Warrior

by Jennifer Fallon

  “There’s a particularly savage gang known as Chyler’s Children working the Fardohnyan end of the pass at the moment,” the customs man added, when Wrayan seemed unimpressed by his warnings.

  “They’re very dangerous at this time of year.”

  “We’ll watch out for them,” Wrayan promised.

  “Two men riding alone is an almost irresistible temptation.”

  “Truly, we can take care of ourselves,” Wrayan insisted, thinking no band of thieves and robbers stood much of a chance against two sorcerers with no inhibitions about using their powers to defend themselves.

  “You could ride with one of the caravans,” the customs man suggested. “They never knock back an extra blade to watch over their cargo.”

  Wrayan politely declined the offer of an introduction to one of the Hythrun caravan drivers, wondering if the man got some sort of kickback for arranging extra security. Instead, he and Brak mounted up again and, just before midday, rode under the bridge connecting the two castles of Winternest and headed into the Widowmaker Pass.

  Chapter 26

  One thing Marla had recently learned about loyalty was that it had a downside. It was all well and good to be able to trust your life to someone, but when it came to interrogating six children who were all prepared to take the fall for their comrades, it was the most frustrating quality she had ever encountered. By the time she was finished questioning them, Marla had six completely different versions of what had happened in the markets and the culprit was Starros, Damin, Rodja, Adham, Narvell or Kalan, depending on which one of them she was speaking to at the time.

  Hours of interrogation and she was no nearer the truth than when she started, although her heart had slowed to a more normal rate and she could breathe again—something she’d been incapable of when the first message arrived at the palace informing her that Damin and the other children were missing.

  “Any luck finding out what really happened today?” Rogan Bearbow enquired, entering Mahkas’s office a few moments after Marla had banished Damin from her presence in disgust with the warning that she didn’t want to speak to him again until he was prepared to tell her the truth. The Warlord was dressed for the ball, in a severe black outfit that drew attention to his powerful body.

  Along with all the other reasons Marla wanted to strangle her children at the moment, she was furious at her sons for pulling this prank while Rogan Bearbow was here to witness it.

  “I don’t know where I’ve gone wrong with Damin,” she said, forcing a laugh she didn’t feel. “He’s not normally so . . . reckless.”

  In reality, Marla had sent Damin to his room to avoid the temptation of strangling him with her bare hands herself. Doesn’t he know the danger? she asked herself, over and over. Haven’t I impressed upon him yet how easy it would be for an assassin to slip a blade between his ribs in a crowded market?

  Why does he delight in tormenting me like this?

  The Warlord nodded sympathetically. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it? All that hard work, the tutors, the training . . . and all you’ve got for your trouble is a very resourceful boy, smart enough to give Krakandar’s finest warriors the slip. A boy who’s so loyal to his friends that he’d rather be punished himself than let the others take the blame for something he was involved in. I can see why you’re so upset with your miserable failure.”

  Relieved beyond words that Rogan viewed things so favourably, Marla allowed the briefest of smiles to flicker across her face. “You’re very kind, my lord. Unfortunately, I’m not ready to look upon this little escapade quite so generously, just yet.”

  “In your place, nor would I,” Rogan replied. “But I do think this episode displays more of Damin’s character than you realise, your highness. And it’s not all bad.”

  “I appreciate your advice, my lord. I’ll see you at the ball?”

  “I was just on my way there now,” he informed her. “And don’t think you’re the only one worried about what their children are up to. I live in mortal terror of what that daughter of mine has decided to wear to the ball this evening.”

  Marla smiled sympathetically. “I think you fear unnecessarily. Tejay spent much of the day with Rielle and Luciena discussing ball gowns, I believe. If she sought their advice, you can safely assume she won’t be wearing chain mail.”

  “One can only hope,” Rogan agreed with a smile. “Don’t let the distractions of a childish prank deprive us of your company for too long, your highness.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised.

  After Rogan left, Marla paced the room for a time, trying to think of a way to deal with her errant children. She was still pacing when Elezaar came looking for her a little while later, and no closer to solving her dilemma.

  “They’re asking after you in the ballroom,” he informed his mistress as he closed the door to Mahkas’s study behind him. “Mahkas is trying to cover for you, but your absence is very noticeable.”

  “I’ll be along soon.”

  “You could put off dealing with the children until morning, couldn’t you?”

  “And give them even more time to corroborate each other’s stories?”

  “So which of them is lying?”

  “If only I knew. According to Damin, it was his idea they give their guards the slip and see how far into the Beggars’ Quarter they got before they were caught.”

  “And Kalan and Starros just tagged along for the adventure, eh?”

  Marla walked to the window, crossing her arms as if suddenly chilled. “A very plausible tale if I believed for one moment that Starros would ‘just tag along’ with Damin on such a flimsy pretext, or that any of the boys would endanger Kalan to do something so monumentally stupid.” She turned to Elezaar thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should speak to her again. I suspect Kalan is the weakest link in this chain of deception. Maybe she’ll crumble where the boys won’t.”

  “I’d not be too sure of that, your highness,” the dwarf mused, climbing into the chair opposite her desk.

