“Yes,” she managed, “yes.”
The Parnen smiled. “Ah, then it is good between us, Miss Caulia, but it will be better still before the night is done. Good is good, after all, but great…” He paused, shrugging. “Well, let us find out together, shall we?”
“Yes,” Maladine said, surprised to hear the excitement in her own voice.
“Would you like to hear my single, overriding philosophy on life, Miss Caulia?” the Parnen said, his voice soft and strong at once.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she leaned in even closer so that their mouths were only inches apart.
“Very well,” the Parnen said. “It is that, in any matter great or small, a wise man will always put pleasure before business. For it is why we exist, is it not?”
Maladine grinned, her face flushing. “Yes.”
The Parnen smiled wide. “And so I have told you my secret, the guiding principle of my life, yet the words do not do it justice, not truly. Come,” he said, offering her his hand, “let me show you.”
***
You really should relax, Aaron. Nathan won’t thank you for wearing a hole in his floor from all your pacing.
Aaron sighed, walking back to the table where Darrell and Caleb waited and sat in one of the empty chairs. “They will be alright,” Darrell said. “Leomin strikes me as a clever man, and Wendell is not without his own…resources.”
Aaron grunted. “Well, they’d better be, Darrell. We’ve spent nearly two weeks in this damned city, and we’ve got nothing to show for it. Another week, two at the most, and then we’ve got to start heading back to Isalla either way. Those bastards Grinner and Hale won’t wait around forever. If this doesn’t work…” He finished with a shrug. They all knew well enough what would happen if the plan failed, so there was no use saying it. Without proof to show to the leaders of the alliance, the armies would leave and there would be little hope left for the people of Telrear. Anyway, it had been his plan and, if it failed, it would be his failure. The thing about failures, though, was that it was rarely only the men who failed that suffered for them.
“It is a good plan,” Darrell said as if he knew what Aaron had been thinking, “it will work.”
The youth, Caleb, nodded. “Based on what factors we understand, I calculate a one in four chance of success.”
They both turned and looked at him then, and the youth ducked his head low, clearing his throat. “That’s um…actually quite good. Under the circumstances.”
Aaron was not a man used to waiting, to not being in control. For the majority of his life, he had kept others at a distance, relying only on himself. Since then, he’d learned the importance of friendship, of having people who you would die for and who would die for you. But some habits were hard to let go, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing out into the night himself to make sure that Leomin and Wendell were alright.
Aaron, you’re pacing again.
Aaron looked down and was surprised to find that the Virtue was right, though he didn’t even remember rising from his chair. He was just about to sit once more when he heard a key turn in the tavern’s door, and the two men walked inside, Leomin with a wide smile on his face, Wendell looking tired and irritable.
Aaron hurried to the two men and for all their talk and feigned calm, Darrell and Caleb were close behind him. “Well?” he said. “How’d it go?”
“Wouldn’t be askin’ that if you had to listen to all the screamin’,” Wendell muttered, clearly annoyed.
“Friend Wendell,” Leomin said, turning to him, “we’ve gone over this. During the act of lovemaking, passions run high, and it is not so unusual to hear such ‘screams’ as you call them.” He smiled as if remembering. “Though I myself find them to be more of some grand masterpiece, a music all their own.”
“It ain’t screamin’ in general that I mind,” the sergeant said, “it’s just that I’m used to hearin’ it mostly out of the woman. And what need did I have to stand right on the other side of the damned door, anyway?”
Leomin cleared his throat. “The Lady Maladine was quite…vigorous, and they were not screams, dear Wendell. Manly roars of passion perhaps but no more than that.”
Aaron frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but the sergeant beat him to it.
“Sure sounded like screams to me. And that still don’t explain why I had to stand by the door, folks walkin’ down the hall lookin’ at me like they done found a fly in their beer and I’m it. All the while me standin’ there not knowin’ whether to grin or look serious, or which’d make me look less like a man needs the city guard called on ‘em.”
