The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 58
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
Vervandi. Seeing her was like a bell tolling inside his head. Something is wrong.
Corin rolled to his feet and shook his lover awake. “We need to get moving,” he said. The sky was lighter and a faint pink settled the fields, the dawn breeze tussling grasses, its ripple effect creating a gray-green swaying ocean.
They reached the gates and were allowed through after Corin reluctantly explained he worked for Silon of Port Sarfe and had vital news for the Garrison Commander concerning the king. The captain wanted to press him further, but Corin’s tone and Yazrana’s cold stare halted the words on his lips. They were allowed to pass, though Corin knew word of their passage would go out immediately. No matter. Calprissa was a big city with lots of places to hide. They’d made it here. Now for the interesting part.
***
The purse was heavy and coin jingled as it thudded on the table. Hagan weighed it in his fist. Gold. More than he’d ever been paid. Enough to keep him in comfort for weeks. The visitor watched him in silence. A lone lantern hung above their table in a dark corner of a forsaken tavern lost in the tangle of Reln’s abandoned market square.
The hollow-eyed man smiled. A mirthless grin. It gave Hagan the creeps, but then so did most of the Sorcerer’s people. That didn’t matter. What did was the vast sum of money on the table just inches from his reach.
Hagan made to grab it but the man tapped the table with his cane. “First I need your assurance.”
“I won’t let your master down,” Hagan said, eyeing the gold. “Just tell me what’s required, who I need to kill.”
The thin smile again. “I know you’ll prove worthy,” he said. He removed his wide-brimmed cap and placed it on the table. His face was pale and stretched like old parchment, and his expression cold. “Were you to disappoint, then we would find you, Morwellan. Lord C likes reliable staff. The last one let him down. A regrettable business.”
“Who?”
“Carne Dooly, recently of Calprissa.”
Hagan shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
“You don’t have to know him.” The thin man smiled. “You, Hagan Delmorier, just have kill him.”
“Calprissa?”
“No.” The smile again. “The rat’s scurried off, thinks we don’t know about his hideout. A decrepit former mansion away up the coast from that city. You’ll find a crossroads forty miles south of Port Wind. Highreach Hall—write that down.”
Hagan tapped his head. “No need, it’s in here.” The man looked at him and nodded.
“Kill Dooly and cut off any beringed fingers—I know his seal and will want proof.”
“That’s it?” Hagan reached for the gold.
“No.” The nameless man rapped the table again with his cane. Hagan didn’t care for this character, but there was something menacing about him. Enough to stop him prying further. And an unsavory odor lingered about his person. Let’s get this done with and find a whore house. There were plenty of those in this city.
“What else?”
“A man and a woman. Mercenaries. We don’t know who the man is, but have cause to believe he works for the conniver Silon of Raleen, a longswordsman. The woman is a known pirate wanted for atrocities committed along this coast. Kill them both. Cut off the woman’s head and bring it to me.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Hagan said. Corin an Fol—what have you been up to?
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” Hagan feigned a smile. “Where will I find them?”
“Same place, I suspect, together with your former ally Postin the Hammer.”
“What’s this about?” Hagan was having doubts and for good cause.
“Beyond your pay grade,” the thin man said.
“At least tell me who the woman is.”
“A Permian spy,” the nameless man said. “And a former privateer. A scourge. The High King demands her head on a spike outside the palace walls.”
“Very nice,” Hagan said, reaching for the gold again. This time the man let him grab it. He weighed it in his hands. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“You’ll leave now,” the man said. He placed his hat on his head and stood leaning over Hagan and the table. He was very tall as well as skinny, Hagan noticed for the first time. He leaned closer and smiled.
“Don’t fail us, Hagan Delmorier.” The man’s breath stank like sewers after sunset. Hagan choked back a cough at that reek. “Ride south immediately and wait for the other men to join you. They’re former Tigers on loan from General Perani. Good fighters, but they lack your guile. Succeed, and you’ll have a long, profitable career ahead.” The man clapped Hagan’s shoulder and turned away without further word.
