by Ari Marmell
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 War?"
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 enoug
h 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.
"Can we go after her?" Irrial asked.
"Not unless you want to face the entire Cephiran invasion force on our way out of here. If we leave now," he added with a sickly grin, "we'll probably only have to dodge about half of it."
"Where are we going?" Seilloah asked, leaping into Corvis's arms as he headed for the flimsy stairs.
"For now, anywhere that's not here. After that?" He shrugged, checking his headlong dash just enough to prevent the stairs from collapsing beneath him. "If this conspiracy really does involve some of the Guilds, we'll have to go to them to find out, won't we?"
"Not Mecepheum again!" Irrial protested.
"Unless we come up with a better idea." He hit the ground floor and began to run, hoping they could clear the street, hoping they could reach the horses, and the gate…
Hoping against hope that they could, indeed, come up with a better idea.
Chapter Seventeen
JASSION CROSSED THE ENTRYWAY at a deliberate pace, Talon at the ready. The thick carpeting muffled any incidental sounds he might have made, while the sundry tapestries, drapes, and patterns hanging on every available inch of wall throttled to death any potential echoes. Across the room and perhaps two strides back, Mellorin crept in a low crouch, heavy dagger clutched in her fist, a fearsome anticipation writ large on her face.
And behind them, emitting frustrated sighs like a depressed bellows and making no effort at stealth whatsoever, Kaleb followed.
"I'm telling you," he said, giving Jassion a violent start just as the baron had been reaching for the knob on the room's far door, "he's not here."
Jassion glared, and even Mellorin couldn't help but cast the sorcerer an exasperated look. "Will you be quiet?" the baron hissed.
"I rather doubt it. I haven't so far."
"Kaleb…," Mellorin began, then visibly flinched, wilting at the sorcerer's glare.
They'd been passing through Vorringar when they heard the rumors: muttered tales that Rebaine had targeted the Weavers' Guild of Kevrireun for his latest rampage. Not merely the local Guildmistress, b
ut most of her lieutenants, had been slaughtered in a quartet of vicious attacks-three by axe, one when his entire bedchamber was engulfed in roaring flames. And several times, those rumors claimed, passersby had spotted a towering figure in black-and-bone, lurking nearby immediately after the carnage.
It was-Jassion had been utterly convinced-the break they were waiting for. "People wouldn't just make up stories like this," he'd insisted. "One murder, perhaps, but four?" Even Kaleb's failure to detect Rebaine's presence using Mellorin as a focus for his spell hadn't convinced him otherwise.
"Isn't it possible," the baron had asked, "that he's found a way to block your 'blood divination' even once you've gotten close?"
"With his mastery of magic? I seriously doubt it."
"But it can be done?"
"Anything can be-"
"Then we go."
So they'd gone, traveling several days to the small and slowly dying city of Kevrireun. Missing stones marred the uneven streets; the buildings peeled and sagged like rotting fruit. Carelessly throwing both money and rank around him, Jassion either bribed or cowed witnesses, guards, even government officials into providing every detail of the murders.
Yes, m'lord, Rebaine had been spotted at two of the scenes.
No, sir, he'd never attacked his victims in large groups.
Yes, the victims were all members of the Weavers' Guild.
Most of the remaining Guildsmen were now barricaded in their homes, protected by Kevrireun's ragtag militia. Embran Laphert, now the highest-ranking survivor, had closed down the Guildhouse and told everyone to go home-or into hiding-until further notice.
Despite Kaleb's continual protestations, Jassion had determined that investigating the Guildhouse itself was their next step. "Perhaps," he'd argued, "we can find some hint as to why Rebaine chose these poor fools as his latest targets." Mellorin, though not so quick to dismiss Kaleb's arguments, was sufficiently swept up in her uncle's enthusiasm. Once she'd agreed to go, the sorcerer had grudgingly followed.