Authors: Jennifer Fallon
Warlord (59 page)
Damin frowned. “That means there are still another couple of thousand Raiders in the city. Who’s in command of the men out here?”
“I don’t know that anybody is. Most of the officers are still in the city.”
“Then I’m putting you in command, Travin. Do you think you could have my Raiders outside the city walls by tomorrow morning?”
“
Your
Raiders?” Travin asked with a raised brow. “Last I heard, Mahkas was Regent of Krakandar, cousin, and you’re just the heir-in-waiting with another six years of twiddling your thumbs ahead of you before you can claim anything.”
Your
Raiders?” Travin asked with a raised brow. “Last I heard, Mahkas was Regent of Krakandar, cousin, and you’re just the heir-in-waiting with another six years of twiddling your thumbs ahead of you before you can claim anything.”
Damin smiled. “Haven’t you heard? The High Prince has lowered the age of majority to twenty-five.”
“When did that happen?”
“About a week ago.”
“How convenient for you, Damin.”
“I thought so.”
“And when exactly do you turn twenty-five?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Travin, because it just so happens that tomorrow is my birthday.”
Travin looked impressed. “How convenient for you, Damn.”
Damin didn’t rise to the bait. “Can you do it, Trav? Get them organised and have them there by the morning?”
His cousin nodded. “I’ll have them there. Will you have the gates open by then?”
Damin grinned at him. “It won’t be much of a birthday party if the guests can’t get in, now will it?”
Travin sighed at Damin’s flippant reply. “In that case, my lord, we’ll see you in Krakandar.”
Damin looked at him oddly. Nobody ever called him that. “My
lord
?
”
lord
?
”
“Get used to it, cousin. It’s the correct way to address a Warlord.”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Then your opponent has one up on you, Damin, because I suspect a day hasn’t gone by in the past twenty-three years that Mahkas hasn’t dreamed of what it means to be Warlord of Krakandar, and the winner of any prize is usually the one who wants it most.”
E
mpty of its population, the city of Krakandar was eerily quiet as Starros hurried through the darkened streets of the Beggars’ Quarter in response to the summons he’d just received, demanding his presence at the entrance to the route leading through the sewers and out under the walls of the city. It was past midnight and he was exhausted. He hadn’t stopped in three days. He’d been running back and forth like a madman, coordinating the various teams charged with getting everybody out of the city as quietly and efficiently as possible.
mpty of its population, the city of Krakandar was eerily quiet as Starros hurried through the darkened streets of the Beggars’ Quarter in response to the summons he’d just received, demanding his presence at the entrance to the route leading through the sewers and out under the walls of the city. It was past midnight and he was exhausted. He hadn’t stopped in three days. He’d been running back and forth like a madman, coordinating the various teams charged with getting everybody out of the city as quietly and efficiently as possible.
It was almost done now, however. The only people left in Krakandar didn’t want to leave, and there was little Starros, the Thieves’ Guild, or any other guild could do to convince them otherwise.
He wasn’t sure what the problem at the tunnels was, and was hoping it was only a minor disaster awaiting him. He suspected it wasn’t. Luc wouldn’t have sent for him if it was something minor. He would have dealt with it himself.
When Starros arrived, he found a number of his men, who should have been stationed as lookouts, gathered around the tunnel entrance, which was housed in a warehouse near the outer wall of the Beggars’ Quarter, normally used as a base by the slaves responsible for keeping the sewers free of debris. They’d commandeered the barn-sized building a few nights before the evacuation began, ensuring the cooperation of the slaves in question by promising the men their freedom once the job was done.
“Are we not worried about keeping a lookout any longer?” he enquired loudly, slamming the warehouse door behind him to get the men’s attention. They were gathered in a tight, excited circle near the tunnel opening in the floor and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn they were gambling.
The sound of the door slamming had the desired effect, however, and the men broke apart guiltily as he approached. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation and then realised he didn’t need one. As the men fell back to allow him through, he discovered what was causing all the fuss.
“Damin Bloody Wolfblade.”
The young prince turned to greet him. “Still using my name as a curse, I see.”
Damin offered Starros his hand, but he didn’t accept it, eyeing him up and down. The prince looked travel-stained and a little tired, but if battle had wrought any other changes on Damin Wolfblade, he could see no sign of them. “What are you doing here?”
Damin withdrew his hand with a puzzled look. “I got your message. Thought you could use some help.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Sunrise Province saving us from an evil swarm of Fardohnyans or something?”
He grinned. “Done that already.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“The gods were on our side,” he replied. “You’re looking well.”
