Osias bowed his head in agreement.
After a short silence, Draken said, “You’re better informed than you let on.”
Va Khlar inclined his head, but it didn’t hide his smirk. Draken bit back his annoyance and switched tack. “How does Urian fit into this?”
Va Khlar shook his head. “I believe he features a pairing with the princess, but she is sworn to her father’s designate: Geord. Her father must die very soon to see it undone, and Aarinnaie, even with her many talents, has yet to accomplish that. Prince Khel is still powerful and protected.” He touched the pipe to his forehead in a gesture of grudging admiration. The smoke from the bowl hung over his head like a cloudy halo. “Geord is one of stubborn ambition, and Urian none too savvy. Prince Khel would make war on whoever might see Aarinnaie’s betrothal undone, which would draw all their lieges in. Such a skirmish could spill well beyond Brîn.”
War seemed to broach from all sides. Draken sighed. “Is it all you’ve got?”
“You know all I know of the Prince’s actions, and more than anyone outside my clan of my own.”
“All right,” Draken said, unwilling to take his leave, but unable to think of any other questions.
Tyrolean leaned forward with both hands on the back of Draken’s couch. “Why did you attack us at the inn?”
“What attack?” Va Khlar asked, his tone sharp.
“As we left the Crossroads, we were attacked,” Tyrolean said. “We thought your people were behind it because we saw your sigils in the trees.”
“I suppose Urian left them as a ruse,” Draken said.
“Galene? Is she all right?” Va Khlar asked.
Draken shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Va Khlar hissed a curse. “Sounds like Urian—using my name to further his own cause. Truth? Had we attacked, you would not have lived to tell of it.”
If Va Khlar had attacked, he was a good liar. His frown looked like one more scar.
Despite the man’s recent assassination attempt on Elena, Draken didn’t doubt he spoke truth tonight, and he felt Bruche’s agreement with it. Someone had used Va Khlar methods to try to kill him. But why? Va Khlar admitted his part in trying to kill Elena, but in the same breath he treated Draken with respect, had practically sworn him allegiance. Contrary to what he’d heard, Va Khlar seemed a good ally to have...
Draken looked up at the trader with sudden realization. Someone had conspired to keep them apart, even to the point of murdering Gusten.
Va Khlar didn’t notice. He’d turned to Osias. “To show I have no suspicion of you, despite a Mance arrow killing my son, I’d like you to have this as a gift. It’s a Moonling thing, valuable and old. With it you may be able to rouse them in need.”
Osias stared at the pipe. “They are in hiding.”
Va Khlar held the pipe up. “The Moonlings are powerful allies. I believe they will come in dire need to those whose cause is peace.”
Osias blanched, but he took the pipe. “I accept on behalf of my kind, and I thank you.”
Va Khlar rose and extended his hand to Draken. “Though there was nothing to be done for him, you treated my son with kind regard. It’s not something I’ll soon forget. Should you have need, I am at your disposal.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Draken said, rising and grasping Va Khlar’s forearm reluctantly. “But I accept your alliance and whatever favors it brings.”
Va Khlar returned a grim smile. “You’re the man I prayed you to be, my lord.”
“One more thing,” Draken said. “How did you find Aarinnaie? We searched the keep thoroughly.”
“Even a ghost will reveal itself when properly called.” Va Khlar’s unsmiling gaze flicked toward Osias and back to Draken. “I’ve many allies and many means, and I did not swear to share all that.”
Draken turned to leave, but paused as Va Khlar spoke again. “I would speak with you privately, Lord Mance, if you’ve a moment.” Va Khlar glanced back at Draken. “Rest assured, I’ll have Aarinnaie delivered straight away, and then I will take my son to his mother.”
***
Aarinnaie arrived at the inn chained inside a covered cart. As soon as the Va Khlar guard released her she lashed back at him with flailing fists. “Traitor! Sundry bastard.”
As he took Aarinnaie’s arm, Tyrolean put a knife to her ribcage and pulled her away. “Not one word in the common room.”
“The third door,” Draken replied, pressing a key into the guard’s hand.
“My lord.” The short guard, his Brînian dark skin heavily dappled, inclined his head before striding into the inn.
Once he joined Aarinnaie and Tyrolean in his room, Draken poured a mug of water and held it out. “Go ahead and drink. It’s not poisoned. Ty talked me out of it.”
