Warrior (42 page)

Not everything his mistress had set in motion was proving so trying, though. Starros was dealing well with the extra lessons Elezaar had set for him, reinforcing his opinion the boy would make an excellent seneschal some day. Ruxton had found a new tutor for the children, a former
court’esa
once belonging to the late Lady Jeryma at some time in the distant past. He was an old man now but reputedly had a mind as sharp as that of his charges and would brook no nonsense from them. The man was due to arrive in the next few days to take over the burden of the remaining children’s lessons.

Elezaar was mightily relieved. He had feared all summer long that he would be left behind when Marla returned to Greenharbour.

Rielle and Darvad had left the city, escorted back to Izcomdar by Rogan Bearbow and his entourage. Damin would follow in a few days, leaving Krakandar with Marla and Ruxton. They would return to the capital via Rogan’s stronghold at Natalandar, see Damin safely settled in his fosterage, and then continue south, arriving in Greenharbour just before the Feast of Zegarnald in the autumn.

But that still left the problem of what to do with Kalan . . .

A knock on the door distracted Elezaar. Marla called permission to enter. Kalan stepped into the study wearing her accustomed scowl. He had seen little else in the way of expression on Marla’s daughter’s face over the past two months.

“Mother,” Kalan said, stopping before the princess with a barely respectful curtsey. She ignored Elezaar.

“Kalan.”

“Your
slave
said you wanted to see me.” That was her way of letting Elezaar know she still hadn’t forgiven him for telling her mother about their discussion.

Marla ignored her daughter’s scathing tone. “I have come to a decision about your future, Kalan.

As I’m leaving tomorrow, I thought you might like to know what it is.”

The girl straightened her shoulders defiantly. “I will kill myself before I marry some sleazy old man just to seal a stupid treaty!”

Elezaar bit back a smile. She was a feisty little thing, this daughter of Marla’s.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come back to Greenharbour with me.”

Kalan stared at her mother suspiciously. “Why?”

“Wrayan tells me the process of acceptance into the Sorcerers’ Collective is quite laborious under normal circumstances. It will be much easier if you’re in the city while we go through the formalities.”

Kalan’s head jerked up. “
Wrayan
said that?”

“I can’t imagine why anybody would
want
to join the Sorcerers’ Collective, mind you,” Wrayan said behind her, appearing out of thin air.

His sudden appearance made even Elezaar jump and he’d known all along that Wrayan was there. He just hadn’t seen him pull that rather impressive disappearing act.

Her scowl forgotten, Kalan squealed with glee and threw herself at the thief. “Wrayan! You’re back!”

Wrayan hugged the child briefly and then pushed her away, aware that Marla thought her daughter’s crush on him was a little misplaced.

“Yes, he’s back,” Marla said. “And you just walked straight past him, Kalan, without even knowing he was there. Do you understand that?”

“But Wrayan’s a sorcerer! He did something so I couldn’t see him.”

“This is precisely the point I have been trying to make for the past two months. Alija Eaglespike is also a magician,” Marla warned. “And you are not. You would have no defence against her. You
must
understand that, and I’m going to need to be convinced that you are fully aware of the danger before I let you anywhere near the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

“But that’s not . . .” She hesitated and looked at her mother. “What do you mean,
before you let
me anywhere near the Sorcerers’ Collective
? You’re going to let me
join
?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Kalan stared at them in confusion. “What changed your mind? You said you’d never agree.”

“The arrival of Luciena’s cousin has changed matters somewhat.”

“You mean Rory?”

“He’ll be joining the Sorcerers’ Collective when you get to Greenharbour,” Wrayan explained.

“With someone in the Sorcerers’ Collective your mother can trust—and, more importantly, someone Alija can’t influence—the danger to you might be a little more . . . manageable.”

“So he wasn’t pulling my leg then?” she asked Wrayan. “He really can wield proper magic?”

Wrayan smiled. “Yes, he can wield
proper
magic.”

