Lescari Revolution 03: Banners In The Wind (30 page)

The stout mercenary woman shrugged. 'If Secaris of Draximal remembers where he left his manhood, he's welcome to his patrimony. Or if we must surrender his domains to that cripple these exiles have foisted upon him, so be it. I don't doubt Tadriol of Tormalin will seize Parnilesse, but as long as the legions come no further west than the Anock, we can live with that.'

'You will all return to business as usual?' Litasse asked scornfully. 'You and your hirelings will go back to taking merchants' gold to see them safely along the roads or down the Rel?'

Ridianne laughed. 'Pray tell, Your Grace, what else do you expect? What else do you want beyond gold and trade and peace? Didn't you learn anything from Master Hamare? Or was his tongue too busy to hold a sensible conversation with you?' Her amusement vanished in a threatening glare. 'Saedrin save us but I wish he was still here to advise us, and to send his spies into the enemy's camps. You say I betrayed Lescar, Your Grace? You did all of us a far graver disservice when you stuck a blade in him. Triolle could have stood your loss five times over rather than be deprived of his counsel.'

'I didn't kill Hamare,' Litasse burst out, 'and I'll have revenge for his death, and recompense besides, for everything that I've lost, for the ruin of my hopes, in Sharlac and in Triolle.'

She didn't know what made her more furious - this vile woman or the realisation that angry tears were sliding down her cheeks. She wouldn't stand for this whore pitying her weakness.

'I'll wish you well with that.' Ridianne was unmoved. 'In the meantime, let's play the runes as they roll. I'll send a courier for your letters tomorrow at noon. And now, if you please, where exactly is your man Karn?'

'Why should I tell you?' Litasse defied her. 'So you can see him stabbed in the back again?'

'Don't blame me for whatever quarrels followed him into my camp.' Ridianne's face hardened. 'And if you want to balance accounts, he left a lad dead behind him, according to the poor fool's tent-mates. Karn values anyone else's life as little as he values his own. Would you like him to answer for that at Duke Ferdain's winter assizes?'

Litasse bridled, indignant. 'You'll take the word of vagabonds over Karn's? He is the Duke of Triolle's intelligencer!'

'You seem very sure of him.' Ridianne angled her head. 'How many of Master Hamare's duties does he now fulfil?' Her insinuation was unmistakable.

Litasse gasped. 'Don't you dare spread such lies!'

Such gossip reaching Iruvain's ears would see him beat her senseless, if not lifeless.

'Then don't offer me scullery-maid insults,' Ridianne suggested. 'You're all alone here, Your Grace, without even that hired knife Karn. I will find out what he's about, even if you don't choose to tell me. When I do, just remember I can see him broken any time I like. If he has any hand in this current mischief, I'll see it cut off at the elbow, at very least.'

She broke off to frown at Litasse. 'But you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?'

Litasse could only stare dumbly back.

Ridianne shook her head, exasperated. 'I really don't care if you're sheathing his blade in your scabbard twice-nightly. All I need is your handwriting and your seal on a letter to let Iruvain know where he stands.' She jabbed a ringed forefinger hard at Litasse. 'His Grace your husband is quite as bereft as you are. Without my mercenaries and Caladhrian aid, he has no hope of regaining the castle he fled like a scolded scullion, still less of re-establishing dominion over his dukedom. Marlier has far more friends in Caladhria that Triolle does, so don't imagine you can plan any campaign without Ferdain's approval, which is to say, without mine. You might point that out to your gracious lord. Be ready for my man at noon.'

Without even the suggestion of a bow, Ridianne departed the shrine.

As the door swung closed, Litasse sank back down onto the stool. She felt weary to the point of faintness. She was so truly, heartily sick of people telling her what she could and could not hope for, what she should and should not do.

The draught from the door had set the candlelight dancing around the silent polished ranks of Marlier's ducal dead. Litasse watched the shimmers settle as she contemplated her situation.

Could the spring or the summer to come possibly see her and Iruvain restored to Triolle Castle? Could she endure it, if the price was some accommodation with this Lord Rousharn, to secure Emperor Tadriol's aid? Even if it meant, Saedrin save her, coming to terms with these exiles who had killed Hamare?

