Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “The one who attacked me seemed quite sane,” Eiren said, “but so rattled that she didn’t seem to know what to do.”

  “Glad’s girls are professionals. That woman wasn’t,” Kaymar scoffed.

  “Gladdas and I have a pact not to go after each other, we’ve had it for years,” Menders added. “She used to be given contracts to kill me at least once a month. It got tedious, because she could never catch me and she was suffering financially because she couldn’t collect the fees. Likewise, my attempts to bag her were like trying to nail custard to a wall. We finally made a truce. She’s never accepted another contract on me.”

  “Who the hells is Gladdas Dalmanthea?” Eiren asked briskly.

  Menders looked at her in apology.

  “I’m sorry my dear, I forget you don’t know all that we do,” he replied. “Gladdas Dalmanthea is a spy-assassin. She’s Artreyan by birth, or at least so we think. She’s as slippery as a bucket of greased worms about details like that, has a million stories about her origins. She’s not active herself these days, but runs a network of female assassins and spies – her own, she’s a free agent for hire. Glad’s ruthless, but she has her own set of rules and never breaks them. If she promised not to come after me, she will not come after me, full stop. No threat or amount of money would coerce her.”

  Eiren nodded, looking relieved.

  “The story that both of these mystery women told is what puzzles me,” Haakel mused. “Both claiming that some man had their child, that he was the father of the child. That’s utterly bizarre.”

  “The ages of the children were different,” Menders said. “It could be that it’s the same father. I suspect Therbalt.”

  “It’s the sort of sadistic thing that would amuse him,” Eiren said wearily. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I thought this Therbalt was nancy?” Franz interjected. “Children with two women?”

  “He is,” Kaymar responded firmly. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t sleep with women. The rumor was that he slept with Aidelia. Nancies sleep with women all the time, for various reasons. Plenty of nancies in the nobility have wives and children.”

  “And there’s another assassin out there. A real one. Therbalt expects us to fixate on solving the mystery of these two women, letting an assassin through while we’re distracted.” Menders got up and prowled around the room.

  He was furious about the entire situation. Katrin had been in grave danger. Only Borsen’s quick thinking and Katrin’s calmness and distracting chatter had saved her. Ifor had gotten there quickly, but anyone startling that woman could have made her pull the trigger at point blank range. Ifor had been helpless to do anything from his position.

  Menders knew he’d let things get too slack. Katrin had been without a guard close by and an amateur had managed to walk right up behind her with a gun.

  “Hemmett, can you stay for a while?” he asked, turning back to the table. “I know your graduation is pressing, but I’d like you here.”

  “I spoke with Sir already. I brought assignments with me so I can keep up with my class,” Hemmett answered firmly. “Late winter break is coming as well. If I can be of use, I’m here.”

  “It will risk your becoming top graduate,” Eiren said quietly.

  “I’m willing to sacrifice that if I’m needed here,” Hemmett replied.

  Menders swallowed. He knew how hard Hemmett had worked to keep top grades all these years.

  “I need you to be with Katrin and Borsen for a while,” he explained, settling on the edge of the table and looking at Hemmett. “If you could act as companion and guard for them it would be a great relief to me. They are going to be restricted to a painful degree, because until we know more, it’s unsafe for them to leave the house. Being close to them in age will make you the best guard they could have.”

  “They’re my sister and brother,” Hemmett said with finality. Menders knew his mind was set.

  “Thank you, my son,” he responded softly. Hemmett smiled.

  “So you’re going to lock us down?” Kaymar said sourly.

  ‘Yes,” Menders said with finality.

  “I disagree,” Kaymar said.

  “I know, but it’s not your decision,” Menders replied.

  Kaymar sat back and sighed. Both of them were too weary to argue. “I just don’t know, Menders.” He stretched and leaned back, then added, “All of us being cooped up here, bottled up like bugs in a jar… I just can’t help get the feeling that this is exactly what Therbalt wants us to do.”

