The Deathless Ones, page 5
“The assassin,” Aadron confirmed. “Who, for two weeks, has been here, studying us, me, which means whoever hired him means business. He must have been good, or they wouldn’t have thought to hire him to strike me here, in my city.”
“We’re lucky you’re better,” Gyron said. “But I don’t like this, Lord Aadron. I mean... this was a professional hit, not a spur of the moment thing... Who wants to get rid of you that badly?”
Aadron grinned. “Two names come to mind, and they both start with ‘S’.”
Gyron nodded gravely. “I shall prosecute further enquiries in the city.”
Aadron nodded. Once Gyron was gone, he turned to the right and went to his room. It was large, with a bed on the southern corner, a desk and a couple of chairs near the wall, on the right side of the door, and a large painting that took up almost all of the northern wall. There was a window on the eastern wall and a couch in front of it.
"Someone looks angry," An amused voice remarked and Aadron’s scowling gaze met a pair of smiling grey eyes. The owner of the voice was sprawled on the couch in front of the window.
"Syamin!" Aadron exclaimed in a low voice, as his hand went to his sword. "How did you get in here? Are you here to kill me?"
Syamin raised his hands. “Aadron. You know me better than that. I didn’t think you were going to recognise me, to be honest. I didn’t recognise you, in Mirrel, except that you look so much like your father.”
“You were hidden in Aster’s room, I suppose,” Aadron said, moving to the desk on which was a jug of wine and four goblets. He poured wine into a goblet and sipped it. “An army could hide in there and no one could be the wiser.”
“Why did you come to Mirrel?” Syamin asked, sitting up straighter. “I don’t think it was to threaten Aster.”
Aadron shrugged. “Perhaps it was. You don’t know me, now. I’m no longer the boy you knew. As for recognising you, you haven’t changed all that much. Some grey in your hair, a few more lines on your face, but that’s all.”
Syamin nodded. “All right. I guess I haven’t. You have though. You look a lot like your father.”
“So, people keep telling me,” Aadron took another sip of the wine. “It has been twenty years. You shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve changed.”
Syamin sighed, as he rose. “You’re still mad at me.”
Aadron sighed as he put the goblet down and looked at Syamin.
“What did you expect? You left! You were my brother! I don’t care that you were only my father’s ward, that he took you in because you saved Aster; all I know is that you, Hygan and Radik had been the only people who had been there for me since I was born!” Aadron paused to catch his breath, and continued, his voice rising. “You... you took care of me after my father’s death, kept his armies together, took back his province and expanded into Vitae... and on the day I turned eighteen, you just dumped it all on my lap and left, taking Radik with you! What was I supposed to think?”
His voice had risen almost to a shout, and Syamin moved swiftly to lock the door. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed.
Aadron glared, but complied. “Why in Hivas are you here, Syamin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Syamin said, sounding defeated. “Not if you’re still mad at me.”
He turned towards the painting and Aadron said, “I know why you left.”
Syamin turned towards him, his expression wary. “Yes?” He sounded cautious.
“Radik told me when he came for my mother’s funeral.” He looked at him. “You should’ve told me.”
“Told you what?” Syamin asked. “That your mother hated me? That in her eyes I was always the orphan boy who should have been a slave if not for Aster’s kindness? That she had tried her best to turn your father against me and nearly succeeded? Was I to wait around until she turned you against me too?” Syamin snorted.
“She turned father against you?”
That was news to Aadron. Radik hadn’t told him that. He probably didn’t want to tarnish his memories of both parents, but Aadron would have preferred the truth. He couldn’t even remember his father who’d died when he was five. His mother on the other hand... it was hard to believe that she would have plotted against Syamin. She had been implacable and ignorant, but also approachable. Still, knowing that Syamin had left because of her was hard.
“Why do you think he sent me on a suicidal campaign to Mirrel?” Syamin asked, bitterness in his voice.
