“I know you. You are the Assassin!” spat the duke, as Giantsmiter blazed even brighter than the sun on that bright mountainside. The duke whipped out his own slender rapier and jumped down to the road.
“I’ve been called that,” Jaymes said, “but I’m no assassin, and I didn’t kill Lorimar. You, of all people, should know that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Rathskell. “You killed him, and you slew his bitch of a daughter, too!”
Jaymes lunged at the duke, nearly gutting him. The nobleman, though taken by surprise, fell back. The knights on both sides of the gap in the road shouted curses and warnings.
“Be careful how you talk about the Lady Dara,” Jaymes hissed. “You don’t want to have too many lies on your lips when you go to meet the gods.”
A master swordsman, the Duke of Solanthus was grim now and circled warily. Jaymes brought Giantsmiter over his head in a whistling smash, then swiftly chopped from the right and the left, advancing remorselessly against his foe. The smaller man leaped back, using the edge of the wagon as a shield, stepping around the two restless horses remaining from his team.
Rathskell charged into Jaymes’s attack with parries and thrusts, forcing the taller man away from the wagon, backing him to the edge of the precipice. The warrior stopped at the edge, driving his own blade with powerful overhand blows, again and again knocking aside the duke’s slender weapon.
Changing tactics, Rathskell scrambled up into the bed of his wagon, swinging wildly down at Jaymes’s head until the warrior jumped up next to him, forcing him back. For several moments they slashed and cut at each other, both standing in the wagon, their blows whistling over the four strongboxes resting there. Finally, Jaymes made a rush, and the duke half jumped, half fell off the wagon, again retreating to the edge of the slope.
With a sinking feeling the duke saw with a glance that the knights of his rearguard were engaged at their roadblock with a mass of goblins. The ogres were howling with bloodlust, while he was engaged in a fight for his life. He stabbed at Jaymes’s legs as the tall man neared, then turned and ran to the far end of the broken shelf of isolated road.
Here the men of the duke’s forward guard had dismounted and were trying to make their way along the precipitous gap on foot. One man had already plunged to his death and lay in a heap next to the horse and rider who had failed the earlier attempt. The rest of the men were busily coiling rope to belay the next climber.
Rathskell knew they would not reach him in time. He was a skilled swordsman-once he’d thought himself the best in the world-but he could see that he was no match for the Assassin. The duke’s sword was first-rate but useless against the legendary Giantsmiter. He screamed his frustration as he attacked.
Giantsmiter blocked his best efforts again, this time smashing his rapier, the loose shards of steel shattering and tumbling down the mountainside. Rathskell turned to flee, and Jaymes made a swift slash through his enemy’s hamstring. The wound exploded in blood. The duke collapsed, his right leg nearly severed. He groaned in pain and fear as the fiery Giantsmiter brushed his immaculately trimmed mustache.
“Which one has the green diamonds?” asked the swordsman, indicating the four strongboxes.
“I don’t know what you mean-I have never heard of green diamonds!” protested the stricken nobleman.
Jaymes scowled and cut him on his other leg. “Don’t be a fool. You’ll get nowhere lying to me!”
“I’m not lying!”
Jaymes squinted. He turned and slashed the locks off of the four strongboxes, one after the other, then searched through the piles of glittering diamonds and rubies.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. The green diamonds?” he demanded.
“I’m telling the truth-I’ve never heard of any such diamonds!” cried the duke.
Shouts came from behind them, cries of alarm mingling with the clash of steel. “The goblins are closing in,” Jaymes noted. “They’ll be able to scramble along the cliff easily enough. They’re not as encumbered with armor, as your knights.”
Rathskell groaned in pain as he twisted to look in horror. His rear detachment was fighting bravely, but the odds were overwhelming. Each knight had killed six or eight goblins, but there were only a few dozen men back there, and they were facing hundreds of attackers. One by one, the knights were falling, slain or grievously wounded or, in some cases, simply pushed from the cliff by the press of goblin bodies.
