Decoy

by S. B. Sebrick

The entire city of Shaylis sprawled out before Kaltor. He sat upon one of the fortification’s highest parapets protecting the northern guard tower. Enhanced vision gathered, then receded from his eyes as he focused on various parts of the city, memorizing the layout and trying to recall all the pieces of the broken day leading up to Prince Tyran’s death that morning.

  In the distance, he could see a few Stunts running along the rooftops, invisible to the untrained eye as they blended in with their surroundings. Whatever Melshek’s become, he thought, he’s been planning this for a long time. Every step is a trick with a way to escape built right in. He’s outsmarted us with every plan.

  Sleep was impossible. Yet he could barely stand, his eyes blinking with exhaustion. Hundreds of people lay dead now because he’d ignored the warnings about the vault. The memories challenged his stupidity and his incompetence. Those corpses were unfeeling, but pleading for revenge. Yet, with each effort to appease them, more people fell in Melshek’s wake and the glares of failure multiplied.

  What if I ran? With Master Taneth’s training they’d never find me. His fingers ran across the brand on his collar, recalling the symbol forever burned thereon. I could run, never Blood Break, and live a long life.

  A horn sounded beneath him. A second regiment took up positions along the outer wall. Thin streams of people weighed down with food, water, and valuables lined up at each of the castle’s entrances. Dozens of guards stood at each gate, pausing to examine each person for signs of what they called the Abyss’ Touch.

  Most thought it was a disease of some kind. Only the council of advisors, military leaders, and assassins knew the truth. Could I outrun this? he wondered indecisively. Without a Remnant’s help, would they be able to stop him? Or would Melshek’s hold just continue spreading from here?

  Staring into his hands, he thought of his first fight against Melshek. He reviewed every counter attack, the quick-healing body and poison-filled claws. Then he thought of his extra training days with Taneth in the mountains. Those were the only times that he had been able to exert his full strength as a Remnant.

  He compared the two abilities and combat styles in his mind. They were two different powers from the most renowned era in history. I don’t know if I can beat him, he realized. Even if I Blood Broke and used my full power, he could kill me. Even if I did finish him, how could I hide it from every nearby Varadour? My secret would be known.

  A hooked rope flew up next to him, lodging into the corner between a flat stone and a merlon before tightening. "Thought I would find you up here," Honmour called, climbing up the wall to his friend’s perch. "I sent the Stunts to scout out the city for any surprises. They’re fast enough to get out of there if there’s trouble."

  Kaltor nodded, looping his own hooked rope around his palm and elbow for the fifth time before letting the hooked end plummet over the edge of the roof. "Thanks, Honmour," he said. "I know I wasn’t much of a leader back there."

  Honmour laughed, earning an angry but confused glare. "You’ve always been just as step ahead of us, Kaltor," he said. "You’re a prodigy of sorts. You’re the best assassin Taneth’s ever trained. To be honest, it’s nice to see you have typical leadership issues. Only reliable when things go your way," Putting his hands behind his back he stretched, sighing luxuriously.

  I suppose I could kick him off the wall, Kaltor considered. The rope’s still there. I’m sure he’d catch himself and then leave me alone.

  He glanced out over the city again, coiling the hooked rope around his elbow and palm of his hand for the sixth time. Then again, Honmour is the only one here who still smiles at me. Everyone blames me for being outwitted by Melshek. Why didn’t we just stick together at the prison?

  "Melshek slept with the amulet before he assaulted the camp," Honmour announced. "Gereth spoke to Rivatha again. He got a few more details out of her," From behind the folds of his leather armor he pulled out a folded sheet of paper. "You’ve learned firsthand why Master Taneth chose to raise assassins over soldiers."

  Glancing his way, Kaltor swung the hooked end of the rope in an idle circle. "What are you talking about?"

  "You pitted a large force against something you knew nothing about," Honmour explained, pushing the list into his hands. "Read it for yourself. I’m tired of doing all the talking. I added a few details, though. See what you think," Slinging the coil of rope over his shoulder, Kaltor unfolded the paper, eyeing the simple list in hastily scrawled ink.

  "Must recuperate after every major exertion,’" Kaltor read aloud, looking out over the city. Let’s see. His first exertion was at the vault. He was fast enough to elude us until he stopped at the merchant’s camp long enough for us to catch up. It couldn’t have taken him that long just to kill them. He must have needed to rest. He paused at that thought, intrigued.

