Wolfblade (79 page)

Kagan smiled at his own foolishness.
The child is not even five yet
, he told himself sternly.
For all you know, he’s going to grow into a tyrant
.

Assuming he lived long enough to turn into a tyrant. The attack on Damin had taken Kagan completely by surprise. There were no plots afoot that he knew of. The Warlords had been quiet ever since Marla delivered a son and Lernen adopted him. The country was running smoothly. Several good seasons had ensured bumper crops. Famine had never been further away. Hablet was quiet, dealing with his own woes in Fardohnya, mostly the inability of any of his wives to give him a live child. Several children had been born to Hablet, Kagan heard, both legitimate and bastard, but none had survived more than a few hours. There was no reason to suspect that any plot
against the High Prince or his heir came from further afield, either. The Medalonians were interested only in keeping Medalon free of religion and magic. The Kariens to the north of them were even more self-absorbed, caring only for the wishes of their damned Overlord.

To attack now wasn’t just puzzling. It was downright illogical.

Kagan shifted on the bed and realised he’d been dozing, even though it was only late afternoon. A few months ago he would have laughed if anybody had told him he wouldn’t be able to get through the day without a nap. Now it seemed his periods of wakefulness were simply interrupting his sleep time and he was coming to resent every moment he was forced to remain conscious.

It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before Death came for him and led him into the longest sleep of all . . .

“No, I have to stay awake,” he muttered aloud, forcing himself to sit up.
Lernen needs me
. Kagan remembered his lost apprentice questioning his dedication to Lernen once. It was on the road to Greenharbour. The time he’d made Wrayan reach out for the High Prince’s mind from a couple of hundred miles away. Or was it a hundred miles? Or ten? Kagan could no longer remember. He remembered Wrayan, though. He often thought about the young man these days. He often wondered what had happened to him. Had he died in unbearable agony? Where had Alija dumped his body? He felt guilty about the lad’s death, certain he had let the young man down. Alija had killed the boy; there was no doubt in Kagan’s mind about that. But he’d done nothing about it. That he had no proof, that there was nothing he
could
have done, was little consolation. He should have tried.

Kagan opened his eyes again, astonished to discover it was dark. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept or what had woken him, but he cursed his own weakness. He should have been up hours ago. He was expected at the palace. Lernen would want to know what he was planning to do about this attack.

“Kagan?”

A black shadow flitted across the window, softly calling his name.
Death has come for me
, he thought. I
am ready
.

“Yes, lord?” he replied, not sure if that was the correct way to address Death. Perhaps he should have called him “Divine One”.

“Kagan! It’s me!” the shadow hissed. “Wrayan.”

Kagan was quite sure he was dead now, or well on the way to the afterlife. It had been such a painless transition too . . .

Then the lamp flared brightly and Kagan discovered the man holding it was Wrayan Lightfinger.

“Wrayan?”

“Sorry about coming through the window,” the young man said, putting the lamp on the table beside the bed. He sat down beside Kagan, his weight
pressing on the mattress. He was dressed in some sort of close-fitting leather outfit, but other than his strange clothing, he was as solid as any other object in the room. “I just thought it might be easier this way.”

Kagan stared at him in shock. “You’re real!”

“Well . . . yes.”

“But we all thought you dead, lad! Where have you been?”

“Proving you right, actually,” the young man told him with a smile.

“I don’t understand . . .”

“It seems I really am part Harshini. A very small part, I have to say, but a part, nonetheless.”

“But where have you
been?”

Wrayan smiled knowingly. “Sanctuary.”

“Surely not!” Kagan gasped. “How?”

“After I fought with Alija, she sort of fried my brain. Dacendaran came looking for me and he fetched Brak, who took me back to Sanctuary, where they healed me.”

The boy said it so matter-of-factly, Kagan nearly choked. “You met
Brakandaran?”

“And Lorandranek,” Wrayan added. “And a whole bunch of other Harshini I thought were just legends.”

“But . . . how could this be? Why would the God of Thieves come looking for
you?”

“That’s a story for another day,” Wrayan told him. “When we’ve got more time.”

“Why . . . why didn’t you let me know you were still alive? I’ve been out of my mind with worry!”

“For much of the time I couldn’t remember who I was. I mean, I knew my name—Dacendaran had told the Harshini that—but everything else was fairly hazy for a while. Dace knew I was a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective, but I don’t think he understands the hierarchy enough to appreciate what it meant to be your apprentice. According to Brak, he said something along the lines of, ‘He’s part Harshini. An Innate hurt him. Fix him up for me, would you.’ He didn’t give Brak much more to go on. I only really got my memories back properly a couple of years ago.”

“And you couldn’t come to me then? You had to wait
years
before putting an old man out of his misery?”

Wrayan’s smile faded. “Brak thought it would be better if everybody continued to believe I was dead. He claimed it was so we could find out how Alija was able to enhance her power sufficiently to burn my mind out, but in truth, I don’t think he wanted me making it public that I’d been to Sanctuary. The Harshini are supposed to be long gone, remember. In fact, he’s going to be a little pissed at me when he finds out I’ve been to see you.”

“Brakandaran is here?” Kagan gasped. “In Greenharbour?”

Wrayan nodded. “He’s spent almost every day for the past couple of years going through your library.”

This was almost too much to take in. Kagan shook his head, as if that might clear it. “Why would your visit to me anger him?”

“He thinks I should still be playing dead. But I saw something, Kagan. And I want to do something about it. Brak thinks I shouldn’t interfere.”

“You’re defying the advice of the Halfbreed?” Kagan asked, a little awestruck by the notion.

