by Max Irons
Galeron shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”
“It’s being kept under a tighter web than usual,” she said. “Two weeks ago, word arrived from the Rayan diplomatic triumvir. It seems Fletcher Raison got himself a bit…shall we say…entangled with the king’s youngest daughter. You remember Fletcher, don’t you?”
Galeron frowned and closed one eye. The name sounded familiar, and he saw the iron-jawed visage of a bearded man with deep-set brown eyes in his mind. “I think we trained together. Tall man with a face of stone? Moved like one, too?”
Arlana nodded. “That’s the one. Quite muscular arms as well. He and the Princess Carys grew quite close.”
“That could be a problem,” Galeron said. “I don’t see how that demands your attention.”
“They’re both dead,” Arlana said, her sultry voice taking on a harder edge. “As you can imagine, that complicates matters. They were found in Carys’s bedchambers, her with her throat torn open and him with a firelock shot to the head.”
Galeron froze. That was more than just complicated. Depending on who found the bodies and when, they might assume…
“The Rayans consider it a tragic crime,” Arlana said. “The young princess either wanted more from Fletcher or wanted to end the affair, and he, in a jealous passion, killed her. Horrified by his actions, Fletcher took his own life.”
Messy, especially for a trained informer like Fletcher. Something didn’t sit right, though. Should all these assumptions prove true, and they might be, that still didn’t explain the need for Arlana’s personal touch.
“How is it you’re handling this and not another Broton diplomat?” he asked.
“Fletcher was on assignment,” she said. “Given the strictures in the Tripart Accords, his mission was less than, well, let’s just say sanctioned by the king and his court.” She arched one brow. “Somehow, the Rayans suspect the true nature of his placement in Keenan Caffar. A few missives have gone so far as to claim they have proof of spying.”
“Do they?” asked Galeron.
He shouldn’t feel surprised. Pacts, treaties, laws, they all meant little to Arlana where informers were concerned. Especially when she was in no danger of ascending the Broton throne herself. Political fallout didn’t bother her. She’d demonstrated as much during the Delktian Wars.
“They might,” Arlana conceded. “If he was sloppy in his involvement with the princess, he might have left evidence behind.”
“Shouldn’t this be a matter for Soren to smooth out, unofficially at least?”
She frowned at him. “The less my brother knows, the better. He’s suspicious enough about informers from other nations. Why add to it?”
So, Arlana hadn’t told Soren about the double placement. Interesting and odd. Surely the king ought to know what his informers were up to, but maybe she had a point about Soren’s concerns. His fear and hatred of mages might leak into other areas of his rule. Add in the close relations between mages and the Rayan court, and Arlana was playing a very dangerous game indeed.
“And because things are messy, you decide to kidnap me…why?”
“Who better to ask for help? Someone killed Fletcher, and I have doubts it was his own hand,” she said. “You’ve a reputation as a sell-sword now, not a spy. That insistence on humility might even be of use. Unless you gallivant about and wave that black sword of yours, who’d suspect you?”
Galeron scowled. There it was. Nothing was ever simple with her. He’d gotten out of informing to avoid all the double talk and hidden meanings. The space between his shoulder blades tingled uncomfortably. Too much in the way of intrigue and backstabbing for his tastes.
“You’ll be paid. Paid well, of course,” Arlana said. “I wouldn’t dream of having it any other way. Depending on your successes, I’ll lavish you with rewards accordingly.”
He swallowed. “And if I say no?”
“Then you walk away, and this conversation never took place,” she said. “However, I have it on good authority that you’ve had trouble finding work. If you decline my offer, there’s a chance those woes may continue.”
No wonder they’d been fresh out of…wait, she couldn’t have…She’s bluffing.
“You lie,” he said. “There hasn’t been enough time for you to do something like that.”
“Mmm, perhaps my work began long before I ever learned of Fletcher’s death. Maybe I wanted to hire you for something once you’d finished your errand for my brother.” Her wicked smile returned. “Come, now, Galeron. It’s me and you, just like during the war. I suppose you can bring that archer along if you insist, but really, three’s a crowd.”
