The Telastrian Song (12 page)

T
he Barons’ Hall
sat on the north-western corner of Crossways. It was a large, domed building with a colonnaded architrave. The style was reminiscent of many of the official buildings in Vellin-Ilora, the now deserted and reputedly cursed capital of the empire of which Ostenheim had once been a regional capital. It was curious to Soren how little in the city was original, and how much was heavily influenced by that dead city.

It was difficult to take up any type of vantage point without appearing conspicuous, so he tried to amble along, seemingly interested in the various stalls until he saw the Duke’s carriage arrive. Once it did, he didn’t think there would be anything unusual about him stopping to watch the leader of their state, and the former star duellist of the city’s arenas.

Soren had no intention of acting that day. It would have been far too rash to rush in. It was the act of an amateur and something Soren had tried before. He had learned enough from the experience not to try it again. All he wanted was to get an idea of how many men travelled with Amero when he left the palace and to get a look at them. An awful lot was revealed about a swordsman simply by his appearance. Was their clothing functional or flashy? Did they step lightly on the balls of their feet, or place their foot heavily? Did they scan the crowd without prejudice or favour, or did their eyes pause on the pretty girls for too long? It was all information that could be useful to Soren, and he needed to take full advantage of every occasion he had to gather it.

He was browsing a stall of earthenware jugs and mugs when Amero’s carriage rattled to a halt on the cobbles in front of the Barons’ Hall. Its very presence drew attention; carts, carriages and such were only permitted within the part of the city between the rivers during certain hours or with special license. There were few who had the right to operate a carriage or ride a horse within the city walls during the day.

The carriage bore the arms of Ostia. If that was not enough to confirm who was inside it there was a familiar face sitting beside the driver, scanning everything around him in a calculating, professional and emotionless way. It was Emeric, the long-standing and loyal servant of the dal Moreno family, and someone who would recognise Soren with only a glimpse. There was little risk of that happening however, because a crowd had gathered to watch the commotion allowing him to blend in, as Soren had hoped.

There were four other horsemen escorting the carriage, two in front and two behind, and Soren knew there would be at least another two men in the carriage with Amero. Then there was Emeric sitting on the outside, who was worth two men all by himself. They seemed to be a professional bunch. There were no flamboyant dressers or swaggering, swashbuckling types. While Amero might have tolerated that type of behaviour, being no stranger to it himself, Emeric certainly would not. Soren fully expected that Emeric would have tested each of the men himself, so they would be good.

Soren watched them as they dismounted and prepared the area for Amero to alight from the carriage. There was little fuss and no ceremony. Emeric hopped down onto the ground and opened the door. A man unknown to Soren got out, and was followed by a man he knew only too well.

Soren felt his heart jump when he saw Amero, filling the role of duke perfectly. He looked incredibly distinguished, still trim and athletic and in a fitted suit of dark, imperial purple that could as easily have passed for an expensive set of duelling clothes as it could the suit of a duke. He wore his beard differently to how Soren remembered, but it was short and neat and his hair was tied back in a ponytail beneath a wide-brimmed hat that had one side turned up, pinning a dark blue feather in place.

There was something else about him. He looked tired. Strained. Amero had always comported himself with an irreverent air, an ironic disregard for anything he had no use for. That light, cavalier aspect was lost to him now. Soren wondered if the feast of ruling a duchy was less appealing than the hunt for it had been. As soon as the analogy popped into his head, the idea of Amero choking to death joined it. Choking on his own malicious greed. If only life were that easy or just.

Amero looked about and made an acknowledgement to a few people before his men escorted him into the Barons’ Hall, his face serious. A number of city watchmen were gathered about the carriage and the entrance to the Hall, providing a wider cordon and preventing anyone from passing.

Soren knew it was unlikely that he would see anything else of use, but he decided to remain until Amero came back out regardless. The more professional his bodyguard, the more paranoid and careful he was, the harder it would be to find an opening. It might even mean Soren would have to create an opening of his own, but that complicated things far more than he liked and it was something that he had no experience with. He had to reconcile himself to the fact that it might not be possible to kill Amero and live to tell the tale.

