Fallen Blade 04 - Blade Reforged (14 page)

I hadn’t realized I had that pronounced an accent—I probably ought to work on it.
“Fair enough,” I said, “though I must note I’m not from Tien originally.”

“No, somewhere in the barbarian west if I’m any judge, but it seemed rude to comment.”

I leaned down so that I could peer in through the top right corner of the window.
My hostess might sound very charming indeed, but that didn’t make me want to offer
myself as a big dark silhouette at her window. Not before I’d made sure she wasn’t
being charming while she got her crossbow lined up anyway.

The room was a large, quarter-round tower room with the door occupying the sliced
off point of the wedge. It was also much darker than it was outside—only Triss’s borrowed
senses allowed me to see anything. A big, canopied bed stood close to the door, and
my hostess, the clan chief Prixia Dan Xaia, was about halfway between it and me, a
dueling blade held loosely in her right hand. She was alone. I dropped my shroud and
released Triss—no point in showing what I was if I didn’t have to.

I sure hope you know what you’re doing,
Triss said into my mind as I stepped down onto the window ledge. There was a faint
aroma of jasmine in the room.

Me, too.

“May I sit, Clan Chief?” I said aloud.

“Please do.”

As my foot touched the floor, it made a very quiet crunching sound. “You scattered
rice when I knocked?” I asked. That would explain the pitter-patter noise—dry and
scattered
the rice would make moving silently in the room all but impossible.

“Yes, I thought it prudent.”

Which meant she kept a bowl by the bed just in case. “But you hadn’t bothered before
I arrived?”

“Oh, no, there was enough under the window and in front of the door to wake me if
anyone tried to enter, but I try not to leave a big mess for the maid if I don’t have
to.”

“Prudent and considerate, I approve.”

“So did my mother. Could we skip to the part where you tell me why you’re here? Because
if you don’t do it soon, one of the guards is going to notice the open window and
then there are going to be all sorts of interruptions and bother.”

“All right, my name is Aral and I’m here to see if you’d be interested in joining
the army of the Baroness Marchon.”

“Don’t you mean the rightful queen?”

“Well, she’s that, too, but I—”

“Then make sure you say it every chance you get. This sort of battle is won in the
minds of the people as much as it is on the field of war. If you would make the baroness
a queen, Blade, then proclaim her so every time you speak.”

“Blade? Who said anything about Blades?” This encounter was not going at all the way
I’d planned.

“I did, Kingslayer, and there’s no need to pretend to look surprised, I can’t see
your face at all in this light.”

“But what if I really am surprised?”

“Then you are being foolish. Xankou has been attacked by Kadeshi marauders at least
twice a year for my entire life. They come in the night and they kill with stealth.
Sometimes they attempt the castle. They are some of the best night raiders in the
world, and not one of them has ever gotten within a stone’s throw of the keep before,
much less all the way to my window. Though Thauvik the bastard made every effort to
keep it quiet, it has long been rumored among those with ties to the army that there
were Blades involved in the conflicts that happened around the time the baroness took
the Marchon coronet from her sister. The
rumors are at least partially substantiated by the deaths of so many Elite at the
time.”

I blinked at that. I suppose that I should have realized that would get around, though
the rumors had never filtered down to the level of the Gryphon’s Head.

Prixia continued. “Later, when it was revealed that the Kingslayer had been hiding
out in the Stumbles for a number of years, those of us who knew of the earlier rumors
put two and two together and determined exactly who must have helped Marchon to achieve
her seat. So, when a man knocks at my window in the middle of the night after passing
silently through my guards, and introduces himself as an emissary from the rightful
queen, the conclusion is obvious. It would have been so, even had you not given me
your name.”

She’s smart,
said Triss.

Which is exactly what we’re looking for. That and savvy.

“So,” she asked, “why are you here?”

“Zhan’s rightful queen needs a general.”

Prixia froze for a moment, the first sign of uncertainty I’d seen in her, but only
for a moment. “I imagine she does. What does that have to do with me?”

“I think you might be that general.”

“Really, why?”

“I first saw you operating in Tien the night after your father’s head was nailed up
over the traitor’s gate. The way you handled the watch and the Crown Guard was quite
brilliant, alienating the one from the other with mercy and a knowledge of how that
mercy would play with Thauvik. Afterward, I asked around. According to my contacts
in various places, you are considered one of the borderers’ most promising young military
commanders. Long thinking and quick in a fight, both.”

“There is a small chest about five feet to the right of the window.” She gestured
with her sword. “Why don’t you close the shutters and take a seat there. This will
be a longer and more interesting conversation than I originally thought,
and I don’t want to have to argue with my guards about you for a quarter of an hour
in the middle of it.”

The room went utterly dark once I closed the shutters, but I’d memorized the positions
of all the furniture and had long training in moving in the dark. It was easy to find
the chest, though every step crunched on the way there. Assuming she’d practiced with
the rice and a blindfold—and, given her general competence, I had no reasons to think
otherwise—Prixia knew exactly where I was. It was a clever technique, though I could
think of at least three ways to subvert it, including one that used the very sound
of the rice as a tool of deception to make a listener believe I was where I was not.
The lid of the chest creaked distinctly when I sat down, and I awarded her another
point for cleverness.

“Now,” she said, “tell me more. Like what Her Majesty thinks about this.”

“She’s not completely convinced, but thinks that I’ve had worse ideas and that she
would like to meet you and talk with you. For that matter,
I’m
not completely convinced, but everything I’ve learned so far leads me to want to
learn more.”