Galeron weighed out his options, trying to put Arlana’s visage from his mind. Think with your head, Galeron.
He was out of practice, regardless of what Arlana might think of his skill, and informing wasn’t high on his list of preferred careers. She was good, he’d give her that, but he’d left that life behind, and for some very good reasons. The last time he’d gone on a mission, it’d cost two friends their lives.
On the other hand, Arlana’s offer did get them out of Broton, where, should his talk with Lattimer fail, he could hide after breaking Lonni out of the keep. Would she go for such a trade? Perhaps, but she was just as likely to put a stop to his actions as go along with them. In her mind, he wasn’t in a bargaining position. Arlana was unlikely to give up so much just to have him in Raya. Or was he underestimating his importance to her? She’d gone through a lot of trouble to get him and stay hidden at the same time.
Galeron bit his lip. Too many unknowns on both sides. “How long are you going to be in Azura?” he asked.
“No later than tomorrow night,” Arlana said. “What did you have in mind?”
“I need time to think,” he said. “I don’t do it so well chained and threatened.”
She stroked her jawline. “A good informer ought to think well under pressure.”
“I’m not one,” Galeron grumbled. “I retired, remember?”
Arlana chuckled and shook her head. “Once an informer, always an informer.”
Stupid expression, but it was true, for the most part. A man didn’t just put aside his training. It tended to stick with him regardless of a desire to put the past behind him.
“You say you’ll be in Azura for one more day. I ask for one day to think,” he said. “Deny me, and I’ll walk away. My choices are my own, and you can’t strong arm me into doing what you want.”
Arlana studied him for a moment, lips in a thin red line and eyes narrowed. Had he gone too far with that? Would she haul him away on her ship, heedless of his wishes? She smiled, and then laughed.
“A done deal, Galeron.”
Arlana produced a key from her belt pouch and unlocked his shackles. The iron manacles thudded to the ground, and he massaged the raw patches of skin on his wrists. Galeron stood, shaking his legs out as blood flowed back into them with a rush of pins and needles.
She pressed herself closer to him. Even standing straight, the crown of his head only came to her nose. “When you want to find me, I’m at the merchants’ wharves. Find the vessel Bonnie Fair before second watch to give me your answer,” Arlana said.
“You may not like what I say,” said Galeron.
She shrugged. “It’s a risk worth taking. I’m confident your sense of curiosity will take over. It’s what made you so good last time.”
And got a man killed. Galeron grunted and headed for the door.
“Enjoy your last day in Azura,” she said. “Do something fun.”
Galeron frowned and walked out. Fun. If committing treason for the second time in about four months could be considered fun, then he was in for a real party. He emerged onto a wide street, the sun’s first pink rays just clawing over the horizon. Galeron blinked and looked about. He could see the wharves off to the left, and to his right stood the thick wall of the naval yard, fourth watch soldiers standing guard on the parapet. In front, however, was the unmistaka
ble shape of Rand’s shop and foundry.
He turned around and stared at the closed door. Arlana had been living here for how long, and he hadn’t noticed? His stomach soured. Maybe he was losing his edge. That didn’t bode well at all.
#
Iven still hadn’t returned when Galeron walked under the lean-to they slept beneath. Likely drowning his…he couldn’t really say sorrows, because it didn’t appear that Iven had anything to be sorry about. Perhaps he was repressing some old wraiths in his memory. Whatever it was, he’d left Galeron to do all of the morning legwork. How kind of him.
Galeron rummaged through his meager possessions and pulled on the remainder of his leather armor. Black vambraces covered his arms from elbow to wrist, half-fingered gloves on his hands, and… Still need to get a new shield. The attire was a little bit unnecessary, but perhaps it would impress on Lattimer just how seriously Galeron took Lonni’s seizure. If things went bad fast, then he was prepared to handle it.
“Who’re we killing this time?”
