by Tim Jones
The remaining Falcons, and those guards who had continued to side with them, were taken prisoner by the palace guards and other loyal guards who had come up in pursuit of the rebels. Once they were all in captivity, Kendik invited those who had come to his defense up to the palace. In the inner courtyard, still shadowed from the low sun, he stood to address them.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for putting your lives at risk to save your town. Without your help, the rebels might have succeeded, or at least, caused many more deaths. I shall not forget your support, and neither will I forget the loyalty of the palace guards, who stayed at their posts despite being heavily outnumbered, and bought the rest of us the time we needed. I will be asking some of you to stay behind to talk with me. And as for everyone else—"
He paused for a moment, trying to think of a reward he could offer them. Vyaka Longtusk was quicker. "The rest of you can come to my tavern. Free drinks for an hour to toast our victory!"
When they had recovered from their shock at this pronouncement, possibly unequaled in the annals of trollish hospitality, the crowd was eager to take up this offer—so eager that it was a struggle for Kendik to lay hold of the people whom he wanted to keep behind. Within minutes, the crowd had left, laughing and joking among themselves, wearing their wounds, if they had them, as badges of honor.
Near the back of this crowd, the assassin considered his options, then, regretfully, decided to wait for a better opportunity. He could have killed Kendik easily on several occasions, but the chances were high that the enraged crowd would have caught and butchered him. He and his masters were not fanatics; they specialized in the rational calculation of risk and reward, and in the assassin's judgment, the risk on this occasion was too high. Besides, he had other business to do for his masters, business he had been in the process of conducting when he heard about developments at the palace. By the time the doors of Vyaka's tavern were flung open, he had separated himself from the crowd and disappeared down an alley.
In the same room in which they had negotiated with the t'skrang, Kendik and his allies sat, ate, and had their wounds further treated. The group who had made their way out of Borzim by tunnel not so long ago was reunited—with the exception of Sezhina. How Kendik missed her wise counsel and grim humor at the moment! With them sat Devlit, Kullik, Lethik, Ormanaria, and Uthaia. Vyaka returned while they were still eating, saying she had watched quite enough of her money disappearing down a hundred gullets. Fekor had been invited as well, but he had refused on principle. "I've never sat in no palace," he had told Kendik, "and I don't intend to start now."
As the plates were being cleared away, Kendik got to his feet, reflecting that, thus far, leadership appeared to consist of equal parts making speeches and fighting. "I've been meaning to get together with the leading citizens of the town—" he paused while Ormanaria snorted her disbelief"—and what better time than this? Tesek may not have valued what you had to offer—although, of course, he valued what some of you had to offer—"
"I'm relieved to hear it," said Uthaia. Some in the room snickered at this, while others looked puzzled.
"—but," continued Kendik gamely, "I do. We've got the t'skrang out of our hair for the moment. What should I do next?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then five or six voices rose at once, competing to get their ideas across.
"Silence!" roared Kullik. "Only one person will speak at a time! There are to be no cross-conversations! Put your hand up if you wish to speak!"
Kendik was both amused and impressed by the way in which his majordomo adapted his training in protocol to this unfamiliar situation. He occasionally had to remind Kullik that these people were invited guests rather than unruly and importunate petitioners, but Kullik was in his element, and would not be cowed. Since there were some strong personalities in the gathering, this was all to the good.
Everyone—even Qualia—was agreed that the first item on the agenda had to be the punishment of the rebels, and the second the reform of the guards. Most of them had personal experience of the cruelty and arrogance of the Falcons. "There will always be those among us who abuse their power," said Qualia, "but we should make it harder for them to do so."
As for the punishment, suggestions ranged from heads on pikes, to exile. Kendik decided that the worst offenders could experience a goodly period of time locked up in their own jail, while those who had played a lesser part would be offered a choice of exile, or probation with a good behavior bond.
Partway through the meal, a messenger arrived with news that Trekaldis, the Commander of the Falcons, had been seen leaving the town in haste soon after the outcome of the battle at the palace gates was known. This presented Kendik with a further problem, which he decided to turn immediately as an opportunity. "Though the Falcons will be disbanded, I need a commander to replace Trekaldis," he said. "Someone who is loyal, intelligent, and level-headed. Fortunately, I don't have to look far to find her."
No one knew whom he meant at first; then Viknis said "Now I won't be able to get away with anything!"
Chapter 24
Kendik blinked his eyes and rubbed his temples. At least it's over, he told himself. The meeting with the merchants of Borzim had been just as difficult as he had expected.
It was not that they had been rude, overbearing, or disrespectful. On the contrary, they had behaved with almost obsequious politeness and courtesy. But behind every carefully chosen word, Kendik sensed their scorn. His requests for cooperation in carrying out the terms of the treaty with the t'skrang were met with a promise to give the matter full and lengthy consideration. All the same, said the merchants, since they had not entered into the agreement themselves, perhaps it was not entirely reasonable that they should be expected to abide by it?
The merchants were, likewise, regrettably unable to spare any of their hard-earned cash to assist the rebuilding of the plains villages. Kendik pointed out that, the better off the villagers and the plains farmers were, the more they would be able to spend in Borzim's shops. The merchants replied that their funds had been severely depleted during the privations of the t'skrang siege, and thus, they must rebuild their own businesses before they could consider assisting others.
