“Sorry for not knocking,” Artanna said with a wide grin. “But it looks like you have a problem with etiquette, too.”
The killer cursed to himself.
Copper yelled something at him in Ennian, and the assassin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Gregor was about to jump forward, but he was stopped by the mercenary.
“Easy, Your Grace. That’s enough bloodshed for one day.”
“But…”
“It’s a lot more complicated than you think,” Jert said gently. “Let me handle this.”
As the mercenary spoke in Ennian, the unwelcome guest’s blade drooped lower and lower.
“Why can’t you talk in our language?” Artanna asked in annoyance.
Copper switched to the imperial tongue and addressed the duke.
“This gentleman is prepared to surrender. Isn’t that the case?”
“I am,” the killer nodded. “At least, once I finish what I started.”
He turned suddenly toward Brother Aristid, threw up his dagger, and pounced. Unprepared for the lightning attack, the monk didn’t have time to step back, and the blade buried itself easily in his flesh before slipping right back out. The monk dropped the useless candlestick and slumped down onto the bed. His light robe started leaking blood.
Gregor roared and threw himself at the assassin, the latter picking up a sword and parrying the duke’s first attack. Looking down at his knives, Jert shook his head—throwing them would have been too dangerous, and his scimitar would only have gotten in the way. Artanna caught his eye, muttered something to herself, and motioned for him to stay where he was. Brother Aristid slid to the floor. His hands clutched at his shoulder.
The duke attacked, though his wide arc caught a table loaded with potions. Flasks flew everywhere and shattered all over the floor. Then, the assassin counterattacked, though Gregor blocked it and threw his whole weight against his sword. The pair locked against each other. Artanna tossed her sword aside, leaped up behind the unwanted guest, and threw an arm around his neck while jabbing a dagger from her belt into his side.
“I hope that convinces you to put down your sword,” the Vagran grunted, continuing to crush her victim’s neck. Her metal-fettered bracer pressed against his throat and Adam’s apple.
The assassin wheezed and threw down his weapon. A second later, he took a powerful hit to the gut—Gregor was a strong guy.
“Do we need him alive?” Artanna asked Jert.
“Not necessarily. He’s from Rex Gerifas, so he won’t talk. That’s how they train them.”
“But you said, that was enough bloodshed for one day,” the mercenary woman shrugged as she let go of the man. The latter crashed to his knees, his hands pressed to the bleeding gash in his side.
Voldhard slipped his sword into the man’s chest, and he collapsed, twitched, and croaked. Bloody saliva gurgled out of his mouth.
Jert grunted approvingly.
“I think I’ll do my best to avoid angering Your Grace.”
“Brother Aristid needs help,” Aldor said. “The wound is straight through his shoulder.”
“Could be worse,” the monk hissed, gritting his teeth from the pain. “It’ll close up quickly, though it would help to clean and dress it.”
“I’ll send for help.” The baron got up and looked around at the chaos in the chambers. “We’re going to have to get all this cleaned up, regardless.”
The monk tried to sit up. But Gregor held him down, instead placing a pillow behind his back.
“I have no idea how you found out, but praise the Keeper you were in time. I wouldn’t have been able to hold him off for long with nothing but a candlestick,” Brother Aristid said.
The duke found the fallen rosary and handed it to its owner.
“Perhaps your prayers helped. Keep it up—you’re good at them.”
The monk smiled, though it was a crooked smile. The wound was really bothering him.
“I definitely will.”
Artanna wiped her blade on the bedspread and returned it to its scabbard. She looked tired, but she felt even worse. The Hundred, after all, had lost yet another warrior, and on the first day of a peaceful watch. It was a disappointing start. Gart, his name was. A good swordsman. Artanna was going to have to write to the elder in the village where his family lived, tell them what happened, and send them as much silver as she could scrape together. Really, she was starting to hate the idiotic tradition she’d started. Her conscience wouldn’t let her, however. Consciences just cause problems.
Jert stepped over to his commander.
“You’ll be looking for an explanation, I imagine?”
“How insightful.” The Hundred leader’s mouth was bone dry, and she looked around for something to drink. “I saw a pitcher of wine around here somewhere.”
“Just a warning: it’s going to be long, and there will be plenty of foreign words.”
“We’ll get by.”
“I imagine I won’t be getting much sleep today?”
“Neither will I,” Artanna replied with a sigh. “What a night, huh?”
The Ennian squinted before smiling broadly.
“I’ll say this: you got lucky with me.”
“I’m not sure about that yet,” the Vagran shot back before turning toward Aldor.
The chambers filled with the sound of footsteps and clattering weapons, not to mention alarmed voices. Suddenly, it got awfully crowded in the room with all the servants and guards. Their bloody footprints covered the floor. The archchancellor barked orders, the monks hovered around Brother Aristid, Gregor said something to the captain of the guard. The latter shook his head guiltily and spread his arms. Artanna almost felt bad for him.
Then, on the windowsill, Artanna saw a pitcher. Praying for there to be wine in it, she wiped a metal cup with the edge of her sleeve and headed over. But when she caught a glimpse of the stained glass Rolf had gotten her, she had a hard time not hurling her cup at it. Ellisdor was filled with memories.
