Warrior

by Jennifer Fallon

  Wrayan was still more than a little confused. “But if Brak infused it with magic, how come it called you?”

  “It calls to the one you love, Wrayan.”

  He looked away, unable to meet her eye. The pain was torment. She knew he loved her, but deep down she didn’t really understand what it meant to him. That was why they called it Kalianah’s curse. The Harshini had no real comprehension of human love.

  “What if Rorin had used it?” he asked, hoping a change of subject would make the ache go away.

  “It would have summoned Brak.”

  “I’m glad it was you who came,” he said with a smile. “I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d opened my eyes to find Brak kissing me awake.”

  She laughed and kissed his cheek once more and then turned to the waiting demon meld. The princess climbed onto the dragon and as soon as she was settled, it beat its massive wings, almost blinding Wrayan with the dust kicked up by the downdraft. He stepped back and watched as Dranymire lifted into the sky and disappeared against the star-scattered night.

  He heard a noise behind him and turned to find Rory had finally woken. He was sitting by the fire, rubbing his eyes, and looking around in confusion.

  “Hello.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Wrayan Lightfinger.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Hythria.”

  Rory squinted at him in the darkness. “You were in my dream.”

  “What dream?”

  “The one with the pretty lady. And the dragon.”

  Wrayan walked back to the small clearing from the road and sat himself down beside the child with a friendly smile. “You and I need to have a very long talk about a few things, my lad.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Only if someone else besides you and me saw that dragon just now,” he said.

  Chapter 34

  Despite the distraction of the attempt on Damin’s life, the wedding between Rielle Tirstone and Darvad Vintner went off without a hitch on a perfect summer’s day, a little over a week after the attack.

  In the grand tradition of all Hythrun weddings, particularly for those of noble birth, three days later the party was still going on. Marla surveyed the ballroom with satisfaction, leaning back in her seat, thinking that, at last, something had gone according to plan. Not that she would have allowed anything short of the death of the bride or groom to prevent this wedding taking place. The alliance with the Bearbows of Izcomdar, Alija’s own kinsmen, was far too important to Marla for her to allow anything as mundane as an assassination attempt on one of her children to interfere with it.

  Damin was all set to spend his fosterage with Rogan, who had been both delighted and honoured to discover he had been chosen as mentor for Hythria’s heir. Rielle had confided to Marla a few days ago that Rogan’s daughter was just as pleased with the arrangement, as the fosterage gave her an excuse to further delay her own wedding to Terin Lionsclaw. Knowing what a headstrong and forthright young woman Tejay was, Marla suspected Terin would be just as delighted with the delay.

  The couple was rumoured to despise each other and when they finally got around to getting married, it was destined to be a tempestuous and stormy relationship.

  “Good lord! You look like you’re at a funeral, Marla, not a wedding,” Ruxton remarked as he took his seat beside her. He was flushed and breathing hard, no doubt from the energetic dance he’d just partnered his newlywed daughter through. The music had changed and Rielle was dancing with Darvad again, Marla noticed, now her father had retired from the dance floor.

  “I was just thinking about . . . things, that’s all,” she replied, looking down over the reception tiredly. This was the third—and thankfully, the last—day of the wedding celebrations and the festivities were in full swing. Marla was looking forward to it all being over and things returning to some semblance of normality.

  “Try to smile anyway,” Ruxton suggested. “You’ll scare the bride, otherwise.”

  Marla looked down at her stepdaughter who, hand in hand with her new husband, was skipping through a long archway made of the raised arms of the other dancers. She smiled as she watched them and then turned to her husband. “I don’t think anything could dent Rielle’s happiness at the moment.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked. “This was part of our deal, Ruxton. You give me access to your intelligence network and I’ll arrange highborn marriages for your three children. You don’t have to thank me for keeping up my end of the bargain.”

