Iron and Shadow, page 45
part #3 of The Iron Kingdom Series
Karrok stood from the bench he’d been sitting on. “As much fun as answering the elf girl’s questions is, I have to go.”
“Working with your troops today?” Rothan said, walking up to take a drink himself.
Nodding, Karrok’s voice was grim. “Mixed unit work today.” He sighed heavily. “Most of these new dwarf lads have never fought alongside humans before and it’ll take a bit of time.”
The human warriors understood completely. “Hopefully there’s enough time.” Garyth said grimly. “The king wants to move out soon.”
Karrok replied, his voice sure. “We’ll be ready, lad.” Looking critically at the human lord, he advised, “You’ve done a good job hiding the wound on your left side, but your shield still dips a bit.”
Garyth nodded and sighed ruefully. “Even most of my family thinks the big wound was the one in my chest.” He said, thinking back to Kollur’s advice. “I’ve tried to favor my right side, but I’ve been wondering if the shield will be a problem.”
Tavia looked mystified. “You think that people would tell Lokkmar that your left side is weak?” There was more than a little outrage in her voice.
“We don’t think.” Rothan answered for his lord, gruffly. “We know. Warriors will use any advantage in battle and whatever else Lokkmar may be, he is a good fighter.”
Garyth amended his friend’s statement. “He’s an excellent warrior.” His voice was thoughtful. “And he came through the entire war unscathed.”
“Is he a coward, then?” Tavia asked, looking around at the three warriors.
Laughing, Karrok answered. “Worse, lass! He’s an opportunist!”
Seeing that the wizard didn’t understand, Rothan enlightened her. “You see, Lokkmar is a strategist, first and foremost. Whether he’s commanding troops or fighting one on one, he isn’t a man who makes mistakes.” Glancing at Garyth, he saw the lord nodding and continued. “He’s known as an ice-cold tactician whose main strength is capitalizing on his opponents flaws and weaknesses.”
“There are plenty of those for him to find!” Garyth said angrily. “If I weren’t recovering from these wounds…”
Karrok interrupted him. “But you are!” They all looked at him, somewhat appalled but both human warriors respected him, knowing that he’d been training warriors for longer than either of them had been alive. “My advice is to embrace your wounds, Garyth.”
“Oh, now even I know what utter rubbish that advice is!” Tavia said rolling her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean, embrace your wounds?” At the end, the elf dropped the register of her voice to mimic the dwarf’s gruff tone.
Gritting his teeth, the dwarf ignored her. “It means, lord Garyth, that you can’t fight this man, wishing you were in top form.” His eyes cut to Rothan and back to the lord. “Which neither of you are in! What you need to do is realize that your wounds will make him overconfident, if nothing else.”
“You think overconfidence will give him the edge?” Rothan asked seriously. “Lokkmar is no novice.”
Karrok snorted. “Of course, he isn’t!” Glaring at Garyth, he pointed up at him. “You need to take advantage of everything in this fight! You’re at a disadvantage and use his pride against him!”
“How?” Garyth’s voice wasn’t offended but just as demanding as the dwarf’s. He thought that he had a pretty good idea what Karrok would say and the dwarf’s next words proved him right.
“Let him come to you.” The dwarven thane said. “He’ll know you can’t move like you want, so let him be the aggressor. Then, you make him pay for it.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Garyth agreed. “It’s much the same advice my cousin Kollur gave me.”
“Aye and it’s good advice at that.” The dwarf turned to go but paused near the gate. “No doubt Lokkmar will demand that no enchanted weapons or armor will be used?”
Rothan answered first. “Good steel of the Iron Kingdom was how his second put it when we talked.” He grimaced, remembering how badly he’d wanted to punch the strutting peacock that had arrived with Lokkmar’s terms. The tradition had always been that the man challenged could set the terms of the duel with regard to weaponry. “No armor heavier than mail, any hand weapons desired and shields.”
“Good!” Karrok grinned nastily. “Make sure you take one of those hand and a half sword’s you like, lord Garyth.”
