The Lionsmane put down the dagger and picked up the last weapon, another short knife with an almost triangular blade. “Scholars have a way of teaching you what you’ve asked to be taught. And their knowledge of the Caids is not complete; they don’t like to admit such things outside their own Libraries. But if you went to them, and asked, they would tell you.”
“How do you know all of this?” The man was not as old as he sounded, Edmir realized, looking at him more closely, only about as old as Edmir’s mother the queen pretended still to be. Easy to see that his name “Lionsmane” came from his coloring, skin and hair both a golden brown, the hair showing no gray.
“Dhulyn Wolfshead spent a year in a Scholars’ Library before she took her final vows to the Brotherhood, and she’s never lost the habit of reading. She can tell you that there’s a link between us, that is, the Mercenary Brotherhood, the Scholars, and the Jaldean priests of the Sleeping God. The writings say we were all charged with keeping the knowledge of the Caids. The Brotherhood their physical and fighting skills, the Scholars their acquired knowledge—whatever that might mean—and the Jaldeans the secrets of the Sleeping God.”
“So there are gods? The Sleeping God?”
The Lionsmane was silent for so long, his hands unmoving, that Edmir glanced up. The man was looking at his Partner, who had fallen still as a statue, her blades catching fire from the angle of the sun.
“Yes,” the man said, his voice quiet. “The God’s real.” He blinked, took in a deep breath and turned to Edmir. “But the Wolfshead is no Mage. And as for what lies between you and your stepfather? You should know that the arrow we pulled from your leg was a Tegrian arrow.”
The wound in Edmir’s thigh throbbed.
They had needed the rest, and the time to let the prince’s leg heal, but Dhulyn was glad, three days later, to be back on her horse, with the hills, the Clouds, and the Racha behind them. And the walls of Probic a dark mark on the horizon ahead.
“Once we’re in the city,” Edmir was saying, “I can give you an official welcome, and I’ll be able to repay your hospitality, and your aid, in a proper fashion.”
It was obvious that the rest had done the prince good. There was less of the injured boy in the way he sat the saddle, and more of the thoughtful prince. Not that she cared either way, Dhulyn reminded herself. She might well be reluctant to return Edmir to his people, considering what Parno’d had to tell her of the Blue Mage, but it was the boy’s decision. However much it went against the grain to rescue him and see him back to health, only to then turn him over to the very people who had let him get that way in the first place, they could hardly force themselves on the boy.
And just to add more water to wine that wasn’t very good to start with, so far this engagement was a net loss.
As they neared the gates of Probic, Dhulyn automatically scanned the walls, mentally counting the bastions and calculating the number of guards it would take to man them fully. As the town closest to the Nisvean border, Probic was most at risk from invasion—if any Tegrian town could be considered at risk from invasion since the Blue Mage seemed to know when any sizable band of men, or pack of dogs, crossed the border. Still, for so small a place, Probic’s walls were impressive, and Dhulyn would wager that the number of guards would be the same.
Whether it was the time of day, or because this gate was closest to the border, they were the only party approaching. The gate stood open, and as they drew nearer, Dhulyn made out the passage through the walls, a dark and invitingly cool tunnel, at least six horse-lengths deep. Any other town of this size, and Dhulyn would consider the walls to be unusually thick, but again, this was a border city.
There would be archers in the bastions, though she could not see them, and likely holes in the passage itself to allow defenders to either shoot or pour boiling water and oil on any invader who managed to pass through the gate.
Just stepping out from the opening itself were three guards in deep blue tunics, showing them to be part of the Royal Army. Dhulyn frowned.
“Two of the guards have crossbows, cocked and with bolts ready to fly,” she said. “Unusual, surely, even for a border town?”
“If any of those who escaped from Limona made it this far,” Parno said, “I’m not surprised the guards come armed.”
“I should think they would keep the gates shut in that case.”
“They can see we’re only three—” Whatever else Parno might have said was lost as Edmir spurred his horse forward, heading straight for the waiting guards. Dhulyn hissed, gave Bloodbone her head and dashed after him, calling out to Stumpy and leaning far out from the saddle, reaching out for the smaller horse’s bridle.
