Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  ***

  Rivarden had a lot of refugees.

  Arisanat looked around the marketplace in dismay. He had overheard Governor Tarkor and Hawk talking about the situation last night at dinner, but he hadn't understood then why Tarkor had been so noncommittal. Now he did. The refugees were an inconvenience as well as an embarrassment. Tarkor couldn't feed them all, and he couldn't house them all, so he wanted to pretend they didn't exist.

  Unfortunately, pretending something didn't exist didn't make it true. Arisanat hadn't imagined the problem to be so widespread, but now that he was out in the city proper, he couldn't deny that it was.

  On top of the refugees, there was an unnerving number of mercenaries and fortune hunters in the city. The city guards were hard-pressed to control the crowds, and there were hard feelings growing in certain areas of the city. Arisanat's errand had led him through some unsavory places on his way to this marketplace. Called the Hive—presumably because of the continual buzz of activity, even at this early hour—the market was a congregating spot for those who had come to Rivarden in search of riches or escape.

  Why would the refugees and the mercenaries be drawn together? Arisanat wondered as he pushed past a booth where a woman was selling repaired weapons running the gamut from a folding knife to a halberd. Perhaps some of the refugees were looking for justice that they felt could only be found at the end of a sword, though if that were the case, Arisanat would have expected them to volunteer for the army. Perhaps the mercenaries thought the refugees would be easy pickings. Not that mercenaries were all unsavory, but a fair number of them would take advantage if they found an opportunity.

  That couldn't be the only reason, though. Perhaps it was just that there were cheaper meals and rooms to be had in the Hive compared to other parts of the city. Arisanat stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and leaned against a wall, folding his arms and watching the people flow past him. Some were dressed well, some were in rags, but the vast majority were at least decently clothed. The mix of people was fairly balanced between men and women, though it seemed that there were a large number of children, most of them between the ages of six and ten, compared to the number of adults.

  That made sense once he considered it; the orphanages were all within a short walk of the Hive. Some of the orphans probably did some begging—or pickpocketing—in the market. Arisanat resisted the urge to slip a hand into his pocket to check that his purse was still there. He'd tucked it inside a secret pocket in his trousers, and his tunic hung nearly to his knees, disguising it. Anyway, he could feel the weight of the money against his thigh. He didn't want to draw attention to the purse by reaching for it out here in the street.

  He ducked back into the endless stream of traffic and stepped into the next tavern along his route. Just inside the door, he stepped to one side and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior and enjoying the inviting smells of breakfast. This tavern was more crowded than the last two he'd looked into. A group of men and women wearing hauberks sat at a table halfway between the bar and the door. Caravan guards, he guessed. Two boys between fifteen and twenty summers sat at another table, facing each other. A motley group of at least a dozen roughly-clad people clustered around two tables they'd drawn together. In another corner, a woman wrapped in blue clothes that hid all but her face and her hands sat alone.

  Arisanat glanced to his left, looking at the other half of the common dining area. Three middle-aged women sat together at a table, sharing a pitcher of coffee and laughing as they chatted together. Their conversation was the loudest in the room, and it was a mixture of Kreydeni and Tamnese. He strained his ears long enough to pick up that they were discussing the price they would get for wool that day. Shepherds, then, most likely. He passed his gaze across the room again and noticed the boy and his companion were huddled close over the table. The caravan guards were waving at the bar girl, trying to get her attention. She was looking at Arisanat, waiting to see what he would do.

  He walked up to the bar, letting a smile stretch across his face. He nodded towards the table of caravan guards. "Go on and take care of them first. I'm in no hurry."

  She gave him a friendly smile and grabbed her pitcher of coffee, hurrying over to the table. They greeted her with a raucous familiarity that told Arisanat they were frequenters of the establishment. She filled their mugs and returned to the bar, where she poured another mug and pushed it across the bar towards him.

  "They said to add one for you," she said, grinning cheekily at him.

  "Then I'm grateful," Arisanat said, lifting the mug to his lips. He leaned on the bar. "They must be in here a lot."

