The Immortal Prince (57 page)

“Nonetheless, I would rather have your endorsement than your censure, Declan. The only problem I can foresee is Jaxyn and Mathu deciding to go looking for entertainment together. That may prove problematic.”

“I'll keep an eye on his highness,” the spy promised. “And a close eye on Aranville. I'll make sure they stay out of trouble.”

“I'd appreciate that,” Stellan said. He smiled, as if the idea had a great deal of merit, while privately panicking at the thought of the King's Spymaster watching his lover while he was gone.

And realising that even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

“He betrayed us,” Warlock announced, gripping the unmoving bars on the window and shaking them in frustration to absolutely no effect. “Shalimar betrayed us.”

Boots stopped pacing their small Watch-house cell long enough to glare at him. It was dark and raining outside and the cell reeked of stale urine. All he could make out was the glittering orbs of her dark eyes and the faint silhouette of her shadow on the opposite wall. “Don't be ridiculous!”

“Then how else did the Watch know where to find us?”

“More to the point, farm dog,” she retorted, “is why they were looking for you at all.”

That was a question to which Warlock had no answer. “Did they say anything to you?” he asked.

“You mean other than
sit, stay,
and
there's a good doggie
? Not a lot. They certainly never said why they were looking for you.”

“The officer who arrested us told me it wasn't the Duke of Lebec who ordered it, but the king.”

“Well, aren't you just the lucky one, having all these impressive enemies?”

Before Warlock could answer that accusation, the lock rattled and the cell door swung open. Squinting in the sudden flare of torchlight, he felt rather than saw Boots backing up until she bumped into him, and then the soft feel of her pelt as her hand clutched his for reassurance.

The man holding the torch wasn't a Watchman. He was younger than Warlock was expecting, tall and powerfully built, dressed well, but not remarkably so. His jacket was well cut but his rumpled shirt was open, and his eyes—even in the torchlight—seemed to miss very little. He studied the pair of them for a moment and pointed to the door.

“Come with me,” the man ordered.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can sit down,” the stranger informed them. “It's very late and I'm too tired to question you for hours on my feet.”

Warlock drew himself up to his full height, which made him only a little taller than their visitor. “You must let my companion go. She has nothing to do with any of this.”

The human squinted at Boots and then shook his head. “As you have no idea what
this
is even about, how do you know she's not a part of it?”

Warlock could feel Boots's tight, desperate grip on his hand. Whatever trouble he was in, Boots was an innocent bystander. He would do whatever he had to, to keep her free of it. “I will cooperate if you let her go.”

“You'll cooperate because I damned well tell you to cooperate,” the man told him impatiently. “But before you start getting all tetchy and biting people, let me assure you I'm not interested in anything you've done in the past. I'm far more interested in what you can do in the future.” He studied Boots for a moment and then nodded. “As for your little friend there, seems to me she fits the description of an escaped canine wanted for killing a feline at the Lebec Palace compound a few months back.”

Warlock looked down at Boots in surprise. “You
killed
a feline?”

“Like I'm going to admit anything like
that
while I'm standing in the middle of the Lebec City Watch-house,” she retorted.

“You see,” the man said. “Your girlfriend's got more sense than you have. Now, are you going to come without a fight, or do I have to send to the palace for someone to identify your friend there as their runaway slave?”

“How do I know you haven't sent someone to the palace already?”

“You don't,” he replied. “You're going to have to believe I haven't turned her in, and I have to believe you're not going to rip my throat out, first chance you get. It's called trust, my large and hairy friend. Something that tends to be in short supply between your kind and mine, these days.”

By now, Warlock was thoroughly confused. This man clearly held authority here, but he spoke like no human he'd encountered before, with the possible exception of Shalimar. “I don't understand.”

“Then come with me,” the man insisted. “Won't be long, believe me, before you understand all too well what I want of you.”

 

“You've spoken to Cayal,” the man said once the introductions were done with.