  “Perhaps,” Menders said, thinking on it. “But it’s hard for us to take the initiative when we don’t know where to go with it. We can control access here. Triple the guard, regular patrols, no one in or out of the area for fifty miles.”

  (53)

  Lockdown

  Borsen padded down the hallway of the Family Wing in his nightshirt. He couldn’t sleep and he was sure that Katrin was awake as well.

  His uncle had outlined what they would have to do until further notice. It was severe. They couldn’t leave the house. The winter shutters on all the windows were to be kept shut and bolted. Menders’ Men were posted all over the house, anywhere anyone could get in and Hemmett was posted on guard in Katrin’s bedroom. The strongroom door stood open. Borsen couldn’t remember it being left open before.

  Menders had also limited their movement within the house. Katrin could not leave the sight of an armed guard at any time. That meant someone had to be with her every second. The house was vast, and parts of it were not in use, so it made sense.

  Kaymar was seated on a chair at the entrance to Katrin’s suite.

  “Can’t sleep, little Cuz?” he smiled grimly.

  “I want to see Katrin,” Borsen answered.

  “I heard her talking to Hemmett just now, so she’s awake too,” Kaymar said, nodding for him to go on in.

  Katrin’s lamp was burning and he could hear her speaking quietly to Hemmett. A glance into Eiren’s room let him know she was sleeping. There was no sign of his uncle anywhere. He peeped around Katrin’s doorway.

  “There’s Inchworm,” Hemmett said with a grin. He was sitting in Katrin’s easy chair, while she sat up in the bed. “Come join the sleepless party.”

  Borsen hoisted himself on the bed and leaned against a bedpost.

  “I couldn’t settle and Olan finally yelled through the wall for me to quit moving around or he’d pound me,” he said. “So I thought to come here.”

  “No-one will yell at you here.” Katrin smiled. “You should come live on this end of the wing.”

  “I like my bachelor apartment,” Borsen smiled back. Hemmett snorted with laughter, but winked at him. Borsen loved Menders, Eiren and Katrin, but preferred the quarters he’d had since coming to The Shadows.

  They sat and talked quietly for a while. Borsen could tell that Katrin was frightened but putting on a good face. Hemmett was very calm and Borsen felt better just being near him.

  “I keep thinking about those two little boys,” Katrin finally said. “That woman… she wasn’t lying and Eiren says the one who attacked her wasn’t lying either. Everyone’s busy protecting me, but what about those children?”

  “Willow, there’s no way to know where they are,” Hemmett answered. “Menders will have his network on it. They’re already making enquiries about those boys. He’s going to do what he can to get this Therbalt and finish him. It’s pointless to fret over things you’re helpless to change.”

  Borsen watched as shadows of worry and doubt crossed Katrin’s face.

  He’d always understood the potential danger to her, from the time he’d come to The Shadows and become a sort of junior Menders’ Man. Over time, his uncle had taught him knife fighting, marksmanship and many skills that spies and assassins used until Doctor Franz called a halt to advanced training with tumbling moves, fearful that Borsen’s fragile bones wouldn’t hold up to the pounding. He knew it was not only so he could protect himself, but for Katrin’s pro
tection as well.

  Sometimes, he thought, too much has been kept from Katrin. Now that she’s really in danger, it’s a shock to her.

  Soon Katrin fell asleep. Hemmett rose silently. He hefted Borsen down from the bed.

  “She needs to rest,” Hemmett whispered. “If you don’t want to go back downstairs, you can bunk with me on my comfortable mattress.”

  Borsen was glad of the offer. He cuddled against Hemmett’s broad back on the makeshift bed and finally managed to sleep.

  ***

  Dear Sir Slippery Eel,

  Some news for you at last, but not good. As suspected, the man you know as Lord Therbalt sent those two women after the Princess and your wife. He is in control of a very large organization, a combination of his own people and Vannik’s. It seems it was his intention to throw Vannik to you all along, then to take control of Vannik’s network. This is a man devoid of scruples or conscience, old friend, and though he presented himself to your people as a foolish fop, he is frighteningly intelligent. Crafty with it - and devious.

