R
odja’s contact, the one Marla had been planning to use to lure Alija into her trap, had—rather inconveniently—died in the plague about a month before Wrayan and Kalan arrived in Greenharbour. The news left them floundering a little about exactly who should make contact with the High Arrion. The list of likely candidates was depressingly short and there was one name on the list which in Wrayan’s opinion shouldn’t have been there at all.
“You can’t be serious about involving Galon Miar,” he said, when the princess suggested it. They were once more gathered in Marla’s reception hall—Marla, Kalan, Rodja and Wrayan—which Wrayan was coming to think of as their unofficial war room.
“Do you think he can’t be trusted, Wrayan?”
“He’s an assassin, your highness. It goes without saying.”
“I disagree,” Kalan said, partly, Wrayan suspected, because she enjoyed disagreeing with him. “You told us he was Ronan Dell’s bastard, that it was Galon Miar who discovered his father’s massacre when he was merely a youth. Surely it means he has more reason than most to want Alija Eaglespike brought down?”
“He’s sleeping with her, Kalan.”
“Was,” Marla corrected. “I think you’ll find that’s one love affair that’s come to an abrupt end.”
“Anyway, Wrayan, for all you know, he was sleeping with her for his own ends. If it was me, I’d do anything—sleep with anybody—if that’s what it was going to take to get vengeance on the woman who killed
my
father.”
Wrayan glanced at Marla, wondering if she could see the irony, but the princess was far too disciplined to let any emotion show on her face that she didn’t want broadcast.
“Perhaps you and I need to sit down and have a chat about the kind of sick monster Ronan Dell was, Kalan,” he suggested. “Believe me, holding up Miar’s parentage as proof of his reliability is no way to convince anybody who remembers the father that the son can be trusted.”
“The Raven trusts him,” Marla pointed out.
“The Raven is also an assassin, your highness. They tend to stick together.”
Marla smiled at him. Apparently his intransigence on the topic of Galon Miar amused her. “There are plenty of people who believe I shouldn’t trust you, Wrayan Lightfinger. You are a thief, after all.”
“The Greatest Thief in all of Hythria, no less,” Kalan added.
“Mock away, Kalan, you won’t change my mind.”
“What a shame, Master Lightfinger,” Galon Miar announced from the door. “And I
so
hunger for the trust and respect of the Thieves’ Guild, too.”
Wrayan spun around, staring at the assassin in shock, and then he turned to the princess. “What’s
he
doing here?”
“I invited him.”
“The last time you invited him, he didn’t bother to show up.”
“Oh, but I did, Wrayan,” Galon assured him, walking into the room as if he owned it. “Just not when I was expected. Or where.” The assassin turned his gaze on the princess who, somewhat to Wrayan’s astonishment, actually looked away first. Then he looked at the thief again. “I can call you Wrayan, can’t I?”
“How do you know who I am?”
“You checked up on me. Surely I’m allowed to return the favour?”
Franz Gillam had told him then. Or the Doorman. It didn’t really matter which. The end result was the same. Wrayan glanced at the princess, shaking his head. “You have no idea if you can trust this man, your highness.”
“I know that, Wrayan,” she agreed. “You, however,
can
look into his mind and tell me if he can be trusted. That’s why Master Miar is here. He’s agreed to prove his loyalty to the throne, even to your satisfaction.”
“Ah!” Galon exclaimed, studying Wrayan with open curiosity. “So you’re Princess Marla’s secret sorcerer. That explains a few things. I’m interested though, how you started out in the Sorcerers’ Collective and finished up in the Thieves’ Guild.”
“Mother …” Kalan ventured cautiously. “Should we be discussing this so … openly? In front of strangers?”
The princess smiled confidently at her daughter. “There’s no danger, Kalan. Master Miar is on our side.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me he is.”
“Funny,” Galon remarked, looking at her curiously. “I didn’t think you believed me the last time we spoke.”
“Actually, I didn’t then, and I don’t now, but on the off-chance you are likely to be of some use to me, I thought it worth taking the time to find out.”
“By having someone read my mind?”
“It was you who suggested it, Galon,” the princess retorted, walking to the sideboard for more wine. There were no slaves present to wait on Marla and her guests. Marla was too smart to let this business become gossip in the servants’ quarters. She took her time refilling her cup and then turned to face the assassin with an elegantly raised brow. “Rather suspicious of you to back out now, don’t you think, when you discover I really can do what you only suspected I might be able to do?” Marla turned and added calmly to her daughter, “There’s really nothing to be worried about, Kalan. If Galon submits to having his mind read, we’ll know for certain whose side he’s on. Either way, we have nothing to fear from him. If he’s trustworthy, Wrayan will know soon enough. If he tries to block Wrayan’s probe, even slightly, Wrayan will kill him while he’s still in Master Galon’s mind. It’s all quite simple. And it doesn’t even involve any blood.”
