“I
’ve come to a decision,” Damin told everyone, a few hours later. It was very late, but they were all gathered in the cosy taproom of the tavern which had been closed to the local villagers (at an exorbitant cost) while the heir to Hythria and his entourage were in the village.
His announcement got everyone’s attention. Narvell was sitting by the door, glaring at Stefan Warhaft who sat near the fire nursing a tankard of ale and a foul mood. Tejay and Kendra sat at another table near Narvell. This was the first good look Rorin had got at the love of Narvell’s life. Up until now, things had been moving too fast to consider her objectively. She was a little thin for Rorin’s taste, and her skin seemed too pale for her dark hair. But she was pretty enough, he supposed. And she certainly had spirit. Only a brave woman or a very foolish one would defy a man like Stefan Warhaft more than once.
Flanking Damin was his stepbrother, Adham Tirstone, and Geri Almodavar. Rorin stood beside Almodavar. Damin had spoken to them privately before the meeting and they were ready for any trouble with either Lord Warhaft or Narvell, should either man object to their solution to the awkward problem of what to do with Kendra Warhaft.
“Then my wife and I will be leaving for Zadenka Manor at once,” Warhaft announced, rising to his feet. “Thank you, your highness, for coming to the right decision.”
“I haven’t actually said what it was, yet.”
“Well, yes, but I’m assuming …”
“Then you assume wrong, my lord.”
“Thank you, Damin …” Narvell began, smiling with relief.
“I suggest you wait until you’ve heard my decision, too, Narvell, before you start thanking me for it.”
His younger brother’s expression darkened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that while I agree Lord Warhaft has demonstrated he doesn’t deserve to own a pack of dogs, let alone a wife, I’m not going to flout the law and allow you to run off with her, just because you’re my brother.”
“Don’t do this, Damin,” Narvell warned, rising to his feet. Rorin glanced at Damin, wondering if the fight he’d interrupted earlier was about to start again, this time for much more personal reasons.
“Don’t threaten me, Narvell,” the prince warned. “I don’t like ultimatums and I’m not going to be dictated to by Elasapine, any more than I’d allow Cyrus Eaglespike to tell me what colour coat I should wear to the Feast of Kaelarn Ball.”
“Then what have you decided?” Tejay asked impatiently, glaring at the men around her as if they were all fools.
“I’ve decided I don’t have the authority to grant either Lord Warhaft’s request, or Narvell’s. The only one who can adjudicate on this matter is the High Prince.”
“Damn right!” Warhaft agreed.
“Shut up, fool!” Adham snapped at the baron impatiently, shoving him back into his seat.
Damin ignored the interruption. “On the other hand, it is the duty of all Hythrun warriors to protect our women and I’m quite sure if I allow Lady Kendra to return to her husband, I would be putting her very life in danger, so I’m not prepared to do that, either.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Narvell demanded.
“I’m going to leave her in the custody of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”
Narvell’s gaze fixed on Rorin suspiciously. “You think
Rorin
can protect her?”
“I think the Sorcerers’ Collective can,” Damin corrected. “Despite what Lord Warhaft believes, traditionally, in the custody of a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective, Kendra is inviolate, and if you want to put
that
theory to the test, be my guest. Take on the High Arrion with my blessing. I hear Alija Eaglespike likes a good bloodbath.”
As Rorin knew he would be, Warhaft was furious. “But how do I get my wife back?”
“You can appeal to the High Prince.”
“That could take months!”
“Now isn’t that a damn shame?” Adham remarked with a grin.
“What happens in the meantime?” Narvell asked, smart enough not to question his good fortune. Warhaft had right on his side and it was only Rorin’s knowledge of Collective law that had given Damin a graceful exit from this impossible dilemma.
“Kendra must remain in Rorin’s custody until we can get to Greenharbour to sort this out. As Rorin is one of my aides, she’ll have to stay with my entourage until then. I assume you’ve got no objection to accompanying me to Byamor now, Lord Hawksword?”
“None at all!” Narvell agreed, a little too quickly.
“Then I’m coming, too!” Warhaft announced, rising to his feet again, although he did make a point of staying well out of Adham’s reach this time. “I am a vassal of Elasapine, and if her troops are being called up to defend the province, then I must do my duty to my Warlord.”
