Seeds of Betrayal: Book 2 of the Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy

by DAVID B. COE

  Dario smiled and nodded, but he didn’t stop to talk. He might have been a musician, but he also had a profession, just as they did, and he had been living on a lutenist’s wage for too long.

  He took his customary seat near one of the back windows and laid the lute carefully on the chair beside him. After taking a long drink of ale, he pulled his father’s old pipe from his pocket, filled the bowl with Trescarri leaf, and lit it. He leaned back in his chair, blowing a great cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and closing his eyes.

  He remained that way for some time, only opening his eyes again when he heard the chair across the table from him squeak.

  A man was sitting there, one Dario had seen in the Red Boar before. Like so many of the others, he had the look of a road brigand to him. He hadn’t shaved in several days, and he wore his black hair long and untied. He was built like Dario, neither brawny nor tall, but lean and muscular, like a festival tumbler. Even though they were both sitting, the lutenist could tell that the man could handle himself in a fight.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Dario asked him, puffing on his pipe again.

  The man stared at him with dark eyes, a small smile on his thin lips. “Crebin sent me to tell you that he wants his gold, and that he’s tired of waiting.”

  Dario frowned. “I think you have the wrong man. I don’t know anyone named Crebin.”

  “He also told me that you’d say that. We’ve all enjoyed your playing, lad. None of us wants to see you floating facedown in the Rassor with a blade in your back.”

  “Well, I’m glad to know that we’re in agreement on that point,” Dario said, eyeing the man as he would a new instrument. He had never seen the man fight, so he didn’t know his tendencies or his weaknesses. Dario was near the back of the inn, but he wasn’t against the back wall. If he moved fast enough, he could stand and kick away his chair, clearing himself some room to draw his dagger and meet an assault. He opened his hands, as if to show the man that he held no weapon. “There’s obviously been some misunderstanding, but I’m sure that you and I can work it out. Perhaps you can start by telling me what this Crebin looks like.”

  “Don’t try my patience, boy. You may think you can handle yourself in a fight, but you’ve never fought me.”

  “You know, I’m tired of people calling me lad and boy all the time,” Dario said, his hand snaking down toward his calf, where he held his spare blade. “I’m seven years past my Fating, and still everyone treats me like I’m little more than a child.” He cocked his head to the side, just as the fingers on his throwing hand unfastened the strap that held the blade in place and closed around the smooth wooden hilt. “Recently I’ve thought of letting my beard grow in. Do you think that would help?”

  “I think you should stop what it is you’re doing, before you get yourself hurt.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The man looked past him for just an instant, and too late Dario realized that there was a second man behind him. Before he could do anything with his own blade, he felt the point of another weapon pressing against the back of his neck.

  “Bring your hand up slowly,” the second man commanded. “And lay the blade on the table.”

  Dario did as he was told, cursing himself for his carelessness.

  “And the other one.”

  He pulled his better blade from his belt, and placed it on the table beside the other.

  “Now, let’s try this again,” said the man sitting before him. “Where’s Crebin’s gold?”

  “I tell you, I don’t know anyone named Crebin. Nor do I have any gold to speak of. Do you think I’d still be playing here if I did?”

  The man shook his head slowly. “You’re a fool. Men like Crebin aren’t to be trifled with. Nor are we.”

  He nodded once to his friend, who grabbed Dario by the hair and pulled him to his feet, all the while keeping the tip of his dagger firmly against the lutenist’s nape.

  “Say there!” came a voice from the front of the tavern. “What are you doing with the lad?”

  Several of the older men in the tavern came toward them, led by the man who had patted Dario’s back earlier.

  The man holding Dario shifted his blade so that its edge pressed against Dario’s throat.

  “Stay out of this, old man,” the bearded one warned. “The boy stole gold from a man who doesn’t take such things lightly. If he pays us what’s owed, he’ll be back to play for you again. If not…” He shrugged. “But if you get in our way, I swear to you, we’ll kill him where he stands.”

  The man looked past the brigand to Dario. “You want us to help you, lad?”

  “I think you’d better not. But I’ll remember the offer, my friend. You can count on that.”

  The man nodded. He cast a dark look at Dario’s two assailants, but then he and his companions backed away.

  “We’d better go out the way you came in,” the bearded one said. “We’ll never get through that crowd.”

  The man holding Dario began to drag him toward the tavern’s rear door.

  “Wait!” Dario said. “My lute and pipe.”

  “You won’t have much use for them as a corpse, boy.” The man looked at the instrument briefly. “But we’ll bring them just the same. They may fetch a few qinde in the markets when we’re through with you.”

  The man stuffed Dario’s pipe into his pocket and grabbed the lute roughly, banging it against a chair as he did. As an afterthought, he also picked up Dario’s daggers off the table. Then he gave a nod to the other man, who turned toward the corridor leading to the rear door. He still held a fistful of Dario’s hair, and had shifted his dagger once again so that it now pushed against the center of the lutenist’s back.

