Bonds of Vengeance (10 page)

“They paid you in silver or gold?”

“Gold, my lord.”

“Did you see anyone with them? A white-hair perhaps?”

“No one, my lord. And it was a slow night. Just the one other fellow who took a room was all. And he ate his supper like a gentleman and went upstairs.”

“Where is he now?”

“He left before dawn. I didn’t even see him go. That’s why I have them pay when they get here. If I didn’t, I’d be chasing all over the realm trying to collect.”

Sertio looked toward the inn, feeling vaguely uneasy. Whether they
intended to flee or make another attempt on Diani’s life, they should have been up and moving by now. “Which room?”

“Last one on the left.”

He was walking before she finished, several of his men falling in step around him.

“Get them!” he called to the captain standing by the entrance to the inn. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said. He shouted a command to the men standing with him and immediately they filed into the inn.

Sertio drew his sword, but he remained in the lane, awaiting word from the men inside. For several moments there was silence. Then the captain appeared in the doorway once more, a sour expression on his face. Even before he spoke, Sertio felt certain that the assassins had managed somehow to escape.

“What is it?” he demanded, ice in his voice.

“You’d better come look, my lord.”

The duke eyed him a moment before following him into the house. Inside, the inn smelled of roasting meat and stale wine. The captain and Sertio climbed the steps swiftly, taking them two at a time. A knot of soldiers stood in the upstairs corridor just outside the last room, but they parted to let Sertio pass, most of them lowering their gazes.

The two men lay in the center of the room, their throats slit, dark blood pooling around their heads.

“Demons and fire,” the duke muttered.

He squatted beside them to take a closer look, noting that the blood on their necks was already dry. They’d been dead for some time.

“I guess they got what was coming to them,” the captain said. “Question is, from who?” He glanced at Sertio. “I suppose the duchess will want to know. Shall I—?”

Instantly Sertio was up and striding to the door, his heart battering his breastbone like a siege engine. The duchess. “Bring your men, Captain! We have to get back to the castle!”

He ran down the corridor and nearly fell rushing down the stairs. Bursting through the door, he crossed to the innkeeper and gripped her arm.

“The other man who stayed the night! What did he look like?”

She blinked, looking confused.

“Quickly, woman!” he said, shaking her.

“Tall, like the others. Yellow hair, pleasant face.”

“What else? A mustache? A beard?”

“No.” She shook her head, as if groping for an image of the man. “He had a small scar by the side of his mouth, like from a fight.”

“Good.” He released her and started running toward the village gate, heedless of the stares that followed him. “See to it that she’s paid for her trouble,” he called over his shoulder to the captain, who had emerged from the inn. “Leave a few men to clean up the mess and bring the rest with me!”

He was too old for this. He should never have left his mount with the baroness’s men.

He heard footsteps, and looking back once more, saw the captain just behind him. “Where are we going, my lord?”

“Back to the castle, you fool! The man who killed those archers will be after the duchess next!”

Diani awoke to the sound of knocking at her door. She felt lightheaded and confused for several moments until she moved, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and leg. Of course. The herbmaster’s tonic. Damn his potions.

The knock came again.

She rose carefully from her bed and crossed on unsteady legs to where her robe hung. She shivered slightly as she shrugged it onto her shoulders. There was warm water in her basin and a bright fire in her hearth. It seemed she had slept through a good deal.

Whoever had come rapped on her door a third time.

“Yes, enter!” she called, belatedly passing a hand through her tangled hair.

The door swung open revealing a guard, who looked uncertain and just a bit frightened. He glanced first at her bed before seeing her at the wardrobe.

“What is it? Why do you disturb me?”

“Forgive me, my lady. But a soldier has come from Kretsaal bearing news from the barony. He says it pertains to the attempt on your life.”

“Have him speak with my father. The duke is looking into this matter.”

“The duke rode southward during the night, my lady. He received word that the men had been seen near the barony.”

Diani frowned and shook her head, still trying to clear her mind. “Father rode to the barony?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And yet this man comes from Kretsaal?”

