No Quarter

by Tanya Huff

  *Yes.* The single hair she’d laid across the latch remained in place. *Wake slow. Die fast.*

  *So you’ve said,* he muttered, wishing he had teeth to grind. *But you might take under consideration, nothing’s trying to kill you.*

  *You don’t know that until you’re awake.*

  *You do this wakey-wakey thing to me on purpose, don’t you?*

  *No,* she replied as she pulled a long-sleeved shirt over her head. Without the weight of wrist sheaths and throwing daggers, her arms felt unnaturally light. *It’s training.*

  *Yeah. Right. Training. Why can’t you train yourself to wake up a little slower?*

  Vree grinned and headed for the privy at the end of the hall. *Because I don’t want to.*

  Similar conversations had become part of their morning ritual, comforting in a situation where they were making up the rules as they went along.

  * * * *

  When her reluctant knock brought a brusque reply, the page pushed open the morning room door and blushed a brilliant scarlet to find both king and consort staring at her, their expressions neutral at best. “Begging your pardon, Majesties, but the chancellor asks if His Majesty could find a moment to speak with her. She says it’s urgent.”

  Theron, King of Shkoder, pushed his chair away from the table with something very like relief. “Nadia, isn’t it?”

  The blush darkened. “Yes, Majesty.”

  “And it’s urgent, you say?”

  “Yes, Majesty. The chancellor awaits your pleasure in the small audience chamber.”

  “Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  As the paneled door closed behind the girl, Lilyana shook her head. “What can be so urgent it can’t wait until after you finish your breakfast?” she asked with a sigh.

  Theron glanced down at his food. Melon slices, bread with only a thin scraping of butter, a small amount of cold beef, and mint tea; not a sausage, not an egg, not a mug of ale in sight. He’d rather have the chest pains. It was difficult not to regard the chancellor’s request as a kind of reprieve although, for Lilyana’s sake, he tried not to let that show. “I’m sure Rozele has a good reason to call me away from my meal,” he said as he stood, burying his plate under the snowy folds of his discarded linen napkin. “She’s never abused her privilege.”

  “True.” While the chancellor had the right to claim the ear of the king at any time, usually the times she claimed were more convenient. Lilyana frowned. “Perhaps I should …”

  “Stay right here and eat.” Coming around the corner of the table, Theron bent and kissed her lightly. “There’s no point in both of us having our morning disrupted.” He smiled down at her and, suddenly struck by how worried she looked, added, only half jokingly, “If it’s trouble, you’ll need to keep up your strength.”

  Rozele i’Natalia, chancellor to the King of Shkoder, turned as Theron entered the small audience chamber and bowed deeply, one hand clutching the dark purple skirt of her robe, the other sketching an apology in the air. “Please forgive me for disturbing you at your meal, Majesty, but I have just been given news I thought you should know immediately.”

  “I trust your judgment, Chancellor.” Theron settled onto the tapestry cushion his younger daughter had worked to soften the uncompromising seat of the carved rosewood throne and indicated that the page following him should set her tray on the round table by his elbow.

  Under other circumstances, fully aware that neither sausage rolls nor ale were on the diet the healers had drawn up for the king, Rozele would have faced royal disapproval and pointed it out. This morning, she was far too distracted. She fidgeted until the heavily paneled door closed behind the page, then stepped forward and began.

  “Majesty, this morning I met for breakfast with Imrich i’Iduska a’Krisus, a diplomatic courier from your ambassador in the Havakeen Empire.”

  The king wiped grease off his fingertips. “You met him for breakfast?” he asked, brows lifting slightly.

  “Yes, Sire. I thought as we both had to eat we might as well combine the meeting with food and save time.”

  “The day isn’t long enough?”

  The chancellor looked confused. It was midway through Second Quarter; of course the days were long. “Majesty?”

  “Never mind.” Years of practice hid his sigh. While Shkoder appreciated the zeal with which Rozele fulfilled the duties of her position, Shkoder’s king occasionally thought she ought to get a life. “Please, continue.”

