The Warlord's Legacy

by Ari Marmell

  “Why me,” she asked him, “and not you?” Her tone was bitter, yes, but not at him. She blamed many for her fate—and one in particular above all others—but she would not make Losalis a scapegoat just because it was a fate he’d managed to escape.

  “I’ve wondered about that, a little,” he said. “Partly, I think, it’s simply that I’ve had my reputation longer than you. Also, my company’s a lot bigger. People are less willing to go without.

  “But mostly? I’d have to suggest it’s because you were with him inside Mecepheum. Sure, generals and commanders saw me leading his forces, but the nobles and the Guildmasters watched you standing right beside him. I don’t think they’re likely to forget that anytime soon.”

  Ellowaine nodded sourly. “It always comes back to Rebaine, doesn’t it? I think I’d willingly put up with everything that’s happened if I could just get my hands on him for a few minutes in exchange.”

  Losalis nodded noncommittally, and for a few moments they lost themselves in drink.

  “Did you know,” she said softly, “that I’ve lost half my men in the last four years? Not on the battlefield, I mean they just left. Loyal as they’ve always been, they wouldn’t stick with a commander who couldn’t find them work, and I can’t blame them.”

  The larger mercenary leaned back, ignoring his chair’s desperate creaks of protest. He had, indeed, known Ellowaine a long time—and he knew what she was asking, even indirectly, and how hard it must be for her.

  “I can take them,” he said with a surprising gentleness. “Not all at once—I don’t think I can convince the baron I need that many new swords. But it’ll provide work for some, and the rest are welcome to join my company when we start looking for our next contract.”

  For the first time in years, Ellowaine smiled and meant it. “Thank you, Losalis.” At least now I’m only failing myself, not them.

  “There might be something else I can offer you,” he said, as though reading her thoughts or her future in the swirling suds of his tankard. “Nothing I’m positive about, mind you, just some whispers through the usual channels. Someone’s putting an operation together, they’re looking for Imphallian mercenaries, and I don’t think they’re likely to care that you were part of Rebaine’s campaign.”

  Ellowaine tilted her head. “Imphallian mercenaries?”

  “Yeah, you’d need to do a bit of traveling. How do you feel about the kingdom of Cephira?”

  “If they pay, I’ll feel any damn way about them they want.”

  IT WAS, DISTRESSINGLY, THE THROBBING in her skull that convinced her she was alive. For long moments she didn’t move, even to open her eyes. Mentally she ran through weapons drills and strategic puzzles, carefully examined a few randomly chosen memories, even took the time for some quick addition and multiplication. She found herself a bit slow, occasionally not as accurate as she’d have liked, but eventually the proper answers and images swam to the fore through the churning tide of pain.

  Satisfied that she’d likely sustained no permanent damage, she allowed her eyes to open. Although the light was dim, still it was nearly blinding, and she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

  But like her thoughts, her vision swiftly cleared.

  Moving carefully, she examined what she could of her surroundings. She was inside one of the flophouse rooms—probably on the second floor, to judge by the sound sneaking in through the boarded-up window. Tiny, unseen things crawled beneath the outer layer of the mattress, causing unsightly bulges. She sat in—and, she realized as she attempted to move her arms, was bound to—one of the rickety chairs.

  No, wait. Two chairs, back to back, so that she couldn’t easily snap the wood. She grinned darkly. Whoever had taken her knew what they were doing.

  But then, so do I.

  She lifted her face to the ceiling and groaned, as though just waking up. It wasn’t hard to fake the pain.

  Behind her, the tip of her left braid dipped into her waiting hands. Digging swiftly with thumb and forefinger, she slid a sliver of metal from within the hair. It wasn’t much, just a flattened, sharpened needle. But given sufficient time, it would do.

  Even as she went to work on the ropes, she glared around the room. Distract them, whatever it takes …

  “I don’t know who you are,” she began, “but you’ve made an enormous—”

  And then he stepped into sight from the shadows, gently carrying that damn cat, and put the lie to her first words. She knew exactly who he was.