  "Can only maintain control of victims over a few hundred yards." Pinning the list against the top of his leg with one hand, he pulled out a dagger and starting flipping it into the air, feeling a small glimmer of hope peek out past those haunting eyes in his mind. Honmour smiled, patted his friend on the shoulder, and looked out over the city, his eyes following the courses of the Stunts.

  Kaltor eyed the second point and saw ‘web women’ scrawled at the end of the sentence. "That last one I killed at the entrance," he recalled. "The others around her died right after she did," He thought back to that moment. "She had spider web-shaped marks on her mouth."

  Melshek’s got a different Perversion out there, he thought, giving his dagger another skilled flip. He used that woman to extend his reach and attack the prison from two sides. The weakness is, if you kill her outside Melshek’s own range, all the Perversions around her die. We can use that.

  "Perversions lose their former power and their former defenses." Alongside this sentence, Honmour’s scrawl left the word ‘Poisons.’ He glanced toward his friend in surprise, then smacked himself on the forehead.

  Of course! he thought. How could I have overlooked this? The image of Selene fighting off three Perversions with only her dagger, leaving them convulsing on the floor, heightened his anticipation, prompting his dagger to sail a little higher into the sky.

  Any trained Varadour could have fought off the effects for at least a minute, he calculated. They sacrificed resilience, agility, and camouflage for strength and speed!

  His attention progressed further down the list, driven by a growing hunger. The last sentence was entirely Honmour’s handwriting. "Perverted Varadours can’t feel our presence."

  That idea made him pause and furrow his brow in confusion. "What makes you think they can’t sense us?" Kaltor asked. "When we fought Melshek he saw us coming from every side. He had to have used skin vision."

  "He has powers similar to ours," Honmour said with a raised finger to silence his friend’s questions. "But he can’t sense Varadours around him anymore. When we arrived at the battle, the web woman at the gate and the other Perversions didn’t sense us coming. They didn’t even react until we were already filling them with arrows," Kaltor stopped tossing his dagger at that comment, catching it by the hilt.

  "They won’t sense us coming," he murmured, the realization running deeper than even Honmour could have guessed. In most war camps, Varadour guards were kept on the alert at every moment, which meant that in order to get around them one had to use pure stealth without the aid of powers. Such tactics were slow and cumbersome, requiring so much time they were only effective if you knew beforehand the location and nature of the target.

  Varadours capable of using their power, though, without being sensed, could run from camp to camp until they found the target. They could move faster, strike harder, and escape easier without the enemy even realizing they’re there.

  Kaltor glanced back toward the city, watching the Stunts leap from wall to wall, their figures blurring in and out of view as they used their power to blend the colors around them. "You’re testing your theory on the Stunts."

  Smiling pr
oudly, Honmour pulled up his rope and started wrapping it as Kaltor had. "If they’re sensed, they’ll be attacked and can get out fast," he said, holding his hooked rope high as an example of the nature of their equipment. "But if they aren’t attacked, they’re getting a great look at every street without the enemy even knowing they’re there."

  Kaltor shot him a sarcastic look. "It’s daylight, Honmour. Their camoflauge can’t completely hide them. Someone will see them."

  "Yes," Honmour acknowledged, gauging the sun above them. "But in another few hours the sun will set," he said confidently, taking his finished coil of rope and throwing it over his shoulder. "Then we’re going to turn the tide."

  "Cut off?" Kaltor asked, eyeing the last sentence on the paper.

  "A runner arrived from Gereth’s camp today," Honmour said simply, pointing toward the north-east. "I don’t know how he did it, but Bandit Lords, the miners from the excavation, and Master Taneth’s assassins are working together to end this. They’re hiding in the tree line. Tonight they’re going to line the entire northern wall with archers and camp fires."

  Honmour waved toward the castle. "The military leaders are organizing the regiments to surround the city on this side as well, and they’re locking all the gates shut."

  With a sigh of relief, Kaltor nodded in satisfaction. "So we’ve managed to contain him, then," He glanced down at his hands one final time. The situation is contained. I can run now. Yet he stood still, watching the Stunts flit from roof to roof. The paper in his hand reflected the sun into his eyes like hope resonating from Haven itself.

  I can’t run, he realized. Those eyes will never stop staring at me if I flee now. They’ll haunt me for the rest of my life unless I give them justice. He glanced toward the west where the sun would soon set. "You’re right, Honmour," he said. "With Melshek contained, we can do our part now."

  Odd, he thought with a chill. The prince said those words too, the day he died.

