And so it went, the Grand Master’s approaching Mora in turn, seeking to buy his allegiance. Bribes were not directly offered, nothing so crass or obvious. Yussa increased his proposed ‘donation’ to twenty thousand aurins. Caspaar Viin of the School of the Hyacinth (wearing the mask of a Ruaadian emperor, accompanied by two women dressed as Imperial concubines) praised the lords newly established charity for the reform of prostitutes, offering thirty thousand aurins, as well as proposing that they should inspect the brothels together, to make sure the money was being put to good use. Miro Tamelan was the last, the Grand Master of the Tulip school approaching the table, sweeping off the mask of a snarling dog he was wearing to reveal a darkly handsome fellow with a carefully trimmed goatee and a waxed mustache. Their brief conversation ended with the School of the Tulip offering forty thousand aurins to help refurbish an old monastery near the city that long ago fallen into disrepair, an act of piety sure to win the favor of heaven.
All nonsense of course, polite fictions to protect the General’s reputation, Fenn wouldn't have expected any different. But to his eyes and ear two things stood out....first, that the General accepted all the bribes and left each Grand Master thinking that the mercenary leader was on his side.
And second, that all the bribes were being made using Galadornian aurins. Not a mention was made of payment using Kirondaalian marks. What that meant escaped Fenn at the moment, though it could only mean something.
Tamelan and Mora concluded their business, with the Arcanst returning to the crowd. Mora glanced back at Fenn. “I sense your confusion,” he said.
“My lord?” Fenn asked.
“You are asking yourself why I would take all their money and let each man walk away thinking I was theirs and theirs alone.”
“I admit to some curiosity, lord.”
“It is quite simple. If it is believed that I have thrown in my lot with one of the Schools, than the others will do their best to get rid of me. Do not be fooled by these Arcanists, young Fenndar. Scholars, in my experience, are experts at nursing grudges and seizing the opportunity to settle them. And all those Grand Master’s have assassins on retainer, and pay well for results.”
“I...see, my lord.” Fenn nodded, taking his eye off the floor for a moment. “If they all think you are their side, than none will strike at you.”
“Until I am ready to make my move. Ah, there you are!”
Fenn looked back to the floor. The General’s mistress was there, coming around the table, her mask reflecting the soft candle light. “My lord,” she said in a husky voice.” “The music is about to start, and you promised me a dance.”
“Ah...apologies, my love! But I fear I have taken too much wine this night, and would be a danger to all in the quadrille!” Mora then brightened, as a thought entered his head. “Dance with my bodyguard.”
“What?” asked Lady Kiala.
“Lord?” Fenn asked, confused.
“None of the schools will move on me this night,” Mora said with a laugh. “But I fear one of my lady’s many detractors in the city might take the chance to trip her on the dance floor or otherwise cause her a measure of shame! Which would reflect badly on me. So dance with her, and see that no one steps on her toes or pours a glass of wine down her dress. Heaven knows it cost enough…”
Lady Kiala’s face was hidden by her mask, but the expression behind it could not have been friendly. Fenn looked at her, then nodded. “As you command, my lord.”
He held out his arm. After a moment Lady Kiala took it, and he escorted her onto the floor. A few curious eyes followed them but most figured Fenn for another guest, perhaps a man of low rank who somehow wrangled an invitation, whom the beauteous Kiala favored with a moment of glory. A man in a red coat standing by the band tapped a heavy wooden staff on the floor three times, then waited as the guests sorted themselves out, men standing before women, bowing and curtying in turn.
“My lords and ladies,” he declared. “The next dance is the waldesear!”
The name meant nothing to Fenn, and he watched with alarm as men and women took side by side positions.
“Just follow my lead,” Kiala said, her husky voice taking on an odd echo below the mask. Fenn felt a memory scratching at the back of his head, just beyond the edge of recognition. He placed himself to her left, taking her hand and holding it high.