Leomin sighed, “A servant would not abandon his master’s company and would be sure to stay within shouting distance, in case he was needed.”
“Speakin’ of that,” Wendell said, his expression darkening, “what was all that callin’ me ‘Servant,’ anyway? You get to drink, get laid, and I don’t even have a gods-cursed name?”
“Yes, that,” Leomin said, suddenly looking embarrassed, “well, I thought that it would give our story a touch of…verisimilitude.”
Wendell frowned in confusion. “Veri-what? Never mind, I’ll tell you very. I’m very pissed off about the fact that while you gallivanted and screamed like a girl woken from a nightmare, I didn’t even get so much as a drink.”
Leomin cocked his head. “If you had wanted a drink, friend Wendell, you needed only to ask. I would have been happy to have ordered one for you.”
“Yeah, well, that’d be a trick wouldn’t it,” Wendell growled, “considerin’ as not only do I not have a name, but I haven’t spoken a word since I was a gods-cursed child.”
“Ah, right,” Leomin said, “well, surely a bit of embellishment was called for to—”
“Enough,” Aaron said, holding up a hand, “gods, enough already. Just tell me how it went. What happened?”
They all sat around the common room of the tavern as Leomin recounted the evening’s events in precise—and often painful—detail, with Wendell jumping in from time to time, usually with a muttered curse. By the time the Parnen was done telling his story, sunrise was only a few hours away, and they all looked exhausted. “Alright,” Aaron said, nodding, “so you got her attention. That’s good.”
“I’ll say he did,” Wendell muttered, “about three or four times. Not that I was counting.”
Darrel raised an eyebrow at the scarred sergeant. “Forgive me, Sergeant, but it seems as if you were counting.”
The sergeant shrugged. “Not much else to do, standing outside that damn door half the night.”
Aaron couldn’t help but grin as he spoke. “And did she say anything useful to us? Does she know anything about what’s going on?”
“Don’t think there was much talkin’ going on, you ask me,” Wendell said. “Some screaming—Leomin, that—and that was about it.”
Leomin scowled at Wendell before turning to Aaron, his expression sobering. “Maladine did not know any specifics, of course, for whatever is transpiring in the castle she is not a part of it, of that much I can assure you. Still,” he said, hesitating, “she said some things that I think you will not like.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow, waiting, and the Parnen nodded. “During the times between our…bouts,” he said, clearing his throat, “Maladine confided that the king has not been acting like his normal self of late. She explained that he was once given to tantrums and would shout angrily at his counselors, lashing out when any subject arose for which he found distaste. Even his advisor, Caldwell, she claims often talked of him as if he were a fool behind his back. But since arriving back from his battle with Isalla, Maladine says that the king’s demeanor has…changed.”
Aaron leaned forward, feeling that he knew what was coming but needing to hear it anyway. “Changed how?”
“Boyce Kevlane,” Caleb breathed, and they all turned to look at him curiously. The boy seemed to shrink under the attention before finally shrugging his shoulders. “Pal
endesh told me about him. He’s not a nice man at all.”
“No, Caleb,” Leomin agreed, “he is not a nice man and, I’m afraid that your thoughts mirror my own. Maladine doesn’t know of Boyce Kevlane, of course, at least not as anything more than a children’s story, but she told me that since he’s been back, the king has been acting differently. No longer does he seem like an ill-tempered child determined to get his way, but a man of utter confidence, one who speaks and expects nothing but to be obeyed.”
“I see,” Aaron said.
The Parnen sighed. “The truth is, it’s more than that. It wasn’t just what she told me, but the way she told me—Maladine was afraid, Aaron. I grew to know her some small bit in the time that I was with her, and I do not think she is one to frighten easily. But Belgarin—or, at least, the man posing as Belgarin—scares her very much indeed.”
“It’s Kevlane,” Aaron said, knowing it was true even as he said it. “it has to be.”
The youth, Caleb, nodded. “Yes, Palendesh agrees that there is a nine in ten chance that the man ruling in Baresh is no longer King Belgarin.”
