The Telastrian Song (19 page)

‘
H
e was attacked
on the road to her house,’ Giura said. ‘A half dozen mercenaries. They put up a good fight by all accounts, but a City Watch patrol was passing and they were able to raise the alarm and get the Duke to safety while his bodyguard held them off. The survivors were executed the same day.’

It had been a few days since Soren had last seen Giura. He had advised that they lay low for a while after their failed attempt, and Soren thought it wise. There was no reason to believe there was any suspicion of their plot, but the City Watch and Intelligenciers would be on high alert for a few days, so it was better to remain invisible until that subsided.

‘A setback,’ Soren said, eager for the plan to be carried out as they had discussed, eager for it to be a success. ‘I know Amero. I’m sure he’ll be back for his rut next week.’

‘I’m not so sure. He’s gone to ground since this happened. Hasn’t left the palace and has doubled the guard. If he keeps this up, there’s no way we can get to him.’

‘There must be some way,’ Soren said.

‘Not while things remain as they are.’

‘How long must we wait?’

‘There’s no way to tell. At least until he finds out who was behind it and even then I expect he will increase his bodyguard.’

‘The longer I stay in the city, the more chance there is that I’ll be discovered. There’s a possibility that there are assassins looking for me as we speak. That could ruin everything.’

‘I’ll see what other opportunities there might be,’ Giura said, ‘but there’s something else that demands my attention before then and that can’t be avoided.’

‘Like what?’

‘It’s not your concern, but I can’t put it off any longer. Even with a best-case scenario, we’ll have to wait a week until Amero calls on his mistress again. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for options, but we have to be patient.’

S
oren left
the coffee house with the intention of returning to his inn. He was spending an increasing amount of time there, sitting in his room out of fear that each time he stepped outside, he was increasing the risk of being recognised, and having any chance of successfully getting to Amero dashed.

As always, he took a circuitous route to allow him to identify any potential pursuers before he headed directly toward his destination. Giura getting the jump on him had increased his vigilance. Wandering around so many backstreets carried with it the added danger of being mugged, but with the mood he was in he would have welcomed the opportunity for violence.

He had not gone far when the captain of the Pepper Canister Lane Bravos stepped out in front of him. Soren cast a glance over his shoulder to see two more were standing behind him.

‘Something I can help you with, Captain Alvery?’ Soren said.

‘As it happens, there is,’ Alvery said. ‘I was standing in Crossways the other day, listening to the crier. All the talk was about the attack on the Duke. He was heading toward the street we were on when it happened, no other way he could have been going. I went back to have another look, just to be sure, y’see.’

Soren gently shifted his weight to the balls of his feet as discreetly as he could.

‘That shop you said was being renovated. The one your employer was being extorted on. The one you had us pretend to work on. It’s derelict. No one there. I asked around. Ain’t been a shop there for months. Old owner died. Same fella who told me that told me that the Duke’s favourite mistress lives next door. Got me to thinking.’

‘I doubt that’s your strong suit, Captain.’ Soren wondered how quickly he could draw his sword. The hilt was inconveniently tangled with his cloak—a sloppy thing to allow happen, unforgivable for a banneret.

‘No, steel was always my strong suit. It’s served me well enough so far.’

‘What’s your point?’ Soren said.

‘Well, I put things together, and I reckon you were planning on having us kill the Duke.’

Soren laughed incredulously. ‘If I was planning on killing the Duke, I’d have hired better than you,’ Soren said.

‘And yet hire us you did.’ Captain Alvery paused. ‘Don’t get me wrong, we’re not here to do you harm. Our only complaint is, you didn’t pay us enough for a duke, y’see.’

‘You want money?’

Alvery smiled and nodded. ‘What else?’

Soren sighed. ‘What’s the alternative?’

‘The City Watch, the Duke’s Guard, the name of the inn you’re staying at. All interesting little things that get far more interesting when you put ‘em together.’

‘How much?’

‘I think ten thousand crowns is the going rate for a duke.’

Soren laughed ironically. ‘You must think I’m an idiot. We weren’t after the Duke anyway.’