Hagan stowed the purse in his waist belt and left the shabby inn. Outside, cold rain drenched the dirty streets of Reln, his home these last few weeks. A cheap grubby room above the tavern, the place where Caswallon’s contact had found him.
Hagan wasn’t happy about killing Corin but business was business. Theirs had been a fragile relationship, and that longswordsman had left him for dead in the desert. Payback. Gold was what mattered in this life. He could always buy new friends.
Shame though, and a woman too. Hagan whistled as he led the horse out onto the highway, the city gates closing behind him. It was going to be an interesting few days.
Chapter 18 | The Deceiver
Caswallon smiled and spread his arms in welcome as the King of Wynais burst into the palace courtyard amidst a cluster of servants and retainers. Birds chattered in bushes and fountains chimed in corners, and the infuriating glare cast by the residing crystal near blinded him. But he smiled amiably, and as the burley ruler paced toward him, held out his hand in greeting.
King Nogel stared at the offered hand as though it were a snake. “Where is Kelsalion?” the king demanded, very rudely in Caswallon’s opinion.
“Your Highness, you do us great honor.”
“I asked a fucking question, meddler.”
Caswallon shook his head and struggled to retain composure. The man was an oaf and a bore, and he wished Keel had done the job when first he had the chance, and not prevaricated.
“He is sleeping, Highness.”
“Then wake him up.”
“I’d sooner not—the High King needs a lot of rest these days. Regrettably, our beloved monarch’s very troubled and not the sage ruler you remember. You haven’t been in Kella for a while now. There have been some changes.” Caswallon hinted a table and chairs with his hand. “Please, be seated.” The king glared at him for a moment and then took a chair.
“I want to speak with Kelsalion,” King Nogel said. “I won’t be leaving until I do.”
Caswallon smiled again, masking his inner rage. Such a waste of his precious time. Again, he blamed Keel. He’d hoped to avoid this confrontation, which was pointless. “My retainers will bring refreshment while you wait, Highness. It might be a long one.”
Perani hovered close and Caswallon turned to the general. “A word in your ear, General,” he said, and Perani nodded. “Please excuse us, Highness—our civic duties have doubled of late.”
“Don’t linger on my account,” King Nogel said. Caswallon left him in the courtyard, with the chirping birds and glimmering glare. The Crown Room was halfway across the palace but the crystal always seemed brightest in the gardens. Caswallon detested that silver light. He would snuff it out in due course. Soon if things went to plan.
He stopped in a narrow cloister shaded by heavy palms. Servants parted like reeds and made themselves scarce. Perani loomed up behind him. “Keep your distance,” Caswallon said. The Lord High Councilor couldn’t abide his personal space being invaded. Perani took a step back. Another stupid soldier. But at least this loyal puppet had uses. “Where is the assassin?”
“He’s here in Kella,” Perani said. “I’m not sure where exactly.”
“I thought you always knew where everyone was?”
“That one’s hard to pin down.” Perani avoided his gaze. Caswallon liked that. Perani was a hard man but still just a tool. A blunt instrument. A slave.
“Well, then send soldiers to find him and command his presence. I need to finish this nonsense before we can move on. Oh—and tell that whelp Tarin to wake his father. I don’t want that southern king loitering around all day.”
Perani left him with a curt salute, and Caswallon wandered back through the royal rooms. Tired and irritable, his head throbbing, he kept to the shadows and avoided the Tekara’s radiance whenever he could. He needed to prepare the way for those who would come. The sorcerers he’d called on to help with his task. A summoning.
Caswallon trembled with excitement at the thought of that ancient power. The dark knowledge those beings retained. The old enemy. The Urgolais. He’d made preliminary contact up in the tower, a sacrifice too—they’d appreciated that. It’s the little things that make all the difference.
The initial communication had taken time but he’d got through with his offer, and yes—they were interested. And so they should be, as they stood to gain much. Now he needed to act swiftly and decisively while he had their fully focused attention. The Urgolais were tricky folk. Caswallon needed to prove that he was fully committed, and on their side—those ancient, cunning enemies of the Crystal Crown and everything it stood for.
