Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  “That would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it,” Marla agreed.

  “I don’t imagine she’ll be very pleased with you, either, should she learn of your involvement in this affair.”

  “And how will the High Arrion learn of it, Master Raven? You seem fairly certain your secrets are safe in the hands of Galon Miar. Of course, should she find out who killed her favourite slave, I imagine that will put a swift end to their affair.”

  The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I see. This has more to do with some problem between you and Lady Alija than the death of a slave or getting Galon’s attention, I daresay.”

  “I don’t enquire into your affairs, Master Raven. I’d appreciate you not enquiring into mine.”

  “In that case, your highness, you need to just accept that certain men among us are possessed of … skills … that make their minds impervious to casual scrutiny, and leave it at that.”

  “You expect me to believe that old wives’ tale about assassins who can control their thoughts well enough to stop the Harshini reading them?”

  “It worked well enough when the Harshini were around, your highness.”

  Marla was unconvinced. “How would you know? You haven’t seen a Harshini in your lifetime to put your theory to the test.”

  “Then accept that despite how many times the High Arrion has made physical contact with my deputy, she’s done nothing to indicate she’s learned anything from him other than a few interesting new positions for making love.” He smiled and added, “Trust me, given the guild secrets Galon Miar is privy to, we’d know about it pretty damn quickly if he’d been compromised.”

  Marla wasn’t completely persuaded, but neither was this an argument she was going to win. She shrugged, and let the matter drop. “How much to remove Tarkyn Lye?”

  The Raven nodded his agreement. “Ten thousand gold rivets.”

  She was shocked. “For the death of a slave? He probably didn’t cost that much when Alija bought him in the prime of life.”

  “You require one of my most valuable men to risk his life.”

  “Every one of your assassins risks his life on a regular basis,” she reminded him. “This is no different. Let him use his much-vaunted mental skills to protect himself from his lover’s wrath.”

  “I’m not sure Galon will see it that way.”

  “That’s his problem, Master Raven. Not mine.”

  “And what of our original agreement?”

  “What of it?”

  “You owe us an apprentice, your highness. I see no sign of one on the horizon.”

  “I’ve been a widow for little more than two months, Master Raven. Surely I’m allowed some time to grieve before I start seeking a new husband with a child suitable for your needs?” She smiled then, aware she couldn’t afford to make an enemy of this man while her agreement remained unfulfilled. “It should make for some interesting pillow talk on my next wedding night, don’t you think? Thanks for the lovely wedding, dearest, and did I mention I’ve promised your son to the Assassins’ Guild?”

  The Raven didn’t seem impressed with her attempt at levity. “If you are planning to marry a man with a suitable child for us to recruit, make sure the boy is no older than eleven or twelve. They’re too old, after that, to undertake the training with any degree of success.”

  “I shall add that to my list.”

  The Raven’s eyes narrowed slyly. “Perhaps I could aid you, your highness, by providing a list of suitable candidates?”

  Marla’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you have a sideline in matchmaking, Master Raven?”

  He shrugged. “A natural consequence of being responsible for creating so many widows and widowers, when you think about it.”

  “I suppose it is.” There was something very disturbing about the idea, she thought, but decided not to pursue the matter. After leaning forward to ring the bell to order supper brought in, she picked up the decanter and offered more wine. “And I thank you for the offer, Master Raven,” Marla added, as she refilled his glass, “but I think I can manage. I’ve done well enough so far, finding husbands, without the help of the Assassins’ Guild.”

  It was three hours after the Raven left that Galon Miar banged noisily on the front door of Marla’s townhouse. Just enough time, Marla calculated, for the Raven to return to his guild headquarters, inform his lieutenant of Marla’s request, and for Galon to ride here in a fury.

  Cadella, accompanied by two palace guards, opened the door to his insistent banging. Galon pushed his way in as soon as the door was unlocked, looking around impatiently.

  “I want to see the princess!”

  Waiting out of sight, just inside the main reception room, Marla watched the commotion in the foyer with interest.

  “Her highness doesn’t see anybody this late,” Cadella scolded. “And you’ve no right to be here banging on decent people’s doors like that in the middle of the night.”

  “Decent people don’t hire assassins,” he pointed out furiously. “Where is she? I demand to see her!”

  Cadella waved the two guards forward, obviously intending to have Galon thrown back out into the street. Marla almost let them try, but reconsidered. Galon Miar was an assassin, and these men were palace guards, not seasoned Raiders trained by Geri Almodavar; it was debatable if either man was a match for him. They certainly didn’t deserve to die over something as trivial as this.

  “It’s all right, Cadella,” Marla said, stepping into the hall. “You can let Master Miar in.”

  Clearly unhappy at the notion, the housekeeper took a step backwards. “As you wish, your highness.”

  Galon turned on Marla angrily. “You’ve got a damn nerve!”

  “I have a nerve?” she repeated, raising an elegant brow. “I’m not the one barging into people’s houses in the middle of the night, yelling at the top of my voice.”

