Aravon gritted his teeth. Not a whole damned lot. Privacy could be purchased with the right amount of coin, but the commodity could be sold to a higher bidder. Especially when that bid came accompanied by the threat of violence.
He sucked in a breath. “And the others?”
Colborn shook his head. “They got out in time.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Noll must have seen them coming, led them out across the rooftops.”
“Seems we’re all doing a bit of rooftop running tonight,” Zaharis signed. An attempt at a joke, but his expression was grim, morose.
A question formed in Colborn’s eyes, but Aravon spoke first. “Take me to them. Something’s come up, and we need to figure out what to do.”
Colborn nodded and slipped back down the alleyway, heading south with Zaharis behind him. Aravon cast one final glance at the Wrinkled Pig and the waiting Steel Company mercenaries before he, too, followed the Lieutenant into the shadows and away from danger.
* * *
“Watcher’s hairy balls!” The expletive burst from Noll’s lips as he leapt to his feet. “The bloody Secret Keepers?”
Zaharis nodded. “The Hidden Circle buggered us good and proper.”
“Damn.” Belthar rumbled. He sat slumped against the wooden wall of the empty, crumbling warehouse in which they’d taken shelter. His cheeks were pale, lines of pain and fatigue twisting his face. In his condition, it had to have taken a supreme effort of will to escape out the third-floor window with Skathi and Noll. “Situation’s gone tits up, ain’t it?”
Aravon glanced around—in the darkness of the dilapidated building, with only the glow of the moonlight leaking through a hole in the roof for illumination and the steady drip, drip, dripping of a leak somewhere around them, the assessment summed up their circumstances accurately.
“What’s the play, Captain?” Skathi lifted her gaze from Snarl, curled in her lap, and turned a questioning look on Aravon. “Seems like we’ve pissed off the entire city in the last couple of days. Short of hiding out among the Fehlans—”
“No point.” Colborn shook his head. “The Secret Keepers will comb the Outwards thoroughly.”
Zaharis nodded his agreement.
“Then we’ve nowhere left to run.” Skathi grimaced. “Lord Virinus is in hiding Keeper knows where, and the city’s too hot. Our best option is to get back to Pinehollow, gear up, and hightail it for Camp Marshal. Maybe even head south of the Chain, back to the Fehlan wilds where we have plenty of space to get lost until things cool down.”
“No.” Aravon drew in a deep breath. “There’s one more choice. One I’ve been putting off since we returned to Icespire.”
“The Prince?” Colborn asked.
“We’d never get past the Ebonguard and across the Northbridge.” A note of grim finality rang in Aravon’s voice. “No, we need to call in the only other person Duke Dyrund trusted.”
He drew out the strip of cloth bearing Lord Eidan’s scent and the silver disc. “It’s time we bring Lord Eidan in on our mission. The Prince’s spymaster is our only hope of getting through this in one piece.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Aravon’s gut twisted as a quiet tap, tap, tap sounded at the door to the warehouse. He leapt to his feet, half-drawing his sword. The rest of his Grim Reavers—all but Belthar, still too weak from the poison’s lingering aftereffects—reacted with the same alacrity. Noll and Skathi, perched on the rafters high above the warehouse floor, disappeared onto the rooftop. Zaharis, Rangvaldr, and Colborn slithered through the shadows toward the door and formed a solid wall of steel around the opening. If enemies had come for them—the Secret Keepers, Brokers, Steel Company, or some other foe they hadn’t yet pissed off—they’d be ready.
A quiet whistle echoed from above. Aravon glanced up and Noll shot him the “All’s well” signal in Zaharis’ silent hand language. The click, clicking of claws on the roof told Aravon that Snarl had returned, accompanied by the man they’d expected to see.
Aravon nodded to Colborn. “Open it.”
The Lieutenant cracked the door, peered through, and opened it just wide enough for Lord Eidan to slip through before locking it once more. He and Zaharis never moved from their posts, and Rangvaldr hurried off to stand watch at the warehouse’s rear loading entrance.
