“Why?”
“Because I was tired.” The officer chuckled. “And so were you.” He moved away and turned, leaning his shoulders against the wall. “We’re five, Kendras. That’s enough. Don’t give up on me now.”
“No.” Kendras closed his trousers, shuddering with the memory of the officer’s lips there. He’d want that again. Wanted the man again, wanted to hear those sounds again. It wasn’t the worst thing to fight for. “I don’t know when Widow will make his move.”
“Soon.” The officer pulled him close again and placed a kiss on Kendras’s lips. “Once they turn the stone…,”
“… the scorpion is ready.” Still dazed, Kendras gathered up his leathers, then realized that his dagger was missing. How on earth the officer had taken it, he didn’t know, but the man merely gave him a grin.
“Makes more sense, doesn’t it.”
Yes, if he’d been anybody else, the officer could have gutted and killed him without even breaking a sweat. He didn’t believe that anybody had forced the officer into anything down here. Maybe he’d chosen to play along, maybe he’d scratched an itch, but the officer wasn’t and would never be a slave that anybody used.
Chapter 15
“THAT sounded like fucking wildcats,” Widow said when Kendras came back from the cell. “He still alive?”
The guard next to Widow looked a little worried.
“I just prefer them when they have a little spirit,” Kendras said. Widow gave him a strange look. It took a while until Kendras realized that what he’d seen in Widow’s eyes was respect. Sick bastard.
“You got enough?”
“Yes, for the moment.” Kendras tightened the strings of his leathers near his groin, noticed that the guard stared and then hurriedly looked away. He took his time to fasten the strings, longer than strictly necessary.
Widow huffed laughter. “I’m thirsty now.” He sauntered off, and Kendras followed at a distance. He hated leaving the officer behind, but he’d already tested his luck today. “When will you act?”
“I’ll have a look around the city first.” Widow tapped the side of his nose. “It’ll have to happen when they are distracted. A running herd is easier to prod into a panic.” He grinned sharply. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be quite busy yourself. Just make your way out of the city. I’ll find you.”
“And he?”
“We’ll both find you. Your officer isn’t a beginner, you know.”
“I know,” Kendras muttered.
They arrived back at his quarters, and he saw two temple guards waiting outside. Kendras was tempted to just keep on walking and pretend he wasn’t the man they were waiting for. But the way they turned their heads told him that particular ruse might have worked on their grandfathers, but these knew how to suck eggs.
“See you later,” he said to Widow, who strolled onward and past the soldiers, without seemingly a care in the world. Knowing Widow, that just meant he was planning something really, really unpleasant.
“Kendras,” the larger of the guards said. “Follow us.”
Kendras obeyed the order. They didn’t seem unfriendly so much as inexperienced. No guard worth his leathers would just turn around, making it easier to kill him—and both of them did. These men didn’t expect a dagger or a kick. In their world, people obeyed their orders just because they wore shining polished armor with blue.
They led him down the corridor and further up. Two sets of stairs, and Kendras sank into rich carpets. Gold and silver leaf covered almost all surfaces. Marble gods held water basins that overflowed into open artificial brooks that crossed the ground.
One of the guards then knocked on a door, announced him, and then very nearly pushed him through.
Inside, in a room that was wide open to the warm night, were several men. Steel stood near the balcony, looking watchful. The high priest stood, a wine cup in his hand, and wearing lighter, more casual robes that were wide open at the front, displaying a lean, very nearly bony chest and a large blue precious stone in a silver medallion. His wide, long sleeves brushed the ground when he moved.
In the chair, the only man sitting was a large warrior clad in burnished bronze, who turned toward him. Kendras lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
The man was Jaishani, dark-skinned, pure-bred, with blue eyes. On the table in front of him stood the mask helmet he’d worn. The visor was finely made to look like the man’s features, just more handsome and silver rather than black. The ornate shoulder pieces of the bronze armor were a contrast to the rest of the king’s guard.