Iven stumbled into the lean-to, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. The hood drawn over his head gave him a haunted look.
“Have we mellowed out?” asked Galeron.
Iven grunted and slumped over amid his belongings. “I hate you.”
Galeron shrugged. The price for late-night drinking. “I’m not going to say a word.”
“Good. I’d have to shoot you if you did.”
He snorted. “Assuming you could tell the difference between your bow and a rake.”
Iven rolled over and glared up at him. “Where’re you off to?”
Galeron tightened the straps on a vambrace. “To talk with Lattimer, and do a bit of scouting while I’m at it.”
That elicited a moan, and Iven struggled to his feet. “Picking my weakest moments for work.”
“No one said you had to come,” Galeron said.
“If I don’t, you’ll hold it over my head again.” He rubbed his eyes and put a hand on Galeron’s shoulder to steady himself. “Besides, I’m not that drunk.”
He wasn’t hurling all over Galeron’s boots yet, so maybe that was true, but still. “You’re waiting outside when I go talk with Lattimer.”
“Fair enough.” Iven swallowed and tottered towards the street.
Galeron watched him. He could wait until the archer was fully sober to relate Arlana’s proposal. They walked down the road at a snail’s pace, Iven swerving this way and that. No carts rattled toward them at this early hour of the morning, and Azura didn’t have much in the way of traveling merchants. Most here had permanent structures instead of roadside stands. The clouds cleared from the previous day, leaving brilliant blue sky and noticeably cooler air behind. Iven pulled his hood further over his eyes and grumbled something out of Galeron’s hearing.
The baron’s keep lay close to the city center. A five-floored rectangular structure that loomed over the other buildings, it stuck out from the smooth and curved designs of the outer walls and defensive towers that protected Azura. Battlements crowned the top like broken teeth. Perhaps it had been a watchtower at some point in the past. Baron Heuse’s colors flapped in the ocean breeze, a pennant of bright blue emblazoned with a silver stag. Aside from the occasional arrow slit serving as a window, the sides of the keep were as smooth as glass. Climbing was going to be a problem.
Galeron frowned as they approached the royal guard contingent outside the main doors. A member of the guard stepped up, all shiny silver armor and white cloak.
“State your business,” he said.
Galeron stared at the helmeted head for a moment. Hopefully, Lattimer was already here. “I’m a friend of the prince’s,” he said. “I’d like to speak with him if he has the time.”
“Really?” the guard asked. “Who should I say is calling, your lordship?” He laughed and gave Galeron a rough shove in the chest. “Even if his highness were here, he’s no time for sell-swords. Go ply your trade elsewhere.”
Galeron sighed. Royal guards. The city watch at least bothered to consider the occasional oddity.
Iven hiccupped and said, “Ever heard the tale of the Deathstalker?”
Really? We’re playing that game? He couldn’t be too hard on him, but Iven knew how much he hated bringing that up.
“Who hasn’t? He hunted a necromancer in the wars and killed him outright.” The guard raised his visor and glared at him with deep-set green eyes. “Why?”
“You’re looking at him,” Iven said, massaging his head with one hand.
Galeron slowly drew his sword and extended it hilt first. Maybe it’d be enough to get them in.
He snorted. “You expect me to believe you’re the Deathstalker? Any fool can burn his blade or even paint it. Besides, you only know half the story, apparently. The Deathstalker’s the consort of Princess Arlana. If you’re him, you wouldn’t need to ask permission. The princess’d be with you.” He pushed the sword back at Galeron’s chest. “Get moving before I run you through.”
Galeron scowled. He could attack the stubborn guard, and he might be able to beat the royal contingent, but they’d probably kill Iven in the process. Besides, while it would get him into the keep, there was no way to get to Lattimer. Cutting his way through the prince’s guards and then asking politely for Lonni’s release seemed just a little at odds.
He sheathed the blade and walked away. Iven hiccupped as they moved back down the street.
“That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all we’re going to do.”
“Out of ideas,” Galeron said. “You got something better?”