The assassin Soren killed on the road from Sejura had said he did not have a contract for Alessandra’s life. There had been one on her once; Macchio Ferrata, one of the men Amero sent to kill Soren, had said as much. Soren could easily imagine a scenario where, on some dull afternoon when Amero had little else to do, he might begin to wonder whatever became of Alessandra and engage some men to hunt her down and kill her. She meant so little to him that it would be no more than a whim, but the behaviour was not beyond what Soren knew him to be capable of. Amero’s death was more important to Soren than his own life.

T
here was
plenty to keep him occupied on Crossways while he waited. There were stalls selling fabrics from Shandahar, at eye watering prices, ten fold higher than they could be had for in the Khaganates themselves. There were others selling spices, teas and coffees, again at highly inflated prices. Soren found it odd to think that he had looked on such luxuries in Crossways many times over the years, but now he had visited the places where these things were created. In his youth he would never have thought that possible, and it was a stark reminder of how much his life had changed since then.

There was movement at the door to the Baron’s Hall, and two of Amero’s guards came out. Soren moved back in that direction as subtly as he could. They surveyed the surroundings and then Amero came out. There were fewer people paying attention now. The arrival of a carriage was enough to draw quite a bit of notice, but most had lost interest. There was still a small group gathered around the fringes of the cordon created by the watchmen; those with nothing better to do.

Soren positioned himself by the entrance to an alleyway that he could duck down if he attracted the attention of one of Amero’s bodyguards, likewise if Emeric or Amero himself looked in his direction. The guards once again showed that they knew what they were doing, leaving no easily exploitable holes. Amero walked out of the Barons’ Hall with a bored and exasperated expression on his face. Soren had to admit that he was surprised there was still any type of gathering there. Amero had killed anyone with any real political power, and those within were most likely all loyal to him. Other than presenting the façade of normality, Soren couldn’t see any reason that Amero would allow a potential centre of opposition to him to remain.

Amero had to wait while the door to his carriage was opened. As he did, he was struck three times in quick succession by what Soren could only assume were eggs judging by the way they smashed on contact, splattering that expensive looking doublet with their contents. Soren traced the direction of their flight back to a gangly young man, not far past twenty. He was so caught up in the reverie of having managed to hit Amero with all three eggs that he had yet to gather his wits enough to run.

Amero’s personal guards closed in around the Duke and bundled him into the carriage. Only when it was moving, with him safely inside, did they turn their attention to the threat. It gave the watchmen the advantage, even though none of them seemed particularly alert, and they were the first to identify the culprit.

As soon as the youth realised that trouble was coming, he turned and started to run in Soren’s direction. One of the more enterprising watchmen started after him, and Soren thought it was an opportune moment to recede into his alleyway. With the young man charging in his direction, all attention would be focussed that way and Soren would be risking recognition.

Soren had not gone more than a step or two when there was a commotion behind him at the entrance to the alley.

‘Get out of the way! Watch out!’

The young man had chosen Soren’s alley to try to make good his escape, but as he swept past Soren the watchmen careered around the corner, almost falling over one another as they gave chase. It would not be good for any of them if the young man got away, and Soren knew that it was in his best interests to remain uninvolved.

There were many occasions in his life that Soren could think of, where he had acted precisely in the opposite way to his best interest, whether he knew that at the time or not. On this occasion he knew well what he was doing, but couldn’t help himself. The young man had shown spirit, if not intelligence, and Soren couldn’t stand by while the lad began his journey to the headsman’s block. As the first of the watchmen passed him, Soren stuck out his leg.

It was not a wide alley, and there were various pieces of rubbish discarded there—packaging and waste left by the traders out on the square—and the first watchman was oblivious to everything other than the young man he was so desperately trying to apprehend. He went flying. Soren hoped his two comrades were equally focussed on their prey. To his satisfaction they went sprawling over the first in a clatter of weapons and steel helmets.

