Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1)

by Smith,Darian

  “Not pouches in Djinan,” Ula said. “Make spirit bricks and build them into the house. Hard to do here—building already made.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “What about if we hide them? Would they still be effective?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. Make lots more and get Jessamine to help you hide them throughout the inn. Double what we would normally need. I want this place impenetrable and this time I don’t want anyone to be able to undo your good work. Somebody deliberately removed them last night to let that Risen in. Let’s make it hard for them to do it again.” He paused. “Do you have enough ingredients?”

  Ula nodded. “Mostly made from here. Earth, spit, ash. Only need a little of the special dirt to make it work. Spirits of this place willing to fight kaluki hard, just like spirits in Djinan.”

  “Good. Taran, do you think you can restrain yourself enough to keep an eye on this guy?” Brannon gestured toward the captured assassin. “I don’t want him going anywhere until we can verify his story.”

  Taran frowned. “How do you intend to do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. There are pigeons at the manor. Maybe we can get word to Roydan and see if he can shed any light on it. Meanwhile, keep Fressin hidden from the guards outside. They don’t know he’s here and I don’t want them to.”

  He looked around at the three determined faces. Finally they had an edge; an understanding of what this murderer was up to—albeit a vague one. They still didn’t know who or why, but they knew what. They knew who he was going to go for next and they knew how to prepare. They would be ready. “Okay, let’s get busy.”

  He opened the door and found Ambassador Ylani pressed up against it. She straightened up and brushed at her skirts. “Good morning,” she said.

  Brannon frowned. “Were you just listening at the door?”

  She tossed her hair back. “Actually, yes. I was.”

  “And?”

  “And somebody in that room is lying. I can prove it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The smithy was dark. No embers burned in the forge. The wide wooden doors, like folding sides of a barn, were stretched across the shopfront and locked, hiding rakes, hoes, and horseshoes from any potential customers outside. The usual smells of burning coal and hot iron had damped down to old ash and polishing oil, and the clang of hammer on anvil was long lost.

  “Are you sure it’s safe here?” he said.

  “Of course. There’s no reason for anyone to come here now that Kholi’s dead. He didn’t have an apprentice and it’ll take weeks before the town gets a new blacksmith.”

  “What about Alena?”

  “His wife? She never showed any interest in the place while he was alive. I don’t see her hanging out here now. I doubt she even has a key. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out, calming himself. “Okay. You know them better than I do.”

  She chuckled, a wicked, musical sound. “Oh yes. I knew Kholi very well indeed. It really is surprising how much you can learn between the sheets.”

  He felt his cheeks flush.

  She chuckled again and patted his shoulder. “Oh, lighten up. We’re getting what we want, aren’t we? No need to be embarrassed over a little nighttime fun.” She took a few steps and lifted herself up onto a workbench, sitting on the edge of it like a church gargoyle on the eaves.

  He rubbed at his forehead. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . it’s getting stronger.”

  “What is?”

  “The thing. The thing we put inside me.” It was like little fingers scratching at his insides. “I can feel it trying to get control.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “We’re getting very close to our goal now. You need to keep it together. The kaluki is a source of power and strength, that’s all. You are in charge of how you use that strength. You choose who lives and who dies.”

  He gave a wry smile. “We choose, you mean.”

  She smiled back. “That’s right. We choose.”

  He looked away. “That’s just it though. I didn’t mean to kill the Lady Latricia. I just did it. What if the thing . . . I think it got control of me, just for a moment.”

  “Or you just got carried away with your new strength in the heat of the moment. Blood and Tears, pull yourself together and stop imagining problems where there are none. Do you want to be the lord of Sandilar or not?”

  That put a spark in his gut and steel in his spine. He stood up straight and strong. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  She jumped down from the bench and strode over to him, clasping his shoulders in both hands. “That’s my boy. You deserve it. That’s what all this is about. We’re taking what’s yours. Are you ready?”

  Morgin smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  After the death of their commanding officer, the remaining guards surrounding the inn had sent word back to the manor for further instructions, presumably from Fressin. In the meantime, Brannon found they were receptive to his authority as King’s Champion, particularly since he did little to alter their existing orders. He told them to remain in position, guard the inn, and allow himself and Ambassador Ylani clear passage to leave on horseback as they had a message to deliver to the manor. Eventually it would be discovered that Fressin was missing and orders would come back from whoever was next in charge, but for now this was enough.

  The day was clear, but there was a brisk wind moving in off the mountains that brought a chill to the air. The ambassador wore one of her customary silk gowns, red and flowing with the shoulders cut out, but it was covered by a somber green cloak that occasionally flashed the brilliant colour beneath. The hood of the cloak was pushed back, letting her hair flow free in long waves, threaded with red and gold ribbons.

  Brannon moved his horse closer. “You’re not wearing a hat today,” he commented.

  Ylani reached up as if to adjust the missing accessory. “Scandalous, isn’t it? I feel positively naked.”