Wrayan wondered when Marla had been planning to share this little modification in her plans with him, or if it had been her intention all along to spring it on him when it was too late for him to back out. The assassin seemed just as uncertain. But he thought about it for barely more than a moment and then shrugged.
“As you wish, your highness.” He turned to Wrayan. “Go ahead. Read my mind, thief. Tell me what a bad boy I’ve been.”
“Drop the shield.”
Galon glanced at Marla. “Ah, she told you about that too, did she?”
“Princess Marla hasn’t told me anything. If you’ve touched Alija and she didn’t read your mind, you’ve shielded it somehow.”
“Aren’t we the clever one?” Galon replied. He hesitated and then turned to Wrayan. “Go ahead, thief. Do your worst.”
Until he began to draw on his power and his eyes darkened, Wrayan suspected Galon Miar didn’t really think anybody was actually going to probe his mind. The assassin’s eyes, which had been so confident a moment ago, began to fill with uncertainty.
“What the …” He took an involuntary step backwards.
From across the room Wrayan sought out the assassin’s mind, but once he got past the turmoil of Galon’s surface thoughts he ran into a wall. And it was—quite literally—a wall, as if someone had spent hours weaving individual strands of thought together so tightly they couldn’t be penetrated. He examined the barrier curiously, marvelling at the effort that had gone into constructing such a defence. It was nothing like the smooth, undetectable surface of a Harshini mind shield. Nor did it make any pretence of being anything other than an unscaleable barricade. Nor could he knock it down without causing immeasurable harm. The Assassins’ Guild of old had needed a way to stop the Harshini reading their minds and they’d found it, sure enough. But it must take years of training, Wrayan thought, to master such mental discipline. It was no wonder they began training their apprentices as young as nine or ten.
“I told you to drop the shield.”
Galon stared at him, more than a little disconcerted. It was probably at that moment the assassin realised Wrayan really
could
read his thoughts. “If I do that, I’m defenceless against Alija. Against anybody who can read my mind, for that matter.”
“If you
don’t
do it, I’ll assume you have something to hide from Princess Marla and I’ll kill you.”
Galon stared at him oddly. “You’re not an Innate like Alija, are you? You must be part Harshini.”
“So?”
“Don’t the Harshini have inviolate rules regarding killing people?”
“I find them much less specific on the subject of castration,” Wrayan assured him. “I think you’ll find I’ve got plenty of room to manoeuvre if it comes to dispensing a bit of rough justice, Galon Miar.”
Wrayan could feel the assassin’s confidence surging again, even if he couldn’t read his actual thoughts through the barrier. “You think you could take me, thief?”
“I think I could slip into your mind and make you cut your own balls off,
assassin,
” he lied.
“Excuse me,” Kalan interrupted, a little impatiently. “But if you two madmen are through deciding who’s the toughest, can we get on with this?”
Wrayan glanced at her. She was standing beside her mother, her arms folded, tapping her foot on the tiles, as if she was annoyed about how long this was taking. Rodja Tirstone—who’d done nothing but observe the whole exchange with interest—sat on the cushions near the table, doing his best to empty the fruit platter. Marla, curiously enough, was watching Galon Miar expectantly, almost as if she wanted Wrayan to be proved wrong. He couldn’t understand her attitude, either.
“We can do this as soon as he drops his mind shield.”
Even under the threat of grievous bodily harm, Galon was more than a little reluctant to let the shield go. “It’s not magic, you know. I just can’t turn it on and off like you probably can.”
“You can let it go,” Wrayan guessed. “And if you’re that scared of Alija, I’ll put it back again when we’re done. Assuming you survive the experience, of course.”
Galon looked at Marla, almost as if he was pleading for her help, but her expression remained implacable.
“Your highness, I know what I said … but is this
really
necessary … ?”
“You want a ticket into my world, Galon. This is the price of admission.”
The assassin stared at the princess for a long moment. “I think I’d better sit down.”
“Be my guest,” Marla said graciously, offering him a place on the cushions near Rodja with a sweep of her arm.
Galon lowered himself onto the cushions, made himself comfortable and then glanced up at Wrayan. “Do you actually know how to do this without cracking my head open?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “I have information … things I know … secrets belonging to the Assassins’ Guild. They are nothing to do with you, thief. Don’t go seeking them out. And if you ever use anything you learn in my mind tonight to betray my guild, I will hunt you down and kill you. Count on it.”