  “I wasn’t. You promised me a nobleman for my daughter and that’s what you gave me. But you were under no obligation to find her a decent man, or to ensure the union was a happy one. I appreciate the effort you put in, trying to give her some chance at happiness.” He leaned forward to pick up his wineglass. “I think underneath that cold and ruthless exterior, Marla Wolf-blade, you’re a big old softie.”

  “Well, don’t let it get around,” she warned. And then she looked at him curiously. “Do you really think I’m ruthless, Ruxton?”

  He smiled warily. “This reeks of a trick question. Do you want to be ruthless?”

  “To be honest, I never really thought about it. It’s just you’re the second person who’s accused me of it.”

  “Who was the other poor sod, and was I invited to his funeral?”

  Marla smiled. “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  “It was Luciena.”

  “Ah!” Ruxton said, taking a sip of wine.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Say ‘ah!’ like that. I know you’re burning to say something else, but you never do. It irritates me.”

  “What you do with Luciena Mariner is none of my concern,” Ruxton reminded her with a shrug.

  “That was also part of our agreement, remember? You don’t enquire too closely into my affairs and I’ll stay out of yours.”

  “But you have an opinion,” she accused.

  “Which I’m quite content to keep to myself.”

  “What if I want to know what it is?”

  “Then I’ll tell you. If you insist. Just don’t get mad at me if you don’t like it.”

  “Then I insist that you tell me,” she demanded. And then she smiled and added, “And I’ll get as mad as I want to, thank you. I’m the princess in this family.”

  “Then far be it for a poor trader to deny you,” he laughed. Ruxton held out his wineglass for a refill to one of the slaves standing back from the head table waiting to serve them, before he added in a slightly lower voice, “Seriously, though, in your shoes, the first question I’d like answered before I did anything is this: did Alija really tamper with Luciena’s mind?”

  Marla shrugged. She didn’t know for certain and had no way of confirming her suspicions one way or the other. There was still no sign of Wrayan Lightfinger. The reason for his visit to Fardohnya, along with his expected date of return, remained irritatingly vague.

  “Let’s assume for the moment that she did. What then?”

  “Then I’d be asking what young Xanda was asking the night the attack happened. Why now?

  What’s changed recently that would make Alija attack Damin at this point in time, not a year ago, or a year from now?”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Marla shrugged.

  “Nothing except your decision to adopt Luciena.”

  She looked at her husband thoughtfully. “Are you saying her fanciful tale of some long-lost uncle in Fardohnya seeking help for her magically gifted cousin is true and this was just an opportunistic attack?”

  “I don’t know,” Ruxton admitted. “All I know is that Mahkas lets nobody near the palace—or Damin—who can’t prove they come from at least three generations of Royalists. I’d be surprised if the Assassins’ Guild was willing to take on a contract to eliminate the High Prince’s heir. They don’t like getting involved i
n political assassinations that might bring them unwanted attention. It rather limits the options for anyone looking for a way to get close to Damin.”

  “Until I brought Luciena here.”

  Ruxton nodded. “So put yourself in Alija’s shoes for a moment. Let’s suppose Luciena’s not a Fardohnyan spy. Suppose she really did get a letter asking for money from her long-lost uncle. Xanda believes her.”

  “Xanda is hardly what I’d call an objective witness, Ruxton.”

  “Granted. But it would explain why Luciena tried to see Alija before we left Greenharbour.”

  “But not why Alija visited her.”

  Ruxton shrugged. “Alija probably heard about the adoption—rumour travels faster than heat in Greenharbour—and took a punt. She primes Luciena as an assassin and then sits back and waits for nature to take its course, knowing full well the first thing we’ll do after the attack is discover Luciena has family connections in Fardohnya, believe she’s a spy and assume that’s why she killed Damin.”

  “I can assure you, nature will take its course,” Marla promised. “For Luciena, at least. All the way to the gallows.”

  “At which point Alija will realise she’s failed and she’ll have to start all over again, looking for another angle of attack,” Ruxton pointed out.