This was the captain, who was called Smoke or Old Smoke on the streets of Dalman. Kendras didn’t know where the nickname came from, only knew the man was as accomplished a warrior as he was loyal. He’d almost died in a fire once, protecting his king, and looking at the scarred side of his face, Kendras could believe that. Kendras managed to not nod at Old Smoke in recognition—to the captain, he was nothing but some mercenary, or worse, a common street thug.
“Captain, this concludes our little conversation about the security of the king,” the high priest said softly. “I assure you that your king is in the best hands imaginable.”
Smoke’s gauntleted hand suddenly jerked, and he hit himself on the armored chest. He choked; his fist hit his chest again.
“Ah, yes, the wine.” The high priest turned a glittering gaze toward his own cup. “I better not drink more of it than my body can withstand, shall I?” He smiled the sweetest, coldest smile that Kendras had ever seen. “It is rather bad for the heart, I’ve heard.” The smile remained in place as he motioned to Steel. “Finish him off if you would. I can’t see him suffer needlessly. The poison takes a while to kill.”
Steel drew a short sword and stepped to the captain, who staggered to his feet. “Let’s not ruin the armor,” Steel said, then took the captain’s arm, lifted it, and plunged the short sword into the gap in the armor in the man’s armpit, deep into the body, making Kendras almost wince.
The movement was smooth and deadly, and Steel stepped to the side and released the sword, knowing that nothing could save the captain now.
Nevertheless, Smoke tried. He reached across his chest and tried to dislodge the sword, pulled it half-free, then stumbled and fell. Again he fought, fought to get to his knees, pushed himself up, coughing, spluttering, reached for the table but didn’t quite manage.
The high priest watched him with faint interest. “As I was saying… but those hands aren’t yours, captain, I regret to inform you. And wherever you are going now, and if there is reason where that is, you might wish to prepare for the arrival of your master.” The high priest watched as the captain finally collapsed with rolling eyes, metal-clad hands scraping at the floor. The sounds kept up for a little while, and then the man relaxed.
A shudder passed through Kendras. Another man dead who wouldn’t give up. Brought low by poison and a cowardly blade, from men he hadn’t suspected. There was a lesson in that, but it was grim.
“Which now brings us to you,” said the high priest. “Thank you for joining us. I’d offer wine, but the last of your kind didn’t seem to appreciate it much.”
“I’m not thirsty, master,” Kendras said, adding the last word more smoothly than he would have expected.
“Ah, but he is perfect.” The high priest looked at Steel. “You chose well.”
Steel just gave a nod.
“Now, Kendras. Steel here has brought you to my temple to do one deed for me. I will have to ask a few questions, upon which I will decide if you are suitable for the task.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Do you believe in the gods?”
Kendras glanced at Steel, but the man’s face was blank. He wasn’t sure which answer was right. The last thing he wanted was to give himself away and have to fight his way out of the temple. Even temple guards could pose an obstacle if there were enough of them.
“No.”
“You won’t fear the wrath of the gods, then? Or e
ternal punishment?”
“No.”
“Very good.” The high priest seemed delighted. “The king, does he arouse any passions in you?”
“He’s not my type.”
“Wonderful.” The high priest smiled even wider. “Because you will kill him.”
Steel breathed, relaxing a little across the shoulders.
“I hear you enjoyed one of the temple slaves. He’ll be yours—tonight and ever after—as well as a purse of gold, if you do my bidding.”
Kendras frowned. He didn’t like the thought that the boy had been sent as a first payment, but that couldn’t be helped now. The slave at least had enjoyed it. Some things were very hard to fake. “And my silence?”
“As a kingslayer, it’ll be in your own best interest to keep silent. The king’s anointed. Nobody of the right faith can lay a hand on him.” The high priest shrugged. “But you, of course, don’t fear the gods, so to you he’s just a man.”
