Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1)

by Smith,Darian

  Brannon felt his eyebrows raise. “His father is Duke Roydan?”

  “The mayor was the duke’s mistress for a while. I thought everyone knew that.”

  Brannon tried to keep his expression neutral. He shouldn’t have been surprised. His old friend had enjoyed many a mistress over the years, he just hadn’t realized how openly some of them had been acknowledged. He wondered which had come first for Mayor Shillia: the position of mayor or the acknowledgement of her son as a bastard. It seemed likely that one had caused the other.

  “Are there any other things about Caidin you think it would be good for us to know? Anything strange that he was involved with or doing lately?”

  “No. Things have been normal.”

  “What about in town generally? Any strange happenings? Other than the murders, I mean. Anything out of the ordinary?”

  She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “No, nothing. This isn’t that exciting a town. We get a few traders and sometimes people making deliveries up to the manor, and of course the law carts taking criminals to the mine, but that’s it. And Caidin doesn’t have anything to do with any of that.”

  “What about other crimes? Do you know if there has been an increase? You must hear a lot from people in the tavern.”

  “Yeah, people talk but I don’t think there’s been anything like that.”

  Brannon caught her gaze. “One of my team was robbed in your inn the night we arrived. Somehow someone got into her room while it was locked and went through her bags.”

  “I . . . I don’t know how they could have done that. We keep the spare keys locked up. My family are the only ones who have access to them.”

  “What happens when a guest loses a key?” Draeson asked.

  “We get the lock replaced.”

  “And who makes the new lock?” Brannon thought he knew the answer already but he had to ask.

  “The blacksmith,” Karia said, her eyes wide. “Kholi Gruul.”

  Brannon sat back, letting it sink in. “I think we need to talk to Mr. Gruul again. Now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sandilar Manor rose above Ambassador Ylani and Lady Latricia, like one of the mountains that formed its backdrop. A huge stone edifice set in expansive gardens, it somehow melded the stern strength of generations of mining families with the softer opulence of wealth. The architecture included sweeping curves carved into the outer walls, balustraded balconies trailing flowering wisteria, and intricate finials decorating each peak or corner of the tiled roof.

  Ylani felt very small as she trudged the long, straight road between topiary animals to the huge, brass-worked double front doors. The tiny hat she wore made her feel naked but she knew anything larger would only make her more noticeable as a Nilarian. She already drew enough attention as a foreigner.

  In fact, the one bag she carried with her had been pressed into her hands precisely because she was foreign. Ula, the Djin witch Sir Brannon had summoned from the isles, had given her a selection of small pouches and insisted that they be distributed throughout the manor as a protection spell against whatever had been murdering townsfolk. “You and I both not trusted here,” she had said. “You give them help, they like you more.” Looking at the manor house, she didn’t think offering leather pouches of mud and herbs would engender any goodwill here.

  She made a conscious effort to hold herself tall and straight. One thing she had learned in politics was that confidence, or the appearance of it, got one much further than anything else.

  Latricia fidgeted. Not a good sign from the woman who was Ylani’s passport inside.

  “Are you still nervous about having left Tommy back at the inn with his nanny?”

  “That boy can get himself into all kinds of trouble.” The widow clenched her hands in the folds of her skirt. “I haven’t been this far away from him since his father died.”

  “You can do this, right?” She felt a shift in the other woman.

  “Yes. Tommy will be fine in town. Everyone loves him there. It’s his future I need to worry about. And mine.”

  “Good. Now hold onto that.”

  Ylani turned her attention to their destination once more. The gravel driveway was worn with wheel tracks and sorely in need of raking back into place. As they got closer to the house, she saw that the main tracks followed the path around to the left toward the stables and carriage shed. But another track turned right and had churned up the manicured lawn, disappearing behind the house. It was from this right hand track that a number of armed men appeared and stopped, watching the two women approach.

  “Is there a barracks or something on that side of the house?” Ylani asked.

  “No.”