‘Keep telling yourself that. When the Watch come looking for you, maybe they’ll believe you.’

‘Do you really think I’ve ten thousand crowns?’ Soren said.

‘No. But you’re going to have to find as much of it as you can. By the end of the week. And when we see what you have, we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you.’

Soren considered drawing and trying to kill them there and then, but with two men behind him, and a fold of his cloak wrapped around the hilt of his sword, discretion seemed the wiser route.

‘I’ll see what I can put together,’ Soren said.

‘You do that. One week, and we better like what you come up with.’

Captain Alvery nodded to the two men behind Soren and they all turned and left, leaving Soren feeling as though he should have taken his chances with his tangled sword and killed them. He never liked putting off until tomorrow what could be done today. But one thing was for certain: Captain Alvery and his men would be getting no more money.

D
al Lupard didn’t regret killing
Balcio Kastor. He did however regret the inconvenience that it caused him. Kastor had confirmed that Soren was in the city, but had yet to locate him. Dal Lupard still had no confirmation that Massari and Soren were one and the same, but Kastor had indicated Soren arrived in the city around the same time that Massari would have. Dal Lupard maintained his belief that they were the same person, and each new piece of information that came his way seemed to confirm it. At that point, however, it was unimportant. If they were not the same person, it was Massari’s lucky day. Soren was dal Lupard’s target now, one way or the other. He was too good an opportunity to pass up. That he had brought a significant sum of money with him to aid Kastor’s cabal only sweetened the proposition. There was no need for anyone else to know about that. After all, the Duke only wanted Soren.

With Kastor dead, his remaining men had scattered before the wind and dal Lupard was once again limited in his ability to gather fresh information. It was time consuming, but Kastor’s botched assassination attempt proved to be something of a blessing. All energies were now directed toward ensuring the Duke’s safety, which meant those who would otherwise have questioned dal Lupard’s return to the city were now occupied elsewhere. It gave him more freedom than he had expected, but it would not last forever, and he was growing ever more frustrated at how difficult it was to find Soren.

It was demeaning to have to go out onto the streets and do the hard work himself. Something he’d not had to undertake since he was a young Intelligencier, building up his network of contacts. He thought of the potential reward if he managed to bring Soren in. Everything that he had lost and more.

There was nothing gained in putting off the inevitable. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t think of any more resources available to him that would save the bother of doing the donkeywork himself. When he finally caught up with Soren, he would be sure to have his frustrations taken out on him, by someone else of course. There was also the nature of the insult he had caused at the theatre in Voorn. For that, dal Lupard decided that he would condescend to mete out that punishment himself.

S
oren waited
on the square to meet Captain Alvery. The week had passed with little news from Giura, other than to indicate he was still working on it and would be in touch when he had something worth pursuing. It was frustrating to have to wait, even more so having to wait in almost complete seclusion. With the additional security and vigilance in the city since the attempt on Amero’s life, Soren knew that he was running the slight risk of being identified by someone unfriendly to him each time he went out in daylight. Nonetheless, there were some things that could not be avoided and the business with Alvery was one of them. It needed to be cleared up by the time their next chance to get at Amero arrived.

He spotted Captain Alvery and two of the Pepper Canister Lane Bravos walking across the square toward him. They had arranged to meet on one of the many smaller squares that littered the city to discuss the final payment of the hush money the bravos were demanding.

‘Got my money?’ Captain Alvery said, as he sauntered over.

‘No. I’ve got some requirements first.’

‘What?’

‘I want all your lads there when I hand over the money. I don’t want you skipping with the lot, and telling them I never paid.’

‘Trying to get us all in the one place?’ Alvery’s eyes narrowed.

‘Trying to make sure I don’t have a bunch of angry bravos coming looking for their money after I’ve already paid it.’

Alvery smiled. ‘You’re a clever one.’

‘I like to think so,’ Soren said, hopeful that his explanation would be sufficient to convince the bravo.

‘I’ll agree, so long as I choose the location. I’m not having my lads boxed up in a warehouse that mysteriously gets burned to the ground while we’re still inside.’