  The music changed and the dancers pushed and shoved into lines for the Novera, which was suddenly popular again, after being almost forgotten for the past five years or so. Rogan Bearbow was dancing with Kalan, while his daughter partnered Damin. Starros was with Leila and Narvell was caught in the grip of some elderly cousin of Darvad’s who almost smothered the child with her bulk. Marla smiled and then hesitated as the music started up, suddenly overwhelmed by memories of the first time she had danced the Novera in Greenharbour. With Nash . . .

  Pushing the unwanted images aside, she studied her current husband curiously. “Surely you’re not suggesting I do nothing about this attack on my son?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I just think that if you hang Luciena, you’re sending a very loud message to Alija telling her the attack failed and she’d better start looking for another way to harm him.”

  Marla smiled grimly. “Then this is a good thing.”

  “If you say so.”

  Marla glared at Ruxton. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, really. Just a thought . . .”

  “Ruxton!”

  He shrugged and sipped his wine, quite deliberately taking his time before he answered. “I was just thinking . . . if Alija thinks she’s primed Luciena to attack Damin when the time is right, she’ll probably do nothing more to harm him until she’s convinced the plan has failed. If you don’t hang the girl, if you carry on as if nothing happened, for all Alija knows, Luciena is still biding her time, just waiting for the right opportunity.”

  “You’re suggesting I just pretend none of this happened!” she gasped.

  “You’re going to have me beheaded now, aren’t you?” he said with a rueful sigh. “I knew I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

  “But the whole notion is . . .” Marla stopped and thought about it for a moment. Ruxton might have a valid point. If Alija believed she had an assassin close to Damin just waiting for the opportune moment, she’d have no need to recruit any other assassins until she was convinced Luciena had let her down. That might take months. Even years. “Actually, Ruxton, it’s inspired.”

  “So this means you’re not going to behead me?”

  “Not at the moment. Do you really think she’ll do nothing?”

  “Who, Alija? Possibly. Of course, the catch in this brilliant exercise in double thinking is the question I posed originally. Did the High Arrion really tamper with Luciena’s mind, or did you just inadvertently bring a Patriot Faction viper or a Fardohnyan spy into the nest without realising it?”

  “That’s the crucial question, isn’t it?” Marla agreed, and then she looked across the hall and groaned, Alija and Luciena momentarily forgotten. “Oh gods, not again!”

  Ruxton followed her gaze and shook his head when he saw what was happening. Mahkas had interrupted the Novera and rearranged the couples so that Damin was dancing with Leila and Starros was now partnered with Tejay Bearbow.

  “You really should do something about your brother-in-law,” Ruxton remarked.

  Marla nodded, aware that Ruxton was right, but not sure how to handle the situation. Now that Damin was due to leave for his fosterage, Mahkas was getting nervous about the lack of a formal betrothal agreement between his daughter and Marla’s son.

  “I don’t know why he keeps on like this,” Marla sighed. “I’ve never actually said they were getting married.”

  “But you haven’t said no, either.”

  “Still . . . it’s not as if it’s urgent, even if I had agreed to it. Damin’s not even thirteen for another week.”

  “Mahkas is just afraid Damin will fall in love with some other Warlord’s daughter while he’s away,” Ruxton said.

  Marla smiled. “Damin could fall in love with the Goddess Kalianah herself, for all I care, Ruxton.

  He still won’t be allowed to marry anybody who can’t support his throne.”

  And that was the problem. Marla liked Leila well enough, but she had nothing to recommend her politically. There was nothing to be gained, no treaty to be assured, no territory or wealth to be secured, by marrying Damin to his cousin. The only one who would really benefit from such a union would be Mahkas Damaran, a fact Elezaar delighted in pointing out every time Mahkas raised the subject.

  She watched the children dancing together. It was clear, even from across the room, that the cousins were not thrilled with Mahkas’s interference. As Mahkas left the dance floor, looking very pleased with himself, Bylinda took him aside and whispered something to her husband. She didn’t look any happier about Mahkas’s meddling than the children did.