  “Do you know something about this escapade that I don’t?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well . . . ?” she prompted impatiently.

  “Kalan was asking me about joining the Sorcerers’ Collective the other day.”

  Marla stared at him. “She what?”

  “Kalan is trying to decide what she wants to be when she grows up. She came to me for advice and the conversation got around to the Sorcerers’ Collective, and one thing led to another . . .”

  “You actually encouraged my daughter to think I’d let her join the Sorcerers’ Collective?” Marla gasped.

  “No! Not at all!” Elezaar assured her hastily. “Quite the opposite. I pointed out that there was almost no chance you would agree to such a thing.”

  “Almost no chance?” Marla repeated.

  “I didn’t want to disappoint the child, your highness.”

  Marla sighed. “What did you tell her, Elezaar?”

  “I . . . well, I sort of implied that you might let her join the Sorcerers’ Collective if she had someone with magical ability to watch over her.”

  “Someone with magical ability?” she echoed incredulously. Then understanding dawned on her and she threw her hands up. “Of course! Wrayan Lightfinger. She was trying to get to the Beggars’

  Quarter to see Wrayan.”

  “Possibly.”

  “You think she was trying to do something else?”

  “The children were missing for over three hours, your highness. You might want to consider the possibility that they were successful in their mission to meet with Wrayan and that’s what they’re hiding from you.”

  I’ll kill them myself, Marla decided. I’ll poison them at dinner tomorrow. Or maybe while they’re bathing tonight. I’ll just go in and drown the lot of them. End of problem.

  “What did I ever do to deserve this?” she asked aloud.

  Elezaar smiled. “Perhaps a word to Master Lightfinger will clear t
he whole thing up?”

  Marla nodded. “Have a message sent to him. Tell him I require his presence at the palace at his earliest convenience.” Wrayan would know she meant now.

  “And what are you going to do to the children?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure Almodavar can come up with something suitably punitive for the boys.

  As for Kalan . . . well, if my daughter wants to join the Sorcerers’ Collective then I have a bigger problem than a few missing children to worry about, Elezaar. A much bigger problem.”

  News arrived back at the palace a couple of hours later that Wrayan Lightfinger was unable to attend the princess because he was no longer in the city. According to the messenger Elezaar had sent to the Pickpocket’s Retreat, Wrayan had been gone for over three weeks and wasn’t expected back for a few more yet.

  Puzzled, but a little relieved that Kalan had not made contact with him, Marla made her excuses and left the ball, having decided to speak to her daughter directly. This insane notion about joining the Sorcerers’ Collective had to be nipped in the bud and the sooner it was done, the better.

  Banned from the party and confined to her room as punishment, Kalan rose to her feet hurriedly when her mother entered.

  “If you’ve come to ask me to change my story, I won’t,” Kalan declared belligerently as soon as Marla closed the door.

  “Even if you’re lying?”

  “But I’m not lying!” she protested. “What I said happened is the truth. I decided to see if I could give the guards the slip. Narvell and the Tirstone boys helped me by creating a diversion and Starros and Damin came after me to make sure I was all right. It’s all my fault.”

  Marla smiled and took a seat on one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace. “So your brothers are liars then?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Yet all of them claim to be the instigator of this affair. You can’t all be telling the truth, which means at least five of you are lying. If I’m to believe my daughter, I must see your brothers are punished, not only for their prank, but for their dishonesty as well.”

  Kalan frowned and took the seat opposite her mother. “Can’t you just . . . let it go?”

  “Not until I know the truth.”

  Marla waited while Kalan thought on that for a moment, wondering when she had grown so tall.

  She wasn’t as porcelain pretty as her cousin Leila, and would certainly never be the temptress Rielle was, but Kalan had a feeling of depth about her, a strength of character that belied her meagre ten years.

  “I believe,” Marla added, when Kalan continued to maintain a stony silence, “that it may have something to do with your wish to join the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

  Kalan stared at her mother in surprise. “How did you . . . ? Of course, Elezaar told you, didn’t he?”

  “Elezaar is, first and foremost, my slave, Kalan. You should remember that before confiding in him.”

  “Well, I won’t be making that mistake again!” the child declared, crossing her arms defensively.

  “Did you want to talk to me about it?”

  “About what?”

  “About joining the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

  “Why? You’re just going to say no.”

  “And do you understand why I’m going to say no?”

  “Because of politics,” Kalan replied, in a bored voice. “Everything is about politics. Everything I learn is about politics. Everything I do for the rest of my life will be about politics. You’ll marry me off to some disgusting old man I’ve never laid eyes on before because of politics. Politics, politics, politics !”

  “If you hate politics so much, I would think you’d be grateful I’m going to deny you the Sorcerers’ Collective. There’s no greater hive of political manipulators in all of Hythria.”

  Kalan glared at her. “All I am to you is the spare daughter you can use to make some great alliance to secure Damin’s throne some day.”

  Marla was cut to the quick to think Kalan thought so little of her. “That’s not true, Kalan!”

  “Then what’s your plan for me, mother?” she demanded. “What am I being groomed for?”

