Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  This should be the prosperous heart of the empire, Hal thought. People shouldn’t have to hide in their cellars to protect what is theirs.

  Hal was reminded of a song popular among the veterans of the army.

  I turned my sword into a walking cane,

  To replace the leg I lost.

  Kings propose and thanes dispose

  But the soldier pays the cost.

  Where was Bellamy? Was he still in Delphi or had he marched on toward the northern capital? If he’d marched on, then who had been left in charge in the border town? How long would it take for Jarat to realize that someone was following along behind him, picking up bread crumbs?

  Bellamy would have to turn back then. Hal needed to take Delphi before he did.

  Hal knew this territory, this town, and its defenses intimately—no doubt better than Jarat’s army of occupation. He was familiar with a whole range of mistakes that could be made, because he’d made them. The cannon on the heights had been his undoing the last time. Years ago, after Arden took control of the independent city, they’d neglected the cannon, which had been placed by the Delphians to keep Arden honest. The Ardenine military had assumed they were no longer needed, but they’d left them in place. The Fellsian army made good use of them once they’d won the heights.

  He recalled Captain Gray’s words after she won the day in Delphi. Perhaps if this place were defended properly, it wouldn’t be so easy to take.

  Hal had learned his lesson then, but he could hope that Jarat hadn’t.

  His army left the North Road, striking west across the countryside, and then north to cross the Delphi Road. Hopefully the town garrison wouldn’t be expecting trouble from that quarter. They camped in a spot north of the east–west road, one that he hoped would be outside scouting range from Delphi. Again, he sent Mercier and DeJardin into town to evaluate the enemy’s assets and defenses, to see if the northerners had made changes during their tenure. He also gave them the names of two people to find, if they were still alive, and a verbal message to deliver.

  His emissaries returned the next day with two guests in tow. Hal recognized them immediately—Brit Fletcher and Yorrie Cooper, Patriots of Delphi. Fletcher had one arm in a sling and severe burns down the side of his face that cracked and seeped when his expression changed. Cooper looked much the same as always, though somewhat better fed than before.

  Hal sent up a grateful prayer. He hadn’t been sure how—or even if—his offer would be received.

  “Well, now,” Fletcher said, “if it ain’t Captain Matelon. Or should I call you King Hal?” He shot a look at Mercier and DeJardin.

  “Matelon will do,” Hal said. He knew Mercier and DeJardin had used his new title as the carrot to entice the Patriots to come, but he half-wished they hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Good,” Cooper said. “We’re not that fond of kings—especially southern kings.”

  “Which is why I appreciate your coming and your willingness to hear me out,” Hal said. He gestured toward the command tent. “This way.”

  It was a lovely late-spring night. The tent flaps were tied back, and the scent of sweet bay and honeysuckle wafted in on the breeze. The Patriots accepted Hal’s offer of refreshment, and he tapped the last barrel of autumn cider. They sat down on camp chairs and atop barrels of salted fish.

  “You know, Matelon, I heard you was dead,” Fletcher said, blotting cider from his lips with his sleeve. “Several times, I heard it.”

  “One day,” Hal said. “Not today. I’m glad to see you’re still alive. I hear that Jarat paid a steep blood price for every city block.”

  “That’s what keeps us going,” Cooper said. “Killing southerners.”

  Clearly, this wasn’t going to be an easy sell.

  “Is it true, what your people said—that you won the southern capital?” Fletcher said.

  “It’s true,” Hal said.

  “So you’re the new top-dog thane?”

  “Not exactly,” Hal said.

  “Then what’s this about?” Fletcher said. “I know you didn’t invite us here just to share your cider.”

  “I need your help,” Hal said.

  “That’s the only time we have a sit-down with kings,” Cooper said, sliding a look at Fletcher. “When they need our help.”

  “The thing is—you need my help, too,” Hal said.

  That got their attention.

