Authors: Jennifer Fallon
Warlord (50 page)
W
hen the message arrived from Galon that the meeting with Marla’s Fardohnyan agent was finally arranged, Alija couldn’t help wondering if she was trying to be too clever by half. Although she knew Galon hadn’t lied to her, the sting of discovering from Ruxton Tirstone’s dying mind how she’d been duped so comprehensively by Marla in the past had eroded her confidence.
hen the message arrived from Galon that the meeting with Marla’s Fardohnyan agent was finally arranged, Alija couldn’t help wondering if she was trying to be too clever by half. Although she knew Galon hadn’t lied to her, the sting of discovering from Ruxton Tirstone’s dying mind how she’d been duped so comprehensively by Marla in the past had eroded her confidence.
That she had received no communication from Cyrus was equally concerning. Surely, by now, he would have found the time to write? Of course, all the official dispatches went to the palace, which meant they went to Marla, but she should have received some word from her son by now about what was happening in Sunrise Province and the war with Fardohnya.
But she could worry about the war later, once Marla was taken care of. Once it fell to the High Arrion to govern the city in the absence of the High Prince and his advisors, which—if everything went according to plan—should be sometime this afternoon, she would have time to discover the truth about what was really happening at the front.
Forcing her concern about her son’s fate to the back of her mind, Alija read through the letter once again. It was addressed to Hablet of Fardohnya and should have spelled out, in no uncertain terms, that the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective expected him to win this battle and that in return for the obliteration of the Wolfblade line, she was prepared to guarantee the cooperation of the Eaglespike family, provided the King of Fardohnya recognised her son’s claim to the Hythrun throne and accepted him in such a role—as a vassal of Fardohnya, of course.
But Alija was nobody’s fool. The letter stated quite the opposite. It was nothing more than a declaration of her loyalty to Hythria and her High Prince once one got past the flowery introduction that went on for a page or more. She’d deliberately designed it that way. Alija needed to confront this Fardohnyan Marla had found to carry her message to the enemy and gain his trust sufficiently to touch him. While he was wading through the flowery prose—and before he got to the gist of the letter—she could get inside his head. Once she was in the Fardohnyan’s thoughts, even if he didn’t know Marla personally, Alija was quite certain she had the ability to make him testify that he did.
Let her squirm her way out of that one
, Alija thought. Her supposedly incriminating letter would be destroyed as soon as it had served its purpose—Galon had promised her that.
Trust me
, he’d assured her, as he took her hands in his, understanding that through the contact she would know if he was deceiving her.
I will not—under any circumstances—allow your letter to fall into the wrong hands.
, Alija thought. Her supposedly incriminating letter would be destroyed as soon as it had served its purpose—Galon had promised her that.
Trust me
, he’d assured her, as he took her hands in his, understanding that through the contact she would know if he was deceiving her.
I will not—under any circumstances—allow your letter to fall into the wrong hands.
“And I do trust you, Galon,” she murmured softly. “Up to a point.”
“My lady?”
Alija looked up from the letter. “Yes, Tressa?”
“Master Miar is here.”
“Send him in.”
The slave bowed and backed out of the room. A few moments later, Galon walked into the High Arrion’s office. He glanced down at the parchment she was holding. “All set?”
She rose to her feet. “Where is the meeting to be held?”
“In the Temple of the Gods.”
“Here?” Alija asked in surprise. “In the Sorcerers’ Collective? How did Marla arrange that?”
“Marla didn’t,” Galon told her. “It was Kalan’s idea. Apparently there’s some ancient notion of the Temple of the Gods and the Sorcerers’ Palace being neutral ground?”
“Nobody’s invoked that rule for a century or more.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “I gather this Fardohnyan we’re going to meet is a tad skittish. Understandably, I suppose, given we’re at war with them.”
She didn’t like this. And there was some other unfinished business she still wasn’t happy about, either. “You were supposed to arrange for me to see this man calling himself Wrayan Lightfinger before the meeting,” she reminded him.
“No need,” the assassin replied. “He’ll be there. Are you ready?”