  “Then this might be about to get interesting. Just smile and keep walking.”

  The doors of the main house swung open and a thin man with dark hair stepped out to greet them. He was quickly flanked by two larger men in house livery but carrying truncheons.

  “Lady Latricia,” the thin man called out. “This is an unexpected delight. Welcome home.”

  Ylani felt Latricia pause, then determinedly lead the way up the wide stone steps to the atrium. “Thank you. Where’s Steward Herolt?”

  The man smiled. “Duke Roydan sent for him to come to Alapra. He asked me to take care of things here.”

  “And you are?”

  “The new steward. Fressin.”

  “Well, thank you, Fressin. This is Ambassador Ylani of Nilar. She will be joining us for a few days.”

  Ylani felt Fressin’s gaze travel up and down, a burning, swift assessment. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said.

  “What?”

  Ylani stepped forward, unable to stop herself. “Is this not Lady Latricia’s house?” she demanded.

  Fressin spread his hands expansively. “Of course. Hers and young Lord Tomidan. Where is he?”

  “Back in town with our luggage. We thought to send for them when we were settled,” Ylani told him.

  “If I’m still the lady of the house, Steward Fressin, then I am entitled to have as a guest anyone I choose. Ambassador Ylani is a business partner and I intend to show her Sandilar hospitality.” Latricia’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  The steward shook his head. “I’m afraid Duke Roydan left specific instructions. With these troubled times, we’ve had to take extra security measures here at Sandilar Manor. I’m sure you understand, Lady Latricia, that it’s not appropriate to have a Nilarian in the house of one of the royal family.”

  Ylani saw Latricia’s face flush.

  “This is my guest. If she is not welcome then I will not stay either.”

  Fressin shrugged. “That is your prerogative.”

  “You forget yourself, Steward Fressin!”

  The instinct blazed in Ylani, hot and fast. She felt sharp edges around the steward like arrowheads bursting through her skin. She swayed and grasped Latricia’s arm as the widow stepped forward angrily. Her fingers squeezed tight.

  “It’s okay, Latricia. He’s only following the duke’s orders. I’m sure I shall be perfectly comfortable at the inn. Would you walk back with me?”

  Latricia hovered for a moment, and Ylani was terrified that she would press the point, but then she felt the arm beneath her hand relax. “All right. But I insist on showing you around the garden first.”

  The armed men to the right of the house took a few steps closer.

  Ylani gave her most graceful smile. “Actually, dear, I’m a bit tired after walking up from town. Perhaps another time?”

  “Of course.” Latricia shot a venomous look at the new steward. “When things are back to normal.”

  Ylani kept her grip on Latricia’s arm and pulled her back down the stairs. The instinct’s warning was still strong. She felt the crunch of gravel beneath her feet when she realized she was still carrying Ula’s bag. Turning, she tossed it up the stairs to land at Fressin’s feet.

  “Sir Brannon Kesh is in town investigating the murders,” she
said. “His team asked that we deliver that. Put a pouch in each corner of the house and it will offer protection.”

  Fressin left the bag where it fell. “Tell him thank you.”

  Ylani forced herself to stick to a measured pace as they walked away. It would not do to have the enemy see them running. A topiary lion seemed to mock her with green claws.

  “That,” she murmured to Latricia as they crossed the threshold of the gates and gravel gave way to cobbled road, “is a very dangerous man.”

  Latricia nodded, her voice sounding high and short of breath. “There’s definitely something not right going on. That is not how Herolt would have behaved. If Keldan were still alive, he’d have all their heads.” Her boots clacked angrily on the stones. “I’m so glad we thought to leave Tommy behind. That man would have snatched him up and left us out in the cold.”

  “Yes, I believe he would.” Ylani felt a surge of relief that they had at least avoided that level of unpleasantness. She’d have had no chance of extricating Latricia if Fressin had taken her son. “I’d wager whatever they’re up to has to do with those tracks leading around the right side of the house. If we’re right about Duke Roydan dealing for Nilarian weapons, then I think delivery has already been made.”