Stumpy was fighting his reins as Dhulyn came alongside the prince, using Bloodbone’s greater height and weight to nudge Stumpy aside just as the crossbow bolt passed harmlessly to their left.
“Are you insane? Did you not hear me say they were armed and waiting to shoot?”
“But I’m the Lord Prince, I . . .” The boy was white with shock.
“And how are they to know that? Where’s your escort? Where’s your horse of state? Where are your blooded clean clothes for that matter?”
Edmir looked down, but his nostrils were flared, and Dhulyn knew that was the only acknowledgment she’d get that she was right. The boy wasn’t stupid, it just hadn’t occurred to him that his own people wouldn’t know him.
She shook her head in disgust. What were his people thinking to let him grow up this way? Were they trying to get him killed?
“Easy, Lord Prince,” she said. “I know you are anxious to be finally at home, but we go carefully, even here.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. Dhulyn released Stumpy’s bridle as Parno joined them.
“They’re watching us now,” he said, his arm lifted in salute to the waiting guards. “Slow and easy should keep us with whole skins.”
Slow and easy was the pace they set, riding in a line, Edmir between her and Parno, the extra packhorse trailing behind them. As they reached the three waiting guards, she let Edmir move slightly into the lead, so that it was he who spoke to them.
“I am Edmir of Tegrian,” he said, his clear, educated voice raised enough to be heard by any unseen but listening guards on the walls.
“Prince Edmir’s dead, you lying weasel.” The young guard on the left took a step forward, and the office in the center jerked him back into his place and cuffed him with his open hand.
Edmir sat openmouthed and frozen. Dhulyn’s blood suddenly sang, and she could feel Parno become alert on the prince’s other side.
“Four archers watch us,” the officer said, ignoring Edmir, his eyes going first to Parno, then to Dhulyn. “I see by your badges that you are Mercenary Brothers. Can I rely on you to act sensibly?”
“So long as we all act sensibly,” Dhulyn gave a hard look to the young man who had spoken out of turn. “I am Dhulyn Wolfshead, called the Scholar,” she said. “I was Schooled by Dorian the Black Traveler, and I fight with my Brother, Parno Lionsmane.”
“And I am Parno Lionsmane, the Chanter. Schooled by Nerysa Warhammer.”
“I assure you I am Edmir,” the prince said. Dhulyn smiled. His voice was steady and showed only a very little of the strain he must be feeling. “You and I have not met, Watch Leader, but there are others in the city who know me. City Lord Tzanek for one. Perhaps you would be so good as to send for him.”
“We’ll take you to him—under escort, with no offense intended,” the watch leader added to Dhulyn.
Dhulyn composed her features, eyed the crossbowmen, then shrugged. No one was going to say aloud that the Guard wouldn’t send for the City Lord at the request of a boy in torn and dirty clothing who claimed to be a dead prince.
“That seems sensible,” she said. “I hope it’s the custom in the City House to offer ganje to guests,” she added. “I could use a cup.”
There was ganje in the room they were asked to wait in when they reached City Ho
use, hot and strong the way Dhulyn liked it, but she was ready for a second cup long before Lord Tzanek arrived. Everyone they’d met with was being very careful. In case Edmir spoke the truth, the House pages had put them into a small but comfortable waiting room, and seen that ganje was served promptly. In case Edmir was lying, there were two guards on the outside of the unlocked door. Parno appeared to be taking advantage of the delay to take a nap in one of the padded chairs, his hands folded on his chest, but Edmir couldn’t sit still. He kept getting to his feet and pacing across the small carpet that covered the polished oak floor, only to sit down again as his leg bothered him.
“You’ll see,” he told them more than once as they waited. “This is some misunderstanding. Old Tzanek’s known me since he was a senior adviser in Beolind—he was a friend of my father’s. He’ll clear this up.”
“And then it’s hot baths and soft beds?” Parno said, his eyes still closed.
