“That is strange considering he is a target,” Timoran admits, admiring the graceful movements of the heiress. The way she shifts and spins reminds him of how Sari fights, but with a focus on wide arm motions instead of sudden wrist movements. “Has there been any more news on the reason the nomads are after the Grasdons? I heard some rumors about a stolen scepter.”
“I’ve heard the same stories,” Eileen claims as she stretches her back and yawns. “I do know that the other nomads believe the Helgardians are nobility because of a holy relic. If one was to steal it then the tribes would go to war with each other. Though I don’t see why my employers would be involved. There’s no benefit to such a war because they have agreements with all of the big tribes.”
“Everyone calls this a war, but no true battle has occurred,” Timoran points out. The maid nervously watches her mistress practice while nodding in agreement. “There have been murders, but I would not call them casualties of war. At least not yet.”
The shattering of plates becomes louder and more rapid as Kira increases her speed. Her weapon stretches on its enchanted chain, which she smoothly flicks at the last second for a quicker strike. When she breaks the last plate, she is still angry and lashes out at one of her bedposts with the kusari-gama. The chain smoothly wraps around the post until the blade slices deep into the dark red wood. Kira tugs on her weapon, but it is stuck and she is forced to grab the handle of the sickle to yank it free.
“Care to repeat your statement, Sir Wrath?” the heiress coldly asks as she approaches the balcony. She nods to Eileen who bounds into the room to clean up the mess. “I’ve lost most of my family, so I call this a war. The Helgardians might not have sent an army after us, but they did send monsters without provocation.”
“I apologize for offending you and you have my condolences, but there is something wrong about this,” Timoran argues in a soft voice. He puts his hands on Kira’s shoulders to both calm her and prevent her from using her weapon. “A true war to me is when two sides have a clear reason to fight and do so on the battlefield. You have yet to uncover the reason you are being targeted and the nomads have never appeared to take advantage of a monster attack. I would also like to point out that you are not a warrior family. Why wipe out so many who are not warriors while leaving you and Asher alone?”
“Because the monsters attack whoever they find first,” Kira swiftly answers. She slips from the barbarian’s grasp and takes a seat on the railing, dangling her leg over the edge. “It might not be a full war yet, but it will be when the nomads appear. This has all been about strategy and my family is losing in so many ways. My father is barely able to hold a rational thought. He keeps yelling about my mother being upset by this or how this is because I’m not going through with the traditions. Earlier, he blamed Asher for not protecting Quill. I don’t even know what we’ll be like after this is over.”
“It might be best to worry about that after victory,” Eileen suggests as she hands her mistress a cup of water. “Your father is under great pressure and grief, so please give him time to heal. I’m sure he’s very worried about the safety of his remaining children.”
“I know, but the damage has been done to the family. The Grasdon line could easily be wiped out by the end of this. All because the nomads think we have their holy relic. I heard the rumors too.”
Timoran nods while his thoughts drift off, the facts and rumors trying to sort themselves in his mind. He has trouble putting his finger on what is wrong about the entire situation. Every battle he has taken part in has had a clear reason and the enemies were in the open to some extent. Even when helping the guards of Hero’s Gate, Timoran remembers that there was an obvious presence from the various threats. The use of these powerful monsters would normally strike him as a method for softening a superior opponent. Yet there has been no communication with the nomads or even a request for the return of their relic. In fact, the only sign that they are nearby has been the poisoned assassin who attacked Quill and Sari admitted that the encounter had too many anomalies to be taken at face value.
“With a trade agreement on the line, one would expect the Helgardians to make demands before attacking,” the barbarian says, grabbing Eileen and Kira’s attention. He can see the understanding appear in their eyes, the calico maid emphatically nodding. “I am remembering what Sari told me about the assassin who attacked Quill. The man seemed confused and scared during his final moments, so it is clear he was an outside agent. Would any nomad tribe commission a foreigner as an assassin? Have any of your kin been killed by anything other than the monsters?”
“The tribes are self-contained and wouldn’t trust an outsider to fight for them,” Kira explains, sliding off the railing and heading into her room. She grabs a handful of dates from a bowl while she searches her shelves. “As for your other question, I don’t believe so. That does make the assassin an oddity. Even when an attack happened in the city proper, it was done by a monster. Come to think of it, one of the earlier attacks was on the docks during a last minute delivery that two of my uncles were overseeing. My dad was livid and fired the few employees who knew about it.”
“I don’t follow your logic, mistress,” Eileen admits, cleaning her face with the back of her hand. She hurries to catch a book that the heiress tosses over her shoulder. “Do you need help finding something?”
Kira scratches her head, seemingly unaware of the offer. Snapping her fingers, she crawls under the bed and comes out the other side with a thin, white notebook. She flips through the pages until she gets to her notes on the attacks. Tears roll down her cheeks as she reads the times and locations, the vivid memories of the bodies returning to her mind. The only corpses she has not seen is that of Quill and his fiancée thanks to Timoran blocking her view. At the time, she was furious with him, but now she is thankful to not have another painful sight that will haunt her dreams. She drops the notebook on the bed and uses the bedpost to stand, her legs shaky from the sorrow that is urging her to collapse and cry.