  “It’s not the way I’d have preferred for us to meet again, Ellowaine.”

  “Speak for yourself, Rebaine. I’ll take my shot at you any way I can get it.”

  UNNOTICED BY EITHER CAPTIVE OR CAPTOR, Seilloah abruptly tensed, her back arching slightly and her tail growing bushy as a squirrel’s. Had she felt something, just then? Something in the air, or the ether? If only the pain would stop, if only she could concentrate, she’d be sure, but now …

  No. Whatever it was, if it had been anything at all, was gone. Forcing herself to calm, she swiveled her ears to focus on the conversation once more.

  Ellowaine darted through a forest of wooden targets called simply the Thicket, hatchets carving chunks and splinters as she passed. Some hung limp, some swung side-to-side on creaking pendulums, and some were weighted so that anything but a perfect strike would send them spinning, slamming an arm of wicker painfully into an attacker’s back.

  Or so she’d been told. So far, she’d not triggered a one of them.

  In fact, this wasn’t really training so much as it was showing off, proving herself over and over to Cephiran officers she could easily have slain on the battlefield. She’d run through the exercise twice already today, and the only difference this time was that they’d removed the canvas ceiling, allowing the snows of winter to filter down and impede her footing.

  It didn’t slow her much, just made her shiver uncomfortably in those few seconds when she wasn’t actively moving.

  She came to the end of the Thicket and finished in a swift spin, dropping to one knee in the snow and striking up and back, sinking both hatchets into what would have been the lower backs of two enemy “warriors.” And only then did she notice the man standing just beyond the array of posts, watching intently.

  He was a burly fellow, wearing a thick black beard. In his youth, he might have resembled a bear clad in armor, but much of his bulk—not all, she could see that immediately, but much—had run to fat as age sank its claws into him. His hands, rough and callused, were crossed over a barrel chest that bore the crimson tabard of the Royal Soldiers of the Black Gryphon. Unlike the others Ellowaine had seen, however, his was trimmed in gold, both around the edges and surrounding the iconic gryphon.

  “Good afternoon,” he said without preamble. “I’m General Rhykus.”

  Ellowaine rose, offered a shallow bow, and sheathed the hatchets at her side. “I’m honored.” She knew nothing of Rhykus, save that she’d heard the name and that he was one of only three soldiers to carry that rank in the royal Cephiran military.

  Which, for the moment, made him her employer.

  “Walk with me.” He turned away, clearly accustomed to instant obedience.

  For the sake of her coin purse, that’s what she offered, falling into step beside him, her long legs easily keeping pace. She wasn’t certain if he was gathering his thoughts or waiting for her to open the conversation, but after a few moments of crunching through shallow snow toward no apparent destination, she decided to take the initiative.

  “I’m assuming you’re not here to critique my performance in the Thicket. Sir,” she added quickly. That’s going to take some getting used to.

  “Do you feel it needs critiquing?”

  Ellowaine swallowed a flash of annoyance. “Not really. And I’m assuming if you did, you’d have said something.”

  “Just so.” A few more steps. “You’re the same Ellowaine who served under Rebaine during your nation’s so-called Serpent’s W
ar?”

  Her blood ran cold as the surrounding snows. Surely the Cephirans wouldn’t hold that against her?

  “I am,” she said carefully.

  General Rhykus nodded. “I normally have little personal interaction with our mercenaries,” he told her.

  “Should I be honored again? Or worried?”

  The coal-dark beard split in a grin. “I see you’re accustomed to speaking your mind. Few of my soldiers will. Not to my face, anyway.

  “No, Ellowaine, you needn’t worry. In fact, I require your assistance.”

  They crested a small rise, and Ellowaine saw a great pavilion before them. Even from here, she could feel the radiating warmth of a fire.

  “Join me for a meal,” the general invited. “There’s much I would discuss with you.”