  When Marla couldn’t answer immediately, Kalan nodded with satisfaction, as if her point was proved.

  “See. You’re not interested in what I can do—only who I can do it to. Well, make sure you get me a good court’esa when the time comes, mother. I’m going to need to know that sort of stuff when I marry some grubby old creep you’ve picked out for me to seal your great alliance for you.”

  Marla rose to her feet, hurt beyond words by Kalan’s scathing tone. She couldn’t believe her own daughter thought her so calculating, so cold. What was it Luciena had said? There are rumours about your ruthlessness. “I’ll speak to you again, young lady, when you’ve a more civil tongue in your head.”

  “Don’t you mean a more complimentary one?”

  Marla didn’t dignify the child’s accusations with a reply. She turned on her heel and strode from the room, hurt most by the realisation that there was more than a modicum of truth in Kalan’s words.

  But as she opened the door and stepped into the hall, Kalan’s accusation was abruptly forgotten. The sound of something breaking and a loud shout came from the room next door. Damin’s room.

  Instantly alert, the guards on duty outside the room drew their weapons as they turned and burst through the door in response to Damin’s shouted cry for help. Her heart in her mouth, Marla rushed in behind them.

  The sight that confronted Marla in her son’s room left her speechless.

  Damin was standing over Luciena Mariner, who lay facedown on the rug, held firmly there by Damin’s boot, which rested, none too gently, across the back of her neck, pushing her face into the floor. With his right hand, he held her right wrist, twisted upward at a painful angle, and in his left was a small blade with a golden hilt. Its jewelled scabbard lay on the floor near Luciena’s face. On her jaw was a rapidly purpling bruise where she’d obviously been hit and her nose dripped blood onto the priceless Fardohnyan silk rug, creating a slowly spreading stain beneath her.

  Tears of pain spilled silently down the young woman’s cheeks and her expression was one of abject terror. The moment of horrified silence that followed was broken only by Luciena’s whimpering sobs and the odd counterpoint of the orchestra playing a bright tune in the ballroom downstairs.

  The princess stared at Luciena, aghast, and then looked at her son. He didn’t look like a child. He was breathing heavily, no doubt from the exertion of overpowering Luciena. His eyes burned brightly, almost savagely. For a brief moment, Marla felt she’d been given a glimpse of the future and saw the man Damin would one day become—and it was a dangerous one.

  “What’s going on in here?” she demanded, when she finally found her voice, her mind unable to think of any reason why Damin would attack Luciena so brutally.

  “I was hoping someone would be able to tell me,” Damin replied, letting Luciena’s arm go with a shove and stepping back from her. Free of Damin’s boot, Luciena struggled to sit up, looking around in blank, incomprehensible fright. He still held the small knife. Fortunately, Marla couldn’t see anything that looked like a stab wound on either Luciena or her son.

  “Damin!” she demanded impatiently, in no mood for any more of his pranks this night.

  Her son stared down at Luciena and then spoke to the guards. “You might want to restrain her before she tries anything else.”

  “Restrain her?” Marla demanded, waving the guards back. “Damin? What happened?”

  “What happened?” he repeated incredulously, suddenly a child again. “I’ll tell you what happened, Mama. This wonderful new stepsister you brought us . . . well, she just tried to kill me.”

  Chapter 27

  Marla Wolfblade knew only one way to deal with a crisis and that was by falling into a regimen of ruthless practicality. Mahkas knew this from experience, and as he hurried along the hall in response to the b
rief note Elezaar had just delivered to him in the ballroom, he was terrified by what he might find.

  Because someone had just attacked Damin, right here in the palace.

  And when she was afraid for her children, Marla was liable to do anything.

  As he strode along the hall, leaving the dwarf panting in his wake, Mahkas ran through a mental inventory of the steps he’d taken to protect Damin. He rehearsed his excuses, silently justifying everything he’d done over the past thirteen years to keep his nephew safe.

  The note in his hand was screwed into a tight ball, his knuckles white with fear. Unconsciously he rubbed at the small scar under the sleeve of his formal embroidered coat with the crumpled paper, not even aware he was scratching at it again. In the background, the orchestra struck up another tune, a folk dance Mahkas remembered learning when he was a child. The distant music evoked a rush of memories he didn’t have the time or the courage to deal with . . . Darilyn laughing at him because he couldn’t remember the steps . . . Laran counting aloud as their mother, Jeryma, led him through the dance . . . and years later, in Cabradell Palace . . . Riika, barely ten years old, laughing delightedly as she mastered the same dance with her big brother, Mahkas, while Glenadal smiled indulgently as he looked on . . .

  Concentrate! Mahkas ordered himself impatiently. Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing.

  Particularly about Riika. Now was the time for deciding how he was going to deal with Marla.

  Will she blame me? he wondered anxiously.

  It’s not my fault. Almodavar’s responsible for security in the palace. If someone got to Damin, then, plainly, it’s his fault. I have done everything humanly possible to protect my nephew, short of locking him in a padded cell. Yet it hadn’t been Somehow, an assassin had slipped through the cracks and tried to kill the High Prince’s heir.

  What if she decides to replace me as regent?