Now Garyth looked puzzled. “You just told me that I can’t fight like I normally do. What happened to let him come to me and make him pay?”
Karrok laughed again. “Oh, you’ll start out that way, I’m sure.” There was truth in his words that both other warriors felt in their bones. “Truth is that when it gets real, when the blood’s thundering in your veins and your instincts kick in, you’ll fight like yourself, no matter what.” He could see them exchange glances. “Start with the shield and sword and let him think he has your measure but believe me, when the blood starts flowing, you’ll want the weapon you’re most comfortable with in hand.”
“It’s true.” Rothan said emphatically. “When it’s life or death, I’d rather have a sword and shield than anything.”
“It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think?” The dwarf said laughingly. “Your favored weapon being a bastard sword? What with your lineage and all?”
Rothan’s face was pure shock at the statement but Garyth erupted with genuine laughter. After a moment, the captain joined in and the dwarf’s laughter was all the louder. The three warriors laughed, wincing at their wounds, Tavia looked aghast.
“You’re all mad.” She said when they were spent, and their peals of laughter had died down into chuckles.
Karrok favored her with a stare. “Anyone who picks up a weapon with the intent to take life has to be a bit mad, girl.” Ignoring her glare and without giving her a chance to reply, the dwarf, for once had the last word with the elf. This made both the men laugh again, though this time more gingerly, as their wounds were still healing and tender.
“I need to ask you a favor, Rothan.” Garyth said then.
Sensing the change in tone, the captain instantly replied. “Command me, my lord.”
“No, I cannot command you in this.” Garyth replied hesitatingly and then explained. “I’m asking this as a friend.”
Taken aback for a moment, Rothan finally nodded after glancing at Tavia. He’d realized that his bond with Garyth had grown beyond a lord and a soldier sworn to service but to have it put so plainly caught him off guard.
“If something…” Garyth began haltingly. “If things go badly. If I lose to Lokkmar I want to ask you to look after my family.”
Now Rothan looked stunned. “My lord?”
“Elin will know what to do financially, of course.” Garyth explained and now he looked at Tavia as well. “My concern would be for my family’s safety.”
Rothan’s voice was angry. “No one would dare! The king would…”
Cutting her lover’s tirade off at the beginning, Tavia’s voice was calculating. “The king will leave for war, regardless of what happens.”
Seeing the logic of her words, Rothan’s eyes widened. “But surely your family. The prince perhaps?’
Garyth sighed. “I’m a bastard, as Karrok so eloquently pointed out.” There was no anger in his voice, only resignation. “I can’t trust that people who have never really accepted me would look out for my wife and children. I do trust you, Rothan.”
Stunned and honored, Rothan knelt before his lord. “On my honor and my life, I swear I will keep them safe!”
Tavia’s eyes narrowed angrily but she said nothing as she and the lord shared a long glance. There was no time limit placed on the oath and in the event that something did happen, Rothan could spend years in service to Garyth’s wife and children, perhaps the rest of his life. The sorceress wasn’t happy, but she saw the sense of it. Captain Rothan would die before letting harm come to the lord’s family and, while the need of such an oath and all the ramifications of it bothered her, she realized she felt the same way. Tavia would give no oath that day but she swore within herself that she would stand alongside her man and keep Garyth’s family safe if the worst should happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Although the people of the Iron Kingdom said that it was still summer, Savrun inwardly laughed. Summer in the southlands was a very different proposition altogether, though in fairness, the assassin reflected that he never wanted to be this far north in winter, could he help it. The assassin had traveled far in his lifetime and had learned a basic truth about people. Customs and climate varied and to the untrained eye, people could seem alien and bizarre, yet there were core needs and desires that all people had. As he examined the leaders of the Shadow Liberation, this truth was verified once again.