“He’s there,” Iven said. “Weren’t those his personal guards?”
“White cloaks and all.” Galeron took a left turn down a narrow alley. “So, it looks like we might be stuck breaking her out.”
“You sure there’s nothing else?” Iven grunted and leaned against a squat-faced building as Galeron stopped.
Looking up, Galeron marked the position of the keep and the slanted roof of the building to his left. Only one floor high, Galeron reached his hands up and gripped the grooves of clay roof tiles, swinging himself up in one smooth motion. Maybe he hadn’t lost all his informer training. He reached a hand down to Iven.
“I think that the consort rumors just ended any kind of easy access we had,” Galeron said.
Iven struggled to the roof. Galeron braced his feet and hauled him up. A few tiles cracked under the combined weight. Hopefully, there wasn’t anyone around the hear them. Iven bent his knees and stared hard at the roof, refusing to look around.
“It’s not bad,” Galeron said. “We aren’t that high.”
“Don’t care,” Iven mumbled. “I…heights, why is it always heights.”
Galeron rubbed his forehead. “Just don’t—”
Iven’s sudden retching cut him off. Galeron shifted up the roof to avoid being sprayed. At least he was doing it now, not while they were busy scouting.
Back bent and eyes up, Galeron scrambled to the top of the roof and lay down against the slope, using his arms to keep his head above the summit. The full expanse surrounding the keep was easier to survey from up top.
Ten royal guards patrolled in varying intervals around the stone plaza. No patterns to their movements or to who moved when. Typical of their training, but it would make attempts to scale that much harder. No other buildings in the area even remotely approached the keep’s height, and the plaza provided a very large open area to thwart incoming attackers.
How am I going to get up there? The building provided no handholds, making any attempts at scaling the tower impossible. He didn’t know which room Lonni was in, or if she even had a window.
The clay tiles clattered beside him, and Iven took up a position to his left. “What are we doing?”
“Thinking about how to get Lonni out,” Galeron said. “The tower’s flat.”
Iven gritted his teeth and swallowed. “It’s also made out of sandstone.”
Galeron frowned. “I thought you co
uldn’t build with the sandstone around here. It’s too brittle.”
“Treasury eased up on funding, I think,” Iven said. “Inside’s built of a more granite or marble-type, and the sandstone makes sure it’s thick enough to stand against assault. Surprised you didn’t recognize that.”
The physical parts of his training stuck, but the mental ones…well, they seemed to be slipping quite a bit. “I wasn’t really paying attention. Never thought we’d be trying to break into the baron’s keep any time soon.”
Iven grunted. “Good news, you can slam spikes into the wall and climb your way up.”
“Bad news,” Galeron said. “How do I get back down with Lonni?”
“She’s what, about a hundred Rayan stones?” asked Iven.
“Sopping wet, maybe,” Galeron said. “Even though she eats more than we do.”
“How are we getting her out?” asked Iven. “You keep talking about climbing the tower but not anything else.”
Right. He’d forgotten to share that part. “I was going to get a cannister of Rand’s most potent night dust and blow the arrow slit wide open.”
“Subtle,” Iven said. “You’ll need to get out in a hurry.”
“How I’m going to do that, I don’t know,” Galeron said. “Rope, maybe?”
“That’s about the only way I know,” Iven said. “There’s no guarantee your spikes will survive the blast for a climb down, or that you could even get to them.”
For the first time, Galeron missed the bitter cold Njal Mountains. At least, when there was climbing to do, the jagged slopes offered plenty of handholds. A luxury, now, and they still didn’t know where Lonni was in the midst of all that stone.
“While you’re serving bright ideas,” Galeron said. “Know how to figure out which part of the keep she’s in?”
Iven sighed. “You may just have to pick a floor, blow it open, and search yourself.”
That wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. “And the dozens of royal guards? They’re just going to let me wander around?”
“Suppose you’ll have to deal with them somehow,” Iven said. “How you go about doing it is your business.”