Tal ordered a brandy from Darkmoor, and sipped it.
The pungent, bittersweet liquor warmed as it went down.
As he stood silent, he felt the dark emotions that had overwhelmed him earlier that night rise up again, and he used every mental trick taught him at Sorcerer’s Isle to fend them off. Then he pushed away his unfinished brandy and went to the door.
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Outside, he glanced around and judged that it was six hours or less to dawn. He walked slowly, waiting for Amafi to catch up with him.
He heard footsteps approaching rapidly from behind and turned. But instead of his manservant, he saw a figure in black clothing leaping at him, dagger drawn.
Tal’s almost unnatural reflexes were all that saved him.
He stepped aside just enough so that the blade missed, and he was borne down to the ground, grappling with his assailant.
Tal gripped the man’s right hand with his left while he reached down to his own belt. The man’s body kept Tal from reaching his dagger, so Tal reached up and clawed at the man’s eyes.
The man pulled his head back, grunting in pain, then suddenly he stiffened, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he went limp.
Tal saw Amafi standing above the now-dead assassin.
Amafi used the man’s cloak to wipe his blade clean, and asked, “Magnificence, are you all right?”
“Fine, but feeling like a fool. I heard him behind me and assumed it was you.”
“I saw him leave an unfinished drink at the gambling hall, Magnificence, as soon as you did, so I knew he was up to no good.”
Tal knelt by the man and examined him. He was slender, with unremarkable features, wearing a black tunic, grey trousers, and cloak. He carried nothing to identify him; no purse and no jewelry, just a sword and dagger.
“Who was he?” wondered Amafi.
Tal motioned for his manservant to accompany him.
“Let us away before someone else comes by. I do not want to spend the night talking to the Sheriff of Salador.”
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“The important question isn’t who he was, but rather, who sent him.”
Amafi said, “You have enemies, Magnificence.”
Tal nodded. “I do.”
They hurried back to the house, and every step of the way Tal realized he was feeling something new. He was feeling what it was like to be hunted.
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BETRAYAL
Tal lunged.
He struck his opponent easily, and the crowd in the galley applauded. He saluted his opponent, then the Master of the Floor.
The House of Blades was a modest establishment compared to the Masters’ Court in Roldem. Instead of dominating an entire city block, it was a single building of some size, but it lacked the complex of rooms, had no bath, and offered few of the amenities seen in Roldem. It was not subsidized by the King of the Isles or the Duke of Salador, but rather had come about as a private club for noblemen seeking to hone their skills. While frontier nobles and garrison soldiers had ample opportunity to train under the watchful eye of a swordmaster, those nobles of the court in cities such as Salador were often left to their own devices when it came to the art of the blade. Mem-
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bership was not inexpensive, but Tal, as Champion of the Masters’ Court, had been invited as a guest and granted full privileges as long as he resided in Salador. It was a canny move, Tal conceded to Amafi when he got the invitation, for his attendance sparked a renewed interest in membership among the younger nobles and sons of wealthy commoners.
And as had been the case in Roldem, many daughters of wealthy families and young girls of noble birth now found watching dueling practice to be a fascinating pastime. His first visit to Salador, while mastering the role of squire, Tal had been merely a young noble of promise.
Now he was famous, or infamous if the story of his affront to Prince Matthew was known, and the dashing young squire from the west was considered among the more eli-gible of the young courtiers in the city.
He had made his one obligatory journey to the Duke’s castle, a relic of ancient days, large and drafty, despite many attempts to refurbish and modernize the place. The present Duke, Duncan, a distant cousin to the King, was a bright-eyed man in his late sixties, who welcomed the young squire to the city and offered him any help he might need, all the while communicating that it would be in poor taste for Tal to ask for anything.
The Duke’s son, Laurie, stood next to his father, quietly amused by the entire affair. Tal had caught a glimpse of the young man on a couple of occasions. Unlike some noble sons, he didn’t appear to waste his time and energy on too much drinking, women, or gambling. On one occasion, Laurie had been escorting a young woman of unusual beauty—later, Tal had discovered she was the daughter of a nobleman in service to the Duke of Krondor—and the other time, he had been quietly gambling for modest stakes at one of the better establishments _______________
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in the city, again with the same young woman at his side.
The young lady was rumored to become the next Duchess of Salador. Tal had never seen Laurie touch a drink besides water. City gossip labeled the next Duke of Salador a modest young man of quick wit, ample skills, and a steady nature. The only remarkable quality he possessed was an unusual gift for music, as he played several instruments and sang with a strong, pleasant voice, talents in-herited from his great-grandfather, according to city lore.
Tal wished that circumstances permitted him a better chance for acquainting himself with the young man, but it seemed unlikely. Laurie appeared the sort who would steer clear of notorious acquaintanceships.
Tal crossed to where Amafi waited with a towel and clean tunic, and said, “Well done, Magnificence.”
“Thank you, Amafi.”