Lord Eidan’s eyes never stopped moving as he strode toward Aravon. Though he wore simple, plain robes, they were well-tailored and cut to fit his lean figure. His hooked nose, prominent cheekbones, and tight-pressed lips pulled into a frown that bordered on irate. “In Icespire. Surrounded by enemies. Need to meet.” His voice was oddly deep for a man his size, a baritone that resounded through the high-ceilinged warehouse as he recited Aravon’s hastily penned message. “Now, Captain Aravon, can you explain to me why in the bloody hell that is the first real bit of news I’ve heard from any of you for nearly two weeks now? And that after ignoring the note I sent with your Enfield last night?”
Aravon opened his mouth to answer, but Lord Eidan drove on.
“And, I have to find out about the Duke’s death from a messenger sent with the news from Sentry Garrison rather than find about it from the very people with him in his final hours.” His eyes narrowed, a glint of anger burning bright. “How am I supposed to do my job of providing you intelligence and resources if I have no idea where you are or what you’re doing?”
Aravon waited until he was certain the nobleman had finished. Lord Eidan had every right to his anger—he’d been drafted by the Duke for the precise purpose of maintaining open lines of communication with the Grim Reavers. But that didn’t mean Aravon had made the wrong choice by keeping him in the dark.
“Operational security,” Aravon answered in a voice at once quiet and firm, no doubt in his mind.
The muscles along Lord Eidan’s slim jawline twitched. “What does that mean?”
“The traitor in Icespire.” Aravon held the man’s gaze, unwavering. “The one who revealed the location of Silver Break Mine to the Eirdkilrs.”
Lord Eidan’s face turned a shade paler, and his high forehead creased into a frown. “The one the Duke had me investigating.” He cleared his throat once, twice, his expression growing thoughtful. “Someone he believed was close to the Prince.”
Aravon nodded. “The mine was just the first of the problems. When one of the Duke’s agents in Rivergate turned up murdered, we had to assume the situation was bigger than we initially believed.”
“Of course.” Lord Eidan cleared his throat again, an irritating habit. “I received the Duke’s message asking me to look into the matter at Rivergate. But I came up empty-handed. You’re certain it was murder, and not a casualty of the siege?”
A memory flashed through Aravon’s mind: three hundred and seventy-eight bodies, Legionnaires and Westhaven regulars, laid out on the paved courtyard of Rivergate’s inner keep, the soldiers fallen in defense of the city.
“I’m certain.” Steel hardened in Aravon’s gut. “The man in question didn’t die in the fighting—he was stabbed and thrown off the parapet.”
Lord Eidan’s lips drew into a tight line. “Damnation!” The lines in his high forehead deepened, and the long, slim fingers of his right hand toyed with the hem of his fine-cut sleeve.
“Then there’s this.” From within his pouch, Aravon drew out the wax seal bearing the carbuncle insignia. “We found this hidden where we were supposed to meet with the Duke’s agent. And on the mercenary that murdered the Duke, as well as stamped on a piece of parchment with—”
Lord Eidan’s eyes flew wide. “Wait! Murdered the Duke?” He appeared stunned by the news, thrown off-balance. “I was told Wraithfever claimed him.”
Anger flared within Aravon’s chest. “That’s what we thought, too.” He gestured toward Zaharis. “Until he found proof that the Duke had been poisoned by one of the mercenaries you hired to accompany the Duke.”
Lord Eidan’s calm seemed to sway beneath the barrage of information. “The mercenaries I
hired?” He took an instinctive step backward, outrage flashing across his long, narrow features. “Impossible! I’ve worked with the Black Xiphos for years. There is simply no way any of them would prove such traitors to Icespire. Certainly not to the man they were hired to protect!”
“But one of them was new. A man named Otton.” Aravon jabbed a finger at the floor. “More damning still, he used a poison that can only be procured here in Icespire.”
Lord Eidan swayed, and for a moment, Aravon thought he would collapse. “Keeper’s teeth!” Guilt and sorrow flashed across his face. “Could it be…am I…?” He sat heavily on a pile of overturned wooden crates and stared down at his fingers. “The Duke’s blood is on my hands.”
Aravon studied the nobleman. He hadn’t expected such a strong reaction, yet he shouldn’t have been surprised. Duke Dyrund had been beloved by all in the Princelands. How much more by the man who had worked side by side with him as his aide and spymaster all these years?
“No.” Aravon shook his head, his tone reassuring. “The blame lies squarely with Lord Aleron Virinus.”