Caswallon smiled as he reached a quiet corner. All was in hand. This kingly affair was but a stone in his shoe. Kings were pawns like other men. His rise to power and fortune had only just begun. Careful planning first, then swift precise action. Timing was everything. Caswallon waited until he heard voices in the garden outside and then breezed back through the gilded doors to watch on.
***
King Nogel had wanted to swat the smiling councilor like the cockroach he was. Immaculately garbed in his smoky blue silk, the cloak of shimmering moons and stars a statement of what he’d become. A bold enchanter who was no longer hiding his nighttime pursuits. Enchanter was too kind. The knave was a sorcerer—worse, a necromancer were all the rumors true, and they most likely were. Gods alone knew what villainy occurred way up there in that dreadful tower.
Nogel was offered wine and ample food. He ignored both. Eventually the pale young Prince Tarin emerged like a scolded cur from the gardens.
“My father is coming,” the boy said, taking a seat at the far end of the table. Nogel stared at the lad until he nervously shifted his gaze to the bushes.
“How fares the High King?” Nogel asked. Tarin just shrugged. Suit yourself, child. Nogel looked up as a cluster of white-clad servants emerged amid fuss and fiddle, and Caswallon reappeared with his oily smile. Staged, thought Nogel. The bastard’s been hovering to see what I said. Then he looked past the sorcerer and saw a man hobbling behind him, supported by shaven-headed priests. The High King had come after all.
Kelsalion III had been tall. He wasn’t now. Neither was he the handsome, confident ruler King Nogel remembered. The man staggering to stay upright before him was a disheveled, pale ghost of a man, hardly anything remained of the old High King. The noble, if reclusive ruler of all Four Kingdoms. What had happened to the Tekara? How could the crown’s potent energy for good allow this to happen? A thousand years and then the sap runs dry? Didn’t make sense. Caswallon must have found a way to tap into its source, drain the potency.
There was poison in this city. And the rot was deepest right here in the palace, despite that silver glow. Nogel stood as they helped the High King to his chair. He was dribbling, Nogel noticed, his blue eyes flicking about. Agitated, the High King waved the servants away like so many noisome blowflies.
“Stop fussing me,” he said, voice reedy and thin. “Go away.” They faded back, all save Caswallon who stood his ground, arms neatly folded into the pocket of his crimson gown, the customary half-smile masking his face.
“Cousin—why have you come?” Kelsalion III stared at Nogel without much interest. “Haven’t you a little kingdom to rule down there?”
Nogel chewed his moustache and remained standing. “I have, my lord. But I also have concerns.”
“Concerns . . .?”
“About your health and the state of this realm.”
“We are old—tis all.”
“You’re but seven years my senior, Lord. That’s hardly old.”
“Well I am sickly then. What of it?”
“I fear you are corrupted by this man in the wizard’s gown who calls himself your ‘councilor,’ but secretly plots against you.” Nogel noticed the open shock on Prince Tarin’s face, as though he’d been found out. So, you’re part of it too, weasel.
“You’re inferring that Lord Caswallon is a traitor? My sole comforter and greatest friend? Have a care, sir!” The High King’s face looked flustered, outraged. He coughed for a moment and then held up his hands, the rings loose and slipping. “I suggest you return to Wynais, Cousin Nogel—lest we become vexed.”
“You need to know the truth, Kelsalion,” Nogel said.
“You’ll address me as your overlord!”
“Lord . . . Exalted Highness,” Caswallon stepped forward and placed his hands on the table, his cool dark eyes watching Nogel carefully. “The King of Kelwyn is a strong and honest man. We all admire him. But, forgive me Highness”—that smile again— “your younger cousin’s misguided and has listened to lies spun by traitors who would work against you.”
“The only traitor here is you.” Nogel glared at Caswallon and noticed the brief flicker of rage in those coaly eyes, swiftly covered by that easy half-smile. Have a care, Nogel told himself. Hold your temper.