Kendik was not entirely without allies. Neither Uthaia or Vyaka was to be trifled with, and the merchants listened, or at least shut up, when either of them spoke up in support of him.
"Meet them en masse like this, and you won't get anywhere," Uthaia told him afterwards. "But there are a few of them who are prepared to listen to you, even if they won't admit it to their peers. We'll work on them one by one."
Which was all very well, but the t'skrang expected immediate compliance with the terms of the treaty, and Lethik and Sakara told him that the people of the plains villages were crying out for assistance. Kendik had, at least, been able to send a company of guards, about one-third of which were pardoned rebels, out to assist the rebuilding process. Kendik didn't think they could get into too much mischief out there on the plains, but to be on the safe side, he made sure that the remaining two-thirds were loyal to him. In this, Qualia's assistance was invaluable: she knew the Names, family backgrounds, and dispositions of almost all the guards under her command.
Under Zirok's command, he corrected himself, for Qualia was only the second-in-command of the guards. Zirok had been less than impressed to see a lowly guard promoted to be his deputy, but with Zirok concentrating on running the guardhouse and the prison and leaving Qualia to organize foot patrols and the palace guard, they were developing a way of working that suited them both.
He was more worried about Anarya: worried she would do something rash. Although all the reasons he had given for not yet being ready to tackle Dinazhe and free Sezhina had sounded completely valid to him, she had all but accused him of cowardice the last time she had demanded to know when they would set off to rescue her sister.
"As soon as I am sure that the guards or the merchants will not rise up against me while I am gone."<
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"You can never be sure of that!" she countered. "It is just an excuse to ensure that you will never have to confront he whom you most fear."
"I am not afraid of Dinazhe," he snapped back at her. She gave him a long, measuring look, turned on her heel, and walked off. That was two nights ago, and she had not been back to his bed since. Kullik, asked to make discreet enquiries, had reported back that she had made herself up an apartment on the ground floor, and spent most of her time tuning up her swordplay. Twice, Kendik had passed her in the corridors, and twice, she had averted her eyes.
The worst of it was that she was right. He was afraid of Dina-zhe—mortally afraid. It was one thing to be thrust suddenly into combat. He had courage enough to meet that challenge. It was quite another to go, armed only with his sword, into the lair of a Wizard and Nethermancer of unknown and unknowable power. His imagination populated that lair with both horrors and Horrors—things that would rip his body apart and leave his soul naked on the astral plane. Even if Dinazhe were not in league with dark powers, he could surely swat Kendik away as easily as he would swat a fly.
And he feared for Anarya, should she join that conflict. Kendik knew that, if they did rescue Sezhina, then Anarya would eventually be forced to come to terms with the thing he had tried, but failed, to tell her: that, through some dark magic, she was not Sezhina's niece, but Sezhina's younger self.
Dark thoughts, and Kendik sat alone to think them, alone at the table across which he had faced the merchants. The light faded quickly from the sky. Unnoticed by Kendik, a servant entered to set the table for dinner.
Kendik did not hear Kullik approach. Nearly two weeks had passed since the assassination attempt, and the edge had gone from both Kendik's fear and his reactions. He started when the dwarf said "There is someone here to see you."
Kendik groaned. "Not another delegation of merchants, surely."
"No. Her Name is Praemuria."
Before Kendik could react, a familiar voice echoed round the room. "This is a nice place!" said Kendik's mother.
A chair scraped backwards. Atlan got to his feet and bowed.
Kendik, ruler of Borzim, had faced down magicians, rebels, and t'skrang, but his mother was a challenge of a quite different order. Kendik had inherited his rangy height, his dark hair, and something of his temperament from his mother, but he could not equal the composure with which she dealt with new situations. She admired the tapestries, the sweep of the stairways, and the view from the balcony; commented favorably on Kendik's appearance—"you don't look like a little boy any more; you're a real man now!"—and wanted to know all about his adventures.
"I'll tell you at dinner," he promised her as they walked to the quarters that the ever-efficient Kullik had already selected for her. Why did having his mother here make him feel like a windling who had just challenged an ork to mortal combat?
"I hadn't forgotten about you, Mother," he said. "I was going to send for you, just as soon as—"
"Send for me? You should know by now that I never go anywhere I don't want to go, and I always go where I want. Don't tell me you're starting to take after your father. You look more and more like him as you get older, you know. Pity you didn't look more like him when you were a nipper. He might have stayed home more."
"Don't all boys look like their fathers?"
"As long as their fathers aren't overly suspicious, drunken fools, yes."
This was territory Kendik did not want to cover. "How did you know where to find me?"
"I could scarcely avoid knowing where to find you! There are Troubadours singing the praises of young Kendik, who killed the evil overlord and rode to his destiny on a crystal raider airship, from here to Bartertown. Of course, it's a common enough Name, but when I heard a few of the details, I thought, that's my Kendik, like as not. And I'd got a little put by for an adventure, so I closed up shop, asked the neighbors to mind the house and the byre, and set off to find you."
