by David Weber
Gray Harbor's expression was appalled. Less because of what he was hearing than because of who he was hearing it from.
"Everyone will be horrified when they hear the news," Tirian continued. "Fortunately, you will have come to me tonight and warned me of your suspicions about this Merlin. Your fear that he's actually in the employ of Nahrmahn, himself, part of some plot against the Crown. Your concern that the King has given his trust too quickly, allowed this stranger too close to him and to Cayleb by naming him one of Cayleb's personal guards.
"Given your obvious concern about him, the moment I hear about the murder of Wave Thunder and so many of his most senior investigators, I'll immediately go to the Palace with my own most trusted guardsmen. Obviously, if Merlin really is guilty of all you think he is, it will be essential to arrest him before he can do any more damage. Unfortunately, as everyone knows from his rescue of Cayleb, he's a very gifted swordsman and, as it turns out, assassin. His entire reason for 'saving' Cayleb from his own employer's 'assassins' was to get him inside the Palace, where he could kill all of Haarahld's immediate family. By the time my guardsmen and I can reach him, he and the other members of Haarahld's own Palace Guard he's managed to suborn will have murdered the King and the Crown Prince. My guardsmen and I will, of course, kill the traitors in the Guard and manage to save Zhan and Zhanayt's lives, and I'll immediately proclaim a regency in Zhan's name."
"That's insane," Gray Harbor said almost conversationally. "No one would believe it."
"I think differently." Tirian smiled again. "Some of my friends at court would be prepared to support me, whatever happened. Others, even if they doubt all the circumstances, will see Haarahld and Cayleb dead, Zhan a mere child, and enemies surrounding us on every side. If not me, then who? Or do you think they'll embrace a dynastic civil war with Nahrmahn and Hektor waiting to pounce? And who knows anything about this 'Merlin'? He's a stranger, a foreigner who appeared under mysterious circumstances and who's been busily worming his way into the King's favor! Half the nobles at court probably already fear the influence he might come to wield, and none of them know him. They'll be happy enough to see the last of him. Especially"—his smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed—"when Haarahld's own First Councillor confirms the reasons for my suspicion of him."
"I won't do it," Gray Harbor said flatly.
"I think you should reconsider that, Father." There was no threat in Tirian's voice, only a tone of reason. "Who will you support, if Haarahld and Cayleb are dead? Will you stand father to a civil war? Simply hand the Kingdom over to Hektor and Nahrmahn? Or will you do what's best for Charis and support the only person who can hold the Kingdom together? You told me my only chance was to turn King's Evidence for Haarahld. Well, I'm telling you that your only chance to serve the Kingdom is to turn King's Evidence for me."
"Never."
"Never is a long time, Father. I think you'll probably reconsider, given enough time to think about it."
Gray Harbor started to stand up, then gasped in astonishment as a heavy hand pushed him firmly back down in his chair. His head snapped around, and he looked over his shoulder, eyes widening, as Zhorzh Hauwyrd looked back at him.
"I'm sorry, Father," Tirian said, and Gray Harbor's eyes whipped back around to him. The duke shook his head, and continued with that same note of sincerity. "I'm afraid I realized a day like this might come. Have you forgotten Zhorzh was in my service before yours? That I was the one who recommended him to you when you first retained him, not to mention putting in a good word for him when your last guardsman suffered his . . . accident."
"My God," Gray Harbor half-whispered. "You've been planning this that long?"
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose. And when you appeared so unexpectedly in this sort of weather, I took a few additional precautions." Tirian took a small bell from the mantelpiece. "I didn't truly expect to need them, but I believe in being prepared."
He shook the bell once. Its voice was sweet, rising clear and sharp in an interval between thunderclaps, and the library door opened instantly.
Frahnk Zhahnsyn and fourteen other members of Tirian's personal guard filed in through it. The library was a huge room, but it was well populated with bookshelves and scroll racks, and the fifteen armed and armored men completely filled one end of it.
"I never planned for this actual moment," Tirian continued, "and, whether you believe this or not, Father, I love you. I'll admit that I never planned on that in the beginning, either. Zhenyfyr, yes, but you were already First Councillor. I had to think of you in tactical terms, and, as I say, I believe in being prepared. Since I couldn't take a chance on how you might jump at a moment like this, I took precautions—wisely, it would appear."
"It doesn't change anything," Gray Harbor said. "Your entire so-called plan is insane, but even if it works, I won't support you. I can't."
"We'll see about that. And I hope, for many people's sake, that you're wrong. In the meantime, however I'm afraid it's time to—"
Lightning flared, thunder crashed again, and on the heels of that deep, rumbling roar came another crash. The crash of breaking glass as the skylight above Gray Harbor shattered into a thousand glittering pieces and a rain-soaked, black-clad figure in the cuirass and mail of the Royal Guard came plunging through it.
The intruder landed with impossible grace, as if the twenty-five-foot plunge from the roof above had been a mere two feet. His knees straightened, and the drawn sword in his hands hissed.
Zhorzh Hauwyrd staggered back with a high-pitched sound of shocked agony, left hand clutching the stump of his blood-spouting right forearm as the hand which had been on Gray Harbor's shoulder thumped to the library's floor.