The woman, Haunild, was speaking at the present. She’d been outlining the steps that they’d taken within the kingdom, their long and short-term goals as well as their vision for a liberated kingdom. Savrun wasn’t exactly bored by it all, but some of the details she was explaining in excruciating details weren’t necessary for him to know but she was the leader of the liberation and he indulged her. She was an exceptional woman, he mused. Strong and sure in her actions and features, there was a beauty to her that she clearly did little to cultivate. Haunild was a true believer, the assassin could tell from the instant he met her. She was the type of individual who focused all her thought and effort into her cause and was driven to succeed in a way that an average person, simply going through the motions of living could never understand.
The man standing close to her was a warrior born. It was as obvious to Savrun as the color of the sky. The man’s stance, his poise, the way his gaze took in everything around him but instinctively latched on to the assassin, somehow knowing the threat he represented. Far from finding it offensive, Savrun respected the man called Iverech’s manner. He wasn’t a dog, baring his teeth but a wolf, gauging potential prey. It was clear that he was the type of man women would find both handsome and dangerous. The assassin knew that such things were a bonus to such a warrior but not anything he was likely to focus on. Savrun knew a trained killer when he saw one and Iverech was just such a man. He’d guessed that Iverech and Haunild were lovers and that the relationship was new. There were a hundred different tells that informed him of it and like all such information, Savrun filed it away for it’s potential, future use.
An older man completed the trio that had met him in the manor’s study. The silver-haired nobleman still cut a dashing figure and had the kind of shrewd eyes that reminded Savrun of successful merchants in the southlands. Just as Haunild was the leader and Iverech was the muscle, Meilif was the wisdom of the group. He spoke rarely and when he did say something, it was always insightful and astute. The old man gave nothing away in his expression, which was had been carefully friendly but aloof the entire time. Meilif had been a count and Savrun noted that the others still referred to him with that title from time to time, though the man never used it himself. The manor belonged to Meilif and from it, the revolution had been planned from its infancy. This fact had somewhat surprised Savrun when he’d realized that the old count was also, likely the money behind the Shadow Liberation. His respect for the nobleman had grown then, as he realized that Meilif’s purpose was that of a believer and patriot as well and seemingly had no ego or aspirations toward leadership.
Upon reflection, Savrun realized how much sense it made. Haunild was young, strong and passionate and seemed like the complete opposite of the king that ruled these lands. The Iron King was a legendary warrior, set in his ways who ruled with absolute authority. Haunild represented a change in thinking and in deed who would see the monarchy completely abolished and government in the hands of the people. The assassin had seen attempts of such realms before, but they had never lasted, though he would be the first to admit that just because something had never been done, didn’t meant that it couldn’t be done. Savrun was not here to partake in the cup of revolution, however. He was here to further his master’s designs and the only things the cold-blooded killer had ever believed in were himself and the Hidden One.
“So, we believe that the best time will be when the king is away with the bulk of the fighting men.” Haunild said, elaborating on their timelines and plans. “The kingdom will be vulnerable as never before.”
Meilif’s tone was acidic. “The tyrant cares nothing for the plight of the people.” His cultured voice oozed disdain. “Should the realm be invaded from another quarter, thousands of people would be slain before sufficient force could be rallied to present anything approaching a reasonable defense!”
Haunild glanced at Meilif, her eyes narrowing. “Count Meilif is correct, of course.” She allowed grudgingly. “However, as we’ve said many times, such a state is preferable for our cause.” Looking back at Savrun, she saw that the man was the very picture of equanimity. His expression never changed, and his dark eyes were like blank windows that presented absolutely no picture of what went on within. The leader of the Shadow Liberation had, of course, heard of Savrun but meeting him in person made her realize what true poise was. For all that, there was something deeply unsettling about being in his presence, as though her every flaw, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, was on full display.
