The Warlord's Legacy (41 page)
I
T WAS, DISTRESSINGLY, THE THROBBING
in her skull that convinced her she was alive. For long moments she didn’t move, even to open her eyes. Mentally she ran through weapons drills and strategic puzzles, carefully examined a few randomly chosen memories, even took the time for some quick addition and multiplication. She found herself a bit slow, occasionally not as accurate as she’d have liked, but eventually the proper answers and images swam to the fore through the churning tide of pain.
Satisfied that she’d likely sustained no permanent damage, she allowed her eyes to open. Although the light was dim, still it was nearly blinding, and she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.
But like her thoughts, her vision swiftly cleared.
Moving carefully, she examined what she could of her surroundings. She was inside one of the flophouse rooms—probably on the second floor, to judge by the sound sneaking in through the boarded-up window. Tiny, unseen things crawled beneath the outer layer of the mattress, causing unsightly bulges. She sat in—and, she realized as she attempted to move her arms, was bound to—one of the rickety chairs.
No, wait.
Two
chairs, back to back, so that she couldn’t easily snap the wood. She grinned darkly. Whoever had taken her knew what they were doing.
But then, so do I
.
She lifted her face to the ceiling and groaned, as though just waking up. It wasn’t hard to fake the pain.
Behind her, the tip of her left braid dipped into her waiting hands. Digging swiftly with thumb and forefinger, she slid a sliver of metal
from within the hair. It wasn’t much, just a flattened, sharpened needle. But given sufficient time, it would do.
Even as she went to work on the ropes, she glared around the room.
Distract them, whatever it takes …
“I don’t know who you are,” she began, “but you’ve made an enormous—”
And then he stepped into sight from the shadows, gently carrying that damn cat, and put the lie to her first words. She knew
exactly
who he was.
“It’s not the way I’d have preferred for us to meet again, Ellowaine.”
“Speak for yourself, Rebaine. I’ll take my shot at you any way I can get it.”
U
NNOTICED BY EITHER CAPTIVE OR CAPTOR
, Seilloah abruptly tensed, her back arching slightly and her tail growing bushy as a squirrel’s. Had she felt something, just then? Something in the air, or the ether? If only the pain would stop, if only she could concentrate, she’d be sure, but now …
No. Whatever it was, if it had been anything at all, was gone. Forcing herself to calm, she swiveled her ears to focus on the conversation once more.
Ellowaine darted through a forest of wooden targets called simply the Thicket, hatchets carving chunks and splinters as she passed. Some hung limp, some swung side-to-side on creaking pendulums, and some were weighted so that anything but a perfect strike would send them spinning, slamming an arm of wicker painfully into an attacker’s back.
Or so she’d been told. So far, she’d not triggered a one of them.
In fact, this wasn’t really training so much as it was showing off, proving herself over and over to Cephiran officers she could
easily have slain on the battlefield. She’d run through the exercise twice already
today
, and the only difference this time was that they’d removed the canvas ceiling, allowing the snows of winter to filter down and impede her footing.
It didn’t slow her much, just made her shiver uncomfortably in those few seconds when she wasn’t actively moving.
She came to the end of the Thicket and finished in a swift spin, dropping to one knee in the snow and striking up and back, sinking both hatchets into what would have been the lower backs of two enemy “warriors.” And only then did she notice the man standing just beyond the array of posts, watching intently.
He was a burly fellow, wearing a thick black beard. In his youth, he might have resembled a bear clad in armor, but much of his bulk—not all, she could see that immediately, but much—had run to fat as age sank its claws into him. His hands, rough and callused, were crossed over a barrel chest that bore the crimson tabard of the Royal Soldiers of the Black Gryphon. Unlike the others Ellowaine had seen, however, his was trimmed in gold, both around the edges and surrounding the iconic gryphon.
“Good afternoon,” he said without preamble. “I’m General Rhykus.”
Ellowaine rose, offered a shallow bow, and sheathed the hatchets at her side. “I’m honored.” She knew nothing of Rhykus, save that she’d heard the name and that he was one of only three soldiers to carry that rank in the royal Cephiran military.
Which, for the moment, made him her employer.
“Walk with me.” He turned away, clearly accustomed to instant obedience.
For the sake of her coin purse, that’s what she offered, falling into step beside him, her long legs easily keeping pace. She wasn’t certain if he was gathering his thoughts or waiting for her to open the conversation, but after a few moments of crunching through shallow snow toward no apparent destination, she decided to take the initiative.