“It saddens me that you believe such follies,” Caswallon said glibly. He turned to address the High King. “Your Exalted Majesty, please allow your premier servant to smooth this ruffled carpet. The King of Kelwyn has traveled far, and is clearly weary—as are you. Let’s adjourn until everyone is properly rested.”
“It’s true, we are weary,” Kelsalion said. He glared at Nogel. “You, cousin, have upset us with your foolish accusations. We are vexed by your disloyalty. We will return to our room immediately.” Caswallon nodded approval, snapped his fingers, and the shaven-headed servants appeared from hidden corners. They helped the High King to his feet, and all King Nogel could do was watch as they half-dragged the emaciated ruler from the courtyard.
Pitiful, and a fruitless trip. Nogel should have known better than to come here, but he’d hoped the High King was reachable. Instead, Kelsalion III was beyond any help and Kelwyn had best look to its defenses. He stared at Caswallon’s back until the man turned and surveyed him with those calculating eyes. You knew I was watching you. It was true what they said. This man gets inside your head if you let him. Nogel could feel the self-doubt jabbing him. Probing for weakness. Why did I come here? How dare I accuse this man?
Caswallon took seat at the table and neatly rested his hands on its surface. Nogel noticed Prince Tarin’s eyes flickering his way like a frightened bird. Like his father, the boy was a puppet controlled by this consummate schemer.
“Sorcery is back in fashion, I see.” Nogel took to his chair and accepted a glass of wine from a servant. He knew he’d lost here, but wasn’t leaving without a fight.
Caswallon raised a dark brow. “Highness, I cannot grasp your meaning. Are you speaking of the Tekara, the Crystal Crown?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Ah, you are accusing me personally.” Caswallon waved a hand. “I’m an astrologer and astronomer, my lord king. I study the stars in the tower above. For the good of these Four Kingdoms, I chart the skies so that we may steer free of obstacles. A hard and thankless business.”
“Call it what you will, Caswallon. You cannot hoodwink me like Kelsalion or this foolish boy.” Tarin glared at him with his mouth open, and Caswallon’s eyes flashed angrily again.
“King Nogel, I find it regrettable indeed that you’ve such a low opinion of us. But I would advise you have a care. By all means, speak poorly of myself—I’m but a civil servant. But this young man is the High King’s heir. He will inherit the throne one day, wear the Crystal Crown—the thirty-third of Kell’s mighty line.”
And suddenly Nogel saw it. Clear as the ice coating Lake Wynais on a bright sharp winter’s day. You’re going to murder Kelsalion and place this boy on the throne. Nogel stood up, spilling wine. His work was done here. Best he and his men return at speed to Wynais.
“I’ve nothing further to say to you, Councilor.”
“Well, enjoy the city while you stay.” Caswallon rose with him. “May I suggest a guided tour of the Crystal Palace to soothe your weary nerves? The Tekara’s aura will soon banish your worries.”
“Nay—they are too deep.” Nogel turned briskly and left the courtyard, the servants fussing and following behind. Perani escorted him to the barracks where his men were idling the hours away.
“We ride out,” Nogel said. “We never should have come here.” His troops were ready within minutes, and an hour later they had left the city far behind.
***
“You can come out now.” Caswallon strolled the gardens and stopped by a fountain. Beside him, a bush shivered slightly and a gloved hand appeared, parting fronds and followed by a body. A smallish, neatly clad individual with sharp, clever eyes the color of polished jade.
Keel smiled as he joined Caswallon in the gardens. Tarin had gone to see how his father fared, and the servants had made themselves scarce again. That left the two plotters time to stroll the gardens at ease.
“Why did he come here?” Keel asked, his green eyes fascinated by a blackbird scratching for grubs under a bush. “Stupid—even for him.”
“To challenge me and see if he could get through to Kelsalion.” Caswallon shrugged. “The arrogance of kings never fails to amaze me. If you’d have done your work last month, we could have avoided this nuisance.” Caswallon glared at Keel but there was no give in those eyes. This was one individual he couldn’t probe, though he had tried on several occasions. Keel’s soul was veiled. This assassin wasn’t like other men. An intricate killer, complex and twisted. Useful, yet capricious and tricky to handle. He summoned patience yet again.