“Wrayan will do what he must to ascertain your trustworthiness,” Marla assured him. “Nothing more. Do you understand that, Wrayan?”
“Yes, your highness.”
Satisfied with her assurance, Galon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Then do your worst, thief.”
As he spoke, Wrayan sensed the strands that made up the wall begin to unravel. It was slow at first but as the weave loosened, they separated more quickly until finally the barrier disintegrated and Wrayan Lightfinger was able to step into the swirling darkness of Galon Miar’s mind.
“F
eeling any better?”
“Damin?”
Rorin blinked a few times, and looked around the room blankly. He was back in his own room in Cabradell Palace, daylight streaming through the windows. At first glance, the bedroom seemed to be full of people, although when he managed to focus his eyes a little better he realised it was just the prince and Lady Lionsclaw standing on either side of the bed. His agonizing encounter with a Karien priest seemed like a distant memory, something out of a nightmare he couldn’t quite recall. He struggled to sit up, collapsing with a yelp of pain as soon as he tried to put any pressure on his left shoulder.
Damin winced sympathetically. “You might want to wait a bit before you try that again, Rory. That’s a pretty nasty burn you’ve got there.”
Rorin frowned, wondering how he’d gotten burned, and then he realised the whole sorry business with Kraig and Renulus and that damned Staff of Xaphista hadn’t been a dream, after all.
“What happened?”
“You passed out.”
“That much I get. What happened to Renulus? Did Kraig kill him?”
Damin smiled. “I gather he was sorely tempted, but he managed to contain himself.”
“He’s a Karien priest, Damin.”
“No, actually he’s a Denikan prince.”
“I meant Renulus.”
Damin smiled. “I know. And I believe you. I saw the staff. And what it did to your shoulder. How come it didn’t harm Kraig?”
“It only works on those who can channel Harshini magic.” Rorin turned his head and looked up at Lady Lionsclaw, who was standing on the other side of the bed looking down on him with concern. “And he hit me with it when I was channelling, which would have amplified the effect a thousandfold. Did you have any idea what Renulus was, my lady?”
“He’d have been dead long ago, if I had,” Tejay assured them. “I’m fairly certain Terin had no idea he was a priest of Xaphista, either. My late husband was many things I didn’t admire, but a follower of the Overlord wasn’t one of them.”
“What do you suppose he’s doing here?” Damin asked.
Lady Lionsclaw shrugged. “I have no idea. And no idea if I should be worried about it, either.”
He tried to smile reassuringly. “Maybe there’s nothing to be concerned about. His presence in Cabradell could be as innocuous as one curious Karien wanting to see how the other half lived.”
“Or as sinister as a spy sent here by the Church of Xaphista the Overlord for some nefarious reason we know nothing of,” Damin suggested. “I suppose we’ll find out when we question him.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Rorin warned. “If he’s a Karien priest then he’s a fanatic and fanatics tend to enjoy suffering. It makes them think they’re earning a place at the Overlord’s table in the afterlife.” He yawned and shifted on the bed a little, grimacing with pain. “I’m sorry, Damin,” he added, feeling guilty that he’d brought down even more trouble on his friends at a time when they could least afford it. “I was just trying to help.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Damin assured him. “You exposed a spy in our midst and if nothing else, gave me a perfectly good excuse to keep him locked up for the duration of the campaign, which means we’ve got a much better chance of convincing everyone Terin is still alive. Which brings me to my next problem.” He glanced across at Tejay. “It seems the Lionsclaw family has a vacancy for a seneschal, and I’ve volunteered you to fill it.”
“Kalan ordered me to stay by
your
side.”
“Do you always do what Kalan wants?”
“Hardly ever, now you come to mention it.”
“Then consider yourself the new seneschal to the Warlord of Sunrise Province, Rorin Mariner.” Damin glanced over the bed at Tejay. “Or War
lady
, as the case may be.”
“I don’t think there’s such a word, Damin,” Tejay said.
“There will be if word gets out about what we’re up to here. Are you sure you’ll be all right, Rorin?”
“I’ll be fine. Truly.”
“Can you heal yourself?” Tejay asked.
“Not as well as I can heal others, but even a little bit of Harshini blood means I’ll heal faster than most.”
“Well, do what you can to get well,” she ordered. “Because as soon as you’re up to it, we have another patient who needs your attention.”
“Another patient? Who?”
“Adham,” Damin told him, his good humour fading a little. “He took a knife in the belly a few weeks ago in a brawl over my honour. It’s not getting any better.”
