Dancing on the Block

by Marina Barinova

  Gregor Voldhard glanced at his cousin with a mixture of surprise and distrust, though he didn’t say anything. Irving coughed.

  “So, Lord Demos, you suggest we study every tome in the imperial libraries in order to find a rebuttal to or confirmation of the Duke of Highligland’s claim to the throne.” The old man’s brows were raised. Demos, in turn, could have sworn that the chancellor was thoroughly enjoying the game, what with the enormous stakes in play. “Well, as you are known to be a frequent visitor there, I move that we give this assignment to you and the supreme justice.”

  Ha! You want the initiative to collapse around the initiator? Don’t even think you’re going to get me like that.

  “Not at all.” Demos smiled again, the pink folds on the burned side of his face glistening. “Regardless of the warm feelings I have for Lord Gregor, I remain his rival. It would be far more reasonable to give the job to Lord Shast’s justices.”

  Who can always be bought or gotten rid of. Plus, books burn just as easily as last wills.

  The supreme justice twisted his face into a grimace, though he didn’t dare object.

  “An excellent idea,” he said instead. “My people will do their best.”

  Demos furtively rubbed his aching leg under the table. The stuffiness had invaded even the hall they were in, and his thinking was starting to cloud. His migraine intensified; his stomach turned. With an effort of will, he forced himself to straighten up and address the chancellor.

  “I’d like to remind everyone that Eclusum is home to an expansive library with thousands of books and scrolls. The legal codes we inherited from the moment the empire was founded should be there.” Demos’ temples pounded, and he was seeing stars. “Given the delicacy of the situation, would the great master be in favor of a visit by the justices?”

  Ladarius smiled radiantly.

  “All you have to do is ask, Your Grace. Eclusum will do all it can to help. The church, after all, is nothing without the state, and it is our goal to strengthen the empire.”

  Of course, since I’m not the only contender for the throne—there’s someone from the Order who will be easy to manage. But I need to buy time right now, and this is my only move.

  Irving nodded approvingly.

  “Excellent idea, Lord Demos. We’ll split the job up between the laymen and the servants of the church in the hopes that we will find clarity that much faster.”

  But why does it not occur to anybody that even the holies can be bought? It’s just a matter of their price.

  Gregor plopped down onto his chair in relief. He looked exhausted.

  Oh, you’ll howl and beg to be sent back to war if you happen to become emperor. If.

  The chancellor stood back up and addressed Gregor after looking around the room with a tired look in his watery eyes.

  “So, it’s decided. The justices and masters will study the legality of your claim, though I don’t see any reason to keep Your Grace in Missolen until they’re finished. Return to Highligland and defend the border from Rund attacks. You have my word that the Small Council will send word as soon as we have clarity.”

  And at that point, we’ll think up a plausible reason to artfully rid ourselves of you.

  “Needless to say, until the new emperor is crowned, order in the empire will be kept by the Small Council,” Irving continued. “Today’s meeting is adjourned.”

  The advisors pushed back their hard chairs with a quiet murmur and a look of indescribable relief on their faces. Demos stood up, leaned on his cane, and nearly lost his balance on the slippery floor. Gregor hurried over to help his cousin, grabbing him by the arm. The Highliglander leaned over to Devaton’s ear.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Would you have done anything differently?”

  “I’m nobody to you.”

  Demos spread his lips into a creepy smile.

  “You’re wrong. You, Lord Gregor, are my cousin and rival.”

  “If that’s true, why did you make it harder on yourself?”

  You have a point. But this is the move, so I’m seeing it through.

  “Oh, Your Grace, honesty in politics is like the legends about demons who have never walked our lands. Win or lose, I want to do it with dignity.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected such honor here,” the Highliglander replied with surprise.

  “People are full of surprises, Lord Gregor. My advice to you is to avoid judging books by their cover,” Devaton shrugged. “Especially in the White City.”

  The Ennians met Demos as he walked out of the hall. Both Ihraz and Lahel had their faces covered with the usual colorful handkerchiefs.

