by J. C. Owens
Naral nodded. He had heard all too much of the frustration of his guards, who would pursue a criminal, only to have them melt into the labyrinth of the western quarters where no one would speak to them and danger lurked in every shadow.
“I have a proposal, if you would like to hear it.” Fagan’s eyes were clear and steady.
“I would appreciate any insight into the problems of the western areas. You are correct. The new emperor wishes to make changes, but I believe that you could shed more light on the problems than anyone we have yet spoken to.” Certainly they would have hired a so-called “expert” on the matter, and it was doubtful that they would have had half the knowledge of Rivergate that Fagan possessed. They should have realized that aid only works if the people involved are consulted and are part of the process.
Fagan inclined his head in acknowledgment of Naral’s words, a gesture as regal as any prince.
He was fascinating, this man of the streets.
“My proposal is that I help you find those who are on the edge of the area,” Fagan continued, passion building with every word. “Find those who understand the poverty and trouble, but who have managed to make it out, even if only a little. They are the ones who could be trained, who the poor would trust. Teach them how to help, listen to what they tell you. Have them train more people. Bring small changes, one at a time, so that people can learn to cope. Change is hard for those who live day to day struggling to survive. Change often means disaster, not anything pleasant. Train enough people that no one is overworked, that no one slips through the cracks. Let the people be their own heroes. Even if it is only one by one, there will be change, there will be progress, even if it is not the pace that you would wish. Be respectful, listen well and let those who know do their work. Give them the tools and they will be tireless in their attempts to save individuals. We are not a group. We are individuals. Of different ethnic backgrounds, different birthplaces, but human all the same. We have hopes, dreams, love and hate, laugh and cry. We are no different than you, but through circumstance, we are where we are. Help us.”
The simplicity of the words, the dignity of the simple request for understanding, made Naral’s chest tighten. Had his predecessors listened? He somehow doubted it. There had been attempts to change things in the past by concerned citizens, but always it had failed because they had not understood those that they sought to save. Now areas like Rivergate were overrun with hopelessness and crime. These people had the right to do things at their own pace, in their own way, without judgment or pity.
If only someone had listened before. If only there had been a Fagan in the past.
He found admiration rise within him. This man was so much more than his reputation. Somehow Naral doubted that the funds he garnered from his thievery were used all for himself. Not with the speech he had just given.
Fagan sat back and met his gaze squarely, no pleading, no trying to further his cause with fawning words. He had said his piece and now waited patiently for Naral’s reaction and response.
“I will take what you have said and personally repeat every word to the emperor. He is a busy man, but I will ensure that something is begun immediately. I can speak to several friends who are highly placed within the college and perhaps we can begin there, with the teaching of the individuals you will bring to us. It will be a start.”
Fagan stared at him, his breath suspended, eyes wide. He had not expected anything to come of this meeting. That was perfectly clear.
“You mean this?”
Naral felt a jolt of pain, of pity that he kept carefully hidden. Fagan would not appreciate such a sentiment. It was obvious that he held a great deal of pride within that slender body. The look of wonder upon his face at the moment brought an up-rush of emotion that made Naral aware that he would do anything to see it again, to help this man.
The strength of it was shocking, but Naral had always been a thrill-seeker. This time, it might actually lead him into doing something that could help others beyond his small circle of loved ones, beyond the courtiers that made their needs a priority, loudly and often.
This could help those that truly needed it.
“But first,” Naral said evenly, “I need something from you.”
Distrust immediately flashed back into Fagan’s eyes, a wariness born of years living under threat and danger. “And what, pray tell, can a man like me do for an upstanding servant of the empire?”
“I need someone who has a finger on the pulse of the poor quarters, who can help root out those who could be using those areas to hide. Assassins like the one who made an attempt on the emperor’s life. He was in plain sight, but we believe there will be more than one, and what better place than Rivergate to sink out of sight? Your knowledge, your skills would be vital in keeping the empire safe.” He let the words circulate in Fagan’s thoughts, instinctively knowing he should not push, should let him think this through.
Fagan’s eyes narrowed before his body relaxed ever so slightly.
“Then this would be an even exchange.” There was a hint of relief in the tone.
It was clear Fagan did not deal well with charity in any form.
“I would give you a detailed list of exactly who and what we are seeking.”
Fagan shrugged. “They are fools if they think they can hide in Rivergate or any other poor quarter. The people there are rightfully suspicious of strangers. They would stick out like sore thumbs, no matter how good their skills.”
Naral nodded. “Then you are exactly the man we need.” He reached out a hand. “We have a deal then?”
Fagan stared at him, obviously still in disbelief, eyeing his hand and then his expression for long moments before he committed himself to action.
When his hand was finally palm to palm with Naral’s, and they shook once in the traditional gesture, Naral felt like he could have conquered the world.
* * *
Cermin
Cermin had launched himself into Hredeen’s arms the moment the assassin entered the royal pavilion at the imperial camp.