  "Let’s just do it— carefully," Honmour suggested, rolling his legs to the walkway behind them on the other side of the wall. "The council hasn’t actually asked for our assistance. We weren’t even invited to their meeting this morning. Something about the prince dying while under our protection."

  "Technically, Selene was the only assassin near him at the time," Kaltor recalled, rolling backward over the parapet and onto the walkway. "What did they do to her?"

  "Oh, she was at the meeting when I tried to get in," Honmour said, rolling his eyes. "Apparently she represents a powerful city to the east and is requesting a secondary force as we speak."

  Kaltor stopped, eyes locked with Honmour’s. "A secondary force?"

  "She’s been pretty vague about it," Honmour said. "But I would guess it’s a moderately sized army with a small group of Battlescorned."

  "And we’re only a few leagues from Master Taneth’s training grounds," Kaltor said, biting his lip nervously. "We’d better deal with Melshek soon. I’d rather have him kill me than have to tell Master Taneth that the Battlescorned have taken over."

  "Likewise," Honmour agreed.

  Kaltor sighed dejectedly, staring at the stone walkway before them. What if Tyran had trusted us more? What if I’d won against Selene this morning on the stairs? he thought. If we’d been selected to accompany him, would we have been able to stop Melshek?

  Only the cool breeze’s soft motions answered his internal questions, giving comfort but no answers. They walked along the wall connecting the northernmost lookout tower with the rest of the outer keep.

  "Were you able to warn my parents?" Honmour asked.

  "Yes, I told them yesterday to get out of town," Kaltor answered. "They were very excited to hear from a Battleborn," A strong, cool breeze tussled their hair, as if nature itself were consoling him for trials behind and encouraging him to face the challenges ahead.

  "I’ll bet," Honmour chuckled. "Did they leave me a message?"

  "Said they would stay with your aunt on her farm," Kaltor answered.

  Honmour stopped, staring at him. His eyes went wide, mouth agape. "My aunt’s farm, you say?"

  "Yes—"

  "By the Abyss, the Gods, and all that’s holy!" Honmour swore, punching the wall so hard a few bits of mortar broke free. "When I get them out alive, I’ll kill ‘em!" he promised.

  Kaltor put a tentative hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Did I miss something?"

  "My aunt married a merchant," Honmour grumbled. "She’s always wanted a farm. Their message meant ‘in your dreams’. They’re staying in the city until I come get them," He spun, uncoiling his rope before Kaltor caught hold of his arm.

  "The Stunts are on their way back," he said soothingly, though his grip was firm. His friend struggled to break free. "We have to stay together. They’ll know where the Perversions are gathered and how to get around them," Honmour paused as Kaltor finished. "At least wait for some information before diving in. You’re no good to them if you run in without thinking and get yourself and all of your family killed."

  Honmour gritted his teeth, staring out at the open city, then back at the castle. "What if they’re in trouble right now?" he asked.

  Kaltor tried, unsuccessfully, to bite back a laugh. "I’ve met your mother— I really doubt Melshek would try to take her inn down until half the city backed him up. Have you seen what she can do with a cleaver?"

  The joke seemed to strike a chord somewhere, softening Honmour’s temperament. "Okay," he agreed, swinging the hooked rope over his shoulder. "But after the meeting with the Stunts I’m going to get them out of there."

  "Sounds good to me," Kaltor said.

  They walked from the parapet to the top level of the tower, passing two guards patrolling the wall. The soldiers looked down either side at the compound below, horns in hand should they need to sound the alarm. Their eyes were sorrowful, but their pace determined. Prince Tyran’s memory alone commanded loyalty from the majority of the city’s Varadours.

  At least they’re taking extra precautions, Kaltor thought, noticing another pair of guards walking each balcony and wall in sight. Double the guard. Equip them all with horns to raise the alarm. Keep them in view of each other.

  "Where are the Stunts to meet with us?" Kaltor asked.

  "Back in your chambers," Honmour answered, opening the door to the keep. "We’ve removed some of the more lavish furniture to make room for our bedrolls. After today, I’m not risking us being killed in our sleep in our individual rooms. We’re far better off together than apart."

  "Fair enough," Kaltor said. The hallway turned into a downward-spiraling staircase lined with a few small windows and simple tapestries. This was not a portion of the castle the former prince’s rich guests were generally introduced to.

  "And the Stunts?" he added finally. "Do they agree with the council about me?"

  Honmour laughed suddenly and so loudly that a cat shrieked in surprise further down the hall. "Despite our best efforts and cruelest pranks, they still trust us," He patted Kaltor on the shoulder. "They saw what really happened. They’re just angry about falling for the decoy and’re looking for payback. A few of them actually looked rather brave this morning."