Alija hesitated one last time, wondering if she was allowing her arrogance and her desire for vengeance to get the better of her. This was insanity, really, thinking she could pull this off. So many things could go wrong. The risk was unthinkable.
But worth it
, she reminded herself, a vision of Marla standing in her parlour, gloating over Tarkyn Lye’s bloodsmeared collar suddenly filling her mind.
If it brings that bitch down, the destruction of my own world would almost be worth it.
, she reminded herself, a vision of Marla standing in her parlour, gloating over Tarkyn Lye’s bloodsmeared collar suddenly filling her mind.
If it brings that bitch down, the destruction of my own world would almost be worth it.
“I’m ready,” she told Galon. “Are you?”
“I’ll be right beside you the whole time, Alija.”
She walked around the desk, folding the letter as she went, quite certain that he was telling her the truth. “I won’t forget your assistance in this matter, Galon.”
The assassin opened the door for her. “I don’t doubt that, Alija. Shall we go and destroy an evil, twisted, bitter little woman with delusions of grandeur?”
Alija smiled at his description of Marla. “I’ll bet you didn’t whisper that juicy little sweet nothing in her ear when you were trying to seduce her.”
“You’ve got that right,” he chuckled, offering his arm. “My lady?”
Alija took his arm, searching his mind as her skin touched his. Galon’s mind was full of hope, of anticipation and the excitement that came from knowing vengeance was finally within his grasp.
She understood exactly what he was feeling.
What she didn’t understand, and what she intended to ask him later, once this was done, was why he was so eager to exact vengeance from Marla Wolfblade in the first place.
The Sorcerer’s Palace sat high on a bluff overlooking everything in Greenharbour, even the Royal Palace. Although everyone called it the Sorcerers’ Palace it was actually a complex of temples and residences, encircled by a thick white wall, constructed of stone quarried from the chalk cliffs west of the city, their fragile strength reinforced by ages-old Harshini magic. It had stood for over two thousand years, almost as long as the Citadel in Medalon. Old Bruno Sanval surmised the two complexes were very similar in design and was planning to undertake a study of the possibility, once he located Sanctuary. Alija couldn’t have cared less. Although men like the Lower Arrion lived for the day the Harshini might return, she always considered the notion they might come back rather more of an inconvenience than an occasion to look forward to.
Alija climbed the steps of the Temple of the Gods with Galon at her side, the letter burning in her hand. She clung to it tightly, tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
The temple was almost empty, but for a solitary figure standing in front of the large crystal Seeing Stone. With Galon a pace behind her, Alija strode down the centre of the temple, her footfalls echoing loudly on the mosaic-tiled floor. The Seeing Stone in the Temple of the Gods—a solid lump of crystal as tall as a man mounted on a black marble base—loomed over the waiting figure. Candles set in solid silver sconces lit the altar, reflecting off the Stone with flickering rainbow light, shadowing the features of the man until she was right in front of him.
Alija stopped a few feet from the Seeing Stone and stared at the man waiting for her. This was no Fardohnyan agent.
“Alija.”
For a moment, she was too surprised to speak. Galon hadn’t lied when he said this man looked far too young to be the man she remembered, but neither could she deny the evidence of her own eyes. The young man who stood before her was undeniably Wrayan Lightfinger. Even if his physical appearance hadn’t told her that, the fact that his eyes were as black as polished onyx would have given him away. He was channelling Harshini magic, not flirting with the edges of it, like Alija did, but actually channelling enough to affect his eyes.
“Wrayan Lightfinger.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. And it was merely a stalling tactic to give her time to reach for her own power. It was a risk. She no longer had the benefit of an enhancement spell to guarantee her success and it was clear that Wrayan had learned a great deal since she’d confronted him the last time, in this very temple.
“Galon,” she ordered, her voice betraying no emotion. “Kill this man.”
“Sorry, Alija,” the assassin said, taking a step back from her. “But I don’t do uncontracted kills.”
“Then I’m contracting you to kill him!” she declared impatiently, glaring at him. “Whatever price you want. Just do it.”
