The same went for everyone. Children ran and played, but shouts came from them, no laughter. A guard from the hold walked near a mother hanging clothes outside her house. She shrunk from him, and tension drained from her when he passed.
What kind of leaders produced such a joyless people?
Brant tried to put the thought out of his mind as he approached the castle. He’d need his wits about him if he was to survive.
One guard stood on each side of the entrance, and a dozen more filled the courtyard beyond. None of the heavily armed and armored men moved a muscle. Good discipline bespoke good training, and he was blasted sure there were plenty more troops secreted behind murder holes dotting the area above a raised portcullis.
If things went bad, he couldn’t fight his way out, and it wasn’t like he could blend in with a throng of people entering and leaving the castle as only a few people actually moved in and out. Definitely not enough traffic to hide him.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife. He’d faced battles many times. Spy stuff, though …
Sure, just walk into an enemy castle, pretend to be someone else, find information secreted away somewhere, and get out without anyone knowing you got it. And oh yeah, don’t get killed.
That about summed it up.
Great.
Brant’s image showed in the polished metal of one of the guard’s shields. Fancy suit. Black hair.
Weird.
Not much of a disguise, though. Looked like Brant with colored hair and different clothes and felt like he was going into battle dressed in smallclothes instead of full plate mail.
He let out a low breath. Stealthily, he hoped. Wouldn’t do to appear nervous.
Better was not to be nervous in the first place.
Stokes had told him the trick was to believe himself to be Michal Duffy. That belief was his armor, not the hair and the clothes.
Brant set his jaw. He was Michal Duffy, messenger extraordinaire and agent of Dastanar. His wife, Laurie, was still quite fetching despite bearing two kids. And those kids! Loyd and Lessa. So blasted cute! He remembered that one time when Lessa had, uh, done … something …
Blast it! How was he supposed to believe himself to be someone else? Really? He was Brant Reed. Period.
Not like he could back out, though. Too late for that without drawing notice.
“Hi, Michal Duffy to see Lord Numav.” Brant held up his bag. “I’m to deliver this to him.”
The guard held out his hand.
“Uh, I think I have to give the documents to Lord Numav myself.”
“Not until I check the contents,” the guard said, “and you surrender your weapons.”
Brant frowned, but he handed over his knife and the satchel. Once the guard was sure it contained only papers, he gestured for the portcullis to be raised.
Two more armed guards and a jittery clerk met Brant on the other side. The little bespectacled guy was literally sweating.
“Th-this way, sir,” the clerk said.
He had no call to be so nervous.
Unless he knew he was leading Brant into a trap and feared being put in the line of fire. Made sense. The entire infiltration was based on no one knowing Michal by sight. But it wasn’t like he could have, you know, lied. He knew he would be killed and had just been tortured. A final act of revenge.
That was what Brant would have done.
If Michal had pulled that off, Brant saw no way out. Retreat wasn’t an option. First of all, he needed information to complete his mission. Second, he was a blasted good fighter, but he wasn’t getting back out past those guards with his life.
His only choice was to follow the jittery clerk, trying not to pay too much attention to the armed guards right behind.
The clerk knocked on a door and opened it after a brusque “enter” from inside. He gestured for Brant to step past.
Brant walked in. The guards and clerk stayed outside.
That was a good sign. And the man seated at a desk in what was clearly an office matched the description the messenger gave for Lord Numav. If they suspected Brant of being a spy, they wouldn’t put so important a man in danger.
“Yes?” Numav said.
“I have documents for you, my lord. Important dispatches. I was instructed to see it into your hands personally.” Brant gave the satchel to him.
Numav glanced through the contents, and Brant held his breath. If there was a secret code or message or signal, Michal could have easily set a trap.
The lord flipped through page after page as Brant waited. His life hung on such a small thread. One little snip and it was all over.
Brant glanced around the office. Besides the normal desk and chairs and shelves, there were three locked cabinets. Metal cabinets. Chained. With heavy iron locks securing them.
If those didn’t contain the information Brant needed, he’d eat his sword. If you know, he actually had access to his sword.
“Everything seems in order,” Numav finally said.
Brant swallowed.
Numav frowned. “Why are you so worried?”
“It’s … it’s … uh … the pay, my lord.” Brant hoped messengers collected upon delivery.
“You’ll get what you were promised,” Numav said.
“Uh, now, my lord?”
Numav’s face clouded. Brant had pushed too far trying to sell it.
“You will get your pay when my response is ready,” Numav said. “Until then, wait in guest quarters.”
“I have other orders, my lord. How long?”
“A day. Two at most.” Numav looked at him expectantly.
“I can, uh, make that work, my lord.”
Brant dared not show his relief. That couldn’t have gone any better. He didn’t even have to come up with an excuse to spend the night, so he could break into the office.
As he turned to leave, there was another knock on the door, and Numav issued another brusque “enter.”