It had been almost a month since the attack outside Ruthia’s Palace, and so far there had been no repeat of the attempt. Amafi had some contacts in the city and had tried to discover the name of the assailant, which might lead to discovering who paid him. So far he had discovered nothing.
Tal’s life since then had been a constant cycle of working out at the House of Blades, dining at the better establishments in the city—though he ate at home often, given Lucien’s talent—accepting invitations to various social gatherings and festivities, gambling, and spending time with a variety of charming ladies of rank.
As he paused to consider what to do next, leave for the day or try one more bout, a stir in the crowd heralded the arrival of someone else of note. Tal watched with interest as half a dozen ducal guards entered, followed by a retinue of courtiers, then Duke Varian Rodoski. For a brief instant, Tal felt self-conscious. He had considered the pos-
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sibility that the Duke and he would encounter each other, but had not anticipated it might be in a location similar to the place of where Tal had humiliated the Duke’s cousin, Prince Matthew.
The Duke was a young man, no more than thirty-five years of age, and darkly handsome; he had reputedly been quite the rogue with the ladies until his marriage to a noblewoman of Kesh seven years ago. An unfortunate riding accident had widowed the Duke two years previously, and he genuinely mourned the loss of his wife. Now, according to gossip, his only vice was an occasional gambling binge, wagering on horses or watching Guild League Football. Otherwise, he was a devoted father to his two children, a daughter of six and a son of four years.
He was dressed for swordwork, wearing the traditional heavily padded jacket, tight leggings, and slippers, and he was carrying a rapier. At his side a servant held his dueling helm, a metal basket that protected the face and neck
from accidental cuts.
The Duke caught sight of Tal and nodded; then as if thinking of something, he walked toward him. When he was a short distance away, he stuck out his hand in greeting. “Squire. It’s been a while.”
Tal was taken off guard, but after a moment’s hesitation, he took the Duke’s hand, bowing slightly. “Your Grace. Yes, it has.”
The Duke had a face that looked untouched by guile or pretense. He leaned over to whisper, “You know, not everyone in the family was angered by how you humbled Matthew. The only thing I wonder was why someone didn’t do it sooner. He can be an unbearable prig one minute and an excruciating bore the next. He’s as annoying as a fly in the pudding. Did him good to have his bottom thumped. His mother should have done so years _______________
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ago.” Then he paused, and smiled at Tal. “Sir, would you care to engage me in a bout?”
Tal smiled back. “You’re serious, Your Grace?”
“As serious as a kick in the rump, Squire.”
Tal nodded, grinning. “It will be my honor, Your Grace.”
The Duke said, “Just don’t thump me the way you did Matthew, and we’ll get on famously.”
“My word, Your Grace,” said Tal.
They took to the floor and the crowd immediately started a low buzz of conversation. The two men squared off, and the Master of the Floor said, “Gentlemen, first to three touches.”
The match was almost predictable, given that Tal was a vastly superior swordsman to the Duke. But he refused to take several openings, and allowed the Duke to work on his technique. At last the match was over, and the Duke said, “Well done, Squire. Your generosity is most appreciated.”
As they walked to where servants waited to help them off with their padded jackets and provide towels, Tal answered, “My pleasure, Your Grace. Besides the fact that I regret my intemperate outburst with your cousin, you are an experienced swordsman. Should your duties in office not have put such excessive demands on your time, I suspect you might have been one of the better opponents I would have faced at the Masters’ Court.”
“You’re too kind, sir. I entered once, when I was young, and was ceded the thirty-second place,” said the Duke as he toweled himself off. “That was due to rank, I’m afraid, and they did me no service. I was humbled quickly by the first opponent I faced. I think it would have been better to let me struggle in the earlier, open competition.”
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“It is a better way to learn than being quickly ousted,”
agreed Tal as he handed his towel back to Amafi.
“If you are not hurrying off, perhaps you’d join me for a cup of wine across the street, Squire. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
Tal looked at Amafi, and said, “Fetch my clothing.” To the Duke he said, “My honor, Your Grace.”
“Say half an hour?”
“I will be there.”
Tal changed and found his way across the street to an inn called the Cutting Edge. It was a favorite of many of those who were members of the House of Blades. He found that a private room in the rear had been secured for the Duke’s use, and had been there only a few minutes when Duke Varian arrived.
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The Duke made small talk while the wine was served, then sent his servants outside. He inclined his head toward Amafi, and Tal nodded to Amafi that he was to wait outside, as well.
When they were alone, Duke Rodoski said, “So, did Kaspar send you here to kill me, Squire?”
Tal kept his face immobile, then feigned shock. “Your Grace, is this some sort of dark jest?”
“Hardly,” said Rodoski. He sipped his wine. “Don’t be so confoundedly proud of yourself, Talwin. Your master is not the only one with agents crawling over every port and city of significance in the region. Roldem has arrangements with several other nations to share information when it’s mutually beneficial. Your visit with Prince Janosh was just a little too timely relative to the demise of Princess Svetlana. I’m not sure how you did it, but . . .”