“What is that book and why was it under the bed?” the maid asks, helping her mistress walk to a chair. “Did you uncover something?”
“I’ve been keeping notes on the attacks in the hopes of finding a pattern to predict them, but I gave up when there were two at once a few weeks ago,” Kira explains as she watches her guest pour a cup of wine. When he comes near, she snatches the bottle from his hand and takes a deep drink. “The book fell under there when Luke and I were busy. I was going to show it to him and see if he could find a pattern. Give me a minute to organize my thoughts because the whole thing is complicated.”
“Take your time and drink what you need,” Timoran states, taking a seat in a nearby chair. He lifts the cup of wine to his lips, but Kira grabs it to drink in one gulp. “Perhaps you should talk first and then drink. I do not believe you can handle alcohol like a warrior and you do not want to make yourself sick.”
“That last one was for courage,” the heiress promises, taking a deep breath. She shakes the tension from her arms and looks at the picture of dolphins on her ceiling. “You’re right that this doesn’t make any sense, Timoran. The trade agreement is a big clue. I guess the grief and constant attacks have prevented my family and me from remembering that. We’ve been so concerned with staying alive and avenging our loved ones. That assassin is another curiosity because the Helgardians have not been close enough to Bor’daruk to make such a deal. How would they know where Sari and Quill were going anyway? That’s the real problem. We’ve been fighting monsters that are coming from a distant enemy who seems to know where we are at all times.”
“Could they have agents in the city?” the calico asks, her tail curling around her waist. “I thought we already said they don’t bring in outsiders.”
“Exactly. That means something else is going on,” Kira says before taking another long drink of wine. Her head swims a bit from the rush of alcohol, so she puts the bottle down. “It’s possible that a competitor or someone with
a grudge against my family has been behind this entire thing. We don’t know if anything has been done to the nomads since our contact was killed, which could have been done by a third party. My father is looking at the bare facts and not beyond them. Now that I think about it, the person controlling the monsters has to be in the city. How else would these attacks be so precise and sudden? None of these creatures have been caught sneaking through Bor’daruk to get into the manor. The flying one that I killed seemed to appear in the sky out of nowhere before it ate one of my brothers. They have to be getting summoned within the city walls by someone who knows when my family is vulnerable.”
Timoran stops her from having more wine and smiles at the dark-haired woman. “I believe you answered many of our questions and changed the direction of this supposed war. If we bring this information to your family then we can stop this before more blood is spilled. I suggest we send Luke and Sari to talk with your father because it is still too dangerous to let you out of here.”
“Good point. After all, one of her cousins was killed in the hallway,” Eileen says as she picks up the notebook. She tucks it into her apron and bows to her mistress. “I will bring this and your theory to the others. I’m not a target and you will be safe behind the door wards and with Sir Wrath. Your fiancée and the gypsy will be able to convince your father. One way or the other, I’m sure they will make him see the light.”
“If my dad pushes too much then Sari has my full permission to charm him,” Kira tells her maid. The calico nods emphatically and hurries for the door, skidding to a stop when her mistress calls out again. “Warn her that if she enchants her way into the family will, I’ll make a rug out of her hair.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Kira slides out of the chair and walks to a small cabinet, slinging her weapon diagonally around her body. She expertly catches the blunt end before it can hit her in the face and hangs the sickle in front of her. Pulling a pair of glasses and a bottle of rum out of the cabinet, she beckons for Timoran to join her on the balcony. Her guest takes the offered drink and sits across from the heiress who is sitting on the railing again.
“To the future and the hope that it doesn’t destroy us,” Kira proudly announces, holding up her glass. She slings the rum with one swift motion and drops to the stone floor, her head feeling fuzzy. “Let the gods do their worst to me. I’m not going down without a fight.”
“You would make an excellent barbarian, Lady Grasdon,” the large warrior states before the slender woman passes out at his feet. “Or maybe an above average one.”
*****
“Do you think Stephen, Trinity, or a new minion is behind this?” Sari asks as she walks alongside Luke. “The subtlety makes me think of Trinity, but the death reminds me of Stephen. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have an ally that falls in the middle.”
“That would have been the Lich and he’s gone,” the half-elf replies in a half-hearted voice.
“Sorry for trying to make conversation.”
“It’s not you. I’m just tired and distracted.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“Do you hear that?”
The pair slow down and press against the wall, silently sliding along until they reach Wayland Grasdon’s bedroom. The double doors are cracked open, which lets a little light into the dimly lit hallway. Sari darts to the other side, so both she and Luke can get close enough to hear the people talk. They recognize Wayland immediately even though his voice is softer and kinder than they have ever heard it. A woman is talking to him, but she does not sound familiar and she speaks with more refinement than a servant. Luke signals to Sari to remain quiet and wait for him to make the next move, the half-elf intent on getting as much information out of this opportunity as he can.
“The nomads are camped out a few miles beyond the dunes,” Wayland says as he moves a chair across the floor. “We’ve lost so many to the monsters these last few weeks. Only Asher and Kira remain. Are you sure they will die unless we send them into the battle? That seems the opposite of what normally happens.”