A woman stepped in, wearing less than Brant had seen any woman wear in public. The only parts of her that were covered were the places that absolutely had to be, and even those only partly and with transparent fabric. A collar around her neck proclaimed the reason for the attire.
A slave.
“You summoned me, Lord Numav?” She met Brant’s eyes. “Ah, Michal, so nice to see you again.”
54.
Brant’s heart pounded.
He stared at the slave woman. She obviously knew Michal and just as obviously knew Brant wasn’t him. At a single word from her, he was dead.
“You remember Tatiana,” Numav said.
Brant tore his eyes from her. “Who can forget Tatiana, my lord?”
To Brant’s great relief, Numav laughed. “She’s freshly arrived from Uadraro. We have the great fortune of having a few score of the beslaved visit in the coming weeks.” He sighed. “Of course, one must be a polite host upon the king’s orders.”
Brant had no idea what or who the beslaved were, but he nodded.
“You’d like to renew your acquaintance with her, I’m sure,” Numav said.
Brant looked to her for a hint of what to do, but she kept silent. He’d have to chat with her to figure out what her game was.
“That would be great, my lord. If it’s okay with you?”
“I have no objection to you borrowing her for the night. Only a night, though. She’s occupied after that.”
“That is quite generous, my lord. Quite generous.”
“Go, then.” Numav gestured at the stack of papers from the bag. “You’ve given me yet more work to do, and I’d best be at it if you’re to get my response soon.”
A wave of the lord’s hand dismissed Brant, and the clerk, minus the guards, escorted him and Tatiana to guest quarters.
As soon as the door shut and Brant was sure the clerk was gone, he spun on her. “What’s your game, lady?”
“Quite simple, really. Help me escape, or I reveal who you are.”
Black
mail? Brant hated blasted spy shit with a passion. He eyed a pillow on the bed. Easy enough to smother her, but how would he explain her death to Numav?
Brant met her eyes confidently. “I’d like to see that conversation. ‘Hey, Lord Numav, I know I acted like the guy was Michal, but he’s not.’ How do you think that would go over?”
“I’d be punished.” She sashayed past him, sticking out her butt as she did. “Whipped, and quite severely, I’m sure.”
Bet she’d been spanked often. Maybe turning her over his knee would help. Hmm.
“But I’d be alive,” she said, “which is more than I can say for you.”
Since he couldn’t kill her, his best bet was to promise to help her and betray her later when she couldn’t hurt him. Use her for his own purposes and discard her.
His mind flashed back to Tasia dressing him down in the castle’s courtyard in Asherton, telling him that women do not exist solely for his pleasure.
But the situation with Tatiana wasn’t like that. Duty demanded he use her, since that was the only way for him to succeed in his mission. Honor required him to be dishonorable.
“Deal,” he said. “But you also have to help me find what I came here for.”
She frowned. “And what is that?”
Another risk. She knew he wasn’t what he claimed but not his target.
He exhaled sharply. “I need to break into the locked cabinets in Numav’s office.”
“For what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“If you don’t trust me,” she said, “how can I trust you?”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. Do what I say, and you’ll be rewarded.”
“That’s the point! You’ll probably just leave me in a ditch somewhere.”
Rads-infested woman! She was really getting on his nerves.
He gritted his teeth. “Fine. Dastanarian mages. I need numbers, disposition, everything I can find.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a moment before speaking. “That will cost you.”
“I promised to break you out.”
“That’s in return for not giving you away. What you’re asking now is ten times as dangerous. Anything dealing with the beslaved is.”
“Numav mentioned that word, too,” Brant said. “What the blast are the beslaved?”
“Mages.” Her words didn’t call him an idiot, but her tone did.
That made sense. Ivie had claimed to pretty much be a slave.
“What’s your price?” he said.
“A new life. Freedom. I want a regular income and not from selling my body. A home.” She looked at him, hopeful.
His heart broke. She wasn’t an evil person, just someone fed up with her lot in life and trying to find a way out.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll figure out something.”
He’d have to be careful, though. She was only loyal to herself.
“You’re probably just promising me the moon. Men do it all the time, even to a slave.”
“I am Sir Brant Reed, Lord of Marchess Bridge, knight in the service of Grand Duke August Asher of Vierna. My code of honor compels me to hold any vow on my life. If I betray you, not only my honor but that of my liege lord would be impugned.”
Her mouth slackened.
“Tatiana, in return for your service, I swear on my honor as a knight that I will see you safely to Bermau where you will be paid monthly and given housing. Do you accept?”
She took a deep breath and drew herself together. “Why not? Best offer I’ve had in a few months, at least.”
He grinned. “Only in the last few months?”
“Well, I am quite good at what I do.” She danced, moving mainly her belly, which was adorned with small diamonds and sapphires.
He found it hard to look at anything else even while admonishments not to get distracted ran through his head. But man, did he ever want to let her distract him. “Tell me everything you know about the mages.”
