Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  And then Wrayan stopped, mid-sentence, and hauled his mount to a stop. Standing on the road in front of them was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, dressed in a most remarkable collection of cast-off clothing that appeared to represent almost every fashion trend of the last millennia.

  “Divine One!” Wrayan exclaimed in surprise.

  Kalan stared at him in astonishment and then studied the boy on the road. “Divine One?”

  The thief looked at Kalan in surprise. “You can see him?”

  “The child blocking our path? Yes. I can see him. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him?”

  “Why are you letting her see you?” he asked the child.

  The boy shrugged. “She might think you’re crazy if you suddenly start talking to thin air.” The boy stepped closer and stared up at them with an ingenuous grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  Wrayan looked at her uncertainly. “Um … sure … Kalan Hawksword, meet … Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”

  Kalan nearly fell off her horse. “Divine One!” She hurriedly dismounted and fell to her knees in front of the god. “Forgive me for not recognising you, Divine One!”

  The boy-god leaned forward. He took her elbow gently, urging her to stand, and then looked up at Wrayan. “You see? That’s how nice people greet their gods. And she’s not even one of my disciples.” He turned his attention to Kalan then, eyeing her speculatively. “You could be a thief, you know. You look like a thief.”

  “I’m … flattered, Divine One,” she stammered. “But I’m a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective. I’m sworn to worship all gods equally.”

  The god squinted a little, studying her closely, clearly puzzled by what he found. “But you can’t wield magic. How can you belong to the Sorcerers’ Collective?”

  “The ability to wield magic is no longer an admission requirement to the Sorcerers’ Collective,” Wrayan informed him. “Hasn’t been much of a priority since the Harshini went into hiding.”

  “Well … that’s just silly,” the god said with a frown. “Who ever heard of anything so odd? Mind you,” he added, winking at Wrayan, “it could explain why they chucked you out.”

  “They didn’t chuck me out,” Wrayan corrected. “Someone tried to kill me.”

  “Same difference.” He turned his attention back to Kalan. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be a thief? I’m a very generous god, you know. I don’t make my disciples worship in a temple, or insist they hold those long, boring services on Restdays. No rites. No sacrifices. Just steal the odd trinket every now and then and I’ll watch over you until Death comes knocking on your door. Even then, if I like you, I can speak to the old boy about taking you as painlessly as possible.”

  Kalan glanced up at Wrayan, wondering how she was supposed to respond to such an offer. He shook his head at the god and frowned. “Come on, Dace, you know you’re not supposed to recruit humans already in the service of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Brakandaran.”

  “He’s a fine one to talk about breaking the rules.”

  Kalan looked from Wrayan to Dace in confusion. “Hang on. If you’re not allowed to recruit members of the Sorcerers’ Collective, why did you make a deal with Wrayan to save my mother?”

  The god looked at her closely and then laughed. “Your mother? She was the one I released from that time spell? Are you sure? You don’t look much like her. And you seem quite a bit older than she was.”

  “You saved her before I was born, Divine One.” It made Kalan cringe to remind Wrayan of that after all her hard work playing down the difference in their ages.

  “Was it so long ago?”

  “More than twenty-five years,” Wrayan confirmed.

  “Fancy that!” the god laughed. “Well, just goes to show what a good judge of character I am, doesn’t it? Are you sure you don’t want to be a thief?”

  “I’m sorry, Divine One.”

  Dacendaran shrugged. “At least you’re not following one of the others, I suppose. Not like they need any help, at the moment, mind you. Between Zeggie’s war and Cheltaran’s pesky little ailment …”

  “You mean the plague?” Kalan asked in surprise. “You’re not suggesting the God of Healing set the plague among us deliberately, are you?”

  “Don’t be stupid. He fixes things, he doesn’t break them. It was probably Voden.”

  “Why would the God of Green Life set the plague among us?” Wrayan asked, apparently just as confused as Kalan.

  “Why not?” Dace shrugged. “You’re all just little bits and pieces on a game board to Voden. He doesn’t think human life is any more valuable than some itty-bitty little bug he’s decided needs a chance to thrive for a while.”

  “But that’s appalling!” Kalan gasped.

  “Only if you’re human.” The god shrugged.

  “But what about Cheltaran?” Wrayan asked.

  Dacendaran’s expression grew rather smug. “Ah, now that’s where you get lucky, Wrayan. After you suggested I speak to which ever one of my siblings was causing this little illness that seems to bother you all so much, I had a chat with my brother, Chellie.”

  “Chellie?” Kalan repeated incredulously. She’d never imagined anybody could refer to Cheltaran, the noble God of Healing, as “Chellie.”

  “Anyway, I pointed out that instead of just sitting on his hands waiting for Voden to get bored with his new friends, he should take this opportunity to do something useful, particularly as Zeggie’s getting so full of himself with half of Fardohnya waiting over the border to invade you, so I—”

  “Hang on!” Kalan interrupted, forgetting for a moment that she was in the presence of a god. “Half of Fardohnya is waiting over the border to invade us?”