Jaymes pulled out the plain leather sack Coryn had given him. He picked up the gems and jewels from one strongbox-and, though the box was several times larger than the bag-he poured the contents in. He repeated the process with each of the other three boxes, and when he was done the sack bulged only slightly.
“Wait! Please, you can’t leave me here!” begged the lord. “The goblins-”
He looked back and saw that only a few of his defenders remained on their feet. It wouldn’t be long now. Already several of the brutal attackers were starting to scale across the sheer cliff. The duke couldn’t stand, couldn’t even crawl for all the pain he was suffering. His one leg was utterly useless.
When he turned back to plead again for his life, he could only moan in despair. The mysterious attacker, with his satchel full of a city’s worth of jewels, had disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT
Commerce And A compound
S wig Frostmead let the stream of glittering gems flow from one calloused palm to the other. The gleam in his eyes was, if anything, even brighter than the myriad speckles of light that sparkled and glinted from the cascading jewels. He looked up at Jaymes and flashed a grin so broad it was almost a leer.
He coughed, growing serious. Frowning, he looked at a gem closely, examined another, then set them aside, his face now a mask of bored disinterest. Jaymes knew these Stones of Garnet were impeccable, perfectly cut by master jewelers, large and pure, but the warrior said nothing, his own face as empty as the dwarf’s.
“Er, yes,” Swig admitted, his tone grudging. “I think these will cover the agreed-upon costs. Of course, I will have to have my appraisers go over them with an eyeglass. Just to confirm, though the cut certainly looks acceptable to my unpracticed eye. Not that I suspect anything amiss, but a fellow can’t be too careful in matters like this.”
“No,” Jaymes said calmly. “A fellow can’t.”
He wondered what the dwarf would think if he knew the fortune in stones he had been offered was only a fraction of the wealth the warrior had expropriated from Duke Rathskell’s strongboxes. He had used the second teleport spell to take him to a place that nobody would suspect, where he had buried most of the gems. Of course, Swig Frostmead didn’t need to know all the details, and Jaymes smiled to himself, knowing that whenever he needed to buy more sulfir, he would always have plenty of stones.
After all, a fellow couldn’t be too careful in matters like this…
“Now, as to delivery…” The dwarf was ready to see the deal through. “We’ll have to charge a standard fee for that, of course, but I have willing dwarves, with strong backs, available for the work. Just depends on how far you want them to haul the stuff.”
“Actually, I was hoping you might suggest a place,” the warrior said. “Perhaps some land nearby that you’d be willing to lease to me? I’ll be setting up a rather large operation and will need the lease for some time. We could perhaps arrange for, say, ten years use, with a clause allowing for extension if things work out. Of course, I’ll want to contract with your clan exclusively-with probably some assistance on security, and other odds and ends. Not to mention we’ll be needing regular supplies.”
“Eh, what? You don’t say. Ten years. Just for starters? Hmmm. That kind of takes me by surprise. What will you be doing on this land?” asked the dwarf, his eyes glimmering.
“That has to remain a secret, for the time being.”
“Huh. A secret. What will you be needing security for?”
“Privacy. I’ll need pl
enty of water and a good source of nearby timber. I’ll want to hire some more of your fellows-at top wages, of course-to do some logging, building, and such.”
“For good wages, I can probably find you some workers. I like the way you do business, my friend, and I know just the place to set up your operation. I think things can be arranged without difficulty. Of course, there’s always plenty of work for us deep in the mines, but some dwarves are willing to work under the open sky.”
“Well, then,” said the dwarf chieftain. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
They emerged from Swig’s lodge into the breathless clarity of a mountain morning. It had been more than two months since Jaymes’s earlier visit, and now he saw the aspen forests of the Vingaard Range were brightened with the gold foliage of autumn.
Unlike his previous crossings of the plains, however, his journey here had been instantaneous. Using the second magical charge in the ring Coryn had given him, Jaymes had arrived in Meadstone only a few hours before. He had surprised Swig at his breakfast table, but the dwarf had gleefully set aside his porridge for a look at the precious stones that he now, very carefully, wrapped up in a soft cloth and secured in his pocket. “It’s just over this ridge, here. Private, like you wanted, but not too far to haul the sulfir. Hope you don’t mind a little stroll.”