  “Yes, Majesty. The report out of the Empire will be on your desk this afternoon, but Lord Imrich gained additional information during the journey home.” She paused, gathering her thoughts.

  Theron put down his mug and straightened. In the seven years they’d worked together, the chancellor had never needed to gather her thoughts. In seven years, she’d always known exactly what she’d intended to say. This didn’t look good….

  “Majesty, the Empire has sent an assassin into Shkoder.”

  * * * *

  “Majesty, the Empire has not sent an assassin into Shkoder.”

  Eyes narrowed, Theron tapped an index finger against the arm of the throne. “Then perhaps you would be good enough to tell me just what is going on.”

  The Bardic Captain shifted position slightly, the hem of her robe whispering caution against the polished parquet floor. In her younger days, she’d walked through blizzards warmer than the king’s tone. “Chancellor Rozele has upset you unnecessarily, Majesty. Vireyda Magaly is an ex-assassin …”

  “As I understand their training,” the chancellor interrupted indignantly from her position to the right of the throne, “there is no such thing as an ex-assassin. Or did your bard in Pitesti not inform you of the pirate she killed?”

  “She killed the pirate, Majesty,” Liene made it very clear to whom she spoke, “to protect the ship she traveled on.”

  “She killed the pirate, Captain, by leaping between two moving vessels, making her way through an armed and bloodthirsty crew, and slitting the woman’s throat.” Theron leaned forward. “This does not indicate ex-anything to me.”

  Liene spread her hands. “Should she not use her skills to protect herself, Majesty? If we had thought she was a danger to the realm, we would not have allowed her to enter the country.”

  “You would not have allowed her to enter the country?” the king repeated incredulously, half rising. “Since when do the bards make those decisions? You gather the information,” he snarled as he sat down again. “I decide what to do with it.”

  “Yes, Sire. However, if you received every detail the bards gather without some sort of filtering process, you’d have no time to deal with anything else, and as this was a bardic matter …”

  “A bardic matter? An Imperial assassin entering Shkoder is a bardic matter?” Theron leaned back and smiled tightly. “I think I’d like to hear your reasoning.”

  I think I should have retired a year ago. Liene considered and discarded the option of telling the king only that Vree had acquired a second kigh and leaving it at that. Unfortunately, filtering out trivial information and deliberately misleading a sovereign lord were two entirely different pieces of music. Shooting the chancellor a withering glance, Liene began with Karlene’s recall, a sizable document she’d spent half the night reading, and finished with both her and Kovar’s personal impressions.

  The tight smile remained. “Why didn’t the younger bard—what’s her name?”

  “Karlene, Majesty.”

  “Yes, Karlene. Why didn’t Karlene inform His Imperial Majesty, the Havakeen Emperor, that this Gyhard continued to exist in the assassin’s body?”

  That was the first easy answer of the morning. “As Gyhard was in some manner responsible for a number of crimes against the Empire, formulating rebellion as Governor Aralt, not to mention intending to murder an Imperial Prince and take over his body …”

  “Not to mention,” Rozele repeated dryly.

  Liene i
gnored the interruption. “… Karlene assumed that if the Emperor knew of his continued existence, he would order Gyhard’s death. This would be impossible without destroying Vree, and His Majesty must admit she personally has done nothing to merit destruction.”

  “Except perhaps saving the abomination,” Theron growled, but his gesture conceded her point. “So,” he leaned back and steepled his fingers, “you are suggesting that for the sake of one ex-assassin, I harbor a traitor to the Imperial Throne. I had thought that his Imperial Majesty required those bards who served in the Empire to swear on their music that they would not act contrary to the needs of the Empire while living there.”

  “That is true, Majesty. However, those oaths specifically state that earlier oaths take precedence; oaths to Shkoder, oaths to the Bardic Hall.”

  “And this was bardic business?”

  “Precisely, Majesty.” Liene’s voice deliberately left no room for doubt. “And it continues to be bardic business. It is an excellent opportunity for us to study the fifth kigh, Majesty.”