That seemed to pierce Lord Eidan’s grief. His head snapped up and he sucked in a breath. “Lord…Virinus?” The word stuck in his throat and disbelief sparkled in his eyes. “You suspect—”
Aravon drew out the parchment bearing the message from Lord Virinus to Lord Morshan. “He deceived the Shalandrans and is working with the Brokers to steal gold from Steinnbraka Delve.”
Lord Eidan leapt to his feet, snatched the letter from Aravon’s hands, and scanned it. “By the Watcher!” he gasped. “Such treachery boggles the mind.” He seemed torn between shock, suspicion, doubt, and genuine horror. “So that is why you have come to Icespire. To find the truth about Lord Virinus, and to uncover the full extent of his treachery.”
“Yes. And given who Lord Virinus is and the power he wields in Icespire, I decided it was prudent to play my cards close to the breastplate until we were certain.”
A scowl pierced the surprise masking Lord Eidan’s face. “I understand.” He cleared his throat yet again. “But as your only liaison with the Prince, it would have been better had you informed me. I cannot furnish you with information or offer resources if I do not know of your whereabouts.” He bowed his head. “With the Duke gone to his eternal rest, may he find peace in the Sleepless Lands, it falls to me to guide you in your missions. To be effective, I must be kept informed of anything and everything that could prove critical.”
“Understood.” Aravon inclined his head. “From now on, we will do our utmost to provide more frequent updates on our actions.”
“Thank you, Captain Aravon.” Lord Eidan stood and held out a slim hand. “I know Duke Dyrund had strong feelings of affection for you. While I can never replace him, I swear that I will endeavor to aid you and your company in any way I can.”
“Good.” Aravon clasped the nobleman’s hand. This was a new side to Lord Eidan, one he hadn’t seen before. Then again, he’d never exchanged more than a few words with the spymaster. That would have to change now that Lord Eidan was in charge of coordinating their missions. “If Lord Aleron Virinus is working with the Eirdkilrs, he could be putting all the Princelands in jeopardy.”
“Wait, you suspect Lord Virinus to be in league with the enemy?” Lord Eidan’s eyes flew wide in surprise and his hand pulled free of Aravon’s grip as he twitched. “What makes you believe the Eirdkilrs are involved in any way?”
“The disappearance of all the miners at Silver Break,” Aravon replied without hesitation. “The Eirdkilr attack on Rivergate immediately after wagonloads of silver and ghoulstone arrived from the mine within Jokull territory. Then there was the assault on Steinnbraka Delve, which only happened after Lord Morshan made clear to Lord Virinus his intentions to leave Fehl.”
A bewildered look flashed across Lord Eidan’s narrow, angular face. “But why?” He cleared his throat…again. “Why would the Eirdkilrs care about the mines?”
“We believe it has something to do with the ghoulstone.” Aravon’s eyes darted toward Zaharis—the Secret Keeper had spent the last few weeks studying the stone, and had yet to uncover its worth to the Eirdkilrs. “Everything they’ve done in recent weeks, every attack—from Bjornstadt to Rivergate to Storbjarg—was motivated not only by their desire to subjugate the Fehlans and drive us off their lands, but also to get their hands on the ghoulstone.”
He told Lord Eidan of the Blotahorgr in Storbjarg, of the vast ghoulstone-paved courtyard in the Fjall’s capital, and the Eirdkilrs hauling away sacks of ghoulstone along with the gold mined at Gold Burrows.
“If they had only come for the gold and silver, they would have discarded the ghoulstone rather than risk being caught weighed down beneath so much worthless stone.” Aravon shook his head. “But there’s more to it than just taking coin from the Prince’s pocket, preventing him from hiring more Legionnaires. They want the ghoulstone, and they want Fehlan, Princelander, and Shalandran miners as well.”
“Miners?” Lord Eidan’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulled into a tight line. “What could they possibly want with—”
“We don’t know, but we’re damned sure going to find out once we come face to face with Lord Virinus.” Aravon scowled. “That’s why we’re here. My men found out that Lord Aleron Virinus fled Icespire after the assassination of his nephew.”
“I heard of that.” A furrow deepened Lord Eidan’s brow. “The Hunter of Voramis, or so the rumors say.” A curious look entered his eyes.
