The Mercenaries of the Stolen Moon

by Megan Derr

  Not long after joining the army, he'd manipulated his way to the forward camp, where the imperial crown prince himself was located. The best way to get access to the whole camp was to be a runner, so that was what Myra had done, while the rest of his team gained access and gathered information by other means.

  He'd always planned to never return home, to use Harken to escape and then flee somewhere no one would think to look for him. His initial plan had been to see the mission through and vanish in the aftermath. Such a high profile hit would result in untold chaos—the perfect time to disappear. For all he had no taste for assassination, he also wasn't going to lose sleep over a monarch dying. One was much like another, and they were all, at best, awful. At worst, cruel tyrants.

  He hadn't expected Sarrica, who treated people like people, instead of like tools or animals. A man who was genuinely kind and whose biggest fault was a tendency to say or do the wrong thing with the best of intentions. Sarrica never ate unless he knew for certain the soldiers had food. When circumstances required rough sleeping, Sarrica didn't demand special treatment. Myra had heard countless tales of Sarrica being put in stocks for misbehavior the same as everyone else. His closest friend was a man of like integrity.

  Then he'd actually met Sarrica, and everything had truly changed.

  He was only supposed to have been delivering a message to one of the generals, but he'd reached Sarrica's tent to find everything in upheaval because the only secretary who was fluent in Odont had died of a stray arrow to the head and his replacement would not arrive for two weeks—which would be far too late.

  Myra had volunteered his own skills without hesitation, and found himself a temporary fill-in.

  A week later, his father finally gained the position of temporary bodyguard he'd been working for and given the signal the assassination would take place the next day. That had left Myra with two choices: he could stick with his original plan of letting Sarrica die and escape in the resulting chaos.

  Or he could save Sarrica's life and see what came.

  The decision had, in the end, been a remarkably easy one. Two decades later, he could still recall the look on his father's face as he realized Myra had betrayed him—killed him, with a dagger to the gut, followed by a swift slice across the throat. Exactly as he'd been trained.

  Not once had he regretted his choice, and it had resulted in a life better than any he'd ever dreamed.

  He loved Harken. He loved Sarrica. Charlaine. His job. His life.

  He'd had twenty years of happiness. It was more than he had ever dared hope for. If his life as a Harken citizen was finally coming to an end, he had no real cause for complaint. After everything he had done, twenty years of a life he'd once only dreamed of was far more than he deserved.

  Still, he went around the room one last time, touching his books, his jewelry case, his beautiful clothes, his writing desk, and all the other little things he had loved so fiercely through the years.

  When he was done, he shut it all away, pushed back fear and depression and a resentment he had no right to, and returned to the High Office.

  Sarrica was speaking quietly with Jader but turned as movement caught his eye—and his eyes sharpened as he took in Myra. "There you are."

  Myra set his shoulders. "I need to speak with you, Majesty."

  "As you wish." Sarrica motioned for Jader and Allen to stay where they were and preceded Myra into his private office, locking the door behind them before moving around the desk to take his seat. "You look as though someone has died. What about this assassination matter has you so upset?" His eyes regarded Myra shrewdly, though knowing Sarrica, it was Lesto or Allen who had told him about Jac and Myra. "Not Jac, she's perfectly fine."

  "Not Jac," Myra said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Do you remember the day we met?"

  Something knowing flickered in Sarrica's eyes. The High Court, and so many others, thought Sarrica a fool, but though he could be foolish about many things, Sarrica was one of the smartest, sharpest men in the palace. "It would be hard to forget. How does that relate to this?"

  "The man I killed that day was only the primary assassin. There was a secondary." Myra fought back tears, gnawed at his bottom lip briefly, then finally forced out, "I was the secondary. I was there to gather intel and if the primary failed, I was supposed to finish the job."

  Sarrica leaned back in his seat, twirling a penknife expertly through his fingers. "Lesto suggested it once. That was one of the reasons he hated you so much back then. He's always been a suspicious bastard. Sadly, he's proven right nine times of ten. So I can't say I'm entirely surprised, though I wasn't expecting an admission twenty years after the fact. Why do you bring this up now?"

