Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3)

by Kel Kade

  Rezkin shuffled through the yard with Ilanet at his side until they reached the stables. He surveyed the rooftops and shadowed recesses but did not detect any lurking spies. Once they entered, he straightened and threw off the Roy persona. He searched the stalls and the loft and jabbed at the hay to ensure that no one else was present. Ilanet appeared more anxious now that they were alone. He casually leaned back against a stall and attempted to exude a sense of peace and calm. The princess had already drawn the conclusion that he was an assassin, so he was not surprised that the attempted manifestation of his will was not working.

  “Do you still wish to stay with me?” he asked.

  He avoided using her title in case anyone was listening.

  Ilanet chewed at her lip and then said, “First, you saved me from the poisoning. Then, you helped me escape”—she paused—“um … my home. Now, you go to great lengths to shelter me. You still have not told me why. What is it you want in return for your efforts?”

  “I did not say that I wanted anything,” Rezkin replied.

  Ilanet said, “My father taught me that people do nothing unless they stand to profit.”

  Rezkin tilted his head and said, “It is a topic that has been debated for centuries by uncounted philosophers. Does altruism exist?” He shrugged. “Perhaps not. I cannot say.”

  She said, “I brought the gold and jewels that I promised. I know that you could easily take them and rid yourself of my inconvenience.”

  “I do not need your personal treasures. I do stand to profit from having you in my custody, politically if not financially. The cost of caring for a single small-woman is negligible in the scope of my responsibilities. I require nothing further from you, personally, except for your loyalty. I will not abide a traitor in my company.”

  Ilanet stared at him, her expression a mixture of relief and suspicion. “I am trying to be brave, but I am afraid. I have never been so alone, and I am at your mercy. As a woman of my station, my value, my only value, is defined by the political and economic deals made when selling me into marriage. What do you intend to do with me?”

  “That is your father speaking. An individual’s value cannot be determined by another. You are as valuable as you perceive yourself to be. Whether anyone else recognizes it is another matter.” Ilanet’s confused expression encouraged him to continue. “You see me as I am now. You have seen some of my Skills, and you have seen others with similar Skills defer to me. Therefore, you probably perceive that I have some value. Madam Grebella knows me as Roy. Roy appears to have few Skills, and is socially awkward, uneducated, and clumsy. Do I have less value when I am playing the role of Roy?”

  “But you are not Roy. You are only play acting.”

  “Grebella does not know that. If your father were to meet me as Roy, he would determine that I hold no value. That does not mean that I suddenly am worthless. Incidentally, I believe that Grebella holds Roy in high regard. I think she would not care much for the me that you see.”

  Ilanet said hesitantly, “You are not so bad.”

  Rezkin scanned the rafters and then returned her gaze. “You have not yet seen me kill.”

  Ilanet shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. He did not wish to frighten the small-woman, but the image of Frisha’s distant and cold regard swam before his mind’s eye. It was a vision that haunted him every time Frisha looked at him now. He had tried to warn her, but knowing a terrible truth and seeing it were very different. He did not know why he should care, but he had a desire for the return of the joyful and sometimes longing gaze with which Frisha had once looked upon him. Rezkin realized that he did not wish to see that same disenchantment in Ilanet’s eyes when she finally saw him for truth.

  “You do not know all that I am or could be. Many people, especially women, find me disturbing. Never fool yourself into thinking that I am anything like you. You will end up disappointed.”

  Ilanet could look at him no longer. She stared at the ground as she gathered her thoughts. The stranger’s face was as impassive as usual, but his words resonated with soulful regret. She had little desire to pry into the assassin’s personal life, but she wondered who he had lost. Deciding that he likely would not divulge his secrets either way, she sighed and looked up at him.

  “You said we are leaving in two days. Where are we going?”

  “It is best we do not speak of it for now,” he answered. “You never know who may be listening.”

  Ilanet nodded, accepting the truth of his words. She had made a concerted effort to act less like a princess and more like one of the maids while she was in the company of the women of the house. The problem was, she only knew how the maids had acted when they were around her. She had never seen them when they were with their own people.