  "Enough that I know them," the girl replied. "Can't say the same for you."

  He smiled ruefully. "Point taken. Name's Risan. I'm looking for a few warm bodies, people interested in doing work and not interested in asking many questions about it."

  The girl's expression shuttered. "Are you with the Hiveguard?"

  "Hiveguard? No." Arisanat frowned. He'd never heard of such an organization, though at a guess, it sounded like an organized crime group. Perhaps a citizens' watch, but he didn't think such a group would make her close down like that. "I'm actually not with anyone, really. Just asking because I have a job I need done, and the Hive seems to be full of folk looking for work."

  She narrowed her eyes, studying him. "You planning to turn anyone over for questioning?"

  "I'm planning on asking a few friendly questions, and maybe spend a bit of gold, that's all."

  "I don't inform on folk," she said.

  Arisanat sipped his coffee. It wasn't bad, despite being something a group of caravan guards could afford. "I'm not asking you to. Just asking if you know anyone who might be in need of a bit of cash. You know everyone in here?" He took another pull of his coffee and slipped a few coppers on the bar. Not enough to be a bribe, but enough to tip her for the drink. Let her see he wasn't trying to coerce her, just making an honest inquiry.

  She studied him narrowly for several more seconds, then turned to refill her pitcher. Over her shoulder, she said, "Only people I don't recognize in here today are those two over there. Sound like they're northerners." She looked down at the coins on the bar, chewing her lower lip. "That group yonder," she said, jerking her chin towards the people who had pushed two tables together, "they were asking about merchants what might be hiring guards. Don't know if they'd do for you, but they might."

  "Thank you." Arisanat tipped his head back and drained his mug. It wouldn't do to look ungrateful or unappreciative. Besides, the coffee was decent. He wiped his mouth and set six silvers on the bar. "This refill my mug and their pitcher?"

  "And leave a bit over," she said. She licked her lips.

  "Bring the pitcher over and you can keep the rest," he said. "And gods keep you."

  Her lips curved up. She looked tired, but she was pretty if he looked past the shadows under her eyes and the hair escaping its knot. "My thanks, friend Risan. I hope you find someone to work for you."

  Arisanat smiled and followed her over to the group of people he hoped to hire. They fell silent as he approached, but Arisanat indicated the pitcher in the barmaid's hands. "I only wish to talk for a bit," he said, "and I bring an offering."

  He had addressed his remark to a grizzled man somewhere between forty and fifty. A jagged scar showed beyond the edges of a leather patch that covered one eye. But the man's good eye went to a woman who looked closer to thirty than forty. She had the light tan coloring that spoke of mixed Tamnese and Strid heritage, and there was a hard glint in her eyes.

  "We'll listen and we'll drink, but I make no other promises," she said, shoving a stool out for Arisanat to sit.

  "I thank you, Mistress..."

  "You can call me Lail," she said. "What do I call you?"

  "Risan," he answered. "I've important business to be taken care of, and unfortunately I find myself unable to do it myself. But I saw your group here and thought you all look more than capable." H
e smiled up at the barmaid as she refilled his tankard, then took a long sip of his coffee. "Though if I've misjudged you, I apologize."

  Lail folded her arms across her chest, staring at him. Arisanat couldn't shake the feeling she saw through him, but he smiled at her anyway.

  "I suppose Geritte told you we're out of work," the one-eyed man said. "Her old man gets mean when she's behind on collecting tabs, so she's jumpy about people who drink too much in here."

  The barmaid flinched and hurried away from the table.

  Arisanat spread his hands, offering them a guileless smile. "I just asked her who among the regulars might be up for a piece of work that involves good pay and no questions."

  "What is it, then?" Lail asked. She drained her tankard and shoved it across the table at him to refill.

  "There is a man who has caused me considerable trouble. My business calls me urgently to Salishok." Arisanat shrugged. "One of my ships is reported to have foundered, and I have customers awaiting shipments. I don't have the time to deal with this man personally."

  "When you say 'deal with this man'..."