  “Is there a reason?” Brannon asked. “It seems out of character for you.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Honestly? I’m trying to fit in and be more . . . appropriate. In Alapra, my position gives me a level of protection, but out here I don’t want to highlight my difference too much. Your people don’t like Nilarians. So, when in Kalanon, do as the Kalans do.” She fingered the ribbons threaded through her curls. “I think this is as far as I’ll go though. I might not have a hat, but at least I have some decoration for the gods. I don’t feel like a total heretic.”

  Brannon smiled. “We all have a little heresy in us from time to time. How did you manage when you were a spy, though? You must have gone without any headgear during the war or you’d have been spotted immediately.”

  She dropped her hand back to the reins. “Yes,” she said, “but that’s not something I ever want to go back to.”

  Brannon’s smile turned wry. “Well, that’s something we have in common.” They rode in silence for a while, the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones a counterpoint for birdsong. News about the killings at the inn had spread. There were very few villagers out of their homes today. “So, how about you tell me what we’re looking for and why I’m following you up to Sandilar Manor.”

  “Well, for starters, you were going there anyway to find anyone with the royal bloodline, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “True, but for that I could have taken Draeson, who can identify Roydan’s bastards much more easily than I can, and instead I’m taking you. Why?”

  Her lips quirked at the corner. “I suppose it’s because Magus Draeson and I don’t really get along.”

  Brannon gave her a look. “And?”

  “Okay.” Any hint of smile vanished. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then spoke again. “I need you to listen with an open mind. This may not be easy to hear, but what I’m going to show you should remove any doubts.”

  “I’m listening,” Brannon sa
id.

  “When Latricia came to me, it wasn’t about the silk deal. For her, trade negotiations have only ever been a cover story. She had found something that scared her and she didn’t know who she could trust to tell.”

  “What do you mean?” Brannon said.

  “I mean that the person who scared her was so well connected that she couldn’t even be sure that you, the King’s Champion, would believe what she had seen. So she came to me.”

  “But that’s ridiculous.” Brannon gripped the reins tightly, barely feeling the edges dig into his skin. “I’ve known her and Keldan for years. Why would she think that?”

  “You agreed to listen with an open mind,” Ylani reminded him.

  “I am. Go on.”

  “She and I have been investigating on our own and the trail led here.” Ylani turned so that she could meet his eyes as they rode. “The man you have at the inn doesn’t work for Roydan’s rival. He works for Roydan. His mission wasn’t to prevent a trade agreement. It was to prevent you or any of us from finding out that Roydan has already made an illegal trade agreement and is planning to overthrow your king.”

  Brannon’s eyes bulged. “What?”

  “Think about it,” Ylani said, speaking quickly. “How does sabotaging your boat have any impact on a trade agreement between Latricia and me? Or Roydan and me? How could he get full control of the manor and its men so quickly without Roydan’s help?”

  “Forged documents,” Brannon said weakly.

  “And why are there so many armed men at Sandilar Manor in the first place? Latricia assured me the contingent there now is far in excess of what is usually held.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps it was a cautionary measure. We can’t judge without talking to Roydan first.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I understand that. And without Latricia’s testimony, the rest is circumstantial at best. But if I’m right, what I’m going to show you will be incontrovertible proof that a delivery has already taken place. And that, Sir Brannon, King’s Champion, is something you’re duty-bound to investigate.”

  Brannon’s jaw was tight. “I know my duty, ambassador. And so does the duke. I don’t think you realize that he and Aldan and I served side by side in the war since we were very young. Loyalty to each other is in our blood and bones. I can’t see what you’re telling me being true, but I will look and keep an open mind.”

  She nodded, almost a bow. “That’s all I ask. And perhaps I’m wrong. All I know is what Latricia believed and what we found. But . . . people change, Brannon. Look at your own life. You were the Bloodhawk once, the terror of my people. Now you’re a physician. I don’t think you like killing anymore.”

  Brannon looked away. They’d left the town behind and there was only grassland, stone, and sheep beyond the cobbles of the road. “No one should like killing.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “I agree. But some of us come to the lesson later than others.”

  There was nothing to say to that. He concentrated on the road ahead and the fresh smells of the countryside. With the “bandit” who had attacked Ylani the last time she’d travelled this road in custody, they were relatively safe—except for the possibility of the Risen. It hadn’t shown itself in daylight yet, but that could change.

  He patted his pocket where one of Ula’s spirit pouches was a comforting weight against his leg. She had warned him they were designed to protect a building and would be unlikely to work as personal protection, but he found he felt better having it with him. The manor would have its own pouches in place, but any extra safety they could get while on the road was invaluable.

  He stole a glance at Ambassador Ylani. He probably should have suggested she carry one as well, but he had no idea where she would put it in that dress.

  The thought he’d wanted to avoid forced its way into his head: what if she was right? Roydan had changed as he’d gotten older. He’d always been intelligent, but he’d become shrewd. As a businessman, it worked for him. But shrewd and loyal didn’t always go together. Brannon still found it difficult to believe his friend would actually do something blatantly illegal, but he owed it to Latricia to check it out. If she hadn’t been concerned about where his own loyalties lay, she probably wouldn’t have been in Sandilar, let alone the Knox Inn last night and would still be alive.

