nothing to do with Fanshyre. I’ve never even been there. I simply don’t like the courts.”
“Why not?”
“My father served in one when I was young. I hated the way he was treated.”
The lie just came to him, and it struck him as a strange twisting of the truth of his childhood. He had grown up in the court of his father, a viscount in southern Caerisse, and what he had hated most about it was the viscount himself.
Kalida seemed to ponder what he had said for several moments, absently playing with his hair. Then she shrugged, and said, “Well, then enjoy taking his money. It’s not like we’re going to live there. It’s one day, and nearly as much gold as we’ll make here during the rest of the waning.”
“You’re right. I should be grateful for the invitation. I’ll try to be.”
“You’re humoring me. There’s more to it than what you’ve said.”
Cadel smiled, looking away. “Yes, there is. But leave it at that, Kalida. Please.”
“Is this about Honok?”
He looked at her again. She hadn’t mentioned Jed since their first night together.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. He once told me that his father didn’t think much of the courts either. And I know the two of you were good friends before whatever made you part ways.”
He pushed the hair back from her brow. “We’re still good friends, he and I. And no, this has nothing to do with him.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t ask you anything more.”
“Thank you. I promise you that I’ll sing my best. Whatever my feelings about the courts, they won’t hurt our performance.”
“They’d better not,” she said, pulling him down to her again. “You may not have an appetite for gold, but I do.”
Two mornings hence, they set out southward for the marquess’s castle. It was a bright, mild morning, a fine day for a journey. It seemed the planting winds had come to Wethyrn at last. The innkeeper had given them leave to miss their early performance in the tavern, but had made it clear that he expected them back in Ailwyck for the later one. From what he told them, it seemed a simple journey. Fanshyre Castle stood less than two leagues away, nestled in the northern reaches of the Grey Hills near the source of the Ailwyck River.
“If you leave early enough, you can be there before midday,” the innkeeper said. “And if you leave Fanshyre with the prior’s bells, you should have plenty of time to get back here, change your clothes, and earn your keep.”
He wasn’t a subtle man, but he knew the countryside. The company reached Fanshyre just as the midday bells tolled from the gates of the small village. They were greeted by the marquess himself, a short, rotund man with a broad grin and round face. His wife might well have been his sister, so alike did they look, and she welcomed them heartily before leading them to the castle’s hall. There, true to his word, the marquess made them honored guests at a simple but ample feast. Afterward, they sang for him, performing every song they knew, and, at the marquess’s request, repeating several pieces, including the Paean and, much to Jaan’s delight, the new piece the lutenist had just written. Usually Cadel did not like to perform the same piece more than once for the same audience, but Fanshyre had been kind enough to feed them, and, as Kalida reminded him once again on their walk to the castle, he was paying them handsomely for their music.
They left Fanshyre just after the ringing of the prior’s bells, gold jingling in their pockets, their spirits high. There had been only one Qirsi in the castle, the marquess’s lone minister, a frail old woman who appeared to nod off in the middle of their performance. Cadel felt confident in assuming that she wasn’t with the conspiracy and that his fears of this journey had been unfounded. As they made their way through the hills, he found himself joking with the others and singing along with Jaan to the bawdy Mettai folk songs the lutenist was playing.
He didn’t even notice the three men in the road ahead of them until the company had almost reached them. And by then it was too late.
They were still in the hills, though they couldn’t have been more than a hundred strides from more open land. Just here, however, the road narrowed and the rocky hills formed a steep canyon. The company halted and Cadel glanced behind them. Already there were two more men there, leering at them.
“I could hear the coins in your pockets from up there,” one of the thieves said, pointing toward the top of the nearest hill.
Jaan stepped in front of Anesse and Cadel did the same with Kalida. He had a dagger on his belt—Jaan and Dunstan did as well—and a second strapped to his calf inside his boot.
The thieves all carried blades, and the one who had spoken, their leader no doubt, carried a short sword as well, stolen from a noble by the look of it. He nodded at the others and they began to advance on the company.
Jaan reached for his belt, but Cadel held out a hand, stopping him.
“Don’t, Jaan. They’ll kill us.” Actually Cadel felt fairly certain that he could fight them off with just a bit of help from the others. But he was a musician now, not a killer, and he was willing to trade a bit of gold to keep all of them alive and preserve the secret of his past.
“We can’t just let them take the gold,” the lutenist said.
“Better the gold than our lives. We can always earn more.”
The leader stopped in front of Jaan, a smirk on his begrimed face. He was about Cadel’s size and he walked with the swagger of a man who had killed before and would do so again without hesitation. One of the others appeared far younger than he, and a bit unsure of himself, but the other three seemed just as confident as their leader. Two of them planted themselves in front of Cadel, their daggers drawn, and another stood beside Dunstan.
“Yer gold, old man,” the leader said to Jaan. “An’ that o’ yer friends.”
“Shouldn’ we take their blades?” asked one of the men by Cadel.
The leader shrugged laconically. “Sure, take ’em. They migh’ be worth something.”
The man who had spoken laid his blade against Cadel’s throat with one hand, and took the weapon from his belt with the other. In a moment they also had Jaan and Dunstan’s blades.
“Now, give us yer gold.”
Cadel, Dunstan, and the two women handed over their money, but Jaan, who carried his in a small leather pouch, took out his gold rounds and threw them over the man’s head into the brush on the slope of the hill.
“You want it, you bastard?” he said. “Get it yourself.”
The leader gave a short harsh laugh, glancing at his friends, but making no move to retrieve the coins. “Did ye see tha’?” he asked. “Th’ old man has some darin’.” He faced Jaan again. “No brains, though.”
And with a motion so swift that his hand was but a blur, the thief hammered the hilt of his sword into Jaan’s face.
The lutenist crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Anesse screamed out his name, but before she could even drop to her knees beside him, the man kicked him in the stomach.
Cadel made a motion toward the leader, but the two thieves beside him brandished their daggers, forcing him to stop.
Seeing
this, the leader walked to where the singer stood, the same cruel grin on his lips. “Ye want t’ try too?” he asked, as if daring Cadel to hit him. “Ye want t’ end up like yer friend?”
“Just take the gold and go,” Cadel said, holding the man’s gaze.
“Well, ye know, I would ha’. But now I don’ think so.” He looked at the women, and with a quick glance back at Cadel, stepped back to where Anesse now knelt. She was sobbing and cradling Jaan’s head in her lap, trying to stanch the blood with a kerchief. The thief sheathed his sword, pushed Jaan away from her with his foot, and forced her to stand, stepping around behind her, one hand gripping her by the hair and the other grasping her breast. “How “bout it, boys?” he called to the others. “Feel like a bit o’ mutton?”
One of the men guarding Cadel walked over to Kalida, grabbing her by the arm, and tearing the front of her dress.
The man who remained with Cadel was looking past him at what his friends were doing, grinning with amusement. Cadel threw the punch so quickly, with such force, that the man never even had time to look at him. He merely dropped to the ground, his larynx shattered by the blow. The man by Dunstan cried out and bounded toward Cadel, but by that time the singer had his second blade in hand. The man swung at him wildly with his own weapon, but Cadel ducked under the attack and plunged his dagger into the man’s chest.
Shoving the thief off his blade, he spun toward the two who had Anesse and Kalida. The one with Kalida, pushed her to the ground, and held his weapon ready, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. Cadel didn’t falter. Striding toward the man, he lifted his weapon as if to attack. The thief lunged at him, just as Cadel knew he would. His kick caught the man just under the chin. The thief fell, rolled, tried to stand, but Cadel was on him too quickly, slashing at the brigand’s throat.