Her reverie was suddenly broken by a surprised shout from the other side of the room.
“She’s awake! The ambassador woke up!” one of the servants shrieked.
Gregor forgot everything else and threw himself at Irital’s bed.
“Merciful Gillenai!”
The ambassador blinked slowly and shook her head, trying to focus. An attempt to pull herself up onto her elbows ended in her flopping back onto the pillows helplessly. Voldhard wrapped his arms around her, whispering something into her ear. Irital looked around the room in dazed surprise.
“What happened?” she croaked.
“That’s a long story,” Gregor replied with a smile.”
“You think so?” Jert asked. “Deep shit just about covers it.”
The duke paused to look at Copper before tucking the blanket in around Irital and standing up. His hand on his sword, he went right over to the Ennian.
“You did a good bit of work today.”
Jert bowed respectfully.
“I’m happy to help Your Grace.”
“You were successful even where the baron and I were not.” Ice formed in Gregor’s eyes, and both it and his tone alarmed Artanna with their familiarity. “You found the guilty prisoner, got her to talk and give up her secrets. You helped stave off yet another assassination—and all in just one short evening. Very impressive. Or suspicious.”
The Ennian’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s nothing surprising about that. I’d be happy to tell you how it happened.”
“Oh, yes, you’ll tell me,” Voldhard replied with a cold smile. “You’ll have every opportunity to do so, just not here. Take him to a cell.”
The last line was delivered to several guards. Artanna, however, jumped in front of them, her hand also finding her sword.
“Hold it right there, boys,” she hissed. “What’s going on? Gregor!”
“Sorry,” the duke said, turning to the confused mercenary woman. “I’d feel better if he spent some
time alone before we sit down to talk.”
Two powerful guards grabbed Jert by the arms and dragged him out of the room.
“Commander, what the…” Copper yelled. He tried to hook his feet on the threshold, but fell silent when he took a hit to the stomach.
The Vagran went over to the duke.
“Seriously, Gregor, what are you doing? We didn’t talk about this!”
“Just a normal precaution. You said yourself that you don’t trust him.”
“Like any other mercenary. That’s not this, though. Copper saved the ambassador’s life, and you’re throwing him in jail?”
“This isn’t up for discussion!” Voldhard barked. “Nobody said I’m going to keep him there. He knows something about these assassins, and I don’t want him to start talking before he should.”
The mercenary went over to Gregor, pressed herself against his shoulder, and whispered in his ear.
“Today, because of you, I lost one man, and you threw another in a cell. And that’s before we even signed an agreement. Until that happens, the Hundred is subject to the laws of Givoi, not your whims, even if you are the duke. If anything happens to my man in your cell, you’ll have to dig yourself out of the shit you’re in without my help. And you’ll do it after you answer for this in court.”
Gregor laughed nervously.
“That’s going a bit far, Artanna. I’m the law and the court here.”
“I protect my people.” Artanna didn’t twitch under Voldhard’s heavy gaze, though she instinctively gripped her sword. “And I’ll protect them against anyone.”
The duke took a step back.
“I protect mine, too, and that’s why Jert is going to tell me everything.”
Chapter 28. Missolen
Ihraz burst into the treasurer’s chambers. Lahel’s brows shot up in surprise.
He doesn’t usually get worked up over little things.
“What’s the hurry? Did someone poison the Eclusum courtyard well? Burn the fleet in Rion?” Demos asked, his pen not pulling away from the scroll he was writing in.
“The chancellor is dead.”
Devaton put everything down and looked up.
“When?” he asked finally.
“About an hour ago. Old Cainitch brought the news.”
“Bring him here.”
“No need.” The bodyguard stepped to the side, letting in a wizened old man looking not much younger than Irving Allantain himself. Demos got up to meet the chancellor’s faithful servant.
“My sympathies.”
“That’s not why I’m here, Your Grace. I’m under orders to fulfill the last wish of my master.”
“And it has something to do with me?”
“Well, the letter is definitely addressed to you. I was ordered to wait here until you finish reading it. I have no idea why His Grace wanted it, but I’m supposed to stand here and wait.”
The old man’s hands shook. Demos took the letter with the seal in the shape of three spears plunged through a fiery heart. Lahel offered the servant some water, and the latter downed it gratefully.
Is it really time to let me in on your little secret, Irving? You couldn’t even wait for the funeral, you old bastard?
The treasurer carefully broke the seal. After casting his eyes over the first few lines, and without looking up, he barked an order in Ennian.
“Kill him.”
Lahel, who was closest to Cainitch, stepped over quickly, kicked him in the back of his legs, and dropped him to his knees. A second later, the vertebrae in his neck crunched and broke.
“Thanks,” Devaton said coldly, glancing over at the body. “That guy has to disappear. Forever.”
The servants nodded and dragged it into the other room without asking questions.
I wouldn’t have been able to explain it, anyway.
Left alone, he read the letter.
Kill the person who brought this letter. Immediately!