Corin rolled to his feet and shook his lover awake. “We need to get moving,” he said. The sky was lighter and a faint pink settled the fields, the dawn breeze tussling grasses, its ripple effect creating a gray-green swaying ocean.
They reached the gates and were allowed through after Corin reluctantly explained he worked for Silon of Port Sarfe and had vital news for the Garrison Commander concerning the king. The captain wanted to press him further, but Corin’s tone and Yazrana’s cold stare halted the words on his lips. They were allowed to pass, though Corin knew word of their passage would go out immediately. No matter. Calprissa was a big city with lots of places to hide. They’d made it here. Now for the interesting part.
***
The purse was heavy and coin jingled as it thudded on the table. Hagan weighed it in his fist. Gold. More than he’d ever been paid. Enough to keep him in comfort for weeks. The visitor watched him in silence. A lone lantern hung above their table in a dark corner of a forsaken tavern lost in the tangle of Reln’s abandoned market square.
The hollow-eyed man smiled. A mirthless grin. It gave Hagan the creeps, but then so did most of the Sorcerer’s people. That didn’t matter. What did was the vast sum of money on the table just inches from his reach.
Hagan made to grab it but the man tapped the table with his cane. “First I need your assurance.”
“I won’t let your master down,” Hagan said, eyeing the gold. “Just tell me what’s required, who I need to kill.”
The thin smile again. “I know you’ll prove worthy,” he said. He removed his wide-brimmed cap and placed it on the table. His face was pale and stretched like old parchment, and his expression cold. “Were you to disappoint, then we would find you, Morwellan. Lord C likes reliable staff. The last one let him down. A regrettable business.”
“Who?”
“Carne Dooly, recently of Calprissa.”
Hagan shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
“You don’t have to know him.” The thin man smiled. “You, Hagan Delmorier, just have kill him.”
“Calprissa?”
“No.” The smile again. “The rat’s scurried off, thinks we don’t know about his hideout. A decrepit former mansion away up the coast from that city. You’ll find a crossroads forty miles south of Port Wind. Highreach Hall—write that down.”
Hagan tapped his head. “No need, it’s in here.” The man looked at him and nodded.
“Kill Dooly and cut off any beringed fingers—I know his seal and will want proof.”
“That’s it?” Hagan reached for the gold.
“No.” The nameless man rapped the table again with his cane. Hagan didn’t care for this character, but there was something menacing about him. Enough to stop him prying further. And an unsavory odor lingered about his person. Let’s get this done with and find a whore house. There were plenty of those in this city.
“What else?”
“A man and a woman. Mercenaries. We don’t know who the man is, but have cause to believe he works for the conniver Silon of Raleen, a longswordsman. The woman is a known pirate wanted for atrocities committed along this coast. Kill them both. Cut off the woman’s head and bring it to me.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Hagan said. Corin an Fol—what have you been up to?
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” Hagan feigned a smile. “Where will I find them?”
“Same place, I suspect, together with your former ally Postin the Hammer.”
“What’s this about?” Hagan was having doubts and for good cause.
“Beyond your pay grade,” the thin man said.
“At least tell me who the woman is.”
“A Permian spy,” the nameless man said. “And a former privateer. A scourge. The High King demands her head on a spike outside the palace walls.”
“Very nice,” Hagan said, reaching for the gold again. This time the man let him grab it. He weighed it in his hands. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“You’ll leave now,” the man said. He placed his hat on his head and stood leaning over Hagan and the table. He was very tall as well as skinny, Hagan noticed for the first time. He leaned closer and smiled.
“Don’t fail us, Hagan Delmorier.” The man’s breath stank like sewers after sunset. Hagan choked back a cough at that reek. “Ride south immediately and wait for the other men to join you. They’re former Tigers on loan from General Perani. Good fighters, but they lack your guile. Succeed, and you’ll have a long, profitable career ahead.” The man clapped Hagan’s shoulder and turned away without further word.