  “Oh, yes, the fifth kigh.” The king’s words took on a distinct edge. “I’m glad you reminded me of that.” He jabbed at the air with an emphatic finger. “This assassin is not, do you hear me, not to come in contact with my niece!”

  * * * *

  Magda sighed and wished that both the Bardic Captain and the chancellor—who bracketed the throne like a pair of scowling old buzzards—were somewhere else. Theronher-uncle could be got around; not as easily as her father, perhaps, but the principle was the same. Theron-the-king was another matter entirely. “Majesty, I promise you I’m in no danger.”

  He shook his head. “Child, you have no idea what this assassin is capable of.”

  “But I do, Sire. I read every available reference in the Bardic Library and I’m probably safer with her than I am with anyone. Assassins kill for only two reasons.” She held up a finger for each point. “Because they’ve been ordered to and because they’re in mortal danger. That’s why she killed the pirate, to save her life. You’d have done the same yourself.”

  Magda’s tone implied that he could have done the same himself and Liene hid a smile at a mental picture of Theron leaping from ship to ship with a knife in his teeth. Sixteen years in constant company with bards had taught the girl a trick or two—or perhaps it was those same sixteen years spent wrapping her father around her little finger.

  “They’re very predictable,” Magda continued, leaning forward, practically quivering with intensity. “And besides, she needs me. I’m the only person in the whole world who has any chance of finding Gyhard a body.”

  The name chased away any amusement Theron might have been feeling at her emphasis. “And what of the abomination?”

  “Gyhard doesn’t want to hurt me. He needs me, too. Without me, he’ll never hold her or love her or …”

  “Maggi.” Theron lifted a hand and cut off the list. “You can’t know what an abomination needs.”

  Yes, I can. But she didn’t say it; even though the whole thing was really very simple, true love wasn’t the argument that would convince her uncle, the king. She held out both hands and said instead, trying to make it sound as if there could be no question, “I can handle him.”

  Before the king could speak, Liene leaned forward. “Majesty, she might very well be the only person in the whole world who can handle him.”

  * * * *

  “I’m …”

  *Surprised.*

  “… surprised they let you be alone with us.”

  Magda grinned. “We aren’t exactly alone.”

  “I know.” Her tone low and matter-of-fact, Vree kept her eyes on the flagstone path beneath her feet lest she provoke a reaction. “Two people watch us from the middle window on the second floor, one from the roof of the building on the east side of this courtyard, and a guard with a crossbow who believes the ivy at the end of the …”

  *Cloister.*

  “… cloister is hiding him.” She lifted her head and glanced at the girl circling the courtyard with her. “But still, I expected …” A wave over the empty herb gardens indicated the hordes not present.

  Her brows drawn into an indignant ebony vee above her nose, Magda glared at the places Vree’d listed. “I told them you weren’t dangerous,” she muttered.

  “If I were targeted on you,” Vree told her softly, “even the crossbow wouldn’t be fast enough.”

  “Really?” Magda’s eyes widened. “Wow.” Then she smiled. “But you aren’t targeted on me, and you won’t be, so you’re no danger to me. Right? And besides, you need me. Actually, they’re more worried about Gyhard.”

  “Then the crossbow is less than useless.”

  “I’ve always thought so. You should see my father with a mountain bow. Or even my brother.” She dropped onto a weathered plank bench with careless grace and patted the place beside her. “But that wasn’t what I meant when I said we aren’t exactly alone.”

  Vree turned her face into the breeze, and the breeze moved away to dance across the tops of the flowering mint. “Kigh.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you …”

  “Sing them? Nope. I thought you knew; I’m not a bard, I’m a healer. Well, I will be a healer. Eventually. They keep saying that I Sing the fifth kigh, but I don’t, not really. It’s more like I know the fifth kigh.” Her right fist thumped into her chest. “In here and when I reach out, I can touch it. I can’t do much with it yet, but I’m learning. My mother says she can hear me Sing while I do it, but I’m not so sure that it’s me she’s hearing.” Kicking off a sandal, she brushed the bottom of her bare foot over the thyme growing between stones of the path. “Why did you expect there’d be more people around?”