“But you succeeded; you recaptured Mirrel from Semil.” Aadron said. “I may have been too young to remember the details, but I’ve heard the stories until I was sick.”
“Well, he couldn’t punish me for succeeding,” Syamin said, “And he died soon afterwards. There’s no telling what would have happened next, but I didn’t want to take any chances. As long as you were underage, I had nothing to fear, because while technically your mother was in charge, the men deferred to me. Once you came of age, though,” He shrugged. “I didn’t think I could bear it if you turned against me as well, so I left. Radik... well, that was his choice, Aadron. I swear. I tried to send him back, but you know how obstinate the old fraud is.” He paused. “You’re not the only one who lost a brother.”
“You could have come back after she died,” Aadron said.
“Could I?” Syamin asked. “Everything had changed, our situations, circumstances... I had men who looked to me, and I couldn’t let them down.”
“Why are you here?” Aadron asked again.
“Something Aster said,” Syamin said quietly. “He said if the two of us were to join forces, Semil wouldn’t be a problem. We both know that Semil has been strengthening his armies. We may not be able to withstand an attack individually, but together?” He shrugged. “It’s going to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“You stay away for twenty years and you come in here, proposing an alliance,” Aadron said. “Mutually beneficial. What about the real reason?”
“That I don’t want to fight you?” Syamin shrugged again. “I didn’t realise I needed to say that out loud. I’ve not even had a skirmish with you these twenty years.”
“I know.” Aadron muttered. “But I need to hear that out loud, Syamin. I need to know that I haven’t lost my brother.”
“You haven’t,” Syamin said.
“All right,” Aadron said. “You do realise that this will need to stay between us, don’t you? No matter how trustworthy our men are, sometimes a careless word is all that’s needed for a spy. If Semil is to be fooled, this needs to stay secret.”
Syamin nodded. “I know. I agree.”
They both moved at the same time, embracing each other tightly. “I’ve missed you so much,” Aadron muttered, his voice unsteady.
“I missed you too.” Syamin said. “I’m sorry I left without any explanations... I just... I didn’t know how I could tell you, that’s all.”
They released each other and Syamin said. “You didn’t tell me what you were doing in Mirrel,”
Aadron shrugged. “It’s... it’s not important... It wasn’t all about the house, though I’d still like to get it back if I could.”
Syamin rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that. I better be leaving.”
He turned towards the painting again.
“How did you know?” Aadron asked. “About the painting?”
“You built this house as an exact replica of your childhood home in Albin.” Syamin said, turning to face him again. “It stood to reason the passageway and the secret entrance behind the painting would be there.” He paused. “Is it safe, Aadron? I saw what happened at the marketplace.”
“The assassin?” Aadron shrugged. “Occupational hazard. Haven’t you faced a few yourself?”
“Never in my own city,” Syamin said. “And I would sleep easier knowing you didn’t have a secret entrance into your bedroom.”
“I’ll see to it,” Aadron said.
“Any luck identifying who must have sent an assassin after you?”
“Not yet,” Aadron said. “Don’t worry about it. You just be careful. If you get caught...”
"Don't worry." Syamin's eyes were soft and his voice gentle. "I’m always careful. I think it's you who should be concerned. If someone was desperate enough to send an assassin after you..."
"Desperate...” Aadron muttered. “It must be them."
"The Thieves of Hardin?" Syamin frowned. "Is that possible?"
"Why not? They've not been able to carry on their activities in Hardin since I came. They had to range afield and were harassing Semil's supply wagons last I heard."
"Growing bolder?"
"Growing more desperate," was Aadron's grim reply. "It means I need to have a talk with Layla."
Syamin rose and poured himself a goblet of wine. "Why you still allow that woman to come so freely into the city is what I fail to understand."
"She doesn't know I'm on to her, which means that I could have her shadowed. She gave my men the slip, but it was not intentional. Their hideout is really well hidden, that's all." He compressed his lips for a moment. "But if they’ve taken it upon themselves to hire Assassins to kill me, it's time I stopped these games and moved openly." He paused. “Wait a minute. How do you know Layla, and that she moves around in disguise in the city?”