Aarinnaie lifted the cup to her lips, drank noisily. He held out a quarter loaf and she tore into it. “How do you figure into this?” she asked.
“I did Va Khlar an inadvertent favor. He saw fit to return my good faith.”
Draken watched her struggle to understand. “He does not do favors outside his clan.”
“Bring him the body of his murdered son and you might see a different man than the one you think you know.”
The bread paused on the way to her lips. “Gusten? Dead?”
“By a Mance arrow, no less.”
She turned, loaf in hand, and paced the short distance toward the sleeping couch and back again, indignation replaced by shock. “But it can’t be…” She lifted her troubled gaze to his face. “Something angered him. You’ve gotten much too close.”
“Who?”
She dropped her gaze.
Draken’s patience failed him. With a few strides he drew her into a crushing embrace, her arm twisted behind her back. Their faces were very close. “Your silence could cost many lives.”
“What’s a few Akrasian scum?” she spat, grunting as he twisted her wrist still further.
“Don’t be a fool. If your father was involved in your attempt against the Queen it will mean war. Brînians will die as well.”
“It’s a war a long time in returning, traitor.”
“Keep a civil tongue,” Tyrolean snapped, stepping forward as well, knife drawn. “It is the Night Lord you slight.”
Draken’s voice went hard. “We will have it out of you, Aarinnaie. Va Khlar claimed the limits of his part quite convincingly, and this is the second Mance arrow we’ve seen. Urian brings you here, and then Reavan turns up, only to disappear just as you did. I’m smelling quite a wide plot, and I know whoever helped you is close to the crown.”
Wait, Draken. You’re forgetting something. It goes back further than all that, to Elena’s father, and even maybe to your wife.
The old warrior hesitated.
Though I know naught why a Mance would kill her.
Draken swallowed and fell still. Lesle. Had he forgotten her so soon?
“Draken?” Tyrolean asked. “Are you all right?”
Draken realized Aarinnaie was staring up at him. Something he’d said touched her; she wore a look of wounded prey. But she didn’t know what wounded was, what loss was. He stiffened. “It will go very badly for you if you do not speak now.”
“My father will war with Elena if you hurt me!” Aarinnaie said, her breath coming in short gasps. “You are as good as the Queen, are you not?”
“I’ve ways about hurting someone which leave no mark. Who helped you?”
She gasped despite herself—he had dug his fingers into a painful pressure point.
The door swung open. Osias was there, a pale apparition in the darkened hall, Setia just behind. “Enough, friend.”
Aarinnaie turned her incredulous glare on the Mance, but Draken did not let go of her arm.
“Draken,” Osias said, coming into the room and shutting the door. “I know the answers you seek, and I will tell you now. There is no need to harm her.”
“It’s your King,” Aarinnaie hissed. “He’s behind it all.”
“Va Khlar and I came to the same conclusion when we spoke after you left us. The Mance arrows, the banes, my missing King.” Osias relented with a little nod, and lowered his voice. “My father, I should say. We think he wants Elena dead.”
Draken laughed, incredulous. “So you’re...what? A prince or something?”
Osias nodded. “A prince who must now war against my King.”
Chapter Nineteen
T
hey avoided each others’ gazes as they moved around the crowded, small room. Tyrolean tied Aarinnaie and made her sit on the floor. He stood over her, arms crossed. Osias opened the shutter and watched the street below. Setia held vigil by the door. Draken removed his armor to wash.
“We need to talk about what happened with Urian,” he said, rubbing a wet cloth over his neck and face. It caught on his bristles and came away gray with grime.
“What happened?” Aarinnaie asked.
“Quiet, you,” Draken said.
Osias said, his tone almost reverent, “You invoked the magic by deciding to kill the Baron’s guard in his stead.”
Obviously. “I didn’t decide to save Urian by killing the guard. I wanted him to stay dead. He was dead.”
“You killed him?” Aarinnaie cried. “Urian!”
“Be still,” Draken growled.
Osias gave an impatient nod. “‘Life for a life,’ you said.”
The sword lay tucked under his pack like a sleeping snake. Draken eyed it, half expecting the thing to leap from its scabbard. He shook his head. “Bruche said that bit, not me.”
“Whoever spoke them, the words invoked the magic.” Osias slid back his sleeve to reveal his gray metal cuff. “
Akhen Khel’s
magic is supposed to be a cradle tale. I sensed something about the blade, but my fetter wouldn’t allow me to test it.”