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He shrugged. “While I had no enmity with her, I also don’t particularly miss her.”
“Why in the world would you presume I had a hand in it?”
“Because it is exactly Kaspar’s style, Squire. And because I know what Kaspar is really up to, and I suspect you do not.”
Tal sat back, interested. He had studied Kaspar’s ambition, and most of what he did made little sense in terms of a larger picture. The assassination of Princess Svetlana did make sense from a tactical point of view, since it secured a stable border for Kaspar as he turned his attentions elsewhere, but why Kaspar wanted Rodoski dead still made no sense to Tal.
“Let me draw you a map,” said the Duke, sticking his finger in the wine. On the table he drew a rough outline of the Sea of Kingdoms, then a line from Roldem to Aranor. Then from Aranor to Opardum. “It is only six short steps from Olasko to Roldem. Now do you understand?”
For a moment, Tal didn’t. What did the Duke mean by six short steps? Then it dawned on him. Softly he said,
“Kaspar means to be King of Roldem.”
“You’re a bit brighter than most,” said Rodoski. “Kaspar is a more than competent general, an extremely talented administrator, and a charismatic leader who can get idiots to die for him. He’d make a wonderful King of Roldem, except for the fact that I’m rather fond of my family—even that idiot Matthew—and along with seeing them stay alive, I also would like to see a ripe old age. Hence, I must frustrate Kaspar’s plans.”
Tal wanted to deflect attention from himself for a moment longer while he scrambled to devise a story to keep himself out of harm’s way, if possible. “If what you say is true, why all the military activity in the north? Kaspar _______________
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wiped out the Orosini, brought Latagore to heel, and is moving against Farinda.”
“Kaspar wants to put his army on the border of the Kingdom in a place where King Ryan has no choice but to respond by marching an army from Ran and Rodez up there to meet him. To protect Ran and Rodez, he will need to dispatch troops from Dolth; to protect Dolth, soldiers from Euper, and so on until the garrison from Salador is on the move.
“Kaspar won’t need an army to seize control of Roldem. He’ll have wrung concessions out of his cousin, Prince Phillip of Aranor, and he’ll have disposed of the other six claimants to the throne before him. In short, he will arrive in Roldem with little opposition and a great deal of support, not only from agents within the King’s court already loyal to him, but from others anxious for an orderly transition in government.
“King Ryan will quickly recognize the finality of things and acknowledge Kaspar’s legitimate claim to the throne. He might even consent to marry the lovely Natalia as part of the bargain. The Isles recognition of Kaspar’s reign will keep Kesh at bay.
“It’s really quite a wonderful plan, except for the fact it will not be allowed to happen.”
Tal sat back. Something didn’t make sense to him. “It sounds marvelous, very complex and subtle and the like, but it seems to me that if you were certain of this plot, you wouldn’t be sitting here drinking wine with me, Your Grace. I’d be dead already.”
The Duke knocked loudly on the table. The door flew open, and a pair of crossbow men entered with their weapons leveled at Tal. “Don’t try to draw your sword, Squire. You might just reach me, but I doubt it.”
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Amafi being held tightly by two men, one with his hand clamped over the manservant’s mouth, while another held a dagger at his throat. Tal sat back, slowly raising his hands above the table.
“You’re right, Squire. If I wanted you dead, you’d be
dead.” He paused. “You are a goat.”
“Sir?”
“To capture a tiger, you stake out a goat and wait.
Don’t you consider it odd that Kaspar would send you to this city, for this festival, so soon after your debacle with my cousin, and so soon after your visit to the court of Salmater? Could it be any more obvious?”
“You still have no proof,” said Tal.
The Duke laughed. “I need none. If I wish, you’ll be found floating in the harbor at dawn, and the strongest reaction that will come from Duke Duncan will possibility be a note of condolence to your cousin the Baron.
“But I will not kill you. I will send you back to Kaspar in chains and let him decide what do to with you. For you failed him utterly, Squire.
“You see, you were not supposed to kill me. I was supposed to kill you, while the real assassin found me after I was convinced I was safe.”
“Real assassin?”
The Duke snapped his fingers, and from outside a man was carried in. He had obviously been beaten to the point of insensibility and was hanging limply between two more guards. “Do you recognize this man?”
Tal struggled to put a name to the man, but couldn’t.
But he did look familiar.
“He’s an officer in Kaspar’s garrison.”
“Prohaska!” Tal whispered.
“So, you do know him.”
Tal sat back. “Not well, but I recognize him.”
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“Like yourself, he is a man of many guises. While in Salador, he was calling himself Coshenski, a trader from Olasko Gateway. Very influential friends got him an invitation to the Duke’s gala on Midwinter’s Day.”
Tal said, “You obviously have good agents in Olasko if you knew he was coming.”
“Yes,” agreed the Duke. “But you were a gift.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tal.
Duke Varian said, “We were supposed to find and kill you, Talwin. You were given up to us so that I would be caught off guard when your compatriot Prohaska killed me at the gala.”
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