  "Another year or so and they might be ready for field combat," Kaltor said, glancing down at his assortment of daggers, throwing blades, and his hooked rope. "What do you think of this week of guard duty my dad said we were signing up for?"

  "I think he’s got enough problems coordinating between the miners, the Bandit Lords, and especially Master Taneth," Honmour answered, shuddering at the thought. "I don’t envy him at all," Kaltor nodded in agreement.

  They left the outer wall, crossed the courtyard partially full of refugees from the city, and entered the inner keep. They exited the main stairway at the fourth level, which was lined with doors to the servants’ quarters and supply closets for their individual tasks. The rooms were practically deserted, and from the floor below them they could smell the many lunches being prepared in the kitchens for th
e more illustrious of guests.

  Through an open window Kaltor could hear the shouts and bickering of the many townsfolk setting up their temporary homes in the courtyard, haggling over food and supplies with the merchants whose wares had already passed inspection. Even here, as they reached a much larger staircase circling further down into the castle, two guards stood resolutely at the end of the hallway.

  Much better defenses, Kaltor acknowledged. With any luck Melshek won’t be able to launch an attack from inside the castle. He thought of the Stunts, Honmour, and his own training, recalling one piece of information in particular. Perversions could not sense a Varadour’s power, or even a Remnant’s. He won’t get the chance to attack here at all, if I can elude the other Varadours and fight him alone.

  After another handful of twists and turns they reached the appropriate door. When they entered, Kaltor stopped, leaned out the door and counted the adjacent rooms. "This can’t be my room," he said. "This must be storage or something. Are we on the wrong level?"

  "What are you talking about?" Honmour asked, pulling the windows open. "I told you we had to make room to bunk here together."

  "You said you moved some of the larger furniture," Kaltor corrected him, waving his arm toward the wall, now loaded to the ceiling with barrels and bags of supplies. "You took all of it. Not to mention you brought half the castle’s stores. What’s all this?"

  "Best to be prepared for any eventuality," Honmour said simply. "Your bedroll is over there," he nodded toward a bundle lying against the opposite wall. Kaltor walked over to the blankets, untied the rope holding it tight, and rolled it open. A few bugs from the training camp crawled free of the cloth, which still smelled of pine and smoke.

  Hope Perversions can’t smell too well. That could complicate things if our scent gave away our location.

  The Stunts arrived quickly, some swinging over to their window from the outer wall, others lowering themselves from the top of the keep above them. For the next half hour they ate lunch and compared observations from their scouting assignments. Honmour found out that his parents’ inn lay a few blocks south of the Perversions’ main force, far enough away to sneak them out safely.

  The majority of the Perversions were spread out around the town center and the surrounding houses, cutting off half the city from fleeing to the castle. Oddly enough, they were dropping off food to the locals and throwing bundles of supplies at the doorsteps. No one had seen any web-mouthed women like the one coordinating the prison assault, much less any sign of Melshek.

  "He’s smart enough to stay out of sight," Kaltor observed. "I wish we knew how he turned people into those things in the first place."

  "Well, we know it has something to do with that altar we saw at the vault," Honmour added. "He made a duplicate at the tavern where he took his mercenaries and serving girls."

  "Why the tavern, then?" Kaltor asked.

  One Stunt raised his hand. "They were celebrating, right? Food and people."

  A few of them laughed. "A pint of ale from the Abyss," Honmour added with a chuckle. "I’ve heard some brews are potent enough to turn gentlemen into beasts, but I didn’t think they meant it literally."

  Silence filled the room as everyone paused, their gazes jumping from each other to the window facing the city. "By the Gods’ might, that could be it!" Kaltor said in surprise. "Maybe that’s what he did at the prison!"

  "It was biscuits, actually," Selene said, dropping through the window with almost feline grace. By the time her feet hit the stone floor, half the Stunts were scrambling for their weapons, and Kaltor and Honmour already had theirs drawn.

  "Come now, boys," she said, rolling her eyes and putting her hands into the air. "Do I even look threatening?" Her hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore simple linen underclothes beneath thick leather armor, unarmed beside two bright green-handled daggers.

  I wish she would stick to her serving girl’s dress, Kaltor thought. I don’t like the feeling that she’s trying to beat us at our own game in open combat.

  "Depends on your definition of the word," Honmour grumbled, stroking the flat of his short sword’s blade, obviously toying with the idea of using it. "Enjoy your meeting with the council today?"