  “You should put him out of his misery,” Ruxton said. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “I know,” Marla agreed. She glanced down at her glass and noticed it was empty. She needed to be careful. Marla never drank to excess, yet she hadn’t even felt that last glass going down. Across the hall, the people standing around Mahkas and Bylinda looked away politely, pretending they didn’t notice the whispered altercation going on between the Regent of Krakandar and his wife. “But even if I thought Damin marrying his cousin was a good idea, I wouldn’t agree to a betrothal now.”

  “You want to keep your options open,” Ruxton concluded.

  She nodded. “I want every nobleman in Hythria with a daughter of marriageable age to think he might have a chance of an alliance with the future High Prince,” she said. “I’m certainly not going to spoil it by betrothing Damin to his cousin at the age of thirteen and ruining hopes of any other union.” It was getting increasingly difficult to explain this to Mahkas, who was becoming more and more suspicious that Marla simply didn’t want the marriage to go ahead at all. “I’m actually looking forward to returning to Greenharbour this year. It’s much easier to ignore Mahkas’s unsubtle hints when they’re in a letter.”

  “Well, it won’t be long now,” Ruxton reminded her. “Another few weeks and we’ll have to start thinking about setting a departure date.”

  “Which also means I’m running out of time to fix my other problem,” Marla said, holding her own glass out for a refill as a barefoot slave approached.

  “What other problem?”

  “Kalan,” Marla told him with a frown, taking a sip of the sweet, potent wine. “I still haven’t got the faintest idea what I’m going to do about Kalan.”

  Chapter 35

  Wrayan Lightfinger took his time returning to Krakandar, mostly to give his young companion a chance to come to grips with his new circumstances. The young Fardohnyan boy had fallen asleep a fugitive and woken up a fully trained Harshini sorcerer.

  That was rather a lot to ask of a twelve-year-old.

  He was looking forward to getting home
, though. Wrayan had left his chief lieutenant, a thief named Luc North, in charge during his absence. A talented forger, the man was trustworthy, careful but unimaginative. He also lacked ambition, which made him a fairly reliable stand-in—there was nothing more dangerous than an ambitious underling given a taste of power when the boss was away. But if anything out of the ordinary had happened while Wrayan was gone, Luc probably wouldn’t know how to deal with it. Wrayan could be returning to a Guild that was running like clockwork or one that had fallen into complete chaos. He had no way of telling until he reached the city.

  Although he was impressed by Wrayan’s position as head of the Krakandar Thieves’ Guild, Rory seemed much more taken with the notion that Wrayan was on speaking terms with the ruling family of Krakandar. The lad spent quite a bit of time questioning him about the Wolfblades, and how he came to know them. Wrayan wasn’t sure why the child was so interested, but he found himself telling far more than he intended. When he related the story about his magical battle with Alija Eaglespike and how he’d come to meet Brakandaran and the Harshini, Rory was fascinated. As the boy was destined for the Sorcerers’ Collective, Wrayan felt obliged to warn Rory about the High Arrion, but he seemed unconcerned. Along with using his magical talent, Shananara had shown Rory how to disguise it. The child was disturbingly confident that Alija would never discover his true ability unless he chose to reveal it to her.

  Once again, Wrayan was forced to reassess his opinion of the Harshini. It was easy to think of them as naive and childlike. That Shananara had thought to endow Rory with such a skill hinted at a degree of cunning of which he had never really thought the Harshini capable.

  Rory’s talent, as it turned out, was for manipulating objects. He could move things just by thinking about it, from quite large objects—like the anvil he’d accidentally thrown through a wall in Talabar, killing his cousin’s client—to the minute, such as flesh and blood, which meant he had some considerable talent as a healer. He informed Wrayan of this with an air of wonder one morning, as they rode towards Byamor, still coming to terms with the notion that his previously uncontrollable ability was now his to command.