“Lord Lionsclaw is still not well, my lord,” Rorin explained apologetically. “If one of you doesn’t think it would help to address his troops before the battle, I might be able to prevail upon Lady Lionsclaw to do so in her husband’s stead.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Toren exclaimed. “Who ever heard of anything so absurd?”
“I’ll talk to Terin about it,” Damin volunteered, giving Rorin a look that spoke volumes. “If he’s well enough to fight, he’ll be well enough to address his troops before the battle.”
The Warlord of Dregian eyed Damin scornfully. “Why don’t you do it, your highness? I’m sure being addressed by the High Prince’s heir will inspire them to remarkable feats of courage on the day.”
Damin forced a smile, thinking a closed fist right between the man’s eyes would have been so much easier. “Why, Cyrus. Do you think I have a way with leaderless rabble?”
“I don’t doubt your ability to relate to the leaderless rabble, cousin,” the Warlord replied in a tone that was anything but complimentary.
“Then, if we’re done here, I shall retire,” Rorin announced, interrupting the brewing argument. “If my lords will permit? I have a lot to tell Lord Lionsclaw.”
“I’ll come with you,” Damin said, deciding it might be prudent to retreat before he gave in to temptation. “I want to see if he feels well enough to join us yet.”
“He’s only got a day or so left to recuperate,” Rogan warned, playing along with their subterfuge with remarkable willingness. Damin supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Rogan knew what was at stake. And he knew what his sister was capable of. Given a choice between handing the command of yet another province to the Sorcerers’ Collective (which effectively meant handing command to Cyrus Eaglespike), or letting a woman lead his brother-in-law’s army into battle, taking his sister’s side might well appear to be the lesser of two evils. “The Fardohnyan scouts have spotted us by now, for certain. As we speak, Regis is sitting further up the valley, trying to make up his mind whether or not he should come down to meet us.”
“Suppose Regis decides to wait for us to come to him?” Toren asked.
“He hasn’t got the supplies to wait,” Rogan told him. “We’ve been here for five days already and it’ll soon be clear we’re not moving any further. Any day now, he’s going to come to the same conclusion and decide he has no choice but to come down to meet us or stay put and starve.”
“He may take weeks to come to that conclusion,” Cyrus suggested.
Conin Falconlance shook his head. “He doesn’t have that much time. I agree with Damin and Rogan. I’d be surprised if the Fardohnyans weren’t already running low on supplies. The Widowmaker’s been cut off for the better part of three weeks now. If they attack, it’ll be sooner rather than later.”
“Then you’d better tell your lord to get better, Master Mariner, sooner rather than later,” Cyrus instructed the young sorcerer impatiently.
“I will pass on your message, my lord,” Rorin agreed with a humble bow to his betters.
“You do that,” Cyrus muttered in reply. “Because I’m damned if I’m going to war with anybody’s leaderless rabble in the van of our attack.”
“It won’t happen, Cyrus,” Damin assured him with a sudden grin, stepping back from the table. “The Dregian troops will be in the rear, not the van. You have nothing to worry about.”
On that note, Damin escaped the command tent, Rorin hot on his heels, before Cyrus Eaglespike worked out the young prince had just insulted his troops, his province and probably his honour and he had the chance to call him out over it.
CHAPTER 60
The next time Alija saw Galon Miar, he came to visit her in the Sorcerers’ Collective, a rare thing for him to do. He preferred, as a rule, to keep away from the Sorcerers’ Palace. It didn’t look good to have a man so highly placed in the Assassins’ Guild be seen coming and going from the Collective. Such a thing caused people to ask questions neither the Collective nor the guild was particularly inclined to answer.
When he was shown into her office, Alija embraced him, surprised when he flinched from her touch.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, stepping back from him.
“Had a little accident,” he winced.
“On the job?” she asked in surprise.
“Not exactly. It happened in Marla Wolfblade’s bedroom. I was trying to seduce her, actually. One of her damned guards ran me through. Or he tried to, at any rate.”
Alija stared at him in shock, appalled by his admission. “You admit you’ve been with her?”
“Not much point in denying it, is there?” he said, taking a seat gingerly on the chair in front of her desk. “You can tell if I’m lying.”
“You assured me you weren’t sleeping with her.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what were you doing in her bedroom?”
“I also told you it wasn’t for lack of trying,” he reminded her with a pained expression. “I was trying.”
“Why?”
“To keep up appearances, of course,” he said, looking at her as if old age was starting to erode her wits. “Marla thinks I want her so badly I’d do anything for her—up to and including betraying you.”
“Is that the truth?”
“That I want Marla so badly I’d do anything?” He laughed, and then winced as the movement obviously pulled at his fresh stitches. “Oh, absolutely. That’s why I keep coming back here. So you’ll find out I’m deceiving you and punish me for it.”
“Some men like to be punished. They find it quite … stimulating.”
Galon seemed amused. “I think you’ll find the men who like to be punished also like to be around to enjoy themselves at the end of it. I have a feeling your punishments are a little bit too final for my taste, Lady Eaglespike.”