‘Fine. So long as it’s not anything ridiculous, I can agree to that.’

‘Good, we’re all settled then. When will you have it?’

‘I’ll be ready tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow it is then.’ He gave Soren an appraising look. ‘The Salt Mercers’ warehouse in Docks. Do you know it?’

Pepper, salt, Soren wondered if Alvery was aware of the irony. ‘I know where it is.’

‘There, at noon tomorrow,’ Alvery said.

Soren nodded and made to leave.

‘One more thing,’ Alvery said.

Soren stopped and looked back over his shoulder, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

‘Where are you getting the money?’

‘Does it really matter?’ Soren said.

‘Maybe I should have asked for more.’

‘Maybe you should have.’ Soren walked away.

That confirmed to him that this payment would only be the start. Captain Alvery would come back looking for more, over and over. Killing him and his men was the only way. But for a greedy nature they could all have continued with their lives as though nothing had happened. Now, they would learn the true reward of that greed.

W
atching
the comings and goings from the palace was at least interesting, and often very informative. Giura did it frequently, often taking his lunch to his favourite vantage point. It told him many things. Who was in favour, who was not, what the Duke would be having for dinner, whether he was in a good mood or bad. All these things could be gleaned from the people that came and went, and from the expressions on their faces.

One man he had seen coming and going several times now, always in a hurry, always a harried expression on his face—as though he was delivering bad news in both directions. That was worth looking into further, at least to see where the other end of the man’s journey led, so Giura decided to follow.

Discovering new and intriguing things was one of the things that Giura loved about his job. He loved it all the more when people were trying their best to keep that thing secret. The messenger walked down the hill toward the city centre and crossed the bridge before turning into Bankers. Giura had heard rumours that the Duke had money troubles—most people had. Wars were an expensive business, and that was only the half of it. Giura had no idea how much the bribery and murder that must have been required to position him for the throne cost. Putting it at the same level as a war did not seem too farfetched, considering how much Giura reckoned had been done.

Money was not difficult to raise in a mercantile city like Ostenheim; there were at least a dozen major banks, and hundreds of smaller counting houses. For the sums that Amero would need, the choice was more limited. There was Kuyt and Valk, and Sherbane’s, but the most likely was Austorgas’ Banking Houses, the financial behemoth that straddled the Middle Sea. The heads of the houses of Austorgas were as powerful as any aristocrat, despite the fact that they had always eschewed any titles of nobility.

As he expected, the messenger entered Austorgas’ Banking House on Crossways, but by a discreet, almost invisible door on a side street. It was not unexpected to see messengers and money moving between Austorgas’ and the palace. A messenger making more than half a dozen trips in one day meant there was something more going on. It all added to Giura’s level of curiosity, and Giura was always happy to listen to his instincts.

They were an odd bunch, the Austorgas. The bank had been founded back in the hazy past, in the days of the Empire. They had spread to each of its cities, each new branch being founded by a child or grandchild of the bank’s founder. Each branch was ostensibly a separate entity, headed by a member of the family, so if one branch failed, it’s economic ruin would not pass to the other houses. In reality they were all one however, and whatever legal mechanisms they employed to limit their liabilities were there for that purpose alone. The interests were managed by a family council consisting of the manager of each of the seven main houses. None of the seven houses would make a major decision without the involvement of the council. Whatever it was, it would be in the interests of the House of Austorga, and no one else—certainly not the recipient of whatever monies were involved.

One member of the family reigned ascendant, elected from its ranks. He was referred to as The Austorga. He was considered the strongest and the wisest of them, the one to lead them through times of crises. Right now The Austorga was head of the Ventish house, or the Humberlander, Giura was neither sure nor particularly cared where he was from. What did matter was that he was old, past ninety and the competition was growing over which of the other six house heads would succeed him. The Ostenheim Austorga had to be a strong contender, and if Austorgas’ had lent Amero money, as they almost certainly had, then he would be the one at the cutting edge of a very major and precarious investment. One that could potentially bring down the Ostenheim house.