“I only know vague possibilities, my dearest Wayland,” the woman replies with a musical laugh. “The gods have granted me the ability to see glimpses of the future. It may not be clear, but I saw that they would die in the manor and live on the battlefield. The last of the Helgardian beasts is coming, so it is possible that they will be protected by the armies.”
“What of the scepter and my wish?”
“With the death of the final beast, the Helgardian tribe will have used up the energy that binds the wish within the scepter,” the woman answers, her voice suddenly appearing from the other side of the room. “We will be together again with the fall of the final beast. I’m sorry about all of the sacrifice the family has endured, my love.”
“It is not your fault. How were we to know that the nomads had used all but one of the flawless wishes to summon monsters? At least our man got the scepter to us before all of them were used.”
“It is a shame because an extra wish could have helped us wipe the nomads out.”
Wayland coughs and the click of ice falling into an empty glass can be heard. “That is probably for the best. The other tribes might unite against us if they believe we have the power to destroy them. With a battle, the Helgardians appear as the aggressors and our remaining trade agreements remain safe. It’s a shame because Misrae and his people were our top suppliers of dune crystals and scorpion meat.”
“Don’t worry, my love,” the woman says, followed by a groan from Wayland. “We can hire special hunters and miners after you make your wish. It won’t be much longer. Though, I fear Kira and her friends might get in the way.”
“She will understand and her friends have already helped us.”
“You’re right, but they are not part of the Grasdon family.”
“If they get in the way then Asher will take care of them with his new weapon.”
The woman’s voice falls to a whisper, forcing Luke and Sari to put their ears to the warm doors. The gypsy gives up and sneaks back to the half-elf’s other side, dragging him a few feet away from the room. She casts a silence cocoon around them, allowing her to speak without fear of being heard.
“Am I wrong or does it sound like Kira’s dad caused all of this?” Sari asks, keeping her eyes on the double doors. “I’ve no idea who the mystery woman is or what they’re going to wish for, but I don’t like it.”
“Asher’s new weapon has me worried,” Luke admits, rubbing his eyes. He loosens his sabers in their sheaths, hoping he will not have to use them. “Can you use a spell to imitate that woman’s voice? Kira might recognize it. Maybe she’s a business partner or another noble that’s promised him something. It’s a long shot, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m going to hate bringing this up with her.”
“I’ll be there for you,” his friend promises as she touches his arm. Her smile is warm and loving, hiding the twinge of pain in her chest. “We don’t know exactly what’s going on, so Wayland might be a pawn. That could have been Trinity in disguise as a fake oracle. It’s a common ploy that’s similar to my fortuneteller scam, which I swear I haven’t done since I was fourteen . . . sixteen.”
“That seems like the most likely . . . damn it,” Luke mutters, putting his hands up. “That silence spell meant we couldn’t hear anything outside of the shell, right?”
Sari turns around to find ten armored guards with their weapons pointing at the pair. She drops her spell, which pops with a blue shimmer that leaves dust at her feet. One of the men walks around the adventurers, his spear never straying further than a few inches from them. He knocks on the double doors and opens one of them for his employer. Taking a quick glance, Luke sees nobody in the room behind Wayland, whose face is red with anger. The bearded merchant adjusts his silk robe and closes the door behind him, signaling for the guards to take his guests’ weapons.
“How long were they here?” he asks, examining one of Luke’s sabers. “I
was in a private meeting with an important partner. This person wants to remain secret and could be our salvation against the nomads.”
“We found them here when on our way to give a report from Asher,” a swordsman with a feather-capped helmet states. “They were whispering in a silence bubble, so it’s safe to assume that they were spying on you. What do you want us to do with them?”
“This is going to be a problem because of my daughter. She will undoubtedly defend the young man,” Wayland explains as he taps the tip of the blade on the wall. Testing the weapon, he hits the stone and checks for nicks in the metal. “Probably best to keep them locked up until the battle is over. My plan is very delicate and I don’t want them getting in the way. Take our guests to the dungeon and put them in the cleanest cell. Send a servant down with fresh food and drink to make them comfortable.”
“I’m not sure we should arrest them, sir,” one of the guards nervously admits. “It could turn your daughter against you. That might be more trouble than these two.”
“Let me put this request another way,” the merchant kindly announces. He slams the blade back into its sheath and bangs it against the door. “Put these two in the dungeon or I will terminate your employment. Any future employers will be told of your refusal to follow orders. I know all of you have families, so don’t make them suffer because of my disobedient, rebellious daughter.”
The guards surround Luke and Sari while their boss hands the sabers over to the man with the feathered helmet. They let Wayland through the tight circle, the merchant approaching the emerald-eyed gypsy. He runs his hands through her hair for over a minute, running his fingers down her body and into her boots. She frowns when he slips them off and hands the enchanted footwear to the head guard. Returning to Sari, he rudely checks down her top and up her sleeves, removing daggers from their hiding places. Wayland drops the weapons on the floor and firmly grabs her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open.
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 25
