The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  "We are officers of the law," Armand pointed out.

  "Isabellan law," Brenda responded. "You may have noticed you're out of your jurisdiction, and I believe you have a murder or two of your own on your conscience. Rumors say a couple people disappeared after becoming too curious about you."

  "We are duly appointed representatives of our government," Faith said coolly. "We are on an authorized mission, and we are sanctioned to take whatever actions we deem necessary--including the elimination of persons detrimental to the peace of other nations and those threatening to break our cover. Both those women overheard us when we thought we were alone. They threatened to expose us if we didn't come up with a bribe."

  "You murdered," Brenda said flatly. "Like me, you had your reasons, but you think of it as murder or you wouldn't have confessed."

  "Got you there," Armand pointed out to his wife.

  "Whose side are you on?"

  "The side of peace and harmony. I'm on the side of those who want to stop a madman from throwing a large section of the world into chaos. I am on the side of those who want to see two women stop butting their heads together so we can get down to business. Really Faith, pull in your defensive attitude. I've no romantic interest in this woman."

  "Defensive!" Faith spat. "Me! Armand, I'll have you know I've never been jealous of your affairs. Every single time you─"

  Armand broke in. "Not defensive because of me. You're defensive because of Mister Turner. You see Brenda as a threat to him, and that's getting your hair up. Admit it. Aaron brings out the maternal in you. He makes your protective instincts flare up."

  "But─"

  "Happens all the time with the man. Seen it happen with you before."

  "But I'm not after him," Faith protested. "Armand, you're the only one."

  "Never doubted it," he complacently told her. "I have too much charm for you to look anyplace else. Nope, it's just your instincts say you need to mother him."

  "You have too much charm, period," she said, choosing to ignore his last statement. "I'm constantly surprised you haven't shoved four or five co-wives on me."

  "I'm still looking," he assured her. "There are a lot of choices out there. The way I see it, my second wife has to be as good or better than you."

  Brenda snorted and then laughed. She laughed until she had to drop her drink glass to the ground and bend almost double. Armand glared, but she did not notice.

  Faith patiently waited until the laughter finished before pinning Brenda with her stare.

  "Explain the joke," she demanded.

  "You two are funny," Brenda replied, still chuckling. "You think he's chasing every pretty face in sight, and he's doing everything to assure you he is. Mistress Crowley, your man is a fake. Remember he flirted with me. I'm woman enough to know when a man is serious, and there wasn't a moment when I thought his flirtation was real. How can you not know your husband is so in love with you other women just don't exist?"

  "She's lying," Armand protested as his stomach fell to his heels. "I just wasn't interested in her. Doesn't mean there haven't been dozens of others. Maybe hundreds."

  Faith's eyes became speculative and judging. Swallowing, Armand wished he had never heard the name Brenda Montpass.

  "She's lying," he tried again, frightened to his bones.

  "So nothing she said is true?" Faith asked quietly, her eyes hooded.

  "Not one word of it," Armand protested. "Remember all those nights I didn't come home. I was with other women then."

  She nodded sagely. "Of course, dear, I remember. I also remember you're a workaholic, and I remember you never tell the truth if you think a lie might do." A mischievously superior smile slowly spread across her face. "Miss Montpass, it appears I owe you another debt of gratitude."

  Armand had no option but retreat. "So we need to decide what to do about our favorite Prophet."

  "Coward," Faith muttered fondly, just loud enough for him to hear.

  "I don't know what we can do," Brenda said. "I'm not the professional here. All I know is there are only the three of us because everyone else I've given a steel ball has headed for the hills. Prophet's constantly surrounded by people willing to die for him, and even with this steel, he's influenced me so much I can barely think of harming him, let alone actually doing so. The steel only helps, it isn't a solution. Our only hope of retaining some small amount of freedom is to make him believe we are further under his sway than we actually are."

  "So we wait," Faith said. "We wait and hope we don't become a mindless part of his ambition."

  "I just don't want to see what happens when this mob falls on three or four thousand unsuspecting workers," Armand added.

  "Me neither," Brenda agreed.

  * * *

  Lioth found no honor in this. Walking the grounds, she looked down to see the dead eyes of a child no older than six months. This child was only the youngest of the dead. The oldest, she guessed, was a yermod near fifty-five. The entire tribe had been destroyed without hope because honor forbade them to raise weapons in their own defense.

  Such was the fate, Clack claimed, of those who did not rally to his cause. It did not matter these were people loyal to him. It did not matter their only crime was following a man who ordered an attack on people celebrating a ferbog. It did not matter tradition and honor demanded they forswear their freedom to the offended tribe for three years.

  To Bill Clack, none of it mattered. They had been loyal to Clack, and yet they were dead. It wasn't right. None of this was right. There had been a time when the thought of battle and death excited Lioth. She had wanted a chance to prove herself, to earn a second name. Well she had another name now and it tasted like ash, Lioth L'sang.

  Lioth, Seeker Who Brings Death. So many dead because of her.

  "Your people will be rich in loot when the war is finished," Delmac said, his expression withdrawn, seemingly lost in memory.