“This isn't a complicated step,” she said, as the music began, a slow, langrous turn, punctuated with a staccato drum beat. They stepped forward, stepped back, then the men turned to their right while the women remained stationary, placing left hands in right and turning about, the men remaining still as the woman turned.
“You move with grace,” she said. “A fast learner. Must be useful in our line of work.”
“As you say,” Fenn answered, concentrating on keeping pace and not tripping over his feet. Despite her words, he was clearly out of his depth, a step behind the others, and nearly tripping over his feet during a turn. Several couples nearby watched him, and he could sense the disdain behind their masks.
She sense his discomfort. “Never mind then,” Kiala said. “Overbred fools, soft as butter. Face them with steel in your hand, and watch how soon they befoul themselves. Take their contempt as a mark of pride.”
“Is that what you do?” Fenn asked through gritted teeth, stumbling through another turn.
She laughed. “Once,” Lady Kiala answered. “When I was younger, and weak. Power is the greatest shield, bodyguard.”
“The General is a powerful man, that is true.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Yes he is,” she said, sounding amused. “Very...powerful. But I wasn't talking about him.”
“Ah.” He didn't know how to reply, and so said nothing. The tune suddenly changed, the musicians switching from formal, languid tune to something faster and more high stepping, matched in turn by the dancers on the floor. A cheer rose up, and the pairs linked arms and turned about, the women kicking their feet high, flouncing their skirts, while the men stepped high Fenn did the best he could, raising his legs, doing his best not to kick anyone nearby. They turned about, and then Fenn felt a boot connect with his backside, sending him to the floor, barely missing another pair, who jumped back before they stepped on his back.
“Cretin!” the male part of the air snapped, while the woman glared at him through the holes of his mast.
“Sorry,” Fenn grunted, getting back to hs feet. Somehow the mask was still on his face, and he ignored the rude comments and insults, which were swiftly drowned out by the cheers as the tun ended.
“Sorry.” Kiala took his hand and bowed. “I should have warned. By the way, you’re supposed to bow.”
Fenn did as asked. “I should head back to my post…” he said.
The staff tapped again. “It is the midnight hour!” the master of ceremonies declared. “Masks...off!”
Another cheer, and masks came off their faces. Fenn undid the string tying the mask to his face and pulled away, just as Kiala ddd the same with hers.
“Let me see the man who defends my lord and love…” The mask fell free, and her big blue eyes started at his face, widening in shock. “You!” she spat out.
Fenn stared back. After a moment said her name, that terrible name. “Serrana?”
Chapter Eleven
The party swirled around them, yet in that moment Fenn and Serrana existed only to each other. Such a scene, when described in a written romance, or a minstrels song, would inevitably be a love story. But here was no love here, only hate mingled with unpleasant surprise.
Vannai Majaani, that was her birth name. The daughter of a fallen house of Galdorn that made the ghastly mistake of opposing the Incelidar’s when they overthrew the Republic of Notables that had run the city for as long as anyone could remember, and through their misrule nearly run it into the ground. Those who bent the knee to the newly-declared Prince prospered, those who opposed him lost all and fled into exile. She spent her childhood imbibing t
he desire to avenge her family’s downfall. When she became a woman returned to the city under, taking the name Serrana and becoming one of the most celebrated courtesans in the city, which gave her access to the highest circles of power and influence, many of whom had their own reasons to hate the Prince, or at least prefer his removal.
This led to a complex and convoluted plot to spark an insurrection, which Fenn found himself involved despite his best efforts. He’d ended up in bed with the woman (an admittedly pleasant part of the whole affair,) and then when her true nature was revealed, forced to risk his life and his reputation to save his own life, as well as that of Red Eye and Joelie, from Serrana’s schemes. The price was the loss of his old life of carefree thievery on the shady side, leading to his own exile.
She looked as beautiful as ever, even more so, her golden hair falling down her back, those big blue eyes that contained in them all the hopes and dreams a man might have for his future, the body of a goddess, flawless and perfect…
All a lie. The same beauty as a quivering viper, ready to bare her fangs and strike. Fenn ruthlessly pushed the merest hint of desire from his mind. The woman standing before him was in every sense the cause of all (or at least most) of his miseries, whose schemes left death and destruction in their wake. And judging from her reaction, she had no idea he was in Kirondaal.
