Krondor the Assassins (18 page)

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William’s two-handed sword came up and he took the creature in the chest, letting its own momentum carry it past him, then turned and let the creature fall off the point of his sword.

The animal howled and flailed with its claws at the air, then lay twitching until it died.

There were men in the camp as well as animals. Three men stood near the center of the camp, each wearing a robe and carrying a large staff. Two seemed to be in a trance, and William was certain they were directing the half-dozen large leopards he could see—and however many others he couldn’t—while the third robed man stood guard over them. William made straight for the alert magician.

Refusing to be diverted from his purpose, William didn’t see those men trapped in pairs and threes facing snarling animals who were working in concert with one another, fierce hunters now gifted with human-aided intelligence as they tried to pull down any soldier whose attentions wavered for an instant.

The magician saw William coming at a run and raised his staff, pointing it at the young officer. William prepared to dodge to the side, but without knowing what spell was coming he had no means to judge his timing.

Pain suddenly struck him in waves, and behind him he could hear the soldiers scream. William staggered a step, then realized that while he hurt from his toenails to his hair, he could still move. The magician who pointed his staff at him regarded him with alarm when he didn’t fall. Eyes wide, the magician dropped his staff and pulled a dagger from his belt, leaping toward the staggering young lieutenant with an animal-like snarl of anger.

William had only to raise his sword, and as he had with the leopard, the point took the attacker in the chest. But rather 153

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than swing to one side, William pushed with all his strength and the magician practically ran upon the blade. His eyes bulged and he dropped his dagger, then his eyes rolled up into his skull and he died.

William let him fall and yanked his blade free. He turned and saw his companions lying on the ground, twitching in agony.

Around him snarling animals and screaming men told William he had little time. He raised his sword and struck the nearest standing magician, the one he had met in the inn, who had named himself Jaquin Medosa. When his blade struck, it was like hitting an oak tree, and the man staggered but didn’t fall. William was not amazed, for he had seen what magic could accomplish all his life, and he knew his foe was empowered by more than mere sinew and bone. Some magicians who looked frail could muster the strength to lift a horse, or resist sword blows and arrow points.

For an instant, the man’s concentration turned to William, but before he could marshal his resources against William, the young officer struck another blow with his sword, severing the man’s arm from his body. He screamed and fell over, blood spurting from his shoulder. Without mercy, William ended his life with the point of his blade in the man’s throat.

The last magician also died quickly, and suddenly the tone of combat changed around him. The animals’ sounds of rage now turned to those of terror. Even with the spell broken, the cats would continue to fight. ‘‘Back away from the leopards!’’

William shouted. They were no less dangerous for being free of the enchantment, and William knew men might suffer more if he couldn’t quickly drive the cats off.

He closed his eyes and conjured an image, an enraged male 154

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lion, and imagined a roar of challenge, defying the leopard to enter its territory. No normal leopard would challenge an adult male lion if given a chance to flee.

Instantly leopards began to flee the scene. Men shouted and while some sounds of struggle continued for a few moments longer, soon the camp was quiet.

William shouted, ‘‘Sergeant Matthews!’’

‘‘Sir,’’ came the weak reply. The sergeant hove into view, his left arm shredded from claw-wounds and pouring blood.

‘‘Get yourself seen to, then report,’’ said William.

Duke Radswil and his son emerged from their tent, both covered in blood. ‘‘Are you all right, Your Grace?’’

The duke nodded, looking around. ‘‘All these damned cats.

It doesn’t make sense. Leopards are solitary hunters—’’

Kazamir went pale and said, ‘‘Look!’’

William looked at the three magicians he had killed and saw that their bodies were transforming. He and the others were witnessing what few mortals ever saw: a magician returning to its totem form. The second magician William had killed, the one who had been surprisingly powerful, was a huge black leopard. William inspected it and said, ‘‘This was the one that raked you, Your Grace.’’

‘‘How can you tell?’’ asked the duke, as pale as his son.