  "Yes," Lioth agreed while watching Kelod cut his arrow free of an adolescent girl's body. Shuddering, she deliberately walked past the glitter of a silver necklace. Demac was correct. Most of Clack's followers would be rich by the war's end. She refused to be one of those. The only trinkets she collected came from the bodies of people she personally killed, one from each body, far too many for her to sleep well at night. Truthfully, if she was honest with herself, her collection should be much larger. Her actions had brought death to thousands. Her honor lay ruined. This was not what she expected from war.

  From hundreds of feet away, Han Chuk saw them. He gestured.

  "We better go," Delmac said bitterly. "The high lord beckons."

  Lioth refused to respond. Instead, she planned their course so they worked their way past the burning tents and bleeding bodies with as much speed as possible. Han Chuk waited. Blood stained his hands.

  She once thought the two of them shared a secret bond. She once thought he understood her inner self. She once thought he knew of her sometime Talents and had given them his wink of approval.

  Those days, those thoughts, were gone. The man she had admired disappeared into the grim visage of somebody who did an excellent job at something he now despised. This was not the type of war Han Chuk had promised. This was butchery and dishonor, but still he followed the emperor's orders. The man Lioth had admired was fading away, becoming something inhuman.

  To this new Han Chuk, Lioth L'sang was nothing more than a tool to be used. It felt like he used her to her soul's death.

  "He still lives," Han Chuk said when they reached him.

  Lioth glanced to Delmac. "My honor demands it," she answered, hoping Han Chuk had not discovered the things now occurring between them.

  "Honor," he said, as if the word twisted uneasily on his tongue. "Three separate groups escaped us."

  "Amazing," she said without humor. "There were only a thousand warriors against our--what--fifty thousand?"

  "I hear sarcasm."

  "I feel sarcastic," she replied, ignoring a warning look from Delm
ac. The smell of burning flesh lay heavy on her stomach, making her nauseous, increasing her headache. "I suppose you want me to chase them down."

  Han Chuk's eyes remained dead. "No, not yet. The false emperor's city is too close. We need to get in position to attack it at the right time."

  "And when will that be? As best I can tell, there are only twenty thousand warriors inside the walled part of the city. Those walls aren't strong enough to stop us. Why wait?"

  "It's pointless to waste our strength when another army will to do the job."

  Lioth stilled. "Them," she finally said. "The crusaders. I didn't think they would make it this far. They had no food. Their weapons are a joke, and their training is nonexistent."

  "We delivered food to them," Han Chuk said sadly. "The emperor's original plan was to encourage the mob to attack a city populated by only a few thousand workers. Since the workers have fled and Turner's warriors are taking refuge, the emperor wants these crusaders to die while showing us the extent of Turner's defenses."

  "But it's evil," Lioth insisted. "War is for warriors. Glory is in courage shown. There's no honor won by allowing the weak and unprepared to die for our cause."

  "The emperor's will," Han said. "You will move closer, observe, and report back to us. This, too, is the emperor's will."

  * * *

  "He is not the man I knew when I was a bolg," Lioth said sadly. "Every night I asked for stories of his exploits. I fell asleep dreaming of giving him my skill. He is─"

  "Desperate," Delmac finished for her. "He's thrown his people and honor to a man he thought best for the empire. Instead, Han Chuk has helped destroy not only those Chins who are his enemies, but also his promised allies. One brother already died in this war. He is sworn to destroy another. Worst yet, he has ordered the wounded be killed. I know enough about Chins to know this is dishonorable. I doubt more than ten warriors in the entire war band would have murdered the wounded if anyone but him ordered it done."

  Delmac's chains clinked as he shifted to rest his meat stick over hotter coals. Grease dripped from the roasting antelope. Watching him, Lioth felt troubled and torn by disloyal thoughts.

  "Lioth," Delmac continued, "Han Chuk compromised his honor and integrity one small piece at a time until he has no way out except to do what his emperor orders. If he were to do anything less, he would be admitting he has partaken of evil."

  "Are we evil?" she asked plaintively. "I never wanted to be evil. I just wanted to know war's glory. I wanted to test myself."

  Delmac stayed silent for several moments. The fire crackled, his meat sizzled, and Lioth watched Delmac's clouded eyes as he struggled with difficult thoughts.

  "You are no more evil than I," he finally said. "When I was young I gloried in war. The cost in lives did not matter when I led my people into battle. I felt fear, but I also felt joy in overcoming my enemy. At the battle's end, it was glorious to discover my enemy lay dead while I still lived."

  He quieted for a moment, turned his meat stick, and continued. "We lost the war. I became a diplomat, a talker. Years passed, and I lost touch with my Clan life. I grew to love civilization's luxury and felt contempt for the ignorant savages who were my people. The day came when I returned to them only to discover I was the one they despised. It hurt, Lioth. It hurt so much I finally understood we can't entirely forsake what we are."

  "What did you do?" Lioth asked. Burnt meat smoked on his stick. Reaching out, she took the stick from his hand and moved the meat from over the coals.

  "I ran away," Delmac said with slow regret. "I decided to prove myself still Clan, still a warrior, by coming here to kill your people."