  “So I am to stay here? What of this Brendish?”

  The stranger said, “Do not concern yourself over him. If he causes any problems, I will take care of it.”

  She was terrified that the infamous man would pay the house a visit. She briefly considered asking to stay in the stables with the stranger but could not force herself to voice the request. Perhaps Brendish would not come at all. She would be better off in the house with the women, even if those women were entertaining a steady flow of men all night. She could not believe the stranger would bring her to a brothel, but she admitted that her father would never think to look for her in that place. If anyone did find her, her reputation would be ruined. No one would ever believe that she retained her virtue. She would not believe such a story either.

  “What are we to do now?” she asked.

  The man studied her for a moment and then said, “You are afraid. You do not wish to be left alone.”

  She shook her head vigorously.

  He nodded. “Then you will not be inclined to attack me in my sleep. I will rest while you keep watch. I have slept very little for several days and cannot enter a deeper state while I am so exposed.” He waved to the open doorways at either end of the stable, and she could see his point. “If I sleep now, then I will be more alert tonight while you are sleeping. I will not permit any harm to befall you.”

  Uratel listened from atop the window eave to the two men in the room below. He had set out from the Black Hall immediately upon receipt of the Raven’s orders, which had been passed to him from the Grandmaster. The Black Hall had its own mage relay, but from what Uratel had heard, the orders had been received through the official relay in Kaibain. The Raven had developed a system to code messages that even the Black Hall would have thought legitimate had they not known better. The Raven had spies in nearly every criminal network, and they had been assigned to follow Hespion Mulnak, Duke Atressian’s youngest son and heir, since he had left the tournament. When Uratel received his orders, he knew exactly where to find the man.

  Hespion had left the tournament in Skutton early and therefore had escaped the chaotic tide of Caydean’s forces. The king had declared war on all four dukes, making to replace them with men of his choosing who had no blood claim to the throne. Atressian’s heir would have been taken hostage had he been captured. Hespion was now pressed to make it back to the Atressian estate before he was found by hostile forces—the same forces that, until a few weeks ago, would have been charged with keeping him safe. Hespion made good his escape before the travel ban was enacted, sweeping up the Tremadel and the River Straei by mage-powered ship. Unfortunately for him, the king’s patrols were now on full alert looking for rebels and traitors, so Hespion was lying low in Drennil and hoping to make his way west to Atressian unnoticed. He would fail without assistance.

  “You should have warned me sooner!” Hespion howled.

  Uratel could not see the two men, but his unusual talent allowed for subtle eavesdropping with little chance of detection. It was one of the reasons he had succeeded in the rigorous training at the Black Hall where so many failed.

  “I sent word as soon as I found out,” said the second man, whom Uratel had recognized during his survei
llance as Hespion’s older brother Fierdon. Fierdon was not difficult to recognize even though Uratel had never before set eyes on him. “I am not to blame for your delay. And for what? Bragging rights? You actually thought you had a chance to become tier champion? I heard the Jebai trounced you, and not the good one either. Almost took your head, they say.”

  “Oh shut up, Fierdon. Malcius Jebai is a cheat. I could have bested him easily. He should have been snoring in his own vomit,” Hespion muttered. “There is no way he could have recovered so quickly. It was that old healer woman.”

  “What are you talking about?” Fierdon asked. “You poisoned him. I knew it! It is so like you to try to take what does not belong to you. You are just like Father.”

  “You watch your tongue. Our father is a great man who should be king, not that paranoid, madman Caydean. You have never understood the true meaning of family. That is why I am the Atressian heir.”

  For weeks, a flood of information had been pouring into the Black Hall from the Raven’s spy network that now covered every district in Ashai and several beyond. At first, the guild had been frustrated with the inundation of seemingly useless drivel, and it had been necessary to create a new division of librarians just to handle the mess. Uratel, however, was developing a new appreciation of the Raven’s extremism. He now knew the Mulnak brothers’ life histories, dark secrets and all. He knew Hespion’s claim about his father’s reasons for naming him heir to be untrue and that Hespion had been the cause of the elder brother’s disfigurement that had led to his being passed over as the next head of house.