  Cooper clunked her mug down, hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Your location is a blessing and a curse. As long as we’re at war, you’re a game piece in play. You may win free for a while, but sooner or later, the armies come back. A free Delphi doesn’t suit the larger game.”

  “We’re for the queen in the north,” Cooper said. “She came here and kicked your ass, as I recall.”

  “She did,” Hal said, raising his glass. “To the ass-kicking queen in the north.”

  They mumbled back the toast, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Since then, she’s let us run our own affairs,” Fletcher said.

  “Aye,” Hal said. “She’s one to keep her word. And yet, Jarat didn’t sign on, and now he’s here.”

  “And now you’re here,” Cooper countered.

  “And now I’m here. I want to take Delphi back from King Jarat and return it to you.”

  “Return it to us,” Fletcher said bitterly. “Beware of kings saying they’re here to help you.”

  “The queen in the north was straight with us,” Cooper said.

  “But she’s not here,” Fletcher said.

  “Aye, she’s not here,” Hal said. “The northern armies are fighting for their lives in the east. If they fail, you’ll get to meet Empress Celestine.”

  Cooper and Fletcher looked at each other, then back at Hal. “The pirate?”

  Hal nodded. “I saw what happened in Chalk Cliffs. I was there. If the empress wins, we’re all in for it. Remember that saying? Things may be bad in Delphi, but they can always get worse.”

  The Patriots eyed him as if unsure whether they should be offended or not.

  “If you’re so concerned about the empress in the east,” Cooper said, “then why aren’t you helping the northern queen?”

  “I am,” Hal said, faintly surprised to hear that coming out of his mouth. “She doesn’t need Jarat putting a knife in her back, so I’m going to handle him.”

  “For her,” Cooper said, raising an eyebrow.

  “For her,” Hal said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  There was no simple answer to that, but Hal gave it a try. “The queen in the north was straight with me,” he said. “The king in the south has never been.”

  “Well, if you want to help her, you better hurry up,” Fletcher said. “Jarat’s marching on Ardenscourt, if he ain’t already there.”

  48

  INTERCEPTION

  Lila stuffed her clothes into her saddlebags and strapped her money belt around her waist. She had to get out, even if it meant leaving Shadow and DeVilliers behind.

  Those two had been rounded up on the day of the wedding, and she hadn’t seen them since. She assumed that they were being held in the dungeon, but she didn’t even know where the dungeon was. Had it been at Ardenscourt, she could have made discreet inquiries through her allies and sources to locate them. It was jolting to realize that she knew more about the secrets of Ardenscourt Castle than of the palace in her homeland.

  Including potential escape routes.

  King Jarat and his retinue had arrived yesterday, with salvos of soldiers, brigades of blackbirds, and crews of collared mages.

  She had no idea why she’d been overlooked, but it couldn’t last forever. If Karn hadn’t spotted her amid the chaos in the Cathedral Temple, he’d find out she was here soon enough.

  She had to get out. She’d delayed too long already, trying to find her friends (when had she come to regard DeVilliers as a friend?). She couldn’t very well be introduced as Lila Byrne, daughter of the captain
of the Queen’s Guard, to people who knew her as Lila Barrowhill, smuggler, mercenary, and southern spy.

  That’s what you get for allowing Captain Amazing to pin his name on you, she thought.

  You have to go. It’s a matter of survival, she thought.

  Then why are you wasting time arguing with yourself?

  If she could just slip away before she came face-to-face with any representatives of the new regime, she might be able to return to the south and be Lila Barrowhill again.

  For how long? a voice in her head whispered. How long will it take the empress to reach Ardenscourt? Anyway, I thought you wanted to avenge your family.

  It was the kind of voice that could be drowned in a vat of blue ruin once she was far away from here. She might leave the wolves behind, too. After all, she’d never seen talking dead wolves in Arden.

  Lila swung her bags over her shoulders and fastened her cloak over top so that she resembled an odd sort of hunchbacked crone. She hoped no one would question the cloak, despite the fair weather.