Serrana recovered quickly. “Fenn Aquila,” she said, in that husky voice which made men weak in the knees. “I always knew you’d come back into my reach. Although this,” she gestured at the party swirling around them, “is the last place I would have expected gutter scum like you to show.”
“Turds float,” Fenn replied, one hand drifting towards the dagger in his belt. “I don’t stand out here. And you fit right in, my lady.”
The false smile disappeared from her face as quickly as appeared. “What are you doing here?” she asked, an edge in her voice.
“No, you first. What’s your business with Mora?”
“Lord Mora,” Serrana replied, “is a man of wealth and power, possessed of good breeding and other...useful skills.” Her voice became a parody of seduction. “Why, it’s enough that he might win my heart as well as the rest of my body…”
“The man is old enough to be your father...and is sharing his bed with a scorpion! What you up to, Serrana?”
Serrana closed in, looking him in the eye, the cold hate filling them. “This is my world, Fenn,” she hissed. “Go on, draw that knife, and see what happens! Or maybe I’ll scream my head off, tell the general his bodyguard threatened to murder me if I didn’t submit to his vile desires! They’ll have your head at the city gate by dawn, with your manhood shoved in your mouth!”
Fenn glared back. “Or maybe I’ll tell the General his whore has a price on her head in large enough to buy a dukedom. And anyone who brings you in will win the eternal favor of Prince Markus. He’ll have you in irons and on the next boat to Galadorn within the hour, and another woman taking your place in his bed!”
“Ah good!” Mora’s voice washed over them both, the general appearing behind Serrana, his face flush from drink and smiling. “I am glad you’re getting along so well. The man who protects my back, and the woman who...well, we won’t go into that! Was he a good dancer, my love?”
Serrana looked at him, then at Fenn. A long, dangerous moment passed, and Fenn began to calculate the odds of him having to fight his way out of this place.
“He was tolerable, lord,” she answered. “A better soldier than a dancer, I expect.”
“I would not have anyone else to watch my back.” Mora swayed slightly. Fedder appeared at his side, ready to catch his master should the drink overwhelm his balance.
Mora remained on his feet. “The evening is ending soon, Fenndar, so you can go and get what rest remains for this night. I will need you again in a few days. Oleyvac will give you the details, see in the morning.” And then to Serrana, he said, “I must make my farewells. Come visit me in an hour. Our night is not ended.” He gave her a lascivious wink.
Serrana simpered as he walked away, then rolled her eyes. “He’ll be passed out in his bed in half an hour,” she said with a laugh. “Saves me some work.”
Then, mindful that the General’s eyes were still them both, she leaned in and placed her hands on Fenn’s shoulders, a gesture of farewell that also conveniently allowed her to whisper in his ear, “Stay out of my way, you gelded whoreson. Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”
“Try it,” Fenn whispered back, “and I’ll cut that pretty throat of yours right to the backbone.”
She stepped back, gave him a dazzling smile and curtsied. After a moment, Fenn placed his hand to his head and bowed.
Two fighters, saluting each other before a duel to the death.
The next morning, Fenn returned to the barracks, where he found Captain Oleyvac well into his wine cups.
“Fenndar,” the officer said, slurring his words slightly. Wine sloshed out of a jug, refilling a clay mug embossed on one side with the image of a stooping hawk. The sigil of House Aquila...Fenn remembered some men in the regiment paying a potter to make a batch of them as a keepsake.
“Captain.” Fenn as the man took a mouthful from the mug. “Have you had any breakfast?” he asked.
“You’re looking at it.” Oleyvac set the cup down and wiped his mouth with a rag. “Best meal for a man like me, these days. Fills the belly, fires the blood...and dulls the wits. What more could a man ask for?”