  “You know exactly why I’m here …” He took a threatening step closer, which prompted her guards to reach for their swords.

  Marla waved them away. “There’s no need for weapons, gentlemen. I’m not in any danger. Master Miar isn’t here to kill me. Just to rant at me, I suspect. Cadella, have some wine brought in, would you? Fortified, I think. Our guest looks like he could use a drink.”

  Marla stood back to let Galon enter the hall. He stormed past her as Marla nodded reassuringly to her housekeeper and then waved the guards to her. “Wait here,” she ordered in a low voice. “If I call you, he doesn’t leave the house alive, understand?”

  The men saluted solemnly and took post on either side of the door. Marla closed it and turned to face her guest. He was pacing the rug near the cushions like a caged animal.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Master Miar?” she asked, leaning against the doors.

  “You can tell me why!” he demanded, turning on her furiously.

  “I assume you’re referring to the commercial arrangement I entered into with your superior earlier this evening?” She pushed off the door and walked a little further into the room, feigning indifference to his anger, although she surreptitiously made sure she was in shouting distance of the guards. This was the part of vengeance nobody warned you about. Her lack of concern was simply an act. Inside, Marla was quietly terrified of what she may have unleashed.

  Galon glared at her. “Don’t play with me! Just tell me why you insisted that I kill Tarkyn Lye, and why you made the Raven tell me who commissioned the kill.”

  “You have access to Alija’s household.”

  “So do a score of other people.”

  “You’re the only assassin among them, I’m guessing.”

  “Why do you want him dead?”

  “Tarkyn Lye? That’s none of your business.”

  “Neither is it any of my business who pays for the assassinations I perform.”

  “I merely wanted you to know who you were dealing with, sir. Nobody is asking you to make the information public.”

  “If I kill Tarky
n Lye for you, the High Arrion will know about it the first time she touches me, and when she learns the truth, she’ll have me killed because she’ll think I’m in league with you.”

  “Now why would she think that?” Marla asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Assassins are never told who orders a kill. Ignorance of that fact is often our only protection.”

  “The Raven assures me you have other resources to call on, Master Miar. Aren’t you one of those rare few who can consciously block their thoughts?”

  He stared at her, obviously surprised. “The Raven told you that?”

  “He was trying to assure me you could be trusted. I wasn’t convinced then and I’m still not. If you kill Tarkyn Lye and Alija doesn’t learn it was you who wielded the blade, however, I will be satisfied.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you? The ability to consciously block your mind isn’t a skill one can turn on and off like a stopcock. I’m no sorcerer. For us mortals it takes hours of meditation and days of preparation, none of which I have time for. If Alija reads my mind, she’ll assume I’m working on my own because if it was a legitimate kill, I wouldn’t have any idea who I was working for.”

  Marla smiled. “Gracious! You do have a problem, don’t you?”

  Galon wasn’t amused. “I think I have a right to know why you’re so anxious to have me die.”

  “Your concern she’ll learn the truth if she touches you seems easy enough to deal with,” Marla suggested with a shrug. “Don’t let Alija touch you.”

  “And you think that won’t make her just as suspicious?”

  “How many people have you killed, Galon Miar?”

  “What?”

  “How many? A dozen? Two score or more?”

  “I don’t keep count,” he replied, obviously puzzled by the question. “Why?”

  “How many of your previous employers have you burst in on, in the middle of the night, demanding a reason for their actions?”

  “You’re the first employer who wanted me to know who hired me. You asked for me specifically. Have I done something to offend you?”

  “You’re the one who brags about how good he is, Galon Miar. Am I to be held accountable if I believe the stories you spread about yourself? If you’re afraid, refuse the job,” she suggested. “You have that option, don’t you? Oh, wait a minute … this is the Assassins’ Guild we’re talking about, isn’t it? Refusal means death, as I recall. Or is that just one of those nasty little rumours you people spread about yourselves to make you all sound rough, tough and manly?”

  He let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Gods, I thought Alija was a manipulative bitch. She’s a real amateur compared to you.”

  “Maybe you should have considered that before aligning yourself with the House of Eaglespike.”

  He looked quite shocked. “Is that what this is all about?” he demanded. “You think I’m a Patriot?”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Do you know what a Patriot is, Master Miar?”

  He was almost grinding his teeth in anger. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, your highness.”

  “A Patriot is nothing more than the dupe of traitors, a fool who can’t see the bigger picture because he’s too busy glorying in his own self-righteous delusions of grandeur.”

  “Is that what you think of me?”

  “Only when I’m feeling generous.”

  He shook his head, denying her charge. “I’m no Patriot sympathiser.”

  “I don’t care what you are, Master Miar. What I care about is that you—the gods forbid—may be the next Raven and by your actions you risk aligning the entire Assassins’ Guild with enemies of my brother’s throne. I will not tolerate such a thing happening. Now, or at any time in the future.”

  Strangely, by the shocked and offended look on his face, Marla decided he was more insulted by the accusation he might oppose the crown, than any suggestion he might be endangering the neutrality of the Assassins’ Guild.