  “You’re not done here.”

  Lila swung around to find an immense gray wolf with green eyes planted in front of the door.

  “Who are you?” Lila said. “Where’s the gray-eyed wolf?”

  “She’s with the queen,” the wolf said. “I’m filling in.”

  So now I have to deal with substitute talking dead wolves?

  “Where’s the queen?” Lila said. And which queen is it?

  “She is coming. You need to stay and protect those who serve the Line.”

  “Look,” Lila said, “I’ve already been here longer than I meant to be. I promise, I’ll come back and help the queen once she’s here.”

  With that, the door slammed open (hadn’t she locked it?) and the wolf faded away.

  It was Destin Karn, dressed to kill in his spymaster blacks.

  He looked around the room. “Who’s here? Who were you talking to?”

  “A dead wolf,” Lila said. “Listen, I’d love to catch up, but I was just leaving.” She tried to dart around him, but he stuck out an arm to stop her.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “I need to go,” Lila said. She tried to slide past him once again, but he pushed her farther into the room, slammed the door, and put his back to it.

  “We need to talk now,” Karn said.

  “The last time you tried to strong-arm me, I nearly put a knife in your gut,” Lila said.

  “That’s the operative term,” Karn said, “nearly. If we’re giving credit for nearly, I’ve nearly killed you a dozen times. I’ve lost track of the times I’ve nearly maimed you.”

  Threaten or negotiate?

  Threaten.

  “Let me go, Karn,” Lila said. “I’m warning you.”

  “And I’m warning you,” Karn said. “You’ll never get out of the castle close. It’s locked up tight as the principia’s ass.”

  What do you know about the principia’s ass?

  “I’d rather be killed trying to escape than be hung as a spy,” Lila said.

  “Actually, I think Jarat favors burning these days,” Karn said. “It costs more up front, for fuel and accelerant, but it’s a crowd-pleaser and saves on disposals and burials.”

  Lila glared at him but said nothing. The spymaster must have smelled victory, because he planted himself in a side chair and gestured to the one opposite.

  “Sit,” he said. “Put your bags down. This will take a while.”

  Did that mean that he was going to let her go after he questioned her? Maybe, maybe not.

  Lila dropped the cloak and the bags, stalked over to the proffered chair, and sat.

  Negotiate.

  “I’ll answer all your questions if you let Rogan Shadow Dancer and Hadley DeVilliers go.”

  She’d surprised him, for once. The wheels turned behind Karn’s eyes. “Your copperhead supplier and the naval commander?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lila Barrowhill, looking out for someone else?” Karn shook his head. “I don’t even know you.”

  “There’s another thing. They call me Lila Byrne here.” She sighed, then spit out the rest. “I’m the daughter of the captain of the Queen’s Guard.”

  “I know that,” he said impatiently. When Lila stared at him, openmouthed, he rolled his eyes. “Spymaster? I know a few things. But I’ve never held it against you, because I also know from personal experience that sometimes the apple falls far from the tree. As for DeVilliers and Dancer, we’ll see, depending on whether your information is useful.” He paused, leaned forward, and said, “Give me your hands.”

  “You don’t really have to—”

  The thin smile disappeared. “Give me your hands.”

  “Fine!” Lila said, scowling. She’d found that it was always best to resist the use of persuasion. Agree too readily, and wizards started looking for a talisman. And that wouldn’t do at all.

  Karn was stuffed full of questions—and persuasion. He asked about Queen Raisa and Captain Byrne, about the whereabouts of the Highlander army and General Dunedain, and about various members of the council. He had a list of the nobility that he went through, one by one. It was always hard to tell what Karn already knew, so, for the most part, Lila answered his questions honestly, though sometimes not completely.

  “Tell me about the dead groom and his friend,” Karn said, his eyes so clear of connivery that she knew they were getting to the meat of the matter. “What were their names?”

  I bet you know damn well what their names were. “Harriman Vega and Finn sul’Mander.”