  “What do we do about it, though?”

  Ylani caught her bottom lip between her teeth but her smile soon pulled it free. “We do what we set out to do. We make sure someone more trusted than we are gets the evidence and brings it to the king. I’d say the King’s Champion would be a suitable choice, wouldn’t you? We have Sir Brannon Kesh packaged and waiting for us here in Sandilar.”

  “Of course!” Latricia clapped her hands. “He’ll hate it, of course. Roydan and Brannon go way back. But he’ll report it, I think. He’s too honorable not to. I’ll talk to him when we get back.”

  Ylani’s steps faltered. “Will it hurt him very much, do you think? To betray his friend?”

  “Not as much as finding out what kind of man his friend really is.” Latricia shrugged. “Rather him than us. We need to find a way to bring that bastard Roydan down.”

  Ylani chewed her lip again. There was no arguing with that. If she could reveal Roydan as a traitor, she could likely get the name of the Nilarian he was dealing with. That would enable her to take action back home and try to put a stop to this inter-country needling and warmongering. That was worth a little heartache to any man.

  Latricia continued to growl as they walked. “I can’t believe he put that horrible man in charge. Where did he even find . . . ” She trailed off, her eyes wide. “Ahpra’s Tears! I’ve seen him before. He was the man in my garden. The one who was spying on Tommy and me after Keldan died.”

  Ylani stopped walking. “Are you sure?” She turned slowly, watching the countryside. Sheep, rocks, grass.

  “I can’t believe I missed it. He’s in different clothes but . . . I’m sure it’s him. Roydan wouldn’t have really put him in charge, surely. What if he’s an imposter? We need to do something.”

  The sharp, invisible arrowheads pressed hard against her skin. “Latricia . . . we need to run. Now!”

  They had barely moved three steps before he struck.

  The instinct gave Ylani just enough warning to fling herself to the side as a thrown dagger spun past. She fell hard, hitting her knee on the cobblestones, then rolled onto the grass beside the road. She looked up to see a slim, masked figure punch Lady Latricia hard in the face. The Kalan noblewoman went down like a dropped sack of potatoes. The dark-clad figure pulled out another knife.

  “No!” Ylani hurled herself at his back as he drove the blade down toward her friend’s neck. She grabbed his descending wrist with one hand, wrapped her other arm around his neck and leaned backward with all her might. “Latricia, run!”

  Blood poured from Latricia’s nose, vividly red against her stark white face. She was frozen in place, her wide eyes the only part of her that seemed able to move as they darted from the knife to Ylani and back again.

  Ylani felt her breath driven from her body as their attacker simply reversed the movement of the arm she was restraining, jabbing his elbow into her ribs. She tightened her grip around his throat but, a moment later, felt his body shift and twist as he threw her over his shoulder. Her back slammed into the ground, hard.

  Ylani realized she’d shifted their attacker’s primary focus onto herself, but Latricia still wasn’t moving. Her entire body ached and she didn’t have the breath to speak. She flicked her hand at Latricia, trying to indicate for her to go. The widow pushed out with her heels, sliding herself back along the ground maybe half a body-length before coming to a stop again, whimpering. No help there.

  The attacker straddled Ylani, his knife raised. “You should have minded your own business,” he said.

  The knife swung down and Ylani reached up with both hands to try to halt its decent. For a moment she thought she could hold him off. Then he reached out with his other hand and slowly, deliberately, twined his fingers into her hair. As she struggled against the hand with the knife, he pulled her head up and bashed it against the cobbles.

  Pain exploded sparks through her brain and into her vision. She felt her fingers slip on the warm skin of his arm and then light flashed on the dagger blade as it slid toward her throat.

  Ylani screamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The streets bustled with people. Carts laden with produce headed for market, vendors called out from shop doorways and, at one point, a small flock of sheep were herded along an alleyway. The little town seemed to have forgotten the murder of the morning and was going about its daily business in a protective haze of denial.