Rorin frowned. “I’ll do what I can, Damin … but it might be a day or so … that damned staff … it’s like it sucked the life out of me.”
“I had my physician, Caranth Roe, administer a draught to ease your pain,” Lady Lionsclaw informed him. “Some of your fatigue may be the effects of the drug, rather than the residual effects of the staff.”
“I hope so, my lady,” Rorin agreed.
“I thought it was just legend, all that stuff Wrayan told us about Karien priests and the Staff of Xaphista when we were boys,” Damin said. “Guess that was another one of his tall tales that turned out to be true, eh?”
“Most assuredly,” Rorin replied, his shoulder throbbing in time with his pulse. Whatever Caranth Roe had given him, other than making him drowsy, it didn’t seem to be having much of an effect on the pain. “Orleon would be most put out to learn of it. What are you going to do with Renulus?”
Damin sat down on the bed, his expression grim. “I’d really,
really
like to kill him, but with every damned Warlord in Hythria converging on this place, I don’t want it getting back to anybody in the war camp that we might have uncovered a Karien spy in our midst. That’s just giving Cyrus Eaglespike way too much rope to hang us with.”
“Will he care?” Rorin asked. “We’re at war with Fardohnya, not Karien.”
“You know Alija better even than I do,” Damin reminded him. “She’d find a way to turn it against us. Or against the Lionsclaw family because they’ve always been Wolfblade allies. I’d rather not give Cyrus, or his mother, the opportunity, if I can avoid it.”
“He’s going to be suspicious when I suddenly start acting as Terin’s seneschal, isn’t he?”
“I doubt it,” Tejay assured him. “For one thing, it’s not uncommon for members of the Sorcerers’ Collective to act as stewards and seneschals for highborn Houses. It happens quite frequently. For another, Cyrus never met Renulus and because Terin was convinced the entire Eaglespike family looked down on him more than most, their dealings with his family were pretty much confined to the Convocation.”
“And there hasn’t been a Convocation since Cyrus inherited his father’s province,” Damin reminded him.
Rorin felt a little better for hearing that. “Poor Terin. Knowing what an arrogant ass Cyrus Eaglespike can be, for once, he may have been right about the highborn looking down on him.” He turned to look at Tejay, wondering how she was dealing with the notion that her husband was probably dead. She didn’t seem to be debilitated by her grief. In fact, she hardly seemed to be grieving at all. “I can’t apologise enough for not being able to save your husband, my lady.”
Tejay patted his hand with a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, Rorin. I’m sure I’ll manage to get by.”
“You don’t seem very upset.”
“Which is a damned good thing, don’t you think? We’d never be able to pull off this dangerous little escapade if I was moping about the palace, weeping and wailing for my long-lost husband like a silly girl.”
“I guess not.”
“You go back to sleep, Rorin,” she advised. “Concentrate on getting better and regaining your strength so you can help Adham. Let me and Damin worry about the rest of it, all right?”
He nodded, thinking more sleep would be nice. The draught was making him lethargic and at the very least, solitude would help. He couldn’t concentrate on easing the pain or doing anything to magically speed up the healing process with an anxious audience looking on.
“I’ll be up and about soon, my lady. I promise.”
“I know you will,” she agreed. Then she turned to Damin and pointed to the door. “You. Out.”
“I was just …”
“Let the man rest, Damin.”
“Call if you need anything,” Damin said, rising to his feet.
“I will.”
“And thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being there when we needed you.”
“It was nothing.” Rorin shrugged, wincing with pain at such a foolish impulse. “I face down evil, staff-wielding Karien priests all the time.”
“Of course you do,” Damin agreed. “You’re a real hero, Rory. I’m sure Kalan will be very impressed.”
The comment left him a little confused. “Huh? … Oh, I see … Well, despite what
you
think, your highness, I’m not in the least bit interested in impressing your sister.”
“Good,” Damin said. “Because you know I’d have to kill you if you ever laid a hand on her.”
“You don’t scare me, Damin Wolfblade,” he replied with a hazy smile, as the draught pulled him down towards sleep. “I survived the Staff of Xaphista.”
Rorin heard Damin laugh softly, heard Tejay urging him to let the patient sleep, their retreating footsteps and then faintly registered the door opening and closing as the effects of Canath Roe’s drug overtook him. He drifted off to sleep, the pain in his shoulder fading to a dull ache in the distance, his dreams filled with visions of heroic sorcerers, evil, staff-wielding Karien priests, large, intimidating Denikan princes, and being comforted in the unlikely arms of Lady Kalan Hawksword.