Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  As they walked briskly back along the country road, they saw a large group of men heading their way. Katrin made sure her knife and gun were easily accessible and noticed the others were doing the same. They were very simply dressed, nothing to single them out as royalty. They had the boarhounds. It wasn’t the first time they’d met Fambrians while out walking. The thing to do was to remain calm and smile.

  The men did not give way on the road but Kaymar and Ifor easily led Borsen and Katrin around them. Ifor, who spoke Fambrian so well he was often mistaken for a native, bid the men good day and asked where they were going.

  Not one of the men answered. They walked by, every head turning as they stared at Kaymar, Ifor, Borsen and Katrin with sullen, suspicious eyes.

  “Cross country,” Ifor said quietly once the men rounded a curve in the road and left their sight. They ducked into a field of tall luxen plants and were grateful the purple, claustrophobically close shrubs made them disappear from view as they made the most direct route back to their inn.

  Turano, Fambre

  14

  Secret Meeting

  A

  modestly dressed gentleman and lady made their way up a street in Turano, a city in southern Fambré, obviously tourists looking for a particular place. They goggled at several impressive buildings and statues and exchanged glances over objects in shop windows until they finally located their destination, a small travelers’ inn on a side street that catered to the less-than-wealthy tourist.

  The gentleman ushered his lady inside with such care and pride that passersby assumed she was his bride and they were on their honeymoon. They certainly weren’t a couple long married! Nice to know some people still considered Fambré a honeymoon destination, despite all the trouble nowadays.

  The inn was dark inside, with a noisy saloon and dining room. The gentleman looked around while the lady inquired of the barkeeper if a certain person was available.

  A lady with a weary face rose from her table, having spotted them. She beckoned and they went to her, the gentleman’s companion embracing her like an old friend. They were the perfect picture of a favorite student visiting a beloved governess she had outgrown.

  “Would you prefer to take luncheon in my suite?” the governess asked. “The dining room is very noisy at this time of day.”

  All agreeing, they climbed three flights of stairs, traversed a small, darkish hallway and finally reached their destination, a modest apartment of the type rented by the month by single men or women who did not make enough money to buy a cottage. The governess primly saw the newlywed couple in, then closed and locked the door behind her as she followed her guests.

  The gentleman rapidly checked the tiny balcony and all closets and rooms, while the governess poked a broom handle under all pieces of furniture. Her ex-student laughed silently and helplessly as they made sure no-one was in the apartment.

  “I hate caps,” Gladdas Dalmanthea said, divesting herself of her matronly headgear. “Beautifully done, you two. You were so callow, I barely knew you.”

  Eiren removed her prissy little veiled hat, her auburn hair flashing in the sunlight venturing in from the balcony.

  Menders removed his topper to reveal his hip length hair braided and wrapped around his head for concealment.

  “Charming coiffure,” Gladdas guyed him.

  “It pulls like all the hells too,” he added, unpinning the coil and unbraiding it. “I hope you meant it when you said you had food up here. It smelled like they were roasting rat downstairs.”

  “They probably are. Decent food is that rare in the poorer markets,” Gladdas told him. She produced a spread of cold, smoked meat and cheese from a small chest standing on a table and handed Menders a bottle of wine to open. Bread and buns were retrieved from another cupboard.

  “This is not from a rat meat market, but brought over from The Shadows,” she announced. “Eiren, this was one of Menders and my techniques for meeting clandestinely when we were young folks going about our assassin work, if we needed to exchange information. Meet very publicly, go up to a room together. My favorite time was when we dressed as a priest of Grahl and a priestess of Grune.”

  “Everyone was so stunned they would never have thought of listening at the door,” Menders grinned, uncorking the wine and taking a seat. “That was the time we went over information for so long we fell asleep on the bed, where we had our maps and papers spread around. The next morning Gladdy opened her eyes, saw me just opening mine, squeaked like a squashed mouse and fell right off her side of the bed.”