“Wow,” the girl replied, suitably impressed.

Marla wasn’t nearly so enthusiastic as her daughter. “Don’t get too excited, Kalan. Despite both Elezaar and Wrayan championing your cause, I’m far from convinced this is a good idea. There are certain negotiations that have to take place before you’re accepted into the Sorcerers’ Collective, too,”

her mother explained. “I imagine, at the very least, it’s going to cost me a new temple in the grounds of the Sorcerers’ Palace.

“On the bright side, along with my patronage—and the fact that you are the High Prince’s niece—comes the ability to dictate a few conditions about your apprenticeship. I plan to ask Bruno Sanval to take on Rorin’s apprenticeship, which should keep him out of Alija’s way. But if I allow you to follow him—and it’s a very big
if
—it will be on the express condition that you and Rorin are never separated.”

“Why not?”

“Rorin can maintain a link with you that will tell him if something happens to you,” Wrayan explained. “Don’t ask me how—it’s a magical thing and you wouldn’t understand.”

“
Really?
” Kalan gasped. She looked set to burst something vital. “Do you really mean this, Mama?”

Marla held up her hand to dampen her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Understand, Kalan, once I’ve done this, you’re on your own. If you fail, young lady, you won’t have to worry about what Alija might do to you, because I will send you back here to Krakandar and marry you off to the scabbiest, most disgusting old man I can find, just so you can prove your continuing loyalty to your family.”

Kalan grinned broadly, the first genuine sign of happiness Elezaar had seen in the girl for months. “I won’t fail, Mama. I’ll be High Arrion some day. Just watch me.”

Marla glanced at Wrayan with a shake of her head, obviously wondering what she had unleashed.

“May the gods help the Sorcerers’ Collective the day
that
happens,” Wrayan chuckled.

“May the gods help us all, Wrayan,” Marla replied, rolling her eyes. “I have a bad feeling we’re going to need it. Elezaar, would you have some tea brought in?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“If you’re being so nice to Luciena’s cousin, does that mean you’re not going to hang her as a spy, after all?” Kalan said, looking at her mother curiously.

Elezaar hesitated on the threshold, wondering how Marla would reply.

The princess shook her head. “As it turns out, Luciena was an innocent pawn in a game she didn’t even know she was playing. And you should never forget what happened to her, Kalan. If you drop your guard for a moment in Greenharbour, the same thing could easily happen to you.”

Elezaar didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He smiled to himself and let the door shut behind him, thinking that of all the delicious punishments he could have unleashed on Alija Eaglespike, the most harrowing might yet prove to be Kalan Hawksword.

“Elezaar!”

The dwarf turned, a little surprised to find Ruxton Tirstone hailing him. “Are you looking for the princess, sir? She’s in her sitting room with Master Lightfinger and Kalan.”

Ruxton rolled his eyes. “There’s a plan afoot I’ll bet I want no part of. However, I wasn’t looking for Marla. I was looking for you.”

“Did you want something, sir?”

“It’s more about what I can do for you, actually.” The trader glanced up the hall, taking Elezaar by the elbow gently. He moved away from the door to ensure they were alone before he continued. “Do you remember telling me about your brother?”

Elezaar frowned, wishing he had never mentioned the subject. But he’d always enjoyed a cordial relationship with Marla’s fourth husband. They had shared many a cup of ale in the kitchens late at night when the rest of the household was asleep. Although he’d never been a slave, Ruxton had a lot more in common with Elezaar, in fact, than with his royal wife. It was during one of those late-night ales that, in a rare burst of inexplicable sentimentality, Elezaar had told Ruxton about Crysander.

“My brother is dead, Master Tirstone.”

“Perhaps,” the spice trader agreed cautiously.

Elezaar’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Just that I’ve heard a rumour or two. Nothing substantial, mind you. But it might be worth investigating. If you wanted me to look into it, that is?”