  “Vega,” Karn repeated. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Lila said, “I’m sure. I served on council with him. He’s in charge of the healing halls here at court. Or was.”

  “Hmm.” Karn reached into his uniform tunic, pulled out a pouch, and handed it to Lila. “These items were recovered from them. Some of it I recognize as church regalia, but the rest . . .”

  Lila shook the contents out onto the table. Her breath caught in her throat. “Scummer,” she muttered, poking the items around with her forefinger, sorting them into two nearly identical piles.

  “What?” Karn said, leaning in. “What is it?”

  There were two amulets, two of the rising sun pendants worn by priests of the southern church, two sets of the keys to the kingdom that Malthusian crows liked to wear at their waists. A handful of stones in caramel-colored quartz. And two tiny gold cups on chains.

  A memory surfaced, like a corpse that Lila had tried to bury ever since. Ash interrogating Usepia, the bloodsucking priest who’d tried to murder him in his dormitory room. Ash had asked who had given the Darian Brothers his blood-soaked handkerchief and sent them after him like hounds on a hunt.

  “A mage,” the priest had said. “It seems that this mage is a man of faith.”

  Lila remembered thinking it was odd for a mage to be ordering around the self-styled Blades of Malthus, fanatics whose mission in life was murdering wizards and collecting their blood.

  Lila looked up at Karn, who was fixed on her, waiting for her answer. No matter which way she turned it, she could see no harm in giving up dead Finn.

  “The little cups are carried by Darian assassins so that they can drink the blood of their wizard prey,” Lila said. “They use little rocks to immobilize wizards. So I’m guessing this means that both Finn and Vega were Darian Brothers.” She paused. “But you should know that already. Aren’t you the one who hired the crows to kill Adrian sul’Han at Oden’s Ford?”

  “Well, no,” Karn said. “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “I was involved,” Karn said. “My job was to keep you out of harm’s way. But the plan—and the personnel—came directly from Ardenscourt. My contact with the Darians was the person you know as Finn sul’Mander.”

  “Finn?” Lila’s head was spinning. “Finn sent the Darians to Oden’s Ford?”

  Karn nodded. “He was involve
d, but I think Vega was the mastermind. I think Vega’s been working with Arden for a number of years, maybe as far back as the killing of the High Wizard, Han sul’Alger.” Karn paused, as if choosing a path forward. “But there’s something else going on. I can’t help thinking Vega did something to Finn, something unholy. Something unforgivable.” Lila was taken aback by the raw emotion in the spymaster’s voice.

  Well, Lila thought, recalling her interactions with Vega, sometimes when your gut tells you that a person is an arrogant sleazebag, it turns out to be true.

  “Right before they died, Prin—the queen regent, Mellony, accused young sul’Mander of treason and the murder of the queen, the prince, and the princess. Do you know anything about that?”

  “You mean, aside from the fact that it’s true?”

  Lila had thought Destin Karn was unshockable, but her response left the spymaster looking startled, at least.

  She cocked her head. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t know any of this? That you didn’t hire Finn to kill them?”

  Karn shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean that the empire wasn’t involved.” He paused, thinking, then looked up at Lila. “So they’re all dead? And Finn killed them?”

  “That, I don’t know,” Lila said. “If they’re still alive, it’s no thanks to Finn.” She went on to detail the ill-fated mission to rescue the princess heir in Carthis. She assumed that she wasn’t giving away critical secrets—the entire council knew about the mission, and its failure. And if they knew, the spymaster did, too.

  “They didn’t have any reason to suspect Finn of treachery before then?”

  “Apparently not,” Lila said, “else why would they have invited him along? Both Shadow and DeVilliers said that he hadn’t been himself since being wounded in the war.”

  “Right,” Destin murmured, brow furrowed. “When did he team up with Vega?”

  “Vega cared for him after he was wounded, I guess,” Lila said. “That’s when Finn decided to join the healer’s service.”

  “Was that when he got religion?”