Galon appeared to consider her offer and then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Alija.”
“Why don’t you kill me yourself, Alija?” Wrayan asked. “It’s not like you haven’t tried before.”
“The next time, I won’t fail,” she snapped, turning to stare at Galon. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The assassin shrugged. “What I said I was coming here to do, my lady. Destroy an evil, twisted, bitter little woman with delusions of grandeur.”
It took Alija a moment to realise he was referring to her. She stared at him in shock, unable to believe he had deceived her so completely. She’d touched his mind. She’d read his thoughts. He’d sworn Wrayan hadn’t been able to break his shield …
And then the truth dawned on her and she turned to face Wrayan again. “He let you.”
“Pardon?”
“Galon let you into his mind, didn’t he?” She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. “By the gods … I should have known if you had the skill to shield the minds of Marla and all her family, reconstructing an assassin’s shield would have been child’s play. He wasn’t even lying. He said you hadn’t broken his shield. I never asked him if he’d lowered it voluntarily.”
“More fool you,” Wrayan replied.
“Why?” she asked, turning to the assassin.
“Master Lightfinger and I had an interesting discussion about the consequences of resisting his probe,” Galon replied. “At one point there was a suggestion I might be forced to cut my own balls off. One does what one must to keep the family jewels intact, my lady. You’d understand that much better than I.”
That he could be so glib about something so important was a telling sign, a terrifying indication of how little respect he had for her. It hurt Alija more than she cared to admit. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why betray me? I could have given you everything.”
“Which wouldn’t have come anywhere near making up for what you took from me, Alija.”
She studied him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you know?” Wrayan asked with a note of reproach. “I’m shocked, Alija.”
“Know what?”
He pointed to Galon. “This is Ronan Dell’s son. You remember Ronan Dell, don’t you? You had him and his entire palace slaughtered a few years ago.”
She shook her head in denial. “You couldn’t possibly know that. Or prove it.”
“Oh, but we can, Alija,” Wrayan informed her. “We have the statement of Elezaar the Dwarf, who witnessed the entire attack. Ah, and then there’s the blubbering confession of a certain slave trader by the name of Venira, whose memory of that night was magically restored when it was pointed out to him that incurring your wrath was one thing, but making an enemy of the next Raven of the Assassins’ Guild was a different matter entirely. And then—most regrettably for you—there was the young man with a rare afternoon off from his guild training, who just happened to drop into home to visit his father … just as a troop of Dregian Raiders were making their escape over the back wall of Ronan Dell’s palace.”
“Very sloppy of you, by the way, to allow them to undertake such a grisly task wearing something identifiably Dregian.” Galon was involved in this deception far more deeply than Alija had ever suspected and was delighting in her knowing it, too. “Was that a mistake, Alija, or just arrogance?”
She stared at him, horrified by his revelation. “You?
You’re
Ronan Dell’s bastard?”
You’re
Ronan Dell’s bastard?”
“Actually, I’m not, but he died thinking I was. I suppose I should be grateful you relieved me of that burden. Can’t say I’m willing to be so forgiving about the death of my real father, though. That was unnecessary, Alija, and I really do mean to see you pay for it.”
Alija looked at them both, shaking her head when she realised that none of this mattered. Not really. They couldn’t prove a word of it. She sneered at their amateurish attempt at revenge. “And this is your trap?” she asked, glancing around. “Your pitiful vengeance for something I did twentysix years ago and haven’t lost a night’s.sleep over since? Or is it the letter you were so insistent that I write, Galon? The one incriminating me as a traitor?”
“Either one will do.”
“There’s no Fardohnyan agent, either, I suppose?” she surmised, looking around the empty temple. “All this was just a ruse to get me to write that letter?”
Galon smiled at her. “Clever, don’t you think?”
“You’re fools!” she accused. “Both of you! And Marla as well! As if I would be foolish enough to commit something like that to parchment!” She tossed the letter onto the ground at Galon’s feet. “Take it. There’s not a word there you can use to condemn me.”
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