“But if that’s the case,” Darrell said, frowning, “then what has happened to the real Belgarin?”
Aaron sighed, sitting back in his chair. “It seems clear enough, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the table at the confused expressions of the other men then turned to see the youth nodding to him. “Look at what we know,” he said, turning back to the three men, “we know that Boyce Kevlane would do anything to cause more pain and suffering, to have as many killed as possible.”
“You especially, I imagine,” Wendell said, “on account of you throwin’ him out that window.”
“It was a balcony,” Aaron corrected, “but never mind. You’re right enough. Even in the fight for Perennia, when it looked as if Belgarin’s army might be pushed back, Kevlane—still injured from his fall from the balcony—showed up and jammed the gate in an attempt to ensure Perennia was conquered.”
“Ah, right,” Darrell said, a small smile on his face, “and this, as I recall, is the treachery that prompted the idiotic heroics that you took part in, is it not? Charging out of a defensible position and a natural funnel into an army of thousands?”
“Right,” Aaron said, scowling at the swordmaster, “but you’re missing the point. Despite Kevlane’s efforts, the walls held and Belgarin’s army retreated. Knowing what you know of Kevlane, how do you think he felt about that?”
Darell’s smile faded, and his eyes grew wide. “But why? Why would Belgarin retreat in the first place?”
Aaron shrugged. “We don’t know. We may never know, and it doesn’t really matter in any case. What matters is that he did. I can’t imagine Kevlane was too pleased about that, and it certainly wasn’t in his plan. So he had to improvise. Not that much trouble, I’m sure, for a man who can wear any face he wants.”
“Wait a minute,” Wendell said, frowning in concentration, “are you saying that this ancient wizard, what, exactly? That he took Belgarin’s place? And you ain’t never said what happened to the real prince. What is he squirreled away in some closet somewhere?”
“No, Wendell,” Aaron said, “I don’t believe so. I believe that, on our return to Perennia, I will have to let Adina know that she has lost another brother.”
“Damn,” the sergeant said, “but I wouldn’t want to be a royal right now. Bastards are dyin’ left and right.”
They lapsed into a brief silence then, each of them nursing their own thoughts, their own worries, until finally Leomin spoke. “So what do we do now, Aaron?”
They all turned to look at him, and Aaron felt a flash of irritation. Why him? He’d only ever wanted to be a sellsword, that was all. To make a little coin and be left alone. Why was all of this suddenly his responsibility? Why did they look to him for answers as if he had any to give?
My father often asked himself the same question, Co said into his mind.
And what answer did he come up with, firefly? Aaron thought, because I’m out of them.
He never found one, the Virtue said, her voice musing.
Aaron grunted. Thanks for that, lightning bug. You’re a big help as always.
I believe you’re missing the point, Aaron. It was not important whether or not my father was able to convince himself. Others were convinced for him. Sometimes, a man does not choose his path, but the world chooses it for him. In such times, with such men, the only thing to do is walk the path before you, wherever it may lead.
And sometimes, Aaron thought back, the world doesn’t choose a man’s path any more than he does himself. Sometimes, it’s a fucking glowing ball of light.
Yes, Co said, amused, sometimes.
Aaron sighed, meeting the eyes of the waiting men and boy. “Our goals haven’t changed. Now, more than ever, we have to make it back to Isalla with proof of what’s happening.” He frowned, considering. “We will need all the help we can find, in the days to come.”
“There’s still somethin’ I’m not getting,” Wendell said, scratching his head in a confused way that would have been comical under other circumstances. “If all that you say is true and Boyce Kevlane has really taken Belgarin’s place, then why hold a tournament? Seems to me that the man would be concerned with marchin’ his army back toward Perennia not sittin’ on his ass and eatin’ pastries while fools play at war. Not exactly the actions of a man whose whole goal is to conquer the world.”
“You’re wrong, Wendell,” Aaron said, dreading what he had to say next, “they’re exactly the actions such a man might take.”