“Well, yes, among other things.”
A bustle of footsteps and voices at the door signaled the arrival of Lord Tzanek. Parno stood and put his hand on the back of the chair he’d been using. Dhulyn stayed leaning against the small table that held their ganje cups; Edmir surged to his feet and strode closer to the door.
The man who came in, short beard well sprinkled with gray, was dressed for the court or the audience chamber. His half boots were low-heeled and sueded, his tunic a fine wool, ankle-length and belted with a wide embroidered sash. There was an ink stain on his left hand. He stopped short just inside the door.
“You did not take their weapons?”
The watch leader’s wide eyes showed his surprise. “But, my lord, they’re Mercenary Brothers, why would we disarm them?”
“The Mercenary Brotherhood has been banished from Tegrian.”
Dhulyn’s mouth dropped open in shock. Banished. It was like stepping onto a staircase in the dark and finding it gone.
“And as for this boy, I know Edmir well, since he was a child, and I will not be deceived,” Tzanek said. “The young man they have with them is not Edmir.”
“Tzanek.” Edmir’s voice was disbelieving. He took two further steps forward, with his hands outstretched. “It’s me, it’s Edmir.”
But the man’s face did not change. He turned back to the watch leader.
“I will not be deceived. This is not Edmir. Seize them.”
Six
FOR A MOMENT, NO ONE moved. The watch leader cleared his throat.
“My lord,” he began.
Dhulyn gave herself a mental shake. Whatever the City Lord meant, banished or not, they were here, and had more pressing problems. She measured the distance between herself and the three guards. Parno had his right hand on the back of his chair, ready to knock down the City Lord with it—the man wasn’t armed, so that would take him out. Edmir was on his feet, but he was white with shock, and unlikely to be of any help. Only one of the guards had even put hand to weapon, and she was the farthest away. Once Lord Tzanek was down, Parno would deal with the two closest to him, and Dhulyn would take the third one herself.
“What are you waiting for? He is an imposter, I tell you. Seize them all!”
The watch leader looked from Tzanek to Dhulyn and back again, clearly weighing the possibilities in his mind.
“Come,” Parno said, beckoning the guards forward with his empty left hand. “See if we’re impostors.”
Noises at the door spoke of reinforcements, and Dhulyn drew her sword left-handed, but the page that burst in was alone.
“Lord Tzanek,” he gasped. “Nisveans . . . already in the gates . . .”
Dhulyn shot a glance at Parno, and found him looking at her, eyebrows raised. How had the Nisveans managed to overpower the gates? How had guards so careful to inspect the three of them before they were even close to the gates overlooked an invading force of the Nisvean army?
“How . . . ?”
Apparently she wasn’t the only one to wonder.
“They said they were returning Edmir’s body.” The page was now in better control of his lungs. “By the time we realized they lied—”
Lord Tzanek turned back to face them. “This is your doing,” he said. “While you distracted us, your fellows have invaded.”
Dhulyn did not even bother to shake her head; the man was clearly deranged. What he said made no sense whatsoever. Not that any of this was making any sense. Banished. She held out her right hand, index finger extended.
Parno threw the chair. Lord Tzanek went down and Parno leaped over him, elbowing the first guard in the face while drawing his sword and giving the second man a sharp rap on the side of the head with the pommel. Dhulyn slid into the gap, knocked the remaining guard’s weapon up with a twist of her own blade, and struck the woman between the eyes with the heel of her right hand.
The page, evidently no fool, turned and ran. Parno followed him as far as the doorway where he stopped and looked both ways before beckoning them forward. Dhulyn grabbed Edmir by the upper arm and pulled him away from the prone City Lord.
“He should have known me,” Edmir said, twisting his head to look back at Lord Tzanek even as Dhulyn tugged on his arm.
“How long since you were here?”
“You don’t understand,” Edmir said. “I didn’t just meet him a few weeks ago. I’ve known Tzanek my whole life.”
They stepped out into the corridor. Parno had gone right, to retrace their route from the entrance, and was waving them on where this passage met another, clearly impatient at their delay.