“What are you really doing here, Galon?”
He carefully settled back into the chair. “I have another message for you. From the Fardohnyan agent you’re supposed to be conspiring with. You know, the one Marla has hired to trap you, the same poor dupe that you’re planning to use to trap her?”
Alija raised a brow at him. “And both of us fools for thinking we can trust you?”
He laughed. “Ah, now you see, that’s the biggest difference between you and Marla, my sweet. She just thinks she can trust me. You know you can.”
Alija wished she was as sure of that as Galon seemed. “What’s the message?”
“They want your proposal in writing.”
Alija laughed aloud and walked back around the desk. “Out of the question!”
“No document, no meeting,” Galon informed her with a shrug. “That’s the deal. I’m supposed to tell you the Fardohnyan won’t even consider going back to Hablet with your offer unless he can prove it comes from you.”
“And the moment I commit to parchment the suggestion that I can arrange to have the High Prince and his heirs killed in battle in return for granting my son the governorship of Hythria, I have committed treason.”
“You’re committing treason now, just by talking about it.”
“That’s a whole world away from putting it in writing,” she pointed out. “Does Marla think I’m a fool?”
“Far from it,” he replied. “If anything, it’s because she knows she can’t condemn you without proof that she’s insisting on this.”
“And you think I should write it?”
“Absolutely not!” he advised. “I think you’d be putting your head in a noose to even consider it.”
“Then you may tell your fellow conspirators that I am nobody’s fool and that I refuse to put anything in writing. If they want to condemn me, they’ll have to use a little more imagination.”
He rose to his feet, wincing a little with the pain. “I’d best be off then.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “But you just got here. Where are you going?”
“To call the whole thing off,” he explained, loo
king a little puzzled. “Isn’t that what you just told me to do?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to commit anything treasonous to writing, Galon. Nothing else has changed.”
“But without that document there is no plan,” he warned. “If you don’t want to provide it, that’s fine, but nothing more is going to come of this without it.”
She frowned, annoyed to think her clever scheme to confound Marla might be halted by something so mundane. Alija was days away from proving the High Prince’s sister guilty of treason. She didn’t intend to let it finish here. “You must speak to this Fardohnyan yourself, then. Arrange a meeting with him. If I’m going to turn this plan to disgrace me back on her, I need proof that Marla is in contact with the Fardohnyans, Galon.”
Galon shook his head helplessly. “I have no idea who he is. I’m not even sure Marla knows, either. I think the agent is someone Rodja Tirstone has arranged.”
“Can’t you find out who it is?”
“Not without giving away the fact that I’m working for the wrong side.”
She smiled coldly. “Not even with Marla convinced you’re so very desperately in love with her?”
“If I go back to Marla and tell her you refused to put your proposal in writing, she’ll do exactly what you should be doing, Alija—calling the whole damned thing off. She knows she can’t implicate you without proof, and I’m fairly certain she’s not going to try.”
Alija shook her head. She wasn’t about to give in on this. She hadn’t remained High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective for twenty years by being reckless. “If you think I’m going to hand over a document like that to a perfect stranger, without being certain they’re not part of this trap set by Marla Wolfblade to discredit me, then you are as insane as she is.”
“Don’t hand it over, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I just tell Marla you’ve agreed to write it? Then we could still set up the meeting.”
“That doesn’t help. If this Fardohnyan is working for Marla, he’ll be under instructions to do nothing until they’re sure I’ve implicated myself in treason. He’ll insist on seeing it.”
Galon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “How about this for a plan, then? Write the letter and show it to the agent without handing it over.”
“It might help Marla’s cause. I can’t see that it would do me a lot of good.”
“What if I was there?”
Alija stared at him suspiciously. “You?”
“If I come to the meeting with you, I could make sure the document didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
She shook her head doubtfully. “How? By killing Marla’s agent? For one thing, you’re not supposed to undertake uncontracted kills. For another, a dead Fardohnyan doesn’t help implicate Marla in anything.”
He gave her a wounded look. “Why do you automatically assume I’m planning to kill him?”
“You’re an assassin, Galon. It’s not an unreasonable assumption.”
“We can do this, Alija,” he insisted. “Please. Write the letter and I’ll tell Marla you’ll only attend the meeting if I’m there to protect you. I won’t let that letter be used for any other reason than its intended purpose, I swear.”
She believed him. Galon didn’t lie to her. It was possible he was planning to cheat on her, but his word was something she didn’t doubt. And he was right. If she refused to keep playing the game, it wouldn’t be a win for anyone; it would be the end of it. Once the plague settled down and the war really began to impact on people, who knew when she’d get another chance like this?
But there was one contingency they hadn’t covered and until she knew what was going on there, she wasn’t prepared to take another step.
“What about Wrayan Lightfinger? Where does he fit into all this?”
“I’m not sure,” Galon said, his brows knitting together as if he was puzzled by the thief. “He wasn’t at the house the last time I visited.”
“The visit where Marla’s guards stabbed you?”
“Hmmm … can’t really figure out what’s going on with him. You said you knew him, didn’t you? From years ago.”