Hagan stowed the purse in his waist belt and left the shabby inn. Outside, cold rain drenched the dirty streets of Reln, his home these last few weeks. A cheap grubby room above the tavern, the place where Caswallon’s contact had found him.
Hagan wasn’t happy about killing Corin but business was business. Theirs had been a fragile relationship, and that longswordsman had left him for dead in the desert. Payback. Gold was what mattered in this life. He could always buy new friends.
Shame though, and a woman too. Hagan whistled as he led the horse out onto the highway, the city gates closing behind him. It was going to be an interesting few days.
Chapter 18 | The Deceiver
Caswallon smiled and spread his arms in welcome as the King of Wynais burst into the palace courtyard amidst a cluster of servants and retainers. Birds chattered in bushes and fountains chimed in corners, and the infuriating glare cast by the residing crystal near blinded him. But he smiled amiably, and as the burley ruler paced toward him, held out his hand in greeting.
King Nogel stared at the offered hand as though it were a snake. “Where is Kelsalion?” the king demanded, very rudely in Caswallon’s opinion.
“Your Highness, you do us great honor.”
“I asked a fucking question, meddler.”
Caswallon shook his head and struggled to retain composure. The man was an oaf and a bore, and he wished Keel had done the job when first he had the chance, and not prevaricated.
“He is sleeping, Highness.”
“Then wake him up.”
“I’d sooner not—the High King needs a lot of rest these days. Regrettably, our beloved monarch’s very troubled and not the sage ruler you remember. You haven’t been in Kella for a while now. There have been some changes.” Caswallon hinted a table and chairs with his hand. “Please, be seated.” The king glared at him for a moment and then took a chair.
“I want to speak with Kelsalion,” King Nogel said. “I won’t be leaving until I do.”
Caswallon smiled again, masking his inner rage. Such a waste of his precious time. Again, he blamed Keel. He’d hoped to avoid this confrontation, which was pointless. “My retainers will bring refreshment while you wait, Highness. It might be a long one.”
Perani hovered close and Caswallon turned to the general. “A word in your ear, General,” he said, and Perani nodded. “Please excuse us, Highness—our civic duties have doubled of late.”
“Don’t linger on my account,” King Nogel said. Caswallon left him in the courtyard, with the chirping birds and glimmering glare. The Crown Room was halfway across the palace but the crystal always seemed brightest in the gardens. Caswallon detested that silver light. He would snuff it out in due course. Soon if things went to plan.
He stopped in a narrow cloister shaded by heavy palms. Servants parted like reeds and made themselves scarce. Perani loomed up behind him. “Keep your distance,” Caswallon said. The Lord High Councilor couldn’t abide his personal space being invaded. Perani took a step back. Another stupid soldier. But at least this loyal puppet had uses. “Where is the assassin?”
“He’s here in Kella,” Perani said. “I’m not sure where exactly.”
“I thought you always knew where everyone was?”
“That one’s hard to pin down.” Perani avoided his gaze. Caswallon liked that. Perani was a hard man but still just a tool. A blunt instrument. A slave.
“Well, then send soldiers to find him and command his presence. I need to finish this nonsense before we can move on. Oh—and tell that whelp Tarin to wake his father. I don’t want that southern king loitering around all day.”
Perani left him with a curt salute, and Caswallon wandered back through the royal rooms. Tired and irritable, his head throbbing, he kept to the shadows and avoided the Tekara’s radiance whenever he could. He needed to prepare the way for those who would come. The sorcerers he’d called on to help with his task. A summoning.
Caswallon trembled with excitement at the thought of that ancient power. The dark knowledge those beings retained. The old enemy. The Urgolais. He’d made preliminary contact up in the tower, a sacrifice too—they’d appreciated that. It’s the little things that make all the difference.
The initial communication had taken time but he’d got through with his offer, and yes—they were interested. And so they should be, as they stood to gain much. Now he needed to act swiftly and decisively while he had their fully focused attention. The Urgolais were tricky folk. Caswallon needed to prove that he was fully committed, and on their side—those ancient, cunning enemies of the Crystal Crown and everything it stood for.