Damin didn’t seem very happy at that idea. “Do you doubt my word, Lord Warhaft? Or the integrity of a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective?”
“Why should I trust any of you? Narvell Hawksword is your half-brother and you’ve just handed my wife over to the custody of a complete stranger who walked into my home and kidnapped my wife out from under me. He’s not wearing the robes of his brotherhood. How do I know this pet wizard of yours is really even a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective?”
A score of explanations flashed through Rorin’s mind, but none of them seemed adequate. Apparently, Damin thought the same. With a sigh, the prince turned to Rorin. “Show him, Rory.”
He wasn’t expecting that. “Here?
Now
?”
“Sometimes, it’s just better to show than tell.”
“If you insist.” He shrugged. Rorin turned to face Stefan Warhaft. The baron glared at him sceptically, an expression that slowly changed to abject terror as Rorin’s eyes began to darken. About the same time Warhaft’s feet lifted off the floor and he found himself floating up toward the ceiling. Kendra gasped, but nobody else in the room seemed surprised.
With his hands on his hips, Damin looked up at Warhaft, who was pushed up against the rafters, held there by nothing more than Rorin’s will. “So, Lord Warhaft, are we satisfied now that Master Mariner is a real sorcerer?”
The baron nodded in wordless horror. Rorin saw the look on his face and decided he wouldn’t be much trouble from now on.
“Good.” Damin turned to Rorin. “Let him down.”
Rorin did exactly as Damin asked. With a thud, Stefan Warhaft crashed to the floor, face first, and lay there bellowing in pain.
Kendra had covered her mouth with her hands. Narvell was grinning like a fool. Even Tejay was smiling.
“Oops,” Rorin said.
Damin glared at him.
“Captain?” the prince said, turning to Almodavar. Even the old Raider seemed amused. “Escort Lord Warhaft to his men and inform them he’s returning to his manor tonight.”
“I said I’m coming with you!” Warhaft insisted as he painfully pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.
“Then I suggest you take this opportunity to go home and settle your affairs, my lord. We’re going to war, after all. You can follow us in a day or two. Given we’re travelling along the main highway into Elasapine with a combined force of more than five thousand men, I’m sure even you’ll be able to follow our trail.”
The baron staggered to his feet and glared at Damin. “You think you’re so damned smart, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Damin retorted. “But at least I don’t think beating a defenceless woman with a horsewhip makes me a man.”
Warhaft grunted something unintelligible that Rorin suspected was a curse and limped from the taproom with Almodavar close on his heels. As soon as he was gone, everyone relaxed. Narvell stepped closer to Kendra and put his arm around her shoulder.
“Thanks, Damin.”
“Don’t thank me, Narvell. I meant what I said. Kendra is now Rorin’s responsibility. You can’t have her any more than Warhaft can, until we present her case to Lernen and get him to make a ruling on the matter.”
Rorin expected Narvell to object, but he didn’t. Instead, he glanced down at Kendra, squeezed her shoulder encouragingly, accepting the inevitable. “I still owe you my thanks. And you too, Rory. You probably saved Kendra’s life.”
It occurred to Rorin, at that moment, Narvell really did love this girl, if he was willing to forgo her company simply to keep her safe from the brute to whom she was married. Suddenly, he was glad he’d had to interfere. He looked at Tejay and noted she was nodding her approval.
Damin turned to the Warlord’s wife then and asked, “My lady, I know Rorin’s technically responsible for her, but would you take Lady Kendra into your care, at least until we reach Byamor?”
“Of course.”
Rorin glanced at Kendra, wondering what she thought of all this. She’d had surprisingly little to say up until this point.
“I hope you find these arrangements satisfactory, my lady?” the prince enquired.
“Yes, your highness,” she replied, her hands clasped demurely in her lap. Kendra was sitting with her back in an unnaturally straight position, no doubt out of care for her injuries. “And I thank you. It was never my intention to be the cause of so much trouble.”
“If I thought it was, my lady, you’d be on the way back to Zadenka with your husband.”
“Damin!” Narvell objected, putting himself protectively between his brother and his lover.
“Oh, settle down, little brother,” Damin advised. “I’m kidding.”
“Fine time you pick to discover your lost sense of humour.”
“I got mine back about the time Warhaft broke his fall with his face,” Adham chuckled, winking at Rorin.