A brief smile flickered over Wrayan’s face. “It happens more often than you think.”

“What did you see?”

“Alija has a lover.”

Kagan leaned back against the pillows. “Alija always has a lover. She’s slept with half the men in Greenharbour.”

“Apparently she’s started on the other half.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s sleeping with Nash Hawksword,” Wrayan told him. “And I got the impression it’s been going on for quite a while.”

Kagan shook his head. “Impossible!”

“I saw them, Kagan. And Nash wasn’t tied to the bed against his will. Actually, he was boasting about how his wife didn’t suspect a thing.”

“I do not believe it!” Kagan scoffed. “Nash is one of the High Prince’s most loyal supporters. He was one of the men who helped us thwart Alija when she was trying to put Barnardo on the throne. And I know for a fact that Nash is madly in love with his wife. I see him two or three times a week? He is a devoted husband and father. He would never do something like that to Marla.”

“I saw them, Kagan,” Wrayan insisted. “Nash and Alija. In her bed. Together. While poor Barnardo slept in the next room.”

“You must have been mistaken.”

“Nash was a friend of mine,” Wrayan reminded him. “I know him. And I’m not mistaken. You have to believe me, Kagan. You have to warn the princess. It may even have something to do with this recent attack on the High Prince.”

“There was no attack on the High Prince,” Kagan said, looking a little confused. “Unless you mean the attack on young Damin.”

“The High Prince’s heir? The rumours on the street say the High Prince was attacked.” Wrayan shrugged. “The prince or his heir, what’s the difference?”

“You expect me to believe Nash Hawksword is involved with Alija Eaglespike in a plot to assassinate his four-year-old stepson? That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Wrayan asked. “Who’s the most likely heir if something happens to the current one, Kagan?”

“Marla’s second son, probably,” Kagan replied.

“The one Nash fathered?” the young man asked pointedly.

Kagan shook his head, aghast at what Wrayan was implying. “No. You’re wrong. Even if I thought him capable of treason on such a scale, Nash Hawksword would never plot the murder of an innocent child just to see his own son elevated.”

“Nash wouldn’t,” Wrayan agreed. “But Alija would. In a heartbeat.”

Kagan was still trying to digest that when a noise outside in the hall alerted them to the approach of someone. Wrayan was instantly on his feet, poised warily, listening with every sense he owned, including his Harshini senses.

“It’s Tesha,” Wrayan whispered. “She’s come to see how you are.” Then he grinned and added, “I didn’t realise she cared about you so much.”

Wrayan was at the window, climbing over the balcony before Kagan had time to react.

“Wrayan! Wait!” he hissed loudly. “How can I find you again?”

“Try the Thieves’ Guild.”

“What?”

“I’m the greatest thief in all of Hythria,” he whispered with a grin.

And then Wrayan was gone and Tesha was there, bending over him with a look of genuine concern on her face. Kagan was suddenly confused.
Was it a dream? Was Wrayan really here, or have I finally fallen into senility
?

“You’re sleeping far too much,” she scolded, placing a cool hand on his forehead. “And you missed dinner again. I think I should get the healers—”

“Help me up!”

“You look like death, Kagan. I really think you should—”

“Help me up!” the High Arrion ordered. “I need to get dressed. I have to visit Princess Marla.”

“It’s long past polite visiting hours, Kagan.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tesha. I have to see her. Now.”

The Lower Arrion stared at him for a moment and then shook her head with a heavy sigh. Tesha did as he asked with a look that spoke volumes.

And what she was saying was:
Who am I to deny the wishes of a dying old man
?

A
late-night visit from the High Arrion worried Marla a great deal. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, tied her robe and hurried down the stairs to see him, she tried to imagine what would prompt him to visit at this hour.
Has he found out who was behind the attack on Damin? Does he have news of another threat
?

The slaves opened the door to the main sitting room for her as she approached. Kagan was pacing the floor, looking bent and ill. He was sweating profusely and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Marla hurried to his side with concern.

“My lord? Come, sit down, please! You look ill!”

“No, if I sit down I fear I’ll not be able to get up again. Where’s Nash?”

Marla shrugged. “Some of his father’s Raiders are in town, so he’s gone out to show them the city.” She smiled fondly. “Just between you and me, I think he’s enjoying the excuse to visit a few establishments a respectable married man shouldn’t be seen in.”

“Two days after his stepson is attacked he goes out for a night on the town?” Kagan asked disapprovingly.

“This has been planned for some time, my lord. He offered to stay home, but I insisted he go.”

“And are you sure that’s where he is?”

The question puzzled her. “Are you suggesting he might be somewhere else?”

The High Arrion began pacing again. Marla didn’t like the look of him at all. He looked agitated. Frantic, almost.

“Do you remember my apprentice, your highness? You met him the night of the ball when you first met Hablet.”

Marla nodded at the memory. “I remember you lecturing me about growing up. I fainted that night as I recall, too. And I do remember Wrayan, although
I don’t remember seeing much of him after that. He went missing around the time I married Laran, didn’t he?”

“Yes. And all this time I believed him dead.”

“And he isn’t?” she asked, wondering what this had to do with Nash.

“He’s been . . . away,” the High Arrion told her. “But now he’s back. At least I think he is. Parts of it seem like a dream.”

“And what part of your dream brings you to my house in the middle of the night asking if I know where my husband is, Lord Palenovar?”

“You will think me a crazy old man if I tell you,” he warned, wiping his streaming brow.

Marla laughed softly. “I think you’re a crazy old man now, my lord. Don’t let that stop you.”

“Wrayan is some sort of thief now, I gather,” Kagan began as he paced.

“A
thief?”