  “Well … maybe not half,” Dace conceded. “But there are a lot of them. Brak said there was some way of working it out by counting fires, but—”

  “You spoke to Brak?” Wrayan cut in. “When? Where? Is he all right?”

  “If you’d let me finish,” Dace retorted impatiently. “Maybe I’ll get around to telling you.”

  “Sorry,” they both muttered contritely.

  “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” the god continued, “I spoke to Chellie and pointed out he’d have a lot more fun if he helped the whole healing thing along instead of just waiting for nature to take its course, and how Death was run off his feet, and Zeggie was just being a pain, and even Kali was feeling it with people too afraid to touch each other for fear of dropping dead or something, and how the whole world just generally reeked at the moment, and how all of us could get back to normal if things settled down a bit, and he said yes.”

  “He said yes to what?” Kalan asked, thoroughly confused.

  “To stopping this plague thing you’re all so upset about, of course. There’s hardly been a death from it in weeks now. I would have told you the other day when we healed your friend, Wrayan, but I was so excited over you finding me another soul, I forgot all about it.”

  “Do you mean the plague is over?” Kalan gasped.

  “Of course not!” The god sighed, rolling his eyes at her ignorance. “You can’t just stop a thing like that dead in its tracks. People would get suspicious.”

  “Yeah,” Wrayan agreed wryly. “They might think their prayers had been answered.”

  Dace took a step back in alarm. “Good grief, man! Do you have any idea what would happen if we started actually answering prayers?”

  “More people might believe in you, Divine One,” Kalan suggested.

  “Which is all well and good,” the god agreed. “But-you’ve no idea what the world would be like. We know humans. Nobody would do anything! You’d just sit down, say a prayer and wait for one of us to do it.”

  “So the gods’ willingness to sit back and let untold pain and suffering torment the mortals of this world is really just your way of demonstrating your selfless concern for our well-being?” W
rayan asked.

  “Exactly!” Dacendaran agreed.

  The thief stared at his god in amazement.

  “So many things Brak told me when I was in Sanctuary suddenly begin to make sense,” Wrayan said, turning to Kalan.

  For her part, Kalan was dumbfounded, but she wasn’t sure if it was this god’s bizarre logic or merely the fact she was standing here talking to one that left her so bemused.

  “Anyway,” Dace said, “I just thought I’d drop by and let you know that I’ve fixed your little problem so now you can fix mine.”

  “What problem?” Wrayan asked suspiciously.

  “Does the phrase greatest thief in all of Hythria ring a bell?”

  Wrayan sighed. “Things have been rather difficult lately, Divine One …”

  “And I’ve just put an end to all that,” Dace reminded him. “So I expect to see some action soon, Lightfinger, or we’ll be having a discussion about what happens when you break a pact you made with a god.”

  “What’s to steal out here?” Wrayan asked, looking around the empty rolling grasslands flanking the gravelled road.

  “You’ll be in Greenharbour in a matter of days. I’m sure there’s something there that’s not nailed down.”

  “I’m supposed to be helping Princess Marla.”

  “Help her all you want.” Dacendaran shrugged. “Just don’t forget to steal something in my honour every now and then.”

  “Every now and then?” Wrayan echoed doubtfully.

  “Oh, all right … you know I meant every chance you get. I was trying to be nice.”

  “And I appreciate your forbearance, Divine One.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy,” he warned, which sounded odd coming from a creature that looked like a child.

  Then Dace turned to Kalan. “You could steal something too, if you like.”

  “I’ll honour you in my prayers, Divine One.”

  “I’d rather you stole something.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  That seemed to make Dacendaran happy. Smiling, he turned on Wrayan and pointed at him. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, Wrayan Lightfinger. I haven’t forgotten.”

  He was gone even before his words had faded into the hazy sunshine, leaving Kalan and Wrayan staring at the empty space in the road.

  After a long, astonished silence, she looked up at Wrayan, shaking her head in wonder. “So, that was the God of Thieves …”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s … not what I expected.”

  “No.”

  “Is he likely to come back?”

  Wrayan shrugged. “How should I know?”

  She gathered up her reins and remounted her horse. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, eh?”

  “Don’t start.”

  Kalan bit back her amusement, and said nothing further, convinced her strange and unexpected encounter with a god was simply more proof Wrayan Lightfinger was destined to be by her side.

  Kalan Hawksword had plans, after all, to be High Arrion someday. Who better as a consort for the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective than a man who could put her directly in touch with the gods?

  CHAPTER 17

  Marla Wolfblade’s plans to destroy Alija Eaglespike involved more than simply having her killed. That was far too simple, far too easy and far too quick. Alija is going to suffer, she decided, as much as I have.

  Marla intended to play with Alija the same way a cat played with its prey before it killed. The High Arrion would experience the same pain and anguish she had caused Marla. She would suffer as Marla had suffered. Feel the loss Marla felt. Shed the same river of tears.

  The most obvious target was Alija’s son, Cyrus, but even if the notion of killing a ruling Warlord wasn’t politically unwise, he wasn’t in the city at present and therefore was out of Marla’s reach. But Tarkyn Lye was here and he was the one responsible for tormenting Elezaar into betraying Marla. His death would not only hurt Alija, it would avenge poor Elezaar at the same time.