If that was how all the runes finally rolled, would she have gained anything at all to make up for the loss and fear and grief that she had suffered? Would it have been worth all she had done or allowed to be done in her name?

Litasse shivered, though the shrine was not overly cold. How keenly did Ridianne want to know where Karn might be? What might she do to find out? What could Litasse tell her? She had no clear idea where he might really have gone, after his departure for Relshaz.

She had still less idea what he might be doing. Though echoes of their last conversation rang uneasily in her memory. Whatever it might take to reclaim her inheritance; that's what they had agreed.

Litasse gazed through the solid door after Ridianne. Had Karn truly killed a man in her camp? Whoever that had been, was someone mourning his loss tonight? Or desperately refusing to give him up for dead, despite his long, silent absence?

Why would the Vixen lie about such a thing? If she was honest with herself, alone in this shrine, on this most sombre of nights, Litasse knew Karn was capable of such brutality. He had beaten and robbed that fool of a girl in Adrulle without a second thought. He had been ready to stick a knife in that vile wizard Minelas, back in Adel Castle. He wouldn't even have blinked as the blade sank in. Saedrin save her, she had agreed he should do it, even before those rebels had intervened.

Litasse looked up at the statue of Poldrion. If she ever found herself on his fabled barque, as the priests all promised, perhaps she should just throw herself over the side into the void, surrender to the mercies of his demons and save them all some time.

Perhaps she might, if that day ever came. Wallowing in self-pity meanwhile would hardly improve her situation.

Ridianne was right, unfortunately. She was alone here. Litasse certainly couldn't hope to leave unless Iruvain's prospects improved. At the moment they were both being shifted around like carved forest birds on a white raven board. How long before they were sacrificed, for the benefit of someone of greater value to Marlier or Caladhria? Someone like this upstart Lord Rousharn who was still busy stealing her father's dukedom?

If she were ever to become mistress of her own destiny, she had to begin finding answers to all these questions. Even without friends or allies here, even without Hamare and Pelletria, she still had the skills and stratagems they had taught her.

Litasse clenched her fists. What was going on? What did Ridianne suspect Karn was up to? Was the Vixen right, or was Karn busy with some other scheme entirely?

Chapter Twenty

Karn

The Silver Gull, Relshaz,

Winter Solstice Festival, Fifth Day, Evening

He seldom gave a second thought to the men and women he had killed; for his own youthful purposes amid the chaos of Lescar's wars and later at Master Hamare's order in Triolle's service. But Karn was forced to conclude that the undoubted necessity of killing Downy Scardin, back in the early days of Aft-Autumn, was proving cursed inconvenient now.

He smiled charmingly at the olive-skinned girl bringing a tray to their table. As she set down the green-striped glass decanter and shallow little cups, he held up a golden Tormalin crown. Her sooty eyes brightened. His drinking companion didn't react but Karn knew he'd noticed. Shanish would assume plenty more such coins kept company in Karn's plump purse.

Good. He didn't want to spend any more time than he must trailing around these taverns and brothels where mercenaries idled. It was taking him far too long to recruit a second wave of brigands. If only he could have gone straight to Scardin, returning to Relshaz after setting his first murderous cohort loose in Marlier to plague that bitch Ridianne.

Karn would have paid whatever price the information broker demanded, with the gold the corsairs' slavers had paid for those startled peasants. That would have been by far the quickest way to learn what had been going on elsewhere.

But he had cut Downy Scardin's throat to break the scent that might tie him to Minelas and now the best Karn could do was pick up rumour and hearsay while he sought out the fighting companies wintering here and judged who looked ripe for a clandestine return to Lescar, untroubled by inconvenient scruples.

'It's midwinter, Browd.' The other man leaned forward to pour the pale liquor. 'I don't know where half my men are at present. I wouldn't expect anyone back to sign their names on the muster roll until the turn from winter to For-Spring.'

Karn considered standing up, as if to leave, but Shanish didn't have the air of a man trying to drive up a price. He truly wasn't interested. Karn savoured the spicy scent of the distilled metheglin. He might as well learn what Shanish knew before he moved on.