“He does, my lady. He bears the barony’s colors. He and your father must have passed each other in the darkness without either of them knowing it.”

She nodded, though she found all of it rather puzzling. Why would her father leave, without telling her, particularly with assassins abroad? And what news could a man of Kretsaal have that her own soldiers did not?

“Tell this soldier that I’ll speak with him shortly. I want my breakfast served first, in here. And I want the herbmaster told that I’m awake.”

“Of course, my lady,” the man said, bowing and withdrawing from the chamber.

Diani splashed some water on her face and then sat at her writing table, staring at the fire. The next thing she knew, yet another knock had pulled her from her dazed musings.

“Come.” She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders.

The herbmaster entered the chamber, bearing a tray that held a full breakfast and a pot of some steaming broth.

“I didn’t know you were working in the kitchens now, herbmaster. It seems a waste of your talents.”

He smiled. “Some would say it’s the best use of them anyone’s found yet.”

“None who had tasted your brews.”

He placed the tray on her table and regarded her closely, his brow creased. “You don’t look well.”

“It’s your bloody tonic. It’s left my mind fogged.”

“Don’t blame the tonic. You were supposed to rest. Had you slept as late as I wanted, your mind would be clear. How are your wounds?”

“They hurt still.” She allowed him to examine her shoulder and then her leg.

“I expected that,” he said absently, looking closely at her injuries. They were still discolored, though less so than they had been the night before. After some time he straightened and nodded. “They appear to be healing nicely.”

“Good.”

“But you still need rest. I don’t want you doing anything today beyond sleeping, eating, and drinking more of my brew.”

“You should have told my father that. He’s ridden south, and there’s a soldier come from Kretsaal with news of the assassins. I have no choice but to speak with him.”

The herbmaster twisted his mouth sourly. “Fine, then. Nothing more after you’ve seen him.”

“Yes, herbmaster. Thank you.”

He sketched a quick bow and left her. Diani glanced at her breakfast. Bread and butter, smoked meat, stewed sour fruit from Macharzo, and, of course, the herbmaster’s sweet-smelling brew. Her head had started to clear, but her appetite had not yet returned and she decided to speak with the baroness’s man before eating.

“Guard!” she called.

One of her men opened the door.

“Have the soldier from Kretsaal brought to me at once.”

He had made his way out of the village as soon as the inn grew quiet, leaving by way of the gate nearest the tavern shortly before the ringing of the midnight bells and the closing of the village gates. He circled quickly to the north gate and waited within sight of it, just off the road, until the bells tolled. He stayed low in the grasses, so as not to be seen in the dim moonlight. If Kretsaal barony was like nearly every other court in the Forelands, the guards would change at midnight.

It was, and they did. No sooner had the last echo of the bells died away than the replacements appeared in the lane that led from the modest castle to the gate.

Immediately, before the replacements could get too close, he stood, calling out, “Hold the gate!” and then, “My wares are a bit heavy. Can one of you help me with these sacks? It’ll get me into the city faster.”

Two of the guards had already begun to close the gate and now they stopped, peering out into the darkness. He heard one spit a curse and the other begin to laugh. This second man turned and started walking toward the center of the village, but the first man stepped beyond the walls, still trying to spot him. He noticed that the guard unsheathed his sword.

“Where are you?” the guard called, walking slowly along the worn lane that led into the city.

“Over here.” He made his voice sound strained, as if he were struggling
with heavy satchels. He had chosen a place near a cluster of stones, and he bent over them now, as if they were his sacks.

“Don’t you have a horse and cart?” The soldier had adjusted his approach at the sound of his voice and was coming directly toward him.

“The cart threw a wheel back on the moor. Snapped the rim. I left the horse and most of my wares there, but needed to bring some with me. I’ll have to sell most of this tomorrow to be able to pay a wheelwright to come with me and fix it.”

He could hear the soldier’s footsteps in the soft grasses now, and he drew the garrote from within his cloak, pulling the wire taut and wrapping it twice around each fist. He remained bent over the stones until the soldier reached him.

“What do you want me? . . .” The guard trailed off, taking a step back. “Where are your satchels?”