‘‘This is where I wounded it before,’’ said William, pointing to a mark on its left side. He then showed the severed arm.

‘‘And this is where I cut off his arm. This was the man at the inn yesterday, Jaquin Medosa.’’

Prince Vladic, with considerably fewer wounds than his uncle and cousin, stepped from behind and said, ‘‘I recognized him, also.’’

‘‘You survived,’’ said William with obvious relief.

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Vladic said, ‘‘My uncle and cousin are heroes. They overturned the table and we fought from behind it. I fear they took serious wounds protecting me.’’

‘‘The Princess?’’ asked William.

‘‘She was behind me,’’ said Vladic. ‘‘She’s recovering in the tent.’’

William surveyed the damage. ‘‘How many cats?’’

‘‘At least a dozen,’’ said a soldier. ‘‘Maybe more, sir.’’

William shook his head. ‘‘Summon Totem. It’s a rare and powerful magic. Those who tried to kill you, Your Grace, employ men of great prowess. Only a few can do what these three did.’’

The duke said, ‘‘You flatter me, lieutenant. These men didn’t come here to kill me.’’

William said, ‘‘Sir?’’

Vladic said, ‘‘They came here to kill me. They could have killed my uncle easily but they ignored him to come straight at me.’’

William didn’t understand.

The duke, wincing from his wounds said, ‘‘I think I can explain: had you not sent me back to camp, I would have been on the trail with you and your men when the leopards struck this camp. Almost certainly everyone here would have died. I can explain at greater length after I get these wounds dressed, but the short answer is that someone wants the Crown Prince of Olasko dead. And they want him dead on your prince’s doorstep.’’

William felt a cold chill in the pit of his stomach. Someone was not trying to kill a noble from a neighboring kingdom; someone was trying to start a war.

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EIGHT

ATTACK

m

S

ERVANTS rushed forward.

William signaled to Matthews to sweep the perimeter around the inn before darkness, while the servants hurried inside with the duke and his family.

Following the magicians’ attack, William had quickly taken stock of the situation, come to several realizations, and made a decision.

The first realization was that two or three very powerful magicians had orchestrated an assault that had been planned and executed with painstaking care. Which meant they had known the duke was coming. With a sinking feeling, William wondered if there was a spy in the palace, or if it had simply been a case of someone observing the party leaving the city and sending word ahead by magical means. He wished James was here, for that sort of plotting was more his province. William just didn’t have the temperament to consider every possible turn and twist of a plot. His forte was battle: tactics and strategy, logistics and resupply, defense and assault.

The other realization was that he had lost seven of his twenty men, along with half the servants. By all accounts at 158

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least two dozen large cats had struck simultaneously, the result being a dozen men dead before they recognized the attack for what it was. Only Prince Vladic’s quick wits had saved the duke, Paulina and Kazamir. He had overturned the table, ordered the others to crouch behind it, and killed everything that tried to come over the top.

Other details were confused. Some of the servants reported seeing men among the cats, dressed in black, while others made no mention of it. Duke Radswil, Kazamir, Paulina and Prince Vladic all reported they had seen no black-clad men.

William had decided the duke was too injured to ride all the way back to Krondor, so he decided to send riders to the city, while waiting at the inn for relief. He asked for a healer to be dispatched with additional guardsmen. Sergeant Matthews had managed to staunch the blood flow from the duke’s shoulder wound with a well-fashioned field bandage, but it was still seeping, and the duke was weakening.

Princess Paulina seemed in need of some sort of help, but William was at a loss as to what to do. She sat silently, wide-eyed, looking more like a frightened child than a young seductress.

Night was upon them, and William hurriedly inspected the men and horses. They were well provisioned and armed, but of the eleven remaining soldiers—he had sent three to the city—three were wounded. With the two Princes, he had a dozen able-bodied men to defend the inn should another attack be mounted. He couldn’t depend on the innkeeper and his family. Non-combatants could be more of a hindrance than a help in this situation.