“They don’t wear these.” Tatiana fingered the collar around her neck. “But they’re slaves in every other way. A gilded cage is still a cage, right? They’re beaten for any step over the line, just like I am.”
Ivie had talked like her life was rough. Sounded like it was even worse than he realized. No wonder she didn’t laugh.
“Why don’t they fight back?” Brant said. “A single mage can take out dozens of soldiers easily enough.”
She stared out a small window. “Obedience is ingrained in them as small children.”
“They’re tested when they’re children?” he said. “How small?”
“The kingdom trains detectors, who work in teams of ten. The best teams can walk into a roomful of babies and instantly tell which have potential. They take those that do from their families.”
“Babies?” he said.
“Everyone is tested. No one escapes.”
He grimaced. “That’s horrible.”
What was worse, though—forcing someone to be a slave from birth or waiting until they grew up and murdering them like Bermau did?
“I don’t understand something,” he said. “The way I know to test mages involves having them think about different kinds of magic. That doesn’t work with babies. Maybe the rumors have inflated the abilities of these detectors.”
She shrugged.
“Any of those detectors in the castle now?” If any were, they were sure to discover his ruse. He really wished he had his sword.
“Why?”
“Because …” He furiously sought an excuse that didn’t reveal his own abilities. “It would be useful to learn their technique.”
Not bad. Xan couldn’t have done it any better.
“How?” she said. “You can’t capture and torture a detector. They’re highly protected.”
It was Brant’s turn to shrug. Okay, so maybe Xan would have figured out a better story.
“Guess it doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said. “I’ve only ever seen one team, and that was when I was owned by an official that ranked a lot higher than Lord Numav. I doubt there are any of them here.”
Several of her previous owners had been involved with the beslaved, and since she wouldn’t ever be released, no one much cared what they told her. She told tales in fits and starts when she remembered a new detail, and as they talked deep into the night, Brant grew more and more nervous about the size of the force he faced. Granted, Dastanar didn’t have nearly as many people as either Bermau or Kaicia, but they found literally every potential in the kingdom. That was a shitload of magic users. He said as much.
“Every person taken doesn’t become a mage.”
“How so?”
“Well,” Tatiana said, “if a bunch of beslaved were using magic all the time, your mages would sense them, right?”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” Brant felt proud of himself for being so spy-like. Didn’t even pause at the lie.
“So that factor must limit their numbers,” she said. “And I think they consider binders worthless, so they don’t convert any of those. Blighters, they kill immediately.”
Sounded brutal, but would his side do any better? How would Duke Asher react to unleashing someone with the power to destroy a city with a thought?
She went into great detail about how the beslaved were treated, especially the women, and it was hard to hear. He kept picturing Ivie going through each new horror.
“I still don’t get why they don’t rebel,” he said. “Ingrained or not, people abused so badly will want freedom. If enough of them banded together, surely they could break free.”
“Some try,” Tatiana said, “but not many. The training is so thorough and started so early that most grow up with that just being the way things are. And when some do try, the others are so afraid they actually fight for their captors. Rebels have no chance.”
Brant shook his head, his heart breaking. What must Ivie have gone through?
And what about the mages he’d killed back before the battle at
Asherton? Not only had they been sleeping, but they were slaves. Being there wasn’t their fault.
There wasn’t an act more dishonorable than the one he’d committed.
The night had entered the wee hours by the time she finished talking, and she couldn’t just leave, as kicking an attractive and almost naked slave girl from his room would be suspicious. And since she had to stay anyway and was a slave girl used to such work, asking her to perform her normal duties wouldn’t be a big deal for her, right?
Brant frowned. He’d never been in such a situation with an actual slave, though. Even asking her felt like forcing her.
She lounged atop the covers, and his gaze devoured her from her bare feet to her pretty face to everything in between. “Oh. Time for bed?”
Without thought, he held his head so that flickering light from a lamp caught his blue eyes.
Wait, what was he doing?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This probably isn’t the best way to begin a partnership.”
At a flick from a single finger, her top fell off, revealing her bare chest. Another flick did the same for her bottom.
She grinned. “I don’t know what kind of partnerships you normally begin, but in my experience, this is just about the perfect way.”
His breath caught. She was absolutely delightful. And willing.
But what would Tasia think? He frowned. Or Ivie?
Brant growled. Who cared what either of them thought.
55.
Brant stretched.
Tatiana hadn’t lied. She was quite good at her job. The best, in his widely varied experience.
Light from the morning sun beamed through his window, and he glanced at her sleeping beside him. Only blankets covered her naked body. So tempting to go another round. But though the night had been fun, he needed to turn his focus to his mission. He should have gotten more sleep.
And he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He’d done exactly what Tasia had accused him of—used a girl for his pleasure, thinking nothing of her, only of himself.
And what of Ivie?
Huh? What the blast did she have to do with anything?
He eased from the bed, careful not to rouse Tatiana, and dressed. His stomach rumbled. Filling it was sure to make him feel better about things.
Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2) Page 31