“The disappearances.” They turned to see the youth, Caleb, sitting with his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, his eyes wide. “Gods, but I should have seen it sooner.”
“Wait a damned minute,” Wendell said, “what disappearances, the ones in the city? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Go on, kid,” Aaron said, “tell them.”
The kid shook his head, his face going pale. “Those men and women that were disappearing, they weren’t just leaving or being murdered in some back-alley squabbles or crimes. They were being taken on purpose. Gods,” he said again, “Bert as much as told us. Only the strong, he said, only the fast. Men and women in prime physical condition. Men and women,” he said, turning to Aaron, “who would make the best test subjects.”
“Yes,” Aaron said, “whatever may have happened in the past, whatever promise Kevlane made to Aaron Caltriss, it is clear that he’s broken it. He has begun his experiments once again. The tournament is nothing but a ruse to draw in candidates for his experiments.”
“Aaron,” Darrell began, “if this is true…”
“Not if, Darrell,” Aaron said, “it is true.”
“Very well,” the swordmaster said, nodding his head again, “but this is no normal tournament, Aaron. From what Nathan said, the purse is several times larger than any that has ever been offered before.” His expression grew troubled. “For such a fortune, men and women will travel from all over the country.”
“Yes,” Aaron said, “and that’s exactly what Kevlane is hoping for.”
“Well shit,” Wendell said. “It doesn’t seem to me…”
A strange feeling of something being suddenly, terribly wrong overcame Aaron, and though the sergeant continued to speak, his voice seemed to come in an indecipherable whisper. Co, Aaron thought, his heart speeding up in his chest, what is it?
I don’t…the Virtue began, her own voice confused and afraid, but she trailed off into silence.
The others were saying something else, but Aaron might as well have been alone in the room for all the notice he took of them. His mind was on that feeling of strangeness, of wrongness that had come over him so abruptly. He reached down into himself, gathering up the power of the bond and, not knowing how he did it, he sent tendrils of power questing out around him in all directions. Where they touched the others, he felt their emotions, their worries and their fears. Then he reached furt
her, the tendrils of power, visible in his mind’s eye as thousands of extending strands of magenta light, stretching past the men, past the tavern itself and out into the city.
At first, there was nothing, and he thought that perhaps he had imagined it after all. Not wholly convinced, he dug deeper into the power, gritting his teeth as he strained against its invisible force, closing his eyes and bending over the table as he did. For several moments, he still felt nothing. There was only the darkness around them, a city draped in fear, its citizens lying in their beds afraid that they or someone they loved would be the next ones taken. He moved past those hundreds of worries, hundreds of fears, and searched further, bending his will in the direction from which he felt the disturbance had come.
Nothing. Only darkness and emptiness until—there. He felt something, felt it and, in that instant, knew it for what it was. Not an emptiness, not exactly. It was as the feeling of something half-formed, something incomplete. A creature that had once been a man but was no longer, one who’d had that which made a man taken from him, ripped from him as he screamed his tortured agony, his voice falling only on the ears of those who did not care about its pleas or its pain.
“Aaron.”
Aaron jerked back in his seat, gasping for breath, his eyes snapping open. “What?” he said, momentarily disoriented as he turned to the scarred sergeant.
“I said, is everything okay, sir?” Wendell asked.
Aaron, it’s comi—
“Run,” Aaron croaked, his eyes wide, and the others only stared at him as if he was possessed by some spirit of madness.
“Aaron,” Darrell said, “what is—”
“Run, damn you!” he bellowed, rising from his chair so fast that it fell backward. It was then that the door to the tavern gave a warning creak and exploded inward in a shower of splinters and shattered wood.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
“I still think this is a bad idea,” Adina said.
“Look at you,” May said as if she hadn’t heard, standing behind Adina in the tailor’s looking glass, a pleased expression on her face as if she were some proud mother shopping with her favored daughter. Adina wondered if any of the criminals May spent her life dealing with would have recognized her during the last hour that she’d spent clucking and tutting like a mother hen over the dresses Adina tried on.
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