Somewhat to Warlock's surprise, rather than an interrogation cell, he and Boots had been escorted to the Watch Commander's office. They were alone, the Watch Commander having been ordered to vacate the room while they made use of it. It was cluttered and stuffy in the office but a veritable palace compared to the torture chamber Warlock had been expecting. The man had introduced himself as Declan Hawkes. He said he worked for the king. He failed to specify exactly what he did in the king's employ, however.

Whatever he did, he had the authority to evict the Watch Commander of the Lebec City Watch from his office.

“I beg your pardon?” Warlock asked, not sure if he'd heard the man right.

“Cayal,” Declan Hawkes repeated. “The Immortal Prince. You shared a cell block with him until recently.”

Warlock was amazed. “Does
everybody
know about the Tide Lords?”

“Everybody knows about them, my friend,” Hawkes agreed, leaning back in the Watch Commander's chair. “There're only a few of us who understand they're a real threat. Reckon you'd know him if you saw him again?”

Warlock nodded slowly, glancing at Boots to see what her reaction was to this startling revelation, but she was just sitting there, arms crossed, scowling at Hawkes, probably wondering if she was about to be sent back to Lebec Palace.

“Any Crasii could tell you who he is if they met him,” Warlock told him. “We can sense the suzerain the same way you can smell the difference between fresh milk and sour.”

“Yes, I know that. But how many of them could walk away from him if he commanded them to stay?”

Warlock frowned. “You've been speaking to Shalimar.”

“Good one, farm dog!” Boots exclaimed, punching his arm. “Tell him all about Shalimar. Why not name every stray in the Kennel while you're at it? Give the Watch something really useful to do.”

Hawkes looked at the two of them, shaking his head. He seemed amused. “Do you seriously think a man like Shalimar can operate in a city the size of Lebec and us not know about him? Tides, I always credited the canines with more intelligence than that.”

“He's your agent,” Warlock concluded, meeting Hawkes's eye evenly. “That's how he lives as well as he does.”

Hawkes didn't bother to deny the accusation, which didn't surprise Warlock, although it clearly disturbed Boots.

“I don't believe that! Shalimar is our friend. He wouldn't betray the Crasii.”

“Nor has he,” Hawkes assured her. “That's not his job.”

“What is his job, then?” Warlock asked. “To lure runaway slaves into his trust and then send them unsuspectingly back into the arms of their masters while they assume they're fleeing to safety?”

Declan Hawkes smiled. “Hardly.”

“Hidden Valley is just a myth, isn't it?” Warlock accused. “It's a story made up to lull the wary into a false sense of security.”

“On the contrary, Hidden Valley is very real,” the man informed them. “And just like the legend says, it's full of Scards. Real Scards, mind you, not the human definition, which is basically just a runaway slave. These are all Crasii we're certain can defy the Tide Lords. Lady Desean assures me you're one of them, Warlock. The only reason your little friend here isn't in chains and on her way back to Lebec Palace right now is because she defied Jaxyn when she killed that feline and fled the palace compound, so it's a fair bet she's a genuine Scard too. That makes both of you more valuable than you realise.”

“Valuable
how
?” Warlock asked, still not convinced this wasn't some sort of elaborate trap.

“The Tide is turning. Shalimar must have told you that.”

“Then you know…what Shalimar is?”

“A Tidewatcher?” Hawkes said without blinking. “Of course.”

“But…,” Warlock began, feeling more and more lost by the moment. “I still don't understand…”

“He's building a Scard army,” Boots said. “That's why he wants us. That's what Hidden Valley is. It's where they're hiding their Scard army against the return of the Tide Lords.”

Declan said nothing. He made no attempt to deny or confirm Boots's conclusion, and his silence on the matter spoke volumes.

“The legend of Hidden Valley has been around since before I was born,” Warlock pointed out. “Have you been building a Scard army for that long? How could you know when the Tide will turn? Even the immortals don't know that.”

“A Tidewatcher can sense it long before the Tide Lords are even aware of it. Shalimar's known it was coming back since he was a child and he's over sixty now. We've had plenty of time to prepare.”

The scope of such a plan left Warlock a little breathless. “Shalimar has been planning this since he was a
child
?”