  “Brannon, can I ask you something?” Ylani’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you become a physician?”

  Brannon shrugged. He was used to this question. “After so much killing in the war, I wanted to do something different. To kind of balance the scales. As a physician I get to save lives instead of taking them. That feels good.”

  She studied him for a long moment. Brannon met her gaze, fighting the urge to lick his lips or rub at his scar. “There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?” she said.

  Brannon broke eye contact. “Yeah. Yeah, there is.”

  Ylani brought her horse to a stop and waited.

  Brannon reined in and turned back to face her. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled his sword partway out of the scabbard. “This is one of the few Nilarian swords in Kalanon. Do you know how I got it?”

  She chewed her lip. “Rumors back home have you doing all sorts of things, Sir Bloodhawk. But I don’t know the truth. Judging from the hilt, I’d say you took it from one of our generals.”

  Brannon nodded. “General Halaki. He’d been terrorizing farming communities up and down the Tilal but keeping just out of reach of our forces. So we split up and came at him from different directions. Once the battle was engaged, my squad and I made it through to the command tent. We knew that if we could kill Halaki, it would take time for his men to regroup.”

  “A sound strategy,” Ylani admitted. Brannon admired her for not commenting on the slaughter of her countrymen.

  “He was a good soldier and he fought hard. My sword broke in the battle, as our swords sometimes do against yours, but in the end I killed him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.” Brannon swallowed, trying to block out the anguished cry ringing in his memory. Papa!

  “He had his son with him. A boy of maybe fourteen. I guess Halaki figured they were far enough away from the main front that he’d be safe.” Brannon shrugged. “The boy had seen me kill his father and he attacked. He cut my face before I managed to pick up the sword Halaki had dropped. He wouldn’t stop. I tried, honestly, I tried to get him to stop but he wouldn’t and more soldiers were coming. It was chaos.”

  Ylani covered her mouth with her hands. “You killed him.”

  A cloud rolled over the sun and the shadows were very cold.

  “I killed him with his father’s sword,” Brannon said, shoving it back into the scabbard. “And I kept it to remind me. I have a lot to make up for, Ylani.”

  “Don’t we all.” She sighed. “You kept on killing after that?”

  “My country needed me to.” He turned away. “It still does.”

  “That’s why you expect so much loyalty from your friend,” she said. “You have so much of it yourself.” She swung down from the saddle. “We should go the rest of the way on foot. We’ll never get close to what I want to show you if we’re seen.”

  They tied the horses to a tree and let them graze. A little further along, they left the road entirely and approached the manor from the side. “Too many people watch the front gate,” Ylani said. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and the color blended like camouflage with the rolling fields they travelled through. At last they reached a rise that looked over the back of the manor house. There, they lay flat, just the top of their heads above the ridge of the hill as they viewed Sandilar Manor below.

  From this angle, they faced the painted stone side of the manor and could still see the gardens at the front, though the front door itself was hidden from view. Toward the back of the building was a large wooden barn, which Brannon didn’t remember from
the last time he had been here. The timber was unpainted, but, from this distance at least, still looked to be in good condition.

  “The barn’s new,” Brannon commented. “Hardly incriminating though.”

  “Wait ’til you see what’s in it,” Ylani said.

  Brannon said nothing, watching instead the number of armed guards patrolling around the barn and along the side of the house where wagon tracks led from the new building to the main drive out front. There were many more guards than one would normally expect for a barn.

  “It’s going to be tricky getting inside without being seen.”

  Hoof beats pulled his attention back to the front of the house as a single rider approached from the road. “Another messenger from the guards at the inn?” he wondered aloud.

  Ylani squinted. “I don’t think so. I think it’s the mayor’s son, Morgin Vere.”

  Some of the guards patrolling the side of the house hurried to the front to meet him.

  Brannon scowled. “He should be safely inside the inn by now. What’s he doing here?”

  “Creating a distraction for us, it seems,” Ylani commented as several more guards vanished around the corner, presumably to cover the front door. “But not quite enough of one. Perhaps I can add to that.” She stood up and unclasped her cloak. The green fabric fluttered to the ground, revealing the red dress beneath like a beacon. “I suggest you move quickly,” she said, and glided down the slope like a brilliant butterfly.

  Or perhaps, Brannon thought more cynically as he slipped past the distracted guards, some sort of honeytrap spider.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he heard her calling. “I seem to have gotten myself a little bit lost. Can you help me?”

  He took out his dagger, then put it away again. He couldn’t see himself using it on a fellow Kalan if he could avoid it.

  The barn had a side door. He waited until all eyes were on Ylani, then strode toward it, keeping one eye on the nearest guard, and the other on the ground ahead of him—this was not the time to step on a twig. Moving swiftly but quietly, he reached the door handle and pulled.