“We should kill him,” I said.
“Aye, we should.”
We stopped in our haste to dress, and stared at one another. What I read in his eyes was what I suspected he read in mine. Neither of us had the stomach to slay an unconscious man. Even if that man was Prince Brutal. I knew Broughton would never rest until we lay at his feet, skinned of our hides like two stags. Despite that fact, I could not find it within me to murder him in blood that felt cold.
“You do it,” Rygel said, biting his lower lip.
“Why me?”
“You’re trained to kill. It’s easier for you.”
I tried to wither him with a look, but he expertly avoided my eyes and began fussing with his belt buckle. I looked at Brutal, thinking of my dagger sinking into his throat. He would never know it when he died.
“Why can’t you do it? Stop his heart with magic.”
“It’s forbidden.”
“Forbidden? By whom?”
Rygel’s skin turned pale, his expression bleak. “Those who kill by magic are cursed, forever. I know. I’ve done it.”
“You’re not supposed to kill? Magic is a weapon, like a sword. Surely you can defend yourself.”
“Weapons are one thing, magic quite another. I’m free to practice magic as long as I don’t kill. So, with magic, I can turn you into a turnip, yes. Kill you, no.”
“If you’ve already…” My voice trailed off as he suddenly turned on me, snarling, his hand lifted toward me in fury. Startled, I stepped back a pace, seeing the fury, the agony, the torment in his amber eyes, his drawn pale face.
“Don’t say another—”
A sudden gag gripped any further words, as though the very air itself came alive and seized my throat. I could not speak, although I could move. I grabbed my own throat, looking wildly at Rygel. He stared fiercely back, his lips drawn back over his teeth. The tawny cat’s eyes glared like two bright lamps.
Then as suddenly as it had come, the gag was gone.
“Was that necessary?” I asked, rubbing my throat.
“Never suggest I kill anyone with magic ever again. Not ever.”
I subsided, shrugging. I looked again at Brutal.
“Come what may, I can’t do it,” I murmured. “Not like this.”
“Sometimes a conscience can be a real bloody nuisance,” Rygel commented dryly, his mercurial mood shifting once more. “Well, at least you spared some slave his virginity.” He tossed me a gold cloak embossed with the White Lion.
I caught it absently. “What?”
“With the blow you gave him I doubt he’ll ever get it up again.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are crude.”
“I call them as I see them,” he said. His shoulders rose and fell in what was to be the first of many indifferent shrugs I would see.
“But,” he said, walking toward Lionel’s corpse, “since you mentioned killing with weapons, I want mine back. It’s my favorite throwing knife.”
I watched in morbid fascination as he planted a boot on the dead High King’s chest and yanked his dagger out of the royal brow. He briskly cleaned it on Lionel’s plain gray robe, leaving a scarlet stain.
“One more thing.”
I had in him a small measure of trust that I could allow him so close to me with the bared blade. My instincts screamed at me to raise my own weapon. I willed my instincts into submission, frozen, and I watched as he lifted the blade to my throat, cutting the leather collar from my neck.
Folding the tough leather, he shoved it into a pouch at his belt. “There are enough gems on this to see us out of the Federation,” he said.
I rubbed my throat, the back of my head, already missing the weight of it around my neck. Strange how I despised its presence, yet missed its absence.
“What about that?” I asked, gesturing toward the ornate sword.
Rygel shook his head with regret. “It’s too noticeable. It will only draw unwanted attention. It’s a pity, though. Your collar will see us out of the Federation, but those gems would see us out of the Federation in style.”
I picked up the ancient sword and turned it over in my hands. It was a thing of raw, deadly beauty, the blue tint in the steel shining like a light from within. ’Twas a heraldic weapon, indeed. I knew it had been in Lionel’s family since his dynasty was born, over two hundred years ago. Fathers passed it down to sons with a great deal of pomp and ceremony for generations uncounted. I should have left it for Brutal to inherit as was his due.
I snapped the blade over my knee.