  “Ennians… You have good guards.” Gregor glanced at the scimitars Demos’ companions were armed with, his interest unfeigned.

  “And, fortunately, not given to speech. My mother was born in Ennia, and they were her best present to me.”

  “I hope they protect you, cousin. Goodbye.” Voldhard bowed grandly and disappeared around a corner.

  If only they could protect me from myself.

  Looking around, Demos noticed Irving talking about something with Shast and Faruhad, his tone animated, while Ladarius floating gracefully by to join his entourage. He gave a final blessing to the advisors.

  Demos squinted over at the chancellor’s lively conversation.

  You bought us time, but we can’t underestimate Gregor Voldhard. I’m afraid I still don’t understand who we’re up against.

  Chapter 20. The free city Givoi

  “The viceroy would only like to see Tanor and Artanna.” The guard cut every word cleanly from his position blocking the entrance to the town hall. “Only the leaders, you idiots!”

  The Hundred leader was lounging right there on the wide wooden steps, her eyes on the Brotherhood leader as he bickered with the adamant guard. She did her best to calm herself down, though her hands betrayed her nerves. Anyone watching carefully would have seen her fumble irritably at the sleeve she’d rolled up her left arm—she couldn’t figure out where her bracelet had gone.

  Artanna was beside herself. It may have been just a bauble, but her arm felt bare without it, and the simple silver band was all she had left from her family. Even her two exquisite Vagran daggers had been given to her by Lord Rolf. For whatever reason, the duke often gave her different trinkets from her homeland, most likely in an effort to keep her spirits up. But in all the years they’d spent together, Rolf had never realized that she didn’t miss home. To the contrary, once out of the country, the Vagran girl did her best to erase the first seventeen years of her life, adjusting instead to new ways. What’s the point of holding on to the past if you can’t bring it back? Still, Artanna had never been strong enough to say goodbye to all her memories. That was why she never took the bracelet off.

  Ultimately, the memory of who you are can occasionally save your worthless behind.

  The Hundred fighters had made themselves comfortable on the steps and railing next to their commander. Some were smoking pipes, others were checking their blades, still more were glaring over at the Brotherhood rabble. Artanna had five hirelings with her; for some reason, Tanor had brought a crowd. That had the merchants nervous, not to mention their customers, and everyone’s mood was ruined on what was a warm spring day.

  “Is he really afraid of us now?” The Vagran woman squinted at Tanor, smiling coldly when their eyes met.

  Shrain was cleaning his nails with a small knife. “He probably wants us to be afraid of him. His head has always been a few sizes too big.”

  “It helps that Tanor is predictable, unlike his deputies. The Chironis have me worried,” Vezzam said as he kicked a small rock down the steps. “That’s the real brotherhood—not Tanor, but those slippery Gatsons.”

  Artanna grabbed Shrain’s knife and stuck it in her boot.

  “You can usually find common ground with Gatsons. They like to talk.”

  “Sure, while one’s talking your ear off, the second comes around be
hind you, pulls out his knife, and…” The giant drew a finger across his throat. “Get the pyre ready, sing the funeral hymns—he was a good guy.”

  “Don’t let him behind you, and everything will be fine.” Artanna stood up, looked past Shrain’s shaved head, and frowned.

  “What’s that?” Vezzam asked.

  “Our recent acquaintance.”

  Jert came over slowly, bowing in a clownish greeting. His scimitar’s elegant hilt glinted in the bright sunlight.

  “Hi there, Commander.”

  “What do you need? We don’t have time for you right now.”

  “I missed you,” the Ennian replied with a smile. “Actually, I’m here to help.”

  “Isn’t that a bit too much to expect from a stranger?”

  The midday sun was so blinding that Artanna was having a hard time really looking the Ennian over. His smile broadened even further.

  “I surprise myself, too. But be honest—you need me right now,” he replied, and Vezzam exchanged a glance with Shrain. “I’ll tell the viceroy everything I saw.”

  Artanna leaned forward, her expression intrigued. Their new acquaintance was tall and built well, if no giant. His gait was easy, his movements measured like a trained fighter.