For a moment, the hall of Krakandar Palace faded, replaced by the stark black-and-white tiles of Ronan Dell’s house.
The captain’s blade—Alija Eagle-spike’s captain—plunging into Crys without
warning . . . the man driving his dagger up under Crys’s rib cage and into his heart . . . Crys falling . . . the
creak of leather as the captain bends over to check Crys is really dead
. . .

Elezaar shook his head to clear the haunting nightmare. “My brother is dead, Master Tirstone. I thank you for your concern, but I’d appreciate it if you’d just let the matter drop. And that you mention it to nobody.”

“As you wish,” Ruxton replied. “I just thought—”

“Only pain lies down the road of false hope,” Elezaar shrugged. “Crysander is dead and I am taking steps to ensure the person responsible will pay.”

“Are you certain you don’t want my help?”

“Certain, Master Tirstone.”

The trader shrugged, as if he couldn’t figure out Elezaar’s reasoning, and turned back in the direction he’d come.

Elezaar continued towards the stairs to get Marla’s tea, thinking Ruxton just didn’t understand.

Revenge would be a long time coming for Elezaar. The dwarf didn’t mind that Alija would probably never

know he had engi neered her downfall. All Elezaar cared about was that the seeds for Alija Eagle-spike’s destruction had finally been sown in fertile ground and that—albeit, quite a few years from now—he would live to witness the bitter but oh-so-satisfying harvest.

THE PAIN OF TRUTH;

THE COMFORT OF LIES

Aloud cheer went up as the horses crossed the finish line, another stallion from the stables of the High Prince taking the honours, a fact that irked Alija Eaglespike no end. Not being renowned for their horseflesh, Dregian Province had no horses running in the races today, but it would have been nice to think someone other than Izcomdar Province and the High Prince’s own stables had a chance at the prize money. She fanned herself impatiently with a copy of the racing program, silently cursing the dust, the muggy Greenharbour winter that never really cooled down, the unwashed crowds and the High Prince’s good fortune. It irritated her beyond belief to realise Lernen Wolfblade’s success at the races was directly attributable to a gift of four sorcerer-bred horses from her own cousin, Rogan Bearbow, to Lernen’s air-headed nephew, Damin Wolfblade, when the young man finished his fosterage in Izcomdar six years ago.

Alija glanced down the grandstand to the High Prince’s private box and frowned as she studied the heir to Hythria. Although as High Arrion she was welcome to sit with the High Prince, Alija preferred the Eaglespike enclosure, situated above and behind the royal box, the perfect vantage point from which to study the occupants below.

Damin Wolfblade sat on a low couch beside his uncle, laughing about something—probably their remarkable good fortune at the races today. Next to Damin sat Adham Tirstone, and beside him a young woman Alija didn’t know, who seemed rather jaded and bored with the whole thing. The High Arrion paid little attention to the girl. She wore a jewelled collar, indicating she was a
court’esa
. A slave, then, probably belonging to either Adham or Damin. She certainly wasn’t there to entertain the High Prince. Dismissing the slave as insignificant, Alija turned her attention back to Damin Wolfblade.

Marla’s son was twenty-four now, having survived all attempts to assassi nate him thus far. Not for the first time, as Alija studied the young man, she wished Damin had been more of a Wolfblade and less his father’s son. Laran Krakenshield, although not a handsome man, had been a tall and imposing figure. Simply because of his stature, the young prince gave people the impression he was far more notable than he really deserved.

As if he knew she was thinking of him, the young prince looked up. Their eyes met for a moment. Damin smiled cheerily, waved, and then returned his attention to whatever his stepbrother, Adham Tirstone, was telling him. Alija cursed softly under her breath, wondering what it would take to be rid of him.

It was twelve years since the last time Alija had unsuccessfully tried to eliminate the heir to Hythria’s throne. Twelve years of watching and waiting. Twelve long years in which Marla’s daughter, Kalan, had graduated from her apprenticeship to become a full member of the Sorcerers’ Collective.