  He is contracting not only on the Princess, but on you, your wife and the little fellow it’s said you’ve adopted.

  Be very careful, Menders. This man makes Vannik look like a philanthropist. My girls are trying to find out more and to see if the children you mentioned are with him. I had a girl working on a lead in Erdhan, but I have lost contact with her and fear the worst.

  More as I find it.

  Gladdy D.

  Menders closed his eyes and crumpled the note in his hand. It was as he had feared – open contracts on all of The Shadows’ inner family. Open contracts were the assassin’s equivalent of war. Payment went to whoever fulfilled a contract, no questions asked or answered. Such an arrangement would bring out a lot of second rate operatives, little more than thugs. Menders had no fear of them. Between Gladdas’ input and Menders’ own connections, second raters would most likely be stopped in Erdhan.

  But the contracts would also draw the attention of top notch assassins. Menders felt secure at the Shadows and didn’t fear even the best assassin getting close while it was in lockdown, but as Kaymar said, the lockdown isolated them from events in the real world. Therbalt would surely slip away from them while they were stagnated and then would be poised, ready to strike at them later.

  Menders stalked around his office in a raging fury, the desire to lash out at something – at anything – overwhelming. Somehow he had to take back the initiative, but at the same time he didn’t dare risk weakening his defenses at The Shadows.

  Snarling at the situation, he threw the ball of paper into the fireplace and watched it burn to ash.

  ***

  A man slipped into the shelter of an enormous pine tree. He relaxed for a moment in the tentlike cavern created by sagging ice-coated branches, glad to be free of the endlessly falling snow.

  He could see the huge house, The Shadows, clearly now. It hulked darkly against the sky, not a light to be seen. So the rumors were true. Stettan had the entire place locked down.

  He smiled, fingering the tools in his pocket. They might be snugged up in there but a fire would bring them right out into the open. Then he could pick them all off and make Lord Stettan very sorry for all the miles he’d walked through the snow just to be able to creep up on the place between Stettan’s damned endless watch patrols.

  He packed several shells with gunpowder and fuel, then carefully cut and seated fuses in the resulting firebombs. Water trickled down his neck where the snow on his collar was melting. He twitched irritably, hating the tickling, wet sensation. Why would anyone live up here in all this miserable snow and cold? He hunched over his work, not wanting any moisture to dampen the powder.

  Finished, he stowed the bombs in his coat pockets, checked for his waterproof packet of matches and then pulled his collar up closer, sneering at the thought of going out into the falling snow. But then, the contract money he was about to earn would buy him a lot of time in a warm place.

  He squeezed through a gap in the tree’s branches, getting his bearings. Best to watch here where he couldn’t be seen, get the timing on the patrols pacing the perimeter of the house and the roof. As soon as he saw the pattern, he could choose the best time to make the old estate house a place to flee from. Then his work would be like shooting chickens in a pen.

  His hat was knocked forward over his eyes, then tumbled to the ground. A vicelike hand gripped his hair and a blade was at his throat.

  “Didn’t know I was there?” a snide voice with an uppercrust Southern Mordanian accent hissed in his ear. “Didn’t Bartie teach you to stay upwind when you’re on a mission? I could smell your stinking hair oil thirty feet away. Therbalt’s starting to pay a pretty penny for assassins, isn’t he?”

  A lamp flared and was thrust in his face, nearly blinding him. He struggled, but the knife bit into his throat.

  “It’s Benton,” came the same voice – the mad little nancy, Kaymar Shvalz. “I could tell the minute I picked up his stench.”

  As his vision adapted to the bright light, Benton saw a pair of furious white eyes glaring at him. The man who held the lantern was Stettan.

  Benton began working his tongue frantically, trying to loosen the vial of morric acid lodged in a back tooth. He’d rather die than contend with that pair of men.

  Shvalz smashed the butt of his knife against the hinge of Benton’s jaw. His mouth gaped helplessly, the nerves controlling his jaw paralyzed.