William’s mind was racing when he finished with the inspection and started back toward the inn. All he knew of magic 159

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was what he had grown up exposed to at Stardock: an organized society of magic users who agreed in principle to study and share knowledge.

But he had heard stories, often from young students, which he had taken as wild tales of imagination, stories of dark practices and secret rites, conducted by those serving evil powers.

For every magician who had come to Stardock to be part of something great and wonderful, others had stayed away because of their own distrust, but some had remained apart because of their own dark ambitions.

Some of the stories told of magicians who sold dark potions and evil talismans to those needing dark arts, and others who served mad gods. Many of the rites whispered about were bloody and vile, and until this afternoon, William had dis-counted those stories as being of the same cloth as tales told around the campfire to scare children.

But now he had no doubt some of them must be true He found himself inside the inn, lost in thoughts of magic.

Bringing himself back to the present, he realized two of his soldiers held the man named Sidi under guard. William asked,

‘‘Why are you still here?’’

The hawk-beaked older man said, ‘‘The innkeeper said a well-known trader is due in tomorrow. I thought it safer to travel north with him under the protection of his guards rather than risk the road alone.’’ Glancing at the marks of battle and the servants tending the wounded, he added, ‘‘It seems my instincts were correct.’’

William felt a hot flush of suspicion and said, ‘‘That man you dined with yesterday, the one who called himself Jaquin Medosa, attacked us.’’

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If the man knew of the attack he feigned surprise with conviction. ‘‘He was a bandit?’’

‘‘No, a magician. And he had friends.’’

Sidi said, ‘‘I thought as much. He spoke in passing of some sort of power he served, but I thought he was trying to impress me so I might volunteer to pay for his meal.’’ Shaking his head, Sidi said, ‘‘He hardly looked the part of a bandit.’’

William concluded he had no reason to suspect this man of having a hand in the attack. Had he, it was unlikely he would be sitting idly around the inn.

Sidi said, ‘‘You were fortunate, lieutenant. I know a little about magic from my travels and without wards and other protections, even a little magic can be very deadly.’’

William held up his hand, showing the ring James had given him. ‘‘This saved my life. I wore it for a completely different reason, but it warded a spell cast at me just enough to permit me to kill the magicians.’’

He studied Sidi’s face for a reaction to the news of the magicians’ death, but all Sidi said was, ‘‘Magicians? More than one?’’

William nodded, but only said, ‘‘They all died.’’

‘‘Very fortunate, indeed.’’

A servant came down the stairs and said, ‘‘Lieutenant, the duke’s wound is worsening.’’

William started for the stairs, but found Sidi’s restraining hand on his arm. ‘‘Allow me to come with you. I have some modest healing skills.’’

William hesitated, then nodded.

‘‘I have some medicines in my travel bag, in my room.’’

William motioned for a soldier to accompany Sidi and then hurried to the duke’s room.

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It was the largest room in the inn, but still small by any standard. The duke lay in a bed, his face pale and covered in perspiration. Sidi entered a moment later with a big leather satchel. Kazamir and Vladic watched as people shuffled around the room to make enough space for the man to reach the duke’s side. Sidi set the bag on the bed next to the duke. He examined the wound and said, ‘‘This is turning morbid. There is something working here that is not natural.’’

William said in a low voice, ‘‘That which wounded him was not a natural animal.’’

Sidi paused as if considering and said, ‘‘In my travels I have seen magic wounds that would not heal. Assassins use daggers with potions on them, and certain creatures also can rend flesh that will not heal afterwards. My knowledge of such things is scant, but I have a powder that may slow the damage until you can get him to a temple.’’

‘‘Talk to me, man. I’m not dead yet,’’ said the duke.

‘‘I apologize, sir,’’ said Sidi. ‘‘I know from seeing you yesterday to be a man of some rank. I fear I am too timid in addressing such an august person.’’

‘‘My Lord, Duke Radswil of Olasko, this man is named Sidi, and he says he may help.’’