Rygel caught the jeweled hilt I tossed him. I pointed to it. “That can be hidden.”
He stared at me a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “Remind me to never get you really angry.”
Again, I fingered my neck where the collar had lain for so many years. As much as I hated it, its disappearance made me feel naked and vulnerable.
“That scarf covers enough of your neck to hide the places you didn’t tan,” Rygel remarked, peering at my throat. “Hopefully the rest won’t be noticed.”
Tucking my hair up, I fitted the helmet to my head. It fit tightly, but I knew I could endure it. I draped the scarf down across my face, leaving only my eyes exposed. I could lower my eyes, I thought. Only officers would dare accost the High King’s own Synn’jhani.
Rygel followed suit, his own yellow locks hidden. Most of the palace soldiers wore their hair short. He, too, draped his scarf across his face. Hopefully, he would think to lower his own distinctive cat’s eyes.
“Um,” I began, catching Rygel’s quick glance. I gestured to the expensive bauble in his left ear. “Sins do not get paid well enough to afford one of those.”
He snorted sheepishly and pulled the diamond from his ear. Putting it in his belt pouch, he finished tucking the rest of his wheaten hair under his helmet.
“Are we ready?” I asked, fondling the hilt of my sword. At least the soldiers used the heavy broadswords I liked and not the slim rapiers the nobles favored.
“Aye, let’s go,” Rygel began, leading the way toward the doors. “Wait.”
He darted back, past the High King’s corpse and Brutal’s snoring body to the table. He scooped up several vials and tucked them away in his pouch.
“Now let’s move,” he said, coming back and hurrying past me. “Before someone realizes there are no guards out there.”
Rygel opened the door, peeking out and glancing first left then right. “I think we’re clear.”
He grabbed my cloak and dragged me with him, as though fearing I would abandon him once in the hallway. I shook loose from him and softly shut the door behind me. Straightening our backs like disciplined soldiers, we marched down to the marbled and opulent corridor. Perhaps the gods willed our success, for no one appeared to either witness us or dress us down. No servants, no hangers-on, no royal troops strolled or patrolled near us. I knew the corridor would not remain empty for long. Silently uttering a prayer to the Holy Seven of my homeland, I walked firmly at Rygel’s side. Confidently, as though I belonged there. My back itched, waiting for the shouts of alarm. The corridor turned to the right and we left the High King’s chambers behind us.
“What is your name?” Rygel muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Gods above and below, he was an obsessive sort.
“Raine,” I answered. “Raine Barjlek.”
Chapter 4
From Murder to Chaos
I tossed my hair over my shoulder, throwing Kel’Ratan a black look. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I muttered to myself.
I paced around my small chambers like a caged animal. Although the best in the suite of apartments, the room held only a large bed, rich tapestries on the walls, tasseled cushions and a few chairs. Forced to shorten my stride through lack of space, I nonetheless made up for that by increasing my fury.
“Will you stop that infernal pacing?” Kel’Ratan snapped, returning my black look with a glower of his own.
He sat at a nearby table, s
cribbling out drawings and makeshift plans of escape. The constant tension of waiting for Brutal’s soldiers arriving to drag me to the altar wore at all of us. The two days Theodoric spoke of would end in a few hours. Soon, we’d be battling with daggers as well as with eyes and acid comments.
Despite many sessions with Kel’Ratan and the others, no one could come up with a viable plan of escape. All of us, with no regard for rank, discussed, created and offered plans of freeing ourselves. I rejected them all as being too risky. I would not sacrifice the lives of my people needlessly.
Brutal permitted only one of the warriors from the suite of rooms to bring food, supplies and news. Brutal’s soldiers had rounded up all of my warriors from around Soudan and packed more than thirty of us into apartments that could comfortably accommodate ten. Warriors slept and ate on their bedrolls, lined in row upon row among what furniture we allowed to remain. I shared my quarters with Sele and three other women of my household. Kel’Ratan slept on a makeshift pallet across the doorway. Most of my warriors spent their time sharpening weapons, sleeping or talking quietly. When not on errands to fetch supplies and news, Witraz and Rannon made jests of Brutal’s sexual inadequacies, causing many others to laugh aloud. Yuri and Yuras sat on the floor in a corner, dicing. Left and Right stood to either side of my door, despite Kel’Ratan’s presence guarding me. I doubted they slept the entire two days.