The young man didn’t slow enough to glance over his shoulder before he disappeared around a corner. Now it was Soren’s turn to make himself scarce, so he stepped over the tangle of bodies and made his way back out of the alleyway and on into the crowd as quickly as he could. No one had seen what he’d done, and he expected the watchmen would be too torn between confusion and their desire to apprehend the egg thrower to give much thought to Soren.

It was a risky thing to do, and a damnably stupid one, but enormously satisfying. He forced down a smile as he disappeared into the city crowds.

T
he idea
of needing to create his own opening played on Soren’s mind on the way back to his inn. He was certain that there would be many possibilities for someone well versed in intrigue and plotting, but Soren could think of few. Sneaking into the palace to get at Amero there was an option, but not an attractive one and it was at the bottom of his list. Walking up to him on the street meant certain death for him and gave no guarantee of success. Amero’s guards were too many and too professional. He didn’t intend to throw his life away unless there was no alternative. There was no immediately obvious solution, but as much as he wanted to leave the city to get back to Alessandra, he needed to take his time and not rush ahead blindly as was often his style.

He returned to his inn by a circuitous route, which allowed him to determine if anyone was tailing him. However, that night trouble wasn’t following him, it was waiting. There were five men standing to the side of his inn; a tough looking bunch. The only thing that could have made them more obviously soldiers, or old soldiers at least, would have been uniforms. Old soldiers made Soren think of Kastor. There was a chance they were not looking for him, but he didn’t take Kastor’s threat lightly—even if he had not expected him to act on it so quickly. The city was full of mercenaries, passing through or looking for work. Not all of them had an issue with Soren.

One of the men nodded to his mates and they all turned to look at Soren, erasing any uncertainty from his mind. Old soldiers perhaps, but subtle they were not. Soren stopped and hesitated. He thought about running. It wasn’t something he liked the idea of, but if he was trying to maintain a low profile, it was the sensible choice. He looked around. Where would he run to?

‘Anything I can help you with, lads?’ Soren said. He would have pretended to ignore them completely were it not for the fact that it was impossible to avoid their stares.

‘You Soren?’ a burly one with cropped hair said.

‘No,’ Soren said, not very hopeful that his obfuscation would work.

The burly man smiled. ‘The General sent us. Said you’d know why.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Just hand the package over and we can all be on our way. General said we don’t need to kill you.’

‘That’s very decent of him,’ Soren said. ‘Last time I had dealings with him, my death was always one of his top priorities.’

‘Not this time. You’ve my word on that,’ the burly man said.

All his companions remained silent, but they were tense and alert. Everyone knew there was about to be a fight, but the formalities had to be dealt with first.

‘Can’t do it,’ Soren said. ‘I don’t have it any more.’

‘Reckoned you’d say that,’ the burly man said. ‘You know I can’t take your word for it.’

‘Maybe, but do you really think I’d carry something valuable around the city on me?’

‘Suppose we’re going to find out. If you aren’t, you’ll tell us where it is after.’

Soren nodded. ‘There’s no way I can convince you to turn around, walk away and pretend you couldn’t find me?’ They were just old soldiers following orders. Soren didn’t bear them any ill will. He would have felt bad if he didn’t at least try to give them the chance.

The burly man shook his head and nodded to his companions who fanned out around him. They all drew their weapons, short, broad military swords rather than the rapiers carried by bannerets. Soren took a step back and drew his rapier and dagger.

‘Last chance, lads,’ Soren said.

Two of them laughed, and Soren smiled. They thought that it was bravado on Soren’s part and it was difficult not to pity them for their mistake.

Soren felt energy flood through his body, warmth and a tingling sensation filling him and covering his skin. His senses were sharp and everything seemed effortless. He let the men come toward him, moving slowly as though they were forcing their way through deep water. They spread out in an effort to encircle him, but Soren was happy to let them do it. He watched them all, but kept his focus on the burly man. He was their leader and he would be the first to strike.

With his men in place, the burly man strode forward purposefully, but to Soren he moved at a snail’s pace. As he raised his sword his face took on the cold, impassionate look of a man accustomed to killing. The time for talk was over.