“I’m assuming you’re not here to critique my performance in the Thicket. Sir,” she added quickly.
That’s going to take some getting used to
.
“Do you feel it needs critiquing?”
Ellowaine swallowed a flash of annoyance. “Not really. And I’m assuming if you did, you’d have said something.”
“Just so.” A few more steps. “You’re the same Ellowaine who served under Rebaine during your nation’s so-called Serpent’s War?”
Her blood ran cold as the surrounding snows. Surely the Cephirans wouldn’t hold that against her?
“I am,” she said carefully.
General Rhykus nodded. “I normally have little personal interaction with our mercenaries,” he told her.
“Should I be honored again? Or worried?”
The coal-dark beard split in a grin. “I see you’re accustomed to speaking your mind. Few of my soldiers will. Not to my face, anyway.
“No, Ellowaine, you needn’t worry. In fact, I require your assistance.”
They crested a small rise, and Ellowaine saw a great pavilion before them. Even from here, she could feel the radiating warmth of a fire.
“Join me for a meal,” the general invited. “There’s much I would discuss with you.”
“Such as?” she asked, still vaguely suspicious.
“Why, such as everything you can possibly remember about Corvis Rebaine.”
“A
ND OF COURSE, YOU TOLD HIM
everything,” Corvis said disgustedly.
“Why not?” Despite her bonds, she matched him glare for glare. “You hardly provided me any reason for loyalty or affection.”
‘
She’s not wrong, Corvis. When it comes to loyalty, you pretty much
fall somewhere between a scorpion and, well, an even more unfaithful scorpion.
’
He shrugged, so far as the cat in his arms permitted. It wasn’t as though he was about to argue the point—not with her, and certainly not with himself. He saw Ellowaine’s eyes dart past him as Irrial entered the room, saw them widen briefly in recognition. They’d never met, that much he knew, but doubtless the Cephirans had spread her description far and wide.
“Was it necessary,” Ellowaine asked abruptly, voice hard, “to kill my men?”
Again, Corvis shrugged. “We needed to ensure that we’d have time alone to talk with you. And anyway, this is war.”
“Oh, I see,” she scoffed. “Now you’re a patriot, are you?”
Corvis dropped to one knee so that he could look the bound prisoner in the face. “I’ve
always
been a patriot, Ellowaine. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
The cat, perhaps for no better reason than to break the silence, leapt from his arms to the floor between them.
“How did that thing bite through my boot, anyway?” the mercenary demanded.
“Magic,” the cat said. Corvis was morbidly amused to see Ellowaine jump, but her shock didn’t last.
“Ah, I see. Seilloah?”
“Ellowaine.” The witch didn’t offer an explanation for her current form, and Ellowaine obviously knew better than to ask.
“So tell me,” Corvis began, “why did …?” He paused, watching carefully as the prisoner shifted in the chair. She might have just been repositioning herself after the sudden start, but then again …
Scowling, he moved behind her, saw a swift glint of metal that she couldn’t
quite
hide in her fist. He reached out and yanked the sharp-edged needle from her fingers, ignoring the profanity she spit his way.
“Where the hell were you hiding
that
?” he demanded. He didn’t really expect an answer, which was a good thing, since she clearly wasn’t about to offer any. He leaned in, examining the ropes, and decided with a soft grunt that she hadn’t cut through enough of the thick hemp
to matter. He casually flicked the steel shard into a distant corner and stood before her once more.
She raised her face to the ceiling, chewing on the inside of her cheek and mumbling a few more curses, before looking his way once more.
“Tell me,” he said again, “why General Rhykus wanted to know about me. And Ellowaine, please don’t waste my time, or yours, by lying.”
“If you think you could tell, you’re kidding yourself,” she said. “But I’ve no need to lie. The truth is, I really don’t know. He obviously had his reasons, given how thoroughly he pressed me on it. He got me to remember details I hadn’t even realized I’d ever known. But he never once told me
why.
”
“And you didn’t ask?” Irrial asked incredulously.
“Wouldn’t have mattered. If he’d wanted me to know, he’d have told me. Besides, I’m used to following people without knowing the whole story. It’s what I get paid to do.” She stopped and glowered at Corvis. “What I
usually
get paid to do.”