  “Father has ordered you to take my advice. He knows I should be heir,” Fierdon said.

  “So he tells me every chance he gets,” Hespion muttered. “But that is not an option, is it? I am the heir, and you will do as I say. And we shall see what becomes of the Jebais. I heard Simeon and Lady Jebai were imprisoned.”

  “Sentenced to death, I hear,” said Fierdon.

  Hespion grumbled, “Serves them right.”

  “For what? Defying Caydean? Like us?”

  “We have every right!” Hespion spat. “The royal bloodline has obviously become tainted. The throne should be ours.”

  “Wellinven has a greater claim,” said Fierdon.

  “What? Give the throne to Tieran Nirius? The arrogant sot already thinks he owns the kingdom. His claim is through what—his mother? The wench will be drawing my bath when I am king. We need strong blood on the throne. Bordran and his predecessors sought peace. Peace! Ha! Peace is an excuse for the weak to sit on their hands stroking a feeble throne. Ashai has been bound by the same borders for hundreds of years. Why? We are the greatest kingdom on the Souelian. Ashai can be made even greater.”

  “Father has no desire to go to war with our neighbors,” Fierdon argued. “To claim the throne is enough. We need no more land. We were great under Bordran, and we can be great again, so long as Caydean is removed from the throne.”

  “Which is why I need to get back to Atressian,” Hespion said.

  “Where are your guards?” Fierdon asked.

  “Here and there. I told them to scatter so as not to draw attention.”

  Uratel had seen Hespion’s guards, and they were certainly scattered. A few were playing bones in the alley, one was dozing on the front stoop of the rundown inn, and the rest were at the tavern drinking away what was probably the last of their pay until they made it back to Atressian.

  “We should go by land,” Fierdon said. “The rivers are being watched closely.”

  “We? What is this we? I cannot travel with you. You draw attention like a traveling freak show. How much money do you have?”

  “Enough,” Fierdon said hesitantly.

  “Give it to me. I may need to bribe the patrols. My trunks are over there. I’ll take what I can, and you bring the rest when you find a way back.”

  “I would have been back already if I had not waited for you. I cannot walk into a bank and request more funds!” Fierdon said. “I would be recognized and captured immediately.”

  “Which is exactly why I cannot visit the bank. Caydean would find no value in your capture. Everyone knows Father would never capitulate to any demands to get you back.”

  “Maybe not, but they will not stop at torture to find out what I know,” Fierdon said.

  “Then I suggest you do not get caught. If you do, you might consider using that sword to save yourself the pain of torture.”

  “You can get your own funds, Hespion, and find your own way back. When you are killed or captured, Father will be forced to choose a new heir.”

  “It would not be you. They say you are a monster, you know. They say you were using dark magic to summon demons, and that is why the healers could not fix you.”

  “If they do, it is only because you claimed it to be so.”

  “It no longer matters why they say it, only that they do,” Hespion said. “Besides, if I fail to reach Atressian, Father will blame you. No matter how you look at it, you will never be duke.”

  “Then I will beget an heir.”

  Hespion burst into hardy laughter. “You? What of your noble ideals against forcing women? Have you changed your mind just to see me fall? Or do you think to take a whore? All the gold in Ashai could not buy you a minute in a woman’s bed. Besides, any demon-born bastard of yours is more likely to be impaled on a stake and burned than be named … well, anything … much less heir to the duchy. Our impotent father is more likely to succeed.”

  “You had best hope he does not.”

  “I have no worries about that,” Hespion said.

  “What did you do?” Fierdon hissed, but the question was unnecessary. Even Uratel, sitting atop the roof, could catch the implication.

  “You need not worry about that. Go to Justain and meet with our contacts there.”

  Fierdon scoffed. “You think I can just stroll into the marquis’s estate? Besides, Ruald is now Head of House, and I believe his loyalty is with Wellinven.”