She nodded. “He was the former High Arrion’s apprentice.”
“Strange. He doesn’t look old enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wrayan Lightfinger. The man who tried to read my mind. I’d put him at thirty, thirty-three at the most. Shouldn’t he be about your vintage?”
Alija wasn’t sure she liked the way he phrased that, but she chose to ignore it. “You never mentioned anything about this before.”
“It only just occurred to me …” He laughed suddenly. “No … it couldn’t be …”
“What are you on about, Galon?”
“I was just thinking … suppose this Wrayan Lightfinger isn’t the real thing?”
“He’s the real thing, Galon. Believe me. I’ve felt his magic.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t exist. I’m just wondering if the man Marla is parading around Greenharbour as her pet magician is the real thing. For all we know, the Wrayan Lightfinger you knew is long dead, or he refused to leave Krakandar … there could be any number of reasons he’s not here. It’s obvious she had some relationship with the real one at some point, so it’s possible she knows of your past history with him. Maybe she’s just found a suitable dupe and is using him to threaten you.”
Was it possible? Could Marla be so devious? The mere fact that she was contemplating the question seemed answer enough for Alija. It could also account for why her attempts to have him found and arrested by the Sorcerers’ Collective guards had been singularly unsuccessful to date. “It would account for why I’ve not felt anybody working Harshini magic since he allegedly arrived in the city.”
“Well, that puts a whole different light on things, doesn’t it?”
Alija paused for a moment. If what Galon was suggesting was true, then it certainly did put a whole different light on the situation, one that favoured her enormously. “It would account for why he had no luck breaking your mind shield,” she mused. “Of course, if Marla really has brought an impostor to town, she would know your mind hadn’t been read. That would also seem to imply she might not trust you quite as much as you imagine.”
“Hence the reason I’m pursuing her so relentlessly. Love is blind, you know.”
“For your sake, I hope it’s deaf and dumb, as well. I want to see him.”
“See who?”
“This man calling himself Wrayan Lightfinger.”
“I doubt he’d agree to a meeting.”
“I don’t want a meeting. I just want a good look at him. Find out where he’s going to be and when, and then let me know. I wish to see this pretender for myself.” I should have done this weeks ago, she realised, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid.
Galon nodded. “I can probably manage that much. Shall I tell Marla you’re prepared to write the letter?”
Alija hesitated. “If I stall, she may begin to suspect I’m on to her. Tell her I’ll write the letter. Let her get her hopes up. Have them set up the meeting with this Fardohnyan agent of theirs. The sooner this is done with, the better.”
The assassin bowed to her and turned for the door.
“Galon.”
His hand on the door, he stopped to look at her. “Yes?”
“Haven’t you forgotten something?”
The assassin smiled disarmingly. “I can’t kiss you goodbye. I’m on my way over to Marla’s. If she smells your perfume on me, she’ll be suspicious.”
You always have an answer for everything, don’t you, Galon ?
“Be careful, then.”
“Of Marla?” he asked. “She’s not the one to worry about, I suspect. She’s a kitten compared to the daughter, actually.”
“Kalan?” Alija asked in surprise. “I didn’t know she was back in the city. You really have been taken into the fold, haven’t you?”
&
nbsp; Galon shrugged as he opened the door. “I keep telling you, Alija, I have an honest face.”
Before she could disagree with him he was gone, leaving Alija with the uneasy feeling this scheme was becoming so complex it could only result in disaster. But then the idea she might get even with Marla for twenty years of deception, twenty years of being made to look a fool … the unforgivable murder of Tarkyn Lye …
Well, this sort of thing didn’t come without a risk, and the sort of men willing to take such risks were the Galon Miars of this world, and they didn’t come without their own unique set of dangers.
That’s what made them so enticing.
And why Alija was so certain she would win.
CHAPTER 61
“Mother of the gods, boy! Where the hell does this bit go?”
“Here,” Rorin told Tejay calmly, pushing her hand away. “It joins that bit there in the back.”
Impatiently, Tejay let the young sorcerer fix the buckles on the shoulder of her gilded armour, cursing under her breath in several languages when she ran out of all the words she knew in Hythrun.
“I swear, Tejay, you know curses I’ve never even heard before.”
She looked up to find Damin ducking under the tent flap, dressed for battle, wearing the same metal gauntlets he had used to rob Mahkas of his windpipe. It was just on dawn and the whole camp was roused. Thunder rumbled distantly across the hills and the occasional flash of lightning blanketed the overcast sky. For the past two days as the storm built up, the Fardohnyans had been moving down the valley and it seemed they had arrived together. It had all been terribly civilised, too. Envoys had been exchanged, the peace offerings dutifully rejected. All the forms of war had been adhered to. Now they were down to the fighting.
She glared at the young prince, thunder rattling dramatically in the background. “Make one more smart-mouthed comment, my lad, and you’ll find I do a lot of things better than you besides cursing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Damin assured her. “I must say, you do look very … decorative.”
She tugged on the uncomfortable breastplate and scowled. “I look like a galloping great fool.”
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