  Two for the price of one. Revenge doesn’t come much better than that.

  There was no question, however, of Marla being seen to be directly involved in his death. She wanted vengeance, not open warfare, and would reveal her part in his downfall when it suited her own agenda. So Marla did what any respectable Hythrun did when they wanted an enemy taken care of.

  She hired the Assassins’ Guild.

  The Raven himself came to call on her, after Marla had asked Rodja to let it be known she was once again interested in employing the guild to take care of a small problem for her. The Raven was an old man now. Quite a remarkable feat for someone in his line of work and probably the reason the speculation was so rife about his successor. Marla greeted him cordially, showing him into the main reception hall of her townhouse, inviting him to join her in a light supper. The old assassin lowered himself to the cushions carefully and accepted the glass of wine she poured with her own hand.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve done business together, your highness,” the Raven remarked, as he took a sip of the wine, nodding appreciatively at the fine vintage. He knew enough about wine to understand Marla was treating him as an equal by serving the best. That’s what Ruxton always advised. Serve the commoners the good stuff, Marla, and they’ll follow you anywhere.

  “I’m a woman, Master Raven,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “I tend to find other ways of dealing with my problems than just having them killed.”

  “But not this time?” he asked with a raised brow.

  “Not this time,” she agreed.

  “So who is this miscreant who has incurred the wrath of Hythria’s most tolerant princess?”

  “A court’esa.”

  “You don’t need my guild for that, your highness. You’re well within your rights to kill your own slave.”

  “He’s not my slave.”

  “Ah, yes, well that does complicate matters, somewhat.” He took another generous mouthful of wine. “Still, a slave, even a court’esa, is easy enough to dispose of, and not even against the law, should your involvement become public knowledge. It shouldn’t cost much.”

  “What if he belongs to the High Arrion?”

  The Raven studied her, looking a little doubtful. He knew as well as Marla there was only one court’esa in the employ of Alija Eaglespike. “I’ve no wish to buy into anything political, your highness. You know how we feel about interfering in things that might bring the guild unwanted attention.”

  “Then why have you done nothing about Galon Miar?”

  The Raven put down his wine and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s openly flaunting himself as the High Arrion’s lover. You might find that amusing, but I believe it seriously undermines your guild’s credibility.”

  “Who Galon Miar sleeps with is his own business. I don’t believe he’s betraying our guild. Or bringing it into disrepute.” He smiled knowingly. “Are you sure you’re not jealous?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Galon’s an attractive man, your highness, and closer to your age than Alija Eaglespike’s. Women have done far worse than order a slave killed to get his attention.”

  “And you think that’s why I want this done? To get a man’s attention?”

  “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

  Marla spoke with all the withering scorn she could muster. “Alija Eaglespike is an Innate magician, Master Raven. That is common knowledge. She can read minds. She can read your precious Galon Miar’s mind. Instead of worrying about my motives, perhaps you should be worrying about how many of your secrets she’s siphoned out of your lieutenant’s memory in the last couple of months.”

  The Raven frowned. “You impugn the honour of one of my most trusted men.”

  “I’m more concerned that he’s not compromising mine.”

  He smiled reassuringly, leaning forward to pick up his wine again. “Only you and I know the details of our previous arrang
ement, your highness.”

  “You sent Galon Miar here to remind me of that obligation.”

  “But he doesn’t know the details.”

  “He knows I’ve used your guild in the past,” Marla pointed out. “All I need is for Alija to learn that from Galon Miar’s mind and the next thing you know she’ll be trying to find out why. In light of whom I had killed, and the reason for it, I doubt it would take any giant leap of intuition to work out the identity of my victim.”

  “These are the risks one takes when one arranges an assassination, your highness.”

  “I’m prepared for the risks. For that matter, I’m prepared to stand up publicly and defend what I did. But logic and emotion are two entirely different things, sir. The man I paid you to eliminate was the father of two of my children and the only son of my closest ally. I’m not about to jeopardise those relationships just because Galon Miar can’t keep his trousers on.”

  The Raven frowned. “Is this an opening gambit, your highness?”

  “An opening gambit?”

  “Are you trying to renegotiate our arrangement?”

  “Not at all, Master. I’m trying to protect myself from your uncharacteristic sentimentality when it comes to your deputy.”

  “What exactly did you want of me?”

  “I want Tarkyn Lye killed,” Marla informed the head of the Assassins’ Guild. “And I want Galon Miar to do it and I want him to know who ordered the job.”

  The Raven was silent for a moment. “Why Galon?”

  “Firstly, because I want proof my secrets are safe with your guild, Master Raven. But mostly, because he has access to Alija’s household and can probably do the job with a minimum of fuss.”

  The Raven sipped his wine thoughtfully. “How we perform a job is not usually the concern of our clients, your highness. I have any number of men who could move in and out of the Sorcerers’ Palace, or Lady Eaglespike’s private residence for that matter, without being detected. And if what you say about the High Arrion’s ability to read minds is true, Galon would be in extreme danger if she was to learn of his deed.”