“Yes,” Starros agreed, unconsciously flexing his fingers as he neared the prince. “I am, aren’t I? We need to have a little chat about that at some point.”
“We
do
?”
do
?”
Without warning, almost without thinking, Starros hit him. He’d been too well indoctrinated on fighting techniques as a lad by Almodavar to try punching Damin in the jaw, so he aimed for his nose. It was just a single punch, short, sharp and eminently satisfying. Damin staggered backwards, crying out in both pain and shock at the unexpectedness of the attack, but he didn’t try to retaliate. Interestingly, none of the gathered thieves watching these two old friends settle their differences made any attempt to intervene, either.
“You sold my soul to the God of Thieves without asking, Damin.”
The prince looked quite wounded by Starros’s lack of appreciation, probing his bloody nose gingerly. “I thought you’d be grateful.”
“He is grateful,” Wrayan Lightfinger announced, stepping between them, perhaps thinking this wasn’t really the time or place to settle this. Or maybe Wrayan recognised something in Starros’s tone that didn’t augur well for their friendship. Starros had been so surprised to find Damin returned, he hadn’t even noticed Wrayan. The thief looked even more tired than Damin. In fact, he looked as if he’d aged ten years. That was remarkable in itself. Wrayan was part Harshini. He simply didn’t get tired. And he hadn’t aged in all the time Starros had known him.
“Wrayan! I thought you were still in Greenharbour.”
“I heard what you were doing to my city,” the thief said with a disarming smile. “Thought I’d better come back and see if I still had a job.”
“Excuse me,” Damin interjected nasally, his head tilted backwards as he pinched his nose with his left hand to halt the blood flow. “But it’s actually
my
city, if you don’t mind.”
my
city, if you don’t mind.”
“Not yet it isn’t,” Starros warned.
“Only until I get to the palace,” Damin assured him.
Starros studied him warily. He must have hit Damin in just the right spot. His nose was gushing blood as if he’d opened a vein. “Are you all right?”
Damin glared at him and then suddenly smiled. As peace gestures went, it wasn’t much, but Starros knew Damin well enough to know it was probably all the apology he was ever likely to get. “I’ll live.”
Someone handed the prince a length of rag and he held it against his face to stanch the blood. Damin would go to his grave, Starros realised, thinking he’d done him a favour by selling his soul to the God of Thieves.
“It won’t be easy, Damin. We’ve gotten the people out and as many Raiders as we dared, but Mahkas is still firmly in control of what’s left and any troops still in the city are loyal to him. The only thing that’s kept us safe so far is that he’s been too sick to notice what’s been going on. But Xanda tells me he was planning to be up and about this morning, so I don’t imagine we have long before he realises what’s happened.”
“Where is Xanda, by the way?”
“He went back to the palace to find Luciena.”
“Travin mentioned something about that. Why didn’t she leave when she had the chance?”
“Xanda thinks she went back for Bylinda.”
Damin thought for a moment before he spoke again. “If the real danger to Krakandar is Mahkas calling out the remaining Raiders when he realises there are no people left in the city, then we need to get to him before he does it.”
“Now you’re back, your highness, it shouldn’t take much to get the remaining Raiders to lay down their arms,” Luc North suggested, looking around at the circle of thieves, many of whom nodded in agreement.
“It’ll be even easier if we can arrange for them not to pick them up in the first place,” Damin pointed out. “But to do that, we need to remove Mahkas.”
“Exactly what do you mean by
remove
?” one of the other thieves asked a little warily. Starros understood his concern. Even in support of the rightful heir, killing a Warlord was not something one undertook lightly.
remove
?” one of the other thieves asked a little warily. Starros understood his concern. Even in support of the rightful heir, killing a Warlord was not something one undertook lightly.
“The High Prince has formally lowered the age of majority to twenty-five,” Damin informed them. He took the rag away and gently probed his nose again. The bleeding seemed to have finally stopped. “I’m going to advise my uncle of this and ask him to stand aside and allow me to take up my birthright.”
“And when he refuses?” Starros asked.
“Then as the legitimate Warlord of Krakandar, I’m well within my rights to kill him.” Damin glanced around the circle of thieves as he tossed the bloody rag away. “Mahkas is my problem, gentlemen. I won’t ask any other man to deal with it for me.”
“Well, if you’re looking for volunteers, my lord, there’re plenty of thieves left in the city who’d cheerfully kill Mahkas Damaran for you. If you need the help, that is.”
“Thank you,” Damin replied. “I’ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, can we get to the palace without going through the main gate? Through the sewers, perhaps?”