“Yes, my dear, this time of chaos is helpful to our revolution.” The old nobleman said in measured tones. “Yet, we must think past that revolution. It isn’t simply changing who leads but retaining our culture and sovereignty through these times.” Passion entered Meilif’s voice now. “We must survive as a people, conscious of why these changes are wrought or none of it means anything!” He and Haunild shared a brief look that told the others that this was an old conversation between them. It wasn’t necessarily that they disagreed, the nobleman reflected, only that they put varying degrees of importance on different matters. He forced himself not to keep looking at Savrun. Meilif had known his share of dangerous men and had been one in his day, warriors, killers for hire, knights, thieves and even wizards. Still, he’d known from the moment he met the famed assassin that he was in the presence of one of the deadliest men alive.
For his part, Iverech had refrained from speaking. He’d instantly sized the assassin up from the moment the other man walked in the room. Though he towered over the other man, the mercenary had no illusions about Savrun’s ability. Iverech had traveled through many lands and the name Savrun was whispered with dread. The mercenary knew that the man’s ability to kill in diverse ways was legend and it was said that he had no equal with a blade. However, like all who employ martial skills for a living, Iverech was competitive and something deep within him surged upward as soon as he laid eyes on the assassin. He’d known then that he’d love to cross steel with the other man but knew also that, for all his confidence, the outcome would be no certain thing. Savrun’s every movement, no matter how innocuous, was a thing of measured grace. It was also clear that, while a smaller man than Iverech, he was fantastically muscled. Perhaps another would miss the signs, as Savrun wore loose, nondescript garments but it could be seen in the assassin’s hands and forearms, even in his neck. The northern warrior felt an overwhelming urge to fight the man.
Savrun had initial feelings that were much the same as Iverech but unlike the big northerner, he never seriously entertained them. A consummate professional, Savrun killed upon command or when necessity demanded it, never from ego. As always, his cool confidence radiated from him and it was, as always, genuine. Savrun never believed that any man could best him and the mindset was so deeply ingrained within him that he simply never questioned or doubted it as truth.
Turning to the southerner, Haunild’s gaze was challenging. “What are your thoughts on all of this?” It was clear that the other two weren’t pleased by her question, but she ignored their looks. “What would you suggest as the best way forward, Savrun?”
“Do not use my name again.” The assassin said flatly.
Bristling, Iverech finally spoke, his voice fierce. “Watch your tongue!” He grated, taking a step forward. Savrun merely pivoted calmly, his hands at his sides but he locked eyes with the mercenary and it was as if they’d already drawn swords.
Haunild intervened smoothly. “Please, forgive me.” She said, throwing an arm in front of the angry Iverech. “What would you prefer me to call you?” The leader of the revolution, exchanged a sidelong glance with the mercenary and he stepped back, quickly regaining his composure.
Savrun seemed nonplussed and slowly looked from Iverech to Haunild. “What is a fitting local name?”
Thinking about it for a moment, she replied. “I had a kinsman named Rithul.” Her voice was thoughtful and Haunild was, as ever, astute. “It’s an old name but one that has caught on with immigrants to the larger cities as well.”
With a slight smile, Savrun nodded. “Excellent choice.” He glanced to Meilif and saw the old count was in agreeance. “I would never pass for a northerner but perhaps someone come to the capitol to start over. I shall be Rithul, then”
The mercenary said nothing, nor did any of them so much as look at him for his opinion. Iverech was seething inwardly but more at himself than with the assassin. The mask had slipped, and he was furious with himself. He realized in that moment that Savrun never even blinked, though they’d been close to violence. The warrior had always prided himself of his constraint and ability to control himself, to blend in. Now, however, he’d met a man who made his attempts at such things laughable, as though Iverech were a child. Once he’d turned from Iverech to speak with Haunild again, the southerner never so much as flicked his eyes toward the mercenary again. The mercenary knew, though, that Savrun was aware of his every movement just the same. He vowed to say no more and fought to calm himself.
Count Meilif spoke then. “Perhaps, you were a merchant in your homeland?” He suggested mildly. “I know that you are a warrior, but such a cover might be just the thing.” They all knew that to call the deadliest assassin known a warrior was an oversimplification, but the idea seemed to please Savrun.