  She shrugged. "Half the meeting was about food, job assignments, and waste disposal. Do those issues intrigue you?" She took another step forward and sat on the stone floor with her legs crossed, trying to look relaxed, though her eyes were alert like a squirrel among a pack of wolves. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The presence of the Stunts made it difficult to tell. "I was passing by and overheard your conversation."

  My horse’s flanks, you were passing by, Kaltor thought. But those poisons of yours would be very helpful in the future. I wonder what you’re really after. "You mentioned biscuits?" he prodded. The Stunts started to relax a bit. Watching their leaders interact with a Battlescorned calmed their fears of not waking the next morning.

  "Ah, yes," Selene added, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. "The council is on the same track as you. They questioned a few of the archers that were standing guard. Turns out the convicts started to change soon after breakfast. Biscuits and gravy."

  Honmour nodded grimly. "I heard prison food could do things to you."

  Selene chuckled, batting her eyelashes his way. "You’re funny," A flicker of jealousy washed over the Stunts’ faces. Oh, for the love of the Gods! Kaltor thought. I’ll have to talk to Master Taneth about training assassins with better— defenses.

  He chewed his lower lip in thought. Would I be so easily affected by her smile as well, if this seal weren’t in place, blocking her efforts? He shrugged the question away. There was no point in speculating while the seal was in place.

  Honmour, to his credit, recognized her tactics and glared back at her flatly. Quite the achievement, all things considered. "So he does something to the food," he theorized. "Passes it around to the population, and once it takes effect, he’s got another army."

  "It would help if we had a sample of it to examine," Kaltor said. He turned to the smallest of the Stunts. "You mentioned they were actually dropping it off in front of people’s houses?"

  The Stunt nodded enthusiastically. "Most people weren’t taking them. The bulging veins are poor attributes for inspiring trust. I could snatch one pretty easily," He grabbed his hooked rope and checked the knot, heading for the window.

  "Your first objective is to get back here alive," Kaltor said. "With or without the food. Take a blanket with you. If you do get some, I don’t want you touching it ‘til we can figure this out," The Stunt nodded, grabbed the protective cloth, and jumped out the window.

  "You think it’s the food, then?" Selene asked. "What about the survivor?"

  That got everyone’s attention. "You mean one of the guards?" Honmour asked.

  "No," she shook her head. From beneath her leather armor she pulled a folded parchment. "One of the prisoners at the prison didn’t join in the riot. He really was sick, and could hardly move after this morning. As of an hour ago he was recovering in the prison’s infirmary."

  Honmour slapped his forehead. "The bodies at the tavern!"

  "The ones surrounding the altar," Kaltor nodded, twirling his dagger.

  "They were normal," Honmour added. "Well, aside from the being impaled part," Obviously, Kaltor thought. "But their blood and bodies were normal," Honmour repeated. "No Perversions."

  "We thought they were a sacrifice of some kind," Kaltor said.

  "But there was something about them he couldn’t touch," Honmour finished. "He didn’t leave them whole for the altar. Whatever he did to turn them didn’t work, so he killed them," He snatched the parchment from the floor, reading its contents ravenously. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "This is an announcement of execution," he said.

  "What?" Kaltor demanded, hurrying to Honmour’s side. "Why?"

  Selene gave him a look that said, ‘You’re an idiot.’

  "They have to show the peop
le someone is caught and paying for it," Honmour explained. "They have to keep the townsfolk calm," He threw the paper on the ground and stomped on it. "I hate politics," he muttered.

  "Where and when," Kaltor asked hurriedly.

  "Today at sundown," Selene said pointing out the window. "Right outside the front gate."

  "We have to at least figure out how he avoided Perversion," Kaltor said. "Have you already talked to the council about postponing the execution?"

  "Are you kidding?" Honmour cut in. "She’s a Battlescorned looking for favors from the nobility. She’d hang him herself if they asked."

  "I am loyal to my kind," Selene replied coolly. "But I was in that prison, too. I watched four children driven by some Abyss-born plague rip a man apart," She drew one of her daggers, pointing it Honmour’s way. "I will do whatever it takes to stop Melshek here and now."

  She threw the dagger at his feet. "If you plan on killing me instead of accepting my help, go ahead. I’m sure Melshek will breathe a sigh of relief knowing one less assassin is hunting him," Honmour glanced to the rest of the Battleborn nervously.

  I can’t tell if she’s just crazy or serious, Kaltor thought. But she does have a good point.