Caswallon smiled as he reached a quiet corner. All was in hand. This kingly affair was but a stone in his shoe. Kings were pawns like other men. His rise to power and fortune had only just begun. Careful planning first, then swift precise action. Timing was everything. Caswallon waited until he heard voices in the garden outside and then breezed back through the gilded doors to watch on.
***
King Nogel had wanted to swat the smiling councilor like the cockroach he was. Immaculately garbed in his smoky blue silk, the cloak of shimmering moons and stars a statement of what he’d become. A bold enchanter who was no longer hiding his nighttime pursuits. Enchanter was too kind. The knave was a sorcerer—worse, a necromancer were all the rumors true, and they most likely were. Gods alone knew what villainy occurred way up there in that dreadful tower.
Nogel was offered wine and ample food. He ignored both. Eventually the pale young Prince Tarin emerged like a scolded cur from the gardens.
“My father is coming,” the boy said, taking a seat at the far end of the table. Nogel stared at the lad until he nervously shifted his gaze to the bushes.
“How fares the High King?” Nogel asked. Tarin just shrugged. Suit yourself, child. Nogel looked up as a cluster of white-clad servants emerged amid fuss and fiddle, and Caswallon reappeared with his oily smile. Staged, thought Nogel. The bastard’s been hovering to see what I said. Then he looked past the sorcerer and saw a man hobbling behind him, supported by shaven-headed priests. The High King had come after all.
Kelsalion III had been tall. He wasn’t now. Neither was he the handsome, confident ruler King Nogel remembered. The man staggering to stay upright before him was a disheveled, pale ghost of a man, hardly anything remained of the old High King. The noble, if reclusive ruler of all Four Kingdoms. What had happened to the Tekara? How could the crown’s potent energy for good allow this to happen? A thousand years and then the sap runs dry? Didn’t make sense. Caswallon must have found a way to tap into its source, drain the potency.
There was poison in this city. And the rot was deepest right here in the palace, despite that silver glow. Nogel stood as they helped the High King to his chair. He was dribbling, Nogel noticed, his blue eyes flicking about. Agitated, the High King waved the servants away like so many noisome blowflies.
“Stop fussing me,” he said, voice reedy and thin. “Go away.” They faded back, all save Caswallon who stood his ground, arms neatly folded into the pocket of his crimson gown, the customary half-smile masking his face.
“Cousin—why have you come?” Kelsalion III stared at Nogel without much interest. “Haven’t you a little kingdom to rule down there?”
Nogel chewed his moustache and remained standing. “I have, my lord. But I also have concerns.”
“Concerns . . .?”
“About your health and the state of this realm.”
“We are old—tis all.”
“You’re but seven years my senior, Lord. That’s hardly old.”
“Well I am sickly then. What of it?”
“I fear you are corrupted by this man in the wizard’s gown who calls himself your ‘councilor,’ but secretly plots against you.” Nogel noticed the open shock on Prince Tarin’s face, as though he’d been found out. So, you’re part of it too, weasel.
“You’re inferring that Lord Caswallon is a traitor? My sole comforter and greatest friend? Have a care, sir!” The High King’s face looked flustered, outraged. He coughed for a moment and then held up his hands, the rings loose and slipping. “I suggest you return to Wynais, Cousin Nogel—lest we become vexed.”
“You need to know the truth, Kelsalion,” Nogel said.
“You’ll address me as your overlord!”
“Lord . . . Exalted Highness,” Caswallon stepped forward and placed his hands on the table, his cool dark eyes watching Nogel carefully. “The King of Kelwyn is a strong and honest man. We all admire him. But, forgive me Highness”—that smile again— “your younger cousin’s misguided and has listened to lies spun by traitors who would work against you.”
“The only traitor here is you.” Nogel glared at Caswallon and noticed the brief flicker of rage in those coaly eyes, swiftly covered by that easy half-smile. Have a care, Nogel told himself. Hold your temper.
“It saddens me that you believe such follies,” Caswallon said glibly. He turned to address the High King. “Your Exalted Majesty, please allow your premier servant to smooth this ruffled carpet. The King of Kelwyn has traveled far, and is clearly weary—as are you. Let’s adjourn until everyone is properly rested.”