  “You do realize that you’re going to turn half Givoi against you in one fell swoop if you join my side, don’t you?” the Vagran asked.

  The Ennian looked up at the sky and sighed.

  “Do you really think I care? I already picked a commander, and if you come with a few enemies lumped in, so be it. That’s the cost of doing business.”

  “Things certainly move quickly with you.”

  “Oh, stop it. You’re going to like me. Anyway, whose blood do we use to sign the contract?”

  “Easy there, I haven’t agreed to anything yet. You promised me something…”

  “The important thing is that I saw something. The night before your healer was killed, three people were following him. That’s why I’m here.”

  He was interrupted by the thick oaken doors of the town hall creaking open, and a second later Guiro stepped out of the building’s gloomy interior. The Vagran woman pulled herself to her feet in a hurry. Tanor, in turn, finally shut up, turning to look at the viceroy’s aide expectantly. Guiro measured up both mercenaries with a long glance before inviting them in.

  “Signor Kirino is expecting you. Hand over your weapons.”

  Artanna handed her men her daggers and sword, pulled knives out of both boots, and, after pausing to think, slid a slender chain out of her pocket, one that often found a use for itself. Tanor did the same. In fact, a count’s armory would have been envious of his arsenal.

  Jert relaxed on the stairs a bit farther away, closed his eyes, smiled as the warm sunlight bathed his face, and completely ignored the proceedings.

  “Sit here. They may call you later.” The mercenary woman nudged the Ennian with the toe of her shabby boot before nodding to Shrain and Vezzam. “Try to make sure those two don’t kill you. I’m not a big fan of bodies.”

  “That’s odd, considering your profession,” Jert replied lazily without so much as a glance in the woman’s direction.

  The viceroy was awaiting his visitors behind a long oaken table. The elongated hall on the town hall’s second floor was heated by the midday sun, the doors to the balcony thrown wide, and a light breeze carrying in the smells and noises of the street. Artanna sniffed as she sat down on a bench polished to a shine by hundreds of important behinds. Tanor sat across from the viceroy at a safe distance from the Vagran. His leather pants creaked ominously.

  Kirino looked cheerful, though he was wearing a cloak made of wool that was unusually thick given the weather. Pendants resplendent with amethysts dangled from a heavy chain that stretched from shoulder to shoulder. Placing his elbows on the table, the viceroy leaned his head on his hands.

  “God as my witness, I don’t want to see a war in the city today,” he started quietly.

  “Nobody would make money if that happened,” Tanor smiled.

  “We can bargain later,” Artanna cut in. “As soon as we figure out why a peaceful person and honest healer was killed in Tanor’s territory, presumably, by his people.”

  Tanor looked at the Hundred leader indignantly.

  “Is that how you speak with the viceroy?”

  “I wasn’t talking to him. We’re here to figure out what happened, and I want to hear your excuses in the presence of Signor Kirino.”

  The viceroy looked like he’d just bitten down on a lemon.

  “I’ll admit, Madam Toll’s statement is correct,” he said. “We checked it out—I’m afraid the healer by the name of Rianos, who served in the Hundred, was killed on land entrusted to the Brotherhood.”

  Tanor clenched his fists and started to rise slowly from the bench.

  “I’d keep the genie in the bottle if I were you,” Artanna said as calmly as she could, given the circumstances.

  “Oh, I think the bottle is more your thing.”

  “Enough!” Kirino brought a fist crashing down on the table with surprising force. “We get the same circus every time with you two. I’m waiting, Master Tanor. Why was the foundry quarter not under guard the way it should have been?”

  “I swear, my people were sent there. A patrol of three mercenaries took their shift after dinner, all according to the schedule we have in our books,” the hireling replied, pulling a small paper out of his jacket pocket and handing it to the viceroy. “I looked over everything yesterday myself, and our clerk made a copy. We had Rindu the Rotten, Seryan the Limp, and Sagmo Crooked Scar on duty. They didn’t see anything.”

  Artanna raised a brow and looked over at Kirino expressively.

  “Interesting… Very interesting, in fact.”