  "What’s happening here," Selene said seriously, folding her arms like a mother lecturing her teenage children, "is more important than any feud, political angle, or personal vendetta."

  Sincere or faked? Trusting her would be risky, especially if she’s our only connection to the council. She knows without a desperate demonstration there’s no way we would trust her, Kaltor decided. She does sound very sincere, though. Maybe she’s serious.

  "We have to stop him before he takes this city," Selene demanded. "I am offering a trade. I let you know what the council is doing and when, in return for you doing what’s needed. Even if it means angering the city’s leaders."

  There is one way to make sure she’s serious, Kaltor thought. It would make dealing with those Perversions a lot easier. A true trade.

  Kaltor picked her dagger up by the hilt with two fingers. Some kind of toxic oil dripped from the tip. You couldn’t get more serious than letting a potential ally gut you with a poisoned dagger. "This dagger served you well against the Perversions," he said. Selene nodded, eyeing him with distrust and frustration.

  "If we are to anger the council, and possibly our master, by working with you," Kaltor continued, "it stands to reason you should sacrifice something as well," He flipped the dagger hilt into his hand.

  "Show me your poisons," he demanded, pointing the blade her way. "Then I’ll consider a deal," The Stunts backed away from them, hovering around the walls. Even they could tell this was not going to be a pretty negotiation.

  Selene’s eyes flared dangerously. "Those secrets are VERY closely guarded by our order," she said haggardly. "They’re one of our greatest weapons. I can’t give that up any more than your master can give up his tactics!"

  Honmour sheathed his sword and stepped forward, arms raised as if to keep them from leaping at each other’s throats. "What about the antidotes?" he asked. "If we don’t know the antidotes, your weapons still have potency. You don’t even have to tell us the ingredients."

  He turned his back to Kaltor, standing within striking distance of Selene, though it was difficult to tell if it was meant as an act of good faith or if he wanted the first chance to pummel her if she declined their offer.

  Selene sat back on her haunches, considering Honmour’s change to the proposal. She glanced out the window and sighed long and hard.

  "If you promise not to tell your master of this trade," she said. "I’ll make additional poisons for you and your Stunts while you hunt Melshek," She held up a single finger. "Arrows and ONE hand-held weapon," she promised, with a single raised finger.

  Kaltor took a moment to review the deal in his mind, then nodded and shook her hand. "Where is the surviving prisoner now?"

  "In the castle dungeon," Selene said, adjusting her hair and armor. "But I doubt he would even talk to you unless you could trade him something you can’t afford to give without angering the council, like freedom, for example."

  "We still have half a day before sundown," Kaltor said. "Just have those poisons ready as soon as you can. We might have need of them as early as tonight," He pictured a hundred Perversions charging ravenously down the street, urged on by one web-faced woman, vulnerable to envenomed arrows.

  This could work quite well, he decided.

  "I have to get back," Selene said. "There’s also a ball I have to prepare for on top of our agreement," She hurried toward the window and leapt into the air, catching hold of the base of her rope, cut at just the right length to hang just out of sight above the window sill. She disappeared, climbing up the wall hand over hand.

  A ball? Kaltor thought incredulously. Prince Tyran died this morning! Shouldn’t there be a funeral? What kind of man is this regent?!

  "We will have to be careful about that Battlescorned," Honmour said, tapping his chin, brow furrowed in thought. "It would be easy for her to change her information a bit to embarrass us or even get us killed."

  "That’s what the Stunts are for," Kaltor said, turning their way. "Two of you will patrol the city and castle walls," he ordered, then turned to the last two and added, "Your jobs will be to mingle with the servants and noblemen as best as you can around the castle. I need to you verify everything Selene tells us, just in case. Get going."

  "Yes sir," they responded, gathering their belongings and leaving the room through window and door alike. Kaltor paused a moment, glancing Honmour’s way incredulously after they left. "They called me ‘sir.’"

  "You must have impressed them," Honmour said with a laugh, gathering a few choice supplies from the barrels and bags at the back of the wall. "Master Taneth might make a leader out of you, yet. You handled that negotiation well."

  "You sealed the deal," Kaltor countered. "If not for you, we might not have agreed."

  "That’s what friends are for," Honmour responded, his tone turning more painful. "We have to be strong enough to pull each other out of any situation."

  Kaltor glanced his way with a somber expression, two pairs of dead eyes staring back at him in his mind, and he sighed. "Jensai and Tyran would not want us to stop fighting, or waste time mourning them."

  Chapter 16