G
iura had decided
to follow the new face from Kastor’s apartment that night he first spotted him. Giura was certain he had never seen the young man before and knew of nothing that could give him a clue as to who he might be. Anonymous in a city as large as Ostenheim, he could disappear and it would take weeks to track him down again. Following him back to his abode was the best thing to do.

He had led Giura to an inn in Guilds, closer to Docks than Crossways, which was favoured by a tough crowd; sell-swords, spies and various other characters who often drew the inquiring gaze of the Intelligenciers. Giura had been watching the young man ever since, his appearance being the first interesting thing that had appeared on the underground rebel front in quite some time. He would continue to do so until he knew everything there was to know about this new face.

Initially Giura had thought the young man to be a new recruit to the cause or a messenger from the exiles abroad, who Giura knew Kastor to be in communication with. The first hint that things in the meeting had not gone well came when Giura spotted five of Kastor’s more trusted and competent men hanging around outside the inn the new face was staying at. It stank of trouble. Giura was curious how it would play out, and to see if he could learn why Kastor had sent the men.

Giura hadn’t been able to find out much about the young man—he had no name, no history; it was as though he had never existed. The name he had given at the inn was undoubtedly false and had turned up nothing when Giura had followed it up. The only thing of note was that he carried a rapier within the city walls, which meant he was probably a banneret—few criminals would take the risk of breaking that particular law as it tended to bring the ire of every banneret in the city down upon them, which was more trouble than it was worth for anyone. A visit to the Academy might shed more light on who he really was, but with nothing more than a description it was unlikely to be much help. There was also the chance that he had graduated from an academy in another city. All in all, it didn’t seem like a worthwhile expenditure of his time.

An enigmatic conversation was his usual approach when an impasse like this presented itself. He would intimate that he knew more than he did, that he was watching, then sit back and see how his target reacted. Even the most hardened of opponents tended to panic a little once they realised that they had attracted the attention of the Intelligenciers. It was a last resort, but as often as not it was effective enough to get him moving in the right direction.

He had spent the better part of the day watching the young man—another break from his mage quandary—and saw him trip a couple of watchmen after someone egged the Duke. It was a good indication of where his sympathies lay. After following him back to the inn, Giura had planned to call it a day when he spotted Kastor’s men waiting outside. Their presence was reason enough to stay a little longer. He positioned himself on a balcony overlooking the small square in front of the inn, where he could watch, listen, and remain out of sight.

The first thing of interest was the name. ‘Soren’. It meant nothing to Giura, but knowing it was useful, assuming it was in fact his real one. What he was doing in the city, and why he was having what looked like an unfriendly chat with Kastor’s men was of more interest though. Giura strained to listen to everything, his vantage point proving less ideal than he had hoped. He struggled to hear, missing more than he heard, and cursed under his breath.

When things turned violent, it more than made up for his inability to hear everything. What he saw was unlike anything he had ever thought possible, and it instantly occurred to him that this young man could mean being able to discard any need for cumbersome underground rebels.

T
he experience
outside of his inn was a nuisance. Soren had to pack his things quickly and find somewhere else to stay. The fuss he had caused would draw the City Watch and he needed to be gone by the time they arrived. He cursed Kastor as he stuffed each item into his travel bag. Necessary or not, killing men because of Kastor didn’t sit well with Soren. He wondered how many men had met a violent end because of the General’s orders.

The episode had demonstrated how much of a problem Kastor could be if he persisted. Would he get the message that trying to strong arm Soren wasn’t going to get him anywhere after losing the men that night? Soren was confident that Kastor had sent some of his best—they were certainly good—as the money was too important to him to risk sending anyone else. When they didn’t return, surely he would have to realise that the money from Venter was a lost cause and move on to other plans. If not, Soren would have to deal with Kastor permanently. He didn’t like the idea of having a list of people he needed to kill with more than a single name on it. If Kastor tried to interfere with him again there would be no way around it.