The Warlord's Legacy (29 page)

C
ORVIS LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR
, the shredded remnants of egg and pork sitting on the table before him, and idly ran a whetstone along an edge of steel. The metal rasped and screeched through the common room of Whatever The Hell This Latest Roadside Inn Was Called. The barkeep scowled from across the counter, but because there were few paying customers this early in the day—just Corvis himself and a few bleary fellows who’d drunkenly slept the night away in that very room—he didn’t
quite
seem willing to object.

“It’s not going to get any sharper if I do it outside,” Corvis said casually. The man began fussing with something behind the bar. Corvis continued to work, and the steel continued to shriek.

Sunder, of course, never needed sharpening, but the same couldn’t be said for Irrial’s sword. He’d shown the baroness the proper way to hone the blade, but he trusted his technique more than hers.

Rasp, shriek. Shriek, rasp.

“How did you get that?” a familiar voice demanded.

He looked up as Irrial dropped into the seat across from him. “I’m sneaky.”

“Apparently. You stay the hell out of my room.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Shriek, rasp.

He’d hoped her mood might have improved at least a little this
morning. During the previous day’s travels, they’d passed several detachments of infantry. Men and women, their faces grim—clad in padded armor, pikes resting on shoulders—marched east beneath the banners of four different noble Houses. One unit had been led by a team of steel-encased knights on horseback; another time, they’d seen an entire squad of knights, and their squires, upon the property of a vast estate, making ready for war. It seemed that, even without the backing of the Guilds, at least a
few
of Imphallion’s nobles were finally preparing to mobilize against the invaders.

It was the most hopeful sign they’d yet seen, but Irrial seemed to draw no hope from it. “They’ll all be killed,” she’d said simply when Corvis raised the topic last night, and given their numbers, he’d been unable to argue the point.

She was clearly no more cheerful today.

“Shouldn’t we be getting on the road?” she asked him.

“You haven’t breakfasted.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be. I’ll wait.”

Rasp, shriek.

“You’re nervous!” It was uttered with the reverence of revelation.

“No, I …” Corvis finally ceased his efforts, much to the barkeep’s patent relief. “Maybe,” he admitted grudgingly. “There’s a lot left unsaid between us.”

“I’ll just bet.” Then, more softly, “Rebaine?
Why
?”

He winced at the use of his real name, but a quick glance suggested that nobody had overheard. “Why was there a lot left unsaid between—?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Well, he’d known it had to come eventually.

Corvis propped the sword against the chair and craned his neck back as though reading the past in the dust and cobwebs along the ceiling. “Would any answer I could give make any difference, Irrial?”

“Probably not. Try anyway.”

“Because Imphallion was dying—
is
dying. Slowly rotting away, while a few parasites grow fat off its diseased wounds. The cities grow corrupt and stagnant, while small villages starve. The Guilds want only
to make themselves rich, and the nobility are too weak, and often too selfish, to stand up to them.

“I wanted to change that. I wanted to make Imphallion great again. Not just for me, but for everyone.”

“And if you had to kill a few thousand people to do it, well, that was just fair trade, was it?” Clearly she didn’t believe a word of it. “Was it worth those lives? The lives of my friends and my family?”

“Yes,” he told her without hesitation. “If it had worked out the way that I’d planned, absolutely.” Then, more softly, “I’m just … not sure anymore that it
would
have. Even if I’d won.”

Irrial rose, swept up her sword, and disappeared back up the stairs, leaving the former conqueror alone with his thoughts.

“H
ELLO
, C
ERRIS
.”

Through the open door, Corvis stared through time, listened to a voice carried from the past on a gentle breath. He knew she must have changed in five years, but damn if he could see it. Only the faint circles under her eyes were new.

“Hello, Tyannon.”

Silence, for a while. Then, “I hate the beard. It makes you look old.”

“No, the fact that I’m getting old makes me look old. The beard just makes me look hairy.” He watched, expectant, but the smile he’d hoped to elicit never appeared. “You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he added finally.

“I’m not.” Tyannon stepped back from the door. “You’d better come in, both of you.” She punched the word
both
perhaps a bit harder than she’d needed to.

“Ah. Tyannon, this is the Baroness Irrial, of Rahariem. Lady Irrial, Tyannon. My wi—my former wife.”

“My lady.” Tyannon somehow managed to curtsy without breaking stride.

“Tyannon.”

They were in the dining room, now, though Corvis had no memory of taking a single step. Habit, rather than courtesy, kept him on his feet
until the women were seated—habit, and perhaps more than a touch of confusion. He finally selected a chair beside Irrial and across from Tyannon, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen properly.

“The children?” he asked softly.

“They’re fine,” she said, voice tight.

“Could I—?”

“No, that’s not a good idea. Anyway, they’re not here.”

Corvis found himself scowling. “Damn it, Tyannon, I’m not going to hurt them. I just want to see—”

“You’ve
already
hurt them more than enough, thanks.”

“Gods damn it,
you’re
the one who left! You …” He stopped at the pain shooting through his hands, startled to find himself pounding the edge of the table without even realizing it. Corvis examined his fist, as though unsure what it was. Tyannon watched him. Irrial watched them both, her face unreadable.

“But they’re all right?” Corvis asked finally, rather than retort to the voice only he could hear. “You’re all doing well?”

“As well as can be expected. Cerris, why are you here?”

Tyannon, he couldn’t help but note, hadn’t even bothered to ask how he’d found her. Either she had a pretty good guess, or she didn’t want to know.

Or both.

‘
You should tell her anyway,
’ the ugly inner voice suggested. ‘
Don’t you think she’d love to know about your spell? About how much you
actually
trusted her? Come on, it’ll be funny!
’

“I suppose you’ve heard the rumors?”