“Which brings me to you, Rorin Mariner,” Damin said, turning on him with a disapproving frown. “While I empathise with the desire of every person in this room to beat that fool into a bloody pulp, it didn’t help matters to drop him on his head like that. No matter how much he deserved it.”
Rorin faced him, feigning innocence. “It was an accident, Damin! Honestly! I slipped.”
“You were using magic, not holding him up with brute force. How could you slip?”
Rorin glanced past Damin and winked at the others. “Well, if you don’t know, I’m certainly not about to explain it to you.”
“Oh, leave him alone, Damin,” Tejay laughed. “And don’t be such a hypocrite. You wanted that animal to fall on his face as much as the rest of us.”
“True,” the prince admitted with some reluctance, much to Rorin’s relief. Having seen what he was capable of, Rorin didn’t really fancy being on the receiving end of Damin Wolfblade’s rage. “But I was trying very hard to give the impression I was the noble statesman here. Having one of my aides drop the Baron of Zadenka on his head demonstrates a distinct lack of class.”
Tejay was still laughing. It relieved Rorin to see her so amused. There were few people in this world whose good opinion Damin actively sought. Tejay Lionsclaw was one of them and if she was smiling, the chances were good that everyone else would follow her lead.
“I’m sure you’ll get plenty more chances to play noble statesman that don’t involve having your aides throw people around the room,” she assured Damin.
He turned to Rorin. “I’m relying on you to keep Lady Kendra safe.”
“You know I will.”
Damin turned back to Narvell again. “Friends?”
Narvell nodded. “Friends.”
“Good,” Damin said. “Because if you ever challenge me publicly again, little brother, I’ll crush you like a bug.”
Narvell thought about it and then shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Damin smiled and offered Narvell his hand.
As they shook on it, Tejay Lionsclaw rolled her eyes, muttering something Rorin didn’t quite catch, but it sounded like she was complaining about men and their foolish, immature, endlessly frustrating male pride.
T
he farmer and his wife were poor, but not desperately so. They welcomed the supplies that Wrayan and Kalan offered in return for shelter, and although there was obviously tension between them, they’d put aside their argument while there were visitors in the house. It was quite late when Wrayan and Kalan retired to the barn, but clearly, the presence of strangers had diffused the argument. Perhaps the young couple had had enough shouting for one day. Kalan was glad of that. She hated to see two people so obviously in pain unable to resolve their differences.
The night was cold and as Wrayan had predicted, the rain started bucketing down a little after dinner. They snuggled close together for warmth, two blankets better than one, the heat of their bodies the only source of warmth in the draughty hayloft.
“Are you warm enough?” Wrayan asked, as Kalan pressed her back into his warm embrace.
“Actually, I’m freezing,” she admitted, pulling the blankets up under her chin. “But I’m thinking a fire in the hayloft to address the situation might not be such a brilliant idea.”
Wrayan chuckled softly as he settled in beside her and pulled her closer. “I’ve heard farmers take a dim view of passing travellers burning their barns down, regardless of how cold it gets.”
“No sense of humour,” Kalan remarked. “That’s their problem.”
She felt, rather than saw, Wrayan smiling in the darkness, wishing she could see his face, but with her back to him, she could only imagine his expression. This close to him, with his arms around her to conserve what warmth they could, Kalan could imagine quite a few other (much less innocent) things she’d like to do with Wrayan, but she was acutely aware that handled incorrectly, any chance she had of a relationship with him would be ruined.
The biggest problem, Kalan readily admitted to herself as she lay in the darkness listening to Wrayan’s deep, even breathing, was getting him to see her as someone other than her mother’s daughter. Wrayan had known her mother since before even Damin was born and he had an infuriating tendency to look upon all Marla’s children with the same affection as might a benevolent uncle. As far as Kalan was concerned, he could be an uncle to her brothers all he wanted. But to have him smile at her indulgently wasn’t what she wanted.
Kalan wanted Wrayan to
want
her. She wanted him to lust after her.
She sighed, wishing she could find a way to make him see how much she desired him without attracting either his contempt or his ridicule. She was pretty enough, she decided. Although not the rare beauty her mother was, Kalan was confident she’d matured into a presentable young woman. Her mother still got offers for her hand in marriage on a regular basis, but Kalan knew those proposals were prompted by political expedience, not her radiant beauty.
She was the future High Prince’s sister, after all.