Syamin gave him an unimpressed look. “Haven’t you heard of spies?”
Aadron chuckled. “Should have known. I’ve a couple in Mirrel too.”
“I know,” Syamin said.
They both laughed.
“I need to go,” Syamin said again.
“Back to Mirrel?” Aadron asked.
“I may have to take a detour,” Syamin said. “Nothing important, but...”
“What in Hivas are you up to?” Aadron asked. “You’re a horrible liar, you know. What are you hiding now?”
“Rhenon,” Syamin sighed. “I may have led Myra into believing I’m an ordinary soldier named Lyam a few years back and I may have become the general of her armies.”
“Oh Sur!” Aadron said. “It was you. The general who successfully repulsed Semil and nearly destroyed his armies. Why am I not surprised?”
“I don’t know if I can explain,” Syamin said.
“Don’t,” Aadron shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t know her, didn’t know her father, and it means that the armies of Rhenon will be joining us if we need them.”
Syamin nodded. "I've to return to Rhenon. Myra might start growing suspicious if I stay away too long. Be seeing you.”
“And Vasry doesn’t wonder where you are? How is he by the way? And that old fraud of a magician?” Aadron asked.
“They’re both well. Radik is in Rhenon, and Vasry knows I’ll be going there from Hardin. My return to Mirrel is not urgent.”
“Except the Solstice is almost upon us,” Aadron said. “Will you make it to Rhenon before that?”
Syamin took out a small black stone from his pocket. “Radik has enchanted this with a transportation spell. It’ll take me to Rhenon.”
“That can be done?” Aadron was interested, as he took the stone from Syamin and examined it. “Why aren’t there more? How does it work?”
None of the books he’d read on magic had ever mentioned anything like this, but then he hadn’t read that many books either. His father’s extensive library had been destroyed when Semil sacked Albin and Aadron had other concerns than books since he had come of age. Though he had tried his best to build a library, especially books on magic. They were extremely hard to come by though and his library, though not contemptible, still held very little on them.
“Yes, it can be done. Radik told me that once I’m past Hardin’s gates, it’ll transport me to outside of Rhenon. It takes as much energy to imbue that stone with magic as it does to cast the spell himself. Which is why he didn’t give me one to get me back to Mirrel. I’ve no idea how it works, though.”
Aadron handed the stone back. “I’m never going to forgive you for stealing Radik,” he said, but there was no malice in his tone or smile. He still wished Radik hadn’t gone with Syamin, though. He wished Syamin hadn’t left, but it was all water under the bridge now.
Syamin returned the smile. “I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll be flattered.”
With another nod at Aadron, Syamin opened a hidden door behind the painting and melted into the shadows. Once he was gone, Aadron pushed the painting back into place. His face was grim. Layla needed to be dealt with; and soon.
The Traitor’s Dilemma
The day was bright and sunny, with tufts of white clouds floating across the sky and its reflection shimmering on the river beneath. At one end of the bridge that spanned the river, the rider stopped, reining in his horse and wiping the sweat off his brow. He was a young man, dressed as a soldier in a uniform of blue and yellow. He was almost sagging in his saddle as he made his way across the bridge. His horse moved sluggishly, its head drooping.
Two soldiers, with arrows nocked to bows, appeared from behind the bushes as soon as he was across the river.
“Halt!” one of them shouted. “State your business.”
“Let me through, Edd; I’ve news for Lady Myra,” the man said, his voice weary.
“Mylwin!” the other man exclaimed. “I didn’t recognise you with that beard. Where in Hivas have you been? It’s been a while since you left. We even feared you might be dead.”
A faint smile appeared on Mylwin’s face. “Not yet, Bale. Is our lady home?”