“You two,” I snapped, obtaining their complete and undivided attention. “If you’re not sleeping in five minutes, I’m going to dock you six months’ pay.”
Since they never spoke, I heard their grumblings in their mulishly obstinate expressions. They obeyed me and rolled themselves into their blankets, side by side.
Before I could utter a properly scathing comment to Kel’Ratan, Witraz burst in without knocking. Although my elder by five years, he had been my friend since birth. A big burly warrior with one eye, he wore his red-brown hair long with two single braids tied behind his head, keeping his hair from his face. His one remaining brown eye held a humorous spark, his absent right scarred and covered in a black patch. While a blooded and accomplished warrior, Witraz also owned a wicked sense of humor and an impossibly good nature. Over the years, Witraz claimed he lost his right eye in battle. On more than one occasion, I caught him bragging to drinking pals that it took twelve Federal troops five days to wear him down and wound him sorely.
I wasn’t the only one who knew the truth. His woman had caught him on the wrong side of the bed sheets. In a fit of rage at his betrayal, she slashed him in the face with her sword. Perhaps that exchange corrected all wrongs, for upon taking his eye, she forgave him all. They cohabitated happily to this day, and, as far as anyone knew, Witraz never strayed again.
Sele, another childhood friend, followed close behind him, her huge brown eyes lit with excitement. A dark-haired woman dressed as I was in a leather skirt, short vest of spotted leopard fur, a tight belt that held an array of sword, dagger, quiver of arrows, she flung her thick black braid over her shoulder.
“What?” I demanded, both irritated at the disturbance and impatient for any news.
Kel’Ratan, as if sensing more than I did in their expressions, got to his feet, staring at them intently as if willing them to speak.
“The palace is in an uproar, Your Highness,” Witraz said quickly. “This may be the moment we need.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Rather than answer, he stepped aside and gestured Sele forward.
“The High King is slain, Your Highness,” she said. “The Crown Prince badly injured.”
My jaw dropped. “How?”
“The Prince’s brothers have risen in rebellion,” Witraz added. “The palace and the city are in chaos. Fighting has broken out everywhere.”
“Who killed the High King?”
“Rumor spoke of a slave and the renegade wizard,” he answered.
I looked at Sele. “What slave?”
She shrugged, frowning. “I’m not sure, but I think someone said it was that slave we saw in the arena.”
“The Wolf?”
“Yes,” she said in relief, recognizing the name. “I remember now. Him.”
Lady preserve that man, I thought, dashing out into the common room. I scattered warriors in every direction, jumped over the legs of those napping on pallets and lunged toward the tall windows.
Outside, the Federal soldiers had vanished. The rows upon rows of regular troops in their purple and gold uniforms had ceased to exist. Tripping over the inert body of one of the twins, I threw open the door. He lunged to his feet, grabbing at his weapons. Seeing it was me who kicked him, he grunted and lay back down, hoping, no doubt, he could resume his nap.
I found no Synn’jhani, no troops in the corridor. I looked both ways, and saw naught. Yet, the corridor teemed with life. It echoed eerily with the distinct sounds of fighting. From both directions came screams, the clash of steel on steel, shouted orders. Slamming the door, I booted Left—or was it Right?—in the ribs, forcing him up.
“Brutal’s brothers knew of his plans for them when their sire died,” Kel’Ratan said as I bolted toward him. “I’ll bet you ten silvers he’s now fighting for his crown and his life.”
“Six brothers and all their retainers,” I gasped, thinking fast. “That’s not a wager I’ll take.”
“And several nobles have declared for either the brothers’ faction or Broughton’s,” Sele added. “Their armies are involved as well.”