  “I am not an idiot, Fierdon. I did not intend for you to go to the estate. Urek is guildmaster of the Serpents. Explain to him that it is in his best interest to assist.”

  “You have not been paying attention to recent events. There has been a dramatic shift in power, and nearly all the criminal guilds are under the rule of the Raven now, including the Serpents. Urek has been replaced.”

  “Yes, I have heard of this Raven. Who is guildmaster now?”

  “I believe it is Adsden, Urek’s second.”

  “Adsden. Pah! He seeks to live above his station—thinks he is smarter than everyone else. Something is not right with him.”

  “I have not had the pleasure,” Fierdon said. “I was busy with our family’s legitimate dealings.”

  “Your hands are not so clean. You were just as eager to further our efforts against Caydean.”

  “I never claimed otherwise.”

  “Meet with Adsden,” Hespion said. “If there is one commonality among men, it is greed. Do not give me that look. Greed is not a bad thing. It is what drives us toward greatness.”

  “I think you are confusing greed with ambition.”

  “You fool yourself if you think there is a difference. I am sure this Raven will jump at the chance for mutual profit. If he is cunning enough to take over the underworld, he will recognize the benefits of making friends with the duke and future king.”

  Fierdon stormed out of the room, and Uratel watched as the elder brother wrapped himself in rags and lugged his pack down the street with a distinctive loping gait. The limp was convincing, although Uratel knew it to be an act. While Fierdon was terribly disfigured by the fire that had consumed him as a boy, he was just as strong and capable as any man—perhaps more so for his determination. The Raven’s spies had somehow managed to gain insight into the accident that had affected the man two decades prior, and the story goes that it was Hespion who set the fire to Fierdon’s bed—with Fierdon in it. The young Hespion claimed a candle fell from the
bedside table during the night, but that would not explain why the healers could not repair the damage. Whatever Hespion had done, the effects had been extensive and permanent. Presumably, the attack had been fueled by Hespion’s jealousy of his father’s adoration for the older brother and by Fierdon’s success in pretty much everything he attempted.

  Uratel shook his legs out and then shuffled across the rickety roof. He needed to find someone to deliver a message to Justain. Although he did not know Adsden, he had heard that the Raven himself had placed the man in charge of the guild. If the Serpent guildmaster was to meet with Fierdon, he would need to know the Raven’s orders regarding Atressian. Uratel needed his assignment to succeed. He had been the first of the Black Hall to fall to the Raven, and somehow he felt that failure moreso than did the others. The grandmaster had told him otherwise, but Uratel still felt a need to prove himself. He had never been dispatched to protect anyone before. The grandmaster had informed the guild that the Raven had officially endorsed Dark Tidings as king, so Uratel could not fathom why the Riel’gesh wanted Hespion Mulnak to reach his home safely.

  Rezkin woke after a few hours of actual sleep to find Ilanet sitting only a few feet away from him. The sun was nearly set, and business at the house was picking up. He did not have to guess what the princess had been up to while he was asleep. She was seated in the hay as primly as one could sit in hay, and several tiny baskets woven from the straw were arrayed around her feet. She was busy weaving a much larger one that took up most of her lap. Her nimble fingers moved with expertise as she created the intricate structure. He watched her work for several minutes before she noticed he was awake.

  She smiled and said, “Father did not care what I learned, or if I learned at all. One of the maids worked at her father’s shop making baskets when she had the time. She offered to teach me when I was very young. Mostly, I think she felt sorry for me since I had nothing to do all day.”

  Rezkin had no respect for the outworlder king. The man had not trained his small-one to have any skills. She had not learned to fight or defend herself, and then he had tried to have her killed over a trivial matter. There were plenty of other ways to obtain what King Ionius wanted, and he had to know it. To him, Ilanet held no value, and his chances of marrying her to his ally and neighbor, King Caydean, had dissipated. Rezkin could not recall receiving any lessons that related to this type of situation, but he had come to the conclusion that killing a small-one who had committed no crime and could not defend herself was somehow intrinsically wrong. But why was it wrong, he wondered.