As insane as it was, there was a deranged kind of logic in those words. Kendras looked down at Old Smoke. “I’m to impersonate the king’s guard captain?”
“Yes. Tomorrow in the afternoon. It’s a foggy night, we can expect a foggy day as the season turns. The king will take you along to the rite. At my signal, you will stab him, but be subtle. Nobody should see any blood or any suspicious movements.”
“A thin blade into the lung and one in the kidney will do it.”
“I knew you’d agree with Steel on the solution.” The high priest smiled warmly at him. “After all, Steel did it for the last king we were getting tired of. Didn’t you, Steel?”
Steel shrugged. “I should have done the one before that too. That didn’t go too smoothly. But Kendras won’t disappoint.”
“If the captain had been white, you could have done it again. But he’s not.”
Kingslayer. Kendras watched the bickering conspirators and noticed blood spreading from the guard captain at his feet. Yet another. He couldn’t betray his emotions. The blade and the poison were too close. They were watching him for signs of weakness.
Nothing is as deadly as the scorpion. Sting and poison are your birthrights.
Kendras breathed deeply and pushed all compassion, all senses of brotherhood, aside.
Force me.
He could claim his officer—he could kill a king.
“What about the body?”
Steel waved at him. “The armor will be cleaned. Just be ready tomorrow. I’ll be there, too, just wearing temple garb.”
Kendras nodded. “What if the king can tell the difference?”
“He won’t,” the high priest said. “Or rather, he better not. He’ll have other things on his mind.”
I bet, Kendras thought. “Well. Do you require me for anything else?”
“No. Rest and prepare.” The high priest smiled at him. “You will need your strength, Kendras.”
Whether that was a threat or promise was impossible to say. Kendras didn’t chance it to ask. He wanted the king dead, too, if for different reasons, even though his gut instinct told him the man had to live if these two wanted to see him dead. He touched his chest in a soldier’s salute—they didn’t know he was saluting the fallen comrade rather than the conspirators.
Chapter 16
KENDRAS was so restless he could only sleep after doing his exercises. The room he’d been given was large enough, so he tired himself out. A bath loosened the tired muscles, and, right on cue, the bath slave appeared. Kendras pushed him away, though, when he attempted to do more than wash and dry him, telling him with a smile he’d need his strength.
He shaved his head, though and scraped off the whiskers on his face too. Much like the guard captain had kept himself neat and tidy. It wouldn’t do to alarm the king.
He rested more than he slept, for a few hours, at least, listening to the night sounds in the temple city, far-away chants carried on the breeze, and thought of the officer, down there in that hole.
The Scorpions began with one man.
It took only one. And Kendras would die to save him. However the day would play out, he was ready to die. Ever since he’d been saved from the executioner’s bed, he’d been ready to die for the man who’d stilled the advance of fate.
All men die, Kendras. Better get used to it. And then fight until the end, with every breath, every heartbeat, every single, last thought.
He rose at noon, did his exercises, cleaned himself up and gathered his resolve. In the afternoon, he heard armored men in the corridor, and was on his feet and ready when the temple guard entered.
They carried the armor of the king’s captain between them. Two young priests stripped him and then dressed him in the dead man’s clothes, from loincloth to fine padded gambeson. Kendras would much have preferred his own leather. The guard captain’s armor was heavier and stiffer than his scale armor. This wouldn’t be a joy to fight in, if worst came to worst. He wasn’t used to it.
The priests seemed to know better where every strap and armor piece went, from the bronze sheaths that covered his boots to the chest plate, the arm guards, and the gauntlets with their fine inner leather gloves. He adjusted one or two straps. The dead captain had been wider in the shoulder and chest, but not by much. Steel had a good eye; he did match the dead man well. Smoke’s personal armor, doubtless made to exactly fit him, didn’t get in the way.
Kendras stretched out, lunged a few times to test, then nodded to the priests, who girded him with Old Smoke’s twin swords. He adjusted the double weapon belt for himself, and then one of the priests offered him two long, thin blades. Kendras slipped them into his gloves and tested how best to pull them. Easy. They were made for this.