Starros changed his mind as he watched Damin. He’d thought nothing had changed about his old friend, but he was mistaken. There was an indefinable air of command about him now. When he’d first come home to Krakandar, the young prince acted as if he expected nobody to take him seriously. Now it was as if he knew he would be listened to, as if he expected to be followed. It was a subtle difference, but it was unmistakable and it sat so easily on the young man’s shoulders that Starros suspected it took Damin far less effort to maintain this side of his personality than the frivolous and flippant façade he’d maintained prior to Leila’s death.
“We can go through the fens,” Starros told him. “And from there through the back gate and into the slaveways via the palace storerooms behind the kitchens. I even have the master key.”
Damin eyed him curiously. “Taking your new career a little seriously, aren’t you?”
“And whose fault is it that I
have
a new career, Damin?”
have
a new career, Damin?”
“What about afterwards?” Luc asked, before Damin could respond to the accusation.
“Afterwards?” the prince asked, the question catching him off guard. He was still staring at Starros, obviously hurt his friend wasn’t more grateful for the way he’d saved him from certain death.
“He means after you take back the city,” Starros explained. “The Thieves’ Guild has been instrumental in handing your city back to you, Damin. Instead of a sealed city with four or five thousand Raiders that you’d have to lay siege to for months, you’ve got a clear run to the palace, the prospect of few, if any, civilian casualties, and an opportunity to take the whole damned province without shedding more than a few drops of Mahkas Damaran’s blood. That’s got to be worth something.”
Clearly unhappy about it, Damin hesitated before he answered. “We’ll talk about it once the city is mine.” He glanced around the circle of faces, expecting agreement, and then began heading toward the warehouse doors.
“If you want the help of the Thieves’ Guild, we’ll talk about it now, your highness,” Starros informed him.
Damin stopped and turned to look at him, before he turned to Wrayan, who—significantly—hadn’t followed the prince either. “You need to have a little chat with your newest recruit, Wrayan. The Thieves’ Guild doesn’t rule Krakandar.”
“They do tonight,” Wrayan replied, stepping up to stand with Starros. “And I’m afraid I have to agree with my newest recruit. How exactly
are
you planning to reward the Thieves’ Guild for delivering your city to you, my lord?”
are
you planning to reward the Thieves’ Guild for delivering your city to you, my lord?”
Damin was clearly shocked to find himself confronted with such a question. Years of friendship had lulled him into forgetting Wrayan ruled the dark underbelly of Krakandar City. That Damin had accepted the aid of the Thieves’ Guild as his due didn’t surprise Starros. Wrayan backing him against Damin without hesitation did, however.
Damin studied the two thieves in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Nobody’s laughing.”
“What do you want?”
“What are you offering?”
Damin glared at Starros, and took a threatening step closer. “How about I offer not to leave any marks?”
Starros didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to do better than that, Damin. We’ve risked everything for you.”
“Horseshit!” Damin exclaimed. “According to Travin, you organised this evacuation as some sort of glorious prank to honour your god. There’s more than a few refugees out there who think you did it just so you could sack the city in peace. You didn’t even know if I’d get your message, let alone be here tonight. Don’t try to make your little escapade appear noble, Starros, just because I happened to turn up at a convenient time for you to claim the glory.”
Starros shrugged. “I’m a thief now, Damin. Thanks to you. I’m compelled to steal anything I can. Even glory when the chance arises.”
Damin turned his impatient gaze on Wrayan. “We don’t have time for this, Wrayan.”
The sorcerer smiled, apparently amused by this power struggle going on between the two old friends. “Then I suggest you give him what he wants so we can get on with the real reason we’re here.”
Exasperated, Damin threw up his hands. “What do you want?”
“A general amnesty,” Starros informed him. “No thief is to be held accountable for anything that goes missing until your rule of the city is established.”
“So you
are
planning to sack the city?”
are
planning to sack the city?”
“Only a little bit of it.” He shrugged. “And only from the people who can afford it.”
Damin glared at him. “Let me get this straight. In return for the help of the Thieves’ Guild, you want me to turn a blind eye to you and your little friends looting the rich houses of the city, until I can wrest control of it from Mahkas?”
“That pretty much covers it.”
The prince thought about it and then, with a great deal of reluctance, he conceded defeat. “Very well. Until I open the gates of the city and let my army back in, you have a free hand.”
Starros smiled. “See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“That gives you about three hours, Starros. Make the most of them.”
“You think you can remove Mahkas and regain control in three hours?”
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