  "You don't—you don't hate me?"

  "No," Sarrica said quietly. "You've proven your loyalty a thousand-fold, Myra. When you saved my life that day; when you accompanied me to every military campaign thereafter without complaint. You could have led a different, likely better and fuller life, if you'd chosen practically any other occupation than being my secretary. You've had more chances than probably even I know to use the Harken throne to your own ends, make deals or feed information to other places and Pantheon knows what else. It would take a lot more than a twenty-year-old assassination attempt you saved me from to make me hate you. I'm certain Lesto will be Lesto about this, and Jader not much better, but you've always had my faith and trust. Why are you telling me the truth now?"

  "Because that man in the dungeons is from my former clan, but he doesn't have the tattoos on his chest, which means he—and probably the dead men—were trainees, not full assassins. They were given a minor target that would be useful to have out of the way, but if they failed to complete their assignment, the mission wasn't compromised. Far deadlier assassins are waiting to strike, probably at a peak point of the festival where they'll do the most damage by killing you, Allen, or possibly his brother—or any combination—in front of a large audience. The trainees would be add-ons to the primary kill team, which is comprised of at least six, sometimes up to nine assassins, for a job like this."

  "Damn it," Sarrica muttered, rubbing his temples. "Thank the Pantheon we have you to tell us this. Can you repeat all this to Jader and the others?"

  Myra nodded. "Of course. I just wanted to tell you first."

  Sarrica smiled briefly. "You had nothing to worry about, but I understand why you thought you might. I'll deal with Lesto. Empty the office. Cancel everything. Summon Captain Terrag and Captain Chass."

  "Captain Chass?" Myra's brows shot up. "I don't generally question you, Majesty—"

  "Yes, you do. All the time." Sarrica smiled when Myra smiled sheepishly. "I definitely meant Captain Chass. If this is going to get as ugly as I fear, then I want him involved."

  "Yes, Majesty."

  Sarrica stood, gripped his shoulders, then unlocked the door and threw it open. The office fell silent as they reemerged. Myra quickly cleared the office and sent his secretaries scattering to spread word of canceled meetings and dinners and teas. He sent Piru to fetch Terrag and Chass.

  Then he repeated all he'd told Sarrica to the others.

  "What!" Lesto bellowed, and it was only Sarrica who held him back. "You—"

  "Have served me faithfully and flawlessly for twenty years," Sarrica said. "Lesto, knock it off or I'll knock you down."

  "You couldn't knock me down if you had an army behind you," Lesto snapped, and shoved him away. He turned his full attention back on Myra. "I always knew there was something sneaky about you."

  Myra didn't flinch, but only because he'd expected those words or something very like them. "In my meagre defense, I never wanted to be any sneakier than was required for being Sarrica's head secretary. I stopped being an assassin the day I killed my—the primary assassin."

  Lesto's eyes narrowed, and before Sarrica or Jader could stop him, he barreled into Myra's space, grabbed his jacket in two fists, and hissed, "The day you killed your what."

&n
bsp; "Father," Myra said, voice shaking. "That primary assassin's name was Karl, and he was my father."

  Lesto let him go, anger replaced by unadulterated shock. "You killed your own father."

  Myra's mouth twisted as he looked away, memories long buried stirring at the bottom of his mind. "Soltorin isn't like Harken. Believe me when I say his death was no loss to the world, and certainly no loss to me. Killing him saved Sarrica and freed me. It was a price I was willing to pay."

  "I…" Lesto shook his head and didn't protest when Jader dragged him back.

  "I'm sorry," Allen said while everyone else continued to stare. "Even if you say it was no loss, that cannot have been an easy thing to do. There's no love lost between me and two of my brothers, but I would still mourn their passing."

  Sarrica coughed. "Speaking of your brothers…"

  Allen looked at him, and some silent conversation passed between them before he sighed. "I'll manage."

  Closing the space between them, Sarrica kissed Allen softly.

