by Max Irons
Contents
Copyright
Traitor for Hire Map
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
Call to Action
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 Max Irons
All rights reserved.
#
For my parents.
CHAPTER ONE
It was highway robbery.
Galeron Triste donned his best scowl and directed it at the armorer. There was no other explanation for the outrageous prices this rail-thin man demanded. It was too much for one studded leather brigandine.
“What did you expect?” the armorer asked, leaning on the counter of his shop. “I sell to the royal marines, and they have deeper pockets than one sell-sword.”
Galeron shook his head, switching his weight from one foot to the other. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t charge as much.” He gestured to the frayed and torn arming doublet on his chest. “I’d rather not get run through in my next fight.”
The armorer shrugged. “Those are the prices, and judging by your face, you should accept them.”
Someone snorted behind him. Galeron turned and raised his eyebrows at the slender form of Lonni Tomkin. She brushed her long bronze hair out of her face and gave him a blank look.
“I’m not going to apologize,” she said. “You’re still looking rough.”
He sighed and rubbed a burn on his cheek. It didn’t look so bad. “I thought you were helping me negotiate.”
Lonni sighed. “I think it’s clear that he has the best price around.” She dropped her voice. “He’s also the only one selling to individuals. Everyone else has exclusive contracts with the king’s army or a caravan master.”
Typical. He didn’t want to spend such hard-earned coin on a brigandine that could be bought cheaper in a landlocked city. Problem was, he and Iven didn’t have enough money to travel that far. The archer would fume at the price, but he’d stated several times how sick he was of patching up Galeron’s various injuries.
Galeron fished around his satchel. He produced the leather sack of coin, counted out the appropriate number, and shoved the selection across the stained counter top. The armorer grabbed a monocle and slipped it over one eye, thumbing through the silver pieces, and grunted.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he said. The man fetched the black brigandine from a back room and tossed it into Galeron’s arms. “May it protect you during…whatever it is you do.”
Galeron tucked it under one arm and walked to the door. “It was a pleasure to work with you.” There’s a lie.
He and Lonni walked out of the shop and into one of Azura’s wide boulevards. A rare, planned city in Broton, Azura was all straight lines and right angles, its grid-like pattern obvious from anywhere in the city. With the exception of curved battlements and arched gateways, Galeron hadn’t spotted anything remotely circular in its design.
Lonni glanced up the street and waited for a long convoy of wagons to pass. “Have you and Iven had any luck?”
Galeron shook his head. “We’ve been in every tavern Azura has to offer, and no one has work for us.”
“Are you surprised?” she asked. “The Drakes are gone. We ended their rebellion, for the most part.”
He grunted. That was true. Leave it to him to destroy the rebels who’d kept him employed. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“It’s life,” she said.
Galeron looked up at the cloudy sky. “Aside from the frequent storms, salty air, and fussy merchants, it’s been wonderful.”
Lonni glared at him. “Even if you haven’t enjoyed your stay, I have.”
“Oh, really?” He cocked his head to one side. “How’s that?”
“As long as you’re staying at Papa’s shop, I get free labor in the foundry,” Lonni said.
The last wagon trundled by, and behind it marched a column of Broton infantry, dressed in their standard assortment of plate armor and chain mail that rattled like a peddler’s cookware cart. Galeron frowned. What was an infantry unit doing in Azura? This was a naval city, and there were no army barracks within fifty leagues of here.
The officer at its head, a captain judging by the red-feathered helmet, halted the column and approached Galeron and Lonni.
“Galeron Triste?” he asked.
Galeron nodded, squinting one eye at him. “Who’s asking?”
“Captain Marlowe, king’s guard,” he said.
King’s guard? Soren had left Azura over a month ago. What were they doing here? Still, he was on shaky footing with royalty. Best to keep himself civil.
“How can I help you, captain?” he asked.
Marlowe pulled a sealed envelope from his satchel and handed it to Lonni. “Your father said we’d find you with him.”
Galeron peered at the letter over Lonni’s shoulder. A wax seal held it shut, stamped with the seven-pointed crown of Broton. King Soren’s personal crest. She opened it, and they scanned the contents. Galeron’s stomach dropped deep into his gut as he read.
Miss Tomkin:
Word of your experiments and exploits has reached the ears of his majesty, King Soren. His royal person is most impressed with your work has hired you as the mastermind of Broton’s night dust and firelock development. His highness, Prince Lattimer, will be along within a few days of this missive’s delivery to collect and transport you to Harracourt. Until then, you will await his arrival in the company of Baron Heuse and his family.
Fully enclosed workshops await your arrival, and assistants will be made available upon request. Further questions may be directed to the prince.
His majesty looks forward to decades of success and innovation with your help.