  Wrinkling her nose against the smell of the crushed herb, Vree sank down onto the bench. If she sat facing Magda, she could keep an eye on the guard with the crossbow. “Everyone thinks you’re special.”

  “Really?” Magda looked pleased, then shifted uneasily. “They weren’t supposed to tell you.”

  “I already knew about the fifth kigh.”

  “Oh. That.”

  Vree waited patiently. She was good at waiting, most people weren’t. Most people had to do something or say something to fill the time.

  After a few moments, the tips of her ears bright red, Magda murmured, “My mother’s the king’s youngest sister, but you’re not supposed to know, so please don’t tell them I told you.”

  *That explains a lot they didn’t say,* Gyhard murmured thoughtfully.

  *Doesn’t it.* “They said your mother is a bard.”

  “They didn’t go on about her, did they? I mean, that’s so embarrassing.”

  “No, mostly they hummed at me.”

  Her giggle held as much relief as amusement. “Was it Petrelis? He always hums when he’s concentrating. He’s leaving on a Long Walk this afternoon, and he wanted to get the shape of a kigh before he left.” Pulling a damp curl out of the corner of her mouth, she tucked it behind her ear and grinned. “You don’t understand, do you? That’s okay. You see,” her fingers sketched patterns in the air, “a fifth kigh is usually an intricate part of the body it wears, everything all mixed up together, and it’s really hard to tell where the kigh ends and the body begins. But if you want to do anything with the kigh, it’s really important to know where the boundaries are. I know, but it’s hard to explain it to other people. With you—well, with you and Gyhard—the boundaries are really clear. His kigh is almost completely distinct from you.”

  “Almost!”

  Magda blinked, a little stunned by the near panic in that one word. Her voice gentled. “It’s all right.” Needing to heal, she reached out to touch Vree’s kigh and found herself pushed back.

  “No. It isn’t all right.” Vree turned and stared down at the stone between her feet. “My brother and I nearly lost ourselves in each other. Gyhard and I have to stay separate. I can’t go through that again.”

  “Ah.” Magda n
odded slowly, understanding dawning. “So that’s why you’re afraid to love him. Nothing tangles two kigh as tightly as love.”

  “I’m not …” But there wasn’t any point in saying it because the girl knew and she’d already made it clear that she thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard of.

  *Vree, she’s our only chance.*

  *For what? Never mind.* Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything. Walking away would solve even less. Vree pleated a fold in her wide-legged trousers, her fingers leaving damp prints behind on the fabric. “Look, can we just leave it?”

  “Sure, we can leave it. But I want you to know that I only want to help. Really.”

  “I know.” And to her surprise, she did.

  *You trust her?* Gyhard sounded as surprised as she felt. *I don’t want to discourage this, Vree, but why?*

  *Because she isn’t afraid of us. Of either of us.*

  * * * *

  The Imperial Ambassador to the Court of Shkoder stared at the Imperial sunburst on the packet delivered the night before by the mate of the Gilded Fancy and sighed deeply. He hated opening packets that bore the Imperial seal as they invariably contained something unpleasant, but he’d delayed opening this one as long as possible. Taking a last, slow swallow of the orange juice he imported from his sister’s estates in the Seventh Province, he pushed the dishes from a late lunch aside and picked at the golden wax with one gleaming fingernail.

  “I hate unpleasantness,” he murmured. There had been trade difficulties of late between Shkoder and the Empire. Shkoder had been complaining for some time that the much larger country to their south had been flooding their market with cheap iron. The complaints had become more forceful, and something was going to have to be done—the Empire had no desire to cut exports. The very nature of the Empire insisted it had to keep expanding, one way or another.

  “I hate trade.” The ambassador sighed deeply as he broke the seal. “It’s such a lousy reason to start a war. If I’m really lucky, this will be nothing more than another Imperial kidnapping.”

  The details of Prince Otavas’ abduction had been under the last golden sunburst he’d received. He’d been informed only because a Shkoden bard had been involved.