The one satchel he did have—the one he always carried—was already in his hand and he straightened now, in the same motion swinging it at the soldier with all his strength and hitting the man full in the temple. The soldier fell to the ground, but managed somehow to keep hold of his sword. Not that it mattered. He was on the guard instantly, wrapping the garrote around his throat and pulling it taut. The soldier struggled, but to no avail. He’d used this same garrote against men far larger and stronger than this one.

Sitting back on his haunches and taking a long breath, he looked toward the gate. It still stood ajar, but none of the men was looking out at the moor. The guard’s friend was nowhere to be seen, and the men who had replaced them probably didn’t even know enough to be looking for him.

As if to prove his point, two of the new guards pulled the gate shut. The man wouldn’t be missed until morning.

He stripped the guard’s uniform from the limp body and began to put it on himself. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do. He put his clothes on the soldier, thus perhaps delaying for a bit longer the discovery of just what he had done. Then he started westward, away from the castle and the sea, to the place where his horse was tethered.

He rode swiftly, hoping to reach Curlinte well before sunrise. At one point he heard riders in the distance approaching from the ducal city. Reining his mount to a halt, he made the beast lie down on the grasses, ducked down himself, and peered over the horse’s flanks, watching the riders. They didn’t slow, nor did they give any indication that they had
seen him. He waited until he could no longer hear them and they were but dim, distant figures in the moonlight. Then he coaxed his mount back onto its feet and rode on. Even with the delay, he thought that he could reach the walls of Curlinte before daybreak. He might even have time to rest before seeking an audience with the duchess.

Diani didn’t have to wait long before her guards returned with the soldier from Kretsaal. Straightening in her chair, she beckoned the men into her chamber.

The duchess noticed his hair first. It was yellow and fine, more like that of a man from northern Aneira or even Eibithar than that of a Sanbiri. His eyes, too, seemed wrong. They were pale blue, almost grey, not at all as they should have been. He wore the grey and red of Kretsaal, but the uniform fit him poorly. Sanla, the baroness, never would have allowed such a thing.

Could he be an assassin?

The thought never would have occurred to her before the attack at the headlands the day before, and Diani wondered if she were allowing her lingering fears to cloud her judgment. The guard had a kindly face, hardly that of a killer. Though he did bear a small scar near the corner of his mouth.

“You bring tidings for me?” she asked. But even as she spoke, she rose from the chair and returned to her writing table, as if she might draw comfort from having something substantial between herself and the soldier.

“I do, my lady.” No accent, at least none that Diani could discern. He glanced at the two soldiers behind him before facing her again. “I was told by my baroness to speak only with you.”

Strange, and presumptuous. If he turned out to be just a soldier, she would have to speak of this with Sanla.

“The soldiers who serve me know that I expect not only their loyalty but also their discretion. They’ll remain here.”

“But, my lady, I have my instructions.”

Strange indeed. She allowed her eyes to wander to her table, searching for something to use as a weapon. Her dagger and sword were near the wardrobe, too far if he struck at her quickly.

“And now you have different instructions from your duchess. Do you really believe the baroness would have you argue the point?”

He stared at her, not appearing cowed as he should have, but rather seeming to search her face for some sign that she was growing suspicious.

“Your tidings?” she prompted again.

“Of course, my lady.” Something in the voice, the icy intensity that suddenly appeared in those pale eyes.

Diani took a step back, expecting an attack, but the man surprised her. Seizing the pot of hot brew from her tray, he whirled on the two guards, throwing the pot at one and pulling his sword free to run the other through.

The two guards were caught completely unaware. The pot hit one of them in the chest, splattering hot liquid on his face and staggering him. By the time the other man had his sword free, the killer had already driven the point of his sword into his chest. The guard could only drop his weapon to the floor, blood staining the front of his uniform as he fell to his knees and then toppled over. The first man had recovered enough to draw his blade, but the assassin was on him too quickly. The soldier parried one blow and then another, but even with the skills he had learned from Diani’s father, he was no match for the yellow-haired man.