Self-pity wasn't something Fenn had a lot of patience for, but he held his tongue for now.
“Lord Mora sent you,” Oleyvac said.
Fenn nodded. “He said there was something else that needs to be done.”
“Ah there. But tell me Fenndar, are you ready to jump off the edge if it makes you an extra penny? Sell yourself into dishonor for gold that spends as easily as it is given?”
Fenn said nothing, waiting and watching as Oleyvac fed his anger with wine. “Do you remember that contract we took at Raspilar?”
It took Fenn a moment to recall that campaign. Raspilar… a town in Ubriam. “Bandits,” he said. “The town burghers hired us to chase down some robbers working the roads around it. We were only there for two weeks, then our lord took us away, right after we were paid.”
“The contract was for three months,” Oleyvac said. “They wanted us to patrol the roads and deal with the brigands. Easy work if you can get it...but like all easy money, there was a catch. Those bandits were working for one of merchant’s of the town, he was using them to attack wagons belonging to his rivals. He approached our lord and said they should join forces and drive out the other burghers. They could take the town for themselves, and Lord Aquila could rule it as his own. The merchant even offered to pay the cost of the venture, and threw in one of his virgin daughters for our lord to wed. I saw the woman, and she was a looker, so that was a true bonus.”
“Lord Aquila was an honorable man,” Fenn said.
“Aye, he was. Backhanded the wretch, informed the rest of the burghers, and then marched us out before any of those scoundrels could drag us into more intrigue. He knew honor was the only wealth that mattered. Honor comes hard and is easily lost, but when a man has it the world his to walk. But when he sells it for gold or power, he is no more than a whore and will die a whores death. The world would be a different place if there were men like him wearing crowns.”
“No argument from me, Captain.”
Oleyvac glared at him. “Lord Mora is a great man,” he said. “But not an honorable one. Those bloodless fools who brought him into the city, those squabbling scholars of the Schools who can’t see the world beyond their towers, they are about to learn this.”
A long silent moment. Then Fenn said out loud what Oleyvac was telling him. “Mora intends to seize power.”
“From the moment the Arcanists disbanded the city militia and brought him in, they sealed their fate. Chickens driving out the watchdog and hiring the fox to guard the henhouse. The look on
their faces when they find they are the meal is the only good thing that will come from this sordid mess.”
Fenn frowned. “The Grand Masters spent a fortune last night on bribes,” he pointed out. “Each school gave him enough coin to keep the city in wine and cake for a decade.”
“Playing them against each other. No doubt each one thinks they’ve bought him for their side. Instead they’ve given him the coin to pay for his putsch. The ax that takes the head from their shoulders was paid for with their own money.”
“I didn’t think Mora was that devious. He’s a good soldier, and treacherous as any lancorail. But this kind of intrigue seems a step above the man I warded last night.”
“Look to Kiala.” Oleyvac picked up the mug, then set it back down with a sigh, seeing it was empty. “I shouldn’t drink so early in the morning…”
“Lady KIala is behind this?”
“She feeds his ambition. Oh, make no mistake, Mora wanted this the moment he came to Kirondaal. But it was that bitch who came up with the plan.”
Fenn waited for the captain to divulge the details, but Oleyvac stood up, swaying slightly. “Shouldn’t drink so early in the morning…” he repeated. “Right...make yourself known at the General’s house this afternoon. There’ll be squad waiting for us as an escort.”
“For what?”
“To pick up the General’s bribes.” Oleyvac swayed a bit, then sat back down.
Fenn saw the misery on the man’s face. Oleyvac hadn't changed, not really...and that was the problem. He was at heart a man of honor, trapped in a place where it wasn’t valued and indeed was a liability. Serving a man he despised, in a scheme was foul by his lights. And worse of all, there was no way out.
Lord Aquila was a man of honor. He’d held to his virtue in a cruel world far longer than one might have expected. But he died in the end. Oleyvac was walking the same path.
This could be useful, Fenn thought to himself.
Chapter Twelve
Oath of the Thief Page 13