King Soren Dubois II
The illusion held if one didn’t look too closely. It had the softness of a steel gauntlet covered in velvet. Galeron clenched his jaw. Part of this was his fault. He’d gotten Lonni involved with the mess of Drakes and mages. King or not, Soren couldn’t just haul her away because he felt like it. Well, he could, but not without a few heated words from Galeron.
Lonni stared at Galeron, and then looked to Captain Marlowe, her eyes wider than wagon wheels. “Captain, what happens if I’m happy right where I am?”
The captain shifted and laid a hand on the hilt of his slender dueling sword. “Then, I’m afraid I must insist, ma’am.”
Galeron’s hand dropped to the hilt of his own blade. “Over my dead body.”
Marlowe gave him a pained look, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be. I’m aware of your exploits. I know what they call you, and I’d rather avoid making an enemy. I’m just carrying out orders.”
“When did Soren issue this?” asked Galeron.
&nbs
p; “I honestly couldn’t say,” he said. “Officially, the letter came in by courier today.” He stepped closer and took his hand from the weapon. “Unofficially, I’m fairly certain the king had this plan before he left Azura. An entire company of the guard was left at the marine barracks.”
Galeron sighed. “He wanted to be far away before trying to collect her.”
“With a man the bards call Deathstalker fresh from killing another mage, can you blame him?” asked Marlowe. “I don’t imagine the king was interested in another confrontation.” He put a hand on Galeron’s arm. “I have to take her to the keep. She’s going to be with Baron Heuse. That’s no dungeon by any means.”
“A comfortable cell is still a cell,” Galeron said.
“I’m not saying it isn’t,” Marlowe said. “I have my orders, and if you try and stop me, things will get messy.”
“For you.”
“Deathstalker, I have twenty men to deal with you if necessary.” His voice hardened. “They told me you were an informer during the wars. You can probably kill about a quarter of them before you fall. The woman still goes with me, and all you’ve done is throw your life away.”
Galeron’s muscles tightened, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. “I don’t take kindly to Soren sticking his long royal nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Lonni jerked him out of his staring contest with Marlowe, pulling his gaze to hers. “Galeron, blast it, shut your mouth.”
Didn’t she understand? Couldn’t she see the meaning between the words of Soren’s letter? “Lonni, he’s kidnapping you.”
Lonni rolled her eyes. “Yes, we all know that. Even Captain Marlow knows that, or he’d have run you through and whisked me off.”
“But—”
“I’m going with him,” she said. “The letter also said that Prince Lattimer was going to be back in town shortly. He still owes you for Tearlach Cave. Maybe he can talk sense into the king.”
Galeron smoldered and said nothing. It made a certain kind of sense. Lattimer was far more reasoned and coolheaded than his father, despite his young age. Why did she always have to have a good point?
“Tell my parents what happened,” Lonni said.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
Captain Marlowe breathed a long sigh and nodded. “To my knowledge, she can still have visitors. If her father wants to come see her, I don’t think that will be a problem.
Galeron jerked his head in assent and watched Lonni walk away with the contingent of soldiers. His muscles quivered as he fought to suppress the fire in his belly. Soren always seemed to be at the root of his problems, one way or another. Hopefully, this round could be resolved without committing treason.
#
The walk back to Rand’s night dust shop filled him with dread. Lonni’s capture hadn’t been his fault, but his gut soured at the thought of relaying such news to the kindly fire speaker. Surely, he could talk some sense into Prince Lattimer when he arrived. Lonni would do neither him nor his father any good cooped up at Harracourt. Galeron took a few left turns and walked down the boulevard to the gray-stoned shop near Azura’s naval yard.
He jerked his head in a nod at a few marines walking past. One of them, Lieutenant Mason, gave a terse twitch of the head in response. He had been Galeron’s escort on the Drake cave raid. Galeron crossed the street, opened the small wooden door, and bit the inside of his mouth as Corinna, Lonni’s mother, waved at him from behind a small counter.
The Tomkin matriarch set aside the logbook she’d been scribbling in and gazed at the doorway expectantly. Galeron’s left hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles cracking.
“Get Rand,” he said, pulling the leather brigandine over his head. “You’ll want to hear this together.”
Corinna frowned at him. “Where’s Lonni?” she asked, her round face twisting into foreign creases.
Galeron rebuckled his sword belt over the armor. “That’s what I need to talk about. I’d rather not say it twice.”
She nodded at the counter. “Keep an eye on things. He’s in the back with Frontino.”
Galeron slid behind the wooden structure as Corinna slipped through a small door and out of sight. He glanced about the store. Small and plainly outfitted, Rand’s night dust shop was more of a display than anything else, a grounding point for customers.
Small barrels sat spaced around the room, labeled with their dust blend and containing a minute sampling of the powder. A wise decision, given Lonni’s penchant for experimenting. One of the last trials had blown a hole in her workshop. Had those barrels been full, there wouldn’t have been enough left of her, the shop, or the next-door foundry to scoop up in a shovel.