  Men were converging from everywhere as Stettan went through the assassin’s pockets. Schvalz handed Benton over to a giant who must be Ifor Trantz and snatched the bombs away from Stettan, flinging them into a snowbank.

  “Those would have blown the house into a firestorm,” he snapped viciously. “Full of phosphorus.”

  “Get him inside without anyone seeing,” Stettan commanded. “He’s got a tooth full of morric acid – get it, and search him for anything else. Don’t let Hemmett know he’s here. Then leave him in the strongroom with Ifor. We’ll be along.”

  Ifor Trantz took a vicious handful of Benton’s hair and marched him toward the house.

  ***

  The months ground on.

  It was a slow winter. Therbalt wastefully sent men into the wolf’s maw of Menders’ Men. Kaymar extracted confessions from the surviving assassins, beginning with the turncoat, Benton, who had been one of Bartan’s Assassins.

  The work had taken a toll on Kaymar, leaving him brittle and muttering to himself. He was desperate to lash out and focused his frustration on Menders, provoking confrontations that often erupted into vicious brawling and long periods where they would not speak to each other. Menders finally refused to let Kaymar take part in interrogations, which made the situation between them even more tense.

  Between Bartan and Gladdas Dalmanthea’s operatives, Menders had learned that Therbalt was somewhere in Surelia, where he was deeply protected. Menders sent Kaymar after him with no luck. Bartan had dispatched men as well. Kaymar and Ifor had barely escaped that venture with their lives. Bartan’s men had not been so fortunate.

  The continual threats at home prevented Menders from making an all-out assault on Therbalt. He couldn’t divide his forces and take the risk of leaving The Shadows vulnerable. Menders knew this was part of Therbalt’s plan. It was exactly what he would have done in Therbalt’s place. He fumed over it while making his midnight round of the house.

  He spoke briefly to Ifor, on duty at the entrance to the Family Wing, then checked on Katrin, who was asleep.

  “Everything is all right – goodnight, Little Princess,” Menders whispered, kissing her cheek. She smiled briefly, but didn’t stir. Hemmett was stretched out on the mattress that had been moved to the foot of her bed after Benton had been captured on the estate grounds. Such measures afforded little privacy for the Princess. She bore it stoically, though the situation had begun to wear on her temper. Hemmett woke when Menders came in, but just smiled and winked before closing his eyes again.<
br />
  On the landing, Menders opened the inside shutters of the upper floor windows. Scraps of cloud raced before a baleful moon. Random snowflakes, lit like fireflies in the moonlight, flitted past the windows.

  They were safe tonight, he felt certain. But other assassins would come. How many – and how soon, he did not know.

  ***

  Eiren perused a letter that Menders brought her and then smiled at him.

  “Miss Falcone has accepted my offer of a position at the school,” she said, relief ringing in her voice. “We’ve gotten around the conundrum of having the school certified since she has the necessary degree!”

  “I’m delighted,” Menders replied, “though I’m sorry that you weren’t able to get the degree yourself.” Eiren had been forced to give up completing her year of extra schooling. There was no way she could make up the lost time and they were still confined to the house, though it was now well into springtime. The winter had been long and arduous for all concerned.

  “No matter. The entire exercise was to have the school certified. Now it will be. And to be honest, I found it was a colossal waste, that course. It just went over the material I’d already learned when I was first at teacher’s college.” Eiren’s face was so bright and happy that Menders knew she wasn’t trying to make him feel better. She’d gotten her school certified and that was all that mattered.

  “Then I think an all-out dinner tonight is in order, with toasts drunk to the school and Miss Falcone,” he smiled. “It’ll also be a nice sendoff for Hemmett, since he’s going back to the Academy tomorrow.” With winter recess over, it was time for the young man to take his place at the head of his graduating class. There had been fewer attempts by potential assassins of late, and none in the last few weeks. Menders hoped word that The Shadows was too tough a nut to crack had gotten back to Therbalt.