“It’s true, we are weary,” Kelsalion said. He glared at Nogel. “You, cousin, have upset us with your foolish accusations. We are vexed by your disloyalty. We will return to our room immediately.” Caswallon nodded approval, snapped his fingers, and the shaven-headed servants appeared from hidden corners. They helped the High King to his feet, and all King Nogel could do was watch as they half-dragged the emaciated ruler from the courtyard.
Pitiful, and a fruitless trip. Nogel should have known better than to come here, but he’d hoped the High King was reachable. Instead, Kelsalion III was beyond any help and Kelwyn had best look to its defenses. He stared at Caswallon’s back until the man turned and surveyed him with those calculating eyes. You knew I was watching you. It was true what they said. This man gets inside your head if you let him. Nogel could feel the self-doubt jabbing him. Probing for weakness. Why did I come here? How dare I accuse this man?
Caswallon took seat at the table and neatly rested his hands on its surface. Nogel noticed Prince Tarin’s eyes flickering his way like a frightened bird. Like his father, the boy was a puppet controlled by this consummate schemer.
“Sorcery is back in fashion, I see.” Nogel took to his chair and accepted a glass of wine from a servant. He knew he’d lost here, but wasn’t leaving without a fight.
Caswallon raised a dark brow. “Highness, I cannot grasp your meaning. Are you speaking of the Tekara, the Crystal Crown?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Ah, you are accusing me personally.” Caswallon waved a hand. “I’m an astrologer and astronomer, my lord king. I study the stars in the tower above. For the good of these Four Kingdoms, I chart the skies so that we may steer free of obstacles. A hard and thankless business.”
“Call it what you will, Caswallon. You cannot hoodwink me like Kelsalion or this foolish boy.” Tarin glared at him with his mouth open, and Caswallon’s eyes flashed angrily again.
“King Nogel, I find it regrettable indeed that you’ve such a low opinion of us. But I would advise you have a care. By all means, speak poorly of myself—I’m but a civil servant. But this young man is the High King’s heir. He will inherit the throne one day, wear the Crystal Crown—the thirty-third of Kell’s mighty line.”
And suddenly Nogel saw it. Clear as the ice coating Lake Wynais on a bright sharp winter’s day. You’re going to murder Kelsalion and place this boy on the throne. Nogel stood up, spilling wine. His work was done here. Best he and his men return at speed to Wynais.
“I’ve nothing further to say to you, Councilor.”
“Well, enjoy the city while you stay.” Caswallon rose with him. “May I suggest a guided tour of the Crystal Palace to soothe your weary nerves? The Tekara’s aura will soon banish your worries.”
“Nay—they are too deep.” Nogel turned briskly and left the courtyard, the servants fussing and following behind. Perani escorted him to the barracks where his men were idling the hours away.
“We ride out,” Nogel said. “We never should have come here.” His troops were ready within minutes, and an hour later they had left the city far behind.
***
“You can come out now.” Caswallon strolled the gardens and stopped by a fountain. Beside him, a bush shivered slightly and a gloved hand appeared, parting fronds and followed by a body. A smallish, neatly clad individual with sharp, clever eyes the color of polished jade.
Keel smiled as he joined Caswallon in the gardens. Tarin had gone to see how his father fared, and the servants had made themselves scarce again. That left the two plotters time to stroll the gardens at ease.
“Why did he come here?” Keel asked, his green eyes fascinated by a blackbird scratching for grubs under a bush. “Stupid—even for him.”
“To challenge me and see if he could get through to Kelsalion.” Caswallon shrugged. “The arrogance of kings never fails to amaze me. If you’d have done your work last month, we could have avoided this nuisance.” Caswallon glared at Keel but there was no give in those eyes. This was one individual he couldn’t probe, though he had tried on several occasions. Keel’s soul was veiled. This assassin wasn’t like other men. An intricate killer, complex and twisted. Useful, yet capricious and tricky to handle. He summoned patience yet again.