  “I’ve bragged for years that I slept with Menders,” Gladdas said, cutting slices of bread while Eiren laughed helplessly.

  The meal passed in similar banter and Gladdas’ queries about the younger set and how they were weathering their trip to Fambré. When Eiren told her about how upset Katrin had been over the street beggars, she sighed.

  “It’s ghastly,” she said. “I was a young girl when the Revolt and Terror took place and I remember how horrified people were as they read about it, placing the blame on the Revolutionists and peasants who rose up. But seeing these poor people in the streets, it’s easy to understand. It won’t be long. I hope you will be leaving soon.”

  Menders nodded.

  “There isn’t much reason to stay longer,” he replied. “Kaymar and Ifor were out with Katrin and Borsen the other day and saw what looked like a meeting of peasants. Once they start to organize, there will be trouble. Not being able to take Katrin into any large town or city means we’ve nearly run out of things to see.”

  “I’ll sleep easier once we’re away from here,” Eiren added. “You can feel the anger growing.”

  “Good,” Gladdas agreed, her voice crisp. “Now, if we’re finished with lunch, time for the matter at hand.”

  “Go ahead, Glad,” Menders smiled, beginning to gather up dishes, gesturing for Eiren to remain seated.

  “I’ve recruited Lucen Greinholz as an agent around The Shadows,” she said, pouring herself another half glass of wine. “He knows everyone in the area. His manner is so innocent and deceptively simple that people talk very freely to and around him. As I’m sure you know, he is not particularly innocent and is certainly not simple.”

  “Lucen has the best ears I’ve ever encountered,” Menders agreed. “He doesn’t like to be in the spotlight and prefers a quiet life, but he’s invaluable in hearing things others miss.”

  “He’s found someone whom I suspect is my turncoat operative in disguise,” Gladdas went on. “Heard about her in Rondheim when he went down with Villison after some supplies. Vil weaseled around and got nothing, but Lucen went into a bar frequented by military men and bought several rounds, got them all singing and best of friends – and the tongues loosened nicely. We don’t know exactly where she’s holed up – no-one seems to – but she has been seen around town posing as a fruit vendor.

  “Lucen jollied them around until he found she’s been steering conversations toward The Shadows. All ‘ooh-aah’, the poor little street seller wantin’ t’ hear about t’quality.” Gladdas lapsed into a lower class Mordanian accent that made Eiren smile.

  “What does she want to know about The Shadows?” Menders asked, offering Eiren more wine and then topping up his glass.

  “Asking about the people at the house – scouting to see if there’s anyone new staying there. In other words, looking for me. One of the reasons I’m now here and intend to stay a distance from The Shadows for a while, much as I like it there.”

  “Gladdas, what caused this animosity?” Eiren asked, her forehead wrinkled slightly in concern.

  Menders shook his head and Gladdas looked over at Eiren.

  “Dear, there is no animosity. This is business. This young lady – her name is Alazaria Fentez, she’s Samorsan by birth – was my foremost protégée. She’s a chameleon, can appear ugly, beautiful, anything in between, absorbed languages lightning fast and sounds like a native in all of them. She has no loyalty to an
y nation, having left Samorsa as an infant. Through various catastrophes, she ended up in an Artreyan orphanage by the time she was four. Terrible experiences, deprivation – she came to my school at the age of eight, a very intelligent but very unfeeling and unchildlike little girl. No amount of kindness or inclusion helped. She was a law unto herself, very like Kaymar when he was an assassin.

  “Alazaria had no interest in training for clerical or managerial work. She had a natural talent for espionage and I tried to keep her directed that way. I was afraid, considering her lack of empathy and compassion, that it would be disastrous for her to undertake assassin work.

  “She picked it up. Where, I don’t know. I refused to instruct her and repeatedly told her the reasons why. But she found she made more money eliminating targets – and money is the only thing Alazaria loves.”

  “And that’s what’s driving her now?” Menders asked as Gladdas fell silent.