'The Firebrands don't want to steal a march on the rest?' He feigned surprise. 'The dukes of Marlier and Triolle won't be dallying. They'll drive these exiles and rebels out of Lescar before we see Spring Equinox.'

'They won't do much without men to back them.' Shanish shrugged. 'I can't see many captains persuading their men to risk hanging from some battlements like Wynald's Warband did at Losand. The Red Hounds took a thrashing when Garnot of Carluse was beaten and the Brassnecks too.' He set down his cup with a shake of his head. 'Trimming her sails to weather the storm didn't much help Ridianne the Vixen either. After that battle at Pannal, Alsar's Eaglets and the Flintstrikers can barely muster enough swords to call themselves a company.'

Karn couldn't deny it. Every step and skirmish of the autumn's campaign was still the stuff of gossip all around Relshaz. He refilled Shanish's cup.

'The Soluran's marched north once and for all.' He had learned that much from the tittle-tattle that swept along the coast from Triolle to Relshaz's docks. 'You know he's been paying off his men since the start of For-Winter. All Lescar has left is old men and beardless boys with blunt halberds in one hand and soggy cocks in the other.'

'That'll be the only thing they have in their breeches. Every dukedom bar Marlier must be as empty as a picked pocket by now.' Shanish grimaced, and not at the excellent metheglin. 'Or raked out like the ashes of Wyril. Who wants to suffer the same fate as the Bonebreakers and the Triple Knot?'

It took all Karn's years of practised deceit to shrug with indifference. It took still more effort not to ask what in the name of Talagrin's hairy arse Shanish meant. What had happened at Wyril?

'Wyril's not Triolle or Marlier.' He hoped that meaningless truth suggested he knew more than he did.

'Maybe so, maybe not.' Shanish still looked dubious. 'The only way you'll get men signing up to follow your flag, whether you're recruiting for the green grebe or the triple swords, will be to stack your coin that high.' He pointed at the bottle on the table. 'Tormalin gold too, none of your lead-weighted silver.'

'If that's what it takes.' Karn feigned unconcern. 'You know the Tormalin legions will cross the Asilor any day now? Caladhrian barons and their cohorts will be marching to the bridges over the Rel. These rebels and exiles will be cracked like a nut in a vice.'

'If you have so many allies, why hire swords?' retorted Shanish. 'I hear the Caladhrian barons are dragging their heels.'

'You know their folly of a parliament dithers like a girl choosing between three dresses.' Karn took an unhurried sip of his liquor. 'But they will back Triolle, I promise you.'

'So you say.' The bald mercenary turned away as a troupe of dancing girls emerged from the tavern's back room. A man carrying an Aldabreshin serpent-flute followed and his apprentice flourished a sweetly tuned branch of silver bells.

Shanish wasn't taunting him, Karn saw, nor even trying to tempt him into betraying secrets. The mercenary captain was merely certain of what he'd heard. Certain he had no interest in fighting in Lescar.

Karn felt like a man trying to find a path without a lantern on a moonless night. He didn't like it. He'd heard nothing from the Caladhrian town of Ferl, which was enjoying the dubious honour of hosting Caladhria's Winter Parliament of barons.

Arriving in Relshaz barely a chime ago, on the last of the stolen horses he'd ridden nigh to death, Karn had hurried to the most reliable of Master Hamare's former enquiry agents. The woman wasn't there and her house was shuttered tight. The neighbour's startled maidservant had no idea where the woman had gone.

He hadn't bothered searching out any others. Without the spymaster's coin, without the regular deliveries of courier doves to carry their urgent news back to Triolle Castle, that network of eyes and ears was as gone as a cobweb lost to a housemaid's duster.

Shanish was watching the dancing girls avidly. As they swayed and twirled to the jingling bells and lilting flute, their dresses, entirely composed of silk ribbons, slipped and shifted. Karn made sure he looked just as eager as any other man for tantalising glimpses of naked breasts and buttocks. In truth, he saw nothing to arouse his disinterested lust.