“As flattered as I am, I have to ask the obvious question.”

“Why not a more experienced commander?” I supplied.

“No, why not a more socially acceptable one? I’m a Chenjou clan chief, which puts
me a half step above a roadside brigand in the eyes of most of Zhan’s proper nobles.
Why not the Duke of Jenua? He’s got the military reputation and the blood. Giving
him command of the queen’s armies would immediately increase her legitimacy in the
eyes of the peers.”

“Start with the fact that he hasn’t offered,” I replied. “He’s still technically on
Thauvik’s side, though he might well jump, given the right opportunity. Thauvik’s
a good general himself and unlikely to let Jenua have a real command, for more or
less the same reason Maylien can’t.”

“Which is?” And the way she said it told me she knew the answer.

“That the second he’s got command of an army he’s as much of a threat to the throne
as Maylien is. His blood might not be as royal as either Thauvik’s or his niece’s,
but his birth doesn’t have the cloud of bastardy hanging over it, and he’s well respected
by the peers. If Maylien stumbles, or Thauvik’s rule becomes even a little bit shakier,
Jenua would have an excellent chance of taking the throne for himself.”

“Maylien’s no bastard anymore, or at least that’s what I hear from those who support
her claim.” Prixia’s voice was deceptively sweet.

“Then I presume you’ve also heard that the paper that proves her legitimacy has gone
missing?”

“I might have.”

“I thought so,” I said. “Look, I’m not going to play coy with you. Maylien’s claim
is a shaky one. The bloodline is good, and even if the paper never turns up, there
are many who will be willing to accept that the reason for the massacre at the Council
of Jade was that her adoption papers were genuine. But she’s also a mage. Nothing
anyone says or does can change that, and it means there are many among the peers who
will never accept her as a legitimate claimant to any title in the realm. You know
as well as I do that there are a good dozen generals of strong reputation that she
might be able to call on to join her in her fight against Thauvik, but…”

“But she can’t be sure to control any of them if they suddenly decide they want to
have a go at the throne themselves.”

“Or second-guess any of her decisions, really. She, as Thauvik has painted her, is
the sorcerer-baroness, and that means that she’s going to have real trouble controlling
anyone with real clout.”

“Whereas a barbarian from the borders would rise or fall based entirely on whether
Maylien rises or falls. Yes?” I heard a faint crunch as Prixia shifted in the dark,
the first
such noise she’d made. “That’s got the sound of something that could really bite me
in the ass if she falls.”

“If you join her and she loses, your head’s going up next to your father’s and the
clan seat will fall to whichever of your relatives is most willing to stab your reputation
in the back.”

“That sure makes it sound like a great opportunity,” Prixia said dryly.

She’s got a point,
said Triss.
Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

Hush, Triss.

“If she rises, on the other hand, she’s going to be riding a tiger. The peers will
attempt to undermine her. The army, which put then–chief marshal Thauvik on the throne
after the death of his brother, will be furious that one of their own has fallen to
a mage, of all things. The peasants will be nervous about the idea of another member
of the Pridu dynasty taking the throne, especially a mage.
And
they’ll be convinced she’s going to go as mad as the rest of her family.”

“You’re not selling this very well,” said Prixia. “I thought you should know that.”

“Every single bit of that’s true, and more besides, but I heard another thing when
I was asking around about you. Two things actually.”

“What things?”

“First, that you’re ambitious. This is the one and only chance you are ever going
to get in your entire life to do something like this. If Maylien wins with you as
her general, you are very likely going to be the next chief marshal of Zhan. If you
walk away from her now, the best you will ever achieve is to become the local chief
of chiefs, little more than a glorified warlord.”

“There’s that.” Prixia’s voice came calm and steady, but I could hear the husk underneath.
“What’s the second thing you heard about me?”

“That you are honorable. Thauvik had your father killed, more or less by accident.
Then he declared him a traitor and
burned the body to hide the fact. He dishonored your father, your family, and your
clan. If you don’t fight to unthrone him, what does that make you?” Before she could
respond, I continued. “But even more than that, if you are honorable, and you believe
that Maylien belongs on the throne, and is your liege and queen, how can you refuse
her?”

“What makes you so sure that I believe she is the rightful heir?”

“Would you be listening to all this if you didn’t?” I asked.

“Probably not. All right, you’ve made your point, and you know you’ve got me. But
there must be a couple dozen lesser lords and minor chiefs with a reputation as good
or better than mine. Why pick me?”

“Like so many things, it’s mostly luck. If I hadn’t seen you in the street that night,
Maylien would likely never even have known you existed. It might not have even occurred
to her to try a relative nobody as a commander. But I did see you, and I pushed to
find out more about you, and now here I am.”

“Lucky, lucky me.”

“I
f
Thauvik has a Blade, why haven’t they tried to kill me yet?” Maylien took a long
pull from the leather water bottle, then gave a sip to Bontrang before hanging it
off the back of her camp chair again. “Or any of my more prominent allies or lieutenants
for that matter?”

It was a good question. “I don’t know,” I replied. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. Six weeks had passed
since the Jade Council massacre, as it was now being called, and despite more than
one slipup on my part, no other Blade had yet made an attempt on Maylien’s life. Nor
even come sniffing around, as far as I could tell. Six weeks filled with minor skirmishes—more
in the way of street fights and roadside ambushes than battles, though the effectiveness
of those had been going up since Prixia had started organizing the campaign. I got
up from my place at the little table and began to pace back and forth in the limited
space.