  Dario racked his brain trying to think of any way he could break free of the men and flee, or better yet, kill them before they killed him. He hadn’t much time. The narrow byway just behind the tavern was dark and usually deserted, even at midday. If they did it there, no one would find his body for hours. It might have helped him had he known who this Crebin was, or why he thought Dario had his gold. But the only gold pieces Dario could call his own were the ones still owed to him by the owner of the Red Boar for this day’s performance.

  “What’s a lute worth?” the man holding Dario asked.

  “I don’t know,” the bearded one said. “This one looks to be a bit worn, but I’d wager we could get eight or ten qinde for it.”

  “Eight or ten?” Dario repeated incredulously, stopping so abruptly that the man’s dagger jabbed painfully through his shirt. “It’s worth thirty qinde if it’s worth one!”

  “Keep walking!” the man said, shoving him forward. They were near the end of the corridor. The door stood just before him, slightly ajar. So Dario did the one thing he could. Stumbling as if from the force of the man’s push, he fell to his knees, wincing when the brigand failed to let go of his hair.

  “Get to your—!”

  Before he could finish, Dario threw his elbow back with all the force he could muster, catching the man fully in the groin. This time the man did let go, grunting in agony and falling against the corridor wall. The lutenist scrambled to his feet and sprinted toward the door, throwing it open and racing out into the byway, just as the bearded man would expect. He had no intention of running far, however, not so long as the brigand had his lute. He pressed himself against the outside wall of the tavern, just to the left of the door, praying to all the gods he could name in that moment that the bearded brigand was better with his right hand.

  It seemed the gods were with him.

  The man burst through the door, Dario’s lute in his left hand and a blade in his right. Immediately the lutenist grabbed the arm and hand that held the lute, using the man’s own forward motion to swing him in a swift arc into the wall, his head hitting the wood with a dull thud.

  The brigand staggered back for an instant, just long enough for Dario to grab his other hand—the one with the blade—and hammer
it into the man’s gut, steel first. The bearded man gasped, his eyes widening and holding Dario’s gaze for a moment before rolling back into his head as he collapsed to the ground.

  Dario retrieved his lute and examined it closely. There were a few new scratches on the underside, but otherwise it appeared to be fine. He placed it carefully on an empty ale barrel that stood nearby. Then he returned to the corridor and dragged the other man into the byway.

  “Your friend’s dead,” he said, kicking the man in the stomach. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you, too. Understand?”

  The brigand looked up at him and nodded weakly.

  Dario took his pipe and daggers from the dead man, picked up his lute, and went back into the Red Boar.

  Another man had taken his seat at his table, so Dario chose one near it and started to sit.

  “You handled that well,” the stranger said, watching him, a mild smile on his face. He was lean and tall, but broad in the chest and shoulders, like a warrior. He wore a beard and his long dark hair was tied back. But it was his pale blue eyes, the color of the sky on a frigid day, that held the lutenist’s attention. Dario had never seen eyes so cold.

  “Thank you,” he said after a moment.

  “I take it both men are dead?”

  “Only one of them. I let the other go. I doubt he’ll bother me again.”

  The dark-haired man frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped to retrieve my gold, but I can only assume that the one who survived has already taken it and fled.”

  Dario narrowed his eyes, feeling his body grow tense. “You’re Crebin?”

  “It’s a name I use. Some know me as Corbin. My friends call me Cadel.”

  The lutenist nodded, though it struck him that a man with such eyes couldn’t have many friends. He stepped free of the table and pulled out his dagger once more. “Why did you send them for me?”

  Cadel looked at the dagger and shook his head, his face hardening. “Don’t be a fool. I’d kill you even more easily than you killed the man in the alley.”

  From another a man it might have seemed an idle boast. But something in Cadel’s tone and expression convinced Dario that in this case it was true. After a moment he slid the blade back into its sheath.

  “Answer me,” he said. “Why did you send them?”

  Cadel opened a hand, indicating the chair across from him, the chair in which Dario had been sitting before all this began. The lutenist took a slow breath and sat.

  “Forgive me,” Cadel said, smiling once more. “I sent those men as a test.”

  “A test?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard you play, and you’re very good, just as your reputation said you would be. Your reputation as a hired blade is a bit less sure. I wanted to see for myself how you’d handle such a situation.”

  “A test,” Dario said again, shaking his head. “Who in Bian’s name are you?”

  “Someone who can make you very wealthy very quickly.”

  Dario knew he should have been suspicious—a man who would send murderers after him and then call it a test was not to be trusted. But his pockets were empty, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life playing lute in the Red Boar.

  “You have a job for me?”

  “I might have several, though not as you’re thinking of it. I’m not looking to hire you. I’m looking for a partner, someone to guard my back and help me with more difficult tasks.”

  “So you’re a blade yourself.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And you’re making enough to make me wealthy?”

  “I’ve made over four hundred qinde in the last five turns,” he said in a low voice. “I expect I’ll make nearly as much in the next five. My partner’s share of that would be somewhere around one hundred and fifty.”

  Dario gaped at him. One hundred and fifty qinde! That was more gold than he had made in the last four years. And here Cadel was offering him the chance to make that much by the plantings.

  “I’d say you’ve found yourself a partner,” he said with a grin.