  Myra turned back to his desk as they continued to talk and plan, trying to organize everything as best he could so Piru would not be too overwhelmed when he took over, as Myra had no doubt he would be relieved of duty.

  Possibly losing his job was bad enough, but now there would be no tea with Jac. There would certainly be no Charlaine to keep calling him friend, not when he learned what Myra had hidden all these years. Charlaine did not suffer such secrets and lies. Those that came with the job were one thing, but keeping such a terrible secret from a friend?

  Someone pounded on the door and Myra went to get it, pulling it open as he stepped back to admit Captain Terrag of Fathoms Deep and Captain Chass of Penance Gate.

  He was as beautiful as his brothers, with the same gold-toned skin and sky-blue eyes, but Chass had hair more the color of dark, antiqued gold, cut close to his head, just long enough the ends feathered out slightly, like it would turn into a fluffy mass if he allowed it. Like Sarrica, his face was covered in scars, like claws had raked down his right cheek and neck, another wound cutting his left cheek almost exactly in half, and a bit of his right eyebrow was forever gone from whatever had cut and burned it.

  If Allen was the imperial songbird, and his brother Larren a raptor, then Chass was a bone-eater. He was dressed in the Penance Gate surcoat: scarlet with slashed claw marks that seemed to indicate there was nothing beneath the surcoat but a dark void. He was also wearing armor, though not full plate, and carried his spiked helmet in one hand.

  Chass bowed low as he entered the room, keeping his eyes on the floor as he rose. "Your Majesties. You summoned?"

  "Yes," Sarrica said, standing not quite in front of Allen where he'd taken a seat on the sofa. "Sit down, Captains. There's much to tell you and a lot we all must do to prepare. Myra, have tea brought."

  "Already done, Majesty. It should be here shortly."

  Sarrica smiled briefly at him, then turned his full attention to repeating all Myra had told him—leaving out, thankfully, that Myra had been the one to tell him. That was some relief. Myra hadn't even bothered to ask; he'd just assumed it would become common knowledge within a limited circle.

  By the time he was done, Terrag looked ready to retire and Chass looked ready to start removing heads. "Captain Terrag, I want Fathoms Deep doubled up. Pull from the Dragons if necessary. Captain Chass, augment the personal bodyguards with your own, and I want your men pairing with the imperial guards on festival duty. Especially at all entrances, and anywhere I, Allen, and Prince Larren are going to be. If your numbers are insufficient, pull from whatever mercenaries you feel would best suit. I want people taken alive if possible, but absolutely kill if that seems necessary. I will not have Allen or Larren harmed."

  "I suppose making you stay in the palace and foregoing the festival entirely is out of the question?" Chass asked.

  Lesto let out a single, sharp laugh. Sarrica sent him a venomous look. Ignoring him, Lesto said, "I have tried such things a thousand times, up to and including locking Sarrica in his room. Trust me when I say: you're better off not wasting your time. Anyway, Allen and Sarrica will just insist there are things that must be done, threats notwithstanding."

  "It's true," Allen muttered.

  "That doesn't make it any less stupid," Lesto said.

  "What good would hiding away do?" Sarrica asked. "If we canceled events every time there was a threat to our lives, we would never leave our rooms. The only difference between this attempt and every other one is that we know about it. Pantheon knows how many assassins will be skulking about the festival that we don't know about. It's the risk every ruler takes. I don't like it. Thinking about everything that could go wrong makes me sick. But hiding away just gives them a victory of a different sort."

  Allen added, "Every time we leave our private chambers we're at risk of being killed. If we hide away in the palace, eventually they'll find a way to get to us here. So we may as well continue as planned and take every precaution we can."

  "Necessary and stupid aren't mutually exclusive," Lesto replied. "Sarrica's life is a litany of doing stupid but necessary things. As you say, this isn't the first time he's gone out in public knowing full well someone intends to kill him. Never mind all the times he's gone to war." He heaved a sigh. "Let's just hope all our precautions will be enough."

  Jader, Terrag and Chass sighed in unison, and nearly as one they turned and strode out the door, talking too quickly to keep up with as they started to fine tune their plans to keep the imperial couple and their royal guest safe.