  “Do you have something to say, Artanna?”

  “Yes. Today, I had someone tell me they saw the healer that night, and you know what the best part is, Tanor? He’s sitting downstairs and waiting to be called.” Artanna glanced over at the Brotherhood badge lying in front of the viceroy.

  “You have a witness?” Kirino asked with a frown.

  “Yes, an Ennian named Jert. He says he saw three people following Rianos that night.”

  The viceroy nodded.

  “I’d like to speak with him.”

  “If my fighters haven’t broken any of his bones yet for his insolence, we can arrange that,” Artanna replied with a wave toward the balcony. “He’s out there.”

  The viceroy looked past Tanor at Guiro, who was standing by the door.

  “Federigo, please invite the witness up.”

  The aide bowed wordlessly and disappeared behind the oaken door. Kirino turned his colorless eyes on the Brotherhood leader.

  “Master Tanor, doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “It seems odd to me that some foreigner wants to set me up!” the mercenary shot back, then jabbed a finger in Artanna’s direction. “Or maybe you hired him to make me look like an idiot in front of the viceroy! I’m telling you, Signor Kirino, those three have been with me for a long time—I know them. They’d never kill without my orders, especially someone from the Hundred, and I didn’t give that order.”

  “You didn’t give the order to kill Vazash, the carpenter, and he’s still dead,” Artanna replied.

  The viceroy stared at Tanor. “Only your troops can shed light on this convoluted story. Call them immediately.”

  Tanor shook his head gloomily.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Signor Kirino.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They’re missing. Rotten, Limp, and Crooked Scar, all three of them.”

  “That’s convenient,” the Vagran said. “Smart enough to make a break for it, I guess.”

  “And what, in your opinion, would make them disappear?” Signor Kirino took a swallow of wine before looking over at Artanna. The woman tracked Tanor’s every move warily. “People don’t just vanish.”

  The
Brotherhood leader creaked in his pants as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard bench.

  “I have no idea, Signor. Those louts got paid regularly, but they’re hirelings. Throw a few gold coins their way, and they’ll sell their own mother, not to mention abandoning the brigade. I don’t know where they went.”

  The oaken door creaked open. Jert walked in, with Federigo behind, shooing him in. Artanna was finally able to examine the foreign guest and found that he was a physical specimen. His permanent smirk tightened the tan skin on his cheeks, his cheekbones stood out, and his narrow green eyes were framed by a network of wrinkles. There was, however, something behind the feigned joviality, though Artanna had no desire to dig any deeper. The Ennian smiled amiably to Kirino and suddenly bowed so gracefully that it looked like he’d spent his whole life bending before noble masters.

  “Have a seat, Master Jert.”

  “I don’t mind standing.” The foreigner’s slipped over to Artanna’s neckline. “Some things are better seen from above, you know?”

  The Vagran rewarded him with a withering look.

  “You were called to tell your story about the healer, the one you saw the night he was killed,” the viceroy said. “Be so kind as to repeat everything you told Lady Toll.”

  Jert squinted, staring at the Hundred leader. The latter pulled herself away from contemplating the fireplace, arched her brows, and shrugged, motioning for him to speak.

  “Bring me the Holy Book,” the Ennian said. “I follow the Way, and I’m prepared to swear that I’m telling the truth.”

  Kirino looked at the foreigner in surprise.

  “I heard they don’t worship the Keeper in Ennia.”

  “No, but I like him. I started my journey in the Sifares temple thirteen years ago.”

  “All right,” the viceroy nodded. “Federigo, have the book brought.”

  The Ennian quickly and fluently said a prayer in the ancient tongue to everyone’s amazement. His imperial was good, too. Too good for a simple soldier from Ennia, the kind of person he wanted to appear to be.

  “I didn’t see much,” Jert started. “Forgive me, Viceroy, but I wanted to try pashtara that night. The locals said there was a place not far from the foundries where they sell it, and as I was walking there, I saw the healer carrying a loaded basket. Three hirelings were following him at a distance—I recognized the Brotherhood chevrons.”