“He has no reason to dislike you personally?” Dhulyn said, more to keep Edmir moving than because she thought it important.
“He taught me to throw darts,” Edmir said. “One night when I’d been allowed to stay up with my father, after Kera had been sent to bed. Of all my father’s friends, he had the best eye, no one could beat him.” Edmir looked behind him again, as if part of him still wanted to turn back.
If he had no personal reason, Dhulyn thought, then he must have had a political one. Either way, dangerous.
When they reached Parno he led them around the corner to the left. They’d only gone a few more paces when he signaled and Dhulyn pulled Edmir into a doorway, glancing at him as she did. The whiteness around his mouth had not lessened. She thought she knew exactly how he felt.
There were people ahead in this larger passageway, but the chaos and confusion with which they moved was ample evidence that all was not well in Probic. As Dhulyn waited for Parno’s signal to continue, guards in uniform, some only half dressed and scantily armed, ran past them, followed by pages with white faces, most—but not all—heading for the gates of the House.
Parno moved them onward with a jerk of his head, leading them away from the main gates and toward what should be the kitchen wing of the House. Just as Dhulyn thought they would be able to leave unremarked, they were challenged by three guards with weapons at the ready. Dhulyn pushed Edmir behind her and pulled her dagger out of her boot, tossing it up until she held it by the blade.
“I assume you want them left alive?” she asked.
“I . . . yes.” Edmir stuttered.
Dhulyn shrugged. “Takes longer,” she said as she dove forward on her knees under Parno’s left arm and knocked two of the guards sprawling. Once they were down, she used the heavy handle of her dagger to knock them out, while Parno dealt with the remaining guard.
“Here.” Parno hustled them around another corner and into an empty room. This had the look of a pantry, with stone floors, and two plain trestle tables for the preparation of plates.
“Let’s give everyone some time to return to their posts,” Parno said. “When there are fewer people in the halls, we’ll only have the regular patrols to deal with, rather than every guard we come across.”
Edmir was rubbing at his leg, and Dhulyn made him sit on one of the tables. She wasn’t afraid for the wound, but she knew that it was still all too easy for Edmir to overtax the damaged muscles. She needed to dis
tract him.
“How did Tzanek become City Lord here?” she asked.
“When my mother the queen remarried, and the Blue Mage becameconsort, she rewarded and recognized many of my father’s friends. Tzanek was one of the first.”
“Getting the old husband’s friends out from under the new husband’s feet,” Parno said. Dhulyn nodded.
“So he might want to get back to the capital,” she said. “He might be sick and tired of being City Lord out here in rustic Probic.”
“And how could denying the prince get him that?” Parno had the door cracked just slightly open, and he turned his face away from it to speak.
Dhulyn leaned her hips against the other table. “You said the Blue Mage found out about your expedition. Who might have told him?”
“My sister told me not to accept his help, but the others were so enthusiastic . . .” Edmir’s voice faded into nothing.
Without turning, Parno made a chopping motion with his hand, but Dhulyn hadn’t moved toward the prince. She knew that the least show of sympathy would only make the boy feel worse.
“One or two of the younger Houses were with me—we knew my mother the queen would be turning her eyes to Nisvea soon enough, the treaty is over next year. We thought just a quick strike across the border, something to show her that men were willing to follow me—” He stopped. His voice had quavered on the last few words, and his jaw trembled until he clamped it shut. After a few seconds he continued. “We wanted to know what it was like, to be invulnerable, even if it was only for a few hours.”
“Look me in the eye,” Dhulyn said, with enough command that even Lord Prince Edmir of Tegrian blinked twice and met her eyes. “What happened was not your fault, do you understand?”
Dhulyn expected some reaction from the boy, but the change which came over Edmir’s face was all out of proportion to her words.
“What is it?” she asked, beginning to look behind her.
“Wait,” Edmir said, grabbing at Dhulyn’s arm in his turn. “There’s something wrong.”
The Soldier King Page 10