It piqued Giura’s interest. An ambitious Duke with big plans and bigger debts. An ambitious banker with outstanding loans that could bring his banking house down, or at the very least ruin its reputation. The more Giura thought about it, the greener the pasture seemed. There was potential here, great potential. Could the Ostenheim Austorga’s desires hold common ground with his own?

T
en thousand crowns
was an inconvenient amount of gold coin to haul around. It was heavy, and that many coins required a large container. Soren settled on a wooden coin chest; an old, battered one that had the look of the pay chests used to bring salaries out to the troops in the East during the Barbarian War, as it was often called. It was heavy too, all the more so when filled with lead. He had sprinkled a few handfuls of crowns across the top—nearly all the money he had left with him in Ostenheim—and enough to give the appearance that the chest was similarly filled if examined. He hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but they could buy him some time, which might be useful.

He hired two stevedores from the harbour to carry it for him to the warehouse in Docks where Captain Alvery and his men were to meet him, and he awaited their arrival. They strolled in, confident and arrogant, and one short by Soren’s count.

Captain Alvery walked up to Soren and nodded at the chest.

‘That our money?’

‘What do you think?’

Alvery smiled and leaned forward to open the chest.

‘Hold it right there,’ Soren said. ‘The deal was that all your men would be here. I have you one short.’

The men all laughed.

‘That’d be Rombaldo. Got caught in a bed he shouldn’t ha’ been in. Took a bit of a beating. Won’t be doing much more than lying in his own for a few days yet. Don’t worry, the lads’ll see that he gets his share. Satisfied?’

Soren stared at Captain Alvery with feigned suspicion. If Rombaldo knew that the others were going to collect their pay, and were then never seen again, like as not he’d think they’d cheated him and run off. Soren didn’t foresee a problem. He’d wait for Alvery to open the chest, then cut him down when he was distracted and deal with the others.

‘Fine. Check it. There’s nine thousand there. All I could get.’

Captain Alvery puffed out his cheeks and shook his head as though there was a problem. Then he smiled and leaned forward to open the chest. It was obvious that it was far more than they’d expected.

Soren watched as Alvery’s hand settled on the lid. He glanced at the others—they were all fixated on the chest. If he was quick, Soren reckoned he could get them all before any of them were even able to draw.

He heard the hinges of the chest squeal as Captain Alvery opened the lid. His eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but could only gasp with shock and pain as Soren ran him through.

Soren kicked Alvery’s body off his sword and slashed it through the throat of a second bravo. A third, Soren ran through the chest as he fumbled to get his short sword free of its scabbard. Soren pulled his blade free and in the same movement slashed at a fourth who had managed to get his sword halfway out. Soren’s razor sharp rapier cleaved through bone and muscle with hardly an interruption.

The fifth and final member of the Pepper Canister Lane Bravos present froze where he stood, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He made no effort to draw it, seemingly resigned to his fate. Soren didn’t pause to consider morals or anything that might cause him hesitation. He stabbed him through the heart. It was as quick and painless a death as any penny-paid thug could ever hope for. Probably more than he deserved.

Soren shoved Alvery’s corpse off the chest with his boot, and opened it. He scooped up the coins and put them back in his purse. Only then did he turn to survey his grisly work, and put his mind to the task of cleaning it up. Making it all disappear.

E
very time Byarsham
saw Giura in a place where his death would not draw attention, this other young man was with him. It was growing frustrating. Needless killing was, well, needless, and something Byarsham preferred to avoid. Not out of any moral sensibility; one average person was much like another—of little worth. It was the effort it required, and the strain it placed on his inner resolve—on the trained, controlled will within him that set him above other men. Taking a life lured a mage to the temptations and pleasures of chaos, anarchy and disorder. He had seen it happen; a former member of the Twelve had fallen, and the intoxicating joy of freedom from the bounds of logic led quickly to madness. It was a shameful thing, to allow a highly trained mind throw off the confines of control. The temptation was strong nonetheless, as though there were an insane, power lusting beast lurking in the mind of each man, waiting for the opportunity to take control.