"Your pardon, Your Grace," Merlin Athrawes said politely, "but I trust you'll understand if I take exception to your plans."
* * *
Kahlvyn Ahrmahk stared in shock at the dripping apparition before him. Merlin's abrupt, totally unexpected arrival had stunned every person in that library, Gray Harbor not least, and Merlin smiled thinly.
He hadn't planned on this confrontation—hadn't wanted anything remotely like it, in fact. Nor had he anticipated any likely need for it. But at least he'd been worried enough over how his accusation of Tirian might work out that he'd kept an eye on Wave Thunder. He'd planted SNARC-deployed parasite bugs in several places in Tellesberg by now, and he'd monitored the one in Wave Thunder's office on a real-time basis. That was the only reason he'd known about Seafarmer's conclusions . . . or the fact that Wave Thunder would discuss those conclusions with Gray Harbor.
He'd maneuvered the office bug onto Wave Thunder's shoulder for the trip to Gray Harbor's townhouse, then dropped it off onto the earl, instead. But he'd been slow to realize what Gray Harbor intended to do. In fairness, the earl probably hadn't known what he was going to do before he started drinking so heavily, and he'd already summoned his carriage for the trip before Merlin realized where he was going.
The fact that Merlin had been dining with Cayleb at that moment had made things even more difficult. Fortunately, it had been a private dinner, and he'd managed to disengage himself from the prince rather more hastily than protocol would normally have permitted by claiming—accurately, as it happened—that he was even then receiving a "vision." The crown prince had accepted his newest bodyguard's excuse that he needed to retreat to his chambers to meditate upon the vision, and Merlin had retired with a hasty bow.
He'd also instructed Owl to retrieve the recon skimmer even before he took leave of the prince, and given the quantity of thunder rumbling around the sky to disguise any sonic booms, the skimmer had made the trip at better than Mach four. The moment it arrived, the AI, at his command, had used its tractor to snatch Merlin from his chamber window and deposit him on the roof of Tirian's Tellesberg mansion instead. The trip through the wind-lashed rain and thunder, supported only by the tractor while lightning flared and hissed, had been an experience Merlin could have done without indefinitely. Unfortunately, h
e'd had no choice but to make it.
He'd arrived, still listening to the bug on Gray Harbor, about the time Tirian handed his father-in-law the brandy glass, and he'd been almost as dumbfounded as Gray Harbor himself by Tirian's calm admission of guilt . . . and by how long the duke had been an active traitor. As Merlin himself had told Haarahld and Cayleb, he couldn't see the past, and he'd had no idea Tirian had been plotting against his cousins for so long.
Which brought him to the present rather ticklish moment, confronting the King of Charis' first cousin and fifteen of his handpicked guardsmen in the Duke of Tirian's library.
* * *
"—take exception to your plans."
The Earl of Gray Harbor sat paralyzed in his chair, looking at the back of the man who'd exploded out of the night. The man he'd distrusted and resented . . . who stood now between him and fifteen armed men in the service of a traitor and would-be regicide.
"It would seem," his son-in-law said after what seemed a small eternity, "that I've underestimated you, Seijin Merlin."
Gray Harbor could scarcely believe how calm Kahlvyn sounded. The duke couldn't possibly really be that collected, that poised. Or possibly he could. Whatever else, the earl knew now that the man he'd thought he knew was in fact a total stranger to him.
"I could say the same, Your Grace," Merlin replied with another of those thin smiles.
The seijin stood quite still, his body language almost relaxed, ignoring the man whose hand and wrist he'd amputated as Hauwyrd went to his knees and his blood spread in a coppery-smelling pool. The seijin's own sword remained ready in his hands, in a stance Gray Harbor—no mean swordsman himself—had never before seen, and danger radiated from him like smoke as thunder rumbled and rolled overhead yet again.
"Certainly," Tirian said, "you're not foolish enough to believe you can somehow rescue my father-in-law and get out of this house alive?"
"I'm not?" Merlin sounded almost amused, Gray Harbor realized with a fresh sense of disbelief.
"Come now!" Tirian actually chuckled as his guardsmen moved slowly and carefully, placing themselves between him and Merlin. "There's no point pretending, I suppose. The way I see it, the only two choices you have are to join me, or to die. I'll admit, in light of my previous underestimation of your capabilities, that you'd make a formidable ally. On the other hand, I'd already planned on killing you, so"—he shrugged—"it won't break my heart to stay with that solution if you choose to prove stubborn. Before you make that decision, though, I'd suggest you consider it carefully. After all, what do you think the odds are of your managing to defeat fifteen of my best?"
"Better than average," Merlin replied, and attacked.
* * *
Frahnk Zhahnsyn was a veteran of the Royal Charisian Marines. He'd served for over eight years before he'd been recruited by a much younger Kahlvyn Ahrmahk to become a sergeant in the Duke of Tirian's personal guard. He was as hard-bitten, capable, and dangerous as he was loyal to his patron, and the men he'd assembled in response to Tirian's hasty note—armored in the same cuirasses and mail hauberks as the Royal Guard—were his best. Every one of them was a veteran, as well, and there were fifteen of them.