  She nodded, rose and walked to the window. Menders noticed she approached it from the side and looked out from the wall end of the curtain, remaining unseen to any observer outside.

  “Alazaria cares nothing about governments. I doubt she has much understanding of governmental or political policy. She certainly had no interest in such topics while she was still in school,” she answered. “She wouldn’t care if Morghenna VIII stayed on the throne forever – but she’d kill her in a brace of shakes if someone gave her enough money to do it.”

  “The worst sort of assassin there is.” Menders sat back in his chair and looked anxiously at Eiren. “Not even a sadist like DeLarco, who kills for pleasure, is harder to stop.”

  “She’s been offered an enormous sum to eliminate me.” Gladdas turned toward them. For a woman who could make herself appear dazzling, she was suddenly haggard and despairing. “Attempts have been made to pay her off to leave me alone – but this faction is determined to be rid of me and my network. They seem to have infinite funds. I’ve been working against them for years. Their ultimate goal is gaining control of both Artreya and Mordania.”

  “Anyone who managed that would control the entire world,” Eiren said softly.

  “Yes – and they have the wherewithal to manage it,” Gladdas answered. “My network and several others have been fighting them off and on for years. That includes our hero here, though I’ll wager all the coins in the bottom of my bag he’s never told you about it.”

  She quirked her features slightly and suddenly was the flippant, sophisticated Gladdas Dalmanthea who arrived at The Shadows on a hot summer afternoon. She reclaimed her seat at the table.

  “I don’t tend to talk shop much in the family quarters,” Menders chided her gently. “Too many youthful ears around, estate business, school matters. Incredibly wealthy people who want to rule the world aren’t dinner table conversation, Sister Glad. But to be honest, Eiren is not ignorant of what my network does. In fact, she’s a very valuable resource to me, because she often sees sides of issues I miss – or blind myself to.”

  “You’ve learned to accept your limitations,” Gladdas remarked with a smile.

  “And so have you,” Menders answered. “Shall we finish the wine?”

  Glasses replenished, Eiren looked from one of them to the other.

  “Menders has always said assassins must have some ideal they believe in,” she said. “In his case, it’s Queen Clearheart’s phrase, ‘I protect the future of Mordania’. It was Kaymar’s youth and lack of any guiding ideal that led to his mental breakdown.”

  “I remember it well,” Gladdas nodded. “He was a terribly sick boy in those days.”

  “So what is yours?” Eiren asked bluntly. “You don’t have strong ties to Artreya – not that I’ve seen.”

  Gladdas took a sip of wine, obviously phrasing her response.

  “No. I’m not Artreyan by birth, though it’s a good enough country,” she eventually replied. “I have no true allegiance to any nation, but I do to Eirdon itself and the people who live on it. My work as an assassin – and I am not one now, I’m far too old – was always dedicated to preserving a certain degree of peace on this planet. Certain balances have to be maintained to do this. Certain factions must not attain more power – others must not rise to power. People are far too fond of war and the money they gain from it. That has been my fight.”

  “And much bloodshed and misery has been turned aside,” Menders added, his voice suspiciously husky.

  “You’ve done the same,” Gladdas replied, her own voice tightly controlled. “Aren’t we sentimental! Now then, here is where I am going from here and where I plan to be – and when – unless it must be otherwise.” She handed Menders a folded sheet of paper. He read it quickly, then put a match to it.

  The sharp smell of burning paper engendered action. They rose and began preparing to leave, Menders swiftly braiding his hair to go under his hat, Eiren donning her headgear and fluffing the veil that darkened her hair and obscured her face. Gladdas pulled on her hated cap, quirked her features again and was suddenly a worn, retired governess, living on her savings in an obscure inn.

  Louvis, Fambré

  15

  Tellyn Fein

  K

  atrin smiled delightedly as Menders ushered her into a little shop on a side street of Louvis, a perfume manufacturing town in northern Fambré. It was shop typical of the region, with local products and crafts, some groceries, assorted ornaments and doodads as well as the usual counter full of locally made perfumes. She loved to poke about in such places.