  He looked into her eyes. "I killed two before we met. The killing did not change who I am. It only proved I am every bit as evil as I thought Aaron Turner to be. Even that is not true. Aaron Turner's evils only occurred while trying to do what he believed to be right. My evils are smaller, but my reasons are worse. I killed for no better reason than petulance."

  "I love you," she told him.

  "I can't understand why," he answered.

  * * *

  There was nothing more exhilarating than walking through an army of warriors knowing any one would gladly kill you if only they knew who you were.

  Martha fought back a smile. A smile would be out of place in this crowd. This was not the first time she had walked among an enemy army ready to face battle. It was, however, the first time she had been inside an encampment which showed so little excitement over an expected victory. Martha thought these the largest bunch of morose people she had ever encountered. Even the Chins trapped inside New Beginning showed better faces. Most thought they would soon die. The remainder knew they would, and yet the knowledge did not dampen their moods. Their deaths would be for a righteous cause.

  Turner's warriors inside the university walls grew more numerous daily. More than five thousand people were presently in there. Before three days finished, another fifteen thousand would join them.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough, and so Martha decided to take action.

  "I'm too damn old to reform anyway," Martha whispered to herself, or maybe the problem was she felt too damn young. She might have a bit more success with this reforming thing if she were a decade or two older.

  Okay, so she would give reformation another try. Later. Maybe.

  An owl cried out in the night. Shush, she mentally warned it. More than one hunts this night.

  Murmuring voices and low voiced arguments surrounded her. The hour was too late for most of these to rightfully be awake. She wished she understood their speech so as to know why they stirred, but Chin was not a language she had been taught. None of her instructors thought she had reason to know it.

  To Martha, their lack of foresight provided obvious proof the guild needed to be shaken up, a conclusion she had reached more than twenty years earlier. The guild was old and had become corrupt. Instead of serving the greater good, its original purpose, it now served the highest bidder. Oh sure, the bills had to be paid. A few petty murders always waited to be done. Greedy merchants and nobles who were just a bit harsh with their husbands or wives sometimes needed to be corrected or killed. Those tasks were the guild's bread and butter. In fact, on more than one occasion, it had accepted contracts from both sides of a disagreement.

  That was only right.

  The problem was the guild's penchant during the last hundred years to accept contracts against exalted people for exorbitant fees. True, political assassination had always been integral to the guild. Its secret charter insisted it support only nations displaying enlightened government. The fact those nations would do everything in their power to destroy the guild had no bearing on its responsibility to them. Despite its unsavory methods, the guild's first purpose had been to make life livable for the majority.

  These truths were not things Martha had been taught by her masters. They were things she discovered while being punished for a botched assignment shortly after graduating to journeywoman. Her punishment placed her in the archives for six months. Because she always utilized her time to full advantage, Martha used her banishment as an opportunity to learn. The most important thing she learned was how far the guild had strayed from its assigned path.

  Martha Heins, born Velora Urlanda, Princess of the Blood, decided during those months she would see the Assassin's Guild return to its original mission, the real reason she did not kill Aaron Turner when she had the chance. The path he chose was superior to the one chosen by those who paid for his death.

  Now, the guild was forced underground once again, and Martha would finally accomplish a mission of which she could be proud.

  There! Something she had sought but had despaired of finding. A prisoner, but why did these Chins keep a prisoner on the camp's far edge where he could more easily escape?

  The prisoner presented her with a small surprise. Though his ankles were bound by shackles connecting one foot to another with two feet of chain between, his hands wer
e free. The condition had not been a long one. Red sores encircled his wrists, which meant he might be more slave than prisoner.

  Martha studied him carefully. Slave or prisoner? The difference between the two could be crucial.

  She slipped up on him in the dark, watched him, and saw no sign he sought Clack's Chin's out with hopeful eyes.

  After an hour, she decided. "I wish to speak," she whispered in Jut.

  Much to her surprise, he answered in a soft whisper. "I wondered when you would finally say something. I have to tell you, you have no idea how lucky you are she is out scouting."

  The way he used the word she gave Martha information. This man was in love, and the woman in question could only be the mysterious scout she had heard mentioned in two different camps. The knowledge rather pleased Martha. She only wished the scout was present. Her removal would have been a real present for Turner.

  But Martha had no time to waste. "Where does Han Chuk sleep?"

  "Northeast side of the camp," he answered. "A tent of ox hides. The door is made of lynx fur."

  "Thanks," she told him, and then, since she could not be sure of his loyalties, she pricked him with the tip of a dart. Stiffening, he gasped as her hand snaked over his mouth. Thirty seconds later his body relaxed enough for her to safely let him go. He fell limply to the ground, snoring slightly. Good. He still lived and so was not allergic to the drug. About one in ten were.

  Martha moved smoothly through the camp, walking openly, unhurriedly, as if she knew what she was about.

  The prisoner had been correct. The tent he described was located on the camp's north-east side, guarded, as she had suspected it would be. She had not expected it would be well lit by a ring of campfires or the guards would number in the tens. Neither of those things had been in her plans. It took exactly three seconds to decide she could not infiltrate Han Chuk's protections.