  “I’m no traitor to Hythria, your highness,” he repeated. “Or her High Prince.”

  “Then kill Tarkyn Lye for me and prove it.”

  “What you’re asking of me is a death sentence, either way,” he pointed out. “I can’t refuse the commission and if I carry it out, Alija will kill me when she learns what I’ve done.”

  “Only if you continue to count yourself a member of her household,” Marla replied. “Maybe you should find yourself a less perilous lover.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have no right to dictate who I sleep with.”

  Marla shrugged. “Sleep with whomever you please, sir. I am interested only in preserving my son’s throne against the day he is ready to take it. Your actions are threatening that, so I am taking the actions I deem necessary to correct the situation. If, in the process, I happen to rid the world of a slave who’s offended me … well, so be it.”

  “And how do you intend to protect yourself from Alija’s wrath, your highness?”

  “I’m better at that than anybody else in Hythria,” she assured the assassin. “Trust me, I’ve had more practice than you know.”

  Galon visibly forced himself to calm down. He was no longer ranting as he had been when he first arrived, but somehow, it made him seem more terrifying. He took a step closer to her and she reacted instinctively by stepping back.

  He noticed the movement and seemed genuinely amused. “You’re afraid of me.”

  “I’m afraid of an egotistical fool who imagines he’s being so terribly clever because he has the High Arrion in his pocket. I’m afraid of a man who doesn’t realise he risks plunging us into chaos because he can’t see past his own list of conquests. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life trying to put an end to the Patriots, Galon Miar. I will not have them thinking they’ve gained a new lease on life because they believe you’ve delivered the Assassins’ Guild to them.”

  He hesitated, looking at her in surprise, as if coming to a sudden realisation about something. “You genuinely believe that, don’t you?”

  “You sound surprised. Did I look like I was kidding?”

  “No … it’s just …”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing, your highness,” he said, all trace of his fury apparently under control. He bowed politely. “I apologise for my rudeness. You’re right—I shouldn’t have come here so hastily, and so belligerently. I apologise if my actions have offended you. It’s late, and I’m obviously keeping you from your bed. If you will excuse me?”

  Baffled by his sudden capitulation, Marla rose to her feet. “Goodnight, Master Miar.”

  “Goodnight, your highness.”

  He turned on his heel and left the hall, leaving Marla staring after him in confusion. Galon even bowed politely to Cadella on his way out, as she entered the room carrying a tray and a glass of fortified wine.

  “He’s leaving?”

  Marla didn’t bother to answer such an absurd observation.

  “I have his wine …” Cadella looked a little put out that she’d gone to the trouble of pouring the assassin a drink and he didn’t even have the good manners to stay long enough for her to serve it.

  “Bring it here, Cadella.”

  The old woman did as Marla ordered. The princess took the wine from the tray and downed it in a gulp.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “He’s a dangerous piece of work, that one.”

  “Thank you, Cadella. But I had noticed.”

  “Would you like another wine, your highness?”

  Marla shook her head. Wine wasn’t the answer to her problem. She wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she was fairly certain she wouldn’t find it at the bottom of a decanter. “No. Just tell Elezaar … I mean, just have my bed turned down, would you?”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  Cadella scurried away to do her bidding, leaving Marla to ponder two things of e
qual concern: if Cadella had noticed her moment of weakness when she asked for Elezaar to attend her.

  And why the heat seemed to have gone out of the room with the departure of Galon Miar.

  CHAPTER 18

  Despite the fact he’d ordered his grandson to stop Damin on the border and challenge him, Charel Hawksword greeted Damin like a long-lost son when they finally reached Byamor some two weeks after the altercation at Zadenka. As Damin suspected, Charel had ordered the challenge for the sake of his grandson’s future rule of the province. He had no personal gripe against Damin; if anything, he was rather more complimentary than usual, particularly about the way Damin had handled the problem with Kendra Warhaft.

  “She was such a pretty little thing when she first came to court,” Charel told Damin as he pushed the old Warlord’s chair along the corridor toward the great hall. “I remember thinking when I gave permission for her to marry him, that Warhaft was a brute, too.”

  “So why did you agree to it?”

  “Don’t be so naive, Damin. Why do you think I agreed?”

  “Seems a high price to pay to keep a man like Warhaft on your side.”

  Charel glanced over his shoulder at Damin. “Wait till you’re High Prince, lad, then you tell me what you’d do when you have to make a choice between strengthening an alliance with a fractious border baron against the potential unhappiness of sixteen-year-old girl.”

  “Narvell says he told you how he felt about her.”

  “He was a boy. He didn’t know what he was feeling.”

  “He’s not a boy now, Charel. And he’s pretty damn sure about what he’s feeling.”

  The old Warlord wasn’t impressed. “He’s still acting like a moonstruck boy from where I’m sitting, Damin, even if he doesn’t look it. Still, you handled the situation better than I could have hoped. I’d never have thought of putting the girl in the care of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”