  “Such as?” she asked, still vaguely suspicious.

  “Why, such as everything you can possibly remember about Corvis Rebaine.”

  “AND OF COURSE, YOU TOLD HIM everything,” Corvis said disgustedly.

  “Why not?” Despite her bonds, she matched him glare for glare. “You hardly provided me any reason for loyalty or affection.”

  ‘She’s not wrong, Corvis. When it comes to loyalty, you pretty much fall somewhere between a scorpion and, well, an even more unfaithful scorpion.’

  He shrugged, so far as the cat in his arms permitted. It wasn’t as though he was about to argue the point—not with her, and certainly not with himself. He saw Ellowaine’s eyes dart past him as Irrial entered the room, saw them widen briefly in recognition. They’d never met, that much he knew, but doubtless the Cephirans had spread her description far and wide.

  “Was it necessary,” Ellowaine asked abruptly, voice hard, “to kill my men?”

  Again, Corvis shrugged. “We needed to ensure that we’d have time alone to talk with you. And anyway, this is war.”

  “Oh, I see,” she scoffed. “Now you’re a patriot, are you?”

  Corvis dropped to one knee so that he could look the bound prisoner in the face. “I’ve always been a patriot, Ellowaine. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  The cat, perhaps for no better reason than to break the silence, leapt from his arms to the floor between them.

  “How did that thing bite through my boot, anyway?” the mercenary demanded.

  “Magic,” the cat said. Corvis was morbidly amused to see Ellowaine jump, but her shock didn’t last.

  “Ah, I see. Seilloah?”

  “Ellowaine.” The witch didn’t offer an explanation for her current form, and Ellowaine obviously knew better than to ask.

  “So tell me,” Corvis began, “why did …?” He paused, watching carefully as the prisoner shifted in the chair. She might have just been repositioning herself after the sudden start, but then again …

  Scowling, he moved behind her, saw a swift glint of metal that she couldn’t quite hide in her fist. He reached out and yanked the sharp-edged needle from her fingers, ignoring the profanity she spit his way.

  “Where the hell were you hiding that?” he demanded. He didn’t really expect an answer, which was a good thing, since she clearly wasn’t about to offer any. He leaned in, examining the ropes, and decided with a soft grunt that she hadn’t cut through enough of the thick hemp to matter. He casually flicked the steel shard into a distant corner and stood before her once more.

  She raised her face to the ceiling, chewing on the inside of her cheek and mumbling a few more curses, before looking his way once more.

  “Tell me,” he said again, “why General Rhykus wanted to know about me. And Ellowaine, please don’t waste my time, or yours, by lying.”

  “If you think you could tell, you’re kidding yourself,” she said. “But I’ve no need to lie. The truth is, I really don’t know. He obviously had his reasons, given how thoroughly he pressed me on it. He got me to remember details I hadn’t even realized I’d ever known. But he never once told me why.”

  “And you didn’t ask?” Irrial asked incredulously.

  “Wouldn’t have mattered. If he’d wanted me to know, he’d have told me. Besides, I’m used to following people without knowing the whole story. It’s what I get paid to do.” She stopped and glowered at Corvis. “What I usually get paid to do.”

  Corvis turned, first toward Seilloah at his feet, then Irrial behind him. The baroness shrugged, while the cat merely flicked her tail.

  ‘You’ve really got a way with women, haven’t you? No wonder you can’t seem to keep one.’ Corvis would, in that moment, have gladly drilled an awl through his own temple if it meant digging out that damn voice.

  “So what are we thinking, then?” Irrial asked. “Is the whole thing a Cephiran operation? To what end?”

  “Distraction,” Seilloah suggested. “Something to keep the Guilds and the nobles from countering their invasion?”

  “Maybe.” Corvis didn’t sound convinced. “It seems awfully convoluted, if that’s all it is, though.”

  Ellowaine leaned forward, so much as the ropes would allow. “You’re talking about the murders. It wasn’t you, was it?”