Hredeen, for his part, held the child close against him, murmuring soft nonsense and stroking through tousled curls. Zaran watched the tableau with a soft smile on his lips. How could Taldan have driven a man like this away? It hurt his heart to think of it.
The newcomer, Ralnulian, ducked beneath the overhang and finally straightened to his full, impressive height within the structure. His eyes slowly roved over the appointments and furnishings until his gaze rested upon Hredeen and his small assailant.
For the briefest moment, his eyes widened as he viewed Cermin, then his shock was swiftly concealed. Zaran had to wonder if the man somehow knew the boy. But he couldn’t fathom how a War Guild assassin might know a shop boy from an isolated town in Bhantan.
Whatever it had been, it was now gone. The assassin’s expression seemed frozen into a parody of mild curiosity, bland and unremarkable.
No doubt that expression served him well in his tasks.
Zaran gestured him forward to where comfortable chairs were ranged around a small brazier that kept the tent warmed in the chill nights and misty mornings. It was a luxury Zaran much appreciated. It was painfully hot here during the day, but the nights and the mornings held a damp chill far worse than the most vicious of the winter days back home. The dampness was the cause for such an anomaly. It seeped right into the joints, into the marrow. At night, Zaran missed the palace the most.
He was aware that several of the Shadows had slipped in behind them and were taking up spaces of vigilance around the edges of the pavilion. Keeping an eye on Ralnulian no doubt. Perhaps Hredeen held some part in their suspicion as they did not know him from the palace.
Either way, Zaran ignored them. He had been well-trained in the fine royal art of pretending that you were not being followed, that your time was your own.
He was used to it; it didn’t mean he liked it.
In their current situation, it was worse than ever before. On
this mission, he felt like he couldn’t turn around without falling over a Shadow, most of whom seemed to have a lack of the concept of personal space. He understood their reasoning, and certainly, in the current situation they had every right to be concerned for his safety, but it was wearing upon him. He wanted this entire matter over, wanted to return home to where things were familiar and there was not death around every bend in the road.
He had seen enough to last a lifetime.
At first, the Shadows had wished to keep him separate from the destruction, to guide him away from the torn bodies and the stench of death, but he had insisted on walking through it all. After all, if he had been faster, perhaps some of this could have been prevented.
He had left behind men to bury the dead. There was little more to be done than that. He would not leave the bodies to be carrion, despite their need for haste.
In the end, it had made little difference. The Odenar contingent had reached their destination and were entrenched in a strategically sound position. Hredeen had given him priceless information on the rebel army’s disposition, numbers, defenses. Even with the two brothers of Raine dead, finishing off this force would be a bloody business.
The news of the brothers’ deaths had come as a welcome relief, the first truly positive event since this whole debacle had begun. Now, they only had to try to discern what the remaining Odenar rebels would do with their leadership dead by outside hands, killed in the midst of their defenses.
He poured out three cups of wine and handed one to Ralnulian, who accepted it with a gracious nod and a respectful bow. The man looked like he should be rough and coarse, yet his manners were as fine as any found in Persis.
“They will fall apart, Your Highness.” Ralnulian’s tone held complete confidence in his assessment. “I was there, and there was no loyalty to be found, as there rarely is within groups that are ruled by pure brutality and fear. Once it is discovered that the Yoldis brothers are gone, they will break into groups. I imagine there will be two days of infighting for power before they scatter.”
Zaran waved the man into a seat before sitting himself, sipping the wine and eyeing Hredeen’s reunion with Cermin. He had never seen Hredeen with a child before. It was heartwarming to watch his gentleness and respect for the boy.
During conversations with Cermin, Zaran had questioned the boy as to what he would choose to do once the imperial army left for home. The subject had been brought up before, but Zaran wished to make perfectly sure that the boy knew what he truly wanted. The fact he was a bastard son weighed heavily in the options available. Not to mention that Zaran wanted to gain the official permission of Bhantan before removing one of its citizens. There was enough diplomatic damage done between them without adding yet another layer of outrage to the mix.
Hredeen finally managed to partially detach Cermin enough to make his way over to Zaran and Ralnulian. His patience with a child that he had only known for such a short time was exemplary. The fact that Cermin was so desperately attached after so short an acquaintance was equally surprising. Cermin had proved to be an intelligent but deeply suspicious boy, and had taken a while to warm up to Zaran after being left with him so abruptly. Now, they were at ease with each other, but still, Cermin did not hold complete trust yet. Not much wonder after what he had gone through, both before and after the attack.
Yet he trusted Hredeen.
Zaran smiled softly, watching Hredeen urge the boy down into a chair that was pulled close against Hredeen’s.
“First, you must eat,” Hredeen was saying.
Such words coming from a trained assassin’s mouth seemed so innocuous that Zaran could not prevent a huff of amusement.
His friend looked his way for a moment, then away, twin spots of color appearing upon his cheekbones.
Zaran grinned. It was rare to catch Hredeen off guard, and making him blush was an art form that few had perfected. Not even Taldan himself had managed that.
Zaran counted it a victory.
Food came moments later, distracting everyone. A comfortable silence fell as they each dug into the bounty.