  Cadel smiled thinly. “Not yet, I haven’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, for one thing, I still haven’t decided that you’re the man I want.”

  Dario sat forward. “But your test! I bested both men without so much as a scratch from either of them.”

  “And then you let one of them go.”

  “You wanted me to kill them both?”

  “Not necessarily. But I want to know that you didn’t kill the second man for the right reasons. I agree with you that this man posed no threat to you. Seeing what you did to his friend, he’ll probably be happy never to meet up with you again. But another man, a more accomplished killer perhaps, would almost certainly come after you again, either to finish the job he’d been hired to do, or to avenge his companion. By letting him live you could have been endangering your own life. And if you did something similar as my partner, you’d be endangering my life as well.” He watched Dario for several moments, then raised an eyebrow. “So? Why did you do it?”

  It would have been easy to lie to him, but for some reason, Dario decided against it. Maybe he didn’t want to cast his lot with this man, even if it did mean wealth beyond his imaginings. Or maybe he just sensed that Cadel would know if he lied.

  “I didn’t want to kill him,” he admitted. “So I let him live. I was confident that he wouldn’t attack me again tonight, but I can’t say that I gave much thought to tomorrow or the next day.”

  Cadel nodded. “I see. That’s not really the answer I wanted to hear, but neither is it the lie I might have expected from a man hungry for gold. And when it comes to choosing a partner, I’ll trade ruthlessness for honesty any day.”

  “Does that mean we’re partners now?”

  “It means I’m convinced that I could trust you. But before you agree to join me, there are a few things you should know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, to start, I travel the land as a musician, joining festivals, including the one in Sanbira and the Revel in Eibithar. I know that you play alone, but I don’t know if you’ve performed with a singer before, or if you’re inclined to do so now.”

  “You sing?” Dario asked.

  “A little bit, yes,” Cadel said, smiling in a way that made Dario think he must be quite good.

  Dario gave a small shrug. “I have no objection to performing with you. What else?”

  “You should know that my last partner was killed trying to protect me. That’s why I’m looking for someone new.”

  “I assumed as much, just as I assume that the partner before him died the same way.”

  “There was no partner before him. I worked with Jedrek for almost seventeen years.”

  Dario felt his face reddening. It wasn’t the first time he had created trouble for himself by saying something stupid, but it might well have been the most inopportune. Not only had the man sitting before him promised to make him rich, he was also a paid killer. Either way Dario looked at it, this was not a man he wanted to make angry.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking away.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the assassin said, his voice flat. After a brief pause, he went on. “The last thing you should know is that the gold we’re talking about comes from the Qirsi.”

  “What do you mean?” Dario asked, looking at the man again. A moment later it hit him, and his eyes widened. “You mean the conspiracy?”

  “Yes.”

  Dario sat back again, shaking his head. No wonder Cadel had made so much gold.

  “It’s an assassin’s dream,” the younger man said. “Steady work, good pay, jobs scattered throughout the Forelands so that you have to keep moving. What more could you want?”

  Cadel smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Hasn’t it turned out that way?”

  “I guess. I’ve made a good deal of gold, I’ve had jobs in Eibithar, Aneira, Caerisse, and Sanbir
a. So all you say is true.”

  “Then why do you sound like you’re trying to warn me away from this?”

  “Have you spent much time with the Qirsi?” Cadel asked, his eyes locked on Dario’s.

  “Not really.”

  “Neither had I. It never occurred to me that their appearance and their magic would bother me so, but they do.”

  Dario started to say something, but Cadel raised a hand, stopping him.

  “It’s not just that,” he said. “I used to think that this profession gave me freedom. As long as I had some gold in my pocket, I could work when and where I chose. Now that I work for the Qirsi, that’s gone. They tell me what to do, which jobs to take, how the kills are supposed to be done. They pay me well, better than anyone else ever has. But their gold has a price.”

  He wasn’t certain that he understood all that the assassin was trying to tell him, but the solution seemed obvious. “So stop killing for them.”

  Cadel shook his head, looking away. “I can’t, at least not yet. They know too much about me. If I try to free myself of them, they’ll reveal me to every house in every kingdom in the Forelands.”

  “Can’t you threaten to do the same?”

  The assassin stared at him again, looking like a man who had just had his innermost thoughts laid bare. “I’ve thought of that,” he said. “In time, that may be my way out. But if I tried it now, they’d hunt me down and slit my throat.”

  Dario exhaled through his teeth. “I see.”

  “Are you certain you want to work with me?”

  “Not as certain as I was a few moments ago,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “But gold is gold, and the Red Boar doesn’t pay its musicians enough to keep me here.”

  Cadel extended a hand. “Then I suppose we’re partners.”

  Dario stared at the assassin’s hand briefly before taking it with his own.

  “The first thing we should do,” Cadel said, releasing his hand, “is rehearse some pieces. They don’t have to be perfect at first, but we should have at least four or five songs that we can perform reasonably well.”

  “All right.”

  “If you’d like, I can pay you a bit now, and take it out of your share later. You can buy yourself a new instrument. That one looks like it’s been through a war.”