“She is,” Edd replied. “But she’s not happy. The desertion of our men is hitting her hard.”
“I’ve come with news regarding just that,” Mylwin said. “Good to see you are all still with her, Edd.”
“Go on,” Edd waved him in through the gates. “Hope the news you’re bringing is good.”
“I doubt it,” Mylwin said, but so softly that he no one else could hear it. His news was for Lady Myra’s ears. She would decide if it was to be made known to all.
Mylwin was stopped twice more before he finally reached the fortified town of Rhenon where Myra dwelt. He was challenged at the gates, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice drawled.
“Let him through. Can’t you even recognise the captain of my Lady’s guards?”
Mylwin started at the sound of that voice. Lyam! Mylwin’s hands clenched around the horse’s reins, and his jaw set. He glared at the man, his tiredness forgotten.
The gates opened, and he rode inside. He would have liked to quickly ride away, but his horse was too exhausted. Lyam joined him, and rode at his side as they went towards the mansion where Myra stayed. As captain of her guard, Mylwin was also stationed there, and as her general, Lyam stayed there too.
“You are unusually silent,” Lyam remarked.
“I’m tired,” Mylwin replied shortly.
“Where were you anyway?”
Was it just idle curiosity or was there more behind the question?
“On a mission for my Lady,” Mylwin replied. “And I have to deliver my report to her in person.”
“I shall come with you then. I am curious to know what this mission is, and why I wasn’t informed about.”
“I didn’t realise my Lady had to inform you where she sends her guards,” Mylwin said.
“She doesn’t have to inform me of anything,” Lyam said. “As I said, I’m just curious.”
They had reached the mansion and Mylwin dismounted the horse, handing over the reins to a waiting groom, and went inside, Lyam still at his side. He was wondering how he would get rid of Lyam when Lyam said quietly, “My Lady has gone to the shrine today. She’ll only be back tomorrow night or the morning after. Why don’t you freshen up and have some rest?”
Mylwin turned to him with narrowed eyes. “And you’re telling me this now?”
He tried to put some outrage and indignation into his tone instead of suspicion. It was so hard to act naturally around Lyam.
“You are quartered here anyway,” Lyam shrugged. “Besides, most don’t know of her trip. I preferred to keep it that way.”
“Who has gone with her?” Mylwin was afraid for her safety.
“All her guard, with the exception of you and Edd.”
He felt his fear begin to lessen. “And who leads them?”
“Miran. I’d promoted him to Captain of her guards during your-” a pause, "unexplained absence.”
Mylwin felt relieved. Miran was a good friend and was loyal to Myra, just like all the other men.
“Which of the ladies accompanied her?”
Lyam shrugged. “The usual, I assume. I don’t pay much attention to her ladies-in-waiting.”
“But Lady Pelmeya is with her?” Mylwin pressed.
“She is,” Lyam said.
Mylwin felt an overpowering sense of relief. Pelmeya would protect Myra. His relief was shattered in an instant when he remembered something disquieting.
“But tomorrow night is the Solstice!”
“I’m sure she knows. She’ll be careful to stay indoors.”
Mylwin nodded. “I’ll take leave of you, then.”
“All right,” Lyam nodded at him. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.”
Mylwin nodded, confused. He entered his room and closed the door, leaning back against it. He needed a shave, bath, some food, and sleep, though not necessarily in that order. Everything else could wait for now, including thinking of what to do.
In the meantime, Syamin entered the library in a pensive mood. He stopped short at the sight of the man who stood inside, studying the maps on one wall.
“Radik,” he said, smiling. “I thought you were in your quarters.”
“I got bored,” Radik smiled at him.
Radik was short, and fat with long grey hair, small grey eyes, a large nose, firm lips and a firm chin. His face was lined, though his movements were spry. Radik’s white robes with the golden embroidery were very distinctive, but he had thrown a grey over-robe with a hood over it which he now removed.
“How did it go with Aadron?” he asked.
“Better than I expected.”