It was not just Cermin who ate as if he had been starved. The two assassins managed to down a truly amazing amount of food as Zaran watched in fascination.
With food in their stomachs and the warmth of the fire taking away the damp chill of the evening, Cermin soon nodded off. Zaran urged him over to the bed that had been provided for him close beside Zaran’s and tucked him in carefully.
When Zaran returned to the table after tucking in Cermin, Hredeen’s raised eyebrow had an answering flush rising on Zaran’s cheeks, remarkably similar to Hredeen’s earlier. Within days, this boy had wormed his way into the affections of an assassin and an imperial prince, bringing an entirely new range of emotions to the fore.
As a diversion, Zaran latched upon a new topic of conversation, turning to Ralnulian. “So, Hredeen tells me that you are a rogue from the guild.”
The words fell like stones into the air between them, and Zaran’s narrowed eyes picked up every nuance of Ralnulian’s reactions.
The man set down his wine carefully before meeting Zaran’s stare. “I am.”
No dissembling. No attempt to hide. Just plain, calm words.
“I find it difficult to believe that anyone could escape the guild. By all accounts and stories, that is an impossible task.”
Hredeen had his head down, turning the wine cup ceaselessly, his gaze fixed blindly upon the motion, obviously very uncomfortable with the topic.
Zaran could not blame him but neither could he let this go.
Anrodnes had many enemies, and this man’s sudden appearance seemed almost too perfect, too coincidental.
“I did so because I knew the system so well. I stayed free for the same reason, and because I was the best.” There wasn’t a hint of ego in the statement. Only fact. “But that does not mean my freedom has been easy. Or free of bloodshed.”
Zaran’s eyebrow rose into his hairline.
“So you survived all this time? Alone? With the guild hunting you?”
Ralnulian tilted his head and met Zaran eye to eye. “I will not tell you of where I have been or who I have been with, for the simple reason that it would endanger them. Suffice to say that I moved frequently and kept out of sight for the most part.” He smiled, a slow, beautiful curve of his lips. “There are those good souls who have aided me, and I bless them daily for their moral convictions, kindness, and strength of purpose. Without them, I would not be here now.”
“So who sent you to kill the Yoldis brothers?”
“No one. They made the mistake of attacking the village near where I live. It was not the home of my friends, but still, I knew those people. Good people with gentle hearts and true souls.” His lips curled, a deadly light flashing in his eyes. “I went on the hunt.”
“So you knew nothing of Hredeen’s presence?”
Hredeen’s short and succinct report as the encampment was set up for the night had given little detail, only the bare bones of the surprising encounter.
“No. I was unaware that one of my brethren was close by.” He shook his head as he glanced at Hredeen. “He is a consummate actor. Without my intimate knowledge of the guild, I would never have pegged him as an assassin.”
Hredeen inclined his head slightly at the praise, but his eyes were shadowed, and he did not look at either of them.
Zaran felt a surge of concern that he managed to thrust aside for the moment. They needed this information. A deadly predator such as Ralnulian could not be allowed to run loose either within or without the camp until they knew his purpose.
“So you have lived here, in Bhantan, all this time?”
“Here and there. I kept traveling to far-flung countries, keeping myself on the move, especially during the first years. There were many pursuing me for the first five. Now, ten years later, I have not encountered any for two or so years. My hope is that they will believe I have died.” His lips thinned. “Th
ey believe me a danger to their guild. I have no interest in their world. I had my revenge long ago, and the closure of that allowed me to move forward. It is far in the past.” He glanced over at Hredeen. “Now, it has come back to my doorstep.”
Hredeen’s head jerked up, and the two assassins stared at each other, tension in every line of them.
Zaran felt as much as saw the Shadows become alert, ready. He laid a hand on his own dagger…
Ralnulian inclined his head to Hredeen, a mark of evident respect. Suddenly they were both relaxed, the danger having passed with the swiftness of a summer storm.
What had passed between them was a mystery to Zaran. There had been no indication of a gesture or anything that could have shown intent. He shook his head ruefully. It would be up to him to later winkle out the truth from Hredeen.
“What is your intent now? Are you returning to your people?”
Ralnulian’s lips twisted, and a brief flash of grief lit his eyes, only to die away with equal swiftness. “I have no people, Your Highness. Those who have been so kind to me I count as friends, but as I have said, I never stay in a place for long. That I have returned here off and on is not a benefit to anyone, only a danger.” His gaze moved sideways, a brief flash of a glance toward Cermin.
At times, Zaran had resented his life, his virtual imprisonment within the confines of the palace, his lack of choice. Yet, here and now, envisioning the loneliness that this man would have endured, both before his escape and after, made him aware that things could have been far, far worse. He had Taldan, had Naral, the two men always looking after him, always protecting.
Who had ever protected Ralnulian?
His gaze met Hredeen’s. For better or worse, Hredeen knew what it was to be cared for. He’d had eight years to grow to understand emotions and how to care for others. Zaran had not the slightest doubt that his friend understood love all too painfully well.