“The rumors are true.” Aravon nodded. “I don’t know if all the rumors about him are true, but no way any other assassin could have survived the wounds we inflicted on him.” No man should be able to survive a slash to the neck and a sword thrust to the heart. The Hunter hadn’t just lived—he’d put up a hell of a fight, killed Lord Bannitus, and outrun Aravon and his companions.
“Keeper’s teeth!” Lord Eidan’s face turned a shade paler. “You were there? My sources tell me it was the Steel Company who…” He trailed off as realization dawned in his eyes. “You masqueraded as Steel Company. Which explains why they’re up in force and tearing apart Portside.”
“Yes.” Aravon’s jaw clenched. “They found out where we were staying—we barely managed to get out before they surrounded the inn.”
Wheels began to turn in Lord Eidan’s eyes, and he tugged at his thin lips with one slim finger. “So you’ve no idea where Lord Virinus might have gone, and you’re too occupied evading the Steel Company to have time to dig into the matter.”
The nobleman’s tone, barely short of condescending, sent a flash of irritation through Aravon. Then again, it could have simply been his irritation at his own failings, just unleashed at a convenient target. With effort, he forced himself to answer in a calm, emotionless tone. “In so many words, yes.”
Lord Eidan shrugged. “I suppose I should almost be grateful, then.”
Aravon’s eyebrows shot up.
The nobleman threw up his hands. “Now I can finally do my bloody job and offer you Grim Reavers the support you need, as the Duke assigned me to.”
Put like that, Aravon understood the man’s response. He inclined his head. “Yes.”
“Good.” Lord Eidan was instantly all business, every trace of surprise and bewilderment gone, replaced by the calm confidence of a man in his own element. “Then for the time being, the seven of you will remain here. Tucked out of sight, where no one will think to look for you.” He glanced at the derelict warehouse and distaste curled his upper lip. With the faint pre-dawn light leaking through the myriad holes in the roof, the crumbling building certainly didn’t appear like much.
Then again, Aravon thought, that’s kind of the point. We want to make sure we’re in the last place anyone would come hunting. With the Steel Company added to the list of their enemies in Icespire—joining the Brokers and the Secret Keepers—a ramshackle hole-in-the-wall like this offered far better camouflage than the Wrinkled Pig.
“Rest.” Lor
d Eidan’s eyes darted toward Belthar, who hadn’t moved from his seat against one of the warehouse’s wooden walls. “Recover from your travails and take your ease. Meanwhile, I will dig into the matter of Lord Aleron Virinus, as well as this insignia.” He gestured to the wax seal in Aravon’s hand. “Give me four hours. I will find where Lord Virinus is holed up, and you will be on your way to him before the sun reaches its peak.”
“Thank you.” Relief flooded Aravon, and the burden lifted from his shoulders. He was so far out of his element here in Icespire. A part of him actually felt guilty he hadn’t gone to the Duke’s aide for help sooner. That was his job, after all. Aravon had spent the last few days muddling through a task for which Lord Eidan was far better-suited. And in doing so, had nearly gotten Belthar killed and himself and Zaharis captured by the Secret Keepers.
“I will take that.” Lord Eidan held out a hand for the wax seal. “Did any of you recognize the insignia?”
Aravon shook his head. “Duke Dyrund thought he might have, but he couldn’t place it.” He placed the glob of wax and accompanying parchment in Lord Eidan’s slim fingers. “And it appears he didn’t have time to send it off to you before everything happened in Storbjarg.”
The corners of Lord Eidan’s mouth twitched. “I understand.” He cleared his throat—the habit was truly grating on Aravon’s nerves. “Reports from Commander Galerius indicated that the situation in the Fjall lands had grown dire by the time they arrived. Even now, weeks later, the Eirdkilrs have not ceased their predations on both Fjall and Deid villages. Onyx Battalion and the Deid warbands have run themselves ragged trying to curb the rampage, but with the Hilmir’s forces pulled back to Ornntadr, they have little support to the south.”
Aravon absorbed the information in silence; he’d hoped that destroying the Eirdkilr force at Steinnbraka Delve had put an end to the force that had survived the Battle of Hangman’s Hill, yet it seemed the Eirdkilrs hadn’t yet expended their fury on the Fehlans that defied them and slew their Blodsvarri.
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