She nodded brusquely. “From some fairly reliable sources.”

“I didn’t do it, Tyannon. I’ve been in Rahariem until just recently. I haven’t murdered anyone.”

‘
Oh? Those Cephiran soldiers, and the guards in Mecepheum, they just dropped dead on their own, did they
?’

“You came all this way just to tell me that?” She sounded—not
doubtful
, exactly, just vaguely astonished. “Why?”

“I just … needed you to know.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

Corvis felt as though he’d been slapped; the chair literally rocked back beneath him as he flinched. “You—I … Tyannon, I’ve never lied to—”

“Don’t you
dare!
” Even Irrial, off to the side, cringed from the venom in Tyannon’s voice.

“I didn’t,” Corvis insisted, his own tone pleading. “I promised you an end to it, and I meant it! It wasn’t the same—”

“Magic? Charms?
Mind control
, Cerris? It’s
exactly
the same thing!

It—”

“No, I—”

Irrial coughed, deliberately, just once. It cut through the argument like an assassin’s dagger.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “and I truly don’t wish to be rude. But I have to guess that this particular disagreement is one you’ve had before, and I don’t think we’ve the time to try to settle it now.”

The glares Tyannon and Corvis hurled her way were identical, a tiny indication of how close they’d once been.

“She’s right, you know,” Corvis admitted grudgingly.

“Probably. Are you two—together?”

“Absolutely not!”

Irrial’s vehement denial, though painful, saved Corvis the trouble of coming up with his own, far more complicated answer. He was, at the very least, heartened to note a swift flash of what might just have been relief cross Tyannon’s expression.

‘
You’re a fool. You know that you’re a fool, right? I’m sure I must have mentioned it a time or two …
’

“But I can assure you,” the baroness continued, far more calmly, “that he’s telling you the truth. Cerris was in Rahariem, aiding our fight against the Cephiran occupiers. He’s not behind these murders.”

Tyannon nodded slowly. “I owe you an apology, Cerris. I’m sorry.

“And I’m sorry for your loss,” she said to Irrial, perhaps having abruptly made the family connection with Duke Halmon.

“Thank you.”

Again the trio sat, none quite looking directly at any other, silent save for the constant commentary in Corvis’s head.

“What’s happening in Mecepheum?” Tyannon asked finally.

He shrugged. “Same as always. Everyone’s running around like a two-assed dog chasing both tails, and nothing’s getting done.”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “What happened, Cerris? Why didn’t it work?”

Why did you throw your family away on a gambit that failed
?

Corvis sighed, absently fidgeting with the finger that once wore a ring. “Those damn Guilds … I knew they’d fight, but I had no idea they’d …

“I pushed too hard, too fast,” he acknowledged finally. “I thought that once I had my people near the top, once I’d arranged for the ascension of a regent who’d make the right decisions, held the right beliefs—”

Irrial inhaled sharply but chose not to interrupt.

“—I thought that’d be it.”

Tyannon grimaced. “But the Guilds didn’t bend, did they?”

“No. I thought with the amount of pressure I was putting on them, from the nobles and from some of their own members, they’d have no choice. I never thought they could replace so many of their own people, so quickly. I
certainly
never thought they’d use their economic influence to force Halmon to abdicate.” He grinned, a rictus without a trace of mirth, a sickly echo of the helm he’d once worn. “I always thought of the Guilds as weak. I guess, when it came to defending themselves, I underestimated them.”

Irrial apparently couldn’t keep silent any longer. “
You
arranged for my cousin to become regent? How much power did you
have
?”

Corvis shrugged. “Not enough, obviously.”

‘
There’s no such thing. You should have learned that long ago.
’

“I don’t understand. If you hate the Guilds so much, what were you doing as ‘Cerris the Merchant’?”

“I couldn’t just leave things the way they were,” he told her. “Imphallion was in worse shape than ever, and part of that was my fault. But another military campaign wasn’t an option. I’m getting too old for that, and besides …” Here he glanced sidelong across the table. “I gave Tyannon my word that the Terror of the East was dead. Maybe she doesn’t believe me, but it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

His heart skipped a beat as, clearly despite herself, Tyannon smiled.

“So I thought,” he continued, “that maybe I could change things from within. There were too many people who might recognize me in Mecepheum, but Rahariem was far enough away while still being economically important. I figured if I could gain power in the Merchants’ Guild there, maybe I could use that influence to steer the Guilds.”

“But how could you be sure you’d—?” Understanding finally dawned, and Irrial’s face purpled. “You
forced
Danrien to sell you his businesses! You used that same damn spell, didn’t you?”

“He got a fair price,” Corvis protested.

The women shook their heads in unison.

“So what now?” Tyannon asked.

“Now we find out who’s been murdering people in my name,” he said simply. “Maybe then we can figure out a way to get the government moving while there’s still an Imphallion left to defend.”

Tyannon chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly struggling with some decision. “Jassion’s hunting you,” she said finally.

“
What
?”

“He was here, looking for you, just a few weeks ago.”

Corvis shivered. Despite the intervening years, despite the mystical healing that had dragged him between death’s jaws, he occasionally ached where bones had broken, still felt the chafe of manacles on his wrists.

No, he’d sooner die than allow the Baron of Braetlyn to take him alive a second time.

‘
Pansy.
’

“What did you tell him, Tyannon?”

“What
could
I tell him? I might have helped if I could—I thought you were running around murdering people, remember?—but I didn’t know anything.”

“How many men does he have?”

“He—just one, I think. His name’s Kaleb.”

It meant nothing to Corvis. “Well,” he said, trying for a lightness he didn’t feel, “we’ll just have to avoid him, won’t we? It’s a big kingdom, shouldn’t be too hard.”