  As they reached the doorway, however, Jader stopped and turned back. "Myra, with me."

  Feeling sick but wholly unsurprised, Myra bowed to Sarrica and Allen before following Jader and the others out of the office. He ignored the curious looks of the secretaries and clerks as they filed back, save to look at Piru and gesture he'd be taking over for a time.

  Looking pained and slightly panicky, Piru nevertheless nodded in reply before slipping into the office.

  Terrag and Chass split off with a confirmation they'd meet up with Jader again later. Jader motioned to Myra, and they walked through the halls to his office, where he told his secretaries they weren't to be disturbed before closing and locking the door.

  "Sit." Removing his swords and hanging them from the back of his chair, Jader then poured them both cups of wine before taking his own seat.

  Myra sat, tightly clutching the delicate porcelain cup, staring without really seeing the glossy violet wine that filled it.

  "So tell me more of this clan of yours and that man in the dungeon. I sense that for all you told Sarrica there is still much you haven't said."

  More unpleasant memories stirred, and Myra gulped down the wine. "I don't see how any of this is relevant. I've told you everything you need to know to be on alert for the assassins. My personal history hardly factors."

  "Who is the man in the dungeon?"

  "I don't know, but he bears a passing resemblance to my youngest brother, so I would not be surprised to learn he is a nephew."

  "Seems strange your family, of all the clans in Soltorin, would be the ones here now."

  Myra shook his head and drank more wine, desperate for the numbing buzz that would not come. "Not really. I come from the Iron Moon Clan. We have always provided the Triumvirate with spies and assassins—especially assassins. The best men in the village are those who pass the tests to become assassins."

  "The men? What of the women?"

  "Soltorin—the whole Triumvirate—is nothing like Harken, Commander. Women stay in the home. Keep the house and bear children."

  Jader looked even more baffled. "Men can bear children and keep a house as well."

  Myra laughed and finished his wine, setting the cup down with a hard clack on the edge of the desk. "As I said, they are nothing like Harken. Everyone here considers me a man because I am one, but were I to go home, they would say I was a woman who gave up being so to live 'like a man' so I could be an assas
sin, since my family had too many daughters and not enough sons to bring the family honor and prestige."

  "I…" Jader shook his head, stood, and poured them both more wine. "That is very old-fashioned thinking. Even Treya Mencee is not so backward, and they are more like beasts than humans."

  "It's one of the many reasons I left. I traveled here to Harken fully intending to make my escape once the job was completed…but Harken was nothing like they teach us in Soltorin. It was like being told you were going to walk into a living nightmare and finding instead your every dream come true. I cannot describe it."

  "Oh, I've had some small taste of that," Jader said quietly. "For what it's worth, I do believe you to be the ally you've always been. I merely want to understand as much as I can, in case it helps me to see something I might miss otherwise. I appreciate your sharing so much with me."

  Myra just drank more wine, hoping it would still his trembling hands. "It did not take me long to realize I did not want to leave—and I already knew what we did was wrong. I'm not naïve enough to think there were countries that never got their hands dirty, but that didn't mean I had to be the dirty hand. So I killed my father, our liaison with the rest of the team, and made them think I was dead as well. I've been Myra, secretary to the High King, ever since. Until today."

  "Well, we appreciate you coming forward. It has probably saved lives," Jader said. "Speaking of saving lives—you are off duty until the festival is over. If you've been recognized as you fear, then I assume they do not plan to leave you alive."

  "No." Myra didn't bother to explain that if he had been recognized, then his fate wasn't as simple as being killed by the assassins. Traitors were always captured and taken back to their clan for punishment and execution. Given the nature of his crimes…

  He shuddered and drank more wine.

  "You are confined to the palace until the festival. I would prefer you remain here during the festival as well, but I won't ask that. I am going to assign a bodyguard; you're far too great a weakness to let someone like the Triumvirate cause you harm or murder you—especially since I would not put it past them to be working for someone else, or to know full well they can sell you to the highest bidder."