  Again they glanced at one another, then Corvis nodded.

  “I thought so. I couldn’t imagine what you’d have to gain. Now I understand.”

  “And does it bother you?” the baroness demanded. “Knowing that you provided information that led to the murder of innocents?”

  “Why would it?” the mercenary asked, her tone philosophical. “I’m a soldier; I kill. The Cephirans offered me work when nobody else would—thanks to him.” She actually smiled at Irrial. “Whatever he’s promised you for your help, lady, I’d suggest you count it in advance.”

  “No,” Corvis said, only half listening. “Think of where the murders occurred, the fact that they targeted so many of the people connected to me.”

  Seilloah nodded, her whiskered snout wrinkling. “If the Cephirans could get into the Hall of Meeting like that, they wouldn’t need this sort of deception. They could just take the government down and be done with it.”

  “They’d have to have Imphallian operatives, then.”

  “No,” Irrial said slowly. “Not operatives. Co-conspirators. This feels very much like a political maneuver, albeit a bloody one.”

  And then she and Corvis turned to each other, the understanding that dawned on their features enough to light up the room.

  “Yarrick,” they both said at once.

  “He wasn’t just a collaborator,” Corvis continued. “He was a part of this—whatever this is.”

  Even Ellowaine appeared to have gotten sucked into the discussion. “If you’re right,” she said, “if there is some sort of cross-border conspiracy, it couldn’t just be a local Guildsman, no matter how potent. It’d have to go a lot higher.”

  “So what would the Guilds have to gain,” Seilloah mused, “by cooperating with a Cephiran invasion?”

  “Not all the Guilds,” Corvis interjected. “I’m starting to think that’s what some of these murders were about: Silence anyone who knows about what’s going on but isn’t willing to go along with it.”

  “And in the process,” Ellowaine said, “provide a distraction in the form of the vicious ‘Terror of the East.’ Actually pretty neat, when you think about it.” Then, at their expressions, “I know less about this than you do. I’m just speculating.”

  “And why,” Corvis said, dark, suddenly suspicious, “might that be?”

  The chair creaked as she shrugged. “Something to do while you’ve got me stuck here.”

  “I don’t think so.” Fists and jaw clenched as one. “You’re stalling.”

  Seilloah bounded to the window, peering between the uneven boards. “There’s a squad of soldiers clearing people off the street!” she hissed.

  Ellowaine smiled brightly beneath their withering glares. “Oops,” she said.

  “I can see the spell,” Seilloah whispered, studying their prisoner, “now that I know to look. Someone’s been watching us through her, Corvis
. They’ve known we were here since she opened her eyes. Arhylla damn it all, I thought I felt something! I should’ve made sure …”

  Corvis nodded bleakly. “Let’s get the hell out of here before they’ve finished assembling, then.”

  “We’re not just going to leave her, are we?” Irrial demanded. Corvis actually flinched, startled at the bloodlust in the baroness’s tone—until it struck him just how she must feel about an Imphallian siding with Rahariem’s oppressors.

  It was, however, a moot point. Even as he considered Ellowaine, still uncertain as to what he’d do with her, she rose from the chair. Shredded ropes fell from about her chafed wrists, and Corvis saw just a glimpse of a second needle clutched in one fist.

  And as clearly as if she’d explained it to him, he understood. Of course. One in each braid.

  He lunged, but she was already moving. Blood welled up beneath the ropes that wrapped her calves, but the chair legs snapped as she twisted. With her captors mere inches behind, she hit the boarded window at a dead sprint. Corvis was certain that some of the snapping he heard must have been bone as well as wood, but it didn’t stop her. He watched, his lopsided expression settling somewhere between enraged and impressed, as she landed in a shower of splinters, rolled awkwardly across the street, and limped into the nearest alley, dragging a clearly broken leg behind. Just before vanishing into the shadows, she paused long enough to cast an obscene gesture back at the shattered window.