"Did you travel those roads alone?"
"I can look after myself, as you should know."
Kendik nodded, remembering the stories visitors to their house had told him about his mother in her own adventuring days.
"These Troubadours always threw in a verse about a 'woman in shining armor' who was by your side," Praemuria continued. " 'She with golden hair', and so forth. Who might she be, then?"
Kendik blushed. "Her Name's Anarya," she said.
"Will I be meeting her?"
"I expect so."
His mother stopped and looked at Kendik. "Ah! You've had a falling out with her, I see. That's a pity, darling. You always did like blondes, even when you were little. Little Ilia would run screaming whenever you hove into view—and you weren't even four then."
"Mother, please," hissed Kendik. "Let us not talk about such matters in public."
"I'm sorry!" huffed his mother. "Pardon me for wanting to know what every mother wants to know. Now, what's out this door?"
By the time they had explored the interior garden, their entourage had swelled by several fascinated courtiers who waited eagerly to hear what further pearls of information about their new ruler might drop from his mother's lips. She was particularly interested in the building site and the builders. Kendik had been assured ever since he took power that the builders would be finished within days and the new entrance to the palace would be revealed in all its splendor; yet, mysteriously, the job still wasn't done. He winced, wondering what all this delay was doing to his treasury.
"Who's this you're showing round, then?" came a familiar voice. It was Ormanaria. Though her arm had not yet fully healed, she was back at work, and had now been promoted to supervisor—a canny move by her bosses, who figured that this would give them at least another week's grace to stretch out the project. She was enjoying the opportunity to order her former colleagues about, while somehow managing to flirt with half of them as well. Ormanaria was delighted to make Praemuria's acquaintance, and the two of them discussed Kendik with a proprietorial air while he could only look on, defeated.
Still, he had to be honest and admit to himself that there was something very comforting in his mother's presence.
His feeling of safety dissipated as Anarya came up to join them. But, if she was still angry with him, she gave no sign; she smiled and moved to his side. He introduced her to his mother, allowing himself a moment of pride. How could his mother not be impressed with a catch like this?
Ormanaria, smiling her lopsided smile, said goodbye and turned to berate some luckless apprentice for using the wrong thickness of mortar.
Praemuria advanced on Anarya, extending her hand. They shook, like two merchants concluding a business deal.
"I have some things I'm bursting to ask you," said Praemuria, but Anarya replied that she was tired and sweaty from her training, and would join them for dinner. When she came to the table, she was transformed: the swordswoman primed for battle was gone, replaced by a beautiful young woman clad in a flowing gown which accentuated the gold of her hair. Kendik had never seen her look so stunning, nor so otherworldly. She might almost have been an elven princess from the bright days before the Scourge.
Praemuria, herself clad in the best of the clothes she had brought with her, raised a glass in toast to Anarya. "She passes the first test," she whispered to her son.
Kendik was sure that Anarya passed other tests during dinner, but he was less sure of their precise nature. The two women spent a long time swapping tales of adventuring, each regaling the other with exploits of which Kendik had never heard. He listened uneasily, wondering whether Anarya's adventures had really happened, or whether they were false memories planted in her head by Dinazhe.
The topic of children floated to the surface. Praemuria seemed to be asking, without saying so in as many words, whether Anarya planned to have any. Anarya skirted round the question without giving a definitive answer. It was something Kendik had never asked her, or ever thought about, except in the sense that they had been carefu
l to prevent the arrival of unexpected heirs.
"You don't say much," said Praemuria, turning abruptly to Atlan. Kendik winced, but Atlan was not offended. "They hurt my head," he said, bending forward to show Praemuria the crescent-shaped mass of scars left by a heavy boot applied with relentless accuracy to his temples. "I didn't have many words. But I'm getting better now." Kendik's eyes pricked with tears. It was the longest speech he had heard Atlan give since his beating.
Praemuria bent towards Atlan. "What are those?" she asked, pointing at the blue stones, worn round Atlan's neck and nestled against his chest hairs, which had become visible as the big man leaned forward.
Atlan closed his left hand over them. "A woman gave them to me. She said they would help me."
"I see," said Praemuria, and turned back to ask Anarya what it was like to live among t'skrang.
Perhaps it was that Kendik, impelled by his nerves, had drunk more wine than was usual. Perhaps the arrival of his mother had thrown him completely off guard. Whatever the reason, he agreed with his mother's request that they take one more turn around the interior garden before going to bed, to see how it looked in the moonlight. After all, thought Kendik, there had been no sign of that assassin for weeks now. He must have given up.
But he hadn't. The assassin had concluded—just like Kendik and Sezhina a few weeks earlier—that infiltrating the cleaners was the best way to get into the palace at night. He had had to be a lot more patient and careful about it than Sezhina and Kendik, because security at the palace had been tightened greatly; but, though he had no magic to change his appearance, he had many skills. No one in Borzim could have recognized the quiet, hard-working new member of the cleaning crew as the assassin who had fled the central square. And now, when he was doing no more than reconnoiter the wood on the west side of the interior garden, his quarry had obligingly brought himself within reach.