  "I want him dead," Arisanat said baldly. "Him and anyone with him."

  To his relief, Lail didn't recoil. She held his gaze for several heartbeats before giving him a slight smile. "And who is this man?"

  Arisanat took a slow breath. This was the most delicate part of the operation. He couldn't lie to the woman, not if he wanted her to kill the right man. But telling her the truth risked her discovering his identity, were she overcurious.

  "He goes by the name of Jacin Hawk. He'll be traveling from here to Meekin by horse. He should be alone, but I can't guarantee it."

  Lail showed no sign of recognizing the name. "Why this fella? Why does he need to die?"

  "Never you mind," Arisanat said. He selected several gold pieces from his purse and stacked them on the table, careful to block them with his body so no one away from this group would be able to see them. Then he withdrew a piece of paper that crackled as he unfolded it. "I am willing to pay enough that you forget your questions."

  "Jae." Lail jerked her chin and a boy who looked to be fourteen or fifteen reached across the table and took the paper. Arisanat studied the boy while he turned the paper and squinted at it. His skin was a lighter tan than Lail's, his narrowed eyes the same green as hers; but his hair was the thick, straight black of the one-eyed man's hair. Their son, Arisanat guessed.

  "It says he's got a sum on draft for us, if we complete the work. Present a sword and dagger to the holder and we'll get a thousand gold." Jae lifted his head to stare at Arisanat. "No one's got that kind of money sitting around."

  "I have," Arisanat said. "And I will warn you, if you do not bring Jacin Hawk's sword and dagger, you will not receive a copper. The holder of this draft knows what names are engraved on those blades."

  "This sounds like it's more than something personal," the one-eyed man said. He put a hand on Jae's shoulder. "A thousand gold is all well and good, if we're alive and well to spend it. But anyone willing to spend that kind of money on one man's death has a big reason for doing it." He exchanged a glance with Lail. "What if the Crown wants to know why we killed him?"

  Arisanat let a slow smile cross his face. He'd anticipated this question. He drew out another token from his purse. It was the genuine article, though he didn't expect they would realize it. "Then you tell the Crown that you are about the Crown's business," he said, flipping the token to the one-eyed man.

  "Looks good enough," the man said. "Jae, who holds the draft?"

  "Vinga," the boy said.

  Lail stood. "We'll take the job—provided Vinga authenticates the draft. If there are really a thousand gold waiting at Vinga's, your Jacin Hawk will be dead before the week's out."

  Arisanat stood as well and extended a hand. "I'm glad to hear it."

  She ignored the outstretched hand. "It'll be this crew, minus Jae. He stays in Rivarden. You change your mind in the next day, you send word to him, but you'd better send word to Vinga that we keep a day's wage out of that thousand." She gave him a smile full of teeth. "You change your mind two days from now, and it's too late."

  Arisanat nodded and strode away.

  When he arrived back at the Governor's Mansion, the prince's party was assembled and ready to ride out. Emran Kho was striding around snapping out terse orders. He glared at Arisanat but a moment later collected himself enough to bow.

  "My Lord Burojan. The prince has been asking for you. Your servants brought out your luggage, but they didn't know where you had gone."

  Arisanat held up a package that he'd purchased in the Hive on his way back. "I promised my sister I would bring her back some Kreydeni spices. I thought it would be faster if I went to purchase them and left my servants packing." He gave Kho a pleasant smile. "Which seems to have been correct. I am ready to leave at his highness' pleasure."

  Chapter 17

  Azmei woke with the early sun in her eyes. She stretched and sighed, and a heartbeat later she jumped to her feet and swore. She'd slept later than she had intended. Master Tanvel had the uncanny ability to decide when he wanted to wake. Azmei had always contented herself with small tricks like drinking too much water before sleeping, or lying down with her face turned to the east, but over the past year she had at last begun waking every hour or two all night.