  Brannon paused at a crossroads. It wouldn’t take long to get to the manor and back. Whatever Lady Latricia and Ambassador Ylani were doing up there, they were likely to be finished soon. Latricia wouldn’t leave her son for long.

  “I think I’m going to get Ylani to help with this.”

  Draeson pouted. “The Nilarian? Why?”

  “I think he’ll relate to her as a fellow outsider. We might get more from him that way.”

  The mage shrugged. “Whatever. You can go beg her for help if you want. I’ll meet you there.” He wandered off into the crowd.

  Brannon scowled after him. As an old man, Draeson’s temperamental attitude had seemed fitting, a good-natured crotchetiness from a respected elder. From his current, youthful form, it was the behavior of a spoilt brat.

  The King’s Champion turned his feet toward the manor, a road he’d travelled several times in younger years, when Roydan was new to his title. Back then, going to war was a bright and exciting thing, shining like a new coin in the sun. Brannon, Roydan, and Aldan, the inseparable trio, had trained together and come to spend their last break at Sandilar Manor before heading to the front. He remembered the crowd from the town—women, children, and old men mostly. They had lined the streets, throwing flowers and cheering for the young men. It was his first experience of being treated like a hero, despite not yet having done anything heroic. Certainly no one in Alapra had treated raw recruits that way! But these had been Roydan’s people and they were proud of their young duke. Not long after that, Brannon earned the name Bloodhawk, and cheering crowds became commonplace for him and Aldan both, but he fondly remembered that first time, when Roydan had been the center of attention.

  A lot had changed on the road since then. The cobblestones had been updated and lain in decorative patterns—something he’d never seen in wartime. There were even little gardens of wildflowers planted alongside the road as it led away from the town. But the biggest change he could think of was the fact that he was walking this road in search of a Nilarian. The first one to get this far into Kalanon in a decade.

  Brannon wondered if Draeson was right to mistrust the ambassador. Away from the mage’s irritating presence, he had to admit that the man’s passionate hatred of Nilarians was almost enough to push him toward accepting Ylani’s word in and of itself, just
for spite. He wasn’t foolish enough to take her at absolute face value, of course. She was a politician and a Nilarian, and she was definitely up to something . . . but he felt that she was honest in her offer to help, and that, if nothing else, made him think perhaps she was innocent of involvement in the murders. Despite the connection Keldan’s silk trade deal seemed to make.

  “Or,” he muttered to himself, “she’s playing me like a reed pipe and only offered so she could get close to the investigation and make sure we’re not onto her.” The woman was ridiculously confusing to be around. He hadn’t been affected this much by a pretty face in quite some time. If a new recruit had reacted like this, he’d have given him a good talking to. Or, more likely, a good pounding in the training arena to smack some sense into him. Maybe both.

  He shook his head in exasperation. “The Nilarian Ambassador, no less.”

  Still, the woman had a gift with words and a good sense of people. She would be an asset in the interrogation of Kholi Gruul.

  And this time, it would be an interrogation. The revelation that he’d made the locks at the Knox Inn was one piece of evidence too many. Someone with a key had stolen Ula’s supplies. Those supplies had likely been used to create the Risen that had killed Caidin Ray. Added to what they already knew about the man, it made a substantial stack of questions requiring answers. Brannon would use every tool he could to get those answers from the blacksmith.

  He peered ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ambassador Ylani and Lady Latricia on the road. Sure enough, two figures appeared from where the road bent around a rocky outcrop. He waved to get their attention, but it was clear they had not seen him. He quickened his pace.

  A moment later, as he watched, a third figure appeared, knocking both women to the ground.

  Brannon swore. His feet broke into a run, seeming to barely touch the pavement as he hurled himself forward as fast as he could. Ahead of him, the attacking figure was being held off by one of the women. As he came closer, he could make out that it was Ambassador Ylani, pulling the attacker away from Latricia. Within moments, the man had her pinned to the ground and she wrestled with him for control of a knife.