They fastened a wide blue cloak to his shoulders and draped it around his shoulder plates to look formal and imposing.
Kendras only wore a cloak when he was worried he’d get too cold in the armor, and he already hated it. Maybe he was simply “testy,” as Widow called it. He lifted his arm, but the hole in the armpit had been mended. The leather was still damp there after the blood had been washed out.
Another temple guard stepped in, and Kendras recognized Steel. Strange that he wore that blue and silver so well. He could easily have been trained as a temple guard, or at least played one very believably.
“Yes, that works.”
“Aren’t you glad,” muttered Kendras.
“I am, actually. We’ll show them today.” Steel took the helmet from one of the guards and handed it to Kendras. “Put that on.”
Once the metal came down over his eyes, Kendras barely saw anything. “I’m blind and deaf now.”
“Still, enough to do your job.” Steel gave him a loud rap on the shoulder plate. “Captain. Follow me.”
Kendras gritted his teeth. He’d do this. He’d just follow Steel’s lead. For once, he added with a hint of irony.
As Steel had told him, he went to the king’s quarters and interrupted belated preparations. Two very good-looking, nubile women stretched out in the king’s bed, skin flushed, and they didn’t do much to cover themselves.
One of them was half-Jaishani, and Kendras regarded her dark skin for a few moments as if it would remind him of something before he realized that it didn’t, and wouldn’t. He assumed the king had chosen her and the blonde for the contrasts of their skin.
“Fucking slave-trader,” the king muttered and tossed on a light robe. “Why the fuck can’t they just speak their few words and be done with it?”
Kendras gave a silent shrug and watched the king dress himself. His sandals were covered in gold leaf, the straps crisscrossing up the muscular calves. He had a nicely sized cock, no wonder the two women looked pretty pleased, and unlike just about any noble Kendras had seen from up close, the taut stomach and formed chest of a warrior. If he hadn’t been the king, he could easily have been a warrior or even a comrade. Kendras frowned under the mask.
The king closed the blue robes with a belt, keeping his chest and most of his legs bared,
then, after a moment’s thought, left a diadem he’d reached for. No royal insignia, just the bearing and manners of a king. And a bodyguard, Kendras thought. The king clearly thought he didn’t need all the trappings of his status. Depending on the ritual, anything more than that might just encumber him.
“Well, ready.” The king blew his cheeks out and gave a heavy sigh, then glanced back over his shoulders. “Keep yourselves entertained, my dears. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He gave a lazy wave and left the room. But immediately, a hard edge returned to him, one Kendras had seen before.
“Be very careful, just in case. If any priest so much as touches me, kill the bastard.”
Kendras nodded silently. Hopefully, Smoke hadn’t been more willing to offer his thoughts. Bodyguards were usually men who were all about watching and not speaking. Discretion was half the job—the rest was boredom, drudgery and the willingness to die and defend at once. He could imagine Steel doing this, come to think of it, without the dying bit. He couldn’t see Steel laying down his life for anybody.
“Damned pity that I can’t have them all killed. With Vededrin sharpening its claws, I just can’t risk the civil war. If the bitch of Fetin had played according to the rules….” The king gave an angry, frustrated sigh, but that was when they stepped outside and were suddenly engulfed in noise.
The pilgrims were chanting, singing, and dancing like this was the new year celebration. The king suddenly smiled and waved, walking through the small opening in the mass of people that were all cheering for him, stretching out to reach him regardless of the temple guards.
Kendras moved up closer, ready to attack if a weapon appeared in any of the many outstretched hands. Many pilgrims wore blue—blue arm and wrist bands, blue skirts and shirts. Some had even painted their faces blue.
The king strode past the pilgrims, a wide smile on his face, like he was just one of thousands that were celebrating. The bright joy of the celebration stood ill at ease with the gloom of the late day.
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