  Not last night. Perhaps it had been her midnight waking from Yarro's screams, but she had slept at least half the night without waking. She turned to the north, where Firefoot was browsing at the brushes near the spot where Yarro had camped. The boy must have been exhausted. He wasn't used to traveling all day, certainly not used to being in the saddle for such long stretches, if everything she'd observed was correct. He wouldn't have woken so early.

  Azmei took a few minutes to stretch and work the life back into her muscles. She found her way to the stream she had heard last night and refilled her water flasks. She ate some dried meat and a hard biscuit while she waited for her water to heat for tea. It was enough to make her laugh, thinking of the breakfasts she had demanded when she was still a princess. How different this breakfast was to the ones she had eaten in the palace. But at some point in the past three years, she had grown to prefer this sort of breakfast.

  Except for the lack of coffee. She had never realized how difficult it could be to get good coffee. She drank it in inns, but it was too much trouble to travel with it.

  When the tea was brewing, she stepped lightly over to the bay horse. He put back his ears and bared his teeth at her, but she merely set out a few sweets and poured a pan of oats for him. As soon as the horse was satisfied Azmei wasn't going to try to catch him, he eased his way over to the oats and began munching on them.

  Azmei found Yarro sprawled out on the ground some distance away. Apparently he hadn't seen the need to tether Firefoot, any more than he'd seen the need for a fire or a proper camp. Azmei shrugged. The horse hadn't wandered off, so perhaps there was something to the bond Yarro had claimed between them. Either way, he ought to be taught to brush the horse. She could see streaks on the horse's flanks where his sweat had dried untouched.

  Shaking her head, she went back to her camp for a brush. It took her a few minutes to get close enough to Firefoot that he would let her touch him, but as soon as he felt the brush against his itchy sides, he let out a horsey groan and leaned into her touch. Azmei was still brushing him when Yarro shifted and sat up. She didn't turn to look at him, but she was aware of his movements.

  "I suppose you had grooms where you grew up," she said, "but anyone who rides as well as you ought to know a horse should always be brushed dry at the end of a long day."

  "Why are you following me?" he snarled. "I should eat you."

  She arched an eyebrow. "Clearly you like mornings even less than I do," she remarked, and ran the brush one last time down Firefoot's neck. The horse snorted and stepped away from her, walking delicately over to rest his nose on the top of Yarro's head. It made the boy sm
ile, which made Azmei feel a bit better about him.

  "I don't think you should follow me," Yarro said. He wasn't looking at her.

  "I told you last night, I'm on my way to Rivarden," Azmei lied. "This is the way to get there."

  "Then why are you bothering me now?" He sat cross-legged and poked at one knee.

  "Your horse was wandering around untethered and ungroomed. I thought maybe you could use some help." She tilted her head to one side, trying on a smile. "Maybe you do need a guide. If you're going this way, we could travel together for a while, at least. I could teach you how to brush your horse and build a campfire."

  "I know how to do those things!" he flared. His gaze flickered up at her but dropped again.

  She held in a sigh. How had Orya, of all people, had the patience to deal with Yarro? He looked to be about seventeen, but he acted as if he were twelve. "Very well, then I'll share the work with you. Two people traveling alone need two campfires, but two people traveling together only need one. That leaves the other person free to brush the horses while the first builds the fire and cooks. We could help each other."

  "You don't even know where I'm going."

  Gods above and below, now he was sulking! "No, I don't. But for the moment, at least, you seem to be going the same direction I'm going." She paused, wondering if she should appeal to his manliness. Most teenage boys would like the idea of protecting a woman. But she didn't know enough about Yarro to tell whether he would be that sort of boy or not.

  He was scowling at the ground in front of his knees, rocking in place just slightly. He almost looked like he was having a conversation with himself. Azmei waited a few minutes, then shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself," she said, and went back to her camp.

  She would give him some time to think about it while she took care of her own needs. She poured a cup of tea and sat near the fire to drink it. The morning was damp, the chill creeping along her skin and raising chill bumps. She held the cup under her nose and closed her eyes, trying to summon the calm required to commune with the peace god. Perhaps meditation would show Yarro that she wasn't dangerous.