“Grand schemes are usually constructed on even grander scales,” Hawkes replied. “If we're to defeat the Tide Lords, if we're to have any hope of protecting Glaeba from them, we need to think on the same timescales they do.”

“You speak of saving Glaeba. What of the rest of Amyrantha?”

Hawkes shrugged. “Not my concern. The other nations can bow down and worship the Tide Lords when they return or not, as they see fit. I'm only interested in protecting my home. Your home too, coincidentally.”

“You said you worked for the king,” Warlock reminded him. “I'm curious. Does the king know about your Scard army in Hidden Valley?”

“Are you suggesting I'm working behind the king's back?”

“I'm suggesting that most humans believe the Tide Lords are nothing more than a children's bedtime story. At best, the characters on a deck of cards. I'm just wondering at King Enteny's reaction when you told him of your plans to spend a considerable amount of his fortune building a force in the mountains to fight off these mythical creatures, if and when they return. He must have been well convinced if he's spent the sort of resources it takes to build an army in secret.”

The man's expression didn't change. Declan Hawkes wasn't a man who flinched from much, Warlock decided.

“Let's just say the king financially supports our endeavours and that it's not always necessary to burden him with the details of how his money is spent.”

“Siphoning off funds from the royal purse to build an army in secret,” Warlock mused. “That could be considered treason, in some circles, Master Hawkes.”

“In most circles, I would imagine,” Hawkes agreed with a thin smile. “There's a reason it's called
Hidden
Valley, you know.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I'd like you and your friend here to join the rest of your compatriots in Hidden Valley. The Tide's turning. We're beyond the notion that it
might
return. It
has
returned. Within a few months, the immortals will start to feel confident enough to reveal themselves. We plan to be ready for them.”

“But even if you know where they are, and who they are,” Boots asked, “how do you plan to stop them? They can wield Tide magic. You can't fight that.”

“We're not the ignorant fools our forefathers were, just waiting for the immortals to come along and show us the way. They've been gone a very long time. We're smarter now, more capable of defending ourselves against them. And I believe we can, provided we're prepared for them. Tide magic is elemental. They can't conjure armies out of thin air and, fortunately for us, they're usually more interested in fighting each other than their human pawns. We're nothing to them really—just one of their weapons. Just something else to use in their own, endless, internecine battles. I plan to use that against them.”

“You seriously expect to stop the rise of the Tide Lords?” Warlock said, shaking his head.

“Probably not.” Hawkes shrugged. “Truth is, we may not have to. All we really need do is make taking control of Glaeba more trouble than it's worth. Let them find easier pickings. It's my job to protect Glaeba. Don't much care what happens to the rest of the world.”

Warlock didn't doubt for a moment that this man was telling the truth. He smelled of quiet confidence, not fear or deception. But the level of trust he was displaying in a couple of stray canines he'd never met until half an hour ago was disturbing.

“I'm curious,” Warlock said. “What will happen to us if we refuse to join your Scard army? With what you've told us, I could go to the king and have you arrested for treason and probably receive a hefty reward for my loyalty.”

Hawkes smiled indulgently. “Warlock, you strike me as being an intelligent creature. You can't seriously believe you have a choice here.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I'd
rather
be arrested than sent back to Lebec Palace!” Boots suggested defiantly.

“That's not the alternative he's offering, Boots,” Warlock warned softly, not taking his eyes off Declan Hawkes.

Hawkes nodded slowly. “You are a clever dog, aren't you?”

Boots's gaze swung between the two of them, aghast, as she realised what Warlock was suggesting. “They'd
kill
us?”

The man shrugged. “A convicted murderer and a runaway slave who's already torn the throat out of one feline? I'd get a medal for it.”

He would too, Warlock knew. That was the trouble with being thought of as animals. No human cared about your death the way they grieved for their own. “Will you guarantee our safety if we agree?”

Hawkes shook his head. “I can't guarantee anything of the sort. You know that.”

Warlock nodded. That answer was more reassuring than having Hawkes make a promise he knew he couldn't keep. “What would you have us do?”