“Thus he’s too busy to concern himself with us,” I said. “Get everyone up. Kick them if you have to,” I told Sele.
She nodded and left, her enthusiasm for task unequalled. Bitter curses and grunts accompanied her obedience to my command.
I paused and looked at Kel’Ratan. “That slave may have just saved all of us.”
“And the poor bastard won’t make it out of the palace alive.”
“Neither will we, unless we move now,” I snapped.
Between Sele and me, we bullied all the nappers to their feet, ordering everyone to pack what they could on short notice. My people assembled within moments, thirty warriors of both genders. Excitement and eagerness filled their expressions as they listened to my orders.
“Gather all you can carry,” I said. “If it can’t fit into a saddlebag, pocket or pouch it stays behind. Leave no weapons. Out in the corridor I lead, Witraz, and Sele behind me. Kel’Ratan, the twins, Rannon are the rearguard.”
I blatantly ignored the furious twins’ expressions. They hated being rearguard.
I continued. “Weapons at the ready. We go as a group, until we get to the stable. Then we ride as though hell itself were after us. If any of us get separated, we ride north and meet at the monastery under the escarpment where we camped on the way here. Everyone remember?”
Eager nods and murmurs of assent met my query.
“Questions?”
I looked around meeting their eyes, noting their eager expressions. I saw no fear, no trepidation and no nervousness at the prospect of fighting and battle. A surge of pride struck my heart. Here indeed stood the best warriors under the sun. How could the Federation ever hope to conquer such?
“Let’s move.”
Warriors scattered and I dashed to my own room. I had already packed most of my clothing and essentials for a rapid escape, but I grabbed some dried food, an extra knife and shoved them into my saddlebags. I filled a waterbag from a pewter pitcher and tied my hair back with a leather thong. Satisfied that I had done all I could, I slung my saddlebags over my left shoulder, picked up my bow and strapped my quiver to my hip.
As I walked out, I unbuckled my sword belt and buckled it across my chest, so the hilt of my sword lay just behind my left shoulder. There, the hilt would be within easy reach of my hand and out of the way for riding. The others had already done the same, I noted with approval, their swords in their fists.
“Ready?” I asked.
Quick nods and murmurs of assent answered me. K
el’Ratan and his rearguard stood off to one side, ready to follow the rest of us. I nodded at him as I passed by to the door.
As before, the corridor remained free of fighting, but the battle sounded closer. I smelled smoke. I suspected some genius or ten lit the place on fire, never imagining they’d have to fight their way through a burning building.
The quickest and most direct way to the stable lay to the left. Yet, the ring of steel and clash of men came from that direction. Toward the right lay a warren of chambers and private apartments that wound around in a large circle before meeting at the doors I needed. Quite the long way around, but I prayed ’twould be the safer route. I slipped out and turned right, my people following on my heels.
I led the way at a trot, alert for any armed trouble headed our way. For several minutes, we ran on, seeing no one save a few slaves and free liveried servants, who fled in a panic from us. The palace nobles are probably hiding for their lives, I thought, or have already retreated from Soudan. The opulent marble corridor with its flowered trellises, strange creatures in cages and antique armor made several sharp turns to the left, and I knew we were now in the west wing of the palace. The royal stables lay that way.
Smoke stung my nostrils with its acrid bite, growing thicker with every step. Before long, I thought, we’ll have to crawl on our bellies to stay beneath its cloud and breathe. This section of the corridor, hung with rich, brightly woven tapestries over the dressed stone, grew cloudy as the smoke filled the atmosphere over our heads. I crouched low to stay below it, ran forward. To my right branched a smaller hallway that led to what I thought was servants’ quarters. This area was not as opulent, nor did it have the same expanse and furnishings as the one we currently followed. Only bare stone greeted my eyes. It burned.
Flames licked the walls, spewing a dark thick smoke upwards toward the ceiling. I scented the distinct odor of naphtha, and cursed under my breath. If those fire-loving fools busily splashed naphtha over everything, our troubles had just doubled.
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