Still, Kalan knew she wasn’t unattractive. She also knew, without vanity, that she was intelligent, perceptive and well educated and while some men appeared intimidated by such a female, Wrayan Lightfinger wasn’t one of them. No man lucky enough to count himself a part of Princess Marla’s inner circle (with the possible exception of Mahkas Damaran) was under any illusions about the ability of women to hold their own in a world dominated by men.
But knowing all of this did little to help Kalan unravel the puzzle that was Wrayan Lightfinger. She knew he wasn’t celibate (Fee could attest to that—she seemed able to name every woman who had ever crossed the threshold of Wrayan’s room at the Pickpocket’s Retreat). But neither had he ever been in love that Kalan knew about. In fact, it was doubtful any relationship he’d been involved in had lasted much past two or three days. This disturbed Kalan a great deal. What was Wrayan looking for? She knew him too well to consider him simply selfish or uncaring of the feelings of the women he took to his bed. It was the reason, she suspected, that Wrayan limited his attention to
court’esa
and never attempted to woo a woman who might expect some sort of commitment. Whatever it was that stopped Wrayan from becoming involved with a lover on more than the most superficial level was something from his past, she reasoned. Something Kalan needed to discover before she attempted to act on her desires, otherwise she would wind up just another notch on Wrayan Lightfinger’s belt, or worse, looking like a complete fool.
“Wrayan?” she ventured softly in the darkness, wondering if he was asleep yet.
“Mmm?” He was awake but didn’t sound far from sleep. Maybe now was the time to question him, when he was offguard and at his most vulnerable.
“Have you ever been in love?”
He hesitated before he answered. “Once.”
“What happened?”
Again Wrayan hesitated, as if debating the advisability of sharing his secrets with her. “She was …
is
… way out of my reach.”
Kalan was silent for a time, a little surprised he’d volunteered even that much information. “Did she love you?”
“I suppose. In her own way.”
“But not enough to stay with you?”
“Things are never that simple, Kalan,” he replied. She couldn’t see his face but she got the impression he was smiling.
“Do you still miss her?”
“Every day of my life.”
Kalan was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Do you think that maybe … someday … you and her … ?”
She felt him shaking his head. “There’s no chance of a happy ending, Kal. We’re too different. Now shut up and go to sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Kalan felt silent, wondering who he spoke of with such painful longing. Was it the Harshini princess he’d mentioned the first day they were on the road together, or someone much closer to home? The mystery frustrated and infuriated Kalan. She didn’t mind a flesh and blood rival for Wrayan’s affections. One could do something about a real adversary. But there was no way to compete with a ghost.
“Wrayan …”
“Go to sleep, Kalan.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Just drop it.”
There was an edge of impatience to his voice that warned her she was on the brink of pushing him too far. Kalan closed her eyes and settled down to sleep with the musty smell of hay and the tattoo of rain upon the roof, content that for the time being at least, regardless of who her mysterious rival was, right now she was the one sleeping with Wrayan’s arms around her.
The rest of their journey to Greenharbour was uneventful, except for one incident that reminded Kalan sharply that the man of her dreams was no ordinary man.
It happened almost a week after they’d stopped at the isolated farmhouse. They were riding at a walk as Wrayan continued telling her the story he’d begun several days ago about his exploits as a burglar in Greenharbour during his youth, when he was known as Wrayan the Wraith.
Kalan wasn’t sure she believed half of what he was telling her. The stories seemed a little far-fetched, even for Wrayan. His narration disturbed her a little, too. While she appreciated the entertainment, she had a bad feeling Wrayan was telling her stories to keep her amused, the way he had when she was a small child. That didn’t augur well for her plans to change Wrayan’s opinion about her. One told amusing anecdotes to children on a long journey to stop them from becoming fractious, not because this was a woman one was hoping to seduce.
And then Wrayan stopped, mid-sentence, and hauled his mount to a stop. Standing on the road in front of them was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, dressed in a most remarkable collection of cast-off clothing that appeared to represent almost every fashion trend of the last millennia.
“Divine One!” Wrayan exclaimed in surprise.
Kalan stared at him in astonishment and then studied the boy on the road. “
Divine
One?”
The thief looked at Kalan in surprise. “You can
see
him?”
“The child blocking our path? Yes. I can see him. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him?”
“Why are you letting her see you?” he asked the child.