“In this mountain air? What could be better?”
They passed the mouths of numerous mineshafts on their way out of the village. Jaymes was impressed to see the mountainous piles of yellow stone that Swig Frostmead’s miners had been able to excavate in the weeks since they had made their deal.
For a long while they climbed through an open forest on a gentle ascent, heading companionably upward on a smooth, wide trail. They crossed the crest of the ridge by midmorning and about two hours later reached the base of the next valley. After spending another hour walking back and forth, pacing off the dimensions of a clearing, studying the flowage of water in the stream, the dwarf and the warrior agreed that this area would suit their agreement.
They worked out the terms of the lease with a handshake and another few gems. “Ten years,” Swig said, clearly pleased with the deal. “Don’t worry-we’ll keep the Salamis off your back.”
Jaymes narrowed his eyes. “I don’t recall mentioning the knighthood.”
Swig chortled. “You didn’t have to. We’ll keep everyone else off your back, too-you can count on it!”
In truth, Jaymes knew the hill dwarves had no legal property rights to this valley. He could have built his operation here and hired dwarf laborers without paying Swig so much as one steel. Now, however, he had made the greedy hill dwarf a vested partner in his plans, and Swig and his doughty fighters would help guard this place against outsiders.
The very next morning Jaymes paid a score of newly hired dwarves to clear the trees away from a flat stretch of ground. The tall, straight trunks they would trim and stack to use as building timbers; everything else would go into a massive firewood pile that would provide the raw material for charcoal. A few extra gems sprinkled among the workers proved an invaluable recruiting tool, and by the next day he had all the workers he could possibly use-that was not even counting the dozens of dwarves who were busy hauling sulfir over the ridge and down into the place Jaymes decided to call, simply, Compound.
He knew it would take Dram, Sulfie, and Salty Pete a good long time yet to reach the Vingaard Mountains, since they were coming on foot, but there was plenty Jaymes could do to get the place ready. Within another few days, hill dwarves were busily erecting timber-walled buildings to serve as a factory, storage sheds, and outbuildings. The water from the fresh stream was diverted into a holding pond. After a week the reservoir was full, and they allowed the stream to resume its plainsward course.
By the time the dwarf and the gnomes arrived, a fortnight after Jaymes, the area was transformed. A score of hill dwarves were busy making charcoal. Others were busy grinding the sulfir into a fine powder, using cauldrons and large rocks in lieu of the mortar and pestle Sulfie had demonstrated in Sheedra’s lair.
After Jaymes brought Dram up to date on everything, the dwarf took over as foreman, supervising the preparation of the sulfir and charcoal while Sulfie and Pete made saltpeter. Within a matter of days they had stores of all three materials, and soon the black powder was being produced and collected in stout kegs.
When, one day, Swig Frostmead’s lovely daughter, Pilsy, came over the mountain to inspect the work, Dram strutted with pride and showed her all their progress. Jaymes watched, amused. Even the gruff Frostmead himself finally seemed to approve of the match-anyone who consorted with a man of such wealth could not, in the hill dwarf’s eyes, be all rotten
Jaymes stayed until he was certain all aspects of the work were proceeding well. Casks were being filled with the black powder every day, safely stored in an underground bunker that was well insulated against fire as well as wetness. After the first six days of full production, the warrior went to find Dram overseeing the great charcoal fires. The dwarf was sooty and unkempt, but he flashed a fierce grin when Jaymes asked him how things were going.
“We’ll have all the charcoal we can use-for the rest of the year-within the next week,” the dwarf proclaimed. “Sulfie is doing a good job overseeing those fires-says it’s for her brother.”
“Good,” said the warrior. “I must leave this in your hands.”
“You’re off again?” Dram asked, raising his eyebrows. “Let me guess: Thelgaard?”