  Kaymar held the shop door open for Varnia, teasingly tweaking her scarf as she walked by.

  “Don’t buy the place out,” he grinned when she jerked around to look at him. Varnia tried to scowl but failed. It was hard to scowl at Kaymar when he was being winning. Varnia had discovered the joys of shopping and sometimes overbought her strict, self-imposed budget.

  Menders nudged Katrin, who was already absorbed by a collection of charming glass boxes holding solid perfumes. She looked up to see the proprietor bowing grandly to her near the curtained doorway of the shop’s back room.

  Smiling, Katrin bobbed a curtsey in reply – and was stunned when the man stood up and was Tellyn Fein, devoid of his Revenant garments.

  “A thousand greetings, Light Of The Winter Sun,” he said.

  Katrin was saw that Menders and Kaymar were scanning the shop and bolting the front door.

  Tellyn Fein opened the back room for Kaymar, who ducked inside, then came out and nodded to Menders.

  “Mister Fein wishes to speak to you,” Menders said quietly to Katrin. “You may go with him.”

  She stared at him for a moment.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured gently, smiling slightly. “I’ve already spoken with him several times. It’s safe, but we don’t have long.”

  Katrin found herself near at the rear wall of the shop’s back room with the leader of The Revenants. Menders and Kaymar stood with their backs to them, watching the front door. Varnia was watching one of the windows.

  Tellyn Fein smiled and handed her a slice of candied ruby fruit from a barrel nearby, first breaking off a piece and eating it in front of her.

  “Mister Fein, I trust you,” she protested.

  “Still, always a good idea. Always be sure, my dear.”

  Katrin bit into the succulent delicacy, wondering how he knew it was her favorite – or if his choice was entirely chance.

  Suddenly she was acutely aware that nothing Tellyn Fein did was by chance.

  “Have you heard them?” he asked, his voice very low, sitting on a tall stool across from her, rubbing his knees as if they ached.

  “Who?”

  “Keep your voice down. The voices. The Queens.”

  “The… how do you know? Did Menders tell you?” She stared at him.

  “No. We know you hear the voices at times of great danger or trouble. What you hear be the voices of the dead Queens of Mordania. Your grandmother, The Terrible, who was my friend. Clearhea
rt, the bravest one, even the Great Glorantha. Did you not know?”

  “They – they never introduced themselves,” Katrin gasped.

  Tellyn Fein laughed silently.

  “I be having you on the back foot,” he murmured after a moment. “If you be part of The Revenants, you be taught how to listen to the ones who have gone before. But now that be no matter and there be little time. Have you heard them the last few days?”

  Katrin was shaking her head – then she hesitated and listened.

  “Yes!” she whispered after a moment. “They are there. I’ve been busy and not in danger – but now that I listen for them, I hear them, as if they are very far away. No words, just a whispering. Like hearing the ocean in the distance.”

  He looked grave.

  “Now you must be vigilant,” he said, all humor gone. “You must be aware and listen. When there comes a roaring silence, you and yours must leave Fambré – but not until then. It is vital that you remain until that moment.”

  “Why?”

  “There be a balance in this world and others. You being here in Fambré at this time is vital in that balance,” Tellyn Fein said, his light green eyes holding hers. “Should you leave too soon, all will be lost.”

  “Have you told Menders, so I can alert him when it comes?” Katrin was feeling frantic. She didn’t make the decisions for their party.

  “Ssh. They say they will not listen to us, but I know assassins. To not listen be nearly impossible for them. Menders knows nothing of it and you must keep it that way. Say nothing until the time or all be lost.” Tellyn Fein slid down from the stool and stood before her.

  “But why would he listen if I suddenly insisted we leave?” she whispered in frustration.

  “You must take command at that time. This you must.”

  “All right.” Katrin could say nothing else. This intense, strange man would accept nothing else.