The boy shrugged. “She might think you’re crazy if you suddenly start talking to thin air.” The boy stepped closer and stared up at them with an ingenuous grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Wrayan looked at her uncertainly. “Um … sure … Kalan Hawksword, meet … Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”
Kalan nearly fell off her horse. “Divine One!” She hurriedly dismounted and fell to her knees in front of the god. “Forgive me for not recognising you, Divine One!”
The boy-god leaned forward. He took her elbow gently, urging her to stand, and then looked up at Wrayan. “You see? That’s how
nice
people greet their gods. And she’s not even one of my disciples.” He turned his attention to Kalan then, eyeing her speculatively. “You could be a thief, you know. You look like a thief.”
“I’m … flattered, Divine One,” she stammered. “But I’m a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective. I’m sworn to worship all gods equally.”
The god squinted a little, studying her closely, clearly puzzled by what he found. “But you can’t wield magic. How can you belong to the Sorcerers’ Collective?”
“The ability to wield magic is no longer an admission requirement to the Sorcerers’ Collective,” Wrayan informed him. “Hasn’t been much of a priority since the Harshini went into hiding.”
“Well … that’s just silly,” the god said with a frown. “Who ever heard of anything so odd? Mind you,” he added, winking at Wrayan, “it could explain why they chucked you out.”
“They didn’t chuck me out,” Wrayan corrected. “Someone tried to kill me.”
“Same difference.” He turned his attention back to Kalan. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be a thief? I’m a very generous god, you know. I don’t make my disciples worship in a temple, or insist they hold those long, boring services on Restdays. No rites. No sacrifices. Just steal the odd trinket every now and then and I’ll watch over you until Death comes knocking on your door. Even then, if I like you, I can speak to the old boy about taking you as painlessly as possible.”
Kalan glanced up at Wrayan, wondering how she was supposed to respond to such an offer. He shook his head at the god and frowned. “Come on, Dace, you know you’re not supposed to recruit humans already in the service of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”
“Who told you that?”
“Brakandaran.”
“He’s a fine one to talk about breaking the rules.”
Kalan looked from Wrayan to Dace in confusion. “Hang on. If you’re not allowed to recruit members of the Sorcerers’ Collective, why did you make a deal with Wrayan to save my mother?”
The god looked at her closely and then laughed. “
Your
mother?
She
was the one I released from that time spell? Are you sure? You don’t look much like her. And you seem quite a bit older than she was.”
“You saved her before I was born, Divine One.” It made Kalan cringe to remind Wrayan of that after all her hard work playing down the difference in their ages.
“Was it
so
long ago?”
“More than twenty-five years,” Wrayan confirmed.
“Fancy that!” the god laughed. “Well, just goes to show what a good judge of character I am, doesn’t it? Are you sure you don’t want to be a thief?”
“I’m sorry, Divine One.”
Dacendaran shrugged. “At least you’re not following one of the others, I suppose. Not like they need any help, at the moment, mind you. Between Zeggie’s war and Cheltaran’s pesky little ailment …”
“You mean the plague?” Kalan asked in surprise. “You’re not suggesting the God of Healing set the plague among us deliberately, are you?”
“Don’t be stupid. He fixes things, he doesn’t break them. It was probably Voden.”
“Why would the God of Green Life set the plague among us?” Wrayan asked, apparently just as confused as Kalan.
“Why not?” Dace shrugged. “You’re all just little bits and pieces on a game board to Voden. He doesn’t think human life is any more valuable than some itty-bitty little bug he’s decided needs a chance to thrive for a while.”
“But that’s appalling!” Kalan gasped.
“Only if you’re human.” The god shrugged.
“But what about Cheltaran?” Wrayan asked.
Dacendaran’s expression grew rather smug. “Ah, now that’s where you get lucky, Wrayan. After you suggested I speak to which ever one of my siblings was causing this little illness that seems to bother you all so much, I had a chat with my brother, Chellie.”
“Chellie?”
Kalan repeated incredulously. She’d never imagined anybody could refer to Cheltaran, the noble God of Healing, as “Chellie.”
“Anyway, I pointed out that instead of just sitting on his hands waiting for Voden to get bored with his new friends, he should take this opportunity to do something useful, particularly as Zeggie’s getting so full of himself with half of Fardohnya waiting over the border to invade you, so I—”