“I have an important rendezvous with the duke,” said the warrior. “It has to be him-if Solanthus was telling the truth about the green diamonds. I told you, he said had never heard of them.”
“You can’t be sure he was telling the truth,” the dwarf said.
Jaymes shrugged. “The treasure-and the Compact of Freedom-were taken by the agents of one of the lords. Lorimar was a lord of the Rose, so that tends to cast suspicion upon the lords of the Crown and the Sword. The Sword Duke is dead…”
“So you’ll be seeing the Crown,” Dram agreed. “Good luck, and be careful.”
“Always,” Jaymes replied. He flexed his finger on which he wore the golden ring, and in a glimmer he disappeared.
“My Lord?”
Duke Crawford spoke to the mirror in a hush and looked over his shoulder. Though Lady Martha was elsewhere, he could not get over the impression someone was sneaking up on him.
He had a bad feeling that time was running out.
After a seemingly interminable delay, the mirror glimmered to life, and Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne glared at him. “What is it?” he demanded
“Duke Rathskell of Solanthus is dead. His treasure was stolen before he could bring it to Caergoth.”
“Damn that fool! He lost the Stones of Garnet?” cursed the regent. “Did the goblins take him? That villain Ankhar?”
“No, lord. I am afraid the news is even worse. Solanthus departed his city with his treasure loaded into a wagon, as you had ordered. He was pursued by goblins, but they didn’t catch him. Instead, he was ambushed by the Assassin himself-with some kind of blasting magic. The Assassin tore the roadway up, killed the duke, took his treasure, and vanished just as miraculously as he appeared. Those knights of his escort who survived rode on to Caergoth and just yesterday informed me of these facts.”
“The Assassin? I tell you, the man is the greatest menace we face. He must be destroyed!”
“I understand, lord!” Indeed, Duke Crawford did understand. What he did not understand was how he could possibly catch a man who never seemed to be where he was supposed to be, who appeared at the most inconvenient locales then simply disappeared, and who was now, apparently, capable of some kind of new and destructive brand of magic.
“Enough of that wretch-talking about him gives me a headache,” growled the regent. He stared into Crawford’s eyes, and it seemed as though his vision bored right into the duke’s skull. “You will need to join your army in the field, you know.”
> “But… my lord. They are doing quite well, guarding the Kingsbridge. I am needed here in the city.”
“You have important work to do, my good duke-and it is time that you take matters into your own hands!”
Crawford’s blood turned cold at the threatening tone. The Lord Regent adopted a more genial look, almost avuncular.
“You know, my daughter says that she was rather struck by you during her recent visit. She carried on quite a bit about your city, your banquet, your grace and manners. Too bad you’re married-else you’d have the prospect of a splendid match there!”
Crawford nodded, not trusting himself to reply. He remembered the words of the Nightmaster, commanding just such a union. The words had seemed mad at the time. Du Chagne was speaking again, once more stern and commanding.
“Take care that our Assassin is found! Beware that he does not strike at the very heart of your stronghold!”
“Er, yes, lord. I shall!” The duke all but quivered at the prospect of such an occurrence. The Assassin, striking right in Castle Caergoth?
“My lord.” Crawford bowed his head, humbly. “I shall do everything in my power to see that events remain under control.”
“So this head of famous Rathskell?” asked Ankhar, admiring the grisly trophy that was proudly proffered by Dirtborn, the hobgoblin sub-chief who had led the pursuit of the duke’s wagon that had tried to slip out the back gates of Solanthus.
“Yep!” declared the tusked warrior, beaming. “We kilt a bunch of his knights too, but we thought you’d want th’ duke’s head.”
“Treasure it,” declared the half-giant. “See head of duke!” he roared to his fighters, holding it up and showing it around. “This fate of enemies of Ankhar!”
Dirtborn bowed deeply, shivering in delight.
“What about duke’s treasure? Spy told me it on that wagon. You got it for me?”
For the first time, the hob looked crestfallen, even a little fearful. “Sad to say, lord, there was no treasure when we reached the duke. It was taken by another man-we saw him pour it into a magic bag.”
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