Okay, Demos, I’m dead.
At first, I was worried about bringing you into this, but I soon realized that I couldn’t not share with you what I know. You’re the only person in the entire palace that I trust. And so, son, you have a choice: forget or jump into a game I don’t even know who all is playing.
Emperor Margius and the late Lord Governor Godo Dermid did not die of natural causes. The three of us paid for our overly romanticized view of the empire’s future. Our efforts to bring reform played a cruel joke on us, showing that even the most influential people in the empire cannot change its course. We were idealists and lost, which is why I refuse to let you make the same mistakes we made in our time. That’s why I want you to one day understand the key I gave you and use it for its intended purpose. I know you’ll crack my riddle.
I covered my tracks as best I could, even having you get rid of Cainitch, to make sure their attention isn’t drawn to you. When he left, I poisoned myself. I’d like to die on my own terms, even if that means I don’t find my way to the Crystal Hall. Cainitch knows some things himself, and the best thing for him right now is a quick death. My old friend earned his place in the heavens. And you, meanwhile, will stay here on earth, with all the responsibility placed squarely on your shoulders. Make sure our death was not in vain.
As the little-known but talented poet Anrey Konlaokkh wrote, “Happy is he who, upon going, sees his peace.” And I finally see mine.
I hope you’re in time. But, whatever you decide, I beg you to be careful.
Irving
Demos held a candle to the letter and tossed it onto a silver tray. The paper burned fitfully, clinging to life.
Almost like me.
Then, he pulled the chain and its octagonal pendant out from under his clothes, looking it over once more. He peered at it from different angles, dabbed nail cream on it to see if there were any secret openings, and found nothing. Demos still couldn’t remember where he’d seen something like it. With a sigh, he tucked it back under the collar of his tunic.
Chapter 29. Ellisdor
The cold, slippery stone that made up the hole Jert had been tossed into wasn’t lit. A chill ran through the Ennian. Lazily, he kicked a rat away from the tray holding the remainder of his food, leaving the rodent to squeak indignantly and retreat into the far corner.
There was a quiet whisper in the corridor, but Copper, no matter how hard he strained his ears, couldn’t make out who was talking. Finally, a key turned in the lock, and the hinges creaked. The strip of bright light exploded in his eyes—they’d already gotten used to the dark. All Jert could make out was two silhouettes in the doorway.
“Half an hour, that’s it,” boomed an unfamiliar voice. “They’ll be coming back then, and I’ll have to run.”
“Got it. That works.”
The Ennian recognized Artanna’s voice with surprise.
“I’ll knock when your time’s up.”
“All right,” mumbled the mercenary as she closed the door.
Barely into the cell, she pulled back instinctively from the smell. The torch she was holding crackled.
“Hey, Commander!” Jert said with a smile. “You’re coming to take a run at me, too?”
“You smell fantastic.”
“Sorry,” Jert shrugged. “Bean porridge, you know.”
“I hear you. There was a whole orchestra in the outhouse afterwards. I think you could hear them from the Crystal Palace. How are you?”
“I’ll make it,” came the quiet reply.
Artanna tried to look him over, but there wasn’t enough light. The Ennian’s clothes were caked with dried blood, and there were several scrapes and bruises on his face. A split eyebrow completed the picture. On the other hand, it didn’t look like there were any serious wounds.
“Anything broken?”
“I don’t think so. Even my nose is in one piece.”
“I see that,” the Hundred leader replied, nodding. “Lucky son of a bitch.”
“Got anything to drink?”
; Artanna unhooked a skin from her belt and handed it to the Ennian.
“I have more questions than time, my dear. If they catch us, it’s going to be very awkward, so let’s keep this quick.”
“How did you get in here? They aren’t letting anyone in to see me.”
The Vagran smiled mysteriously.
“It turns out, there are still a few people in this damn castle who don’t think I’m a traitor. One of them helped. The service is going on in the Shrine, and everyone here is very devout. The perfect time.”
“Why aren’t you listening to the preaching, or whatever you all call it?”
“I don’t follow the Way.”
Jert’s brows shot up.
“I was sure you believed, what with how much time you spent in Highligland.”
“There was a time when I did, and I even took my vows.” Artanna’s tone told the Ennian that she wasn’t going any further. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be the one to ask the questions.”
“Okay, Commander.”
The Vagran tossed her dirty cloak on the floor and sat down in front of her man, eying him carefully.
“You’re in trouble, Copper. Big trouble.”
Jert looked around the cell with a smile on his face.
“I actually figured that out already.”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the woman shot back. “You’re in my brigade, so your problems are my problems, too. And while you’re nobody to Gregor, he knows me. I’ll do my best to protect you if you give me a good reason and stay honest with me. But hurry—the duke has a temper, and he very well might lop off your good-looking head before I can do anything about it.”
She was right. Gregor Voldhard was clearly neither patient nor judicious, and so Jert didn’t bother arguing.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
“What is Rex Gerifas? Does that have something to do with the assassination?”
Copper leaned his back against the wet wall and shivered from the cold.
Dancing on the Block Page 23