He scowled as he thought of Lonni. Soren always seemed to be at the heart of his trouble. Maybe it was time to consider Iven’s offer to move to Raya.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs behind him, and Rand, Corinna, and Commander Frontino emerged from the small door. Corinna and Rand had to be the strangest pairing Galeron had ever seen. Corinna wasn’t necessarily short, but Rand loomed over everything with his gangling frame. He wiped his hands on the leather smock about his chest and extended one to Galeron.
“What’s she blown up now, Galeron?” asked Rand, a grin playing about his mouth.
“You always assume explosions where that girl’s concerned,” Frontino said. Commander of the Azura naval yard, Oliver Frontino wore the marine cloth and leather armor combination, and a thin dueling sword hung at his left hip. His jowls fluttered with each word.
Someone’s resting on his victory. He pushed the snide comments aside. They wouldn’t do him any good here.
“Live with her long enough, and you will, too,” said Rand. “What’s happened?”
Galeron glowered at the floor for a moment before forcing words through his clenching throat. “King Soren hired Lonni as the head of Harracourt’s firelock development.”
Frontino cocked his head. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Perhaps, but he left behind a detachment of the king’s guard to ensure she accepted the offer,” Galeron said. “I read his missive. This isn’t just a job. He’s dragging her off to Harracourt. Probably going to work her like some pack mule until she gives out.”
Rand just stared at him for a long time, mouth hanging slightly open. The gears whirled behind his eyes, but he didn’t seem to comprehend what Galeron had just said. Corinna, on the other hand, had no such problems.
“King or not, he will not rip my Lonni from her home,” she said. Her voice descended an octave, and her eyes, usually a brilliant blue, narrowed and turned to far northern ice. “Where is she?”
“At the moment, she’s staying with Baron Heuse and his family,” Galeron said. “Prince Lattimer is supposed to be along in a day or so to collect her.”
“Then we march down to the keep and get her out,” said Corinna. She bustled about the shop, closing the window shutters and locking the front door. “We have enough weapons in the foundry to—”
“Corinna!” Rand found his voice, and the sound of her name stopped his wife cold. He licked his lips and wiped at his face, as if trying to clear the pain etched in his brows. “We will not storm the baron’s keep. What we need is more information.” He turned to Galeron. “Why did he ask for Lonni?”
Galeron bit his lip. “I have my suspicions. My informer side thinks he’s still mad at me and Iven for kidnapping Lattimer, but, given what his letter said, it’s more likely because of Lonni’s inventions. Her grooved barrels likely tipped him over the edge.”
Frontino winced. “Are you sure?”
Galeron nodded. “Apparently, he’s heard of Lonni’s exploits and wants those ideas directly in the Broton military.”
“Blast it,” the commander mumbled. “I…I…” His face contorted, switching between anger and pain. “Rand…I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”
Rand raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I did an awful lot of
bragging on that girl after Tearlach,” he said. “Those barrels have made a significant impact on the marines’ accuracy, and I passed the word along to the admirals.” Frontino grimaced. “I was hoping it would get you more business, but it looks like our gracious sovereign found a cheaper way.”
“Ignore it, Oliver,” Rand said. “How were you to know?”
“What are we going to do?” asked Corinna. “We can’t just let him take her.”
An uneasy squirm built up in Galeron’s stomach. It was his fault. Had he and Iven never crossed paths with the Tomkins, Lonni never would have gotten the idea for her firelock barrels. Admittedly, Lonni had been the reason he managed to kill the Drake leader, Atreus Luccio, but that victory continued to collect consequences. This was his mess to fix, well, his and Iven’s. Where was that archer?
“I’m going to have a talk with the prince when he gets here,” Galeron said. “Lattimer owes me. Maybe I can get something worked out.”
Even as he said it, though, he knew it was no use. Prince Lattimer had insight disturbing for someone of sixteen years, but his influence over his father would be negligible at best. King Soren was notoriously stubborn. Still, Galeron had to make the attempt.
“And we just let her sit there in the meantime?” asked Corinna.
“You don’t have much choice in the matter,” said Frontino. “I’ll have a talk with the guard’s captain and see if I can learn anything useful.” He sighed. “I make no promises.”
The commander departed, leaving Galeron alone with Rand and Corinna. Rand flipped through logbooks with more force than necessary.
“I thought for sure she was safe,” he mumbled.
“With a mind like hers?” Corinna asked. “It was only a matter of time. I tried to keep her home, but you insisted she could be a viable part of the trade.”
“Broton men usually avoid women like her,” Rand said. “She’s not exactly common.”
Galeron leaned against the counter top. “Soren has no such fear of strong women.”
“How’s that?” asked Rand.
Galeron suppressed the memory of a raven-haired woman lounging and drawing a finger up one silk-covered leg. “If you met his sister, you would understand.”