They'd heard the wild rumors about Merlin's rescue of Crown Prince Cayleb. They'd listened to all the tales, all the gossip, but they'd dismissed them as the sorts of absurdity to be expected when ignorant farmers or soft city merchants got together to discuss the shivery-shuddery details of such gory goings-on. They'd seen too much, done too much themselves, to be taken in by that sort of heroic fantasy.
That was unfortunate, because it meant that despite all the potential warnings, they had not the least idea what they faced in that moment. And because they didn't, the last thing they'd expected was for a single, outnumbered madman to attack.
* * *
Gray Harbor lunged up out of his chair in disbelief as the lunatic sprang forward.
The earl, too, was a veteran of far more combat than most, and the man who'd captained his own cruiser had summed up the odds against Merlin as quickly as Tirian or Zhahnsyn. Which meant the seijin's sudden attack surprised him just as badly.
But however insane it might be, the earl couldn't let Merlin face such odds alone. Not when he knew it was his own unforgivable stupidity which had led the seijin here to his death. And not when Gray Harbor's own survival might prove one more weapon against the king whose trust he'd betrayed by coming here in the first place.
His hand fell to the hilt of the gem-encrusted dress dagger at his hip. It was a pretty toy, but no less lethal for its decoration. The finely tempered steel scraped from its sheath, and then he froze, jaw dropping.
* * *
Merlin released the governors he'd set on his reaction time and strength, and his katana flashed with literally inhuman speed as he bounded a single long pace forward.
The first guardsman never had time to grasp what was happening. His head leapt from his shoulders before he realized he'd seen the blade move, and Merlin's wrists turned as he brought the blade flashing back across in a flat figure-eight. Another head flew before the first victim's knees had even begun to buckle, and then Merlin recovered, still with that impossible speed and precision, and drove the katana's chisel point straight through a third guardsman's cuirass—breast and backplate alike.
He twisted his blade, withdrew it, and leapt backward, recovering his original position and stance, all in the same flashing movement, before the first corpse had hit the floor.
* * *
Kahlvyn Ahrmahk's eyes went wide in disbelief as Merlin Athrawes savaged his guardsmen like a kraken rising hungry from the depths. One instant, the seijin was standing there, smiling at him. The next, the library exploded in blood, and then, suddenly, Merlin was back exactly where he'd been two seconds before . . . but he faced only twelve opponents.
Zhahnsyn and the other guardsmen froze. It wasn't cowardice, wasn't panic. It was simple surprise, and even that wasn't their fault. For just a moment, they stared at their three dead fellows, the water-dripping apparition which had killed them, and the blood spreading across the library's parquet floor in a tide of crimson. Then—
"Spread out!" Zhahnsyn barked, and the survivors moved forward, fanning out to envelop their single opponent.
* * *
Gray Harbor was at least as astonished as anyone else. He'd never imagined such speed and power, but he realized almost instantly that however lethal the seijin might be, he faced one fatal disadvantage.
He was trying to protect Gray Harbor.
He was like a single war galley, anchored to the defense of a fat, lumbering merchantman while a dozen scruffy pirates lunged and dashed at his charge. Not one of them could hope to face him in single combat, but they didn't need to do anything so foolish. As long as he was tied down protecting the earl, Tirian's men could choose their moment and coordinate their attacks, and there was nothing Gray Harbor could do about it. Even if he'd been properly armed, he would only have gotten in Merlin's way, and he knew it, however humiliating admitting it might be. But if he couldn't help, then surely there had to be some way he could at least—
"Look to yourself, Seijin!" he barked, and leapt directly away from the cautiously advancing guardsmen.
* * *
Tirian cursed as his father-in-law sprang for the wrought-iron spiral stair to the balcony catwalk that served the library's upper rows of shelves. The duke had installed that whimsically ornate creation as a gift for his wife on their third anniversary. Zhenyfyr Ahrmahk loved books at least as much as her husband or father ever had, and she'd laughed in delight at the absurdity of his surprise. Not that it hadn't been practical, as well; certainly it was more convenient for someone in long skirts than the steep, rolling ladders it had replaced.
One of the duke's guards recognized the earl's intent quickly enough to lunge forward, trying to grapple with the older man before he reached the stair. But his effort brought him into Merlin's reach, and the seijin's sword licked out wit
h that same blinding speed. It bit effortlessly through flesh and bone, blood exploded in a hot, stinking fan, and the guardsman went down with a wailing scream as razor-sharp steel sheared through the thick bone of his femur as cleanly as an ax and amputated his left leg three inches above the knee.
The other guards were slower to react, and Gray Harbor raced up the ornamental treads, dagger shining in his hand. From its top, he could hope to hold off even a sword-armed opponent at least briefly. More importantly, it got him out of the reach of any immediate threat.
Tirian's remaining guardsmen realized what that meant almost as quickly as the duke had, and their cautious advance became a sudden rush. They surged forward through their fallen fellows' shrieks, seeking to engulf Merlin before he took advantage of his sudden mobility.
But quick as they were, they weren't quick enough. Merlin made no effort to evade them; he came to meet them.