“Truth, it would be a risky thing to test, my lord,” Tyrolean said.
Aarinnaie sat up straight. “Seaborn? It’s here? You have it?”
“This is not your conversation.” Draken glared at her until she sank back against the wall. Then he turned to Osias. “Were you ever going to say anything about it?”
“At first we had no time to speak privately,” Osias said. “And, truth? You didn’t need the distraction.”
“It was my decision. Mine. Not yours.” Draken stalked a short path through the room and spun back on the Mance. “First you try to control me through...well, and now this thing. Where did the sword come from, Osias? Or shall I call you Prince Osias?”
“No title, thank you. As for the sword, it is the very one Elena’s father took from Brîn when he conquered it. It is
Ahken Khel
in Brînish. Seaborn in Akrasian.” Osias glanced at Aarinnaie. “The Princess might enlighten us further.”
Aarinnaie sniffed and looked away. “I’d never reveal all its powers to a traitor.”
“What of the Mance King, then? What are we supposed to do about him?”
“If my father is rogue, if he is behind the attacks on Elena, then doubtless he loosed the banes and is a danger to us all.” Osias frowned. “I think we can do nothing at present but return Aarinnaie to her father and warn him. Eidola is near Brîn; perhaps he knows something we do not.”
Draken shoved things into his bag and tried not to appear to handle the sword cautiously as he strapped it around his waist. Aarinnaie watched with hungry blue eyes all the while.
“I’m wondering, my lord,” Tyrolean said as if he hadn’t been paying attention to all the talk of a magic sword. “Will you bring troops to Reschan?”
Draken paused to stare down at the street beneath the dingy building. A hostile shout followed a crash. A baby cried. Weary horses trod the dirty street, urged on by snapping whips. Low mutters from the common room filtered through the floors alongside the scents of cooking food and rubbish.
The idea of moving troops and answering to Elena about it worried him greatly. It was part of the reason for his bad temper. He couldn’t imagine how he would explain to Queen Elena about accepting help from Va Khlar, a man who’d instigated the plot against her. Yet, whatever his faults, Va Khlar seemed to be the one to hold peace in Reschan. Things were bad, and they couldn’t leave the city in Urian’s stead. At last he nodded. “Have one of Urian’s guards, someone dependable, ride hard for Khein.”
“Khein, Night Lord?” Tyrolean titled him in his surprise. “Not Auwaer?”
“I won’t rouse Queen Elena just yet. Despite what Va Khlar says, two thousand troops from my personal garrison should help keep the peace for now. Va Khlar can command them quietly in my stead through their horse marshals.” He shook his head. The plan made sense but for one thing: his troops did not know him. Would they truly answer the orders of an absent Night Lord?
“If word of your moving Akrasian troops gets out, under Va Khlar no less,” Tyrolean said, “the Brînian Prince may not welcome us as emissaries, but as hostages.”
“Right,” Draken said. “Add this then: a thousand more shall follow us to Brîn, though keep well back from the city. We’ll send word if we need them.”
Tyrolean saluted him for Aarinnaie’s benefit, Draken was sure. “Aye, my lord.”
“But what of Urian?” Setia asked after he’d gone. “He might know something about the Mance King.”
Draken glanced at Aarinnaie, who had been watching him closely during the entire conversation. What did she know that she still wasn’t saying? He didn’t think her fear for Urian’s life was a bluff. She seemed too emotional. Maybe she did love the Baron. But there had to be more to it. “Va Khlar said Urian knows nothing. Osias’ ghosts can hold him until Elena deals with him,” he said. “He’s her problem for now.”
“You’re just leaving him there?” Aarinnaie asked, anxiety pitching her voice. No. Not a bluff at all.
“He’s safe enough,” Osias said, helping her to her feet. “The laws are clear. Akrasian servii won’t harm a nobleman without a trial, even if he is a traitor. Only the Night Lord can kill him outright.”
And has already, once
. Bruche chuckled deep in Draken’s chest.
“But what if the Mance King comes? Or Reavan?” Aarinnaie’s voice was shrill with panic.
Draken was in no mood to accommodate young love. He silenced her with the coldly delivered threat of killing Urian for good this time and led the way out the door.
***
Tyrolean met them at the docks in short order with Shisa, Thom, and assurances he’d sent word to Khein with a reliable soldier from the Baron’s keep.